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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

Text

Mini Sainz

Pairing: Dad!Carlos Sainz x Reader x Son Santi

Rating: PG

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnant reader, reader feels big because she’s so pregnant, dad carlos is adorable, fluff

Words: 2.7K

A/N: if anyone knows why I named their son, great minds think alike

"I'm a whale." You moan, annoyed, tired, just exhausted all around.

"You're not a whale. You're pregnant." Lando snickers as he walks past you, making sure you are as comfortable as someone who could be 9 months pregnant.

"Lando, I'm serious. I can't even see my own feet or anything." You whine, stabbing your fingers into your side to stop the sharp pain you feel, disappearing when you put pressure on it.

"Maybe, you shouldn't come to the Grand Prix." He ponders but stops seeing your harsh glare.

"It's his home race. Besides, I want to be around him." You huff, fixing the fan next to you.

9 months pregnant, and in Spain, it was not a good mix. It wasn't hot, just fantastic, but to you, it felt horrible. Never would you be pregnant in the spring or summer again. This was the last time.

"Yes. I know Y/n. You'll see him soon." Lando comforts you, pushing the fan closer as he watches some sign of improvement.

"Uncle Lando?" A small voice pulls Lando's attention from his best friend to his godson.

"Santiago? You should be taking your nap." Lando moves to the 5-year-old and picks him up with ease.

"Mama in pain?" He asks, resting his head in the croak of his uncle's neck, worried about his Mama.

"A little bit, buddy. But, it'll be okay when we see your Papa." The smile that covers the boy's face melts Lando making him even consider for a second having kids.

"Mama doesn't like being away from Papa. Should we call?" Lando snorts, knowing damn well that you didn't like your husband away from you this far in your pregnancy.

"No, we're about to leave anyways. Let's get you dressed, okay?" He asks the little boy nodding as Lando takes him to get dressed.

Lando returns with your first child, and you snort, seeing bright orange.

"Carlos is going to kill you." You giggle, seeing Santiago wearing a Mclaren shirt.

"Ehh, he owes me anyways. I'm taking care of a toddler and a very pissed-off pregnant you. I get the kid wearing my shirt." Lando shrugs. If you weren't so tired, you'd smack Lando into the next century.

"Help me up, you dick." You whisper, knowing Santiago is in his repeat everything he hears phase.

With ease, Lando moves beside you and helps you up, resting a hand on your back and stomach. Feeling a little thump against his hand, Lando smiles; the kid was going to be a trip.

"Alright, Sainz's, let's go!" Santiago squeals and runs to you but stops short, knowing you can't pick him up.

"Uncle Lando! Up!" Santiago declares, making the Mclaren driver smile, and you roll your eyes.

Arriving at the paddock, you wince, feeling that sharp pain again, but take a deep breath, and it goes away again. You knew you should be worried about those pains, but the baby wasn't due till the end of the month, so you still had a couple weeks before they were expected.

"Why does my family look like yours?" Santiago squeals and wiggles out of Lando's arms and rushes his father.

"Papa!" He screams, Carlos scooping him up before the little one can fall.

People liked to call Lando the second husband because he was always helping you. But he was your childhood friend, Carlos's best friend, and the godfather to your son. He was family.

"Ooh. Easy big guy." Carlos coddles, kissing his son's cheek before immediately handing him off to Lando and at your side.

"Corazón? Are you okay?" Carlos asks, seeing the discomfort on your face. But the moment he touches you, it fades away as you lean into your husband's body.

"Now I am." Carlos moves to support you on your side and walks you down to the Ferrari hospitality building.

"Why is my angel wearing a Mclaren shirt?" You snort loudly, seeing Lando chase the little boy, both matching.

"Lando dressed him. Besides, give him this one. He's staying in Spain to help us when the baby arrives." You touch Carlos's cheek, who just nods but already planning on how to switch the shirts later.

Getting to the building, you notice Santi isn't next to Lando and feel that panic, but it slams shut when you see a familiar brunette holding your son.

"No, Uncle Charles! Uncle Lando said we'd match today." Your son's cheeks puffed out; in that way, he pouts.

"You're a son of a Ferrari driver. You don't want to hurt your Papa's feelings, right?" He asks, which gets a slap on the back of his head from Lando.

"Don't manipulate the boy, you douche." While Charles lets out a string of curses, you watch the exchange, Carlos, paying no mind to keep an eye on you.

"Yeah, douche." The laughs stop as you all face a red-faced Santiago, who looks ready to cry.

"Santiago Sainz Vazquez de Castro." Wincing at Carlos's harsh tone, your son's eyes grow wide and watery.

"Apologize to Uncle Charles right now! You don't use that type of language. Do you understand me?" Santiago's bottom lip starts to wobble, and your heart breaks for your baby. Santi looked up to his father so much and rarely got in trouble with him. So when he did, this would make Santi cry.

"I'm sorry," Santi whispers, hugging Charles, who chuckles and pats the boy's back.

"It's okay, Santi. I know you didn't mean it." Charles kisses his head and sits down, dragging Lando away so Carlos can talk to his son.

Crouching down, you watch as Carlos turns Santi to look at him. They're twins, if anyone wanted to contest the father of your child, put Carlos and his side by side, and you've got a mini-adult Carlos before you.

"Santiago, why are you in trouble?" Carlos asks as Santi sniffles, wiping away his tears with his little hands.

"Because I said a bad thing to Uncle Charles." You try not to cry too. Fucking hormones. Santi rarely cried, so seeing his little face, red and tear-stained, you wanted to hold him close.

"And what do we not do?" Carlos sighs, holding Santi's tiny hands in his own.

"Say bad things that can hurt people." He mumbles, looking his father in the eyes. Carlos's tough father act breaks automatically seeing his little boy's face.

"Come here." Carlos pulls Santi into a hug and stands up, rubbing his back as Santi wraps his arms and legs around his father as best as he can.

"Let's get some cold air for your Mama, yeah?" Carlos asks, following you into the cold air.

"This is heaven." You moan, reaching a private area and sitting down as slowly as possible.

"Can we get a fan?" Carlos asks one of the workers, who eyes you and nods, going down to hunt a fan for you.

"Mama," Santiago whines, climbs onto the couch and puts his head on your stomach.

"Yeah, baby?" Fingers pushing back those gorgeous Sainz's locks, so happy he got Carlos's eyes and hair.

"Is baby being bad?" He asks, touching your stomach while Carlos sets up the fan to blow right on you.

"No. I'm just.....big." You groan, trying to stop the flash of pain on your face, but Carlos sees it anyways.

"You're not big. Stand up." Carlos helps you stand and moves to stand behind you.

Wrapping his arms below your belly, he starts to lift, and you practically melt right then and there as the weight is lifted off.

"If I could marry you again, I would." You moan, making Carlos smile, loving the pleasure that covers your face.

"Do me a favor?" You ask, Carlos nodding as he would do anything you'd ask.

"Of course, Y/n. What is it? Is it the baby? Is it time?" Mind running faster than he can keep up, but you cover his hands under your belly, soothing him instantly.

"Take Santiago with you." Carlos lets your stomach down slowly before facing you, confused as hell.

"Carlos, I can't give him the attention he needs right now. When the baby comes, we won't be able to pay much attention in the beginning. Besides, he idolizes you, Carlos. Take him to the garage, and let him sit on the pit wall. Let him run wild. Give him the best day of his life." You plead to look at your son, who watches the TV and squeals, seeing Uncle Charles beside his car.

"Santi? Want to spend the day with me?" Carlos asks; without an answer, Santiago takes off but stops and runs back. Getting on his tiptoes, he kisses your stomach and whines holding his arms up. Carlos lifts him up, and Santi kisses you before kicking his feet and taking off.

"Bye, Mama! Bye, baby! Be good!" He yells and takes off, Carlos cussing and rushing after his son.

Carlos catches up and swoops the boy up, making him squeal in delight as passersby smile at the father and son.

"Where to first, mi vida?" Carlos asks, tickling the boy, who laughs more.

"There!" Seeing the bright green that catches his eye, knowing who he wants to see.

"Want to go there?" He settles Santi in his arms and walks into the Aston Martin garage.

"Abeulo Fernando!" All the mechanics turn their heads, some laugh seeing who screamed that, as Fernando groans, hating being called that by the mini Sainz.

"Are you ever going to tell your son to stop calling me that?" Fernando asks, accepting Santi into his arms, who lays his head on his shoulder.

"No, because we all know it pisses you off." Carlos chuckles and watches how relaxed his son is.

"Where's Y/n? Has she had the baby already?" Before Carlos can answer, Santi does for his father.

"The baby is being mean to Mama. Mama said she's a whale. Uncle Lando said she wasn't but has a tummy like a whale Abeulo Fernando. Why is that?" The boy leaves the two Spaniards sputtering as he rattles off what he had heard this morning.

"Well...your little sibling is growing. Your Mama had the same tummy when you were there. But she doesn't have a whale tummy." Fernando laughs at Carlos's disbelief.

"Don't ever say she has a whale tummy. Okay, Santi?" Carlos presses, knowing the absolute mess the hormones would make you if your angel called you a whale.

"Abeulo Fernando? Are you going to win today? That'd be awesome if you did!" Lance laughs, walks past them, and claps Carlos's shoulder.

"Wearing a Mclaren shirt and wants Fernando to win. Are we sure that he's yours?" Lance laughs, making Carlos rolls his eyes and take Santi back.

"Okay, yeah, we're leaving." Carlos groans as Fernando and Lance make fun of him on the way out.

"Papa, you'd win anyways. It'd be cool for Abeulo Fernando to get the smaller win." Santi explains, Carlos promising he wouldn't cry hearing those words.

"Thank you, mi vida. Want to see Uncle Lando or Uncle Pierre?" He asks and sees his baby's eyes brighten.

"Uncle Pierre." Shocked at his choice, having thought by his reaction he'd pick Lando.

Walking closer to the paddock, Santi wiggles wanting to let down. "Okay, but hold my hand, mi vida." He urges, but Santi shakes his head no.

"I'm a big boy." He whines, and Carlos thinks this over and sighs, putting his hand on his back and leading him to Alpine.

"Well...look who is here." Pierre laughs and goes to pick up Santi like always, but the young boy steps away, confusing the French men.

"Uncle Pierre......is Kika here?" The young boy asks, face red and looking away.

"Umm.....yeah, she's over there." He points out the model watching the mechanics work on the car.

Santi takes off and tugs on Kika's pant leg, getting her attention as she melts, seeing Santi's smiling face, and picks him up.

"He picked you over Lando. If he was here, I thought he'd want to play with you and Charles. Guess...I was completely off." Carlos explains as Pierre laughs.

"Little man is growing up. Wanted to talk to Kika more than me. Actually....proud of him." Carlos glared, hating that his son already has a crush at age 5.

"Don't encourage this. Y/n will kill you." He watches Santi laugh as Kika walks around the garage and onto the pit wall so Santi can see the track.

"How is she? Charles and Lando said she looks.....ready." Pierre chooses his word carefully as Carlos is one to be very protective when it comes to you being pregnant.

"She should've stayed home, but everyone is here, so she's at the hospitality and can be somewhat comfortable," Carlos explains but stops the conversation when Santi comes running up with a smiling Kika behind him.

"Papa! Papa! Can we? Can we?" He asks as Kika pats his head and explains how she said that Pierre and her could take Santi for a couple nights when the baby arrives.

"Mi Vida, I thought you wanted to stay with Uncle Lando? It'll hurt his feelings if you change your mind." Santi ponders on it and looks at Kika.

"But...Papa.....I'm always with Uncle Lando." He whines, and Kika giggles while Pierre rolls his eyes.

"Okay, let me talk to Mama about it, and if. And I mean if she's okay with it. Uncle Pierre and Kika stay at the house with you and Uncle Lando?" He asks

Santi squeals and hugs his Papa, Kika's legs, then hugs Pierre, who smiles.

"Am I going to have to be worried about a 5-year-old stealing you now?" He asks Kika, who rolls her eyes and slaps his chest.

"Stop, he's adorable, besides it's hard to say no to those big brown eyes." Kika shrugs as Santi talks with a mechanic. Carlos checks his watch and curses, seeing he's got to get ready for the 3rd practice, and walks up to Santi, picking him up.

"Come on, Santi, we've got to go. Say, thank you to everyone." Santi yells his thanks as Carlos walks to the Ferrari garage.

Santi watched the world around him; Carlos knew his nap time was getting close, so he tried to keep the little guy awake until they reached the garage. Walking in, everyone cheers, seeing their youngest member, who just waves and buries himself into his Papa's chest.

"Alright, Mi Vida, I have to get ready now. But, I'm gonna give you to Uncle Charles. Think you can stay awake until I come back?" He asks, hoping he doesn't fall asleep.

"Yes, m big boy Papa." He whines from the movement of his Uncle Charles grabbing him.

"Try to keep him awake. If he falls asleep on you, you won't be able to escape." Carlos rushes and heads to get ready as Charles and Santi stare at each other.

"Wanna sit in my car?" He asks, seeing new energy come to the boy as he nods. Charles smiles and gently places the boy in the number 16 Ferrari as he crouches down, explaining everything.

Carlos returns and stops watching his boy be so happy to be here.

"Uncle Charles.....are Mama and Papa going to be busy with the new baby?" Carlos moves out of sight to hear what they're talking about.

"Yes, but that's why Uncle Lando, Uncle Pierre, Kika, and maybe I will be here in Spain to be with you," Charles explains, knowing Santi was brilliant and telling the truth was better for him.

"Is Papa going to be doing this with the baby too?" Santi asks, lowering his head.

"What do you mean?" Charles asks, confused about what the toddler is thinking.

"Papa and I do the races, but with the new baby.....they'll take my place," Santi whispers, and Carlos swears his heart stops as Charles takes a deep breath, unsure how to answer.

"Santi...you're me...you're Mi Vida. I promise to keep doing this with you when the new baby comes. No one..will take that away from us." Carlos promises as Santi stares at his Papa and nods his head.

"Papa?" Santi asks, making Carlos hum as he pats Charles back, who stands up next to his teammate.

"Can I take a nap now?" Carlos laughs and leans over, picking up his son.

"Yeah, Santi. You can nap now." Santi nods and lays his head on his father's shoulder before his cheeks puff out, and he falls asleep.

"He's asleep on you, man," Charles whispers, but Carlos waves him off.

"Let me enjoy this, man. He's growing up. Oh, did I tell you that he's got a crush on Kika?" Carlos asks as Charles busts out laughing. The two Ferrari drivers talking as Carlos holds his little baby close, soaking in this moment.

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luveline · 3 months

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what about Steve finding out he’s gonna be a dad for the first time??? or him doting on you while you’re pregnant 🥹

You’re asleep when Steve’s starts kissing you. “Love you,” he’s saying between presses of his lips, the words bouncing off of the side of your nose.

You blink, eyelashes sticky with sleep. Your back aches and couch springs groan as you try to stretch, Steve’s arms locked around you to hold you in place. “What time is it?” you ask. Your voice barely comes out. You try again, “How long have I been sleeping?”

You tip your face back. He’s laid down beside you, smiling, his hair crushed by the cushion under his cheek. You brush it out of his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding happy and affectionate at once. “I’ve been home for an hour. We napped.”

You can tell. You feel distinctly relaxed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Nauseous.”

“Oh no,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest. His hand slides down to your stomach. “What’s she doing to you?”

For a moment, he talks so gently, with so much love, you assume he’s talking to the baby. But then you realise he’s talking to you, and you melt like soft taffy under a hot sun. “Nothing, really.”

“No?” he asks, hand on the topmost curve of your bump.

“I think I didn’t like lunch. My taste buds are changing or something.”

“I can make you something. I’m an excellent chef.”

“Maybe…” You curl into him as much as you can in the limited space. “In a minute.”

“In a minute,” he repeats, half teasing, half something warmer. He’s turned on his side to give you and your bump enough room, an arm curled underneath you surely dead and the other still resting gently on your stomach. The air between you is warm, almost damp, too hot from napping together but neither of you willing to move away yet.

You get lost in thought. The nice shape of his smile is distracting, especially still lax with the after effect of a good sleep.

“What was your day like?” he asks eventually.

“Just quiet.” You close your eyes and let them sting, tears collecting under your eyelids that you blink away. “I think the baby is making me really tired.”

“Well, you’re making a baby. It’s hard,” he says. “Much easier to begin with.”

You smile rather than laugh, too tired. “Way too easy. How was,” —you yawn wide, eyes watering yet again— “your day?”

“A little less tiring than yours, obviously.”

You rub your nose into his polo shirt. “Every shift is another pair of socks.”

“This one’s worth more than that. A box of diapers for sure. And a couple of days of groceries, I guess.” He kisses your nose messily. “Got your vitamins on the way home.”

“Thank you… Actually, my day was agitating. I have this itch between my shoulders I can’t reach.”

“Yeah?” he’s immediately interested.

“Yeah, would you– yeah, to your– little more…” You drift off as his hand sneaks under your shirt and his nails find the awful evil itch that’s irking you. He knows exactly where to go from the slightest hitch on your breath, and he isn’t cute about it. He likely leaves scratch marks behind. It’s exactly what you needed. “Thank you so much.”

He rubs the scratches with the side of his thumb to cover the pain until it’s faded. “You’re welcome, honey. I’m your guy. Itches, rashes, headaches, weird moles. I’m always gonna be your guy.”

“Until the baby comes along ‘n then you're their guy.”

“I guess so. I think you kind of…” You’re both so tired your conversation comes out slowly, but it comes. “…make that promise when you decide to have one. I’ll be her guy, but that’s not– I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m still gonna be your guy. You’ll have to share me, that’s all.” His nose crinkles with his smile. “I’m not gonna give you half, though. I’ll just have to double my efforts.”

“Really?” you ask. You hadn’t realised you were worried until he mentioned it.

“Duh, babe. Not gonna punish you for something I did to you.”

“This isn’t a punishment.”

His fingers spread over your shoulder, skin on skin. “For sure not. I’m not talking about the baby, I mean me. The way I am. I’m not gonna choose her over you, I’m going to take care of you both.”

His polo is easy to collect and squeeze in your hand as you tip into his chest. “You’ll have to choose her sometimes.”

“So you admit it’s a her?”

“I admit nothing, H.”

“I’m on your side forever,” he promises, noses inclined together, your bump pressed to his abdomen. He’s hugging you like there’s nowhere else in the world to be. “I’m always gonna look after you.” He scratches your skin in emphasis, much kinder and longer strokes of his hand. “Always.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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caxde · 14 days

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You said I can send requests and I'm gonna take you up on that offer, my friend.

I'm still in my SoftDad!Eddie brain rot. I'm rolling with the "Dada's Princess" here and imagining little Lua making a flower crown for Princess. Or them making them together to both be "Dada's Princess". Because I knowwwww just the sight of it would make Eddie just melt into a puddle.

Also, love your writing and your beautiful mind for creating such a cute story so far!

💜

Omg thank you soo much <33 i love getting request so this is ideal i ran with the flower crowns idea hope you like it <33 feel free to request anything you like!

bright eyes universe drabble ~1.6k girl!dad eddie

Spring was in full bloom.

You had a day off, and you decided to sleep in, letting the sun rays that sneak in through your window slowly wake you up. It was recomforting, the mundane feeling of it all.

So you enjoyed a hot long shower, singing every song that played on the tape that Eddie had gifted you as a thank you to watching over Lua. It had a little of them both, Bowie and The Smiths had been Lua’s idea -that much was clear- Metallica and Iron Maiden had to be his, but the Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac -you thought- Eddie had chosen because he had heard you singing them when you didn’t even notice you were doing so. A level of attention you were just realising now, in that moment as the hot water hitted your sore back.

A slow morning called for a hot tea, like the ones you used to make for yourself before you had any real responsibilities.

Your hair still somehow wet, brushed away from your face, and that gow that a much needed shower left on your face, you felt clean, soft from once. You grabbed the first clean top that was on your folded laundry pile, a baby blue colour that complimented your skin, some washed up dark jeans to cover your legs.

You walked to your porch, wanting to let your hair dry while you just drank your cup.

Little did you know, a little surprised waited in your door.

A letter was hanging on your door, with a small yet thick piece of duct tape.

Lilac drawings of misshaped stars and hearts decorated the page.

It read:

“Duchess Lua of the mighty Hawkins Trailer Park would like to invite Princess to her court outing this afternoon. We shall have a refreshing picnic by the lake, please, confirm your assistance with Eddie the Once Banished.

Sincerely your dearest friend, Duchess Lua Munson.”

It made you giggle, and blush at the same time. You could tell Eddie had put some thought into it, and the drawings Lua had made to the best of her ability made you want to keep this letter forever.

Which you did, you folded neatly, letting it rest on your bedside table, before you found a place in your wall to hang it on.

You walked back up. The cup let out a clicking sound when the little spoon made contact with it, once you set it down into the floor.

You sat on the little steps, writing on your little pad that was pressed against your thighs, a response that was just as grandiose as the ask had been.

It read:

“Princess is more than happy to accept her Duchess Lua Munson invitation, and would like to know at what time she’s expected to arrive at her delightful trailer for the outing. Princess would like to inform Lady Munson that she’s excited to see her, and will make a treat for the picnic.”

You decided to leave a little red kiss as your signature. A little present that Eddie will cherish for a longer time that you had thought.

A stupid thought crossed your brain -more than a thought, an image- the two letters resting side by side, the paper now turning yellow, framed on a wall that the both of you share, Lua’s older now, maybe not the only daughter.

You had to shake your head, so you wouldn’t get too caught into the dream, snap back into reality.

Maybe it was stupid, or a bit childish but you were excited nonetheless. You switched your jeans for a flowy white sundress, the skirt reached your knees, the fabric had a faded small flower print all over. It was girly, but it was also spring, and for once, you didn’t care.

Your hair was free of any ponytails, or buns or anything like that, and it felt good to let it fall down, being so used to pushing it away from your face when you were working.

Eddie was a bit lost in you, not really focusing on what he should.

Lua was holding your hand, and you both were walking in front of him. He was holding the bags with the food and everything you had prepared -with the added things he already had- and he let himself be lost onto the fantasy.

Lua was telling you about the book he had just started reading for her as a bedtime story, and you kept asking questions, and she yapped in her mumbling voice as much and as excitedly as she could. He saw himself in her in those moments, when her tongue moved faster than her brain and she’d choke on her own words. Her free hand swanged in the air, and when she got caught on a word, she touched it, as a way to comfort herself. Eddie was starting to struggle to not tell you right there how he was feeling. How he was starting to get those scary big feelings. How he could actually see a life with you in it.

Eddie didn’t want to scare you.

So when you got close enough to the Lover’s Lake, and while you and Lua looked around for some spring flowers, he set the cloth down, the little sandwiches he had made on one side, chips for Lua, and a bit of cheese that you liked on the left side. The sponge cake you baked, and the rest of your -half eaten- chocolate bar on the right side. He got the drinks, begging you not to spend more things.

He got a thermos of your favourite tea -he had finally learned how to make it and was eager to see your reaction- water and chocolate milk for Lua, and soda for him. Though deep down he knew he’d end up drinking your tea.

He opened his arms as soon as he saw Lua running to him, her arms opened, her fist holding tightly to the wildflowers she had picked, you followed her closely, your laughter filling the air in his lungs.

You kept laughing, everytime Eddie found something new to do, just so he could hear you. And in consequence, Lua chuckled along. From afar, it already looked out of a picture book, but what he couldn’t quite understand is how it felt like it too.

“Dada?” Lua asked, once she had finished her piece of cake, spinning around so she could look at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can you braid?” She pointed at her hair, a question he had to avoid a bit too often.

“Bug, I’m rubbish at it, you know it.” He tried to plead with her, once again his voice gave in, breaking a bit. He had a tendency to do that when he had to tell her no, as if it would soften the blow.

“Please?” She asked again, her eyebrows raising just like he did when he was asking for something he deeply wanted. You had seen that look when he didn’t want you to leave, or he wanted another kiss. With a soft giggle, you looked at the little scene, hoping to not intrude too much.

“I can, if uh… if that’s okay.” Lua cheered and sat on your lap before you even knew if it was okay or not.

You knew it was, Eddie had that thank you look on his face.

He decided to do what he actually had learned, way back when he wasn’t living here, back when his mother lived. He knotted some of the wildflowers together, concertraing enough on it that his tongue covered his top lip, hearing his mother's voice singing low one to the top and knot over and over in his head.

For once it wasn’t a painful memory.

Rather a joyful one.

Now it was his two little princesses and his mother’s voice.

He placed it on top of your head, a kiss on your temple following it shortly after.

“What’d you do?” You asked, touching your head with care.

“Your crown, you needed one.” He points out, Lua’s eyes widened as she saw it.

“No braid but yes crown?” She asked, not really believing the ability his dad had been hiding from her.

“You know what we can do?” You asked her, trying to distract them both from the way your blood rushed to your cheeks. “Look.” You whispered it to her, as if it were a secret you both shared.

You started grabbing the wildflowers that were scattered around the cloth, placing the stems in between the knots of her braids, small flowers blooming from her hair. As soon as Lua realised what you did, her hand touching it with as much care as she could gather she started screeching from laughter, a type of laugh that not only warmed you, but Eddie as well.

She kind of jumped, though it felt more like a push, to your arms, screaming thank you repetitively, her excitement evident in her tone and gesture.

Eddie just looked at the both of you, his little dream -much similar to yours, even if you didn’t know- nearing the reality right in front of him.

You whispered to him, still holding Lua close to you “You’re full of surprises, huh?”

“Anything for my girls.” The sincerity in which he said it made you blush, the widest smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Idiot” You mouthed, no actual sound coming from you, careful that she wouldn’t hear a bad word.

He inched closer to you, leaving a kiss on the highest point of your cheek, right next to your ear.

“Hopefully yours.” He whispered.

A promise he intended to keep.

requests! are open

@took-me-hours-to-steal-those @edens-vices-art @micheledawn1975 @peachystenbrough @mewchiili @bylermaxmayfield @yujyujj @honeymoonmunsonn @paleidiot @ali-r3n @sunshineandwitchery @supernaturalstilinski @womencriedpower @saramelaniemoon @cultish-corner @babyloutattoo89 @witchwolflea @serenadingtigers @readergf @guineveresghost @saramelaniemoon @angel-upon

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werentwethestarsinheaven · 8 months

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at your back door.

matty healy x female reader

a/n: once again i don’t really know what this is lol i just had a sudden burst of motivation and wrote this in like an hour (so forgive me if it’s poorly written) luv you all ❤️

You and Matty weren’t ever anything. He wasn’t your boyfriend, and you weren’t his girlfriend, and you definitely weren’t a couple. You were both just you. “Just a friend,” is what you’d mutter when someone would ask where, who, what you were doing for the days where you’d drop off the face of the earth to spend time with him. You see, you and Matty weren’t ever anything, but your heart was everywhere.

You were content alone. In your small cottage with the windows wide open, wildflowers lining pathways and white picket fences. In the park behind your house, with the trees that swayed and were the home for the birds that chirped away happily. Until he arrived in your life. Or maybe you arrived in his.

You were walking fast down the hill and through the park, anxiety dripping into your chest, mind racing and heart beating fast. You’d mistakenly left your notebook behind at your spot earlier in the day. A notebook that might as well be your heart splattered and stained on ink lined pages. That was when you saw him. Sitting peacefully with a guitar beside him lying in the grass, his back leaning against the willow tree where your’s usually is. Scribbling viciously in a moleskin with one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other. You could hear the scratches etched in his throat as he hummed a tune, repeating it over and over again that you expected the birds above him to start chirping the same melody.

“I’ve stolen your spot haven’t I?” he chuckles, you were too busy staring at him to realise that he had noticed your presence and that your mouth had now gone dry.

“Oh no don’t worry, sorry to bother you,” your voice leaked out of your throat quieter than you expected. “Have you umm, maybe seen a notebook around here? I left it here a few hours ago.”

“No, sorry, I haven't.” His voice rolled off his tongue so smoothly as he looked at you genuinely. You could practically feel the warmth of his smile in your chest, coating over your anxiety like honey.

“Well thanks anyways. Uhh, if you see it anywhere would you mind putting it in my mailbox just up there,” you point behind you at your white picket fence that only just fades into view over the horizon.

“No problem,” he still smiles at you. You’re standing metres away from him, but you can see his eyes glistening.

“Have a nice day,” you whisper, turning around and walking briskly away until you no longer feel his gaze burning into the back of your head. Although you think it’s left a first degree burn on your heart.

Without your notebook you were left to dwell in your own mind in silence. Your heart filling and threatening to spill, to implode and rip apart the delicate stitching you worked hard to sew neatly. You’re lying there in the grass under your willow tree, feeling your heart leaking and melting out of your body, desperate to seep its nutrients into the soil beneath you. You inhale, the smell of newborn spring fills your senses. Pollen and freshly cut grass and… tobacco? He’s right there. Smiling down at you with an extended hand clutching a cup of coffee for you.

“Hey, do you mind if I join you?” he speaks into the spring air.

Of course you minded. You haven’t been able to think about anything else other than him and his saccharine smile and sugar syrup voice for the past week. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the curls on his head moved like the breeze was running its fingers through his hair itself. The way he radiated heat like he was the sun and you were simply a part of his solar system, orbiting around him and absorbing his energy. God. You had spent about 30 seconds in his presence and you were already withering away.

He sat down anyway, despite your silence and introduced himself. Matty. He was renting a place a few minutes away. He loves music and reading and comes to this spot to write, just like you. He refused to tell you about his job, opting to tell you about his closest friends and his family. He was being so vulnerable that you couldn’t help but let him pry your heart open and tell him everything about you. By the time you realised he hadn’t said a word in 20 minutes and that the coffee cups in your hands were now lukewarm, a drop of rain fell from the sky and landed on your forehead. It began to bucket down rain. Squeals of laughter echoed in the air as you both ran up the hill side by side to your picket fence. You pushed through the gate and skipped up the stairs. Standing under the awning to catch your breath and running your fingers through your dampened hair, you realised he hadn’t taken his eyes off you this entire time. The warmth of your home enveloped him as you let him in through the door.

From then on, you would wait for him to knock on your back door. It started off as a simple friendship. Some mornings, you would prepare two cups of tea in the kitchen as he grazed about the living room, complimenting your expansive vinyl collection and the books that sat on the shelves that reached for the ceilings. Some evenings, you would stand behind the stove as Matty chose a record and you both listened to it crackle to life from your record player. On sunny days, you would drag an extra sunlounger outside and together you would lay in the sunshine as you listened to him strum his guitar softly, the sun kissing his skin. On rainy days, you would sit across the couch together, rotting away and taking turns playing your favourite films for each other.

One evening, the dishes stained with pasta sauce sat crusting in the sink while you popped open the night’s third bottle of wine. You were already tipsy and warm, trying to keep up with his high tolerance, but you didn’t care. You were always warm around him anyways. Mirage by Fleetwood Mac spun on the record player, and he eagerly grabbed your hands and dragged you to the middle of the living room. Wine left behind, your giggles and his sweet hums filled the air. He spun you around as he sang and his fingers brushed against your waist as you leant on his shoulder. Inhaling the smells that clung to his neck. Tobacco and red wine and the nag champa incense you both watched swirl through the garden earlier in the day. And then your lips were on his. Bodies swaying softly to the music and against each other, as the crickets who had painfully watched you pine for weeks rejoiced outside. You can’t quite remember the small details, and whether or not you were drunk on the wine or him. All you can remember is that his lips were on yours and you were in his arms. Finally.

Morning cups of tea would be now be shared from the same mug, a shirtless Matty passing it to you as you sat on the kitchen counter in just your underwear and his shirt. Evenings would be romanticised, dinner’s lit by candles and dessert served tangled in your sheets. Sunny days would be spent sharing the same sunlounger, your bodies intertwining and you kissing his skin in place of the sun and your fingers brushing through his curls instead of the breeze. Rainy days had you wrapped up as one in a blanket, licking hot cocoa away from each other's lips. You forgot about your notebooks. You didn’t feel the need to write anymore, you could smear your heart all over him instead.

But his visits were never consistent. He’d come knocking on your back door and leave again before you could even let the thought of him sink into your skin. He called you. His syrupy voice crackling down the phone line and oozing into your brain, making you forget the difference between the whispers he’d once breathed into your ears in your bed and the ones you can now only vaguely decipher through the speaker of your phone.

Sometimes you wouldn’t hear from him for weeks until you would wake up to a postcard from a random country delivered to your mailbox. In the beginning, in scribbled handwriting, they were all simply signed to your name. One day, on a postcard sent from Hawaii, it was branded with, “my Darling.” You wanted to march straight down to the nearest courthouse and shout, begging on your hands and knees until they agreed to change it to your legal name. Darling, darling, darling. My Darling. It rolled off his pen and his tongue so sweetly and landed straight onto your heart. Burning into the flesh, singeing and leaving a smouldering hole like the end of his cigarette pressed to paper.

Until slowly but surely, he stopped calling. He stopped sending postcards. He stopped knocking on your back door. It’s okay, you expected this. You were waiting for a bucket overflowing with your liquidised heart to be sent through the mail and left on your back doorstep. Over the next few months, you nursed the burn on your heart with copious amounts of tea and lounging in the early summer sun, feeling the blisters slowly fade away as you filled notebook after notebook and wrapped them carefully away in bandages.

It was a simple Tuesday. You had watched the seasons pass by, yearning for him like the plants begged for warmth in the winter. But your longing for him soon faded as the sun rose again and painted your home in sunlight. But today it was raining. At first, the knocking on your door was soft and hesitant, like the person behind it was unsure of what they were doing. It grew louder as you approached and the door creaked as it opened. Matty was standing there with that same crinkled smile, in his hands a tattered notebook. Your notebook, from that very first day.

“Hello, look what I found,” He smiled shyly, pushing the notebook into your hands, your skin sparking alight as the calluses on his fingers grazed against yours. Water dripping from the damp curls perched on his head and trickling down his beautiful face. Eyes brimming with tears.

You grab him. Tossing the notebook behind you carelessly. After all this time you’re in his arms again. You want to suffocate in him and drown in him and let him die with you. He kisses your nose, your cheeks, your lips.

“I missed you, I missed you, I missed you,” he repeats, voice muffling against the warm skin of your face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my Darling,” he breathes into you.

“I know,” you mumble into his mouth. You hold him. Or is he holding you?

“I had it that whole time, the notebook.” He whispers against your neck, you think you feel a tear drop onto your collarbone. He doesn’t understand that he’s held your heart in the open palm of his hands more times than you could ever count.

“I know,” you whisper again.

He’s properly crying now. Shaking in your embrace. You are too. He tells you everything. He wrote songs for you, but never let you hear them. Only when he was sure you were fast asleep would he bring his guitar out and strum softly, pouring his heart out to you while you floated in your dreams. Dreams he desperately hoped he was in.

He sent the first postcard when he read the first page of your notebook. “Dear my darling lonely heart, you are so full and I have nowhere to empty you.” You had written.

He stopped calling and sending postcards when he read the last page. “When I meet him one day, I will empty you out into his arms and see if he keeps you or if he will let you seep away.”

While he was gone Matty wrote an EP for you. For My Darling’s Lonely Heart, he calls it. Four songs, each named after the seasons he spent with you. He tells you he’ll never release it to anyone else. It’s only for you and him.

The afternoon sun shines through the windows and dances around your bodies. The rain has cleared.

Maybe this time, you’ll stand at the back door and watch him as he walks away, curls bouncing on his head. Maybe this time, before he leaves you’ll check to see if his hands are scrubbed clean of your heart. Maybe this time you won’t wonder where he goes when he leaves.

Maybe this time he’ll stop and turn around to kiss you sweetly and wave as he walks and you lean on your doorway watching him. Maybe this time he’ll leave you some of his heart instead. Maybe this time when he comes crawling back, he’ll finally ask to stay.

#matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy smut #matty healy x y/n #the 1975 fic #george daniel #ross macdonald #adam hann

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kkaleidos · 11 months

Text

as fate, not coincidence

assigning them a selection of romance quotes that make me want to rip my hair out

featuring. ayato, childe, cyno, xiao ( separate )

notes. sfw, reader’s gender is not really specified ? written in lowercase, not proofread ( my apologies )

— admin sunny 🪼

KAMISATO AYATO.

“it could never be a mistake to love you. loving you is a privilege. an honor i don't take lightly, and i want to keep on loving you every single day, for the rest of my days.” — so that happened; katie bailey

a quiet promise under the moonlight. he gently holds onto the tips of your fingers, forehead brushing against your own as the light bathes you in sterling silver. there is something different about him when you are away from the eyes of the public, his shoulders are lax, his eyes soften. it’s a look that is reserved only for you, fluttering under the hours of midnight as you press gentle kisses against the corners of his lip.

sometimes, he feels like a comet pulled into your orbit. the warmth of your touch melts away the formal coating of his exterior, and he would let you pull the heart right out of his chest if only you wanted to. but you don’t, instead you kiss him like he is made of fine porcelain. and in turn, he holds you with all the care in the world, as if you hold the entire universe in the palms of your hands.

if only he had the power, he would bring you the stars and trace the lines of every constellation that reminded him of you into the hold of your gravity.

and when the sky finally clears and the world finally fades to a low hum, ayato is there to finally let the gears in his head stop turning. and only with you does he finally let his heart pulse instead.

CHILDE.

“i can’t say that i understand love, or that i’m very good at it, because i’ve never loved anyone before. but i love everything about you. everything. i don’t intend to stop loving you, and i hope that somewhere deep inside, you still love me, too.” — finale; stephanie garber

it’s as if the earth has fractured beneath his feet. childe is not clueless, and maybe, he understood the risks from the very beginning. he’s surrounded by waves, stranded on an iceberg lost at sea as they crash and roar like the storms of inazuma.

and so, he draws back, removing himself from your life. or so he tries — retracting his hands when he feels himself reaching out to you, turning his eyes away when you meet his gaze, pulling back when he’s aware of just how close he is to you.

it doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t. because he could never truly stay away from you. sometimes, he thinks the world is playing a cruel trick on him. you, who continued to stay by his side even through his questionable work, even through the past deceit and wall of lies. how could someone like you, someone who was nothing but good, someone who was beloved by everyone. what could someone like you possibly see in him?

you berate him as soon as that question escapes his lips. he says it like it’s a joke, but you know —you always do. he’s the one you chose, the only one you want. and when you finally pull him in for one last embrace, when the waves finally wash over him, ajax finds himself finally able to breathe.

CYNO.

“i’ve loved you all my life. you’re the love i chose. out of everyone in the world, out of everyone i’ve ever known, i chose you. at the edge of everything, love and faith have always brought me back, and back to you.” — queen of air and darkness; cassandra clare

an undying loyalty during the last breath of summer. the foliage of sumeru city never loses its color, vibrant and green throughout the four seasons.

cyno is a busy man, he is always in and out of the rainforest — traversing across the desert sand and discarded temples. but he always returns, like the promise of winter, like a blossoming camellia under the warmth of spring.

the people of sumeru never dream. a fact that has been true for years and on. but sometimes, when he is away from home, when he closes his eyes for just a second — he sees you standing there with a warm eyes and a smile that glows in the sunset.

you’re waiting for him, you always are. and cyno doesn’t waste a single second, running straight towards you and pulling you into a tight embrace. your laughter echoes through his ears, the most vibrant smile flashes your way. and when he wakes in the middle of the night, you’re still there beside him — as if he’d never left at all.

the people of sumeru never dream. he knows that from the very bottom of his heart. but what is a dream, if not with you?

XIAO.

“i am extremely picky about people. most of them, i don’t particularly like. i have very high standards for the ones i let into my life these days. and you, are my favorite of all of them. i love you best of all.” — meet me at the lake; carly fortune

he is a fawn learning to stand on its own for the very first time. clumsy, unstable, distrusting of everything and the world around him.

xiao is not afraid of anything, but he is afraid of you. or perhaps he’s afraid of the feelings you give him. a heavy heart locked behind centuries of bloodshed, he has promised himself he would never allow himself that level of vulnerability ever again.

you bring him a type of uncertainty that he doesn't quite know how to balance, and that makes him afraid. how is he supposed to keep his guard up when it's so easy for you to break past them? when all it takes is for you to press soft kisses against his callous knuckles before he becomes weak in your hold?

“does that bother you?” the question rings in the back of his mind. and he falls silent. did it bother him? that you could read him like a book? that you could tell exactly what he was thinking at any given moment? that he couldn’t seem to hide anything from you?

“no,” he finally says, spoken from the depths of his chest, “it doesn’t bother me at all.”

#: sunny 🪼#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #childe x reader #cyno x reader #xiao x reader

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nanamimizz · 1 year

Text

𝚬𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝚶𝐔𝐍𝐆.

tags: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, fingering, squirting, corruption, virginity, infidelity, overstimulation, mention of m! receiving oral but does NOT happen...ayato calls himself your father and calls you his daughter because he’s a freak!! mot actually related. age gap mentioned, arranged marriage.

synopsis: i’m starving, darling. let me put my lips to something. let me wrap my teeth around the world - when your mother marries a man one year your senior you begin something that will last an eternity.

When you return, you find out your mother was to marry the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato and that your families were to be joined - you only took the news with a stiff smile and a nod to your head. With the passing of your father, the relationship between you and your mother dissipated into something sour and mist-like. She wasn’t always like this, maybe your father was the only thing in the world that could make her happy but when he left this world it seems so did the person she was once, all that was left is the vapid and vain shell of a woman you’ve never met before.

This world gives and this world takes, it took your father away and gave you the beginnings of the next phase of your life.

One where you have to call a man one year your senior father, who married a woman only enough to be his mother. The wedding ceremony was fast and happened in a blur, something so unlike the rest of the world created by Inazuman customs and it’s only when you move into the Kamisato estate is when you finally have a moment with your stepfather and mother. It appears Lord Kamisato has set his foot down to have quality time as a family. His little sister, Lady Ayaka is a beacon of shining purity just like what the rumors say and her company is pleasant to put it lightly. Thoma is kind, and understanding of what this feels like, familiar with the experience of acclimating to this specific household.

Dinner is a meal most familiar to you, warm towels for your hands - tea with pickled vegetables is served first before the heavier courses of rice and meats, for now, your miso soup grows cold as you just stare at the murky contents that reflect your mind. Only your mother is eating her meal as if this was the conclusion of a normal day, and you find that Ayato also leaves his food untouched. Tentatively, your eyes rise from the cutlery on the table to meet his - and you find it hard to look away. The young Lord Kamistato has always been heard to be handsome, it is the whisper that leaves every heiress and matchmaker’s lips but you find that such remarks fade to nothing when in the presence of such beauty in the flesh. His eyes are the same soft violet of the lightning Her Excellency controls and the mole on his lip is like an inverted moon, the mark calling your eyes among the white skin of his glass skin.

Your eyes widen, flinching on your cushion when his eyes flickered to your mother's look to what’s before him and then they look up at yours.

You are seen.

How terrifying is that?

A small smile graces his face, blooming like a sakura petal and it feels like you’ve seen spring for the first time in your life. He says your name, it sounds poetic when he speaks the characters that make up the sacred name you were given at your birth. He makes conversation with you, and you find yourself smiling while actually eating - he asks about your studies, what cultural affairs you’ve mastered, and which season you like best. You fail to see how your mother watches this exchange, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare at how you quietly laugh at his quips and wit. Dinner comes and goes, all the way the coldness your mother regards you does not thaw or melt - it’s as if her heart has frozen since the day her husband was buried and nothing could change the everlasting winter that lived within her body.

It is like this when the dinner ends and she leaves first, leaving her plates there for Thoma to clean up and she stalks to her shared room with the Lord of the House and Ayato frowns, for once looking like his age and no longer like the master everyone expects him to be since the loss of his own parents. The atmosphere that was once pleasant, and almost happy faded the moment your mother stepped away from the dining room, and now the air is tense with all things unsaid.

“I’m sorry about her, my mother…she - she has not been the same since my father’s death. Please don’t hold this against her.” You say, voice quiet and polite in the way you’ve been taught to speak since you could walk. Ayato turns to look at you, and you shiver in your seat again as you are trapped by those lovely eyes once again. Is this what a butterfly on a corkboard feels like? You find his gaze terrifying as it is lovely.

“It’s quite alright, I hope you don’t mind me speaking plainly but this was an advantageous match for me. I have no intentions of loving your mother, like the way your father did. I do not think there will ever be another man for your mother that could fill the hole of a husband as he could.” He explains, wiping his mouth with a napkin in the smooth and pristine way men of his class only could and you find yourself nodding.

“You would be correct in that assumption. She was changed much by the loss of my father and I understand this was arranged, all that I can ask is that you take care of her to the best of your abilities. I pray that is not too much to ask.” You say, inclining your head to show your respect to him, both as the husband to your mother and as the master of your new home. You can’t see how this makes him ball his fists under the table, knuckles growing white at your soft and delicate speech. Your mother was known for her ways, grief made her lose all her wits, and many men find her not to be a respectable match despite the wealth she carries both from her own blood and that of her previous husband. It is because of how she carries herself it has made many men, many fine suitors turn their eyes away from you despite how well of a match you would make for another man. Mayhaps that is why he took this match, you now being…his daughter in the legal sense could make you find a good match, and take you away from your mother and her wretchedness.

He blames his sympathy for women on his little sister, finds much of her traits that people love in you, and wants to sponsor your own growth so you may grow into a finer woman than you already are.

“Of course, and please do understand that I will take care of you in any capacity. I understand that me being your father may be uncomfortable for you but I do believe that every young woman should have a male figure that she could rely on entirely. I will do my best to fill such a role for you in the most respectful capacity. I do not wish to replace your father, I just want you to know I am here for you in any way you would like me to be.” He explains, rising from his position as head of the table and reaching out a hand to help you rise from your own seat.

He lets you fit your arm into the crook of his elbow and begins to lead you away from the dining room and to the bed chambers part of the manor and he nods when he sees Thoma once again taking the cutlery away. Ayato finds it difficult to walk faster, your company is so sweet it reminds him of the red bean mochi his mother made for him on his 12th birthday before she grew too frail to see him for his 13th. Your perfume fills his senses on the last turn to your new room, it sweetly makes its way past his cheek when you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and he finds his eyes tracing the line of your neck as you turn to bid him goodnight with a smile.

You step into your room, and the shoji board slides shut marking the end to a moment he truly wished was a moment more eternal. He makes to turn and makes his way to his own bed chambers he shares with your mother, and the towering castle of Tenshukaku is all he sees. In a moment of pure weakness as he will call this moment when morning comes and he prays - prays to his god that is most closest onto heaven and prays that you could be his rather than the woman in his bed.

The night does not go well for you, despite being dressed in your favorite sleeping yukata - the fabric of soft and loose against your body and does nothing to aid you in sleeping tonight. You think of your mother, of your father, and of Ayato. You fall into a trance of almost sleep and almost awake, every time you nod off you would wake to the image of your mother shouting at you and how Ayato smiled at you. Sitting up from your futon you sigh, bringing your hands to your face and shaking your head as the all too familiar stinging in your eyes makes embarrassment fill you from the inside out.

The only thing that soothes you in times like these was a stroll through the gardens of your home, counting the petals of the tsubaki when they are in bloom but this isn’t your home and you don’t know if there will be tsubaki petals to count when you arrive to the beautiful gardens you saw when you had first arrived. The moon is full, high in the sky, and through the shoji boards that make up your window you can see the branches of the tree in the gardens move in the gentle wind almost as if it waves you, beseeching you to see the garden in all its glory and who are you to deny what is asked of you? The manor looks different in the dark than in the light of day, no candles are here to guide you but the moon and you find yourself on the porch looking out at the blue flowers that glow in the night with a soft small.

The natural beauty of the world always soothes you in a way nothing else can and it can be seen in the smile you wear as bright and as high as the moon in the sky that watches over you. You are so entranced you don’t hear the footsteps on the tatami mats behind you nor the steps on the wood paneling until you hear the voice that has haunted you tonight since dinner started.

“You shouldn’t be here so late at night,” Ayato says, voice low and firm, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over. Your hair is down, no longer done in the style you had it in the day and you have forgone the beautifully designed kimono instead you wear a plain white yukata made for sleeping. He finds how cruelly unfair it is that you are ethereal in this state of undress - there is a lump in his throat, your eyes shine in the light of the moon and he finds that he wants you more than he has wanted anything else before. You look back at him over your shoulder, your smile falling at how the man that has haunted you stands before you in all his otherworldly beauty and your throat aches with all that is inside you begging to be freed.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I always come out to the garden when that happens.” You apologize, hands folded in your lap as you direct your eyes to fall where it is your hands are situated. Ayato’s eyes trace your figure that is bathed most intimately by the light of the moon with the same heat of the lightning that forks through the Inazuman sky and sighs deep from within. This is a joke, a cruel twist of fate that must be punishment for either his actions or that of his ancestors - that he wants you as the ocean waves want for the shores but can’t have you but must keep you close by the title of family.

“You must not do this again, the Kamisato family has many rivals. Doing this without a guard would prove to be lethal for you.” He lectures, sounding every bit of the elder brother he is, and though he speaks of dangerous, dark things you can’t help but feel at ease with him so near. Ayato is a pillar - in the realm of a beautiful dream that is this nation, a pillar in his house’s affairs, and now he is a pillar to your family. It should trouble you how easily you trust this man that was a stranger a week ago but now you find yourself wanting for him the way fire begs for wood to burn.

“You are right, forgive my lack of foresight my lord. It won’t happen again.” You apologize, head bowing in your admittance and Ayato is not a man strong enough to not watch how your neck moves, sakura petal eyes tracing down your decolletage that is revealed by the open folds of your yukata. He takes his eyes away from the action heavily as if he has stones in his heart at the idea of not having you before him. Nudging with his head he tells you to go back inside, you only catch the mole on his lip in the light of the moon as you rise from your seat on the porch. You make your way across, until you are beside him and you freeze when you catch the scent of sakura and cypress - soft and floral but still cuts through the soft scents of the garden in which you stand.

You once heard of a story in the far regions of the Mondstat, of a snake that tempts a woman to sin the garden of the Anemo Archon and you wonder if that was not just a story but a warning. Lord Kamisato - Ayato, he requested that you call him that is so, is before you and he is as beautiful as a pearl, shining in the palm of your hand; bringing you to him like a moth to a flame.

Mayhaps the snake in the story is you - the weaker parts of you, that relish in your desire and spit on your chastity. Here, in the garden face to face with a piece of you that you aren’t familiar with and a man that brings her into the real world, you find yourself unable to leave as you drown in between the sakura petals and the cypress leaves. Ayato spoke of the danger from rival clans but really doesn’t he know he is more dangerous than any poison or assassin? With a single look, a single word, and a single passing of his perfume he leaves you in shambles, and everything about your life is swallowed by the flames and you can think about wanting him.

From his princely build to the way his hair falls and his eyes shine, he is what you most want at this moment - maybe all you will ever want for the rest of eternity. At festivals Lady Ayaka most often speaks the words most familiar to all Inazumans - We pray to our god, may all our dreams endure forever. In the past, you’d find such sentiments noble but now you can’t help but find them cruel, this must not endure - the heartbreak on your mother, the shame you both would be at the hands of should sapling bud and bloom into a flower you could never take back.

No, this must not go on from the moment you leave the garden. So why is it that you can not make the last step? You can’t leave this place, standing at his side and gazing up at him with all the wonder of first love.

“You need to go back,” Ayato says, his voice heavy when he says your name, “please go back to your chambers.” He urges, eyes locked on the shape of your lips and he curses himself for thinking about tracing the cupid bows of your lips with his tongue.

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers, shy and scared of what you are about to admit - speaking of the things that only exist in your heart makes them real and you can’t help thinking of all the repercussions this would bring if you say what is in your heart.

“Why can’t you?” Ayato asks, hand clenched in a fist and he knows the answer despite it wishing it would be anything else but the truth he knows. The Lord Kamisato is not good at dealing with the truth, all his matters are worked with the materials that lie in the shadows - deceit, manipulation, and veiled threats. All that is around you is but an illusion, only trust what is before you to be true and he desperately wishes you could be anywhere else but before him, as it is what makes the sentiment in your heart to be true.

“The same reason you came here, for me.” You say and it is like the lightning and thunder of his god have struck him down from his place in heaven to the earth. Ayato swallows, heavy and thick and he turns his gaze to look you in the eye. Oh, how lovely you are in the moonlight and Ayato does not curse himself when he thinks about how lovely you would look bathed in the candlelight laying under him in the bedding of his futon.

“Can you fault me? How do I look away now that I have seen you?” He speaks so softly you have a hard time remembering that he runs the darker underbelly of the Yashiro Commission's affairs along with the other commanders - they are the sword that Her Excellency wields in her nation and to keep the peace you can only shudder to think about what dark deals transpire in the shadows of your country.

“I feel the same, something changed tonight. I know it is for you too.” You say and it’s the best you can manage - words such as I love you, I want you, You should be mine instead of my mothers are too dangerous as if they are coated in a poison that would stop your heart should they escape your lips.

“Yes. There has been a change.” Ayato chokes out, his own admission heavy but finds whatever noble words he wanted to say do not come out. Instead, they die, turning to dust on his tongue leaving him parched for a thirst that can only be satisfied by you - your essence in him, surrounding him in a way that only the most intimate of lovers know of. All nobility leaves his lean body with each step he takes toward you, sheds off like snakeskin as he lets his hands cup your face and he finds that sin tastes of you. You gasp at the gentle touch of his kiss, the first one in life by a man and you find yourself accepting it, and the vain, vapid part of you that you have tried so hard to rein in explodes within yourself as you let your hands tremble and clutch at his own robe.

Something small and soft, an ember grows into a wildfire as his tongue swipes at your lips for entrance and your gasping mouth concedes naively as you moan into his own mouth when takes your tongue to suck on. Ayato is a teasing kisser - sucking and nipping and tracing the curves of your teeth to leave you gasping hotly at the foreign experiences that make you break out into goosebumps under the night sky in the garden.

When he breaks away because the gods have cursed him by needing to breathe and not being able to sustain himself off of you completely, he follows each movement away with a peek at your flushed mouth. Pressing his forehead to yours he looks into your eyes, hazed and dimmed with the rush he gave you; he twitches at the thought of that being your first kiss and that tonight, if you let him he will be your first everything. You are sweeter in your affections, pressing fleeting kisses to his lips and brushing your nose to his chin as he pants back his breath, his hands still cupping your cheeks. His thumb rubs at the soft skin and he laughs under his breath quietly at the observation he makes at the moment.

“Your skin - it’s soft, like mochi.” Ayato comments, voice soft and deep, coated in desire as he presses kiss after kiss on your soft cheeks that you giggle at their plushness. You quickly shush yourself and take a quick look around.

“The guards won’t be here if that’s what you are concerning yourself with.” He says, turning his face to whisper into your ear - pressing a gentle peck against the gentle shell and humming amusedly when you gasped at the ticklish sensation. His hands have long since abandoned their hold on your face and you only squirm in their descendent as one settles at the swell of your breast. You gasp, your own soft hands coming to clutch at his wrist when Ayato lets out a pleased hum at the weight of your breast in the palm of his hand, thumb swiping at where the visible pebble of your nipple in the thin fabric.

“Have you ever been with anyone else before me tonight?” Ayato asks his voice smooth as a river and it might be from how he’s touching you, groping you with expert hands that leave you muddled and but you can only give him a soft little “what?” to his question. Ayato’s other hand soon settles itself on the curve of your hip that can’t be seen from the form of your yukata so when it is found - it leaves you trembling when his fingers trail over the curvature, even going as far to make them dig into the plush of your backside.

“I’m asking - sweet little thing if a man other than me has ever been where I am? Has a man kissed you as I have, touched you here,” he is interrupted by the harsh squeeze on your breast that makes you whine,” or there.” Ayato finishes off with a hard squeeze and light tap against your flank that makes you gasp and wilt in his hold.

“No- no one has ever- been where you are before.” You hastily say, voice high and thin as you stutter when his hands grow more and more demanding. Whining when Ayato looks into your eyes and nods when his hand goes under the folds of your yukata, your pure skin shining in the moonlight. You are soft like tsubaki petals and sweet like mochi, Ayato thinks - virginal is the word to describe you from the heat in your cheeks and the doe eyes you give him. He can see your chest in full, enticing and calling for his attention which is received in quick tugs of your tight nipples that make you gasp. Squirming against his touch, you are open to the hot open mouth kisses he places against your neck.

“No marks - please,” You gasp out, your voice withering at his ministrations and you are given a soft nod from him. His hand that was busy pawing your ass has made its way to your front, where the tie of your yukata waited to be undone by his expert hands.

“We can’t have anyone know you were with your new stepfather like this can we?” He teases, hand undoing the knot, finding its way through the silken fabric and pressing against the undergarments you wear. Stuttering at how his fingers press unto the now damp gusset of your panties, you whine into his ear.

“Don’t - don’t call yourself that right now. It’s-,” you are interrupted by the soft moan you let out when his fingers roll against the flushed pearl of your clit in your panties that only grow to be soaked at his slow ministrations. Ayato is experienced and cruel in how he plucks at your strings as if he was the finest koto player in all of the world and you, his instrument.

“It’s what my dear? It appears you’ve lost your thought.” He teases, voice dark like sin and you shudder when it is poured by a kiss at your neck and his fingers making their way past the barrier of your soaked underwear to touch your bare cunt for the first time. They swipe at your folds, collecting the clear nectar you leak so sweetly for him as he waits for you to speak again.

“It’s perverse.” You speak but it comes out like a whine, voice pitched by the haze of lust and you are helpless to how he keeps his fingers at your folds, mapping out the petals of your own flower that blooms so prettily for him. When one goes inside for the first time you squeak at the intrusion, your own hands coming to clutch at his arm as his finger is curled and pumped inside of you.

“Ah, yes it is but you see dearest,” Ayato tilts his head at you with something darker than mischief dancing in his violet eyes, “that is all more reason to call myself such a title - I fear I have quite the penchant for all things perverse.” Anything you want to say next dies on your lips as the second finger makes its way inside of you, joining the first one in how it curls against the spongy spot on your walls that he found with his expert touch. You gasp and shake as you slick his fingers more and more, to the point you wonder if what it is you two are doing can be heard from on the other side of the manor.

You hate yourself for how you feel your cunt clench around him, slick now dripping onto the wood floor beneath you like drops of rain. His thumb aligns itself with your clit and it’s as if one had bottled the lightning that most commonly dances in the sky into your body and only now do you notice how it sings in your veins. Such is the manner of pleasure, one could assume.

Ayato has brought your face to his, violet eyes that will forever haunt gaze at the “o” of your mouth and the scrunch of your brow and he knows what is about to happen to you. The sea of pleasure crashes at your ankles and he will be the one to take you to its depths.

“Go ahead, pretty thing, fall apart for me - for your father.” You feel the saltwater of pleasure crashing onto you, it sinks into your bones - deep into the marrow that slips into each drop of blood that pumps into your heart. One of his hands, you don’t know which one comes to your mouth and steals every moan and cry you let out. It is too much pleasure, too much shock and you don’t have it in yourself to be quiet when everything feels too good for you right now. Ayato does not still his fingers, keeps them focused on the bundle of your nerves intent on making you spill across his fingers in ways that you’ve never done - not for anyone, including yourself.

When you whine against his hand, his palm as warm as the sun he only chuckles softly - the sound sends something hot into your blood and in your sore stomach as the band that had snapped rewinds again and it feels so good it aches.

“Pretty thing, I want something from you and I will have it - give your father what he wants. Be good for me.” It is as if the thunder god had struck you herself as light flashes across your eyes when the shut - squeezed tight as tears from your eyes and tears from your cunt slide out. Ayato - your stepfather’s hand is coated in your slick that shines like the petals in Chinju Forest in the light of the moon. You feel weak as if Ayato was a vampire, a demon that had sucked the life out of you and left you as nothing but a shell. The night does not end - when the Lord of the house himself sees you as you are before him, unclothed and washed in sin how could he ever look elsewhere? How else is he supposed to send you on your way with a satisfied cunt while his cock pulses in his own robes?

It is a mercy that he won’t have to, it seems.

Not when he sees you languidly tying your robe loosely, enough so it closes at your legs but open enough he can see your heaving breasts and tight nipples. When he wets his lips he thinks about them in his mouth and how cute you sound when you squeal from having them played with. His mind goes to a complete blank when he sees you drop to your knees, pressing your knees to the wood that was now tainted with drops of your cum - nudging your face to where the tails of the tie around his waist fall.

The hot bulge of his cock can be felt, and Ayato moans softly when you press the shape of your lips to the imprint. His hand that once quieted you, quieted him in turn and he murmured softly into the heated night air as he let another hand run through your loose hair.

“Now where did you learn this - this is what pleasure women do, did you know that?” He asks a teasing question meant to fluster you at the mention of such a salacious occupation.

“It’s also something that wives do.” You say back, voice muffled by the fabric of his robe and he half chuckles half moans at the tease of your breath against his neglected cock that seems determined to break free of the confines of the fabric.

“Oh? Is that what you want from me - is being my daughter not enough? I never would have mistaken you for a greedy woman.” You whine pitifully - face warm when he mentions what it is that binds you together.

“Stop calling me that when we are like this - it’s a cruel joke.” You say, allowing yourself to be manipulated by him until you realize that you are no longer on your knees but rising to your feet, and pushing yourself in the direction of your chambers.

“Why are you sending me away? You still haven’t-”

“I know, and I won’t, at least not tonight.” Ayato cuts you off, voice firm as he watches you stumble with shaky legs like a newborn fawn. You’ve clutched the opening of your yukata closer to yourself, it reeks of sex and sweat, and things better left unsaid. You tremble as you stand and Ayato finds himself back at your side as he puts a hand on your waist to keep you steady.

“Why?” You ask and he finds it most amusing how your voice has now grown timid, it’s sweet almost and he has always delighted in sweet things.

“Because you aren’t a whore, or my wife - I won’t fuck your cunt or your face like one. You are a lady and I will fuck you one like another time and in another place.” He announces, voice unwavering as he keeps on the right path of sending you to your chambers. It’s later than it once was and the chill will soon take you now that you are not partaking in any strenuous activities - you are open to being taken by it.

“You want to do this again?” You ask, voice as soft as an owl’s wing and Ayato can’t help but coo at you - such an innocent little thing he has in his grasp. How will he be able to focus on other matters with you in his home? He has no idea but he has always found a thrill in the sadistic game of wanting what’s right before you.

“Dearest now that I have had you, I fear there is no one else I could want. So let’s do our best to enjoy it while it lasts.” He teases and he pushes you forward, into the halls that lead to your bed and you find yourself looking back at the man that in a single night has you in his web. Ayato smiles at you, and you fear something wicked this way comes.

“Get some rest, daughter dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.” with a shiver running down the notches of your too-delicate spine, you run back to your chambers and find that sleep takes you in her arms much more openly than before.

And when you wake up and sit across the periwinkle-haired man you find that the night before was not a dream but rather the reality upon which eternity is built on.

#lamb.writes #tw:stepcest #ayato smut #ayato kamisato smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #tw: infidelity

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x OC!Reader

Summary: Weeks passed since Arthur's first encounter with the woman of his life. From that day, you meet every night and part only when the morning comes. When Linda starts to suspect it, she decides it's time to remind him who is in charge. The thing is, Arthur cannot take it anymore and just want to be with you.

Words: 4k

TW: Angst, toxic relationship, narcissistic personality disorder, mention of witch hunt and death, implicit divorce, soulmates finding each other for good but hint of dependent relationship

Notes:

✞ Even though Linda tends to be a disliked character, this story does not want to demonize her but rather offers an reading of the character based on my interpretation and research on narcissistic personality disorder.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PART ONE || NEXT PART

When Arthur came back home at dawn, he could still feel the tingling sensation your gentle and cold fingers had left on his skin. His body collapsed on the sofa, repulsed by the simple idea of sleeping in the marital bed beside his controlling wife, for he was smitten with the divine creature he had met earlier.

He wanted her.

Only her.

And he wanted her so bad that it physically hurt.

The way she had touched him — like no other women did — had lit a blazing fire within.

His whole being was burning with an unquenchable desire he was not really sure how to hold back. But more than a carnal appetite, it was his whole soul that was yearning for her. A feverish sigh escaped from his lips as his mind replayed each of their interactions again and again, like an old broken record: She had washed the blood from his face without the slightest wince nor hint of disgust. As the white cloth she used had turned entirely red, she looked at him with a soft gleam in her eyes, then laid a blessed kiss on his forehead. He remembered grabbing her wrists before she let go of his face and begging her not to leave. The look she had given him, full of divine mercy, almost brought tears back to his eyes. The Angel finally allowed him to rest his head on her lap.

His memory blurred from this moment. All he could remember was how gently her hand stroke his hair. He had dozed off, lulled by her fresh spring-like perfume and by the way her nails grazed the shaved parts of his head.

Little he knew that what was supposed to be a fortunate and ephemeral miracle soon turned into an addiction — maybe the healthiest addiction he ever had. He eagerly waited for the night to come because he knew that, at the end of the day, she would wrap her arms around his neck and make every one of his problems fade away. This was how they had started to reunite each night, hidden from the world’s sight.

Moon after moon, he would listen to her sing, her voice echoing through the church’s walls as it did the night fate had led him to her. Sometimes they would stay inside the church, talking until the sun rose and the birds chipped. Some other nights they would go for a walk, holding hands and finding comfort in each other’s presence. But ultimately, they would always end up laying in her bed, their fully-clothed bodies pressed together and their fingers intertwined, with the firm will of never parting. And it was at the exact moment when the heat pooling under their skin became unbearable that their lips would brush against each other’s, shaky breaths melting together as they fervently waited for the other to break the small but oh-so-excruciating distance that was separating them.

But he never did — for he feared hurting her.

And she never dared — Afraid she would curse him.

“You came home late. Again,” Linda stated. Noticing the calm but devastating anger in her voice, Arthur opened his eyes and focused on the wall that was facing him.

“Told ya. Had to take a walk.” When she remained silent for more than a few terribly long seconds, his gaze shifted from the invisible spot he was staring at to look at her winter iris. Invisible knives stabbed him as she gave him the cold-eyes stare she used to do whenever he didn’t do what she wanted or what she had expected him to do.

“Arthur. I already told you that working in the dark is —“

“For the Devil,” He finished off her sentence, “working in the dark is for the Devil. I know.” Arthur growled, too tired to suffer another Christian lecturing. As he swallowed, his calloused hand rubbed his throat as if it was looking for the invisible leash she had put around his neck. An invisible leash that had started to suffocate him after Tommy’s wedding.

“You know, I am trying to save you. But how come each night you leave the house and manage to sabotage each of my attempts to make God forgive you?” Her voice remained quiet, but each word she spat was coated with venom. Her personal dog was slipping through her fingers, disobeying her orders, and she could not stand it.

“Save me eh. “ Arthur repeated, his lips stretching in a crooked smile tainted with indescribable sorrow. There was a time he truly believed her — a time he thought Linda would see past the beast he was and treat him right, but she only trapped him in a loveless marriage. When she was not boring him with her endless religious sermons and metaphors, she would value herself by demeaning him.

By all means, Linda Shelby was a fierce woman who tended to give herself a superior appearance to others and felt an overwhelming need to be both admired and praised. Especially if it was at someone’s else expense.

He could have ripped her throat with his bare teeth, of course. He, Shelby’s unhinged mad dog. But Arthur wanted so desperately to be loved that he had never dared to bite.

“Yes, save you. But I’m starting to think all my efforts are useless. I helped you get off drugs. I brought you to church each Sunday despite ruining my reputation dating a Shelby and this is how you thank me? I am —“ She paused, only to step closer “ Deeply disappointed in you.” The expression on her face would have broken Arthur’s heart if she had not used the same trick countless times before. It was just a part of her strategy.

“Come on, Linda! Say it!” He snapped and jumped from the chair, facing her, “Say I’m not worthy of saving eh. Ye always say that kind of fookin’ things to me. One day I’m a poor misguided sheep, the other I am a shit not even worth stepping on. This ain’t goin’ to save me. Yer messing with me brain!” He hit the left side of his head with his palm as he said so.

Linda blinked, surprised by her husband’s audacity to bark at her.

“How… Dare you?” She whispered , feeling her self-control starting to break down. Despite the anger slowly building within, Linda was smart. Far too smart for lashing out on Arthur by yelling at him — For her, relationships were like a chess game. All she had to do was moving the right pawns to get people to do what she wanted, “Don’t you realize that I am the only one who will ever want you?”

Was it the sound of broken glass or a shattering heart? Arthur could not tell, for her murderous words had struck him with the violence of a guillotine’s blade on a prisoner’s neck. He took a few steps back, bewildered by what he had just heard.

“Yes, you heard me right. When I found you in London you were fucking with these Eden Club’s whores because no one wanted you. You either scared women, or repelled them, and don’t be dumb enough to think it has changed.”

At this point of the conversation, his head started to get so dizzy he had to hold onto the chair’s backrest, “Don’t— Say — that.” He gritted through his teeth, nails digging into the varnished wood.

Closing his eyes, Arthur thought about you in an attempt not to burst into a destructive rage, but his heart only ached more at the possibility of you being afraid of or disgusted by him. What if she was right? What if you, God’s most beautiful Angel, would grow tired of him? After all, you were a young and pure soul. And he was an old and sick bastard.

What could he give you, except a miserable life in Small Heath and the negative influence it has upon people?

Linda sneaked behind Arthur with a wild cat’s grace and put one of her delicate hands on his chest. The unwanted physical contact snatched him from his thoughts. He reopened his steel blue eyes, shining with both anger and pain. A part of him — the self-depreciating one — wanted to fall on his knees and beg her for forgiveness, knowing far too well that placing his hopes in you was a vain thing to do. No one would ever want him, she said. Let alone you, Heaven, the most beautiful and holy creature he had ever seen.

“So now,” the tone she was using had turned from venom into sugar again “You will first apologize to me and, then, promise me to stop leaving at night no matter the reason behind those nocturnal getaways. I don’t care if it’s for family business or for a young slut. You’ll stay here and be a good husband, will you?”

And that was how she always won arguments without raising her voice once. Pushing the right buttons and using a punishment/reward method with Arthur was efficient enough to keep him under her thumb. Now, she knew he was going to feel awful for yelling at her and he would seek for her tenderness, afraid she would leave him. Maybe he would cry, maybe not, but as long as he remained obedient it did not really matter. That was what usually happened. Or at least, that was how it would have happened before you and he met, for he could afford to lose Linda but not his angel. In fact, he would rather rot in hell than give up on you.

“Go choke on yer apologies, Linda. Ya don’t seem to realize that I’m already saved, and ya had nothing to do with it ”

When, with eyes wide open and trembling hands on her mouth, Linda Shelby realized she had lost for the first time in her life, the door slammed so violently it felt the whole house was shaking, within an inch of collapsing on her head.

If there was one thing you missed from your home town it certainly was the mountain forests of your childhood. There was a comforting feeling in walking through the green vastness of the woods, birds' whistles and streams’ whispers for only companions. When you first came to Birmingham, you felt like suffocating: the noise, the smell, the swarming people… You had trouble handling it for weeks. The truth was, you cried yourself to sleep almost every night, wishing to wake up in your beloved French Alps. But, deep inside, you knew that coming back to Haute Falaise would be a death sentence.

Even though the bedroom you rented from Lucy, the lovely widow who managed the place, was located near a mock forest, it was nothing compared to the mighty splendor of the mountains’ landscape. Still, you understood that crying would not resolve your problems so you did what you did the best: raising your head and taking the blows… And here you still were.

You had just finished brushing the horse’s mane when Lucy came, arms crossed on her generous bosom.

“There’s a man waiting for you at the door.”

“A man?” Your brows furrowed for you expected no one. Making friends had never been an easy task for you, even more considering they were all scared of you and your white hair.

“Tall, all limbs, cold blue eyes, and a mustache.” Lucy stared at you, waiting for your answer to know if she should welcome the visitor or if she could chase him with her broom — the landlady was not a very social woman. Even though you remained silent, the surprised and shy expression that appeared on your juvenile face gave her an answer, “ Alright… But if you plan to fuck, I’d ask you to clean the bedsheet yourself.” She added.

You would have died from shame right on the spot if Arthur’s presence did not occupied your thoughts. Heart racing in your chest, you walked to the door but the tall blonde woman, whose face remained placid as always, grabbed your arm as you went past her.

“Heaven. He’s a Peaky Blinders.”

“I know Lucy.”

“And this one is the most dangerous.”

The frozen blizzard of her eyes warmed when she stared at you, silently begging you to be careful around this kind of men, especially when they bore the name of Arthur Shelby. She, along with all of Birmingham, was aware of his violent nature and did not want him to put you in a vulnerable position.

“Well. My mother used to call me dangerous too.”

“Hm.”

She let go of your arm when her sharp senses noticed love coursing through your veins. Lucy sighed…

It was already too late.

As soon as Arthur saw you running to him, your long ivory mane dancing in the wind and your aquamarine eyes shining with excitement, the weight of his dark thoughts magically lightened. His morose mood vanished, swept by the way your hypnotizing body swung at each step. It was the first time someone looked at him the way you did, genuinely radiating with joy at his simple presence many dreaded. In many ways, he was used to glimmers of fear and hatred or, at best, pity, in the eyes of those staring at him, but not that deep and sincere affection you always blessed him with. His lips stretched in an enamored smirk, his mustache slightly lifting as he did.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay?” You asked.

Words choked in his throat, for the way the pale sunlight reflected on your delicate porcelain skin clouded his mind with confusing and intense urges. His strong, calloused hands grasped your hips with hast, almost bruising you in the process. Yet, you wrapped his neck with your arms far from being repelled by the firmness of his possessive grip. Quite the contrary, his overwhelming need of owning you made you feel safe.

“Arthur?” You called him again softly, but he remained silent, mesmerized by your beauty he never had the chance to observe by day. A light, hoarse chuckle escaped from his mouth.

“I can’t help but wonder where your wings are each time I see you, love.” His smile widened when he noticed the adorable pink shade that had just appeared on your cheeks.

“Don’t try to change the conversation, what are you doing here?” Fire burnt within as his hands tightened their grip even more, and his thumb started to caress your hip in circular movements.

“Couldn’t wait for tonight. And to be true, I can’t fookin’ wait at all. My body and heart yearn for ya. It’s like a slow acting poison running through my veins, infecting me brain. And it feels good only when I’m with you.”

Boom. Boom. Your heartbeat echoed in your whole rib cage, its pace so brutal that you were pretty sure it was about to burst your chest open. Moisturing your lips with the shy tip of your tongue, you did your best to muzzle your emotions.

“I missed you too. You know… I feel like I come back to life when the moon rises.” Mission failed, your heart spoke far too quick than your rational mind, even though your voice was merely a whisper — In spite of all your love, the man was not yours and he will never be.

At your words, Arthur let out a long relieved exhale and leaned over you, burying his nose in your neck. A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation of his mustache tickling your sensitive skin. Usually, he would rub it in your neck to make you laugh but today he was not in the mood to torture you. All he wanted was to keep you in his arm and never let you go. His ardent breath, fanning over you, made you realize how close his mouth was, and this sole thought almost drove you crazy. You ran your small hand through his hair and brought him closer— but it was never enough. No matter how close you were, there was always too much space, too much clothes, too much of everything between you and him.

Arthur closed his eyes and drown in your perfume, whose floral and green fragrances reminded him the smell of Lily-of-the-valley. And even if he had never dare to use his lips on you yet, he started kissing your collar bone for he could not resist anymore.

“Fuck—“ You breathed and bit your lower lip, trapping it between your teeth while you tried not to give in to the fuzzy sensation that was numbing your whole being.

His mouth kept conquering your skin, tingling kisses trailing up your neck first, then your jaw, and your cheek. With one skilled movement, his hips crashed against yours and hugged your forms with a tailored perfection — He was convinced God created you for him and nothing could change his mind. One of his powerful hands left your hips only to catch your chin and raised your face for you to look at him. You felt overwhelmed and intoxicated, surges of electricity running through your body as the Celeste blue of your eyes dug into the steel blue of his.

“Arthur— No. You’re married.” The words that had just escaped your mouth left a bitter taste on your tongue. Your face turned to the side, denying him access to your lips.

“Is that the problem, love?” Arthur was still staring at your lips, forehead pressed against your head. Strands of hair were falling in front of his face, now darkened with a shade of anger. He was not mad at you, far from it, but your anxiety about his marriage reminded him of the foul things Linda had said to him a few hours ago. He swallowed, gathering all his strength to keep his calm even though you had already met that monstrous part of him the night you had cleaned the blood off his face. Somehow, Arthur knew you accepted him as he was — contrary to Linda who wanted to change him — but his protective nature told him to spare you from his tantrums.

“It is indeed one of the two problems that keep me from kissing you, Shelby. You know the nature of my feelings for you, dear, but if I resisted the temptation of your lips for months it’s not to give in now. I don’t want to be the other woman.”

Arthur backed off, jaw clenched. Then, he raised his left hand to display the golden ring he had never taken off since his wedding day. “So it’s that damn thing that bothers ya,” He paused, only to look at you and your otherworldly beauty. Sometimes he had still trouble realizing you were real, “lemme tell you something… It ain’t a wedding ring. It’s a fookin’ noose and I don’t want it anymore.” At these words, he took it off and threw it as far as he could with one powerful movement. The ring, whose golden surface reflected the pale sun rays, flew away and ended in the small stream nearby. As soon as it touched the water, the stream's flow carried it away.

You looked at him, speechless and bewildered by what he just did.

“Fook Linda, and fook my vows. I don’t want ya to be the other woman, I want ya to be me woman.” The gravel in his voice sent a shiver through your spine. He looked at you, arms open, silently asking what else he had to do for you to belong to him.

Admittedly, Linda had been one impediment to your relationship with Arthur, but it was out of respect rather than anything else. What really terrified you though, was the consequences of your love upon the man.

“You don’t understand Arthur,” This time tears flooded your vision, for if Linda was a resolvable problem, the other obstacle was engraved in your flesh, “They say I’m cursed.”

His long arms fell down along his body, not quite comprehending what you meant by "cursed". The tall gangster remained petrified for what seemed to be an eternity, his mind proceeding with this information. You had always been mute about your past — all he knew was that you came from France and people thought you were some kind of witch. But as superstitious as he was, he would not let stupid rumors ruin you. You were everything he needed, everything he prayed for, cursed or not. And at this point, he was just saddened by the distorted image you had of yourself. How he would have loved to lend you his eyes so that you see yourself through his lights. This is why he broke the distance you had set between you and him and pressed his warm and rough hand gently against your cheek.

“You ain’t cursed. Who told you that?”

“Father Hughes.”

“He’s a cunt. And even if he’s right, you can be their curse, but it doesn’t mean yer not me blessing eh.”

“But — “ The sun reflected on your crystal tears, making them shine as if melted diamond streams were overflowing from your heavenly eyes. What people had always said about you was still somewhere behind your brain, hanging onto it with their claws dug deeply into your synapses. They kept you awake at night, along with the villagers’ chants, the menacing pyre, and the stones cast at you.

“You’ll die if you stay by my side.” You muttered between heartbreaking sobs, whose ache would make stones weep.

“You don’t seem to understand, love. I’ll die if I don’t.” He spoke all the while lovingly pressing his forehead against yours, pulling you into a tender embrace — It was at that very moment you discovered that his tenderness had the power of chasing your sorrows away.

Silence fell down on the two lovebirds, whose silhouettes embellished Lucy’s garden. Arthur’s lips brushed against yours, still unsure if you wanted it or not. Yet, the way your mouth slightly parted left no doubt of your consent. He leaned over you to break the distance but, as he did, you gently backed up but only to tease him this time. He growled, his hoarse voice making your soul vibrate.

“Kiss me, eh.” He complained, with a low tone.

Your lips still grazed his, gently, ghostly, like an angel’s feather. Arthur inhaled your breath and the feverish sigh that followed made you flicker like a candle flame. That was only when the wait became unbearable, almost physically painful, that your mouths collapsed, like rogue waves crashing against the shore’s stones. As you were finally giving in to your desire, a firework of sensations exploded within and eluded everything that surrounded you.

He smelt like whiskey and musky aftershave, but he tasted like honey and sadness.

Among all the drugs he had taken, all the alcohol he had consumed, and the women he had known, the sensation of your tongue lightly touching his with an adorable shyness was so ecstatic that it rendered his past vices bland and empty. The world melted under your feet. Arthur embraced you tighter, feeling the need to be pressed against every inch of your body he could rob from you and jail them in this timeless moment. Your lips slightly shifted to the side so you could catch your breath, but he kept kissing the edge of your mouth, hungry for more and more. He did not want to let you go for the life of his. No matter if he had to suffocate in the process.

“I love you, Heaven.” He mumbled between kisses.

It was all it took — along with the pleasant caress of his mustache on your face — to convince you to give up on breathing too and devour his lips a second time, fiercely. As you pulled him in a second kiss, Arthur’s hand left your cheek only for him to run his long fingers through your magnificent hair, whose ivory color suited you so well. To be true, he really fancied that unusual physical trait of yours; given how he always played with some of your long white strands. Your tongues danced one last time together and as they did, his demons found a cure in yours.

Arthur pulled away reluctantly, knowing he had to let you go. He had a meeting at the Garrison with his brothers to talk about the Russians. You laid a soft kiss on his chin, waiting for him to break your embrace.

But he never did — for he feared losing you.

And you never dared — Afraid he would shatter without your touch.

Any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom. I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven.

Ask if you wanna be tagged in future Peaky Blinders Works.

Peaky Blinders Requests are open.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

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thief-of-eggs · 5 months

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Sokka kisses him first. It’s quick and rash and over before Zuko even knows it’s happened. It leaves his mind scrambling to catch up as Sokka walks away with a smirk, Zuko’s fingers gently coming up to touch at his lips, wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. The water tribe boy leaves him alone beside the fire, and Zuko can’t decide if the heat on his cheeks is from the flames before him, or perhaps something else within him.

The second time is Zuko’s doing. It’s after the end of the war, when Zuko catches his first glimpse of Sokka and- he’s all right. Zuko doesn’t think, just stalks right up to him, grabs him and pulls him close, his hands on Sokka’s waist as he kisses him hard and rough. Sokka startles for a moment and then he’s kissing him back, melting into his arms as everyone around them gapes.

The third kiss is more mutual. Sokka finds sleep to be an elusive thing after the war, and in the absence of rest he takes to strolling the palace. It’s different at night, so calm and peaceful, the usual hustle and bustle gone.

It’s on one such night that he takes a different turn than usual, and comes upon a beautiful pond nestled deep within the palace grounds. Something inside draws him closer, guiding his feet through the lush grass- and then he spots him. Kneeling by the pond, the water reflecting the moonlight and lighting up his face is Zuko, his eyes as weary as Sokka’s own.

His heart warms with something he can’t quite place.

“Hey,” Sokka murmurs as he comes to stand behind him. “Can I-?”

“Yeah,” Zuko answers without turning around, and so Sokka kneels. Neither of them say a word for quite some time, their gazes fixated on the leaves that gently float on the pond’s surface. Sokka’s just beginning to regret interrupting the fire lord’s peace when finally, Zuko speaks.

“I’m glad you’re still here. At the palace.” Sokka turns to gaze at him, but Zuko is still looking out over the pond. “I uhm. I don’t know what I would’ve done. If I was alone for all this,” Zuko explains.

Sokka smiles, his expression as soft as the pond before them. “Yeah, me too,” He winces at how that sounds. “I mean- I’m also glad I’m here, not that I don’t know what you would’ve done without me-“

Zuko laughs, the sound soft and gentle and barely even there, but still so shocking to Sokka’s ears that he stops talking. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Zuko laugh. He wasn’t sure the guy knew how.

“I know what you mean,” Zuko says, turning to offer Sokka a soft grin. It’s a tentative thing. Something so delicate that Sokka worries about it breaking, if it’s not treated gently enough.

Still, Zuko doesn’t look away, so Sokka doesn’t either. Everything around them seems to fade into the background. Nothing else holds any importance besides the two of them, right there, safe and sound and sharing eachothers company while neither of them can sleep.

Neither of them know who moves first. Maybe they both do. But suddenly they’re leaning in, carefully this time, and this kiss is so much gentler than either of the first two. This one is promises that neither of them can hope to keep but they desperately make anyway. This one is spring rain and new blossoms and a soft summer breeze that cools your skin, the burst of sun from the clouds after a storm.

There’s a wetness on Sokka’s cheeks, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s not him who’s crying. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches out to brush away Zuko’s tears, holding his face when he’s done.

They don’t speak when they pull back. They gaze carefully into eachother’s eyes, and Sokka can’t help but notice that Zuko’s eyes are a calmer shade of amber in this light. He commits the color to memory, intent on painting it if he ever has the time.

And then Zuko is moving closer, and Sokka holds his breath. Softly, Zuko leans his head onto Sokka’s shoulder, and Sokka feels like the weight of the world is resting on him right here next to this little pond, because oh that Zuko would trust him with something as fragile as his happiness.

The two of them remain there all night, the moon aglow in the pond, Zuko’s head on Sokka’s shoulder and a million things left unsaid in the air between them. But somehow, Sokka doesn’t think anything needs to be said.

Because everything important they’d said with their touch, with their feather soft kiss beside the pond. And maybe, just maybe, Sokka wonders if that could be enough.

#whoops this was longer than planned #i just love the idea that their first kisses are rushed and they don’t talk about things until way later #zukka #zuko #sokka #zuko x sokka #atla #zukka fanfic #zukka fic #zukka drabble #zukka headcanons #atla zukka

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thewritingstar · 6 days

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Frozen Bliss: Gruvia Oneshot

after months of being frozen in my own self doubt, I have emerged for a second to give you this.

I do hope you enjoy. Its a little bit more poetic than fic (if that makes sense and yes I have been binge listing to TTDP)

thanks for reading <3

------

In her mind, she had thought love felt like she was evaporating. They said you know when the person you love stares at you and it feels like when sun creeps on your skin after being in the cold dark for hours.

She felt that with him. A blasting heat absorbing everything around her. Hot sun on her skin yet they had all forgotten that she was made of water.

And while they said she was glowing, they didn't see that she was fading away. Becoming so lost in the blaze of him that his smoke made her steam and loose the way her eyes sparkled.

She choked on a fire that she had helped build and the clean air they once had coated her lungs black until her knees buckled and she had gasped for air. Her skin bubbled as his so call love boil her at her seams. There was nothing to be left of her if she would stay.

He said no one could love her the way he did and she desperately hoped that it was true. The scorch of his fire was crueler than the years of a dark sky. She'd rather spend the rest of her life sheltered by the rain if it meant to keep his flame away.

For a moment, after she left, she was merely raindrops of who she was. Like a ripple in a lake that never settles to see the clear reflection. Water can retain any form and yet she barely remembered hers. She thought it would be best to join the water cycle and wait until she precipitated. Maybe then she would be like a fresh water spring.

There was no hope. A fantastical heat that made her feel warm for a moment left burn marks everywhere. She wanted her heart to be mended but not if it was forged from embers.

Heat rises, yet she felt frozen on that roof top.

Locked into a tundra she had never witnessed. Her own water boiled with anger and she hated the feeling of heat. Hated how he turned her own magic against her. A rage consumed by broken promises and remorses. Once a delicate rain cloud, now stood a violent mess of a tsunami contained in a cracked bottle.

But him.

He was cold.

He was frozen.

She was mesmerized.

An ocean is meant to be a plunging cold and while the burns were still fresh, she jumped.

They were scared that her water would break out into an icicle. That she would become an ice sculpture at the center of the table. Water into a solid form that could never be melted. Oh how they thought she was going mad for following him down that snowy path.

They said that no matter the weather, her rain would prevail. There was no room for growth or flowers to bloom as she drowned everything and took herself too.

But how wrong they were.

She had sunk so far down into the depth of her sea, she had almost forgotten that she commanded its waves.

Instead of blisters of heat, there were snowflakes dancing around her. Fractals of ice surrounded her world and danced rainbows across her skin. And for the first time, when his hand caught hers, she felt a warmth like never before.

It was beautiful and peaceful. Skating on a frozen lake but she never was scared if she fell in.

They said that opposites attract but she felt perfect with him.

Her heart became mended and crystallized in a way that enchanted her. Every burn was slowly cooled to where she almost didn't notice the scars. Her face had paled from the heat that when she stared at her reflection, her red cheeks surprised her.

Some didn't like seeing their breath in the cold, but she loved it. The higher the altitude, the shorter the breath. But here with him, she never felt more alive.

Water and ice. One in the same. She was frozen in his eyes and she had never felt safer.

For a man that claimed to have a frozen heart, it thawed instantly with her.

The cold could leave someone dead, but it brought out her pulse. A remembrance of how powerful she was came back in her own tears as he held her.

Her lungs flushed out of any smoke became resistant to heat. A flower that could withstand the frost. A beauty that embrace the cold. Every trace of her skin was covered in a blanket of his lips.

Love for them was clear and pure like ice. No longer does she squint within flames to see her own hand. She parades loudly through the snow knowing no harm will come her way.

She was eternally grateful to be caught in this frozen bliss.

----

:) Thanks for reading, let me know what you think <3

-star

#gruvia oneshots #gruvia #fairy tail #juvia loxar #gray fullbuster #fanfic #gray x juvia #fairy tail juvia #fairy tail gruvia #juvia lockser

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newtthetranswriter · 5 months

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Cuddels save lives?

Word count: 861

Paring: Magna swing x Reader

Summary: Cold weather and a disheveled base don't mix, but the Hot headed fire mage may be able to help out with some cuddles.

Warnings: None really, Magna and Luck being themselves, and one slightly suggestive comment form Magna

A/n: WELCOME TO MY WINTER FIC EVENT. Anyway this is the first installment of my first fic event. I decided to go with some Magna Swing fluff for two reasons, 1) I love him and he needs more attention, 2) I want to show my other fandoms my writing and thought Black clover would be a great place to start. Without further ado enjoy the event and remember to Hydrate or Diedrate.

It was an extremely cold day for the start of winter, and the disheveled walls of the Black Bulls hideout weren’t really helping. Cold air still managed to slip through the cracks no matter what I did. And the pile of blankets I was hiding under weren’t helping. My only hope was for the cold weather to pass quickly and bring back the relaxing temperatures of spring.

My day of being bundled in blankets ignoring the ruckus of my squad members was interrupted by a giggling lightning mage bursting through the door. I was about to yell at the blonde when he beat me to it jumping over me and hiding behind the pile of blankets.

“Quick Y/n you gotta cover for me.” He said, trying to keep his voice down. I was confused until I heard another voice getting closer to my room yelling about Luck being a thieving brat. “Magna thinks I stole his food again, which I did, but this time I think he might actually kill me.”

I rolled my eyes. These two were always either fighting over food or being terrors together, but judging by the sound of a pissed Magna getting closer and realizing Luck’s fate will be sealed if Magna sees where he is I sighed before speaking. “Fine, I’ll come up with a lie for you but first you need to get out of my room before my already pissed boyfriend does kill you.” A look of fear flashed through Luck’s eyes for what was probably the first time in his life before he swung open my window jumping out.

Right as he fell from view Magna peaked inside the room seeing me glaring at the open window curled up in a mountain of blankets. “If it’s so cold you need all those blankets, why the hell do you have the window open?” He asked me, moving to close the window. “Also have you seen Luck? That bastard stole my food again and ran off.” Magna said moving towards my cocoon of blankets.

Looking up at the fire mage, I failed to come up with a lie he would believe, and so decided I’d save Luck without taking the blame for his thievery. “Truth is he ran through just before you came in and jumped out the window.” Watching Magna try to decide whether to follow him or not, I put the rest of my plan to action. “But instead of spending your day chasing someone you’re never going to catch, you could maybe lie down with your partner who is freezing to death and use that flame magic of yours to keep me warm.” I said through exaggerated shivers, making sure to look as pitiful as possible to convince the stubborn mage.

I watched as his anger about Luck and his food melted away, fading into an expression of care and comfort as he sighed. “You’re right, I’ll get back at Luck later but for now my love is freezing, and we can’t have that can we.” He said taking off his sunglasses, setting them on my nightstand, and hanging up his robe and jacket on the chair by my desk. “Now before I lay down, we gotta get rid of some of these blankets or we’re going to get way to fucking hot.” He started to pull at the layers wrapped around me.

I struggled against him. “You can take the blankets off once you warm me up. I can't handle a second in the cold Magna, I’ll die.” I complained as he rolled his eyes in response.

“Well if you didn’t have every blanket in the hideout on you would have already noticed I’ve been trying to make it warmer in here since I came in. Now If you want cuddles get rid of some of these blankets.” He said seriously.

Looking at him skeptically I inched a hand out from under the blanket mountain, feeling that the room was in fact quite a bit warmer than when I woke up. With that realization I quickly helped him remove all but one of the probably fifteen blankets I managed to cover myself with. Once that was done I pulled him onto the bed and snuggled into his side. We both began to relax, thankful that it was one of the few days off we get so the chance of being pulled away to a mission was slim.

“Thanks for this Magna, I love cuddling with you.” I said moving closer with a quiet yawn.

I felt him place gentle to the top of my head before he yawned as well. “No problem next time you get cold, just come ask and I’m positive I can find a way to keep you warm.” Hearing the slight smirk in his voice, I playfully smacked his chest mumbling a quiet ‘I hate you, receiving a chuckle in response. “I love you too, y/n. Now get some rest, who knows what crazy shit Asta will pull us into next.” WIth that we both fell asleep in each other's arms, somehow sleeping through the chaos that is constant in the Black Bulls hideout.

#Newt's Winter Fic Event #magna swing x reader #magna x reader #black clover x reader #balck clover fluff #fluff

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hawkinsindiana · 10 months

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i’m not gonna leave you here

ALMOST PARADISE: PART FOUR - CHAPTER NINE OF NINE

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 4.8k

a/n: i have returned from the dead to drop this lil nugget of a final chapter. literally bat shit to think i have been writing this shit for FOUR YEARS! thank you to those of you who have continued to support my writing even through all the droughts. i definitely needed time to step back from tumblr so also a quick kiss to the few that sent me sweet asks checking up on me ily ily!!! writing this story has truly brought me such immense joy i feel ridiculously grateful to the ones that have decided to READ THE WHOLE FRICKING THING!!!! anyways..... thank you thank you thank you and i hope to see you for s5 >:)

masterlist

“What are you thinking about?”

Your voice filters into Steve’s mind, reaching him through the anxious worries he’s been so focused on beneath the reporter’s drawl on the television. The back of your index finger glides gently across the line of his jaw, helping to coax him away from what made him cast his gaze down towards his socks. His skin is smooth under your own, freshly shaved and moisturized to perfection.

Steve’s eyes shift to you, who’s comfortably tucked under the weight of his arm. Your irises are as warm and inviting as ever, quietly beckoning him to divulge. He grins lightly as the answer reaches the tip of his tongue.

“You.”

The only reason he’s so blunt is because he wants to see your reaction — a brilliant smile that fades into awe and pure love. He feels your body melt further against him as you try to play it off with a rather endearing roll of your eyes. Steve’s sure that some joke about him being a sap rattles around inside your pretty head, but it never comes to fruition. It must be the look on his face that keeps words from escaping you because once again, your gentle eyes silently plead with him.

He bites down on his lip before anxiously darting his gaze across the room; this is the last topic of conversation he wants to bring up, but it keeps shouting at him from the depths of his mind. Before Steve gets the chance to speak, you reach over to take his free hand between yours, lightly massaging his tired knuckles. The crease in his brow softens.

“When are you going back to the city? I know you weren’t supposed to leave for another week but…”

Steve pauses like he’s carefully choosing his words. His hand, which you’ve dragged to your lap, shifts to intertwine a few of your fingers together. He swallows harshly, “I don’t know, maybe that’s… changed. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go sooner.”

It was this morning that Steve remembered what the initial plans for Spring Break were. Just over a week ago, you two had been excitedly swapping ideas about what to do with all of your free time. But now, he can barely remember what any of them were. The only thing that crosses his mind is the intense and gut-wrenching desire to keep you close, but simultaneously out of harm’s way.

You blink in surprise as a deep inhale is pulled into your lungs. In the wake of all the destruction your actions have caused, it’s hard to imagine leaving Hawkins without attempting to rectify what you’ve done. In comparison, your education seems like the least important thing in the world right now. But then again, who knows how long it could take to hunt down Vecna once more?

He’s still out there… you can sense it, burrowed deep in your soul. It’s the same feeling that told you the Russian code was more than a transmission — a feeling that’s grown into more than intuition or anxiety, but rather the upsetting truth that you know intimately how the Upside Down works. There’s more to come and soon; when it does, you want it to be the last time.

You’re tired. You want to rest. You feel like every ounce of courage you once had has left your body. You’re terrified to plan anything that could backfire again. But you want your family safe. You want Steve to be safe. These horrors have plagued you long enough. They’ve stolen so much of your life from you.

You’re angry.

It scares you, but you know that there won’t be a sense of closure until you watch the life leave Henry’s eyes — whether by your hand or someone else’s, you don’t particularly care.

Are you willing to see this through to the very end? To do what it takes to get the life you crave?

“I don’t… I don’t think I can go, Steve,” You mutter, “At least not until this is over.”

Confirmation washes over Steve’s face — the slight lift of his brow and the sigh he expels says it all. As he cards his free hand through his hair, he speaks.

“Yeah, I was afraid you were gonna say that.”

Suddenly, you realize his reaction was not one of reassurance and relief, but rather disappointment.

Steve’s arm slides to the back of the couch as you sit up straighter. Your voice is a bit more stern, straddling the line between genuine confusion and vexation, “What, you’d rather have me leave?”

“No, no,” Steve replies immediately as his anger suddenly begins to churn. It’s not directed at you, no, but at the mere thought of having to watch you drive away from him. Selfishly, he wants you by his side at all times. He wants to turn to you for support whenever he needs or offer you his shoulder to cry on at a moment's notice. Whether it’s healthy or not, Steve cannot imagine himself without you. He needs you now.

But hurt is starting to cloud over your irises; the slightly cold and calculating look Steve knows will impale him through the heart if he doesn’t act fast to clear this up. Maybe a different approach would be best considering you both are so high strung at the moment. He shouldn’t have assumed that you’d want to leave right now — that much is clear.

Steve has begged you to leave Hawkins more than once; now it feels more like a matter of life and death.

He sighs and re-adjusts, moving from a laid-back posture to one of thought and concern. He wants to lean in closer even though you’ve shifted away, but decides to reach for one of your hands instead — you don’t recoil from his touch. Your gaze stays locked on his face, analyzing every micro expression so you can attempt to understand.

“God, of course I don’t want you to go, baby. I never want to be away from you ever again,” Steve begins softly, gently holding your hand between both of his, “I just…”

He stops again, recognizing that your face has slightly relaxed due to his tone and touch. Something in him withers knowing that his instinctual reaction and initial question prepared you for a fight he never wanted.

And then that image and sensation flash through his mind again.

Your cold skin. The whites of your eyes. The weight of your limp body in his arms. Overwhelming grief — the kind he’s only read about in your books. Emptiness. Fear. Longing. Pure, unfiltered anger.

All of that was real. Steve didn’t know he could feel something so strongly. He never wants to experience anything as intense as those feelings for the rest of his life, unless it’s his love for you. That’s an exception he’s willing to overlook.

“I can’t do… that again.”

You see it too; the pain in his eyes that’s lingered since returning home. You’ve noticed it every time he looks at you, as if it’s the last time he’ll see your gentle smile. He’s touched your bare skin with such intention it’s addicting and branded kisses onto everywhere he can reach. The most beautiful words have fallen from his lips — how excited he is for all of this to be behind you, how lucky he feels to be a part of your future.

You did this to him. Even if it couldn’t be helped, you still damaged him. For the first time, Steve Harrington has felt truly desired. You want him for more than just his body or his parents’ money. With you, he finally has a life in front of him; one that promises fulfillment and unabashed happiness.

You understand his fear perfectly. You sigh too, your hard exterior cracking instantaneously.

Defeated, you nearly pout as you murmur, “And I’m not gonna leave you here, Stevie. I don’t care how long it takes.”

You don’t have to say anymore for him to accept this fate. If you’re willing to give up your education over this, something you and Steve have been discussing for years, then he knows you’re set in your choice. He understood how much it meant to you to leave Hawkins then, but now you’ve made the decision to stay and fight.

How could he have asked you to leave in the first place? It would hurt you just as much. With the phones still down, there’s no telling when he would get word to you about his or your brother’s safety. If there’s one thing Steve doesn’t want, it’s for you to be living with uncertainty as cruel as that.

��I know, I’m sorry,” He frowns as you shuffle closer again and relish in the warmth of his palm against your cheek, his fingers deftly tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear. How fortunate is he to have someone who’s unwilling to leave his side?

He continues as you turn your head to kiss his wrist, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You tut softly with forgiveness, despising the feeling of a disagreement no matter how small it is, “No, I understand why you did. I mean, all of this has been so…”

No other words come to mind, so you chuckle in disbelief instead; you’re relieved Steve’s frown quirks up at the sound, his hand dropping to clasp both of yours now. He loves the varying texture of your skin; he could get lost for hours exploring it, even though it’s already committed to memory.

“It makes sense why you’d want me to go, even if you don’t want me to.”

You’re glad Steve’s arms open up for you when you worm in closer still, now awkwardly pinned to his side; when you press your cheek to his shoulder, you can practically feel his love for you radiating like his warmth. The soft fabric of his sweater against your skin is an added comfort you can’t quite describe. How lucky are you to have someone as dedicated to your safety as Steve?

A smirk crawls across your lips as all four wandering hands finally settle somewhere in this embrace, “What a shame I feel much safer when I’m with you, hmm?”

It’s half-hearted sarcasm, of course; a playful jest that has Steve’s chest rumbling a bit in soft laughter, “Yeah, what a shame.”

He’s more uneasy than he was before.

—

If it weren’t for the plumes of smoke billowing up into the clouds, this would be the most gorgeous day of the year. Selfishly, a part of you wonders if there’s still a chance you and Steve could sneak off to the lake and drown in sunlight. On second thought, given your previous visit, maybe you aren’t willing to go swimming anytime soon.

It’s hard to confront the consequences of your failure. For many, this cataclysmic event was the final straw — dozens, if not hundreds, of families have continued to flee. As Steve drives through the suburbs, you watch a father frantically loading the trunk while the mother lifts their toddler into the car seat. On your street, there was a home left abandoned with the front door wide open.

Continuing into town, the destruction grows more severe. The flames from a gas station have finally been contained. The diner you and Steve used to frequent has been reduced to crumbles, the neon sign shattered against the pavement. Your eyes linger on it a bit too long, heart aching that you’ll never get to return; Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

As gut-wrenching and upsetting it is to see the carnage, nothing prepares you for what washes over you upon entering that hospital room.

A different type of guilt pools in your stomach — nausea that you’ve grown used to over the past few months. It’s unmistakable as the sight of sterile white plaster and bruised skin floods your vision.

“The doctors said it’s… pretty much a miracle that she survived,” Lucas says, continuing his explanation of that fateful night as he returns to Max’s side. His hands remove a book from his chair before sitting down — he must have been reading to her. More pain echoes in your chest.

You wish you could’ve visited sooner. When you received his call on the radio this morning, another wave of emotion made itself known. After everything, you didn’t make sure Lucas and Erica were safe. You didn’t bother to check on the others. All that mattered to you was if Steve was okay, if Dustin was. They’re not the only family you have in this fight anymore.

As Lucas goes into more detail about the events at Creel House, your brain grows cloudy from thought. The older they’ve gotten, the similarities between Lucas and Steve have made themselves more apparent; they’re fiercely loyal, unapologetically kind, gentle, and compassionate. But a striking similarity is their willingness to get bloodied and blue to protect the one they love.

Lucas has come to you many times over the course of the last couple years seeking advice over Max. Not only does he trust you and your opinion, but you and her also share many similarities. You both can be incredibly stand-off-ish and suspicious of others, but those that prove their worth are given a plethora of love and care in return. If Lucas asked you for help with his love life, he knew you’d never steer him wrong because you understand the one he’s tried to woo — whatever you worked worked every time. Well, except for the last time.

Steve knows it’s the reason why Max’s involvement in all of this chaos has been weighing so heavily on your conscience. In your mind, if you had done more to help her, Vecna never would’ve seen her as a viable target. He hates to think of the alternative, that the fourth victim might have been you instead, with guilt loud enough to beckon that monster closer. But one way or another, Steve nearly lost you. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to come to terms with that fact.

You can’t help but reflect on how close you were to a similar outcome. If Steve hadn’t reacted as quickly as he did, maybe you’d be in another room in this hospital, your love wrought with worry and fused to your side until you woke. Maybe your body would be enclosed in a wooden box and buried beneath a willow tree, an abundance of flowers curling around your headstone — peonies, probably.

Your love is mirrored in theirs. But made clear is the fact that you and Steve have gotten lucky. You never thought you’d look at your life and consider any part of it to be more fortunate than someone else’s — a flaw you understand to be incredibly selfish and blind. You still have your twin flame, burning brightly in this room with you and a kind of warmth felt even with a lack of touch.

The other pair has dimmed, one of them too weak to fight anymore.

You want to help again. You need to help again.

“Can you…” You whisper, wrapping your fingers around Steve’s arm as you pull yourself closer to him. You glance back to the Sinclair boy, noticing the desperate way he clutches the redhead’s hand.

“Can you gimme a minute alone with him? Please?”

Concern immediately blossoms in Steve’s chest with your request. Knowing that your last attempt to support Lucas was ultimately in vain and a heavy burden on you, he’s not super keen at the idea. But Steve also knows you. You’ll find some way to help the boy either way, and he’d rather it be here in this room than during a moment of danger and desperation. Whatever it was you said to Max seemed to have helped her — maybe this will be different. Steve nods, remaining silent as he answers.

Clearing his throat, Steve turns to Erica and Dustin and gestures to the hall, pulling a couple of loose dollar bills from his pocket. He mutters something about the nearby vending machines and ushers the two of them out of the room, closing the door while flashing you a brief look. You’re not quite sure what he’s feeling, but you can’t imagine you’re particularly easy to read right now either. Between the pair of you, there’s enough compartmentalization happening to last a lifetime. But keeping a straight face in front of the others isn’t quieting the raging thoughts as well as you thought. Instead, you can feel them building — your fault your fault your fault.

As you sit in the chair beside Lucas, you can’t figure out where to begin. He doesn’t seem to blame this on you; if anything, he’s being too hard on himself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve done to try and keep Max safe, but you’re confident that’s not what he needs to hear right now.

“I, um… I almost didn’t make it back the other day.”

It takes a moment for Lucas to register your words. His eyes drift to you upon the realization, but you quiet his concerns before they ever make it out of his mouth, lips parting to speak.

“I’m fine,” You mutter. A lie, of course. The skin of your throat is still tender to the touch and there’s a roughness in your voice that hasn’t faded. If you think too hard, it feels like the tendrils have returned, crushing your esophagus more and more with each second. The fear kicks in again, until the face of your rescuer greets you out of the darkness.

“But Steve, he…” You pause, forcing yourself to avert your gaze from the boy because you see too much of your love in him. A younger version perhaps, a soft reflection in Lucas’ bruised eyes, but enough that your heart grows heavy once more. You shake your head gently, a wobbly breath falling from your lips.

“I’m only here because of him. I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for Steve. I don’t know what-”

You immediately stop yourself, refusing to consider the alternate outcome any further. You shove it away deep into the recesses of your mind. When you finally look to Lucas again, you don’t have to say anything else for him to understand what it is you’re trying to tell him.

For a while now, Lucas has wanted what you and Steve have. Everything about the two of you… seems perfect. Even though he knows you haven’t always had good times, that doesn’t matter to him. He had hoped maybe Max would want that too.

But now?

Lucas nods silently, fully embracing the support you offer. There’s still hope. The road may be difficult, but he can’t let this be the end for them.

“She said she wasn’t ready.”

“Hm?”

“Max,” He clarifies sadly, his demeanor rapidly shifting to one of sorrow, “She said she wasn’t ready to die.”

Immeasurable grief swarms you. The air is drawn from your lungs as the hefty weight of his words burrows deeply into your soul. It’s the final nail in the coffin that solidifies your shame and remorse. You feel numb.

—

There’s a steady stream of people that filter into the school from the parking lot; it seems that you’re not the only group in Hawkins that felt inclined to help those affected by this disaster. Numerous boxes packed with all manner of clothing, toiletries, and other necessities line the walls and coat the tables. Resources are passed around to those who need them while the rest is organized to be distributed around town to multiple relief sites. Those that were displaced and can’t afford to leave rest on the various cots sprinkled throughout the gymnasium. It’s a bit overwhelming to say the least.

After Steve’s recruited to fold donated clothes, one of the volunteers leads you away.

“How do you feel about being around kids?”

“I think I could handle that, yeah,” You say, forcing a somewhat warm smile to pull at your lips. She gestures towards a young girl, no older than six, fiercely clutching a well-loved stuffed elephant between her soot stained fingers.

“Her house was destroyed, just torn right down the middle. We’re trying to find her parents,” The woman whispers, her hand touching your shoulder gently in gratitude, “But still nothing.”

You sigh, feeling your throat tighten, now able to put a face to all the destruction you and your friends weren’t able to stop. You approach the girl by asking if you can sit with her, to which she eventually nods at you with tired and exhausted eyes. When you introduce yourself and ask her for her name, she shifts a bit, “Erica.”

“Erica, huh?” You smile again, “I have a friend with that name. She’s pretty tough and strong.”

With your comment, the girl turns her head toward you; her skin’s coated with dirt and dust, hair a touch matted up. There’s a bit of blood on her forehead too.

“Is she like She-Ra?”

You can’t help but laugh a little at her reference. You pretend to think about it for a moment, even bringing your finger up to your chin to sell it further, “I think she’s more like Firefly. You know, from My Little Pony?”

Your answer brings a slight grin to her face; it simultaneously warms and breaks your heart. You put your hands down onto your knees, trying to remain as casual and maternal as possible, “What do you say we get you cleaned up? Would you like that?”

Erica nods before she grabs your now extended hand and uncurls herself from the plastic chair. As you start to walk forward, one hand wrapped up in yours and the other still tightly around her stuffed animal, she freezes unexpectedly. Her eyes are darting between the seas of people milling around, anxiously unable to focus on anything. You crouch down, meeting her eye line once again.

“I get nervous around a lot of people sometimes, too. I can hold you… if you want.”

Erica nods quickly, reaching her arms up for you to lift her. It takes a bit of effort ao you don’t anger your back, but you manage to settle her onto your left hip.

The added closeness seems to comfort her as you continue forward, taking a moment to grab a spare plastic bag. She’s a bit harder to carry than you expected, but now’s not the time for you to complain. You wander through the tables, picking out anything that you might need to get her freshened up. The longer you walk, the more she begins to speak, telling you to grab certain items that she likes — a butterfly hair clip, some berry scented chapstick. You even make time to stop by the snacks to grab her something to eat; Vickie makes her a strawberry jam sandwich when Erica tells you she’s allergic to peanuts. She gobbles it up quickly, smearing some of the jelly onto her cheek, which you wipe it off with the back of your sleeve. Your smile grows more genuine the longer you spend with her.

Steve thinks he nearly has a heart attack when you eventually stride up to the clothing table, this small child latched tightly to your side. You look so at ease with her head resting against your chest, whispering little comments that manage to engage her amidst all the chaos. At a quick glance, this child could be your daughter. Her eyes have a similar hue to yours — even your noses are similar. His brain starts to go quite fuzzy the longer he spends watching the two of you together.

“What’s your favorite color?” You ask Erica as Steve hands you the small pair of folded sweatpants, underwear, and socks you point to. The girl hums for a second, adjusting her grip on her elephant, “Green.”

“Good choice. I like green too,” You answer, focused intently on her as you shift your arm to hoist her further up your side. Steve watches you with this kind of dumbly adoring look, lips pulled back in a small but optimistic smile as he gets lost in a daydream.

He sees flashes of you, curled up on the couch wrapped in blankets with your children — your children. Yours and his. He sees the smile that spreads over your face on their birthdays, the sadness in your eyes when one of them gets sick, the anger you feel when they mention they’ve been bullied at school.

He sees the road-trip summers with your baby girl — little Marcie Harrington, maybe a younger sister too. He nearly swoons at the thought of your family taking in the sights at Mount Rushmore, the redwood forests, even the Finger Lakes. He imagines you wrangling your daughters in front of the Moab arches while he tries to figure out the damn timer on the camera; he ends up accidentally taking three pictures of himself before finally getting it to work. Then the two of you are splayed out in the sand on some beach while your children nap in the RV — you’re clad in that stupid red bikini you keep taunting him with, your warm and exposed skin practically irresistible. Steve looks at you fondly before leaning over to give you a big kiss under the Californian sun, so incredibly thankful for the life you’ve been able to build together.

“You got any green, Stevie?”

He blinks once, then once more; the first for snapping him back to reality and the second for the nickname. He clears his throat, trying desperately to forget about the blood that rises in his neck. He looks around for a moment, forcing the dream from his mind as he searches for something small enough to fit the girl in your arms. You watch him almost knowingly, like you could picture the same images behind your eyes.

Eventually, he finds a couple of options and holds them up for the girl to pick from; she’s made up her mind from the first one he shows her. Erica gasps, hand immediately shooting outwards to grab the small tie-dyed tee with wide eyes. The pink and green gradient twists and turns across the fabric, clearly enthralling to a child her age.

Her enthusiasm takes you by surprise but it’s a welcome one; you chuckle a bit before speaking, “Oh, that’s a nice one. Good choice.”

As she puts the clothes into the bag, you smile across the table at Steve, effectively punching the air out of his lungs. You casually address him, “Thanks, baby.”

Trying to regain some of his composure, he winks at you as he starts refolding the other shirts, “Any time, ladies.”

Before you get a chance to reply, Erica’s desperately trying to wiggle free from your grasp. The moment she touches down onto the ground, she takes off in a full sprint and gets scooped up into the arms of a couple — you instantly understand this to be her mother and father. The girl looks like a perfect mixture of her parents, maybe more like her dad. It’s hard not to let their reunion warm your veins, the relief in all of their joyful sobs making your eyes a bit misty. You don’t particularly care that she left without any thanks, knowing that her and her family are back together is more than enough.

“You’re good at that.”

Your gaze moves back to Steve. In this light, his eyes are as soft and warm as liquid caramel. He rests a sweater on his shoulder — a gentle smile curls his lips. A bashful expression washes over your face as you feel blood pool in your cheeks, the underlying meaning of his words bringing back a hint of hope inside your chest. You can see your family too.

A flash of red breaks you from the comfort Steve’s attention brings; both of your faces drastically warp as you glance out the window, a very familiar feeling washing away any source of happiness. You find yourself frozen as you stare up at a rapidly moving cloud of smoke. It spreads, expanding large enough to cover the expanse of blue sky until none of it remains. Crowds begin to flock to windows, watching in awe while you and Steve join them, soon joined by Robin and Vickie. White particles begin to gently fall, earning a few shocked noises from the onlookers. You sigh as Steve’s hand finds yours, a silent solace; you both know what this is.

“An earthquake and snow in two days?” Vickie says in a moment of innocent disbelief.

The worst kind of dread rolls over you, the kind where you know that this is only the beginning. Everything that’s been happening has been building to this. You hate to spoil her childlike wonder, but as another bolt of red lightning cracks through the sky, you can’t help it.

“That’s not snow.”

—

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #almost paradise

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wonderlandperfumes · 17 days

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Unearth without a name

Content: TXT x reader (separate)(hyung line)

Inspired by Dirty Grass by Heretic Parfums- Sweet secrets in spring that the hyung line carry with them - treasures with no name. Or: Txt’s favorite moments in spring they've shared with you

Soobin

Spring with Soobin is curling around each other in the quiet solitude of transitional skies. When the sun drips watercolor hues of pink and purple until dark blues and black color over it - is when Soobin favors taking you out to watch it all fade. The cusp of sunset so he can dedicate the night to you.

The sun going down brings a glow to your skin he’s addicted to - the way light shines in your eyes and the way your lips stretch against your teeth as you smile. It's this sight he thinks is just for him to stow away - storing your visage into his chest where only he can covet it so preciously. He’d maybe consider taking a picture - one he's sure would land in museums - if only it didn’t mean the possibility of having to share you.

As the night cools he favors wrapping around you to share warmth. He’d give everything that makes himself up to keep you smiling - so really sharing body heat is the least of his gifts. He takes this time to press into you - to soak up your scent, the pliancy of your body. He allows you to choose how you lay in the grass, watching the sun go down. He wants you to be as comfortable as possible - because it's here when he thinks you're the prettiest, with a smile. He allows his hands to smooth over your skin to steal away bits of you for his gallery, that only he can see.

He finds his lips loose with you, as if you're a sweet liquor that's hidden in a drink that has lowered his inhibitions, only he just needs your presence. From praises to prophecies each word that drips from his mouth is a promise to you. A promise for a loving tomorrow, for a soft future, and for a warm night where you can exist together just as lovers on a hill, watching the sun go down but losing no heat.

This is the picture he keeps to himself to gaze at through his memory. To him there's nothing that could come close to a masterpiece as long as he has this. The way the grass curls along your skin, the way twilight shines on your lips and the lazy love tying you together as a promise. Van Gogh has his starry night, Da Vinci's Mona Lisa, and Soobin has you - his darling draped in love. Just as any other piece of artwork.

Soobin's head is buried into your neck, arms wrapped around your waist and legs tangled. You’d almost be able to assume he was asleep if you couldn't hear the small erratic breaths near your ear. This long into the relationship - yet Soobin is just as shy and obsessive as the first time he’s ever had you in his arms. In this moment Soobin almost could swear his brain melts in his skull - spewing out his ears all so he can think about you in totality. The way you feel in his arms, your weight pressing against him - it's euphoria. Just being able to be here - it's intoxicating. Like a sort of high, his brain ceases to function but to think of you - and the very thought of you further melts him into his madness. If he’d have to label the bone deep satisfactory pleasure seeing you smile gave him, he’d call it love.

Yeonjun

Yeonjun thrives under your attention - like how a sunflower seeks the sun he’s always turned towards you, to see if your eyes are on him, if your lips speak of him, if you carry him with you the way he does. He wants everything you are to himself - because he’s already given everything he is to you - neatly wrapped in ribbons and a kiss.

He favors golden hours in spring - a weak man for the way the sun seems to shine just for you. Like he’s living in a photo - everything is picturesque and you're the most beautiful picture in the world. Oftentimes he sets the scene fr you - a picnic under a flower tree is his favorite. Like how artists often paint stars and the moon as their muse - this is his art - framing you in everything beautiful.

He could sit for hours - he has - listening to you talk - and even if you feel quiet for the day he's content soaking in your presence. He’ll steal a kiss of two occasionally - just to be able to keep your taste on his tongue. It often tastes of sweet fruits he cut for you, of your favorite food he’s brought so he could see you smile as you eat. If you’ll allow him, he’d be prone to keeping his lips on your skin - sometimes with the intention to kiss or suck, but mostly to just keep it there as an eternal imprint on your flesh - like a knight swearing faulty to his royalty.

Yeonjun needs you to feel full in a way - and he makes these scenes to be able to ravish you until he can feel you on his skin even when you're miles away. He truly feels as if your very presence could nourish him, he swears does better in practice if you let him savor you to himself just before - as if on a sugar rush. He swears it's because he takes a bit of you with him in his chest. It's what gets him through the day - like how a morning coffee powers an office worker, all he needs is you.

The sun allows an alluring glow to set your skin alight in a way that reminds Yeonjun of a bonfire. A honey color painting you in a way that leaves him insatiable for a taste - he presses in again just to leave a messy kiss near the back of your ear. Your responding laugh is just as addicting as he swallows it down as well. He doesn't know how he’s lived without you before but now with a belly full of warmth and love that practically drips from his teeth he'll never let you go. Soon the sun will fall but it will take none of your glory with it - Yeonjun could write pages on how it's you who allows the sun to glow instead. He doesn't need a time or place to fall into your arms - he just needs you. Now and forever - you and your Yeonjun.

Beomgyu

Beomgyu is a bit of a social chameleon - he knows how to read energy- how to make people laugh. Sometimes he thinks it's all he can do - butchering his own character into a jester's clothes just so he can entertain the court. Despite this, it's not as if he despises laughter itself - he loves it, especially in your voice - the way you shake with it when he tells a particularly good joke. But most of all Beomgyu loves laughing with you, sharing your joy - not because of something particularly funny - but rather because you're having fun. A laugher of joy, of content and warmth and love -shared between you as you drag him off the lime lighted stage and into the crowd below.

He loves stealing you away when the sun has long settled and given the sky to its moon. The world is under a curtain - a spell and here in this world it's just him and you -just partners under the sky. His heart walking around without him - gorgeously pliant in his arms. He loves making you laugh, it's practically his heart beat - what keeps him alive. His blood dances to your breath.

His favorite activity while the world is still warm in season is to find fireflies on grassy plains - little will-o-wisp lanterns that punctuate the night. They are beautiful and familiar - like a guiding light in the dark - it's only fighting that you're surrounded by them in a scenery that matches you. Catching fireflies takes a bit of stealth and a gentle hand - he’ll walk you through it if you need it. But if you take a quick look during your chase you’ll see him giggling to himself - pink with love and rushing blood and eyes blind except for you.

This is what he lives for, what's keeping him in his own skin. Because Beomgyu only knows one fact for sure that's etched in his bones, Beomgyu loves you - and the joy he feels bubbling from his chest can't be anything else. I love you, I love you, I love you - his existence is a confession.

You tumble home with grass stains on your knees and stray pieces of plants tangled in your hair - remainders form the playful tumble down a hill. Beomgyu shields you on the way down - though he barely notices his body move - it's instinctual for him, like a rib cage protecting its heat. He was far too busy listening to your laugh - allowing his own to soar free from where it was caught in his through. A joint joy or orchestral content that colors the air. Hand in hand - occasionally twirling each other on the street just to watch you smile - Beomgyu walks with you forward into the future.

He can hear it behind his eardrums, feel it hammering against his chest so violently he's surprised it hasn't burst out yet. His heart responded in boisterous beating to the joy that ricochets out of his chest in a laugh, trying to break free to be next to you. He’s sure you can feel his heartbeat from where he holds you, your head is close to his chest and Beomgyu is conveyed all his body serves to do is act as a speaker yelling on how it loves you. Each pump is another steady confession like the night he first asked you out - cheeks ruddy as he stuttered out a confession. There's nobody else on the street to see him pull you into a tacky dance lit only by the moon, no audience to your resounding laughters adding together as if built to be one. There's no one else to share the sight of Beomgyu holding two hearts - one in his chest and one he presses a kiss to in the secret of the night.

Author's note: ACK. We are doing our best with questionable results. Anyways - sudden TXT brain rot hit at like 3 am. Also! Their recent comeback is based on the little prince and I was OBSESSED with that book.

#txt x reader #txt x you #txt fanfic #soobin x reader #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu x reader

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popjunkie42 · 10 months

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ACOTAR fan fiction recs by meee!

If you’ll indulge me, I’ve been reading so much fan fiction lately and wanted to share the ones I am absolutely feral for. Everything is Feysand because that is my jam. Some have spice. I love them all with my entire heart. Trying to tag authors I know on tumblr but if I miss someone please let me know. Some possible spoilers for the series in descriptions below.

If you can’t figure it out my favorite genre is Under the Mountain what-ifs mixed with ACOMAF what-ifs but there are also a few modern AUs in here, among others.

Never Alone by Frufrusc - Is this my favorite fanfic ever? If you loved Time Traveler’s Wife you will love this. The writing, the dialogue…all of it perfect. A mysterious old magic visits Rhys (and eventually Feyre) first on Calanmai and takes both of them back in time to their mates when they needed them the most. If the thought of Rhys getting 9-year-old Feyre a birthday cake makes you melt then this is the fic for you. Still updating and the new chapter is fire. I would die for this fic.

What Dreams May Come by Anonymous - Rhys gets mysteriously ill during Feyre’s visit to the Night Court in early ACOMAF. This is adorable and sweet and angsty all at once and the characters are too. Feyre reads Rhys his favorite childhood stories in bed while he’s sick and they write notes back and forth while she’s back in Spring. Rhys cries because he loves her so much. Finished fic and if this is you please drop in my messages so I can heap all the love upon you.

A Court of Faded Dreams by @the-lonelybarricade - The one and only, maybe what started me back on fan fiction after not reading it for literal decades. After events in ACOWAR, the Cauldron sends Feyre back to the Spring Court before UTM while she is still human, with all her memories and she gets a chance to do it all again. Separate Rhys POV chapters that are everything. CALANMAI. Feyre and Rhys desperately trying not to touch each other so the mating bond doesn’t snap into place while UTM. Soft Rhys basically dying because he loves Feyre so much. It’s the best.

The Portrait of a Male by HopeLions13 - A warning that this one goes heavy on the SA, it’s kind of like if ACOTAR was done by Game of Thrones/HBO people. This fic is so good it makes me want to die. Rhys realizes Feyre is his mate on Calanmai and whisks her away to Velaris while he’s still stuck UTM. Of course this will not stand, so Feyre makes her way there to claim her mate she barely knows except through the stories from the Inner Circle. It is wrenching, and hot as HELL, and rewrites canon in wonderful and brilliant ways. The way things end after the third trial sets my brain on fire.

Darling.exe by @damedechance - Modern AU with Professor!Rhys. Feyre is a college art student taking a biology class with her friend Lucien. She wasn’t prepared for her insanely hot Professor, who she recognizes…from his Only Fans. Two chapters so far and I have thought about this fic an ungodly amount. Feyre is adorable in this and Rhys is insufferably hot and smug, as it should be.

I am no god, only woodworm by @damedechance - THE WRITING. In this divergent tale, Feyre wanders in the woods and unwittingly makes a terrible bargain with an absolutely feral and dangerous woodland sprite who commands the night. Please give me wild and creepy god-sprite Rhysand all day long. “I have no need to steal from you, because I need only to kiss you, for the silver to leap from your tongue and onto mine.” UGH

Darling, Let’s Run by @the-lonelybarricade - Again!! Rhys is a black cat, do you need more? Let’s keep going in the vein of Dark!Rhys. Feyre as a human is trying to find her sister Elain, who has disappeared after marrying Greyson and is accused of his murder. She meets a dangerous and mysterious stranger along the way to Velaris and can’t seem to shake him. Hot as hell.

Pomegranate by @mmvalentine - A gods/fairytale-esque story about the High Lord of the Night Court falling in love with the daughter of Spring who’s under the thumb of her terrible father Tamlin. Bonus Feyre beast form.

Dreams by ashesandhoney - An AU where Rhys doesn’t call in the bargain for six months but meets Feyre again at a High Lords ball (yes there is dancing, everyone please write more courtly dancing into your fics). I love this because of the interesting ways they try to control Feyre’s power, how she eventually trains, and Rhys of course being totally in love with her power. “Too thin, too pale, too calm. Feyre wasn't calm. Feyre threw bone spears at tyrants and sobbed until she could barely breathe and stormed into underground citadels because she loved so deeply it hurt. Feyre was anger and love and defiance all wrapped up in a fragile mortal body.”

Please enjoy as I have. And I’m always open to your Feysand recs. I’m sure there are more to add but this post has already gotten out of control. Thank you to everyone writing and being amazing on tumblr, I love you dearly.

#acotar #feysand #acomaf #fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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ghoulangerlee · 1 year

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okay so this was supposed to be a quick little drabble but this ended up being 5 thousand words instead hahahaha

i was going to edit this but there's a loud 4 year old in my house and i can't focus im sorry

warnings are: main character death but copia is brought back, rain is a little mean, death is discussed during this, throughout this fic copia deals with nightmares and is relearning how to be alive again. It's a process for him.

Sunshine

Sunshine can always tell when Copia is having a bad day; his skin is paler now, ashen as if he were always on the brink of death, and the bags under his eyes more pronounced now even when he's wearing the papal paint; but neither of those things are any indication.

No, it's the way his eyes dart back and forth, going between any and everything, as if looking for a threat only he can see, only he can hear.

She's heard before, how dangerous it can be to bring someone back, when humans do it, it can be messy and explosive, leaving more harmed than helped.

Ghouls doing the resurrection ritual...there wasn't much information on that in any of the ministry's libraries.

But, it had to be done. Even in Copia's now sort of stilted voice, he'd expressed his thanks for bringing him back, his eyes vacant, his irises as pale as they'd been when the ghouls finally found him, dead and bleeding out in one of the hidden hallways.

"Copia," Sunshine says suddenly, stepping into his office and out of the shadows, "Cooping yourself up in here on a nice spring day isn't good for you."

The panicked look that had been building behind his eyes sort of fades and Sunshine can feel a hesitant tapping into their bond. She trills softly and pushes back against it like a big, happy cat.

"Sunshine," Copia greets her, and though he doesn't say it out loud, she can hear the thanks in his voice, the relief that someone had come to save him, even if he knew most of it wasn't even real. "I believe Aether invited me for lunch," he continues, slower now, careful, like his time on the other side had taken his knowledge of spoken language. "But you'll have to uh...I seem to have gotten caught up in." He stops short and waves his hand towards the paperwork spread across his desk.

"No worries, Aether sent me to get you. You know how he is, if he would have come, he'd be in here helping you do paperwork instead of bringing you to eat lunch with us."

Something in Copia's face twitches but she's not as attuned with human emotion to really decipher it.

Aether had taken Copia's death the hardest and had worked the hardest and channeled the most of his magic into the ritual, wanting to make sure that when the time came, Copia would come back to him. To them.

And he feels guilty, Sunshine knows, like he'd done something wrong maybe, like he'd pushed too much and that's why Copia came back with a large chunk of his memories missing.

So in ways now, he'll over compensate on things, he'll work himself just as hard as Copia does until Cumulus snaps him out of the rut and reminds him that it's still Copia, just because he doesn't remember us, doesn't mean we've forgotten him.

It helps, and the cycle happens all over again, but these days it's getting less and less, with Copia not quite gaining some memories back, but building new ones.

Falling in love with everyone again.

Even now, the strange emotion on Copia's face had melted away into something more familiar to Sunshine, and she watches as he stands up, hand resting heavily on his desk as he slowly navigates himself around it, steps slow and careful.

"You are entirely too sweet to me," Copia says, coming to stand in front of her, his hands resting heavily on her shoulders as her own come to a natural rest on his waist, "My lovely ghoul," he says, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he leans his head in to rest against her helmet.

She hates the extra barrier now, but only in very few places does she remove her helmet, and his office is not one of those, always hyper focused on making sure no one else would come after Copia now. Too public. If someone were to try and attack him here...

She purrs then, clearing the heavy thoughts from her mind when she feels a gentle tug at their connection, Copia's concern flowing in through it.

"Let's get you to the others. Swiss and Rain say we're having the best lunch yet even though neither of them will say what it is," she says, easily moving her hold to wrap one arm around his waist.

Copia makes a small noise of agreement, letting her take some of his weight, walking had come sort of easy to him after all was said and done, but the best that everyone can guess is that him being dead for two weeks had caused him to lose muscle memory for the most basic things, and though things were mostly good now, relearning to walk also had it's bad days as well.

"I think I heard Rain say something about fish," Copia says, though he's looking down at the floor, watching each step he takes, "Well. Heard." He tries to clarify, frowns a little just a few seconds later. "I don't think he wanted me to hear but. Rain is very loud."

Sunshine hums at that, tightening her grip around Copia's waist, "The first ghoul you summon and bond with is always going to be the one you hear loudest," she says gently. She's told him this before, but in the process of his body relearning how to be alive, things like memory and language aren't as high priority as basic body functions like movement and breathing.

Not that she minds, though. She'll gladly repeat things hundreds of times if it means that she's able to have him close like this again.

Not in some glass coffin in a cold mausoleum.

"That does sound right," Copia murmurs in agreement, though his focus is more on getting them down the hallway and towards the courtyard and not quite on the conversation at hand.

Luckily, the walk from Copia's office to the courtyard isn't that far, though it takes more time now than before, not that she minds, and soon she's pulling away from Copia to hold the door open for him, her hand resting on his lower back for support as he passes her and steps out into the open air.

He stops just shy of the steps leading down into the yard, right in the center of a sun patch and closes his eyes, tilting his head back to just bask in it for a moment.

Sunshine closes the door behind her and stands back, waiting, letting him take his time. The lines of his face look relaxed like this, when he's outside in the sun, when it's easier to see that he's alive again. That he can enjoy the mundane things like standing in the sun and listening to the chirping birds in the distance.

The toll of his death and then his reanimation had taken a lot out of everyone involved, but by far, it'd taken the most out of Copia, who had to live now, day by day, with missing memories and skills and though he's gaining the skills back and building new memories, none of it had been easy.

"Sunshine?"

She pulls herself from her thoughts again to Copia, who's standing by the steps, head tilted to the side with a confused look on his face, "Yes Copia?"

He blinks at her for a moment, no doubt trying to find the right words, "Are you alright? You're..." he trails off, waving in her direction, and then quickly cuts his eyes over to the space beside him. There's frustration on his face that she can read, but not aimed at her, aimed at himself no doubt, for not being able to actually ask what he wants.

She smiles and strides forward, looping arm around him when she gets close, "I was just admiring the view," she says a little coy, purring when he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

A huff comes from Copia then and he shakes his head, "That was terrible," he says, but there's a flush on his cheeks and Sunshine feels warm happiness through the bond, adoration, love.

If she didn't have her mask on, she'd lean in and kiss him, on the cheek for now, right over the red of his blush; but she can't, so she just pushes back an answering echo of love and happiness, all of her fondness for him bubbling up beneath her skin like lava.

"We should get to the others," Copia says, quiet and content, "I...think I may be hungry..." he says the words carefully, as if they're foreign on his tongue.

Sunshine perks up a bit, "Yeah?" she asks, "Does your stomach feel weird?" She's not sure what exactly goes into humans being hungry, but she's heard other siblings complain about weird feelings in their stomachs so she starts there.

"I'm...not sure. I think?" Copia's got this almost distressed look on his face, his other hand coming up to rest on his stomach, "Feels. Empty?"

"Alright, alright," Sunshine says excitedly, and she squeezes Copia's waist in a show of comfort, "Let's go then, let's get you some food."

2. Rain

He still remembers the sharp, stinging pain, the way he'd fallen to his knees in the middle of a random ministry hallway, gripping uselessly at his chest as if that would ease the pain up any.

It didn't.

There was emptiness shortly after, loud and cold, a buzzing in his ears getting louder and louder until it was the only thing he could hear.

A sob, clawing its way out of his throat.

He's dead. A voice whispered, Gone. Alone.

It had taken him a few days to come out of the comatose state that the others had found him in. He was cold, all over, shivering and shaking as if sick with something.

He couldn't talk, couldn't make himself form words, his one tie to humanity gone, and with it, his ability to parse emotions in a less demonic way.

He wanted to kill. To murder. To hurt the person who'd taken Copia away from him.

And he would have too, he would have gladly given up his place on this earth, banished back to the pits if it meant the person who had caused this faced punishment for their crimes.

After all, without Copia around, what were they to do now? Who else would they give their lives to? Aether, Dew and Mountain had already experienced this once, now again.

Rain never wanted to follow another human. Would never do that again.

And, in the dark of night, the eight of them curled together on the bed in Copia's chambers, taking solace in the last place they'd all been together, happy, did he have an idea.

"What if we bring him back?" his voice was rough with disuse, he didn't talk much in the days after, his words thick and heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue.

"Bring him back?" Cumulus.

"What do you mean?" Dew.

Rain moves, dislodges Mountain and Swiss from him and sits up, "We could bring him back. We need to bring him back. He didn't deserve this. He needs to live."

Silence stretches thickly around them then, "Rain...bringing someone back is..."

"You don't understand!" Rain lashes out, his words an angry growl, pained, "He died alone and in pain. He died without us." He blinks back angry tears, "This wasn't supposed to happen."

A sharp inhale, but no one says anything.

"If you're not going to help me, I'll do it myself." Rain says, and then he's pushing his way out of the bed, out of the pile even as the bond he has with the others sings out in sorrow, "I refuse to live a life up here if it means I'm without him," he says hotly, "I refuse to not at least try to bring him back." He inhales, and steadies the monsoon of emotion within him, "I can't live with myself knowing that I just let this happen and didn't do anything."

He'd left the room then, needing to get away, to distance himself, he knew he was being irrational and that fighting with his pack wouldn't solve anything but he couldn't just sit around and do nothing.

Dew finds him a little bit later, he'd retreated to the library, used his access as the standing Papa's ghoul to go into the archives, where all the good books were kept, the ones used for rituals during black mass.

"The others sent me to check on you," Dew says, coming to stand beside Rain, scanning the shelves in front of him.

Rain doesn't say anything to him or acknowledge him.

Dew exhales loudly and fits himself in between the shelf and Rain, grabbing his shoulders when Rain makes a move to step away from him, "Listen to me," he says, firm. "We are all mourning him right now, we're all nervous about what could happen to us now that he's gone." He squeezes Rain's shoulders tightly, "But throwing yourself into a half cocked plan to bring back the dead isn't the answer to this."

Rain narrows his eyes at Dew, "I'm not going to change my mind about wanting to bring him back, Dew."

Dew just rolls his eyes, "And I'm not here to change your mind, numbskull." he says, "I'm here to say that you need to be smart about this. That you need to mourn first, because bringing someone back from the dead is hard. He could be different. He could be too far gone. You need to prepare yourself for all the possibilities."

Rain stares at him for several long moments, blinking rapidly before he crumples forward into Dew, pushing him back into the shelf behind him. "I feel so lost." he whispers, pressing his face into Dew's neck, wetting the skin there with his tears. "Empty."

"I know, I know," Dew whispers, wrapping both arms around him tightly, "We all do, but it's worse for you. It always is, when you've bonded so strongly with him." He tips his head to the side to rest against Rain's, "But Rain, I promise, none of us are giving up on him, okay?"

A nod, slow and careful and Rain's fingers dig into Dew's back, "He was so alone when he died," he whispers. "He didn't want to go. It wasn't right."

Dew just holds him close, lets him cry until the tears are dried and his eyes ache.

Two weeks later, Rain kneels beside Copia's lifeless body in the circle drawn on the floor, he's dressed in his Papal robes, freshly pulled from the mausoleum, face paint pristine and perfect.

The others surround them and Rain feels their pack bond sing as they pour magic into the ritual, his hand gripping Copia's own gloved one oh so tightly.

And at first, when the wind dies down, when the crackling of Aether's magic finally fizzles out, there's nothing but stillness. Quiet and stillness.

And then, a sharp inhale.

Copia's hand squeezes Rain's.

3. Cumulus

Quiet had always been her friend, even before, when she'd find herself in Copia's office while he worked, she'd sit quietly while he muttered and bitched to himself about numbers, about measurements and whatever the Clergy had done that day to piss him off.

It was, in a way, relaxing for her. She didn't need to contribute to the conversation, the low cadence of Copia's voice as he talked mostly to himself, and to the room about any and everything set her sometimes frazzled nerves to ease.

These days, in the after, they call it, when she lets herself into Copia's office to sit with him while he works, he's quiet and focused.

Sometimes she catches him mouthing things, but no words ever come out.

He'll speak when spoken to, of course, but he doesn't mutter things under his breath, he doesn't complain about the Clergy.

(Not that there's a reason to complain about them. They'd made sure that the Clergy understood what would happen if they messed with one of their own again. Even Sister was more cordial towards Copia. Somewhat doting now. If they weren't around to fill the silence, Sister was. It seemed, Copia's death had shaken her up as well.)

"Cumulus, dear?" Copia's voice breaks her out of her thoughts, drawing her forward to the present and not into the dark places of the past. "Can you come here for a moment?"

Cumulus makes a soft noise and stands from the couch, crossing the short distance between there and the desk, she can feel the cautious push of him over their bond, questioning.

When she's close enough, he reaches out and takes her hand, his skin is cooler now, post resurrection, and it had taken her many days to fight back the urge to flinch at his touch, once warm but now marred by the cold kiss of death.

He smiles up at her, its a slow, hesitant thing, like the muscles in his face haven't quite figured out how to move properly. "I know that...things are different now..." he murmurs, taking his time to get all the words out properly. "I'm not the same anymore." He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand, slow and gentle circles into her skin.

"Oh, Copia," Cumulus whispers, lifting her other hand and resting it on his cheek, "You're still my Copia, still ours," she says fiercely, "Nothing changes that. It's because we love you so much that we were able to bring you back to us."

There's a brittle sort of look on his face, his eyes glassy, "Sunshine doesn't take her helmet off when she comes to see me," he whispers, "Aether's guilt is so overwhelming I can feel it through the bond," he swallows heavily, "You come in here and I know you want me to...to..." he trails off, overwhelmed now. "I'm so sorry."

"We love you," Cumulus says, and gently dislodges her hand from Copia's so she can instead cup his face between her palms, drawing his darting gaze towards her instead, "You dying was not your fault. We don't blame you for that," she says firmly, "Sunshine and Aether, they will be okay, we've been working on it, working with them. We lost you and it hurt us all, but none of this has ever been, or will ever be your fault, darling." she leans down, rests her forehead against his.

A soft sniffle, and Cumulus feels a gentle dampness against her palms, tears sneaking their way between where their skin makes contact. "I just want to be like I used to be..."

Cumulus pulls back a bit and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, "You are still our Copia," she repeats the words against his skin. "We love you, even now. It hasn't been easy, because we've all been through something traumatic. Even you." she adds when it looks like he's about to cut her off and protest. "But having you fall in love with us again? Making new memories with you?" she tilts her head, smiling down at him, "It's all worth it."

Copia nods, a small and careful movement of his head, and he doesn't protest when Cumulus hauls him up out of the chair, letting her pull him over to the couch with her and rearranging them until she's tucked up between him and the back of the couch, resting her head on his chest to listen to the sound of his heart.

"Thank you, Cu," he whispers a few minutes later, his hand resting on her side, just on the side of too cold, but still comforting.

4. Aether + Dew

Sometimes, Copia gets a strange look on his face when he's tucked up between Aether and Dew, just as they've always done. Like he's trying to remember something, like there's something he wants to say.

He never does though, just shifts until he's comfortable, pushing away the strange feeling of deja vu so he can instead, focus on the quiet vibrations of Dew's voice as he talks to Aether.

A retelling of what had happened earlier, when Copia and he had left the ministry to go to one of Copia's physical therapy appointments.

In a way, it was surprising how easy it was to forge the paperwork and come up with a reasoning behind him losing his motor functions that wasn't related to him dying.

"They're saying that he's been making good progress," Dew's saying as he combs his fingers through Copia's hair, "They're hopeful that within a few more months he'll be able to walk without any sort of aid. But of course, we'll keep it around anyway."

Aether hums from behind him, where he's got his head resting on Copia's side, eyes closed as one of Copia's fingertips carefully trace the bumps and ridges on one of his horns. "I'm glad," he murmurs, "You're making such good progress, C," he presses a kiss to Copia's side, feeling Copia's finger twitch at that.

"Cirrus and I have a running theory that right now his body is trying to repair both his motor function and his memory, so if we help it out a bit, then there's a higher chance that things will go smoother than if we were to just...leave it be." Dew says, looking down at Copia, who's hyper focused on the main ridge of Aether's horn. "Isn't that right, Copia?" he asks loud enough for Copia to hear, not really expecting a response.

Copia huffs quietly, "And here I thought you were just taking me to that damned man to enjoy his torture on me," he mumbles into Dew's shirt.

Both Aether and Dew freeze for a moment, looking at each other with wide eyes.

"What?" Copia asks, his finger stopping its movement as he lifts his head enough to look at Dew, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh no, no, no no," Dew says quickly, snapping out of it and going back to running his fingers through Copia's hair, "I just didn't realize you'd heard me, that's all."

A hum, low and lazy, "My hearing seems to be getting better," he says, "At least in one side," he adds after a moment, I don't know if that's related to...everything or if my body is just." he stops speaking, but the rest of the sentence is pretty simple to fill in.

Aether shifts his head a little bit, nudging his horn into Copia's hand, "I think it's because you've put a lot of work into everything since coming back," he says softly.

"I know everything is...different now, and things are uh. Hard." Copia starts, groaning quietly as he shifts his tired body around, dislodging Aether from his spot, "And there are bad days. Really bad ones but." He reaches out to cup Aether's face in his hands, "I'm glad I'm back. I'm glad I get a second chance." He drags his thumbs along the apples of Aether's cheeks, "Thank you for all that you've done for me, in this time and while I was...dead."

Aether flushes a little, his eyes fluttering closed at Copia's touch, "It was a group effort," he whispers. "We all wanted you back. We all needed you to come back. Rain pushed for it first and he was the one who got us all on board to do it."

"Cirrus told me that you used the most magic," Copia says, but doesn't say much else after, as if he was unsure where to take the rest of the sentence.

Finally opening his eyes, he looks at Copia, "It's in my nature. Life and death are kind of my thing, yeah?" he keeps it light, and before, he'd lean forward and kiss Copia before he could continue, distract him from paying more compliments than deserved; but since everything, Copia saying anything was something to be celebrated, even if it was a misguided compliment of some kind.

Copia stares at him for a minute, silent, his eyes since returning have had this strange look to them, going from duller in color to something brighter, as if they were coming back to life. In a way, Aether hopes that means something and that one day in the near future this whole thing wouldn't come back to bite them in the ass.

"Still, thank you," Copia says, and then he leans in, slow and careful, telegraphing every single movement as he comes in closer and closer before finally pressing his lips against Aether's in a closed mouth kiss.

The sound of Dew inhaling sharply behind them is on the edges of Aether's radar, but right now all he can focus on is Copiaiskissinghimaftereverything.

He pulls back, just on the side of too quick, a flush on his cheeks, "I hope that wasn't...bad." he says, "Or too much. I didn't uh. I should have asked? Maybe?"

Clearing his throat, Aether turns his head a bit and nuzzles into Copia's palm, "It was fine, it was perfect," he whispers, a small smile on his lips.

"You just seemed so...sad," Copia says slowly, "And something in my head was screaming at me to kiss you." He licks his lips, nervous, "Are you still sad?"

Yes. Always. I'll always be sad, I'll always feel guilty about losing you even if I brought you back.

Aether shakes his head and presses a kiss to his palm, "The kiss helped," he says instead of the tumultuous thoughts swirling around his mind. "I love you," he says, gently moving Copia's hands away from his face so he can lean in and bump his forehead against Copia's gently.

"I love you too." Copia whispers back, and then his eyes go wide, "Oh, oh," he shifts around, dislodging Aether, "Dewdrop, Dew," he says, half laying on top of him now, chest to chest, "I love you as well," he punctuates that by a quick kiss to the corner of Dew's mouth, for once initiating the affection.

Dew makes a surprised little chirp, his hands coming up to steady Copia, "Hey, hey, C," he says, "I love you too, I do," he smiles at him, petting his sides gently, "No hurt feelings because you kissed Aether," he says with a little laugh. "We're just glad you feel safe enough to."

Copia makes a noise in his throat, "It just felt right," he says, "Being with you two...it feels right? I uh. I used to be affectionate, didn't I?"

Dew and Aether look at each other, and Aether chooses to answer for them, "At first, you were hesitant to really touch us, and it took months for you to initiate any ah...intimate contact. The affection came much later in the relationship, having to wait until you reach that point again? Such a small thing on the grand scale."

"And what's the big thing on this scale?"

Another shared look and Dew grins, "You," he answers. "Having you back."

5. Mountain & Cirrus & Swiss

These days, at least three of them sleep in the same room as Copia, curled up together in Copia's still too small bed; before his death, he'd been in the process of trying to get a new one, moving expenses around so he could budget a properly built bed, one to comfortably hold nine bodies.

Of course, in the rush of the assassination and the subsequent two weeks of planning to bring him back, it'd sort of fall to the side.

Even now, Copia finds himself squished between Cirrus and Swiss, warm, finally warm, with Mountain lying under the three of them, his legs hanging off the end of the bed.

He's drifting to sleep, with Swiss already snoring in his ear and the gentle rise and fall of Cirrus's chest under his head; Mountain must already be sleeping because there's a deep bass of a snore echoing through the room, calming, oh so calming.

His eyes close and he sighs, nearly asleep when he feels the cold, cold clutch of something grab at his throat, as if something is trying to pull him under, the whisper of voices, getting louder and louder and louder.

"Copia," he hears among that echo of voices, "Copia, breathe for us, it's a dream, it's just a dream," the voice continues, a warm hand settling on his cheek. "Open your eyes for us, open them."

His eyes flutter a few times in an attempt to open, he feels more than he hears a deep, deep bass of a hum and he grabs onto that, focuses on that sound, on that feeling of safeness.

"--do we need to get the others? I've never seen a nightmare like this."

It's Swiss's voice, and there's an undercurrent of panic to it that makes Copia ache.

The cold grasp around his throat tightens, tightens, tightens...

Copia's eyes fly open and he sits up suddenly, dislodging the ghouls, grasping his chest as he gasps for air.

"Copia, hey, C," Cirrus says softly, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek, "Are you back with us?"

His eyes are wide as he looks at her, his own hand coming up to grip her wrist tightly, "I, it felt so real, the cold grip, it felt like death was trying to get me."

Swiss crowds into his other side, purring lowly as he bumps his head against Copia's, "We won't let anyone come get you," he whispers. "Death or even Satan himself would have to get through all of us first."

Copia leans into Swiss, leans into Cirrus, feels the warm embrace of Mountain wrapping his arms around the three of them.

"I'm sorry for waking you," Copia finally whispers when he's able to find his voice, weak and waning, thick with sleep and something else.

Cirrus shushes him, brushing his hair from his face, rubbing her thumb gently against his temple, "None of that," she says, "None of that, C. It's fine," she whispers as Copia's eyes flutter closed. She leans forward and presses a kiss against each eyelid. "Do you want to lay back down or do you need to stay up for a little longer?"

It takes him a few moments to respond, and when he does, his voice cracks a little bit, "I think I need to get up, I need to take a walk."

There's shifting and moving until Copia's able to get up and out of bed, a nervous energy filling him as he comes to a stand beside the bed, shaking the sleep out of his limbs.

"Want some company?" Mountain asks, getting out of bed as well, offering his arm to Copia, something to lean on.

A sense of relief washes over Copia and he allows himself to be vulnerable, sliding his arm through Mountain's, "Just to the end of the hall and back, I think," he murmurs. "Just to shake off the rest of the dream."

Mountain looks over at Swiss and Cirrus who are curled up together on the bed watching them, and then back at Copia, nodding, "To the end of the hall. If you still can't sleep when we get back I can make some tea for you. Something to help you relax."

Copia hums and nods, allows Mountain to lead him out of the bedroom; their walk from one end of the hallway and back to the bedroom, though brief, has Copia's eyes drooping by the time Mountain is closing the bedroom door behind them.

Back in bed, Cirrus wakes up from a light nap, Swiss snoring away beside her, she shares a smile with Mountain and together they get Copia back into the bed with Mountain curling up behind Copia and Cirrus coaxing him to rest his head on her chest.

"Sleep, C," She whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair. "We'll protect you from your nightmares."

#the band ghost fic #nameless ghouls #ghost bc fic #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #swiss ghoul #cirrus ghoul #cumulus ghoul #sunshine ghoul #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #polyghouls and copia #my writing

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animeomegas · 2 years

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I need them morning after headcannons, (I don't know if I can request two characters but choose one if not) with Neji and Itachi. Im so excited for the hehe<3 (can I be 🌒anon?)

Hehe, I love morning after stuff; It’s always so cute! And yes, of course, welcome 🌒 anon!!

Warnings: Adult themes but nothing even remotely explicit.

Itachi:

The mornings after are the only mornings that Itachi will sleep past his normal early body clock.

He’s just so relaxed, so deeply asleep.

Falling asleep while he teeters on subspace, tucked up in your arms, is the only thing he’s found to chase away the nightmares.

When he does drift awake, it’s normally to you stroking his hair away from his face.

He smiles automatically, shifting slightly and feeling the sated, pleasant ache in his body.

He takes a moment to appreciate things that he normally dismisses: how soft the bed feels against his bare skin, how nice the sound of the rain against the window sounds, how warm he feels when you touch him, look at him, love him.

“Good morning,” you say to him, voice gravelly with disuse.

“Good morning,” he whispers back, feeling shy all of a sudden.

Itachi is never interested in eating and he will get pouty if you try to get up to get food.

He just wants you to stroke his hair or his skin, but he can’t ask for it, he just needs you to know.

No more words are shared between you, not for a while. Itachi doesn’t like to talk about things that remind him of the real world outside this room.

He doesn’t normally bathe after sex, so the first thing he has to do when the time ticks on and forces him out of bed, is have a shower.

If you stay in bed while he showers, the bliss of the morning after will slowly melt away while he’s in there, reality slipping back in, his façade fixing itself in place.

He will walk back into the room as a shinobi, not as your ‘tachi.

If you join him in the shower, wash his hair for him, massage the body wash into his skin, sneak kisses under the water, then he can retain that bliss for a little while longer.

Every second of that feeling is unspeakably precious to Itachi.

But it will always fade as he gets dressed. The shinobi gear, the Akatsuki markers, the weapons lining every inch of him.

Suddenly, the comfort and warmth of waking up in the arms of the person who spoilt him the night before fades away into a memory that doesn’t feel real.

Neji:

In all likelihood, with only the mornings after the roughest and longest sessions as outliers, Neji wakes up first.

He lays a little before opening his eyes, focusing on the sounds he can hear: your breathing, the rustling of the blankets, maybe some birds outside.

When he does gather the strength to sit up, he always spends a few minutes watching you sleep. He just finds it relaxing and reassuring.

And yes, that does mean that if you wake up at the right moment, you’ll catch him watching you, something which will make him blush.

However, Neji is not one to sit still for too long.

He always bathes and changes back into pyjamas after sex, so he simply slips out of bed, pads downstairs and busies himself making breakfast for you and him.

While he cooks, he likes to press on any marks or bruises that you left on his skin, revelling in the phantom pain as he imagines your hands on him once more.

If the previous night was particularly spectacular, he’s been known to close his eyes as he leans on the kitchen counter, replaying his favourite parts in his mind, heartbeat rising, breath catching, blood rushing.

That isn’t to say he neglects his cooking though, no Neji makes the breakfast with love. He feels so loved and special himself that it translates into the food.

In the spring, he will always, always go out into the garden and pick a flower to put on the breakfast tray.

And there, still wearing his pyjamas, as he peruses his garden for the perfect flower to bring to his love, the morning sun contrasting to the crisp air, he feels truly happy.

When the breakfast is done, he heads back upstairs, delighting in waking up his mate by pressing his a kiss against their forehead.

He expects to be showered in praise and kisses now. As he slides back into the bed, he wants you to take him in your arms and warm him up, he wants you to tell him how much you love the breakfast and the flower he chose, he wants you to love him in a different but equally as powerful way as you did last night.

Because he loves you so much it consumes him, and he wants you to love him the same way.

#neji #itachi #hcs #headcanons #x reader #gn!reader #gn reader #alpha!reader #alpha reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #n-sfw ish

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r0-boat · 1 year

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puppydog nonny <3

uuuhhh ,,, *through a dive thru speaker* can i a uh ,, dog hybrid siebold knotting their owner for the first time, with a ,, uuhh ,,, side of praise, maybe even some petplay ?

" that will be 0.01¢" /J

Dog hybrid!Siebold in heat

Smut

Cw: knotting, praise, pet play, Sub! Siebold, Dom! Siebold(?), switch, biting, claiming, rough sex.

Restless Waves

Gn! Reader

Siebold trys hard to ignore the heat beginning to pool in his core, while he continues making breakfast for his dear Master.

His tail swished from side to side as his impure thoughts got the better of him. His firm, confident hands are beginning to tremble, thinking about grabbing hold of something softer. Your familiar scent made his mouth water, and your plush body was the perfect place to rub against.

Siebold let out a whimper his stirring cock craving your touch.

Though Siebold is careful in preparing your breakfast, it is second nature to him; he always takes pride in being the perfect provider, even while his approaching rut was beginning to muddle his brain.

He smiles as he finishes the final touches of your dish; it was simple but all of your favorites.

'such a good boy!' He could almost hear your voice say, his cock jumping at the thought.

You are still sleeping in your bed, even as Siebold calls you for breakfast. He calls you again quieter as he slowly opens your door, he didn't want to rudely wake you up but he also didn't want you eating cold food.

His eyes soften when they lay upon your sleeping form. Playing peacefully in your bed, he walks over, fighting his instincts to pounce on you. You were enticing enough your irresistible body lying peacefully. Your sweet scent alone drives him crazy. His hands pressed into the sheets as he looms over you.

Siebold whines your name, pawing at the sheets. His cock painfully straining in his pants... he was always such a well-behaved good boy, he both loves and hates how you make him drool like some mutt.

The temptation over takes him.

He nuzzles his face into your neck. He was unconsciously rolling his hips, enjoying the small amounts of friction against his clothing. Your soft hair tickled his face the sweet yet fading scent of yesterday's shampoo made him want more, but he pulled away his body, screaming in disapproval. Siebold passes under his breath feeling increasing discomfort, his neat tucked polo shirt and sweater vest becoming too hot for his body.

Only then you begin to slowly stir from your slumber. You're tired eyes laying upon your dog boy red in the face, gradually loosening his tie.

Siebold's eye widen, his face turns a darker shade of red apon seeing you.

"Ah! Y-your breakfast is ready..." Siebold clears his acting as if he wasn't on top of you and currently straddling you unable to hold back his need; he couldn't stop his hips from moving if we're so slightly against you.

"Siebold are you...?" you question, it must be mating season again.

"N-no! I-im fine!" he responds trying to hold back a whine

He saids he's fine but hes literally grinding against your waist...

"Siebold let me help you baby."

You purr, beckoning him to lean closer so you could run your fingers through his hair.

Siebold melts in your touch.

"Good boy,"

Shivers run down his spine his tail begins to wag. His calm well-behaved demeanor crumbling.

"M-master! Please! Hah~Oh-!"

His legs are trembling; he slowly slides his pants down enough for his swollen, throbbing cock to spring free. You wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking. Siebold trying desperately not to rut into your palm.

"dont cum unless i tell you to, understand?"

He nods before removing the blanket so he could be closer to your half naked body.

Siebold hold you in his arms his cock right between your legs as you keep stroking him his lips capture yours silencing his moans as he feels himself getting close. Only to break the kiss throwing his head back when you go faster.

"Close!" He whines, trying not to buck in your hand as he holds on to that edge of pleasure but not getting that release when you remove your hand from his aching cock.

" good boy~ you did so good~!"

Heat rushes to his cheeks, his tail wagging at your praise. His mouth on your shoulders and neck gives you deep kisses.

" so perfect and sweet for me~"

You moan, his shaft right against your clothed entrance, but he doesn't go further than that, just grinding right there, feeling the heat of your growing wetness on him.

Your sounds encourage Siebold to grind harder, fingers digging into your hips as he rolls his tongue rolling out of his mouth, his breath getting ragged as he keeps his gaze on you, practically devouring you with his eyes alone.

His blonde hair was now messy, and everywhere his neatly ironed clothes were now wrinkled and messed up. You make him like this. You reduce him to the animal he is.

And you wanted more...

You needed to feel him.

All of him.

... you could just barely see his knot beginning to swell

"S-seibold Please be a good boy-"

His ears perk that his favorite words.

"knott me."

That word alone coming out of your mouth like that went straight to his loins his eyes widen.

"F-Fuck.... I-... Mmh..."

He stumbles over his words; he wants to, he really wants to! Knott you would fill you up fuck you till he's fully satisfied. But...

"I... t-this will be your first time, a-are you sure?"

Even in the middle of his rut, he's loyal to you in your comfort his first priority. His eyebrows furrowed with worry his blue eyes filled with nothing but love, his hips slowing but not stopping quite yet.

"Yes, Please, I trust you."

His heart warms when he hears that from you he stops his hips and moves behind you.

He looks extremely excited he had to stop himself and plunging right inside of you when he removed your underwear... he wanted your first time with him to be special, and pleasurable for the both of you.

"C-can put on my collar for you first?"

You smirk; Siebold always feels more comfortable relinquishing his control to you, and you are happy to indulge. You nod, watching him grab his leash and collar and slowly put them on, giving you the end of the other end of the leash.

He grabs your hips and slides inside of you slowly. He can't hold back his moans, making wonderful noises as he slides inside, soft wet walls gripping around him. You are so warm pulsating and squeezing him... he had to move... he needed it... no more waiting. He needed you... he was only halfway inside when he started to move, incapable of controlling himself

"F-feels s-so good!" Words fall from his lips as he loses control you tug at his leash encouraging him to buck his hips.

"Ah! Such a good mate, beautiful tight mate!"

Siebold growls his fingers digging into your hips once again trying to reach deeper; with every thrust

You grab at the sheets, his cock beginning to piston inside you.

His pace was wild and rough. Finally, succumbing to his instincts to claim you as a mate, to knot and fill you till you're nice and full. Make you sore tomorrow, so you'll stay in bed wrapped up in the covers while he takes care of everything.

You could feel you clench around him you are close.

"That's it... squeeze around me! You're so good! You feel like heaven! Thank you for letting me fuck you!"

Grabbing more of the Rope, you pull him down to you, your lips colliding with his in a messy kiss, his tongue going inside your mouth, wrestling and tasting your own.

As soon as he breaks the marks, you with his teeth, sinking his fangs into your shoulder and biting down. You lose it, his name falling from your lips as you back up into him while cumming.

Siebold feels your walls tightening up, his knot fat and swollen, battering against your entrance as he tries to force it inside.

"Mine! My Owner! My darling true love! My stunning Treasure!"

Siebold gives one last hard thrust before stilling. Cumming hard when he feels his knot in you for the first time, your eyes roll back as you feel it too. Locking the two of you together. Hot cum fills your insides with spurt after spurt; Siebold tries to grind against you, only to feel another minor wave of pleasure.

"S-still cumming...Y-you make me crazy." He murmurs, laying his body on yours, his dick still deep inside, still filling you with his thick knot.

"I love you." Siebold whispers brushing his lips against your neck.

"I love you too," you respond, your heart feeling full, but not your stomach as it growls.

Siebold let's out of breathless chuckle.

" Forgive me for making you miss breakfast, dear once we're done; I'll make you something better~."

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