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wheeboo · 3 months

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"pretty." | yoon jeonghan

SYNOPSIS. in which jeonghan calls you pretty. PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship WARNINGS. one kiss on the cheek, terms of endearment, jeonghan just being down bad and whipped for you lmao WORD COUNT. 1k

notes: because who wouldn't wnt to write something from that clip of him kissing gyu on the cheek cuz he's pretty?? anyway. can u tell that my fav word is pretty...

Jeonghan finds you pretty.

Pretty like... the first rays of dawn painting the sky in streaks of colours. Not like a fiery and blazing sunrise, but a soft, hesitant awakening; the hush before the world truly stirs to life.

His gaze lingers on your quiet form right next to him, eyes tracing the path of sunlight across your cheek peeking in from the shutters of the window, the way it seems to kiss the curve of your jawline and dance in the strands of your hair. A sleepy smile forms at his own lips, head tilting slightly as he lets out the quietest of chuckles.

Pretty like... the way a flower blooms. Each petal peeks out from the bud, hesitant at first, then unfurling with a contented sigh. Like the way you smile, Jeonghan thinks, merely a shy bloom starting at the corners of your lips before blossoming into the radiant sunflower that he always believes that you are.

Your chest rises up and down rhythmically, lips twitching ever so slightly, and Jeonghan wonders what kind of dreams must be playing in your mind𑁋if he should at all try to intervene and chase away the frequent nightmares that sometimes visit, and the clouds that occasionally cast shadows on your peaceful expression.

Pretty like... a book whose cover is worn and flimsy, its pages softened by countless turns and accidental (and intentional) rips, yet the ink still vibrantly tells tales of laughter and tears, of mishaps and misfortunes, of you. But even with this, the spine of the book remains unbroken.

Jeonghan remembers you reading a book last night, an older story if he recalls. He remembers the way your brows furrowed in concentration, hands clutched on the worn paperback, and how your lips moved silently, mouthing words only your heart could hear. He remembers the way your eyes lit up when you turned a page and nudged at his side to get his attention even if he didn't know what the story was about, a flicker of joy to your face like a firefly illuminating the room and the night skies.

Suddenly, a vibration snaps Jeonghan awake at this point, focus darting towards the unwelcomed presence of his phone on the nightstand. The screen casts a harsh light against the gentle morning glow, and Jeonghan reluctantly detaches himself to reach over for it, noting incoming messages from his members about their scheduled practice for later today, the words blurring slightly as sleep clings stubbornly to his eyelids. He quickly types out a message before silencing his phone, and then he shoots a contemplative glance back to you, before slipping out of the sheets and tip-toeing out of the bedroom.

Pretty like... the first sip of morning coffee. Not a jolt of bitter heat, but a warm caress on the tongue, enough to awaken the senses slowly. Jeonghan moves silently throughout your shared space, not wanting to disturb your peace. The aroma of brewing coffee wafts through the air, intertwining with the lingering traces of dawn and the new day ahead.

Carefully pouring a cup for himself, Jeonghan adds a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, the scent swirling like a mini-tornado and playfully tickling his nose. He remembers how you once told him you associate cinnamon with warmth and comfort, and a soft smile graces his lips.

He glides through the rest of his morning routine with practiced ease, mindful not to disturb your slumber, the quietness only punctuated by the occasional soft melody hummed under his breath of one of his songs. As time continues to pass, nearing to when he has to leave, Jeonghan glances at the numbers displayed on his phone, and a tinge of bittersweetness settles in his stomach. A tiny frown creases across his brow as he sets down his empty coffee cup and smooths over the fabric of his shirt with a sigh.

Heading back into the bedroom, he finds you still slumbering on the bed, the streaks of morning light painting over your cheeks. Jeonghan trots over to the window and gently adjusts the shutters, letting in a wider ray of sunlight that dances across your nose.

A creak from the bed tells him you're stirring, and he turns just in time to see your eyes flutter open. Sunlight spills across your face, bathing over your features like honey, and his breath catches in his throat, as if he'd just swallowed a handful of butterflies. You look even more beautiful than the dawn, he thinks.

A sleepy yawn escapes you, stretching your arms above your head, your eyes still closed shut from the light.

"Hannie...?" You mumble out, and Jeonghan is swift to come racing to your side, sitting himself down at the edge of the bed right beside you.

"Morning, angel," he says softly, letting a finger push back a few loose strands of hair flying over your face. "I was about to tell you that I'm leaving."

Your eyes flutter open just slightly, just enough to catch the small curve to your boyfriend's lips, yet mind still cloudy with sleep to even process it. "Hmm... what time is it?"

"Still early. You can go back to sleep," Jeonghan tells you reassuringly. "I just wanted to see your face before I leave."

His words send a faint smile to play across your lips.

"Why do you always have to leave so early?" You ask, voice raspy with sleep.

Jeonghan lets his hand lace with yours on the sheets, the warmth spreading through your fingers and coursing through your body.

"Work calls, love," he says, voice soft but laced with a playful tone. "But you know I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to."

A low groan leaves your mouth as your adjust yourself further into the comfort of the bed while still not letting go of his hand, your eyes fluttering closed again. Jeonghan just chuckles at your sulky antics, and you feel the way his finger caresses lightly over your knuckle.

Pretty like... a diamond ring glinting in the soft morning light, a promise of forever shimmering between them. He knows with a certainty settled deep in his bones that one day he'll slide that very ring onto your finger. But for now, the promise waits beneath the surface, a secret shared only by the gentle stroke of his thumb against your skin and the way his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary on your face𑁋hair messy and clinging to the pillow, eyes closed shut once more, yet you've never looked more beautiful to him.

And so, Jeonghan leans down, lips meeting in a feathery kiss at the skin of your cheek just below your eye. He lingers there for a moment, savouring the warmth of your skin against his own, before lowering himself down just next to your ear.

"Pretty," he whispers softly, simply, and irrevocably in love.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @roziees @mirxzii @bookyeom

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yoonavii · 8 months

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Whispers in the Night (pt. 1)

OPLA! Sanji x Reader

A/N: I’ve decided to try writing in third person. It was a little difficult since im accustomed to writing in second, but I wanted to try something new. Hope you guys enjoy :)

The Going Merry sailed steadily under the vast canopy of stars, its wooden frame creaking softly as it glided through the calm waters of the Grand Line. The night was serene, the sky adorned with a tapestry of twinkling stars. On the ship, the Straw Hat Pirates rested, each finding their own corner of the ship to slumber. Amid the quietude of the night, you had somehow found yourself nestled in Sanji’s bunk. Such sleeping arrangements were not unusual among the Straw Hat crew; the bonds of camaraderie ran deep, and sharing bunks had become a natural occurrence.

As the night deepened, Sanji quietly entered his cabin. He had been engrossed in a late-night cooking session, his culinary skills dedicated to providing his crewmates with the best possible meal for the next day’s adventures. He didn’t want to disturb your slumber but felt an inexplicable urge to check on you. The soft, diffused light from the porthole bathed the room in a gentle, amber hue. Sanji’s sharp eyes fell upon your form, resting peacefully in his bunk, illuminated by the faint moonlight. In your sleep, you clutched a plushie close to your chest, your lips curled into a serene smile.

With the grace that was second nature to him, Sanji silently approached your sleeping figure. A sense of tenderness washed over him as he observed your relaxed expression; you looked like an angel in repose. And then, as if carried by the whispering night breeze, he heard it—a soft, barely audible whisper that made his heart skip a beat.

“Sanji…”

He blinked, questioning whether he had imagined it. But there it was again, your sweet voice, calling his name. It was soft and tender, like the murmur of leaves in a gentle breeze. Sanji’s heart quickened as he leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. He realized that you were not awake; you were deep in the throes of a dream. Somehow, he had become a part of your dreamscape.

A faint blush warmed his cheeks. Hearing you say his name, not in distress or worry but with a happy lilt, filled him with a sense of wonder and delight. It was as though, in the sanctuary of your dreams, you were expressing a sentiment that your waking self might never utter. Sanji listened attentively, his azure eyes focused solely on you. He couldn’t help but smile, a mixture of joy and tenderness swelling in his chest. Your sleeping form and the way you softly murmured his name were enchanting, like a melody that had been composed just for him.

Respecting your slumber, Sanji decided not to wake you. He settled into a nearby chair, his gaze fixed on you with an affectionate and protective air. The moonlight played upon your features, casting gentle shadows, and painting you in an ethereal light. As the night wore on and the Going Merry continued its tranquil journey, your dreams seemed to grow brighter. The happiness that radiated from you, accompanied by those whispered words, filled Sanji’s heart with warmth and contentment.

He knew that when morning came, you might not remember these moments, but he would cherish them. Sanji remained in his quiet vigil, watching over you as the night unfolded—a silent promise that he would always be there, both in your dreams and in the waking world, to protect and care for you. And so, the night on the Going Merry continued, two souls intertwined in the realm of dreams, a secret confession of affection exchanged through whispered words—a promise that would endure long after the stars had faded into morning’s dawn.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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rxzennia · 17 days

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thrice shall the bell toll

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 expands on 2.2 leaks, dark content towards the end, character death (everyone dies), heavy angst(?), not proofread. totally did not die a little inside when i wrote this, no. thank you all for 100+ followers! gold and gears, achievement grinding are driving me nuts and seeing everyone else get him makes me want to quit the game altogether. perhaps it’s time i focus more on other things.

“never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

the musicians begin to play with rigor as the symphony enters crescendo, building up to its climax as the orchestral music increases in intensity and irregularity. the choir sings, paving the way for the descent of an aeon, of justice; their harmony announcing the impending doom of the sinner, promising his demise, promising him eternal rest.

you arrive at the central plaza, just in time for the closing act.

you meet sunday’s eyes, the bastard head of the oak family, the mastermind conducting this cacophony of noises and disturbances. he has the gall to smirk, to flash you a smirk, as if he’s daring you to do anything.

“aventurine, ambassador of the interastral peace corporation.” sunday stalks around the man bound in shackles, like predator circling prey, hands behind his back as he looks down at him with contempt. “you are hereby found… guilty.”

the baton descends – with it, the melody dramatically tips over its climax into decrescendo.

people often say that death has no place in a dream of prosperity and privilege.

but when the distinction between dream and reality blurs as the very dimension crumbles, who’s to say that to die is to wake, and who’s to say that death is not still death?

in his last moments of consciousness, aventurine sees you reach for your scarf with an expression he had never seen before. acceptance, perhaps? or disappointment? regardless, you have still chosen to surprise him at his last moment. must you continue to exceed his expectations even at his execution? but both you and he know that it is already too late, and his final solace is that you are present to witness the final chapter of his story.

that he is not left behind again.

the golden hands come full circle, palms closing as the strings lift their bows in unison, leaving only the winds to continue playing. the conductor drops their baton as the inevitable quickly encroaches upon the center stage, as the music ceases until only a sole trumpet remains sounding –

he closes his eyes with a last smile for you; aventurine has finally won, at the cost of losing everything.

once shall the bell toll, for the blessed prisoner condemned to a life of deceit and insincerity.

in a split second, the sky darkens; what used to be perpetually golden and bright has been eclipsed without a trace. the artificial sun goes out, street lamps are extinguished, a veil of darkness envelops the golden hour. what was once paradise becomes the abyss, and lament stands where joy once stood.

your scarf flutters to the ground as you give it a strong tug, undoing its loops around your neck as you let it fall. you are half-expecting a gasp followed by a waterfall of words, but it never comes.

because there is no source. aventurine isn’t here anymore.

there’s no more of your boss staring at you with the most awestruck expression as you reveal your face anymore. there’s no more of your boss’s endless pestering anymore.

there’s no more of aventurine opening up to you, getting you to open up, or him tentatively trusting you with fragments of his past anymore.

for the first time, you experience anger. a wrath so intense that it is enough to set even the heavens alight.

it’s about time someone ripped up this disgusting dream woven with fabric made of lies. this facade of extravagant luxury built upon a decaying foundation and the desperation of the masses’ escapism, a nightmare delicately packaged into fantasy that had stripped countless people of their ambitions and futures, it’s about time someone demolished it all.

the dreamchasers who voluntarily surrendered their realities for a temporary escape, the family members who could only obey, the heads of families who put together a ploy like this, and the harmonious strings who composed such a chaotic melody…

none of them matter.

all that matters is that aventurine is executed, publicly, in utmost humiliation.

your scarf disintegrates into tiny specks of dust. brilliantly platinum scales extend from your fingertips to your jaw, threatening to stretch along your face, too. as if answering your call, serpents emerge from all corners of your shadow, slithering off towards all directions as they respond to your will.

in the sky that is pitch black, even darker shadows rear their heads; they fly, circle around the plane of the masterfully crafted illusion, around penacony itself. they await your orders, they await your next command.

“eat up, my darlings.”

twice shall the bell toll, for the manufactured illusion of utopia drowning in the afterglow of opulence.

there is a reason why oroboros the voracity has kept to themselves in an unseen corner of the universe – they are not titled the unsatisfied devourer without reason.

with each corner you take for your own sustenance, you feel the universe tilt. the scales are tipping, the balance is tipping. with each piece of reality you consume, the boundary between subconscious and conscious blurs, falsehoods bleed into truth, and you feast upon them all the same.

in your rage, you are not merely tearing lives and environments apart. you are tearing religions apart, tearing peoples apart. worshippers and monuments of xipe the harmony, their symbols and their emanators, the hard-built resort destination called the dreamscape, and the plainly unremarkable penacony in reality, you are tearing it all apart.

you know you have upset the balance, and you know the consequences. you can hear the crystalline chime of the arbiter’s footsteps approaching you, you can almost see the blinding white light of the operating theater.

as the planet of festivities begin to fall out of orbit, so too do the serpents begin to decompose into glittering ashes.

people scream as gravity somersaults, some swallowed by the caving ground, some swallowed by the gaping maws of the faceless serpents, and some dying by the hand of their kin as they struggle for survival.

you watch impassively as mortals scramble to prolong their lives, and you watch impassively as your serpents are lost, one by one, to the hands of an aeon.

if the mere handwave of an arrogant upholder of justice and a simple declaration are justification enough for an execution, for what reason should you not return the gesture?

if people would simply watch as someone is served the death penalty, what reason do you have to act as they become feed one after another?

and what reason do you have to cling onto mortal sentiments, now that your anchor to mortality is gone?

the man they killed is aventurine. your sometimes-too-annoying boss that you would not trade for anything in the world. your anchor; your dear, dear friend.

you see no reason to rein in your instincts anymore. the primal urge to consume overwhelms you, and all you want to do is to devour, devour, until there is nothing left.

voracity. oroboros’s will.

eat up while you still can, fill your metaphorical stomach with the blood of implicit killers, and tear into the flesh of the perpetrators of this grave transgression.

make them pay. before your judgement rains upon you, before the trumpeters herald your doom, before the star radiating false light meets its end in a supernova, make them pay.

their surgery is swift and painless – precise incision; two, three motions of the scalpel; complete excision.

at long last, the curtains fall. theatrics reach its conclusion, and when you look – there is no one left in the audience.

thrice shall the bell toll, for the leviathan whose fury burned brighter than the ordinance of equilibrium.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #ares's voracity pathstrider tales

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freedomfireflies · 8 months

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The Angel and the Fae

Summary: The one where Harry is an angel that falls in love with a garden fairy.

And even the heavens can't keep you apart.

Word Count: 3.2k

Harry thinks you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen.

He decides this the moment he sees you. Resolves instantaneously upon a fleeting glance that you – with your long hair that flows beneath the crown of white lilies atop your head – will be the reason he falls from heaven.

He watches you from the edge of Aspen Hollow. Never once stepping foot past the sacred edge that surrounds the ethereal garden where you preside. Not even a feather from his wings is permitted to dance into such holy ground.

A fawn has crawled its way into your lap. Entrusting you with its care and safety as its eyes fall shut and it blissfully settles into your delicate and soothing embrace.

You’re speaking to it. Softly. Comfortingly. Trailing your finger from its nose down to its spine.

“There, little one,” you’re cooing. Hushed yet reverent. “Sleep now.”

Harry considers himself lucky to be able to hear the way your heart beats beneath your chest. Steady. Rhythmic. Calm. You’re happy. Content and filled with tranquility.

He detects the exact moment you sense him. Catches the hitch in your breath and the jump of your pulse.

He readies himself to explain – to assuage you. He expects your fear, your resentment. Expects you to cast him out. Forbid him from returning.

Instead, you seem…curious. Hesitant but inquisitive, and when your head turns, his lungs just about cave in.

And in that moment, when your eyes find his, his purpose changes. His entire reason for existence is plucked from one instrument and played on another. A tune so beautiful, so melodious…it makes his heart sing.

You’re watching him much like he was watching you. But you don’t move from your spot on the grass, instead keeping the fawn safely tucked away in your lap.

You blink, and Harry swears he can feel the flutter of it against his cheek.

“Hello,” you call quietly, your gentle voice carrying across the few hundred yards from where you reside.

You must know he’ll be able to hear you, and Harry straightens up dutifully, his wings following suit. Expanding some as if to display a sense of chivalry.

“Hello,” he calls back, equally as soft.

You seem to study him for a moment, and Harry swears this is the longest he’s ever gone without breathing.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” you tell him, and he nods once.

“I know,” he admits. “I suppose I just…found it hard to tear myself away.”

You glance down at the sleeping doe on your lap, and he feels his insides twist now that your eyes aren’t on him.

“I apologize if I’ve disturbed you,” he adds, hoping to encourage your attention back.

You hum faintly and brush your palm down the baby deer’s back. “You have not.”

This makes Harry’s mouth curl up into a giddy smile. “Then would you mind if I stay? Only for a moment? I feel quite at peace here.”

You regard him carefully. Inquiringly. “I would imagine an angel is quite often at peace.”

He considers this. “Peace is a privilege,” he finally replies gently. “And it is one that is often lost on me.”

This seems to surprise you, your lips parting delicately as Harry’s pulse begins to thump in his ears. “Then you may stay as long as you’d like.”

His grin doubles in size as he nods his appreciation. “Thank you.”

However, when he remains planted near the tall oak tree that sits beside the edge of the garden, you glance back over.

“Angel,” you call, and Harry’s entire chest caves in. “You’ll disturb me more if you hover like that.”

He hesitates, looking over the soft but hallowed grass only inches away. “Angels aren’t allowed inside The Garden.”

“Not unless invited,” you correct, and he straightens up. “And I am inviting you in.”

Still, Harry can’t make his feet move, despite the way his wings are desperate to carry him to you. Centuries worth of warnings and guidelines are attempting to remind him of his place, of his duty and his loyalty to the heavens. But that does nothing to dampen his urge to go forth and take.

“Angel,” you repeat with a glimmer in your eye. “Come.”

And that’s all it takes for his foot to instantly cross over into sacred ground.

The moment his wings pass through the invisible barrier, a forceful wind ripples across the garden. Echoing between the trees and the grass as the billowing of air sweeps from flower to flower. All the way to the other side.

You feel your eyes widen as you watch him approach. He’s hesitant but intrigued. And perhaps you know better than to invite him in, but your heart aches to provide the handsome figure a moment of serenity.

He studies every petal and vine as he walks through, wonderstruck by the enchanted orchard. He smiles brightly when a blue jay swoops down beside him, the small bird fluttering around his head a time or two before disappearing back into the branches.

And the angel laughs. A sound that resembles the moment a wave breaks against the shore. Loud and lively before it settles and softens.

“This is beautiful,” he says, and you nod.

“It represents serenity. A moment of calm before the next stage of life.”

You both look to the small creature in your lap, and the angel’s expression changes. “Are you saying hello…or goodbye?”

You smile gently, trailing your fingers down the sleeping fawn’s spine. “We are saying hello.”

Those clear, green eyes seem to sparkle at you as he grins. “Hello,” he repeats.

You nod again. “She’ll be sent down soon. The moment the sunlight disappears behind the mountains.”

The angel is intrigued, crouching down a few feet away as he studies the way you trail your palm over the soft coat. “Is it hard to let them go?”

“No,” you answer easily, smiling some. “They are meant to live. To flourish. To exist outside of this realm and give back to the earth what it has given to them.”

The garden falls quiet. You feel him watching you while you watch the creature in your lap. He seems to be wrestling against another question and you chuckle to yourself as the fawn awakes.

“Off you go,” you whisper quietly, helping the wobbling baby doe from your lap before it’s bounding toward the grass and disappearing out of sight.

Left alone with the quiet angel, you both stand and turn to each other. Now provided with a better glimpse of his large frame and sizable wings.

He straightens up under your inquisitive stare, feathers fluttering as the wind passes between you. “I appreciate you allowing me in,” he says tentatively. “I don’t mean to break your rules.”

“They are not my rules,” you correct, waving his apology away. “I believe that anyone who needs a moment of stillness should be given one.”

This seems to charm him. “And I believe you are the first and only fairy to think so.”

You grin. “Perhaps. But I’ve never understood the divide between angels and fairies. Both are providers of comfort and refuge. It seems silly to be at odds with each other.”

He hums, and you wonder if you’ve offended him. “I agree,” he says, and you feel your muscles unwind. “But the heavens have a different belief.”

“They believe that just because fairies were created by a different hand, we are not to be trusted," you snort beneath a quiet breath. "That we are all tricksters and supernatural entities unworthy of eternal salvation.”

“Are you?” His tone is playful, and you feel your smile return tenfold.

“I am a garden fairy,” you reply. “I tend to the trees and the animals. I don’t have time for tricks.”

His look of amusement seems to mirror your own.

“And you?” you ask next, gesturing toward him. “An angel without peace is like a heart without rhythm. Why do you come here when you know better?”

He takes a moment to consider his answer. “Truthfully, I don’t know,” he finally responds. “There was a pulling. On my soul. My wings. They led me here and I wasn’t quite sure why.”

“Well, have you found the peace you were looking for?”

His eyes meet yours. “I have.”

Another unspoken moment dances between you as your attention drifts toward the very plumage he displays so proudly.

You’ve seen angel wings before but never this close. Never when they were near enough to touch. Truth be told, you weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance, and you imagine the quiet angel can hear your heart racing.

But he’s smiling at the way you stare. Seemingly amused by your fascination and wide eyes as you watch the cream-colored feathers flutter against the wind.

“They’re…beautiful,” you admit softly, attention following the curves and dips of each row expanding from his back. “Are they heavy?”

“Not normally, no,” he tells you. “Only in times of great sorrow.”

Confused, you raise a curious brow.

His grin grows. “Each feather symbolizes that of someone I’ve watched over. And when they move on, a piece of their soul stays with me. It lives and it breathes, and it is.”

He steps closer and you feel your breath catch, awestruck by the way the large pennons begin to curl around his frame.

“When their soul is happy, the wings feel weightless,” he continues, a far-off look in his expression. “And when they’re sad, when they cry…my wings cry for them.”

There’s a pleasant sort of ache in your chest. “You’re a guardian angel.”

“I am.” His arm outstretches for you, palm to the sky as he silently requests your hand. “Here.”

Hesitantly but with great keenness, you oblige his instruction, sliding your fingers along his skin.

The moment the contact is made, you both seem to jolt. Magnetized by the feel of his flesh against your own. A stark contrast that’s somehow hauntingly familiar. Soothing in a sense. Destined.

He brings you closer, guiding the tips of your fingers to his wings. Ghosting them across the soft feathers as you suck in a quiet breath and feel the entire weight of the world on his back.

He holds you for only a moment before allowing you to travel the expanse of his wingspan on your own. Delicate strokes along the rows of quills that seem to bask in your touch.

“How do they feel?” he asks quietly, almost as if not to startle you.

Your lips roll into your mouth as you search for the right words. Or any word that could even begin to come close to describing such an ethereal sensation.

“Magical,” you finally say, and he smiles.

“Certainly no more magical than a fairy.”

Smirking to yourself, you lower toward the grass, and extend your hand. Your fingers dance above the blades momentarily before you make a quick snap of your wrist.

Instantly, a flower springs forth from the dirt. Sprouting up out of the soil in full bloom as the angel’s eyes widen.

You pluck it from its roots and straighten back up before offering him the small, dainty lily stem. He steps forward, allowing you to guide the flower behind his ear and tuck it between soft, chestnut curls.

“How do I look?” he asks.

You laugh. “Magical.”

He holds your giddy stare for a second longer before he murmurs, “You’re quite beautiful.”

A bit stunned, you smile, and wave the compliment away. “You must be standing too close.”

With a cheeky hum, the angel suddenly steps back, his wings now fluttering about the air until his feet lift from the ground.

Then, his feathers carry him a few hundred yards away before he lowers back down, studies you, and calls, “Nope. Still beautiful.”

Despite yourself, you laugh again. “You’re quite forward for an angel.”

“And you’re quite timid for a fae,” he retorts, returning to you as a rustle of wind sweeps through your hair. “I was expecting a bit more fearlessness.”

“I’m only fearless when I choose to be,” you tell him. “But I just met you. Why should I share all my secrets when I don’t even know your name?”

The handsome angel considers this before nodding and stepping up to you. “Harry,” he says quietly, as if the answer is reserved only for you. “They call me Harry.”

A stunning name for a stunning man, and you feel your pulse jump while it makes a home in your mind. “Harry,” you repeat, making him grin. “That’s quite pretty.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “And what do they call you?”

You lift one shoulder in a gentle shrug. “I suppose I don’t really have a name. Or at least I don’t have anybody to use it if I do.”

His eyes soften while he glances over the crown of delicate white flowers woven between the locks of your hair. “Then I will call you my Lily,” he decides, and there’s a new sort of blossoming in your chest. “If I may.”

You struggle against such merriment. “You may.”

“Good.” He seems equally as enchanted, and for the first time in almost a hundred years, you feel mesmerized by an angel. Then, his chin motions just behind you. “The sun is beginning to set.”

Turning, you find that it is, and your heart soars as you eagerly reach over and take his hand to drag him toward the middle of the garden.

It’s an action made without much forethought, the need to feel his skin against yours almost like instinct now.

For a moment, you both hesitate. Unsure of the presumptuous act until Harry squeezes your palm, and silently encourages you to lead him where you’d like to go.

You take him toward the middle of the meadow, just beside the calm stream of water.

There, you find the baby fawn. Standing curiously on the other side, waiting to bid you goodbye.

You and the angel come to a stop on the edge of the grass just as the sun is filtering between the trees. Casting a golden hue across the orchard and setting the secluded hollow aglow.

And just as the stars are beginning to take their place in the sky, the sweet doe meets your eye, and lifts its head.

You smile. “Goodbye, little one.”

Its left ear flicks before it turns on its heel, and leaps over the hill. Disappearing from sight as it’s carried into another realm.

Leaving The Garden behind.

Harry seems to hold his breath from beside you as he looks down. “And will it be okay?”

You lace your fingers with his and nod. “It will.”

Silence settles between the trees, between your hearts. It’s comfortable and it’s still and the faint sound of rustling leaves calms your racing pulse.

You look over and allow your attention to trail across his face. Taking note of each line, each edge, each crinkle. The shape of his lips, the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw. The dimples in his cheeks and the dark hairs of his eyebrows.

He’s quite handsome. Alluring, in a sense, yet oddly safe. You imagine this was by design. To help those he protects, and comforts feel more at ease in his presence.

And while you’re looking at him, you notice he’s looking at you, too. Just as intently, with nothing but admiration. He studies the faint, golden sparkles that litter your skin. The way they glimmer beneath each drop of moonlight, a common feature amongst fairies.

You imagine this isn’t the first time he’s seen a fae’s enchanted flesh. But he indulges in the sight of you, nonetheless. Indulges in your magic.

Then, he steps forward, and you feel the air shift.

“May I confess something?” he whispers, and you sense his slight hesitation.

“Of course.”

With a deep inhale, he tentatively reaches out his hand and ghosts the tips of his fingers along your cheek. “…I feel an overwhelming urge to kiss you.”

Your lashes flutter while the insides of your stomach twist and turn into impervious knots. “Oh?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Mhm. And I know that breaks…every rule in existence.”

“And then some,” you breathe, struggling against the desire to push yourself into his palm.

You wonder if this is part of the ruse. If perhaps you feel so enamored by him because that’s what a guardian angel does. It encourages you to feel more susceptible. Maybe this pull to him is nothing more than magic.

Still, it pulls you, nonetheless.

“I want to kiss you, Lily,” he murmurs, moving closer until the front of his chest just brushes against your own. “And I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do now.”

And you know the admonitions. Know the rules, the history between angels and fairies. You know that his very presence in this garden is inviting trouble into paradise, and yet…you have no yearning to tell him to go.

Because you don’t want him to go. You don’t want him to take his hand from your cheek. You don’t want him to leave this sacred orchard at all, and even though every fiber of your being, every nerve-ending, and every cell in your body is desperately attempting to warn you…you push into his touch, anyway.

“I think…you should kiss me,” you finally say, grasping onto his wrist.

This answer surprises you both. Neither one of you understand it or have the knowledge to comprehend the repercussions.

All you know is right here, right now. His hand on your face, his lips much too close, and his aura. His effortless ability to make you feel like you’ve just come home.

His thumb follows the outline of your cheekbone. “Are you sure?”

You squeeze his arm a bit tighter and nod once. “I don’t see why not. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He grins – a wide, toothy grin – and you decide that it might be the most beautiful thing in this whole garden. “What a fearless way of looking at it.”

With that, he kisses you. Presses his lips to yours and takes each strained breath from your lungs.

It’s hesitant and it’s unsure and it’s perfect. A moment in time meant just for the two of you, here beneath the large willow tree and the pale light of the moon.

Eventually, he pulls back, but he keeps himself close. His mouth moving to your cheek while your eyes fall shut.

And you drink him in. His scent, his skin. Memorizing each inch of the angel in your arms as you ask yourself what you did to deserve such wonder.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” he says. But it’s heavy, the way he speaks. “If I don’t return soon, they’ll come looking.”

You nod your understanding and swallow the lump in your throat. “Go,” you whisper. “You have souls to protect.”

This makes him chuckle before a wounded look of remorse settles on his expression, the palm of his hand slipping around the back of your neck.

He dips down to rest his forehead against yours, almost as though looking for balance. Stability amidst a sea of uncertainty, and you’re more than happy to offer it to him.

“My Lily,” he exhales, and the sound of your name on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine. “I am so glad my wings brought me to you.”

Smiling, you nuzzle the tip of your nose against his.

“May they bring you back again.”

The next parts will be all the angst and turmoil and fluff and smut, I swear, I just had to do the background first HAHAHA WE ARE THROWING ALL THE TROPES INTO ONE POT AND COOKIN' BABY!

Amazing credit for the beautiful dividers to @firefly-graphics 💞

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince

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whisperofsong · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: Bob takes care of you after a long day.

Word Count: Approx. 3,082 words

Warnings: Language and explicit sexual content

Note: This piece was written for @attapullman ‘s International Bob Floyd Fucks Month celebration and intentionally posted on Lewis Pullman’s birthday. I adore our collective boyfriend and loved writing this to honor one of my favorite characters of his💛

____________________________________________

The rain patters against your windshield as the windshield wipers rhythmically glide back and forth, almost putting you in a trance. Your shoulders are slumped as you stare ahead and count the minutes until your car is once again in the driveway.

Work had been more stressful than usual. The incessant alerts signaling the arrival of new emails flooding your inbox. Additional things being asked of you despite your already taxing workload. Interruptions from your coworkers as you attempted to focus on completing the various tasks on your to-do list. Despite these challenges, you managed to accomplish a few things, but it wasn’t enough. And you feared that the week may only get worse.

When your tires meet the smooth pavement of your driveway and you pull the key out of the ignition, you remain in the car. The stillness and silence is a welcome respite from the pandemonium in the office. Your energy is almost nonexistent and you find yourself wincing when you look at the distance from your car to the front door. You eventually muster enough energy to grab your things and head inside.

Faint music and a pleasant aroma greet you and the man responsible for them is Bob Floyd. But Bob Floyd isn’t just any man. He’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend of a little over a year to be exact.

“Boyfriend” is almost an inadequate label for what Bob Floyd is to you. He’s the man who memorized your coffee order just so he can get it for you every Saturday morning. He indulges in your favorite TV shows alongside you and makes remarks that he’s confident will make you laugh. When you inevitably fall asleep in the middle of watching them, he doesn’t disturb you, but instead covers you in the coziest blanket you own because he knows you sleep more soundly on the couch. He’s the man who embraces you at the end of each day and whispers the most tender words while kissing you between each sentiment.

But as you stand in the tiny entryway of your home, your heart deflates because not even Bob’s presence can buoy you right now. Your chest is tight, your shoulders are throbbing, and your whole body feels heavy. When you enter the kitchen, Bob’s back faces you as he busies himself with stirring something on the stove while the comforting melody of “Silly Love Songs” surrounds you.

“Hey,” you say softly. Even your voice is strained.

He immediately turns around to face you, his eyes twinkling. “Hey, honey. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says as he happily makes his way toward you. His strong arms engulf you and you sink into his warmth, his scent calming you in ways you can’t even describe. It’s one of his specialties. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, wishing you could permanently reside there.

“Hey.” He slightly pulls away while putting his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to get you to look at him. “Talk to me, honey.”

You slowly lift your head, reluctant to meet his gaze. There’s no use lying to him. He can read you well and therefore detect anything that seems amiss. “I had a bad day.” Your eyes travel downward, refusing to maintain eye contact. You’d prefer not to make this a big deal. Ideally, you’d prefer to curl up in bed, hibernate under the covers, and drift into a deep slumber where work can’t get to you.

Concern decorates Bob’s features as he furrows his eyebrows and cocks his head, preparing to prompt you further.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You release a long and labored sigh. “Eventually. But right now…I just…” You shake your head and peer down at your shoes.

He gently nudges your chin with his fingertips. “What do you need?”

Hesitantly, you lift your head once more, two sets of pleading eyes meeting each other. You chew on your lip, contemplating your response, before saying, “I need to not think. To turn my mind off.”

Bob’s quiet for a few beats as he mulls over your admission. “That’s what you really want?”

You’re momentarily stunned by the lower octave and rougher edge to his voice. You almost forget that he’s waiting for your confirmation, so you lightly nod in response, eyes locked with his own.

Wordlessly, Bob catches your jaw in his hands, his thumb slowly moving back and forth across your bottom lip in a tantalizing motion. After several sweeps of his thumb, he presses it firmly against you, silently requesting that you part your lips. You oblige him and as soon as you do, his thumb enters your mouth. Your tongue darts out to wet it and your lips wrap around him, closing your eyes to savor the way he pushes it farther into your mouth.

“Good girl. Just like that, honey.”

This elicits a whimper from you because he knows the effect his compliments have on you. When his thumb pulls out of your welcoming mouth, you find yourself thrumming with anticipation. Your heart is hammering against your chest and your toes are curling inside your shoes as you await his next move. It’s almost torturous.

He crouches down and carefully removes your shoes, one at a time, his eyes refusing to leave yours. He caresses your calves and his touch alone has you weak in the knees. Without warning, his hands grab the back of your thighs and he wraps your legs around his waist as he ascends the stairs with you in tow. Your hands play with the tufts of hair positioned at his nape as your chest fits comfortably against his.

Once you reach the bedroom, he gingerly lays you down on the bed, a hungry and determined look evident in his eyes.

Your hands begin to lift the hem of his t-shirt, but he stops you.

“No,” he objects in a low voice. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. I wanna make you feel good, baby. No thinking. Just feeling.”

You shiver at his words. You’ve never been more eager to be intimate with him than you are at this moment.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His lips descend on your neck and a soft moan leaves your lips as he litters your neck with kisses, licks, and marks that are proof of his love for you. Although you try to remain still, you can’t help yourself from lifting your chest toward him, silently imploring for more of his touch. Needing more, more, more.

He chuckles against you, understanding your plea. “So needy for me, baby. Such a greedy thing.”

“Bob. Please.” You’re growing impatient and have no right to feel this way. He’s just getting started, after all.

He leans up on his knees and stares down at you laid out beneath him, sporting a smirk that seems to imply he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His hand expertly dives under your dress, gradually climbing until he’s reached your stomach. When his hand finds the cups of your bra, he squeezes each one, but the fabric prevents you from enjoying the full sensation.

“You know better than to hide them from me,” he chides.

“I-I have to wear a bra or my nipples will show through my dress.”

“Mmmm.” He nods in agreement. “Because no one deserves to see them. These are for me only, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Only for you, Bob.”

“Sit up for me,” he orders gently, guiding you so that he’s able to support you in this position. As he pulls down your zipper, he plants several kisses on the side of your forehead, his sweetness almost overwhelming after the day you endured. His touch grounding you when you need it most.

Bob peels the fabric from your body, helping you remove your arms from the confining sleeves. He pulls it down your body and you use your feet to kick off the now rumpled dress on the bedroom floor. Before you can resume your position beneath him, he deftly unclasps your sleek black bra and flicks his skillful tongue against your exposed, peaked nipple, causing you to fall back against the mattress.

Your unabashed moans fill the room as your fingernails dig into the thick comforter. You’ve imagined moments like these on nights when you were alone and Bob was deployed miles and miles away with email being your sole form of contact. But knowing that you have him here, that this is real, is enough to send you careening over the edge.

His tongue is strategically rolling your pointed nipple back and forth and you find yourself fighting the urge to touch yourself because his touch is worth the wait. When he moves to your other nipple, your hands card through his hair and your legs wrap around his waist because you need to be as close to him as possible. This closeness allows you to feel his bottom half and his erection is prominent, reminding you that he’s as turned on as you are right now.

His mouth travels down your stomach as it leaves wet and somewhat sloppy kisses in its wake. Your nipples are now exposed to the cool air and missing the heat of his mouth, but its current destination is enough to dull your disappointment.

His nose nudges the lacy edge of your black panties, but he doesn’t rush. His sincere eyes meet yours questioningly.

“Can I eat you out, sweetheart?”

“Please, Bobby. Take care of me.”

“Always.” He presses a soft kiss to your clothed center before tugging the fabric to the side and dipping his tongue between your soaked folds. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You try to cross your legs, a little self-conscious about your body’s response to his minimal touch, but he protests.

“Don’t hide from me. Please. Don’t ever hide from me.”

Your legs fall to the side and he tugs your panties down and flings them over his shoulder. The sight of him positioned between your legs with his slightly askew glasses, perfectly styled hair, and enthusiastic gaze is something to behold. His strong hands grasp your thighs and his tongue laps at you fervently. Within seconds, you’re bucking against him and he holds you down, wanting to take his time in tasting you. His tongue enters you and you yelp in surprise as pleasure surges throughout your body.

His tongue moves upwards and swirls around your clit before sucking on it as if it’s the greatest flavor of candy he’s ever tasted. You can’t imagine it ever being any better than this, yet he always manages to prove you wrong the next time. You’ve never been so ecstatic to be wrong.

You feel your orgasm approaching and as much as you want to wait until he’s seated inside you, you can’t garner the strength to tell him to stop. Instead, you pray that he doesn’t stop because you want this. You need this. Less than a minute later, your release arrives. “You’re making me come, Bob. I can’t-“ Your words abruptly trail off and you feel wetness pool out of you, but Bob doesn’t change his motions. His tongue accepts everything you’re giving him with enthusiasm.

When Bob pulls away and meets your satiated, dazed face, his glasses are fogged and his mouth is glistening.

“Bobby.” With this singular word, his mouth is on yours in an instant and he’s kissing you passionately, his tongue clashing against your own. You bring him to your level and clutch him to your chest.

“Not done with you yet,” he growls and this intensifies the heat blooming in your chest along with the achiness thundering between your legs.

He swiftly removes his jeans and t-shirt, but before he strips completely, he guides your hand to the massive bulge that’s barely contained by his briefs. “That’s what you do to me. Every day.”

A small gasp leaves your mouth, even though you’re cognizant of how easily you’re able to turn him on. Though somehow, he seems bigger this time, if that’s even possible.

“Need you inside of me,” you whine impatiently, growing frustrated without his closeness, without his body claiming your own.

“Can’t be premature, honey,” he reminds you. He leans over your exposed body to fetch the vial of lube in the drawer of his nightstand. Although it’s no longer painful, there’s still a burning stretch that accompanies the first few minutes of him entering you. The lube reduces your discomfort and even though you prefer not to prolong the timeframe when Bob’s not inside of you, you know you’re always grateful for it once he’s where he belongs.

He strokes his length with a generous handful of the sticky substance and you watch him, mesmerized at the sight of his mouth-watering, glistening cock. He’s a delicious eight inches with a plush head that always hits the right spots.

“Spread your legs for me, honey,” he instructs sweetly and you notice the blush that colors his cheeks when you heed his command. Even after all this time.

Bob languidly strokes his cock against your soaking clit and through your drenched folds. “Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes scrunching shut. “You feel so good like this. Can’t get over how wet you are.”

“I-I’m sorry. Can’t help it,” you admit as you find yourself barely holding on.

“Don’t apologize. I love it. Love that you’re so needy for me.” He continues sliding his dick up and down your clit and your hands grasp his forearms as you try to steel yourself. You glance at his dick, now covered in a combination of lube and your arousal, and the way it moves against you in a frenzied manner while his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. The sight is so erotic that your body begins to shake. It’s already happening again.

“B…Bob.”

“Come for me. Give it to me and don’t hold back,” he says breathlessly.

A sharp cry pierces the otherwise silent room as a deluge of pleasure consumes you. You relish every second of it, riding the heady wave of euphoria until it’s gone and you’re nothing but mush.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically just as Bob moves so that he hovers above you. “You’re definitely ready for me now,” he shares with a shy smile despite the events that just took place. He lines himself up and fleeting eyes meet yours to confirm he can proceed. Your fingertips graze his cheek with a feather-light touch and the two of you exchange earnest smiles.

Bob slowly pushes himself inside of you and the burning stretch that’s accompanied the other times is almost absent. Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he exhales deeply and shuts his eyes in concentration. You know he’s trying to focus in an effort to make this last as long as possible.

You brush the stray tendrils of hair that fall in his face aside and he looks up at your touch. “It’s okay, Bob. You can move. Just wanna feel you.”

He wordlessly shifts forward and this singular action practically steals the breath from your lungs. He’s so deep and it wasn’t until he reached that spot that you realized how much you yearned for this. This intimacy, this contact, this unparalleled devotion.

Bob inches out only to enter you again and you’re clawing at and clutching at the expanse of his broad shoulders.

“You have the sweetest little pussy. Being inside you feels like home.”

All you can do is make incoherent noises because his sinful movements are robbing you of your voice. Of your ability to do much of anything besides bask in this glorious session of lovemaking. He directs your chin downward. “Look at that. The way you respond to me.”

Watching him disappear and reappear over and over again causes your head to spin. You’re so wet that a prominent squelching noise seems to echo off the walls. Bob notices it, too, because he’s biting his lip and hastening his movements.

“You trust me?” he asks in a serious tone.

“Always,” you reply.

He takes your legs and places each one on his opposite shoulder. He then resumes his movements, but picks up the pace, and this angle causes your vision to blur, colors fading in and out.

“Beautiful,” he punctuates with a particularly emphatic thrust. “You’re so beautiful,” he gushes.

“Honey…honey,” you moan, a victim of his tender words in tandem with every thrust and twist of his hips. You clench around him and Bob shouts, unable to contain himself.

“Close, honey. So. Close.” His voice is huskier, tired, and indicative that he’s in need of a release.

You clench around him again and this time, he freezes above you before a final thrust of his hips that ends with his seed spilling into and dripping out of you. He’s spent and already gave you two orgasms, but this doesn’t stop him from getting you to the finish line a third time.

“You don’t…you d-“

“I made a promise to take care of you, baby. I never break my promises, especially when I’ve made them to you.” He bends down and kisses you, communicating with each stroke of his tongue. You’re important to me. I’ll always take care of you. I love you.

In the middle of your kisses, your third orgasm overtakes you and your release soaks his cock, the two of you a complete mess from your activities. When you come down from your high, Bob rolls over and pulls you to his chest that is now covered in a sheen of sweat, peppering your forehead with kisses.

“Thank you for that,” you whisper bashfully against his chest. “That was amazing.”

He tips your chin so that you’re face to face now. His eyes are soft again and he’s looking at you with such reverence that you think you might cry. “You’re amazing,” he tells you. He tangles his fingers in your hair as his eyes search your face. “Was that what you needed?”

“It was better,” you correct with a kiss on his nose.

A broad grin stretches across his handsome face. “Anything for my best girl.”

Several minutes pass before you speak against, the afterglow of your lovemaking too precious to interrupt.

“Um…Bob?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Did you ever turn the stove off?”

“Oops,” he says sheepishly, causing both of you to erupt into laughter as your naked bodies intertwine and hearts beat in unison.

@bradshawsbaby @luminousnotmatter @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @sebsxphia @bobgasm @delopsia @up-thereinthesky @floydsmuse @roosterforme @ryebecca

#bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #international bob floyd fucks month #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman

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fluffy-dixon · 2 months

Text

You are my sunshine

Judith’s restlessness had become a shared concern. Rick’s grief weighed heavily on everyone, and taking turns caring for Judith was the least we could do to support him. But tonight, despite our best efforts, nothing seemed to soothe her. Multiple bottles, Beth’s sweet songs, and even Maggie’s toys from a recent run with Daryl—all fell short. Even Carol, usually adept at calming anyone, couldn’t ease Judith’s fussiness.

As you balanced Judith on your hip, trying to calm her while dishing up stew, Daryl noticed your struggle. His heart went out to you. With a delicate smile, he rose from his seat at the end of the table and crossed the room. Judith’s eyes widened as she caught sight of him, and she reached out eagerly, tiny hands grasping for him. His smile grew wider at her excitement.

“Here,” Daryl murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Lemme take her so you can’eat.” He cradled Judith in his arms, tucking her gently inside his beloved poncho. Her little head popped out of the V-neck, and he walked away, bouncing her up and down as he headed toward the cell blocks. Her grizzly cries gradually faded into the distance, leaving you with a mix of relief and gratitude.

-*-

As the meal concluded and the dishes were washed, you excused yourself, slipping away toward the cell blocks. The darkness outside unsettled you, though you hesitated to admit it. The route back was a labyrinth of corners and turns, shadows playing tricks on your senses. Your hand instinctively rested on the handle of your knife—a silent reassurance in this uncertain world. Normally, the sounds of wind, creaking buildings, and hushed conversations accompanied your journey. But tonight, a different melody filled the air—a lullaby you’d recognize anywhere.

Daryl.

His voice grew louder as you approached the cell. You lightened your steps, mindful not to disturb Judith if she had already fallen asleep. The moonlight streaming through the top windows guided you. Turning the corner, you almost tiptoed, peeking around the edge.

Daryl stood with his back to you, his silhouette illuminated by a single candle on your bedside table. “You are my sunshine,” he sang softly, swaying from side to side, hips gently rocking. Judith, cocooned in his poncho, emitted a contented gurgle, her eyes heavy with sleep. “My only sunshine,” he continued, the words a soothing balm. “You make me happy when skies are grey.”

He must have sensed your presence, for he paused. From the first turn toward the cell blocks, you had crept closer, stopping just behind him. Peering over his shoulder, you saw Judith’s glistening eyes, her struggle to stay awake. “You’ll never know, Jude,” you whispered, your heart swelling. Her tiny fingers twitched as she surrendered to slumber. “How much we love you.” Tears welled in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. “Please don’t take our sunshine away.”

A single tear rolled down the surface of your cheek as Daryl turned toward you, cradling Judith with the ease. Her tiny head nestled in the crook of his elbow, she slept soundly. His eyes met yours, and a proud smile stretched across his face. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something momentous, but then he hesitated.

Still swaying gently, his gaze shifted back to Judith. And then, in a voice filled with quiet determination, he uttered the words that melted your heart: “M’ready. I wanna be a dad.”

---------

Edited: 08.03.2024

Please message if you would like to be tagged

@yevmarie @thegeorgiahuntsman @hannah-murdock-505 @charlottewatkinsblog @maggie-atwood @welcumetomyescape

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #norman reedus #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl #daryl x female reader #twd fanfiction #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #fluffy dixon

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juniefruit · 4 months

Text

*-producer bf chan-*

Just some thoughts I had, there's not really order to any of these bullet points. :) y'all I don't proofread these-

Word count: 550

Producer chan definitely writes songs with you in mind. He’ll call you into his apartment studio so he can show you what he’s working on (he needs validation) and also to ask if you approve, even though you say anything he makes sounds godly. You two met because of your jobs in media production. Since you both have similar backgrounds, he values you and feels like you help him to be the best version of himself.

When it’s a stay-at-home kind of day, he wears his favorite oversized hoodie and comfy sweatpants. Back hugs all. day. Sometimes you have to physically block him from going into his studio on his day off. Or, drag him out by his rolling chair when he needs to take a break. Poor boy overworks himself to the point of exhaustion, he usually can’t stay awake for more than 40 minutes if you guys are all bundled up on the couch. You don’t mind though, he could fall asleep on the kitchen floor and you wouldn’t dare disturb him.

His favorite place for date night is a dimly lit high-end restaurant, followed by a walk along the riverside, or an outdoor mall illuminated with string lights. You hold hands, the weather is a bit chilly as it’s already dark out. You two are the ultimate night owls given the right circumstances. You think he looks so good in formal attire, and he can say the same for you. Truly a power couple.

Being skilled in any type of media content means you’re always surrounded by it in public. He can’t help but notice certain melodies or beats that play and point them out to you. You think it’s absolutely adorable when he goes on little rants about the most niche producer things or pet peeves.

If you don’t have anything on your schedule, you’ll come to the recording studio with him and just chill out. You’ll say hi to the boys, mainly chat with han and changbin while chan is busy. You’ll sneak out of the studio behind chans back, and come back with some coffees or treats for the group. The group teasingly calls you mom.

He’s big on physical touch and words of affirmation. If you’re not the best with words, then he knows how meaningful even the lightest touch can be. You both give and take from eachother in order to fulfill your own needs; it’s a very mentally beneficial relationship.

Berry!!!!!! Berry loves crashing on the couch/bed with you guys. You all become a big tangled pile of limbs by the end of the show/movie. One of the smaller things you’ve learned to enjoy is going on walks together with Berry. It’s one way to convince Chan to take a break from work, too.

Your apartment is adorned with various vintage records/vinyls, a guitar, and just various music inspired decor. You rarely use the big overhead light, since it gives off doctor’s office vibes. Instead, you opt for sunlight from the big patio windows during the day, and warm lamp lights throughout the apartment after dark.

P.S: The thing I love about chan the most is how he’s always at the back of the group to make sure everyone’s there/safe. If that isn’t the GREENEST flag!!!

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #bang chan #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids bang chan #stray kids drabbles #stray kids blurbs #christopher bang

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lowkeycasanova · 15 days

Text

Isn't that sweet

sanji x f!reader

loosely inspired by espresso by sabrina carpenter

wc: less than 700

As Sanji ascended the stairs of the Thousand Sunny to the deck in the morning, the wooden planks creaked underneath his footsteps. A pair of legs came into view as he walked up and there, leaning against the railing with a serene smile, stood his beloved.

Your frame with the backdrop of the vast ocean, along with your hair swaying in the breeze, was a sight to behold.

Sanji's heart skipped a beat as he approached. His footsteps softened, not wanting to disturb. He admired you from afar for a moment, taking in the way the sunlight kissed your skin.

"Good morning, my dear." he said softly. You turned around to him, meeting his gaze with a tenderness that melted his heart.

"Good morning, Sanji." you replied like a melody.

His hand, once tucked away in his pocket, found it's place on the small of your back.

With the waves being the only sound, it was easy to feel like it was only you two in the world. That is until Luffy's unmistakable enthusiam arrived.

A chuckled escaped your lips at the thought. You love that kid.

Looking up at boyfriend, you observed him with a smile, loving the way his hair matched the sun. A soft smile played on your lips while a subtle yawn escaped from his. He tried to conceal it by slightly turning his head and covering his mouth with his free hand.

Then he caught your eye, his own expression sheepish yet filled with affection.

"Sorry love." he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

You look amused. "Tired?"

"A little. Didn't get much sleep."

"Why's that?"

"Just... thinking about you, is all."

It was true. You and your presence consumed his thoughts. And it'll be random too.

I wonder what she's doing right now.

I wonder if she's thinking about me.

I wish I was with her right now.

She looked so beautiful today.

I loved the way she hugged me the last time I saw her.

He thinks about you when you're with him and when you're not. On thought will lead to another and he'll lay in bed thinking about you all night if he could. And results in having dreams about you when he does sleep.

Your smile widened at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. "I know the feeling."

With tender fingers, you grabbed a hold his hand that was resting on your back and interlocked them.

He couldn't help but smile. Everything you so makes him smile.

Sex wasn't the passionate driving force of your relationship. Softly brushing against him made a shock go through his body, even if you did it by accident. Seeing you fight beside him filled him with pride. Tending to his wounds made his heart skip a beat.

He still gets nervous when he sees you. He gets butterflies in the pit on his stomach. He's giddy, happy, content, and distracted all at the same time.

Sanji brought your intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. His warm breath fanned over your skin. It's Sanji, so he's done this before, but the kindness in the gesture will always make you swoon.

"Love you."

The words were unexpected and you thought that maybe you had imagined them. This wasn't new. Sanji was never the one to only say it sparingly. He was going to tell you as much as he could.

It made your heart swell. Aside from your parents, no one has ever loved you like this. And not only did he tell you, he showed you.

You pulled your hand from his, reaching to brush a strand of hair from his face, and wrapped both arms securely around his neck before he could whine about the loss of connection.

Your lips kissed his softly and a low moan was emitted from his throat. His lips parted and you knew there was more he wanted to say, but couldn't. Simply kissing him made his head spin.

"Love you too, Sanji."

#sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji fluff #sanji fanfiction #sanji fanfic #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction

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melancholymegumi · 4 months

Text

.・。.・゜✭ MELODY ✫・゜・。

melody / megumi . 20s , asian autistic omnisexual 17 and under do not interact ! minors will be blocked.

asks are open for thoughts , suggestions and thirst ; I don't take requests unless I'm doing an event. I have every right to not answer and deny requests

I write a lot of dark and disturbing content , you read what you decide to consume. most common writing topics are ; yanderes , daddy/mommy kinks , ddlg and stepcest stuff similar like those.

fandoms I write for + characters I often write for : NIJISANJI , (both en & jp , including suha) bnha (izuku , shota , keigo , dabi , tomura) , jujutsu kaisen (megumi , naoya + kashimo)

I don't write for male readers / gender neutral readers. I'm not an experienced writer for them , I'm sorry. This will be mainly female readers and gender neutral readers if I feel like it.

do not interact if you are a minor. this isn't a safe space for kids , it has a lot of dark content that you (minors) shouldn't be seeing. You consume what you consume , but I will block you if you don't have an age indicator in your blog ; or you're a blank blog.

masterlist (coming soon)

tag navigation

#melody's information #melody's headcanons #melody's short nonesense #melody's disturbing content #melody's current thoughts #melody's ramble #melody's mail box

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shiningqueen · 6 months

Text

Waltz

An attempt has been made to write Law. That is all. Rating: SFW / e for everyone. Notes: Fluff, pining. Not beta-read, we die like men here. Characters: Law x gn!reader.

The music is as vibrant and lively as the crew's energy, bodies flowing and dancing in a rare moment of reprieve from sailing. Most of them are drunk and that makes their attempts to dance to any sort of rhythm hilariously bad.

You arent dancing though. You're content to watch the ensuing free entertainment provided generously by the Heart Pirates. At one point, you see Penguin try to perform a headstand and promptly fall flat on his face, to the resulting guffaws of his fellows.

"You aren't going to join them, [Name]-ya?" Law's smooth tones pull your attention away, tilting your head obligingly towards the captain.

You shrug, "Probably not, I dont recognize whatever dance they are trying to do." A bemused smile tugging at your lips as you gesture to the unsteady swaying and wiggling of the crew. "What about you? Wasn't Ikaku trying to get you to dance?"

Law huffs and shrugs a shoulder, "I dont dance." He dismisses blandly and feeling bold, leans slightly into your shoulder. You definitely do not mind the casual proximity and hum in nonverbal acceptance to his excuse.

You weren't officially part of the crew, even though Law had offered you a position, but now he was sort of grateful you hadn't accepted. You were a useful ally to have on standby, not only for your skills in battle but your intel gathering had proven exceptional. Having someone with your freedom to prowl the seas and get in and out of Navy bases without stirring trouble was invaluable.

It also meant that he didnt have to worry about letting his growing attachment to you get any more serious than a passing fancy. Sometimes though, he wondered.

The music shifted into lighter, flowier melodies and that makes the gathered pirates try to hook arms together and sway messily. You laugh as Ikaku tries to coax Shachi into slow dancing with her.

"So," you say casually, "you don't dance or you can't dance?" Peering over at Law and - had he been staring at you? - there's a twitch in his brow as he swiftly glances away. Oh, was he bashful? That was really cute to see.

"Why is it of any concern to you?" He retorts dryly but lacks any kind of irritation otherwise, shoving hands into the pockets of his jeans and jostling against your shoulder from the movement.

More laughter bubbles up and you slide your arm through his, shifting your weight to tug him along with you a few steps. He stumbles with a curse at your antics, "Come on, I can show you a few steps. I took profressional lessons back home." You coax him and are delighted he doesnt really resist, especially since you're leading him a few yards out of sight from the crew. As if you knew he didnt want anyone else to see such a thing.

"[Name]," there's an attempt to complain but Law cant find it in himself to get upset, he feels a bit too warm under the collar when you reach to take his other hand in yours. "When am I going to ever need to know this?" He sighs but does not resist whatsoever when you place his hand on your waist. Was his heart starting to race? A slight quicken in his chest but he doesnt try to pull away.

You smile winsomely at him, "Dancing can help one with swordplay, dont you know?"

"I fail to see the similarities," he deadpans to try and hide the flustered squirm in his stomach.

You weren't going to tease him for getting all red faced and twitchy; there was a lot you had noticed about Law over the past few months of being acquainted with him. The tentative way he tried to get close to you, the slight touches, how he never turned you away from late visits in his office. Finding ways to disturb his calm, collected rhythm had become something of a guilty pleasure of yours.

"Just follow my lead," you reply softly, hand on his shoulder and your other clasped with his. Slowly you tug him into the first step, "I'll count, it's just a pattern. One, two, three." You go through the motions of a waltz, repeating the count under your breath to keep him on track.

Law finds the rhythm quickly enough after a dozen missteps and muttered apologies when he accidentally steps on your foot. He wont admit it outloud but it was nice to hold you a little closer than he normally allowed, circling and circling with his eyes trained on your face. His frazzled nerves werent so easily assauged though, he didnt really know what to say in the moment and just listened to how you whispered 'one, two, three' like it was a melody all of its own.

When you unwind your hands and stretch out to do a twirl, then slowly step back towards him, Law curls his arm around you and pulls you flush to his chest. Your waltz comes to a halt, with him frozen and you watching with a tender smile on your lips. If he leaned in just a bit more, he could kiss you, if he felt daring enough.

"You learn fast," you murmur and tilt your head forward just enough to touch noses with him. "What do you think of more lessons, Law?" Oh it was a lot of fun to see him blushing just from proximity and the hushed quality of your voice.

Law collects enough of his composure to release you and step away, clearing his throat and ignoring the burning of his cheeks. "Aren't you leaving tomorrow to scout ahead?" He deflects, hands back in his pockets to try and forget the warmth of holding you. (He wont forget.)

"Whenever I loop back with the gang, I can still teach you. No pressure," you answer easily with a shrug, mentally stamping down the fluttering in your own stomach. "I should probably head off to bed, gotta leave early and all that." The moment had passed and you knew better than to stick around and make things awkward.

Too many words stick themselves in Law's throat as you turn to walk away; how often you leave him speechless could be made into a damn bingo card. And you'd win that bingo over and over too.

"[Name]-ya," he manages to unstick his tongue, "I'll uh, think about it. Have a goodnight."

You glance back and salute him playfully, "Aye sir, goodnight."

#|lumi's tidbits|#|mine|#one piece scenario #law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #one piece fanfiction #fluff

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jaelvr · 16 days

Text

You were beautiful

Home | NCT 127 masterlist |

Requested : no

Prompts ; 51. “Please, just stay a little longer.” + 54. “Please don’t cry.” + 50. “I love you. Never forget that, okay?”

Pairing : ex! doyoung x reader

Pronouns : you/yours

Type : angst, fluff

Word count : 1.2k

Warnings : mutual feelings, exes to lovers, idol! au, slightly ooc

Have a great day !!

——————————

"The things I'm about to tell you, aren't so you change what's already on your mind."

He looked through his bag, searching for the letter he'd been given earlier in the day. They'd had a fan meet for their newest comeback, something they were used to by now. Getting presents and letters was nothing new, but there was something about this one he couldn't quite put his finger on. It felt familiar - like a home of some kind. The writing seemed familiar to him and the person in front of him, despite not being able to clearly make them out, was someone he'd known - he was sure of it. He pulled the letter out, wasting no time in opening it to read it.

"It's just that I keep thinking about all the melodies you made asleep at night."

He got up carefully, not wanting to disturb you too much. A lovestruck smile on his face as he looked at your figure next to him, taking in your peaceful expression and how the sun lightly shone on your face, making you look like an angel. Doyoung leaned down, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead, thumb softly caressing your cheek. He got up and stretched, about to head into the bathroom when he heard a tired yawn and eyes peering over at him. "Good luck today. I love you." you murmured, a sleepy smile on your face as you battled sleep to stay awake. "I love you too, sunshine. I'll see you later." he promised, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips and watching you for a few seconds before heading into the bathroom to get ready for practice. He could always get through the day if it meant coming home to you.

"I keep trying to forget but you were beautiful."

He thought back on it, remembering the way the pair of you would look at each other with absolute love. It was clear to anyone who saw you two how deep the connection truly ran. They'd been celebrating one of the comebacks, throwing a party to congratulate them. He'd come over when you were watching Jungwoo and Haechan drunkenly sing along to songs on the karaoke machine, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing fragile kisses to your neck. "Hey Doie." you grinned, turning around and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"You alright?" he muttered, brushing hair out of your face while his other hand gently ran circles across your hip. You let out a hum of content, nuzzling into his chest. "I'm so proud of you." you whispered, looking up at him with complete admiration and love, his face mirroring the same. "I couldn't have done it without you." he admitted, kissing your forehead. The way you looked at him made him never want to leave, always needing to either be next to you or have you close by. The way you called his name and how addictive he found it. You felt like home.

"I keep thinking about how we used to be. God, I just hate this part."

You'd known something was off the minute he'd walked through the door. He had said nothing, having a shower and getting into his pyjamas before curling up in bed, silent. You'd crawled in beside him, simply holding him and rubbing his back as his tears escaped, your embrace tight and not letting go of him. "You're okay. I've got you, love." you whispered, your head on top of his as you rubbed his back. You didn't force him to talk, simply letting him take his time and if he didn't want to talk about it at all, you never pushed him to. You stayed with him all night, comforting him in the morning as you caressed and planted kisses all over his tear-stained face, not making a deal or pressing on the issue. Just wanting to be there for him to soothe him.

"Think I've cried more than I had imagined."

The scene taunted him constantly whenever he couldn't fall asleep. The look on your face when he'd uttered the cursed six words. Doyoung was almost convinced he'd heard your heart shatter at his words. He wasn't sure what had broken him more between your desperate pleas to not leave or the tears that streamed down your face. “Please don’t cry.” he pleaded, his own tears falling. He wanted to tell you he was joking or he'd changed his mind, but he couldn't. He wanted to stay but knew it wasn't possible.

Not with him being an idol. He couldn't. He laid awake that night, your face and his actions constantly haunting him, knowing the pain he'd caused which he tried to ignore, convincing himself it was for the better. He'd give anything to go back to how you two were before, his heart hurting more as he read over the letter, realising you'd forgiven him despite the damage he'd caused you.

"'Cause the last time that you looked at me, I did all I could, I watched you leave."

He refused. He got up, and quickly headed to the entrance of the dorm, pulling his coat on and tying his shoes on. "Doyoung? Where are you going?" Taeyong questioned, looking at his phone which read eleven o'clock. "The letter." he murmured once his shoes were done, Taeyong looking at him in confusion as he pushed the letter into his best friend's hands. "They were there. They gave it to me today at the fan meet." he hurriedly explained. Taeyong skimmed through, the end of the letter catching his eye. Besides the “I love you. Never forget that, okay?” was a scrawled sunshine. The nickname Doyoung always referred to you as. Taeyong looked back up, a small smile on his face as he knew what he was doing. He nodded, squeezing Doyoung's shoulder before he left, bidding him a gentle 'good luck'.

"All the things you gave to stay with me."

Once he'd gotten there, he anxiously knocked on the door. He prayed you hadn't moved otherwise he'd look like an absolute idiot - not that he wouldn't already. His breath hitched as the door to the familiar apartment opened, words escaping him as he took in your look in front of him. You were in your pyjamas, your hair slightly messy with your natural beauty. "You look beautiful." he got out, hesitantly stepping forward, afraid of your reaction. Relief consumed him as he felt you step forward, resting your head on his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. He gently caressed the back of your head, the other resting on your back as he gripped you tightly, almost trying to assure himself he wasn't dreaming and he was actually here.

"I'm sorry. It doesn't feel right without you. I miss you. I miss the way you looked at me. I miss the way you called my name. I miss your smiles when we'd disagree, I-" he rambled, eyes widening as he felt you lean up, kissing him quickly yet lovingly. “Please, just stay a little longer.” you whispered a sad smile on your face. He cupped your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm not leaving this time."

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nayziiz · 5 days

Text

Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Carlos stirred from his slumber as the soft rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, his senses gradually awakening to the warmth of the morning light. With a contented sigh, he stretched his limbs and blinked away the remnants of sleep, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him.

Glancing beside him, he saw Lola still lost in the gentle embrace of sleep, her breathing slow and steady as she lay curled up beneath the covers. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he watched her, feeling a surge of affection and tenderness swell within him.

With a lazy grin, he reached for the chinos he had discarded the night before. Carlos slipped quietly out of the room, careful not to disturb Lola's peaceful slumber. Padding softly down the stairs, he made his way to the kitchen, the cool tiles cool against the soles of his feet as he moved.

With a sense of purpose, Carlos set about gathering the ingredients for breakfast, his movements fluid and efficient as he retrieved flour, eggs, milk, and a myriad of other ingredients from the pantry and fridge. As he worked, the familiar rituals of cooking brought him a sense of calm and tranquillity, the rhythmic stirring of the batter and the sizzle of the griddle filling the air with a comforting melody.

Soon, the kitchen was filled with the tantalising aroma of freshly cooked pancakes, the scent wafting through the air and mingling with the soft morning light.

As Lola awoke to the gentle light filtering through the curtains, she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that washed over her as she realised that Carlos was no longer beside her in bed. Panic surged through her veins as she frantically scanned the room, half-expecting to find it deserted, his presence nothing more than a fleeting dream.

But then she noticed it—his button-up shirt discarded on the floor, a silent testament to his presence in the room. Relief flooded through her as she realised that he hadn't left in the middle of the night as she had feared. He was still here, somewhere in the house, and the scent of pancakes drifting into the room was proof of that.

With a sense of curiosity mingled with trepidation, Lola rose from the bed, pulled on an oversized shirt, and made her way downstairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet echoing through the silent house. As she entered the kitchen, she found Carlos standing by the stove, a look of concentration on his face as he flipped a pancake with expert precision.

For a moment, Lola hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. But then Carlos turned to her, a warm smile lighting up his features as he greeted her with a soft, “Good morning.”

As she took in the sight of him standing there, shirtless and a light dusting of flour on his cheeks, all traces of her earlier fears melted away. In that moment, she realised that Carlos was different—that he wasn't like the others who had come before him. He was here, making breakfast for her, not because he wanted something from her, but simply because he wanted to stay..

“What're you doing?” She asked, her tone laced with curiosity.

“Making pancakes.” Carlos replied casually, flashing her a charming smile as he deftly flipped another pancake on the griddle.

“Pancakes?” Lola repeated, still struggling to wrap her head around the situation.

“Yeah, I love pancakes for breakfast and you had everything I needed. I hope that's fine.” Carlos explained, his voice warm and inviting.

Lola hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to this unexpected gesture of kindness. But then she nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah, carry on.” She told him.

As she watched Carlos continue to cook, a sense of warmth filled her chest. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real for a change.

When Carlos finished cooking, he carefully plated the pancakes, arranging them with precision on the dining table. He couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between Lola's plate and his own. While Lola buried her pancakes in syrup, creating a sugary oasis on her plate, Carlos opted for a simpler approach, adding just a pat of butter to his stack.

With a smile, Carlos joined Lola at the table, his gaze lingering on her as she practically dove into her pancakes, devouring them with gusto. He couldn't help but chuckle softly at her enthusiasm, admiring the way she seemed to relish every bite.

For a moment, they ate in comfortable silence, the only sound filling the room the soft clinking of cutlery against plates. But as they continued to eat, Carlos couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that spread through him, a sense of contentment settling over him like a cosy blanket.

And as he glanced across the table at Lola, her cheeks flushed with the joy of indulging in her favourite breakfast, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her.

“These taste just like my Mom’s pancakes.” She informed him.

Carlos's smile widened at Lola's words, a sense of satisfaction washing over him at her compliment. He had hoped that his pancakes would bring her some measure of comfort, and hearing that they reminded her of her mother's cooking filled him with a warm sense of pride.

“I'm glad you like them,” he replied, his voice soft and genuine.

As Lola shifted in her chair, leaning back to take a deep breath, Carlos couldn't help but chuckle at her contented expression. She looked positively radiant, her cheeks flushed with the afterglow of indulging in a hearty breakfast.

“You seem full to the brim.” He observed, his tone playful as he gestured to her slightly bloated form. Lola let out a soft laugh, nodding in agreement.

“I think I may have overdone it a bit.” She admitted, her hand coming to rest on her stomach as if to emphasise her point.

As Lola continued to shift in her chair, the oversized shirt rode up her thighs, revealing glimpses of lacy underwear peeking out from beneath. Carlos couldn't help but feel a surge of desire at the sight, his gaze lingering on her exposed skin with unabashed admiration.

“It's a pity,” he sighed, his voice laced with longing. Lola looked up, confusion flickering in her eyes.

“What's that?” she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“It's such a pity you're so full.” Carlos replied, his tone tinged with regret.

“Why's that?” Lola inquired, her curiosity piqued by his cryptic remark.

Their eyes met, and Lola followed Carlos's gaze down to her thighs, where her lacy underwear was now on full display. A blush spread across her cheeks as the realisation dawned on her, and she couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh.” She murmured, her voice laced with amusement. “Well, it seems I'm getting a bit more than some really good pancakes this morning.”

Carlos grinned at her playful response, his desire for her growing stronger with each passing moment.

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

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

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paperbackribs · 8 months

Text

Witch Steve

(working title)

next: Chapter 2: The Aftermath

So 👉👈 You were all so encouraging that I was inspired to write 14 chapters of Witch Steve. This will eventually be going up on Ao3, but while I'm finishing it up and re-editing I'll post the start of it all on Tumblr. Chapter content: steddie to come, platonic stobin, ~2K words.

Edit/Update: This is a 15 chapter fic. Ao3 here.

Chapter 1 The Sacrifice

Robin fiddles with the vodka bottle full of gasoline in her hands, “…in the face of the world ending, the stakes of my love life feel spectacularly low.”

She sighs, stuffing one of their rags into the mouth of the clear glass and completing their next Molotov cocktail. Steve watches the resignation on her face and thinks that if anyone deserves to have a moment of love and joy in the face of the world ending, it’s Robin.

It’s all of them, he reflects, looking out onto the grassy clearing.

The forest of trees behind Lucas and Erica reminds him of where they will be taking their battle to shortly. Vecna waiting in the Upside Down like a venomous spider in his web. Manipulating the troubled emotions and frightening visions of his victims, ready to break them in more than one way for his selfish desires.

Exuberant laughter draws his eyes over Nancy tailoring her weapon to Dustin as he dodges Eddie’s outstretched hands. Fondness rises within Steve like the warmth of rising bread. The fading sun frames the two boys as Eddie speaks earnestly into Dustin’s grinning face, the bond between them obvious even from here.

“Maybe it’s not the time for romance,” he admits, pensive as he watches Eddie tackle Dustin to the ground with a cackle. “But isn't love the most important thing when it is the end of the world.”

Robin knocks her knees amicably against his and he knows that this is her way of saying she loves him. He smiles back at her; he loves her too. He says it silently because he does, more than he can say at this moment. The words heavy and stuck at the back of his throat.

He wishes she could have had her moment with Vickie before they face the coming danger. The fragility of their situation leaves him with a disturbing feeling of unease churning in his gut.

It’s the fear of losing Robin that further feeds into Steve’s increasing sense of foreboding, making his teeth clench and nails dig into his palms. He has to Know, Steve decides; he needs to make sure there is hope for a later where love and romance can be indulged.

In the heart of the quiet afternoon, Steve allows the sounds of the boys roughhousing and Erica’s sharp, but not unkind, words to become muffled. While he relaxes his fists and Robin fades from his sight, Steve unfurls his uncanny gift to see into the murky depths of their futures. He hears a soft, haunting melody reaching out to him through the ethereal and a glimmering sheen covers his vision.

Like a weaver of fate, he gently unravels the white threads of destiny that intertwine around the lives of those he cherishes. Even Eddie, new to the party but just as entrenched in their fight, running scared; yet Steve thinks, just as courageously meeting the more experienced members toe to toe.

And it is only Eddie’s fate that gleams a terrible ox-blood red, a twisted tapestry of the future revealing a grim reality. Steve’s unease deepens as he Sees two roads diverging before Eddie, each leading to vastly different destinies.

One road, he is unsurprised to find, is golden bright and brilliant, full of joy, love, and friendship. This Eddie would be the guiding light for those he loves and who will love him just as fiercely as he holds them to his heart.

Steve swallows over the hard knot in his throat at the thought of all the beauty that is stolen if Eddie loses that path: because the other is shrouded in a terrible darkness.

If Eddie chooses this road, a jagged tear will be torn through the tapestry of too many lives. An unravelling thread that leads to the frayed fabric of its survivors in a way that Steve thinks the self-deprecating Eddie would never suspect.

Aside from family, only one other person knows Steve’s truth. Keeps his secret close to her breast, alongside twin confessions on a bathroom floor. Robin haltingly refusing Steve’s advances to favour Tammy Thompson and Steve blurting out that he comes from a long line of Witches. Taught at his nana’s knee and made to understand that this is something just as private to him as Robin understands her sexuality to be to her.

He watches Dustin’s wide smile, still innocent amongst a grim collection of dark moments, and Knows that this will be a turning point for his young friend. One in which Dustin lives a life spirited and mirthful or another irrecoverable scarred and linked to a critical event of grief and regret. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine and he decides he can’t stand idly by, watching as Eddie teeters on the precipice of these two divergent paths.

Drawing from long lessons of heritage and the power he and his kind hold, Steve decides on a potent action that will allow him to weave a new pattern.

---

Scarlet lightning roars in the darkness behind Eddie and Dustin as the boys wait for Steve, Robin and Nancy to depart and attack Vecna. The trailer behind the boys is tightly wrapped in the sinister vines of the Upside Down and the smell of sulphur rains down with the grey ash that coats the world in a bitter blanket. Steve watches the ghostly flakes drift onto the cloud of Eddie’s bound-back hair, and he knows that this is the moment that he readied for.

Steve reaches out to Eddie with his uncanny gift — a glass sphere, like a marble, is cradled innocently at the centre of his hand. It is as big as an apricot pit and strangely swirls with warm browns and flecks of gold, like the gentle play of sunlight flickering through to a forest floor. Steve holds his open palm out to Eddie, his hazel eyes filled with a heartfelt entreaty.

"Eddie," he asks softly, "take the marble and swallow it. Please, trust me."

Even in the short time that Steve has known Eddie, he gets that the other guy isn’t known for his impulse control. Despite this, he’s still somewhat surprised when Eddie, with no hesitation, takes the marble and swallows it down. Doe-eyed pools of warm brown look up at him through dark bangs.

“I do,” Eddie shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“What was that” Dustin shrieks, the faux military tags he had insisted on wearing jingling in agitation.

Robin stays silent behind him; Steve knows she’s holding her questions for later, having cottoned onto that he was up to something mystical when he’d hidden in the RV for a while. Only clasping his arm briefly in support when he had walked past, sweating and still pale.

Nancy though is just as surprised as Dustin and looks on at them suspiciously.

Eddie knocks an arm lightly into Dustin’s side, “I don’t know, but it tastes like hot chocolate. Warm,” he chuckles softly, “even comforting.” He turns questioning eyes back to Steve, “but, yeah, what was that?”

Steve feels how tight his smile is. “A little insurance.”

He talks to both of them, trying to instil them to obey by the force of his words alone. Knows that Dustin can be a stubborn little shit. “Just… if this goes south, I mean, at all. You abort.” But his focus turns, inevitably, to Eddie. “Don’t be a hero, man. Okay?”

A flash of emotion crosses Eddie’s face too quickly for Steve to understand before he slings an arm around Dustin’s skinny shoulders. “Of course, look at us. We are not heroes.” Under his hoodie and headband, Dustin grimaces in agreement.

The deep feeling of foreboding in his gut is untouched by their reassurance, but Steve doesn’t bother to unravel his Sight again. He’s done what he can and now he follows the girls to battle Vecna and maybe free them all from this nightmare once and for damn good.

As they travel through the dark forest, neither girl notices the small glowing pulse that Steve presses to each of them. The marks fade softly before the other can notice it. Transported by a light brush over Nancy’s tight shoulders and a firm squeeze of Robin’s sweaty hand in his.

The attack against Vecna is fierce but the three of them have never struck more certain or true. Steve with his axe, Robin and her cocktails, and Nancy with the shorn-off shotgun. Their attacks land every time and between their physical assault and Max’s diversion, something must go right because the world shudders once, then twice, but stays steady before Vecna screams harshly and his pale, grotesque body falls broken to floor. His web of terror finally shattered.

The rest of the decrepit house, vines and all, quickly catch from the blazing gasoline and the three stumble after each other, racing to the still-rancid outdoor air. But it’s air free of Vecna and that makes it all the sweeter.

With a whoop, Robin jumps into Steve’s waiting arms and breathlessly he swings her in joy. Resting his forehead on hers, he knows she can see every nuance of his relief, sensing him finally releasing the suffocating fear of the Upside Down. “This is it, Robin. I can feel it.” Steve exclaims.

Robin’s blue eyes, which sometimes can be so cynical for a person this young, gleam in belief. Belief in Steve and that he can See the truth of it all. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and is shaking in a combination of comfort and ebbing adrenalin. “Thank god,” she breathes.

“Let’s hope so,” Nancy interrupts. But she’s looking on at them with a small smile.

Steve knows it will take a long time for her to believe that it is true. And she doesn’t have the benefit of Steve’s Knowing as they do. But she’ll get there, he thinks. Much like it will take them all time to heal, they will. And the kids will bounce back, he thinks with faith. They’ve been made to be too resilient for children their age but he’s grateful for it, nonetheless.

It’s at the thought of Dustin that Steve remembers Eddie and those two paths he had seen; he urges the girls on, back to the uncanny version of the trailer park. Impatience sparking through to his fingertips.

They’ve not quite reached it yet when Steve hears the haunting cries of anguish that echo through the empty forest and roads of the Upside Down.

Dustin is hunched over the still-warm but devastatingly motionless body of his beloved Dungeon Master and friend. Bright red blood spills everywhere, coating Dustin's hands and across his face where he has smeared a hand over his cheeks. Eyes filled with tears and pain, Dustin looks up at Steve and cries out that the older boy had tried to save him.

“He said he didn’t run, Steve. But he did. He did. He ran to the demo-bats and they— they—"

Dustin starts hiccupping between tears and short, frantic breaths. He grabs at Eddie’s camouflage jacket, shaking the body as if it will jolt the older boy awake.

“Eddie!” Dustin cries. His voice, often bigger and louder than his short body would seem, breaks through the empty quiet of the Upside Down. No more swarming bats or jagged bolts of red lightning to distract from the palpable sense of grief saturating into their tired bodies. The only cruel answer is the flakes of ash gathering over Eddie’s unresponsive body like this terrible world is already trying to bury him away.

Steve’s heart is breaking, he feels the crack of it cleanly through his chest and in the thickening at the back of his throat and burning behind his eyes. But he is not powerless; this is exactly what he prepared for.

With a firm, yet gentle hand, Steve unlocks Dustin’s stiff fingers and shifts him into Nancy’s waiting embrace. She tries to turn him in her arms, but Dustin refuses to look away.

Nancy must think that Steve is going to quietly close the lids over Eddie’s blank eyes, which should be bright and expressive; eyes that were full of mischief just hours ago. Or that Steve will try to pick up the body and take it back with them, impossible as it seems in the moment, to think of carrying a heavy and limp weight vertically and against gravity where climbing through the Upside Down gates, with only their own bodies to support them, had been hard enough.

He’s not going to do any of those things, Steve thinks fiercely. He won’t need to.

With an unwavering determination, Steve drops to his knees and pushes his left hand down, through and deep into the realm of the mystical, until he finds an answering beat, a corresponding warmth. He pulls, straining with every ounce of physical and spiritual strength he possesses. A pearlescent light suddenly pushes out from Steve's link to Eddie, it pours unendingly into the dark landscape before pulsing sharply. The ethereal cuts precisely through the unclean atmosphere before rapidly shrinking back into the connection between the two boys.

Steve's own spirit is being drained, a live wire shooting up his arm and threading through every vein of his body in a white, blinding heat. But Steve knows that it is in this critical moment where he could lose his own body and soul, where the world hangs in the balance between life and death, that something miraculous can happen.

And it does.

Eddie draws a shuddering breath and his eyelids flutter open. His chest starts to rise even as his gaze looks unsteadily out into the living world once more.

“Steve?” he whispers hoarsely.

“I’ve got you, Eddie,” Steve murmurs, checking that the wounds are healing under the slick blood. His left arm is numb, but he uses the shaking right to examine Eddie’s torso where jagged gashes are rapidly closing over.

“It’s all right, we’ll get you help, you’re gonna be okay."

“No, Steve, your eyes…” Eddie lifts a shaking finger to touch Steve’s face, leaving a red fingerprint behind to mark Steve with the very essence of his mortal life.

Steve knows what he must see since this has worked. Because reality is not the same as when Eddie had closed his eyes for seemingly the last time. As Eddie returned from the brink of death, Steve now sees the world through one rich hazel eye, while the other will remain forever white and sightless, an eerie testament to the price paid to mend the shattered threads of destiny.

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swayziiwriter · 8 months

Text

Forbidden | Pablo Gavi

summary: ahead of the Ballon d'Or winners being announced, Barcelona midfielder Pablo Gavi had been presented the Kopa Trophy at a lavish ceremony that you’ve attended with your brother Pedri, you find yourself stealing glances at Pedri's best friend, Pablo Gavi, whose presence ignited a mix of emotions within you. Pablo's eyes frequently met yours with a hint of a shared secret. As the night unfolded, your unspoken connection deepened, hinting at a shared affection that had long been hidden beneath the surface.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

NOTE: the forbidden brothers best friend and off limits sister trope is everything, i’m obsessed and back writing

A muted groan left your mouth as Pablo embraced it with his hot lips, hauling them down to your uncovered neck leaving open mouthed kisses down your hot flesh. Your head fell back against the mass of the extravagant washroom, your body shaking as Pablo's cock siphoned all through your trickling center. Each push felt outrageous, an unfamiliar impression that cajoled your body in delight.

Would it be a good idea for you to have been doing this? No. In any case, you were unable to stop, regardless of how frequently Pedri cautioned you to avoid his companion Pablo was a forbidden fruit you were unable to let be.

Pablo was to far gone into this, an actual aggravation in his heart when you were around however distant, so often that he would get the ball really rolling anyplace he could. This time, the washroom of a costly extravagant function. A service that ended up having both your families on different sides of the walls. Pablo couldn't imagine that now, not while your walls were wrapped so intently against his cock.

"Pablo, it feels so good" you murmured into his ear, scarcely perceptible as the frail commotion of you bodies cooperating reverberated through the space. Your bodies were squeezed facing one another, your dress was clustered up to your abdomen as Pablo's pants were pulled adequately down to free his pulsating member.

Pablo's cock kept on penetrating your tight opening, smooth cum covering his part permitted him to slip in and out without any problem. Making an ensemble of your juices and his cock slapping against one another.

"Te ves tan hermosa así, llena de mi polla." You look so gorgeous like that, brimming with my dick. Pablo moaned, carrying a hand to cover your mouth as he calculated his hips to hit that perfect balance within your center that made your whole body shake. You could feel yourself drawing nearer to your peak, the closeness among you and Pablo considering you to get on his hurling relaxing. “I'm-i'm so close Pablo" you murmured, zeroing in on controlling your own relaxing. Pablo simply gestured not having any desire to make any more clamor then fundamental. It was exclusively until he as going to answer that you both heard it, the restroom entryway clicking open.

"No es una oportunidad mi amigo" not a chance my friend a voice said between chuckles. Perceiving the voice quickly both you and Pablo froze, your eyes went wide as Pablo brought a hand over your mouth hushing your relaxing. Pedri was inside the restroom, water running as he murmured a melody delicately cautious to not disturb whoever was in the stall down the line of them.

Pablo remained stilled within you, bodies nearer then ever as the apprehension about being gotten by your more seasoned sibling striking a virus feeling through both your bodies. Pablo looked as you moved your hips gently, so light that he nearly didn't get it. You were all the while attempting to get yourself off, gripping to your climax that was so close.

Pablo inclined his head down, concentrating all over intently prior to inclining toward your ear. “If only Pedri knew the amount of a cockslut his younger sister was for me.” You nearly came at his words gulping your groan that took steps to emerge from your mouth. “Y para su mejor amigo? Me mataría si descubriera lo sucia que realmente estabas." And to his best friend, he'd kill me if he found out how dirty you really were.

Once more pablo's hand tumbled down to your clit, moving his long fingers in a roundabout movement, your head shifting back against the wall. "Please, please don’t stop” you asked unobtrusively, gazing toward Pablo's spellbinding eyes. “Not even when your brother is on the opposite side?" Pablo ridiculed faintly.

You turned your head to take a gander at the slow down entryway concluding that even you remained invisible or heard then doing this present time and place with Pablo merited the gamble. Gesturing brutally you essentially moved your hips onto his fingers, asking for him to proceed. Pablo played with your clit, pushing into your pussy gradually with his cock at times.

Your core held around his cock, spasming hard around the length. Eyes moving to the rear of your head as Pablo quieted your groans with his mouth, interfacing his hips with yours as he considered his doused cock to brave your high. Eyes lustrous, legs frail, Pablo let out a delicate breath as Pedri at long last left the washroom negligent of the wicked demonstrations your were participating in not far from him.

"Mira lo que me haces hermoso." look what you do to me beautiful.

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