#Do you think the fairies was going too far?

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

Steve hears Eddie’s voice in The Upside Down.

It starts when they reach the vine infested attic of the Creel House, after they’ve lured the bats into the woods with a trail of fire, made them drowsy and stupid before setting them all ablaze; like a fucked up fairy ring, Steve had thought, and it had felt like exactly the kind of thing Eddie would think, and Steve’s trying to hold onto the words so he can remember to tell Eddie later; he wants to tell him—

He’s halfway up the stairs, stepping over a vine when he hears it.

“Shit. Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes.

He sounds so close, like he’s whispering in Steve’s ear.

And then he’s gone, and Steve’s turning to see Nancy and Robin just a step behind him—they haven’t heard anything, he can tell, but they both freeze for a moment, like they can read the fear on his face, something’s wrong, something’s really wrong.

But they all keep going, one step then another, and Steve thinks of history class, of soldiers going over the top.

He prays. Please, please…

More stairs. The door to the attic. Steve opens it.

Eddie’s voice again, high pitched and frightened. “H-hey, listen, man, you don’t—”

The sound is cut off abruptly; Steve feels a touch to the back of his hand. Robin.

He hands her the lighter, but he can see her hesitate out the corner of his eye, are you okay?

He shakes his head once, no time, and he smells a rag soaked with fuel when the voice comes again, still so desperately afraid, but hardening at the edges, “Oh, Jesus Chr—stop!”

“Steve.” Nancy next to him, eyebrows drawn.

There’s a Molotov cocktail in his hand that he can’t remember lighting.

Steve throws it.

He doesn’t even look to see if his aim is true, because Eddie is back, and his voice still shakes but there’s steel in its core, and Steve knows that all too well, knows the exact place it comes from: thinks of standing his ground in ‘84, knowing deep in his bones that it was down to him, that he’d do anything so long as the kids—

“Get away from them. I’m not—I’m not fucking messing around here, get away—”

Robin throws a bottle of her own; the flames soar, and Steve hears a new voice, dark and commanding—one he’s heard across the basketball court, but never quite like this.

“And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone—”

Nancy aims the gun.

“—where the beast and the false prophet are—”

Fires.

“—and shall be tormented day and night—”

Again.

“—forever and ever.”

Nancy steps forward, takes aim once more.

And Steve hears another pair of footsteps, someone running; he turns towards the sound, towards the door, and for a moment it’s almost as if he can feel Eddie rush past him like a ghost—wants to reach out, to grab his hand, but the sensation slips away like smoke; he’s too far away, he’s too…

Nancy takes the final shot. Henry Creel’s body shifts from something monstrous to something that’s smaller and human, but no less terrible for it.

Steve doesn’t watch. Can’t rid the feeling that it all rings false.

He can’t hear Eddie anymore. Can’t hear anything apart from the frantic thud of his own heartbeat, but that’s good, that’s good, he can work with that—lets it drive him forward, lets pure instinct take over so he’s grabbing the axe without a thought, swinging so it hits the vines still tangled on the wall, dormant, dead.

They break easily. Steve keeps going; there’s the barest hint of resistance, but all it tells him is that he’s on the right path, and then something gives, parts…

“Nance,” Steve says.

She’s right by him; he feels her hand around his wrist. From the way she squeezes tightly, knows that she’s already understood.

“Okay,” she says, fragile, “okay, okay.” A shuddering breath. “Steve, I can’t just—I have to—”

“I know,” Steve says softly, because he feels it, too: the awful thought that it’s all over too quickly. Senses Nancy’s anxiety as if it was his own, the desperate need to check, to stand vigil. Then—and only then—will she declare it over to herself.

He holds her hand, squeezes back. Lets go.

There’s movement to the left of him. Robin, her hair in her eyes, and that’s gonna bug her eventually, so Steve fixes it for her, tries to smile, to make this easy.

“Five minutes, okay?” he says—thinks of the elevator in Starcourt, how she counted the seconds passing with freakish accuracy. “No more.”

She opens her mouth, but Steve keeps talking before she can. “Promise me.”

She goes to shake her head.

“Robin, please,” he says, voice breaking.

Years ago, his mom got a phone call about the fatal car crash his uncle had been in. She’d picked up somewhere in between the second ring and the third, and then she’d screamed, and Steve had overheard without understanding—had still felt the echo of her grief.

He’s never told anyone that. But he wonders if Robin can see something of it on his face—that he’s stuck: still in between rings, the split second before the scream—because she’s nodding suddenly, close to tears, but so serious.

“I—I promise, Steve.”

He slips through the Gate in the wall, leaves them both behind—all he has to soothe him is a gut feeling, as the heat of Nancy setting the vines alight fades away: that The Upside Down is just a graveyard now. That there’s no danger to be found—not anymore.

Not in there.

He steps into the attic, where the floorboards are bare. Looks around sharply—Lucas and Max, huddled in the corner, and he can’t tell, he can’t tell if—

As Steve runs to them, a soft click filters through. Max, rewinding her tape; she’s not even looking at her Walkman, like she’s not even aware that she’s doing it. The headphones lie around her neck.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve finds himself whispering, gets one hand on Max, the other on Lucas, “thank God, thank God.”

They shake under his touch. Steve wants to shield them from every horror in existence, wants to swear to them that it’s over now, that they don’t have to do it anymore, but he has to—

“Where’s Eddie?”

It’s not a surprise when Max’s eyes dart to the door. Steve’s stomach drops anyway.

Lucas speaks, voice ragged, “Jason, he…”

And as Steve looks at him, the kid’s thirteen again, eyes wide with fear in the face of Billy Hargrove. You’re dead, Sinclair.

Steve pushes back a hot swell of anger. Hugs Lucas roughly, then Max, murmurs, “Okay, it’s okay. Stay right here. Nancy and Robin are coming, I promise.”

“Steve,” Max whispers when he’s at the door.

He turns back.

But it’s like she’s run out of words, shivering in Lucas’s arms. Still rewinding the tape, but her fingers are slipping now.

Lucas speaks for her—eyes off to the side, like he’s seeing something more than a Gate in the wall. “He had a gun.”

Steve checks a couple rooms, floorboards creaking no matter how quiet he tries to be. His heart’s still racing. It leads him to the staircase.

And Eddie’s right there, just a few steps down.

There’s the faint screech of a car driving away.

Eddie looks up at him. He’s standing obliquely, clinging to the bannister. His eyes shine in the dark, and Steve can just barely make out the evidence of bruises and cuts all across his face.

“He’s gone,” Eddie says with such relief.

I’ll kill him, Steve thinks numbly.

”I, um. I had to run,” Eddie continues, almost like he’s defending himself. “He—he wouldn’t listen, man. The kids, I… I couldn’t let him—”

“They’re fine,” Steve says, talks right over Eddie’s answering sigh, “we should go back up. Check on them.”

A pause.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Sure. Think I—think I just need a second.”

“Okay.”

Eddie smiles. It’s the worst thing Steve has ever seen.

“Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his throat tight. The word is ash on his tongue. “Yeah, it worked. It’s finished.”

“Good.” Eddie inhales. “And you’ll—you’ll tell my uncle, right? Tell him I didn’t kill Chrissy.”

“Tell him yourself,” Steve snaps.

But Eddie’s shaking his head. Steve can visibly see the adrenaline draining from him: his arms shaking as his grip on the bannister falters.

“Nah, man,” Eddie says, his voice thick and wet with tears.

“Stop fucking crying,” Steve says, instantly ashamed as the words slip out—fear rendering him sharp and mean; Eddie’s hand slips, and he turns, “Oh my God,” Steve says uselessly, “Oh my God, Eddie,” because it’s not a dawning horror really, more a realisation that they’ve both been putting off.

Maybe Steve has known all along.

He gets hold of Eddie before he can fall, mutters, “Here, I’ve got—Jesus, just lie down.”

“No, I don’t—” Eddie kicks out aimlessly, panicking, “I don’t wanna lie down, I don’t wanna lie down.”

Steve ignores him. Presses down on Eddie’s abdomen, hands already slick with blood.

Eddie is hyperventilating. He keeps saying it, “I don’t wanna lie down,” until it devolves into just, “Steve, Steve, I don’t want to,” until it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about lying down at all.

“You won’t,” Steve says, “you won’t, Eddie, just—push down, okay? You’ve got to—here, here, just push—”

Eddie’s hands are slack in his, and as Steve pushes against him, harder, harder, he cries out, breathing so shallow, so quick, too quick, “I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, “I’m sorry, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

He thinks Eddie must be in too much pain to understand—his body still spasming, still weakly fighting against Steve’s pressure.

But then he feels Eddie’s hand move, loosely clasp around his wrist.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, still crying, but Steve can hear him smiling somehow, fuck, how can he even—?, “hey, S-Steve, it’s okay. Just—just want to go home.” He’s rambling, almost incoherent, “It’s not that far, it’s—take me home, please, please, can you take me home, just—”

“I will,” Steve lies. “We need to fix this first, okay? Eddie, are you listening? Then we can…”

He trails off at the sight of Eddie looking up at him, his eyes so big, so full of life, and Steve doesn’t understand the expression on his face, doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look like this; and he wants Eddie to explain it to him, just wants him to talk, wants to…

I want to tell him, Steve thinks nonsensically.

“Steve Harrington,” Eddie murmurs, like he’s savouring Steve’s name. “You’re so…”

But Steve will never find out what he is, the rest of the sentence lost to a pained gasp.

“Don’t talk,” Steve says. Hates how harsh he sounds. “Eddie, just. Stay.”

Eddie smiles through blood. “I think I could’ve loved you.”

Steve hears movement from way above, a door slamming open, Robin and Nancy’s voices filtering down, still too far away to understand.

He could keep talking. Keep talking to Eddie.

But he knows.

The front door opens. Erica tears through it, screaming Lucas’s name, and then she stops in her tracks.

Dustin nearly collides with her from behind. Pulls her back, face slack with horror.

Steve leans over Eddie, desperately trying to shield him from them.

Dustin’s eyes meet Steve’s, over bright with fear; Steve thinks of him freezing in the graveyard, his own panicked shout, call Nancy and Robin!

He doesn’t want it to be too late.

“Call an ambulance,” Steve says, and Dustin’s eyes widen. He doesn’t sound remotely like himself, Steve knows, but he can barely even… Can only say it again, voice breaking horribly, “Call an ambulance!”

Dustin tugs Erica back. They run.

Steve stays right where he is. Looks down, and keeps looking—doesn’t turn away, not for anything, not even when it’s obvious that Eddie’s eyes are fixed and glassy.

He will bear witness to this.

#this has been haunting me (warnings info on ao3) #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve and the party #eddie and the party

[silvrash-797]

Glassbound

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Read on ao3

Welcome back! I finally finished the next chapter, and it is a roller coaster!

Chapter 5: The Bottle

Hyrule woke slowly. He’d had the most amazing dream. There'd been moments of panic, but they were far outweighed by the comfort…water, sweet and cool, running down his parched throat…being able to move without pain…his brother, Four, holding him tight, safe and warm…

Warm.

He was actually warm!

Hyrule's eyes jerked open and he sat upright with a gasp. A white, feathery cape edged in blue fell from around his shoulders. He gathered it in shaking fingers, hardly daring to hope…

Tears pricked in his eyes as he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Four stood framed in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

“Are you really here?” Hyrule asked, voice trembling. “I’m not dreaming?”

Four gently shook his head. “You’re not dreaming. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Hyrule buried his face in his hands, hiding the tears of relief that overflowed, but he could not hide the shaking that accompanied it.

Footsteps approached; strong arms wrapped him tightly in a hug, and Hyrule melted into the Smithy’s embrace. The touch grounded him. 

Four was here. 

He’d been found. 

It hadn’t been a dream. 

He allowed the emotions to run for a few more shaky breaths before taking a deeper one, gently pushing them down and away. They needed to make a plan.

Carefully, Hyrule sat up, still encircled lightly in the Smithy’s arms. “How long was I asleep?”

Four's head tilted as he deliberated. “Most of a day, I’d say,” he finally replied. “You must be starving.”

A distinct grumble accentuated Four’s words, and Hyrule flushed. 

Four chuckled. “C'mon,” he said, standing and helping Hyrule do the same. “It's nothing fancy, but I found some berries and nuts that should help. We’ve got plenty of water, too.”

Hyrule staggered but kept his feet as Four led him out of the room towards a veritable feast of foraged items. Four left his water skin then strode to the base of the stairs, keeping watch.

Hyrule selected a plump purple berry and broke the delicate skin between his teeth. Juice sweet as honey spilled into his mouth, and he sighed in bliss as the sugar fed his magic stores. 

He chose another fruit, more tart but still wonderfully sweet, to follow the first berry before picking up a handful of nuts and mushrooms. He inhaled their earthy aroma as he popped each one into his mouth, their woody crunch a perfect counter to the rich sweetness of the fruit. 

It certainly beat the bread and cheese the Boss had given him. Certainly beat what he could usually forage in his own Era.

He ate until he no longer felt hollow, saving some of the delicate, sweet wafer cakes for last. He could have eaten double the amount and still had some left over, but he didn’t know how long it had been since Four had eaten. 

Washing everything down with several long, sweet gulps of water, Hyrule finally left the food and picked his way to where Four was watching the stairs. 

Four's ears twitched as he approached. “How certain are you that they’ll take two days to come back?” the Smithy asked, turning around.

“I’m not,” Hyrule shrugged. “It’s just that they came the first time after I’d been alone two days, and two days later they came again. Since we can’t go more than three days without water, and they presumably want us alive…it lends itself to a pattern.”

“Do you feel strong enough we could leave early?” 

Hyrule probed at his internal magic store. It twinkled back at him, reassuring in its presence. “I have enough to turn into a fairy now, but I’d be pretty dizzy after.”

Four tilted his head, eyes jumping around the room as he thought. “Then, why don’t we go finish what we foraged, and make a quick turn around the keep. If we don’t see anyone, we can head out. What do you think?”

Hyrule didn’t have to think long. He desperately missed the sun. “Sounds good.”

Four insisted that Hyrule eat most of the food, though when Hyrule tried his best to mimic Time's “Disappointed Dad” face, he did take a handful of nuts and berries, along with half the remaining wafer cakes. The extra sugar and nutrients – coupled with his full day's rest – boosted his magic stores, enough that he’d be able to function as a fairy, though he still wouldn’t be able to use any of his other spells.

As they ascended the steps from the cellar – for the final time, Hylia, please! – Hyrule's heart pounded a staccato rhythm in his chest. They passed the place they’d been ambushed yesterday; when nobody blocked the stairs the rhythm eased slightly. Finally, they made it out of the cellar and into the main keep. 

Dazzling sunlight burst through the tall glass windows, assaulting Hyrule's dark-adjusted eyes. He welcomed the pleasant burn, squinting through the glare until his vision settled and he could take in the beautiful green forest surrounding the keep.

His heart ached to be out there already, but they had to be certain it was safe.

“You couldn’t just stay put and behave, could ya?”

Ice tore through Hyrule's veins at the sound. He whirled and froze as the Boss stalked up to the pair of Heroes, growling. 

The giant man drew a dagger from his belt and gripped it tightly in his right hand. “We finally find the Captain, give him our message, and come back to take you quietly, but you had to make this difficult.”

The Boss made a motion that Hyrule recognized. It was the one Warriors used when he wanted them to surround an enemy camp; Hyrule’s breath caught in his throat as the two tall soldiers emerged from the shadows to flank them.

“We weren’t gonna hurt ya too bad, but all that’s off the table now.” 

“RUN!” Four shouted, grabbing Hyrule's hand and ducking between the Boss and the soldier on his left. The Boss made a clumsy swipe with his dagger, the tip just catching Hyrule's left shoulder.

Adrenaline dulled any pain from the cut, and Hyrule welcomed it as they sprinted away from the soldiers. Four led them on a convoluted path through the keep, trying to lose the three men. They ended up in an abandoned kitchen, judging by the pots and bowls scattered around the room.

Hyrule slid to the floor under a countertop, panting. He winced as he clutched at the cut in his shoulder. He almost used his Life spell to heal the wound, but remembered he was saving his magic for Fairy instead. 

He hissed a gentle curse, then let his head hit the wall behind him with a satisfying thud.

Four had been hovering just inside the door, listening for following footsteps. He sighed, then joined Hyrule on the floor. “I think we lost them, for now. Let’s take a look at that, Rulie.” He helped Hyrule take off both tunics to get a better look at the wound. 

Hyrule carefully shifted to see it better. It was long and wide, but not too deep; a potion would heal it easily, if they had one. Blood seeped from the surface, winding a thin thread down his bicep.

Distantly, Hyrule watched Four dig through his pack, pulling out empty bottles and a handful of items before he extracted a nearly empty roll of clean bandages. Next came the water skin, swiftly unstoppered and poured over a clean piece of gauze. Hyrule flinched as Four gently cleaned the blood from his arm.

“Sorry,” Four murmured as he efficiently wrapped and tied off the last of the bandages. “That should hold it for now.”

Hyrule shifted his arm, still feeling the cut, but pleased with Four's work. The bandages were too bulky for his brown undertunic, so he replaced just the green, sleeveless overtunic, handing the brown to Four to keep in his pack for now. 

“There’s always a Minish portal in a kitchen.” Four's eyes darted around before settling on an overturned pot in the far corner of the room. “There!”

Four was nearly done repacking his bag when they both froze, hearing voices echoing down the hall. Hyrule's heart took off, unwilling to face his captors again. “We need to shrink, now,” he insisted, standing. “Do you have a portal nearby?”

As Four dashed towards the pot, Hyrule muttered the words of the Fairy spell. A beautiful golden light enveloped him as his surroundings expanded. Delicate gossamer wings grew from his shoulders and back, and he gave them an experimental flap before launching himself into the air. 

He flitted to the pot Four was just tumbling out of, chiming gently as Four brushed off his tunic. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Four chittered back, multi-colored tail waving languidly. The language he used wasn’t Fae, and it wasn’t Hylian, but Hyrule understood it well enough. “The exit from those portals always looks worse than it really is.”

“Good. I can hear those soldiers coming closer, we need to go.”

Four nodded, then turned to scamper along the wall. Hoping he knew where he was going, Hyrule hovered after him.

They wove through several hallways, staying low and near the walls. After a while, they lost the echoing voices, which loosened the knot of anxiety in Hyrule's belly. He landed near Four to rest his wings when the Smithy stopped to contemplate an intersection.

“Ey, lookit ‘ere!” A raucous voice shouted out. Hyrule released a startled chime and whirled around, hand grasping for a nonexistent weapon. “I found me a genu-ine fairy!”

The two tall soldiers advanced from further down the hallway, arguing loudly. “Naw, ya can't've. It ain’t in a pot!”

“No, but lookee, Toralt!” the first speaker gestured towards Hyrule broadly. He tried to dim his glow, but it was too late. “It’s a light fairy, wearin' the Hero's clothes! Mebbe someone let it go!”

“What's that mouse it’s with?” the other soldier – Toralt, apparently, which made the first Vitch – asked.

“This isn’t good,” Four whispered to Hyrule, bristling. “Get ready to run for it.”

“Does it matter?!” Vitch was giddy with his apparent discovery. “Gimme your bug net an' that bottle you found in the kitchen! We’ll catch ‘em both and bring ‘em to Rulow! Mebbe they can help us find those Hero brats.”

Toralt leered down at the miniscule pair. “Ya gonna be nice little beasties an' hold still for us?”

“Not on your life!” Four chattered angrily in that odd language.

Hyrule chimed his agreement, then shot off the ground at the same moment Four scampered away from the soldiers. The two men yelped and gave chase.

Hyrule tried every maneuver he could think of, heart hammering as each swipe of the bug net came closer and closer. His energy was waning; he had to get away now, or he wouldn’t last much longer.

The net passed by him again, so close that the displaced air sent him tumbling for a moment. 

That was all it took.

The return pass enveloped his body in poorly woven mesh, fouling his wings and ensnaring his arms and legs. Hyrule gasped and struggled but only succeeded in tangling himself further. A desperate peal of bells left him as his wings crumpled and tore in the unforgiving net.

A massive hand closed around the mouth of the net, sealing his exit and shifting the mesh enough that his trapped right arm was pulled dangerously far behind his back. Before he could get enough leverage to shift the pressure, the joint of his shoulder popped, and tore; a discordant jangle erupted from the depths of his soul as the pain washed over him. 

Blinking black spots from his vision, Hyrule tried to focus on his surroundings through the pain in his arm, but the world whirled dizzily as Vitch jogged over to his companion who, once Hyrule could see clearly, had managed to capture a struggling Four in one fist.

“Get that bottle open, Vitch. This’n bites like a devil!”

Through the haze of mesh and pain, Hyrule watched Four hiss and struggle as the bottle – bulbous and familiar, they must have left one in the kitchen on accident – drew closer. Toralt shoved the little Minish inside, and Four immediately tried scaling the glass to escape, only to be shaken back to the bottom.

The net shifted, and Hyrule screamed a string of bells as his injured arm was jostled. Vitch moved his hand, opening the net, but Hyrule had no hope of escape. Not with his wings crumpled and torn and his shoulder dislocated. 

He could only hope the man would be gentle.

“Gotcha good, didn’t I?” Vitch sneered down at him, all giddiness gone. “Serves ya right, fer tryna get away so long. Don’t you fairies want ta help people?”

Hyrule chimed weakly in response, but he was fading fast. 

The strong, callused hand of the soldier grasped him firmly around his middle; Hyrule shrieked as his ribs protested the pressure. Bumbling fingers extracted his limbs and wings, and merciful darkness briefly stole his consciousness.

When Hyrule roused, the soldier was holding him by the back of his tunic and upper wings, pinning him firmly in place. The man pulled a dagger from his belt and held it threateningly against Hyrule's stomach. “Ya better start behavin'. Better be worth the work it took to catch ya.”

A spasm of pain rolled through Hyrule and he shivered, the movement causing the tip of the dagger to pierce the skin above his right hip. 

Hyrule could only manage a pathetic tinkling of bells in response.

Vitch scoffed and tossed Hyrule into the bottle with Four. His head hit the rim of the bottle so hard he saw stars; immediately he felt warm blood begin to trickle down his face.

“HYRULE!” Four exclaimed, still in that non-Hylian language. “Stay with me, Link!”

Hyrule could only lay slumped against the wall of the bottle, blood streaming down his face, as the cork was shoved home.

#silvrash writes #glassbound #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu hyrule #lu four #tw blood #tw injury #Hyrule's having a Very Bad(tm) day #lu fic

[spacedoutman]

•❀.•❤•.¸✿Girlboss super slayy✿¸.•❤•.❀•

✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

#Do you think the fairies was going too far? #nightmare material #shitpost #cursed #weird as fuck #why did i make this #gene simmons #well he was a pretty fairy anyway #paul stanley #eric carr #vinnie vincent #kiss band #god i need help #lick it up #woahhhh

[confetti-cat]

Twelve, Thirteen, and One

Words: 6k

Rating: G

Themes: Friendship, Self-Giving Love

(Written for the Four Loves Fairytale Retelling Challenge over at the @inklings-challenge! A Cinderella retelling feat. curious critters and a lot of friendship.)

When the clock chimes midnight on that third evening, thirteen creatures look to the girl who showed them all kindness.

—

It’s hours after dark, again, and the human girl still sleeps in the ashes.

The mice notice this—though it happens so often that they’ve ceased to pay attention to her. She smells like everything else in the hearth: ashy and overworked, tinged with the faint smell of herbs from the kitchen.

When she moves or shifts in her sleep (uncomfortable sleep—even they can sense the exhaustion in her posture as she sits slumped against the wall, more willing to seep up warmth from the stone than lie cold elsewhere this time of year), they simply scurry around her and continue combing for crumbs and seeds. They’d found a feast of lentils scattered about once, and many other times, the girl had beckoned them softly to her hand, where she’d held a little chunk of brown bread.

Tonight, she has nothing. They don’t mind—though three of them still come to sniff her limp hand where it lies drooped against the side of her tattered dress.

A fourth one places a little clawed hand on the side of her finger, leaning over it to investigate her palm for any sign of food.

When she stirs, it’s to the sensation of a furry brown mouse sitting in her palm.

It can feel the flickering of her muscles as she wakes—feeling slowly returning to her body. To her credit, she cracks her eyes open and merely observes it.

They’re all but tame by now. The Harsh-Mistress and the Shrieking-Girl and the Angry-Girl are to be avoided like the plague never was, but this girl—the Cinder-Girl, they think of her—is gentle and kind.

Even as she shifts a bit and they hear the dull crack of her joints, they’re too busy to mind. Some finding a few buried peas (there were always some peas or lentils still hidden here, if they looked carefully), some giving themselves an impromptu bath to wash off the dust. The one sitting on her hand is doing the latter, fur fluffed up as it scratches one ear and then scrubs tirelessly over its face with both paws.

One looks up from where it’s discovered a stray pea to check her expression.

A warm little smile has crept up her face, weary and dirty and sore as she seems to be. She stays very still in her awkward half-curl against stone, watching the mouse in her hand groom itself. The tender look about her far overwhelms—melts, even—the traces of tension in her tired limbs.

Very slowly, so much so that they really aren’t bothered by it, she raises her spare hand and begins lightly smearing the soot away from her eyes with the back of her wrist.

The mouse in her palm gives her an odd look for the movement, but has discovered her skin is warmer than the cold stone floor or the ash around the dying fire. It pads around in a circle once, then nudges its nose against her calloused skin, settling down for a moment.

The Cinder-Girl has closed her eyes again, and drops her other hand into her lap, slumping further against the wall. Her smile has grown even warmer, if sadder.

They decide she’s quite safe. Very friendly.

—

The old rat makes his rounds at the usual times of night, shuffling through a passage that leads from the ground all the way up to the attic.

When both gold sticks on the clocks’ moonlike faces point upward, there’s a faint chime from the tower-clock downstairs. He used to worry that the sound would rouse the humans. Now, he ignores it and goes about his business.

There’s a great treasury of old straw in the attic. It’s inside a large sack—and while this one doesn’t have corn or wheat like the ones near the kitchen sometimes do, he knows how to chew it open all the same.

The girl sleeps on this sack of straw, though she doesn’t seem to mind what he takes from it. There’s enough more of it to fill a hundred rat’s nests, so he supposes she doesn’t feel the difference.

Tonight, though—perhaps he’s a bit too loud in his chewing and tearing. The girl sits up slowly in bed, and he stiffens, teeth still sunk into a bit of the fabric.

“Oh.” says the girl. She smiles—and though the expression should seem threatening, all pulled mouth-corners and teeth, he feels the gentleness in her posture and wonders at novel thoughts of differing body languages. “Hello again. Do you need more straw?”

He isn’t sure what the sounds mean, but they remind him of the soft whuffles and squeaks of his siblings when they were small. Inquisitive, unafraid. Not direct or confrontational.

She’s seemed safe enough so far—almost like the woman in white and silver-gold he’s seen here sometimes, marveling at his own confidence in her safeness—so he does what signals not-afraid the best to his kind. He glances her over, twitches his whiskers briefly, and goes back to what he was doing.

Some of the straw is too big and rough, some too small and fine. He scratches a bundle out into a pile so he can shuffle through it. It’s true he doesn’t need much, but the chill of winter hasn’t left the world yet.

The girl laughs. The sound is soft and small. It reminds him again of young, friendly, peaceable.

“Take as much as you need,” she whispers. Her movements are unassuming when she reaches for something on the old wooden crate she uses as a bedside table. With something in hand, she leans against the wall her bed is a tunnel’s-width from, and offers him what she holds. “Would you like this?”

He peers at it in the dark, whiskers twitching. His eyesight isn’t the best, so he finds himself drawing closer to sniff at what she has.

It’s a feather. White and curled a bit, like the goose-down he’d once pulled out the corner of a spare pillow long ago. Soft and long, fluffy and warm.

He touches his nose to it—then, with a glance upward at her softly-smiling face, takes it in his teeth.

It makes him look like he has a mustache, and is a bit too big to fit through his hole easily. The girl giggles behind him as he leaves.

—

There’s a human out in the gardens again. Which is strange—this is a place for lizards, maybe birds and certainly bugs. Not for people, in his opinion. She’s not dressed in venomous bright colors like the other humans often are, but neither does she stay to the manicured garden path the way they do.

She doesn’t smell like unnatural rotten roses, either. A welcome change from having to dart for cover at not just the motions, but the stenches that accompany the others that appear from time to time.

This human is behind the border-shubs, beating an ornate rug that hangs over the fence with a home-tied broom. Huge clouds of dust shake from it with each hit, settling in a thin film on the leaves and grass around her.

She stops for a moment to press her palm to her forehead, then turns over her shoulder and coughs into her arm.

When she begins again, it’s with a sharp WHOP.

He jumps a bit, but only on instinct. However—

A few feet from where he settles back atop the sunning-rock, there’s a scuffle and a sharp splash. Then thrashing—waster swashing about with little churns and splishes.

It’s not the way of lizards to think of doing anything when one falls into the water. There were several basins for fish and to catch water off the roof for the garden—they simply had to not fall into them, not drown. There was little recourse for if they did. What could another lizard do, really? Fall in after them? Best to let them try to climb out if they could.

The girl hears the splashing. She stares at the water pot for a moment.

Then, she places her broom carefully on the ground and comes closer.

Closer. His heart speeds up. He skitters to the safety of a plant with low-hanging leaves—

—and then watches as she walks past his hiding place, peers into the basin, and reaches in.

Her hand comes up dripping wet, a very startled lizard still as a statue clinging to her fingers.

“Are you the same one I always find here?” she asks with a chiding little smile. “Or do all of you enjoy swimming?”

When she places her hand on the soft spring grass, the lizard darts off of it and into the underbrush. It doesn’t go as far as it could, though���something about this girl makes both of them want to stand still and wait for what she’ll do next.

The girl just watches it go. She lets out a strange sound—a weary laugh, perhaps—and turns back to her peculiar chore.

—

A song trails through the old house—under the floorboards—through the walls—into the garden, beneath the undergrowth—and lures them out of hiding.

It isn’t an audible song, not like that of the birds in the summer trees or the ashen-girl murmuring beautiful sounds to herself in the lonely hours. This one was silent. Yet, it reached deep down into their souls and said come out, please—the one who helped you needs your help.

It didn’t require any thought, no more than eat or sleep or run did.

In chains of silver and grey, all the mice who hear it converge, twenty-four tiny feet pattering along the wood in the walls. The rat joins them, but they are not afraid.

When they emerge from a hole out into the open air, the soft slip-slap of more feet surround them. Six lizards scurry from the bushes, some gleaming wet as if they’d just escaped the water trough or run through the birdbath themselves.

As a strange little hoard, they approach the kind girl. Beside her is a tall woman wearing white and silver and gold.

The girl—holding a large, round pumpkin—looks surprised to see them here. The woman is smiling.

“Set the pumpkin on the drive,” the woman says, a soft gleam in her eye. “The rest of you, line up, please.”

Bemused, but with a heartbeat fast enough for them to notice, the girl gingerly places the pumpkin on the stone of the drive. It’s natural for them, somehow, to follow—the mice line in pairs in front of it, the rat hops on top of it, and the lizards all stand beside.

“What are they doing?” asks the girl—and there’s curiosity and gingerness in her tone, like she doesn’t believe such a sight is wrong, but is worried it might be.

The older woman laughs kindly, and a feeling like blinking hard comes over the world.

It’s then—then, in that flash of darkness that turns to dazzling light, that something about them changes.

“Oh!” exclaims the girl, and they open their eyes. “Oh! They’re—“

They’re different.

The mice aren’t mice at all—and suddenly they wonder if they ever were, or if it was an odd dream.

They’re horses, steel grey and sleek-haired with with silky brown manes and tails. Their harnesses are ornate and stylish, their hooves polished and dark.

Instead of a rat, there’s a stout man in fine livery, with whiskers dark and smart as ever. He wears a fine cap with a familiar white feather, and the gleam in his eye is surprised.

“Well,” he says, examining his hands and the cuffs of his sleeves, “I suppose I won’t be wanting for adventure now.”

Instead of six lizards, six footmen stand at attention, their ivory jackets shining in the late afternoon sun.

The girl herself is different, though she’s still human—her hair is done up beautifully in the latest fashion, and instead of tattered grey she wears a shimmering dress of lovely pale green, inlaid with a design that only on close inspection is flowers.

“They are under your charge, now,” says the woman in white, stepping back and folding her hands together. “It is your responsibility to return before the clock strikes midnight—when that happens, the magic will be undone. Understood?”

“Yes,” says the girl breathlessly. She stares at them as if she’s been given the most priceless gift in all the world. “Oh, thank you.”

—

The castle is decorated brilliantly. Flowery garlands hang from every parapet, beautiful vines sprawling against walls and over archways as they climb. Dozens of picturesque lanterns hang from the walls, ready to be lit once the sky grows dark.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen the castle,” the girl says, standing one step out of the carriage and looking so awed she seems happy not to go any further. “Father and I used to drive by it sometimes. But it never looked so lovely as this.”

“Shall we accompany you in, milady?” asks one of the footmen. They’re all nearly identical, though this one has freckles where he once had dark flecks in his scales.

She hesitates for only a moment, looking up at the pinnacles of the castle towers. Then, she shakes her head, and turns to look at them all with a smile like the sun.

“I think I’ll go in myself,” she says. “I’m not sure what is custom. But thank you—thank you so very much.”

And so they watch her go—stepping carefully in her radiant dress that looked lovelier than any queen’s.

Though she was not royal, it seemed there was no doubt in anyone’s minds that she was. The guards posted at the door opened it for her without question.

With a last smile over her shoulder, she stepped inside.

—

He's straightening the horses' trappings for the fifth time when the doors to the castle open, and out hurries a figure. It takes him a moment to recognize her, garbed in rich fabrics and cloaked in shadows, but it's the girl, rushing out to the gilded carriage. A footman steps forward and offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully as she steps up into the seat.

“Enjoyable evening, milady?” asks the coachman. His whiskers are raised above the corners of his mouth, and his twinkling eyes crinkle at the edges.

“Yes, quite, thank you!” she breathes in a single huff. She smooths her dress the best she can before looking at him with some urgency. “The clock just struck quarter till—will you be able to get us home?”

The gentle woman in white had said they only would remain in such states until midnight. How long was it until the middle of night? What was a quarter? Surely darkness would last for far more hours than it had already—it couldn’t be close. Yet it seemed as though it must be; the princesslike girl in the carriage sounded worried it would catch them at any moment.

“I will do all I can,” he promises, and with a sharp rap of the reins, they’re off at a swift pace.

They arrive with minutes to spare. He knows this because after she helps him down from the carriage (...wait. That should have been the other way around! He makes mental note for next time: it should be him helping her down. If he can manage it. She’s fast), she takes one of those minutes to show him how his new pocketwatch works.

He’s fascinated already. There’s a part of him that wonders if he’ll remember how to tell time when he’s a rat again—or will this, all of this, be forgotten?

The woman in white is there beside the drive, and she’s already smiling. A knowing gleam lights her eye.

“Well, how was the ball?” she asks, as Cinder-Girl turns to face her with the most elated expression. “I hear the prince is looking for fair maidens. Did he speak with you?”

The girl rushes to grasp the woman’s hands in hers, clasping them gratefully and beaming up at her.

“It was lovely! I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she all but gushes, her smile brighter and broader than they’d ever seen it. “The castle is beautiful; it feels so alive and warm. And yes, I met the Prince—although hush, he certainly isn’t looking for me—he’s so kind. I very much enjoyed speaking with him. He asked me to dance, too; I had as wonderful a time as he seemed to. Thank you! Thank you dearly.”

The woman laughs gently. It isn’t a laugh one would describe as warm, but neither is it cold in the sense some laughs can be—it's soft and beautiful, almost crystalline.

“That’s wonderful. Now, up to bed! You’ve made it before midnight, but your sisters will be returning soon.”

“Yes! Of course,” she replies eagerly—turning to smile gratefully at coachman and stroke the nearest horses on their noses and shoulders, then curtsy to the footmen. “Thank you all, very much. I could not ask for a more lovely company.”

It’s a strange moment when all of their new hearts swell with warmth and affection for this girl—and then the world darkens and lightens so quickly they feel as though they’ve fallen asleep and woken up.

They’re them again—six mice, six lizards, a rat, and a pumpkin. And a tattered gray dress.

“Please, would you let me go again tomorrow? The ball will last three days. I had such a wonderful time.”

“Come,” the woman said simply, “and place the pumpkin beneath the bushes.”

The woman in white led the way back to the house, followed by an air-footed girl and a train of tiny critters. There was another silent song in the air, and they thought perhaps the girl could hear it too: one that said yes—but get to bed!

—

The second evening, when the door of the house thuds shut and the hoofsteps of the family’s carriage fade out of hearing, the rat peeks out of a hole in the kitchen corner to see the Cinder-Girl leap to her feet.

She leans close to the window and watched for more minutes than he quite understands—or maybe he does; it was good to be sure all cats had left before coming out into the open—and then runs with a spring in her step to the back door near the kitchen.

Ever so faintly, like music, the woman’s laughter echoes faintly from outside. Drawn to it like he had been drawn to the silent song, the rat scurries back through the labyrinth of the walls.

When he hurries out onto the lawn, the mice and lizards are already there, looking up at the two humans expectantly. This time, the Cinder-Girl looks at them and smiles broadly.

“Hello, all. So—how do you do it?” she asks the woman. Her eyes shine with eager curiosity. “I had no idea you could do such a thing. How does it work?”

The woman fixes her with a look of fond mock-sternness. “If I were to explain to you the details of how, I’d have to tell you why and whom, and you’d be here long enough to miss the royal ball.” She waves her hands she speaks. “And then you’d be very much in trouble for knowing far more than you ought.”

The rat misses the girl’s response, because the world blinks again—and now all of them once again are different. Limbs are long and slender, paws are hooves with silver shoes or feet in polished boots.

The mouse-horses mouth at their bits as they glance back at the carriage and the assortment of humans now standing by it. The footmen are dressed in deep navy this time, and the girl wears a dress as blue as the summer sky, adorned with brilliant silver stars.

“Remember—“ says the woman, watching fondly as the Cinder-Girl steps into the carriage in a whorl of beautiful silk. “Return before midnight, before the magic disappears.”

“Yes, Godmother,” she calls, voice even more joyful than the previous night. “Thank you!”

—

The castle is just as glorious as before—and the crowd within it has grown. Noblemen and women, royals and servants, and the prince himself all mill about in the grand ballroom.

He’s unsure of the etiquette, but it seems best for her not to enter alone. Once he escorts her in, the coachman bows and watches for a moment—the crowd is hushed again, taken by her beauty and how important they think her to be—and then returns to the carriage outside.

He isn’t required in the ballroom for much of the night—but he tends to the horses and checks his pocketwatch studiously, everything in him wishing to be the best coachman that ever once was a rat.

Perhaps that wouldn’t be hard. He’d raise the bar, then. The best coachman that ever drove for a princess.

Because that was what she was—or, that was what he heard dozens of hushed whispers about once she’d entered the ball. Every noble and royal and servant saw her and deemed her a grand princess nobody knew from a land far away. The prince himself stared at her in a marveling way that indicated he thought no differently.

It was a thing more wondrous than he had practice thinking. If a mouse could become a horse or a rat could become a coachman, couldn’t a kitchen-girl become a princess?

The answer was yes, it seemed—perhaps in more ways than one.

She had rushed out with surprising grace just before midnight. They took off quickly, and she kept looking back toward the castle door, as if worried—but she was smiling.

“Did you know the Prince is very nice?” she asks once they’re safely home, and she’s stepped down (drat) without help again. The woman in white stands on her same place beside the drive, and when Cinder-Girl sees her, she waves with dainty grace that clearly holds a vibrant energy and sheer thankfulness behind it. “I’ve never known what it felt like to be understood. He thinks like I do.”

“How is that?” asks the woman, quirking an amused brow. “And if I might ask, how do you know?”

“Because he mentions things first.” The girl tries to smother some of the wideness of her smile, but can’t quite do so. “And I've shared his thoughts for a long time. That he loves his father, and thinks oranges and citrons are nice for festivities especially, and that he’s always wanted to go out someday and do something new.”

—

The third evening, the clouds were dense and a few droplets of rain splattered the carriage as they arrived.

“Looks like rain, milady,” said the coachman as she disembarked to stand on water-spotted stone. “If it doesn’t blow by, we’ll come for ye at the steps, if it pleases you.”

“Certainly—thank you,” she replies, all gleaming eyes and barely-smothered smiles. How her excitement to come can increase is beyond them—but she seems more so with each night that passes.

She has hardly turned to head for the door when a smattering of rain drizzles heavily on them all. She flinches slightly, already running her palms over the skirt of her dress to rub out the spots of water.

Her golden dress glisters even in the cloudy light, and doesn’t seem to show the spots much. Still, it’s hardy an ideal thing.

“One of you hold the parasol—quick about it, now—and escort her inside,” the coachman says quickly. The nearest footman jumps into action, hop-reaching into the carriage and falling back down with the umbrella in hand, unfolding it as he lands. “Wait about in case she needs anything.”

The parasol is small and not meant for this sort of weather, but it's enough for the moment. The pair of them dash for the door, the horses chomping and stamping behind them until they’re driven beneath the bows of a huge tree.

The footman knows his duty the way a lizard knows to run from danger. He achieves it the same way—by slipping off to become invisible, melting into the many people who stood against the golden walls.

From there, he watches.

It’s so strange to see the way the prince and their princess gravitate to each other. The prince’s attention seems impossible to drag away from her, though not for many’s lack of trying.

Likewise—more so than he would have thought, though perhaps he’s a bit slow in noticing—her focus is wholly on the prince for long minutes at a time.

Her attention is always divided a bit whenever she admires the interior of the castle, the many people and glamorous dresses in the crowd, the vibrant tables of food. It’s all very new to her, and he’s not certain it doesn’t show. But the Prince seems enamored by her delight in everything—if he thinks it odd, he certainly doesn’t let on.

They talk and laugh and sample fine foods and talk to other guests together, then they turn their heads toward where the musicians are starting up and smile softly when they meet each other’s eyes. The Prince offers a hand, which is accepted and clasped gleefully.

Then, they dance.

Their motions are so smooth and light-footed that many of the crowd forgo dancing, because admiring them is more enjoyable. They’re in-sync, back and forth like slow ripples on a pond. They sometimes look around them—but not often, especially compared to how long they gaze at each other with poorly-veiled, elated smiles.

The night whirls on in flares of gold tulle and maroon velvet, ivory, carnelian, and emerald silks, the crowd a nonstop blur of color.

(Color. New to him, that. Improved vision was wonderful.)

The clock strikes eleven, but there’s still time, and he’s fairly certain he won’t be able to convince the girl to leave anytime before midnight draws near.

He was a lizard until very recently. He’s not the best at judging time, yet. Midnight does draw near, but he’s not sure he understands how near.

The clock doesn’t quite say up-up. So he still has time. When the rain drums ceaselessly outside, he darts out and runs in a well-practiced way to find their carriage.

—

Another of the footmen comes in quickly, having been sent in a rush by the coachman, who had tried to keep his pocketwatch dry just a bit too long. He’s soaking wet from the downpour when he steps close enough to get her attention.

She sees him, notices this, and—with a glimmer of recognition and amusement in her eyes—laughs softly into her hand.

ONE—TWO— the clock starts. His heart speeds up terribly, and his skin feels cold. He suddenly craves a sunny rock.

“Um,” he begins awkwardly. Lizards didn’t have much in the way of a vocal language. He bows quickly, and water drips off his face and hat and onto the floor. “The chimes, milady.”

THREE—FOUR—

Perhaps she thought it was only eleven. Her face pales. “Oh.”

FIVE—SIX—

Like a deer, she leaps from the prince’s side and only manages a stumbling, backward stride as she curtsies in an attempt at a polite goodbye.

“Thank you, I must go—“ she says, and then she’s racing alongside the footman as fast as they both can go. The crowd parts for them just enough, amidst loud murmurs of surprise.

SEVEN—EIGHT—

“Wait!” calls the prince, but they don’t. Which hopefully isn’t grounds for arrest, the footman idly thinks.

They burst through the door and out into the open air.

NINE—TEN—

It has been storming. The rain is crashing down in torrents—the walkways and steps are flooded with a firm rush of water.

She steps in a crevice she couldn’t see, the water washes over her feet, and she stumbles, slipping right out of one shoe. There’s noise at the door behind them, so she doesn’t stop or even hesitate. She runs at a hobble and all but dives through the open carriage door. The awaiting footman quickly closes it, and they’re all grasping quickly to their riding-places at the corners of the vehicle.

ELEVEN—

A flash of lightning coats the horses in white, despite the dark water that’s soaked into their coats, and with a crack of the rains and thunder they take off at a swift run.

There’s shouting behind them—the prince—as people run out and call to the departing princess.

TWELVE.

Mist swallows them up, so thick they can’t hear or see the castle, but the horses know the way.

The castle’s clock tower must have been ever-so-slightly fast. (Does magic tell truer time?) Their escape works for a few thundering strides down the invisible, cloud-drenched road—until true midnight strikes a few moments later.

—

She walks home in the rain and fog, following a white pinprick of light she can guess the source of—all the while carrying a hollow pumpkin full of lizards, with an apron pocket full of mice and a rat perched on her shoulder.

It’s quite the walk.

—

The prince makes a declaration so grand that the mice do not understand it. The rat—a bit different now—tells them most things are that way to mice, but he’s glad to explain.

The prince wants to find the girl who wore the golden slipper left on the steps, he relates. He doesn’t want to ask any other to marry him, he loved her company so.

The mice think that’s a bit silly. Concerning, even. What if he does find her? There won’t be anyone to secretly leave seeds in the ashes or sneak them bread crusts when no humans are looking.

The rat thinks they’re being silly and that they’ve become too dependent on handouts. Back in his day, rodents worked for their food. Chewing open a bag of seed was an honest day’s work for its wages.

Besides, he confides, as he looks again out the peep-hole they’ve discovered in the floor trim of the parlor. You’re being self-interested, if you ask me. Don’t you want our princess to find a good mate, and live somewhere spacious and comfortable, free of human-cats, where she’d finally have plenty to eat?

It’s hard to make a mouse look appropriately chastised, but that question comes close. They shuffle back a bit to let him look out at the strange proceedings in the parlor again.

There are many humans there. The Harsh-Mistress stands tall and rigid at the back of one of the parlor chairs, exchanging curt words with a strange man in fine clothes with a funny hat. Shrieking-Girl and Angry-Girl stand close, scoffing and laughing, looking appalled.

Cinder-Girl sits on the chair that’s been pulled to the middle of the room. She extends her foot toward a strange golden object on a large cushion.

The shoe, the rat notes so the mice can follow. They can’t quite see it from here—poor eyesight and all.

Of course, the girl’s foot fits perfectly well into her own shoe. They all saw that coming.

Evidently, the humans did not. There’s absolute uproar.

“There is no possible way she’s the princess you’re looking for!” declares Harsh-Mistress, her voice full of rage. “She’s a kitchen maid. Nothing royal about her.”

“How dare you!” Angry-Girl rages. “Why does it fit you? Why not us?”

“You sneak!” shrieks none other than Shrieking-Girl. “Mother, she snuck to the ball! She must have used magic, somehow! Princes won’t marry sneaks, will they?”

“I think they might,” says a calm voice from the doorway, and the uproar stops immediately.

The Prince steps in. He stares at Cinder-Girl.

She stares back. Her face is still smudged with soot, and her dress is her old one, gray and tattered. The golden slipper gleams on her foot, having fit as only something molded or magic could.

A blush colors her face beneath the ash and she leaps up to do courtesy. “Your Highness.”

The Prince glances at the messenger-man with the slipper-pillow and the funny hat. The man nods seriously.

The Prince blinks at this, as if he wasn’t really asking anything with his look—it’s already clear he recognizes her—and meets Cinder-Girl’s gaze with a smile. It’s the same half-nervous, half-attemptingly-charming smile as he kept giving her at the ball.

He bows to her and offers a hand. (The rat has to push three mice out of the way to maintain his view.)

“It’s my honor,” he assures her. “Would you do me the great honor of accompanying me to the castle? I’d had a question in mind, but it seems there are—“ he glances at Harsh-Mistress, who looks like a very upset rat in a mousetrap. “—situations we might discuss remedying. You’d be a most welcome guest in my father’s house, if you’d be amenable to it?”

It’s all so much more strange and unusual than anything the creatures of the house are used to seeing. They almost don’t hear it, at first—that silent song.

It grows stronger, though, and they turn their heads toward it with an odd hope in their hearts.

—

The ride to the castle is almost as strange as that prior walk back. The reasons for this are such:

One—their princess is riding in their golden carriage alongside the prince, and their chatter and awkward laughter fills the surrounding spring air. They have a good feeling about the prince, now, if they didn’t already. He can certainly take things in stride, and he is no respecter of persons. He seems just as elated to be by her side as he was at the ball, even with the added surprise of where she'd come from.

Two—they have been transformed again, and the woman in white has asked them a single question: Would you choose to stay this way?

The coachman said yes without a second thought. He’d always wanted life to be more fulfilling, he confided—and this seemed a certain path to achieving that.

The footmen might not have said yes, but there was something to be said for recently-acquired cognition. It seemed—strange, to be human, but the thought of turning back into lizards had the odd feeling of being a poor choice. Baffled by this new instinct, they said yes.

The horses, of course, said things like whuff and nyiiiehuhum, grumph. The woman seemed to understand, though. She touched one horse on the nose and told it it would be the castle’s happiest mouse once the carriage reached its destination. The others, it seemed, enjoyed their new stature.

And three—they are heading toward a castle, where they have all been offered a fine place to live. The Prince explains that he doesn’t wish for such a kind girl to live in such conditions anymore. There’s no talk of anyone marrying—just discussions of rooms and favorite foods and of course, you’ll have the finest chicken pie anytime you’d like and I can’t have others make it for me! Lend me the kitchens and I’ll make some for you; I have a very dear recipe. Perhaps you can help. (Followed in short order by a ...Certainly, but I’d—um, I’d embarrass myself trying to cook. You would teach me? and a gentle laugh that brightened the souls of all who could hear it.)

“If you’d be amenable to it,” she replies—and in clear, if surprised, agreement, the Prince truly, warmly laughs.

“Milady,” the coachman calls down to them. “Your Highness. We’re here.”

The castle stands shining amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. It will be the fourth night they’ve come here—the thirteen of them and the one of her—but midnight, they realize, will not break the spell ever again.

One by one, they disembark from the carriage. If it will stay as it is or turn back into a pumpkin, they hadn't thought to ask. There’s so much warmth swelling in their hearts that they don’t think it matters.

The girl, their princess, smiles—a dear, true smile, tentative in the face of a brand new world, but bright with hope—and suddenly, they’re all smiling too.

She steps forward, and they follow. The prince falls into step with her and offers an arm, and their glances at each other are brimming with light as she accepts.

With her arm in the arm of the prince, a small crowd of footmen and the coachman trailing behind, and a single grey mouse on her shoulder, the once-Cinder-Girl walks once again toward the palace door.

#Well this wasn't my first Cinderella retelling idea that I was excited about BUT - #since that one was turning into a tangle of Too Much Going On (though it's currently at 5k and maybe 70% done; I still plan to finish it) #I tried this one instead! #pros: I think I actually wrote myself out of writer's block? Which is AWESOME #And I feel like I'm starting to notice what needs fixed and mended about my writing; which is very helpful! #cons: due to having the additional pro of a very socially growth-filled few weeks IRL; I did not do much about that fact #please excuse the general lack of editing thus far #I have also learned that I may want to be at least a Level 5 Fairy Tale Reteller #before I tackle stories with hundreds of years of popular retellings and versions? #Although this one came much more easily than my first idea; it still felt more difficult to write than my Nix Nought Nothing story. #So another pro - I learned that I enjoy writing about lesser-known tales the most! Next time I might try a fun obscure one. #All in all this was a ton of fun!! Thanks for running the challenge! Apologies for being nearly late - I had a wonderful time! #I hope you all enjoy! <3 #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale retelling challenge #love: philia #love: agape #Cinderella #story: complete #basil writes #salt and light

[my-current-obsession]

My hyper-specific type when it comes to otome guys:

- Absolutely pathetic - Cannot speak to a girl normally to save his life - Tries to be calm/aloof, but turns tsundere when flustered enough - A good and pure man at heart, yet does some questionable things - ...Little Red Riding Hood???

#heart fragment #taisho x alice #otome #doofenshmirtz voice: if i had a nickel for every time i fell in love with a video game guy heavily associated to little red riding hood... #..i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice! #i made this post basically as a way to announce i played heart fragment recently. and uh. it's REALLY GOOD #i probably do love clive the most (and i was immediately interested/biased considering his similarities to Red) but... #the rest of the cast is great too! I ADORE shannon and i am beyond ready to figure out what jasper's deal is #and honestly i'm into the mystery and the strained family relationship aspects too. just great writing all around even beyond the romances #this is one of Those Games that messes with you and the more you play it the more it sneaks new creepy stuff in #whatever the hell is going on with inigo in the dreams is unsettling. and i love it. #but seriously i'd recommend this to any otome fan and ESPECIALLY taiali fans considering the similarities go far beyond just this #you like fairy tales? you like exploring psychological issues and trauma? this is the game for you #also you can date guys AND girls which is a rare treat! again - i LOVE shannon. i just... love clive even more #but to be fair i think the hangup is that no matter what you're very close and friendly with shannon #so even if you don't romance her you still have a great relationship with her regardless #meanwhile with clive he's starting as a stranger and you basically have to be a jerk to him or blow him off which hurts my heart #and also clive seems to fall kind of fast and hard for you so the relationship developing in a romantic direction just feels. right IMO #i can accept being just besties with shannon (even though I definitely still love her romance outcomes) #but it pains me to spurn clive's affections #on an unrelated note i do intend to post my thoughts (basically a review) of winter's wish: spirits of edo #but i want to finish getting the sorrow endings for CGs and lore which means a second run through several routes

[ducktracy]

Idk how influential you are on the LT fandom on a Whole but you definitely inspired me to check out the originals, and especially appreciate Porky/Daffies more. It helps that my favorite short for years was Yankee Doodle Daffy!

AWWWWWWWWW THIS IS SO SWEET THAT IS 100% MY GOAL THANK YOU!! you don’t know HOW much this means to me!

i tend to stay away from fandom spaces/don’t consider myself a part of the fandom, so quite honestly your guess is as good as mine—i HOPE people think of me or associate me with these cartoons HAHAHAHA but 100%, my goal is to spread the joy of the originals and shed a light onto the people who made them and how their experiences and input inform the cartoons as a whole, and maybe how our perceptions of these shorts and characters have changed as time has gone on…

there’s no right or wrong way to enjoy the franchise, but i really do think it is a more fulfilling experience to Experience The Originals for yourself. i really enjoy talking about cartoons that are given less love from a mainstream angle and that 100% includes the Porkies and Daffies (and is also why i’m so adamant about spreading The Porky Gospel; he gets such a bad rap and is so underappreciated and every person i’ve spread my gospel about him to seems to really like or appreciate himself after HAHAHA. Daffy will always be my #1 favorite but he doesn’t really suffer from this, though i absolutely think his ‘40s persona gets a lot of misunderstanding as well)

THIS REALLY MEANS A LOT TO ME GENUINELY. making the plunge and checking out the cartoons is the best decision i’ve ever made. there’s a lot of rightful hesitancy to be had since there are SO many cartoons and it’s hard to find a starting point (and not to mention the many, many, many, many aspects that have aged poorly and/or were poor to begin with), but i can’t begin to tell you how fulfilling this experience has been.

so, if anyone who’s following me is cautious about making the plunge, i encourage you to give the originals a chance, ESPECIALLY if you’re into more modern LT media to familiarize yourself with the source material. you absolutely do not have to be a nut like me and watch every single in chronological order, but these cartoons are so ingrained and formative in the animation landscape today that i think anyone with an interest in animation should definitely give them a chance. and, if you’re a bit of a history nut like me, it’s very fun to see the evolution of culture as a whole as the years go on… radios evolve into TVs, the rambunctious attitudes of the shorts during the war years take a more domestic turn after the war, celebrity references depend on the decade, even the stylings of music, and of course the art styles of the shorts themselves… it’s so fascinating from a multitude of reasons. i really can’t tell you how happy i am to hear this (and Yankee Doodle Daffy is a GREAT favorite to have!)

#i’ve never fit particularly well with fandom spaces because i’m a bit of a contrarian and very stubborn/dedicated to my points of view and #often times they’re viewpoints or interests not largely reciprocated by other people and so i just really enjoy marching to the beat of my #own drum. i don’t go in tags or look up fanart or anything like that #not that that’s a good or bad thing but i feel the originals as a whole are undercirculated in fandom spaces or misinterpreted/viewed with a #very fandom centric point of mind if that makes sense. and while there isn’t anything wrong with that i personally encourage people to seek #out the real thing and frame their experiences from and opinions from that because sometimes a game of telephone happens if you know what i #mean. like i’ve seen people say Bugs Bunny was 100% intended as a gay icon in good faith and that’s just blatantly false. i WISH the #intentions were in good faith and he 100% is a gay icon but… these cartoons were made by people who made fairy jokes and described their #units as being filled with ‘drunks and queers’. i’m 100% for reclamation but i think it’s ignorant to assume they weren’t laughing AT us #while making those jokes… and i guess that’s just my issue with fandom as a whole with that sort of misinterpretation. #not at all trying to be like ‘i’m better than you because i watch the originals’ FAR FROM IT i don’t think i’m better than anyone at all but #i do tend to wish people would watch the originals more and familiarize themselves with them because i feel so much more fulfilled as a #result and i want others to experience that same joy #AHHHHHH i’m sorry i hope this doesn’t sound preachy or egotistical i’m in too deep i don’t wanna come off as the fun police or like I Am A #Genius You Are Doing It Wrong way. i’m digging myself in a hole here and gotta stop but basically thank you #anonymous #asks #long post

[yume-fanfare]

blue hours

#hina manifesting #the card is rly so so so cute i love tama's art so so much theyre one of my fav artists of all time fr #honestly atelier banners are. so cool #like the way haniwa collabs w so many cool artists for mvs is soooo great bc wow and now they're designing gacha cards too? #thats so cool i cannot #mikkun's rapunzel sena is still like the prettiest thing ever its simply unmatched #and this hina card #whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh hina #AND THE #mochiaka snow white card from the first atelier banner! i never got it and ik it wasnt drawn for the gacha but! god its so prettty #oh no. #what do you guys think r the chances of midosena little mermaid gacha from that one illust for their honeycollection book #one fear. #also i can't forget the koyuki wizard with little kotahina fairies from the last atelier banner <3 thank you tama #of course witch mona was the star of the banner she was AMAZING but i keep going back to tama #i have all the tama cards so far can i pretty please get this one too #hworks #mar's midnight rambles #i love art

[star-ocean-peahen]

After watching Cinderella (the original animated movie, which was my favorite as a child), it strikes me how it solves many common problems people have with this fairy tale. Like:

Why did they try to identify the mystery girl using her shoe size? Because the bullheaded king's only clue to her identity was the shoe the Grand Duke picked up off the steps.

Why didn't the prince recognize her by her face? Because his father wouldn't involve him in the process at all, and wasn't the one going around trying to find her.

Why did the prince want to marry a lady he only met that night? Because his father was going to force him to marry someone, and he genuinely liked this woman.

Why did Cinderella want to marry a man she only met that night? Because marriage was her best and most secure way to freedom. Fucked up, but you can't say it's unrealistic for the setting of a fairy tale. She also genuinely liked him.

If they're using the slipper to find her, wouldn't it be more sensible to search for the person with the other slipper? Yes. The King is purposefully nonsensical and the Duke is purposefully terrified enough of him to carry out his orders to the letter. Furthermore, they end up doing that in the end anyway, because the Duke's glass slipper is shattered, and Cinderella brings out the one she has to prove her identity.

Why didn't the stepmother and stepsisters recognize Cinderella at the ball? Because they were dancing too far away, and then left the party to dance in private, which was possible because the King wanted very badly for his son to hit it off with someone and tried to arrange the best conditions for that to happen.

Why didn't Cinderella save herself? Because in real life, abuse victims should not have to shoulder that responsibility, and usually can't. In real life, you need and deserve an external support system. Asking for help, in this kind of situation, is very important. She is saved by others because she is loved. Because she is not alone. Because she has friends who love her, and want her to be happy and safe and free. Because in real life, people who want to help someone who is suffering are like the mice. We can't pull out miracle solutions, but we can provide companionship and if we're in the right place at the right time, we can help the person find a better life.

Why didn't the fairy godmother save Cinderella from her abusive household, or try to help her sooner? Because she's magic, and magic can't solve your problems. Quote: "Like all dreams, well, I'm afraid it can't last forever." This (and Cinderella's dream of going to the ball) is a metaphor for pleasurable things in bad circumstances. An ice cream won't get rid of your depression, but it will provide you with momentary happiness to bolster you, as well as the reminder that happiness in general is still possible for you. Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball so she can get away from her stepmother and stepsisters, or so she can meet someone to marry and leave with. She wants to go to the ball to remind herself that she can still have things she wants. That her desires matter. This is important because the movie does a very good job of illustrating Lady Tremaine's subtle abuse tactics, all of which invisibly press the message that Cinderella doesn't matter. While going to the ball and fulfilling her dreams may not be a victory in the material sense, it is still a victory against Lady Tremaine's efforts.

Why is Cinderella's choice to be kind and obedient framed as a good thing, when you are not obligated to be kind to your abuser? This one walks a very fine line, but I think the movie still makes it make sense. Lady Tremaine never acknowledges her cruelty. She always frames her punishments of Cinderella as Cinderella's fault. Cinderella is interrupting, Cinderella is shirking her duties, Cinderella is playing vicious practical jokes. Cinderella is still a member of the family, of course she can go to the ball, provided she meet these impossible conditions. Lady Tremaine's tactics are designed to make Cinderella feel like she must always be in the wrong and her stepmother must always be in the right. If Cinderella calls her stepmother out on her cruelty, or attempts to fight back, Lady Tremaine can frame that as Cinderella being ungrateful, cruel, broken, evil, etc. If Cinderella responds to her stepmother's cruelty defiantly (in the way she's justified to), she's not taking control out of Lady Tremaine's hands. Disobedience can be spun back into her stepmother's control. She wants Cinderella to be angry and sad and show how much she's hurting. So since Cinderella is adapting to her situation, she chooses to be kind. Not only because she naturally wants to be and it's part of her personality, but because it is a form of defiance in its own way, and it allows her to keep a reminder of her agency and value. Her choice to be kind is her chance to keep her own narrative alive: she is not obeying because her stepmother wants her to and she has to do what her stepmother does, but because she wants to. It's a small distinction, but one that makes all the difference in terms of keeping her hope and identity. (Fuck, I wrote a whole paragraph about how this doesn't mean you can't be angry at people who hurt you or that you need to be kind to deserve help, and then deleted it by accident. Uh. Try again.) Expressing anger and pain is an important part of regaining autonomy and healing. Although it is commendable to be kind while you are suffering, it is NOT required for you to get help or be worthy of help. If Cinderella's recovery was explored beyond "happily ever after" she would need to let herself be angry and sad to heal. Cinderella is not only kind because it comes naturally to her, but because it's her defense against the abuse she's suffering. Everyone's story and experiences are different, and one does not invalidate the other.

Bonus round for answers that aren't part of the movie:

Why didn't Cinderella run away? Where would she go? Genuinely, in hundreds-of-years-ago France, where would she go if she snuck out of the window with a change of clothes? With her step-family, she's miserable and abused, but she's fed, clothed, and in no danger of dying or being taken advantage of by anyone other than her stepmother and stepsisters. Even if she escapes and manages to find financial security, her stepmother might be able to find her and get her back.

Why didn't Cinderella burn the house down with them inside it/slit their throats in the night/poison their food/etc.? Because that's a revenge fantasy, and this story is a fantasy about being saved. There's nothing wrong with making Cinderella into a revenge fantasy. That's perfectly fine, as long as you acknowledge that the other type of fantasy is also a valid interpretation. (I mean, the original fairy tale features the stepsisters getting their feet mutilated and all three of them getting their eyes pecked out, so go for it.)

Why isn't Cinderella more proactive in general? Because she's a child who has been abused for the back half of her life, who has had to be focused on survival because. you know. she's an abused kid.

How did she dance in glass slippers? Gotta agree with you there man, that's weird.

#cinderella #cinderella (1950) #fairy tales

[snaileer]

Practice Your Skills

“You ever look at someone and wonder how hard it would be to get past their defenses and stab them?”

Damian snapped his head to the side, looking at the young boy now standing beside him.

The boy put his hands up in front of him with a wince, “Not that I ever do that. Totally not, whaaaat???”

Damian huffed and turned back around to watch the gala participants.

“It’s just you kinda looked like you were contemplating the logistics of stabbing Mrs.Halterguild for squeezing your cheeks.”

Damian scowled. Then, after a moment’s beat, “It would not be very difficult. She is nearly blind in her left eye, I would be able to approach without repost.”

The kid hummed, turning back as well before motioning to another group to the far right, “What about Mr. Beckensmith, he’s a retired vet right?”

Damian rolled his eyes and scowled harder, “The man has only seen the battlefield of an office as he bribed his way from being fully enlisted and instead managed to pay for increasingly higher ranks and medals. He is a disgrace.”

The kid cocked his head to the side, looking suspicious for a second and then nodding with concession, “Fair enough, I bet I could get close enough too.”

Damian scoffed.

“What, don’t believe me?”

Damian leveled a doubtful glare at the civilian, making it clear by looking him up and down, “Hardly.”

The other smirked dangerously, “If I can get close enough to poke him and get away without being noticed, will you believe me?”

Damian narrowed his eyes but nodded succinctly and watched as the boy immediately took off, making a few loops around other people before finally backing up to Mr. Beckensmith and poking him on the opposite side as a group moved past.

Damian pursed his lips. Interesting. Certainly better than he would expect from an amateur. And an amateur civilian at that.

When the boy returns to his side Damian brushes off the asks of meaningless praise.

“Come on, I did it, now you have to go poke Mrs. Halterguild without getting caught.”

Damian sneers, “And why would I do that?”

“Because I don’t believe you either, the woman’s old but I bet she sees you and squeezes your cheeks again. Old ladies just have a sixth sense for that stuff you know.”

Damian nearly growls but sets off on his task. He makes sure to stay on her left side, but the woman turns at the last second, forcing Damian to use a passing waiter as cover to remain hidden and finally get close enough to poke her gaudy dress.

Then he sidles back up to the boy on the edges and provides his best ‘I am more capable than you’ scowl. The boy simply laughs and says, “Who’s next?”

They spend the night like that, choosing each other’s targets to attack non-lethally as though they were attempting to stab them, and Damian finds the gala going by in a significantly less tedious manner.

Right up until the boy laughs at him when he chooses a target. Only one bark of laughter escapes, but it is enough for Damian to consider stabbing him as well. If only with a butter knife.

Instead, Damian grinds his teeth and asks, “What is so different about Masters, do you really believe you would be unable to succeed?”

The other gives a breathless chuckle, “I’m pretty sure even you wouldn’t be able to successfully stab Vlad Masters,” The boy’s shoulders sag even as his jaw tightens with irritation, “He sees everything.”

Damian narrows his eyes. Something naws at the back of his brain but currently the critique of his capabilities takes precedence.

“I would be capable of stabbing Masters even without my favored sword,” Damian scowls and stands taller with annoyance.

“Sure you can, man,” At this, the boy quirks a sharp smile, “If you can actually get him, I’ll personally get you a magic sword,” he says with an air of amused indulgence. Like he thinks Damian is some insipid child saying he will find a fairy.

Damian grits his teeth and shakes the other’s hand, then immediately sets off after his target. How dare this civilian question him! He is the Son of the Bat, this is not even a challenge!

Damian growls as his approach is thwarted for the third time by the man turning in his direction and almost spotting him. How dare he! He will not fail!

Just as he reaches to jab the man in the side, already poised to make his escape, Masters whips around and clamps his fingers around Damian’s wrist with a vice grip.

“Really Daniel I thought we were over-“ Masters pauses, looking at Damian critically as he glares at the man’s offending hand, “You are not young Daniel.”

“Remove your hand from my person at once,” Damian growls.

Instead of listening to Damian’s very sensible directions, Masters tightens his grip and twists his arm, most likely in an attempt to hurt him.

“Now why is a child attempting to-“

Damian doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the man’s words, sliding a dagger into his other hand and swinging towards him, until that hand is caught mid-movement as well.

“Heh-Hey there!”

Damian snaps his head to the side just in time to see Grayson take his dagger and slide it into his pocket. He ignores the bark of laughter he hears from across the room.

Masters’ hand disappears from his arm suspiciously fast, “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure!”

Damian looks over his other shoulder to see his father standing behind him, a thin smile on his face, “Vladimir!”

His father’s figure quickly obscures his vision, putting an arm over Masters’ shoulders in a way that clearly makes him irritated but forces him to follow as he is steered away.

“Dami, I thought we talked about the stabbing at formal events,” Grayson says through a strained smile as he looks over the crowd to make sure no else saw.

“Tt, it was merely a demonstration of my skills, he was in no real danger until he refused to release me. I simply sought to correct that mistake.”

Grayson pinchesthe bridge of his nose, “Demonstration for who, Dames? We all already know your skills.”

“Tt,” Damian scowls and turns away.

Instead of pushing it, Grayson simply sighs heavily, “Just stay out of trouble for the rest of the gala okay? We’re almost done.”

Damian scoffed and waited for Grayson to leave. Once he does, Damian finally looks over to where he had been lingering with the boy.

Gone.

Clearly he’d taken the cowards way out when he’d seen that Damian had been accosted by Masters.

Pitiful.

Damian spends the rest of the night scowling from the wall and looking serendipitously for a head of black hair and blue eyes unrelated to him.

Of course it’s not until they are actively leaving that Damian sees him and immediately splits off of from his family.

He approaches with irritation, preparing to grab the other by the shoulder when suddenly he turns around and blue eyes meet Damian’s green.

“You,” Damian sneers.

“Me,” The other shrugs. He has an amused smile on his face, though it’s strained at the edges.

They stare in silence for a minute, before the other’s smile grows and sharpens once more, “I didn’t expect you to actually try to stab him, y’know,” A slight laugh escapes him, “Not that it was unwelcome by any means, but still, unexpected.”

Damian scowls again, glaring at this foolish civilian.

“Oh, I never introduced myself did I?!”

The boy exclaims and holds out a hand, smile dangerous, “Daniel Fenton. Or if we’re being technical,” a pause as Damian finally returns the gesture and finds his hand trapped, “Daniel Masters, a pleasure to meet you Damian.”

“Hurry up little badger,” A voice says beside them, and Damian notices that it is indeed Vladimir Masters.

The man approaches, placing a heavy hand on Fenton’s shoulder, making the boy go taut, and then they both step into a dark car, leaving Damian on the front steps.

Damian’s anger flares and he shoots a glare directly to the boy getting into the car. It dies the moment they meet eyes and Damian sees the fear hiding in the other’s eyes.

Fear that Damian is all too familiar with.

Fear that reminded Damian of himself. Reminded him of his own eyes when he’d been under his grandfather.

But why did Fenton look like that?

#batman #danny phantom #batfam #dc #batman and robin #danny fenton #young justice #danny phantom crossover #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #Damian wayne #Damian Al ghul #dp x dc #dpxdc #Jason Todd #red hood #Nightwing #Robin

[hoasvuon]

(7:21 AM)

wonwoo had always thought that his days off meant relaxation. he could play games for as late as he wanted, run to the local convenience store to grab instant noodles in between games, and laze around the house. and it especially meant one thing: that he could sleep in as late as he wanted, and just roll around in his sheets until the sun shone far too bright through the curtains.

with how fast-paced his life was, his slow mornings were his break from the reality of the world spinning around him. his way to decompress and center himself. after all, there always seemed to be something else that he had to do, or remember to do, or think about doing in the future.

but since he met you, his mornings started a bit differently.

wonwoo didn't know when he fell asleep, but he did know that he had fallen asleep with you tucked in his side, and that he had been playing the ends of your hair to fall asleep. feeling the sunlight hit his face, he reached out before feeling the empty spot next to him, still warm.

you couldn't have been up for that long then, he thought to himself

grabbing the throw blanket off the bed, he walked to the kitchen and was hit with the smell of pancakes wafting through the hallway. you had your back turned to him, busy intently watching to make sure none of your precious pancakes got burned. as he approaches you from behind he hears your quietly humming to yourself, most likely as not to wake him from the nearby bedroom.

"you abandoned me, how could you", wonwoo says as he wraps the two of you in the fluffy blanket. "i woke up all alone with no one to cuddle"

you laugh, the sound like wind chimes to his ears. "oh you big baby, i was going to wake you up once i finished making the pancakes"

"you could've woken me up when you woke up you know, i'm good at making pancakes too" wonwoo replies. "do you not trust in my pancake making abilities?"

you tilt your head to the side, fake contemplating. "hmm not really" but the small laugh after you say it confirms that you had no bite in that sentence. "i just wanted you to be able to sleep in, i know how much you like doing that on your days off"

wonwoo has a small smile on his face - you know him all too well. peppering small kisses to your cheeks, he says "well next time you better wake me up, so that we can have a pancake making competition! i can't have you thinking i make inferior pancakes"

you murmur a small "ok baby", eyes still focused on the pancakes in front of you.

what he doesn't tell you is his underlying thoughts: wake me so i can see you in the morning, wake me so i can be near you whenever, wake me so that i can see you making pancakes, laughing light like a fairy when you accidentally burn one.

(wonwoo doesn't think life would ever give him enough mornings with you, wrapped in his arms, peppering lazy kisses to your face. so he wants nothing more than to spend all those precious moments awake and by your side)

#svt x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #svt scenarios #svt wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #svt drabble #seventeen #svt soft hours #wonwoo soft hours #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fanfic #svt angst

[fatuismooches]

Could you please write about the Harbingers spending time with the reader on their birthdays? But maybe they send what they did with you as a letter to the Traveler like the in-game feature? :D

♡ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬' 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

synopsis: The Traveler naturally expects mail in their inbox whenever the Harbingers' birthdays roll around. However, they didn't expect it to be so... lovey-dovey, and all about you.

includes: all harbingers w/ gn! reader

notes: I've finally finished it! I've been wanting to write something similar to my voice line post for a while, so here it is - the Harbingers sending birthday mail, except they're very down bad for you :3 Includes a letter, a photograph, and attached items with the letter! (Sorry to the Pulcinella fans, I was too lazy to write him in.)

“Home…”

Sender: Pierro

It is my birthday today. Normally, I would have continued on my day as usual, but [Name] had another idea in mind, going so far as to get the Tsaritsa herself to block the door to my office and then dragging me away. It seems they were planning this for a while… The last birthday I celebrated was the year Khaenri’ah fell. What purpose did today serve when my homeland and people were gone? As the years went on, it began to slip my mind and I nearly would have forgotten the date, were it not for [Name]’s question a while ago. I thought nothing of it, but I did not think [Name] would have taken this so seriously.

They knew I would enjoy anything so long as it was with them, yet they had the entire day planned out. Claiming that I needed some fresh air, we walked through the Snezhnayan streets, the normally biting frost a bit warmer than usual. Casual browsing at some new stores that opened up. [Name]’s attempt at starting a snowball fight. And lastly… grocery shopping.

When we got back, they wouldn’t let me help or look. But I could tell from the smell exactly what they were making. It turns out that they managed to make a dish from my home country. I am not sure how they managed to get a hold of this recipe… I must have mentioned it offhandedly and they improvised from there. Of course, it’s not an exact replica, but nonetheless, it tasted delicious. Just for a few minutes, I was taken back to my previous home. That home will never come back, but I have a new one now.

And now the day is almost over. Despite their best efforts to stay awake until the end of the day, they succumbed to their sleepiness, now lying on my lap. They were supposed to read me something they made, but perhaps I’ll find out what that was tomorrow. 

Tomorrow will be back to normal again. But that is alright. I still do not believe I deserve a day like today but, if this is what [Name] desires, then I shall not refuse them again. I’ll look forward to the next birthday just as they do.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Pierro and you in it. The Harbinger is seated at a table with a homemade dish in front of him. His giant coat and mask are placed off to the side, revealing scars from long ago. You’re glued to his side, trying to feed him by holding the spoon close to his mouth. Pierro is a grown man, the Traveler thinks, he does not need you to feed him… However, he looks quite content with this arrangement so the blonde won’t question it any further. In fact, he looks as if he’s right at home.

Attached Items:

Ancient Khaenri’ahn Dish [A meal unique to Khaneri’ah that has long been forgotten by the world. Although you clearly struggled to make it due to a lack of experience, even the Traveler can taste how much of your love was put into it.]

Khaenri’ahn Story Book [A book that contains numerous fairy tales and various stories originating from the lost nation, written by none other than Pierro himself, and illustrated by you. Apparently, it was born from you begging him to tell you stories from his home, and eventually, the Harbinger began to write them down so you could read them instead of bothering him so often. However, it made the problem worse as now you bother him to read them to you. How sweet.]

—

“A Day Off.”

Sender: Dottore

[Name] has convinced me to go back to Sumeru with them for a couple of days. I couldn’t care less about this day, but they were adamant about spending the whole day with me, and that they “will not be spending my birthday in a dark gloomy lab again.” 

My research has regrettably halted for a bit, but I suppose this was not a bad idea. This was the first time in many years that either of us had stepped foot back into Sumeru - we had not been back since I was expelled from the Akademiya, besides my segments of course.

[Name] and I trekked the same path we used to walk during our studies at the Akademiya. It was a good spot for studying and conducting experiments without any disturbances - that was until they started following me around. They were a nuisance at first… but eventually, [Name] began to help me deconstruct a variety of machines, which was helpful. And then would laugh at me whenever I ended up breaking them. 

Ever since I met them, [Name] has always said a lot of strange things, but their most recent comment was that they wanted to drink the blue liquid in the vial I carry around. They think it looks… tropical and vibrant. Of course, I refused them. But I had a feeling that if I didn’t provide them with it, they’d try and get it themselves. I was not interested in having to inject an antidote into them, so I came up with a solution.

I know that I am no chef, but this goes outside the realm of cooking. It wasn’t hard to create a sweet drink that would be to [Name]’s liking with the same color. They were more pleased than I thought and demanded that I make it for them more often. I do not care much for nourishment, but perhaps I’ll try my hand at it more often. They have insisted that I send you some, too. So, Traveler, is it to your liking as well? Even if it’s not, I do not care, so don’t bother telling me.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Dottore and you in it. Despite how much the Traveler has explored Sumeru, they can’t seem to pinpoint the location where it was taken. It must really be a secret place, just for the two of you. Dottore’s mask is on his lap, revealing crimson eyes and scarred skin. You seem to have fallen asleep on his shoulder, as your eyes are closed, though your mouth seems to be agape, perhaps mumbling some nonsense in your sleep. Dottore’s expression is exasperated, but there is a certain fondness in his eyes, one that the Traveler can’t distinguish, or rather, they refuse to believe it. Did the Kamera have an editing function now? Because surely, the photograph must have been forged or something, because there was no way The Doctor could ever have such a tender look in his eyes… 

Attached Items:

Strange Blue Concoction [Some kind of legitimate drink that’s the same color as the vial Dottore carries around. According to [Name], it is quite delicious, but would any sane person dare to try anything from The Doctor of all people…? Who knows, these two might be trying to poison the blonde.]

Assortment of Ruin Guard Parts [Parts from Ruin Guards Dottore created and assembled himself. A wide variety of parts are here, including Chaos Cores, Circuits, and Devices. Wait… they seem to all be damaged and broken. Hey, did Dottore just send the Traveler his useless parts?!]

—

“Care For A Show?” 

Sender: Columbina

Hello dear Traveler! How are you?~ Today has been such a wonderful day. Why, you ask? Because it’s my birthday of course! ♪ The one day when I have the ability to drag my beloved [Name] wherever I want, with no resistance. Normally they protest for quite a bit, telling me I have a mountain of work to do but, they don’t need to worry their pretty little head about that. ♫ Is it that much of a crime to slack off to spend time with one’s beloved? But oh, that little routine of ours is something that I do cherish.

My dearest [Name] took me to a play. We were among the first to see it, as it was the opening day. You know, they always tell me that as a Harbinger, I should be more conscious of how I present myself. But is it really a problem to sit in their lap instead of my chair? It’s not like anyone can see us all the way up on the balcony seats, hmm? ♬ Moving on though~ The play was quite an interesting story. 

It was of an angel who fell in love with a mere human, despite how taboo it was. When the two were caught, the angel had to decide - would she rather retain their purity and remain in the heavens or fall down, stripped of her divinity to be with her human? Well, if you want to see the ending, you’ll just have to come to Snezhnaya and watch it yourself. ♪ But do tell me Traveler, if you were in a situation like that, what would you choose? … I already know what my choice would be.

Ah, but that show was not even the best part! After that, [Name] put on their own performance for me, just the two of us. It was beautiful of course, the way they convey their choice of art is always worthy of praise. But, they always seem to seek my feedback and criticism… they told me they want to keep improving to make me even more pleased but, how many times do I need to explain to them that I already believe their craft is beautiful? Nevertheless, I do indulge them, if only to satisfy my love. Why don’t you take a look at one of our collaborations, Traveler? It is quite good if I do say so myself. ♫

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Columbina and you in it. The lighting in the theater is a bit dim, so your figures are a bit faded but, the Traveler can still make out the two of you. The two of you have separate chairs but, Columbina is practically spilling onto yours, her head comfortably resting against your chest. You seem as though this is normal for you, which it probably is. Wait, is Columbina sleeping? It seems she probably got bored during the intermission… That’s why you specifically chose your clothes to double as a blanket for your wife.

Attached Items:

Music Score [A music score composed by both you and Columbina. The two of you performed it perfectly together as a present to your wife. Of course, it’s bound to be mesmerizing considering Columbina’s participation. So hauntingly beautiful, that in fact, it might end your life before you get to the end… is that an exaggeration? Well, it seems like the Traveler will have to take that risk.]

Pair of Tickets [Tickets gifted to the Traveler and Paimon. There’s no name on it or any expiration date, so it can be used to watch a single play in Snezhnaya for free, with the best seats in-house, so pick carefully. These things are quite expensive, so don’t go losing them now! Otherwise, Columbina and [Name] might ban the traveling duo from the theater…]

—

“An Excellent Day.”

Sender: Capitano

Today is my birthday. However, I have never been very adept at celebrating this day. I realize that it is the norm to celebrate one’s birthday, but I have never felt the need to. Though, ever since I became a Harbinger, my recruits have always wished me well today. Unfortunately, when the bolder ones ask me what I have planned, I have nothing interesting to respond with, always prompting them to urge me to do something… In the hallways, I always hear conversations along the lines of even though being a Harbinger is busy, I deserve to do something nice on my birthday. But in reality, it does not bother me at all. Is it really that strange not to do anything on one’s birthday?

When [Name] found out how I normally spend my birthdays, they shared a similar sentiment and promised to make this one “the most eventful and fun and best one I’ve ever had.” They said that since this is our first year together, they need to make my birthday an excellent one. Although I tried to reassure them they needn’t try so hard for me, they were insistent. However, true to their word, I would say my birthday did end up being an excellent one.

One thing about [Name] is they never fail to teach me something new. In this case, they taught me what it means to celebrate a birthday, and I’d say I learned a lot. As stated by them, there is no exact or definite way to celebrate. It is what you make of it. And they, knowing the kind of man I was, chose the activities accordingly. (There were a few mishaps but everything went well for the most part. It is not customary to break a few knives while cutting cake, so I feared that I may have ruined things, but [Name] reassured me it was normal.)

So all in all, today was an excellent day. However, I am faced with a problem now. What should I do when [Name]’s birthday comes? Should I do the same thing they did for me? But would they think that is low effort and unoriginal? I do not wish to disappoint them. Traveler, do you have any ideas? Also, please ask Tartaglia for me as well. The last time I spoke to him, he tried to ask me for a duel.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Capitano and you in it. The snowy forest terrain looks as picturesque as ever, but what really draws attention is the man and his lover in the middle. Mostly, the Harbinger who has a squirrel or two perched on him, not to mention the few birds that made their nest in the fluff of his coat. And even some cats? Where did they come from?! Well, it’s best not to question it. It’s rather endearing. Rather, one should question how silent and unmoving the Captain is in an effort to not disturb all the animals. Just ignore the deer in the background waiting for some attention too.

Attached Items:

How To Celebrate Your Birthday Pamphlet [A collaboration between Capitano’s Fan Club and [Name]. The fan club loves you immensely because you help to put their long-awaited plans into action. The numerous activities in this guide (blowing out the candles, feeding each other cake, gift giving, lots of affection, etc) were written out by the club and dutifully carried out by you. There were also birthday punches, but Capitano was confused as to why you were tickling him.]

Capitano and [Name]’s Picture Book [Don’t tell anyone this, but Capitano has a tendency to name all the creatures of the forest near his mansion. At first, he went there to train, but decided against it after seeing all the animals around there, because he doesn’t want to scare them away. What he did not expect was to befriend all of them… you came across him one day talking to them after searching for him. How can he tell them apart? Even you don’t know. But this book is dedicated to all of his animal friends, with pictures taken by you of course. So if the Traveler happens to visit Snezhnaya someday, make sure to be nice to these little guys!]

—

“They’re Annoying…”

Sender: Wanderer

It is that time of year again when my birthday rolls around. You know very well I do not care much for this day, but once again, there are always annoyances at my every turn… Both Lesser Lord Kusanali and [Name] always prove to be a thorn in my side on this day. In the past, I usually spent my birthdays under the sakura trees in Inazuma, visiting [Name]. But, things have changed now. I no longer am who I once was, and my relationship with [Name] is no longer the same. They have forgotten me, and our past together… but Lesser Lord Kusanali has forced us to interact again numerous times, leading to our current relationship. Lesser Lord Kusanali always pats my back, saying that time will lead us back to each other… how irritating. 

Speaking of her being irritating, she decided to tell [Name] that today was my birthday, a horrible decision. Now, they’ve run all over Sumeru looking for me, until they finally found me in the House of Daena. Panting and gasping for air, all I could hear was them sincerely apologizing over and over for not knowing my birthday. They promised they’d get me a late birthday gift, even though I kept repeating that it was unnecessary. Unfortunately, it has always been hard to get things through their thick skull. All I know for sure is that Lesser Lord Kusanali definitely planned this and that she will tease me to no end the next time I see her… 

Still, they dragged me through Sumeru City. According to them, they knew I wouldn’t like anything too fancy, so they brought me to an alleyway. Your typical textbook dark and narrow one. And at the end were… cats. Many of them. [Name] turned to me with a smile and said they bet I didn’t know about this secret kitty haven, and that it was a perfect gift for someone like me. I do wonder if Sumeru’s sun has made them crazy sometimes.

But, this birthday wasn’t as boring as I thought it’d be. So… that’s nice, I guess. Actually, Lesser Lord Kusanali had assigned me a paper to write. A paper on [Name], on my own birthday. She said that she wasn’t going to read or check it, but it was for my sake. How preposterous, right? How would anything like that help me?

But tonight… I feel as though I’ll make some progress on it.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Wanderer and you in it. The puppet is at the top of the ladder in the House of Daena, searching for books (most likely forced to by the Dendro Archon), but your figure can be made out at the bottom. You seem to be waving and beckoning him to come down, so he can have a good time with you for his birthday. Wanderer doesn’t seem very excited about it, but… he will always indulge you, the person he can’t deny he loves. Hmm? Why is he using a ladder instead of his Anemo powers? Well, perhaps the puppet doesn’t like drawing attention to himself.

Attached Items:

Essay Concerning Inazuman Society and Politics [An essay Wanderer has written during his time spent in Vahumana. What, did the Traveler really think he’d send the essay he wrote about [Name]? However, Paimon couldn’t make it through the title page, and even the Traveler struggled through it. But, it seems to be your favorite essay of his, considering all the notes you made in it, not to mention the noodles you drew when you got bored… Wanderer probably scolded you for that but, it’s never in bad faith.]

Tricolor Dango [A plate of dango that [Name] brought for Wanderer as a treat. It seems that they are unaware of his dislike of sweet food… But the puppet did not want to hurt their feelings considering the thought and effort they put into his birthday, so he did not decline it.]

—

“A Lavish Tea Party.”

Sender: Sandrone

Unbeknownst to me, [Name] recently had a variety of sweets from Fontaine imported. It seemed like they tinkered with my bots once again, to get them on their side so I would remain in the dark… they can be such a hassle to deal with sometimes. However, this means that their skills are ever improving, as I’ve been improving my Automatons to be much more complex. As expected of my assistant. Speaking of, they’ve also imported some other things that I’ve been wanting for a while. Hopefully, they’re up to standard this time, or they’ll have to be returned. Ugh, I hate dealing with the Ninth whenever that happens…

Though back to the subject, it seems that [Name] has once again needlessly gone out of their way, since today is my date of birth. Although I don’t like being distracted from my research, and I see no need to waste time just because I happened to be born today, this break that [Name] has prepared for me isn’t too bad. I have not attended a proper tea party in far too long. The fools I have for agents can never set it up correctly.

[Name] is not someone who dresses up very often, but they always make the effort to match their attire with mine. Something that other people should learn from, but alas. Though, I wish they did it more often. Not even the most well-crafted doll could match their beauty. Have I told them that? No, they should be smart enough to figure that out by themselves.

Regardless, I must cut this letter short. After this, I want to work on an Automaton with [Name]. I have held off on it because they have expressed interest in it, and since we are together now, it is the perfect time to work on it. I was expecting them to get huffy at me working today, but it seems that they are pleased to work with me. I wonder why.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Sandrone and you in it. A wide array of treats and sweets are plated on numerous platters, along with ceramic tea cups waiting to be filled with piping hot tea. The surrounding robots are also fashioned in a similar style as her, perfect attire for the tea party, holding additional trays of desserts. (Can these robots eat too?) You’re pouring your wife her favorite kind of tea as you’ve already set her plate, while she sits patiently with her hands folded. Despite Sandrone’s doll-like features, one can see a small smile on her face.

Attached Items:

Instructions For A Perfect Tea Party [Sandrone’s set of instructions as to how a perfect tea party is conducted. Some of the rules seem nonsensical and impossible to many, which is why no Fatui agent can ever live up to the Harbinger’s expectations, as she will not accept anything less than what she desires. However, you are the only person who has managed to fulfill all the rules to a tee, which is one of the reasons she greatly favors you. Sending this list to the Traveler and Paimon is also her way of saying they are never invited as they will never be able to fulfill the rules in a way that satisfies her… how rude!]

Clockwork Toy of Sandrone [A Harbinger toy from Leschots Clockwork Workshop in Fontaine. They seem to have dabbled in making toys of the Harbingers as they said they would, and who better to start with than the machinery genius herself? Of course, Sandrone can point out numerous flaws with the design and components, and probably criticized it heavily to you, but you still seem to love it, because it’s of her! Unfortunately, your wife doesn’t like that very much… why settle for something inferior when you could have it in much higher quality? So the Harbinger decided to make a toy of herself that lives up to her standard. The Traveler can have the faulty one…]

—

“Another Year Passes…”

Sender: La Signora

In the past, I used to be quite fond of birthdays. In Mondstadt, I would always celebrate it with him every year. But after he died, birthdays left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I never dared think about doing anything on this day ever again. How could I, when he was no longer by my side? But today is my birthday again, and I find myself happy. Why? Because of [Name], the person who taught me how to love again. Admittedly, I pushed away the idea at first. But after some more reflection, I decided it wouldn’t be fair to [Name]. The past is the past, and the present is the present. If [Name] wants to make me feel special on my birthday, then who am I to stop them?

And indeed they did pamper me. They always pamper me but, today it was much more than normal. Breakfast in bed, massages, hair brushing, helping me put on my clothes, opening doors for me, fancy dinner and wine after work. I don’t think there was a single moment where they weren’t trying to do something for me. It gave me a good chuckle, which made them embarrassed. But truly, it made me happy. I had… forgotten what it feels like to be cared for on my birthday. It’s a foreign feeling but, I hope that the foreignness eventually goes away after some time.

However, I must tell them that there’s no need to overexert themselves just because it is my birthday. Although I do enjoy the extra treatment, it does neither of us any good for them to fall asleep before the night is even over. But, that’s okay. There is always next year, yes?

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Signora and you in it. You are fast asleep on the Fair Lady’s lap, a peaceful expression on your face. A similar one is on Signora’s, as there is no one else around, and she can let her guard down around you. There are a few of her flame moths scattered around the room as well, a few on the two of you. As her blonde hair spills onto your face and body, one can only guess what she is thinking.

Attached Items:

Tea Break Pancakes [Despite Signora’s history with her home nation, it’s said that she still enjoys the cuisine from there. So, you like to cook her food from there whenever you can. It might not be as good as a professional’s but it provides her a taste of home. A taste of your love, which is her favorite flavor.]

Rose [It’s no secret that roses are Signora’s favorite flower. Beautiful yet thorny, alluring yet dangerous. There are many kinds of roses with all sorts of meanings in this world, but you two have been seen exchanging only one kind - a red one. Whatever could it mean?]

—

“Birthdays…”

Sender: Pantalone

When I was a child, birthdays did not mean much to me. After all, how could one focus on their date of birth when it seemed like life was full of nothing but curses and suffering? It was only another day of working to survive. But when I met [Name], they changed that. With them, the day began to have… meaning. Purpose. It wasn’t anything grand, but they made it special, distracting me from another day of poverty. Even with their meager earnings, they never failed to gift me something, even if it was of little to no value, or not the best quality… I cherished it. No one else had ever thought of me so much. When I look back, every time my birthday came around again, my love for them only grew more.

Now that we are adults, my only wish is to repay their kindness and spoil them with as many gifts as they deserve. However, there are a few issues with this. There are times I find myself more disappointed with the world than usual because it has yet to create something that would be a suitable gift that would be on par with my love for my dear [Name]. However, whenever my spouse gifts me something, their thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze me. How is it that they always manage to gift me something wonderful and touching? When I questioned them about this, they raised an eyebrow and gave me a strange look. It seems that I will not learn their secret anytime soon. How unfortunate.

Not to mention, dearest [Name] gets upset when I spend “ludicrous amounts of money” (their words) on them, especially on my birthday, so they’ve “forbidden” me from doing so today. They are rather persistent on this, and their long lectures and expressions are rather amusing, so I’ll indulge them… for now. Do you think they realize I’ll just spend double the amount the next day? Regardless, birthdays are always well spent with [Name], and I plan to enjoy this one fully, just as I have in the past because they are the one who makes my birthday a day worth celebrating.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Pantalone and you in it. The two of you are taking a walk in Snezhnaya, browsing stores and the like. Even though it is Pantalone’s birthday, he seems insistent on trying to buy out a few stores for you once again… so in order to prevent him from doing that, you’ve hidden yourself in his coat, stopping him from walking properly. The Harbinger seems rather entertained by your antics and your head popping out of his coat… he should make you do this more often. It’s perfect for head pats.

Attached Items:

Pantalone’s Spare Change [As it is his birthday, Pantalone is feeling more generous than usual, so he is sending a bit of funds to the Traveler. There is no need for any repayment, take it as a symbol of the Fatui’s goodwill. (However, it would do good to proceed with caution… this is the Ninth, after all.) Opening it up, the duo expects to see an average amount of money, but instead are presented with a couple of million Mora… if this is what Pantalone is willing to send to the Traveler, how much does he spend on [Name]?! Paimon doesn’t want to imagine the number!]

[Name]’s Guide to Gift Giving [A piece written by you to detail how you always choose the best gift for Pantalone, unbeknownst to your husband. Opening it up, the Traveler is very curious as to how you manage to win over the Harbinger every time, a man who has everything he could possibly want at his fingertips. But instead, only one sentence is written on the paper - “I don’t know how I do it either.”]

—

“Appreciation.”

Sender: Arlecchino

Birthdays were not very much celebrated in the House of Hearth, especially when the former Knave was around. However, that changed when [Name] came along. Years ago, I still remember when they gifted Lynette her first tea cup set. Freminet, a collection of spare parts that he ended up using to make another clockwork toy. And probably the biggest hassle… gifting little Lyney a white rabbit. However, I do appreciate my lover’s efforts. The children always look forward to their birthdays much more now, some even going as far as to drop hints about their desired gift and give puppy eyes to [Name] when the time rolls around. I have to remind my children not to get greedy, and to be grateful for what they already have…

I also remember the first birthday they gifted me something as well. A part of me expected it, considering the way they behaved, but still, it was an… unfamiliar feeling, to be gifted something. And, it was also the day little Lyney and Lynette presented their first amateur magic show to me. Of course, they had much to improve on, but looking back it was a suitable birthday gift, considering how much I’ve seen the two grow now. Needless to say, I appreciate [Name] very much, for what they have given me and my children.

My birthday has come once more, and [Name] is celebrating it as they always feel the need to. Really, even if they did nothing, I would still appreciate it, considering all they’ve done. The sweets they gathered this time were exceptional, and we had a lovely chat, before taking a walk through Fontaine. They say that the flowers that grow in the wild are always the prettiest, especially the Rainbow Roses.

Ah, last of all, if you could do me a favor, that would be greatly appreciated. You have been in Fontaine for a while now, yes? It would be a great help to me if you could point me to some good operas. [Name] and I have watched many in Snezhnaya, however, we don’t often have the chance to watch any in Fontaine, with our work and all. Thank you. And please, do not bore me or waste my time.

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Arlecchino and you in it. You two are sitting in a field in Fontaine somewhere, with Rainbow Roses to the side. One of them has been tucked into the Harbinger’s hair, while you seem to be focusing on creating… a flower crown? Despite the pinkness of the rose greatly contrasting with Arlecchino’s whole dark red, black, and white look, she seems to not mind your antics and waits patiently for you to complete your work of art. Of course, as a Fontainian, she knows very well what Rainbow Roses symbolize, and won’t turn down the physical manifestation of your feelings.

Attached Items:

List of Yummy Hidden Gems [A list of great places to buy sweets from in Fontaine, courtesy of [Name], passed on by Arlecchino. Sure, Hotel Debord and Café Lutece do have some excellent sweets, but there are many hidden restaurants and bakeries that provide delicious treats as well! Do stop by and give them a try. Arlecchino favors many of their products. If one needs a similar list for the other nations, do tell.]

Slice of Birthday Cake [An exquisite slice of cake cut from Arlecchino’s birthday cake. She doesn’t care much for the tradition, but [Name] always buys one anyway as an excuse to treat the children from the House to something nice. You know you shouldn’t spoil them so much, but you can’t help it!]

—

“Splash!”

Sender: Tartaglia

Hey comrade! How have you been? Sorry if my handwriting isn’t the best. I sparred with [Name] for my birthday, and they really roughed me up. Not that I mind, I asked them to go all out. Normally they don’t like fighting with me, because they always insist they don’t like hurting me, but they couldn’t say no to me today. You know, I would like to see the two of you fight. It would be an exhilarating experience.

But anyway, after they patched me up, we took a dive in Fontaine’s waters! You know, whenever I visit Liyue, we often go to cool off in Yaoguang Shoal, but Fontaine’s oceans are so much different. The scenery, the terrain, the greenery, the wildlife… good thing I bought them a waterproof Kamera. Speaking of wildlife, [Name] and I befriended a blubberbeast. [Name] instantly fell in love with the creature, and I feel as though they gave a bit too much attention to it, but, seeing them smile is the best gift I could ever ask for. Maybe I should gift them a plushie of it? However, it is a bit amusing that something that looks as defenseless as that could pack such a punch!

Did you know this, Traveler? Apparently, Romaritime Flowers represent loyalty. [Name] gifted me a bouquet which I was initially confused about since I usually give them flowers instead. But after some quick research, these flowers mean unbreaking oaths. It was a bit ironic really, for I should have gifted them instead as I always swore to be loyal to them, my family, and the Tsaritsa, but it was a wonderful gift. Not to mention the delicious meal they prepared. They’ve been busy researching the best Fontaine recipes for me, so I could make them for Teucer and the others back home, but maybe I should just drag them to Snezhnaya so they could do it instead… I never leave anything but empty plates whenever [Name] cooks for me, but they’ve packaged some for you too, Traveler!

Next time we fight at the Golden House, I’ll bring [Name] along too. Do you think you can hold your own against both of us at the same time?

Attached Photograph:

A picture is included with the letter that has Childe and you in it. You two are under the sea, with a Blubberbeast between the two of you. The creature is nudging you while Childe looks on amused. It seems that it’s been begging for some more attention, food, and head pats. Maybe some tummy rubs too. Apparently, you named it Big Cutie, because well… it’s a big cutie! Unfortunately, it seems to have a little bit of a grudge against the Harbinger because he accidentally attacked it.

Attached Items:

[Name]’s Special Macarons [Rainbow Macarons but with a special twist from [Name]. On the top and bottom of the sweet treat are… faces? Very detailed ones too, with colored hair and eyes! Ah, the faces are none other than [Name], Childe, Teucer, and all of his other siblings! Oh, and macarons of Traveler and Paimon were made as well, how kind! Childe says they’re quite delicious, and he is a great cook, so they must be.]

Freshly Caught Fish [Fish caught by Childe. It seems that the two lovers also went fishing after diving a bit, as one knows how much Childe loves to fish. Sadly, your fishing skills still pale in comparison compared to his and you barely caught anything… That’s alright though! No matter how long it takes, he’ll always happily help you hone your skills!]

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #capitano x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #pierro x reader #columbina x reader #arlecchino x reader #sandrone x reader #la signora x reader #il dottore x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #capitano genshin #genshin dottore #pantalone genshin #divider by cafekitsune #bye its 1 am here and i should probably wait until later to post it but #i dont want to wait...

[dualitue]

𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑨𝒀𝑬𝑳, 001.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦."

★: please don't tell me that this would suit zayne more i realized that it was too late and i felt too lazy to change it. besides rafayels growing on me so i had to write him. i also got lazy by the end and didn't proofread this so don't expect much T_T reblogs and any possible thoughts are appreciated!!!! <3

★ oral (f. receiving) + body worshipping + whiny couple + fingering + aftercare mentioned + doing it while being sick may not be the best idea but who cares!

An act of kindness is what has started it all, really. He often times thinks of you as a thick-skulled, naive girl thanks to your thinking mechanism that pushes you to go above and beyond just to lend a helping hand—but how can he blame you, really? It's not some grand gesture for a spotlight; it's just you being yourself. A courageous heart, pulsating with an urgent need to make a difference. Regardless of the timeline, the universe, or the body you inhabit, your soul always manages to peek through the cracks in the shell. Unaware that you leave an imprint with every breath, he worries that your innocence and tender heart may be a permanent fixture.

Rafayel should have realized you were trouble from the start.

Once you catch wind of someone in need, nothing else seems to register in that mind of yours.

He should have steered clear of you, or perhaps he should have wished for selective memory loss, anything to rid himself of the torment that plagued his every moment at the thought of you. Whether it's a curse or a blessing, he can't be certain, and the uncertainty gnaws at him. Memories of his days submerged in the depths of despair, yearning for you like a man starved... Truly, a memory loss would have spared him those endless, restless nights haunted by your memory. He vividly recalls the relentless hunger for the connection between his mind and yours. He used to believe that waiting for the one you love should be painless, like a fairy tale reunion. However, reality was far from enchanting, his days consumed by torment. Your radiant face invaded his thoughts every time he closed his eyes, and sometimes, he didn't even have to delve into the realm of closed eyelids. Whether it was his mind playing tricks or a disconcerting desperation for you, there were moments he found solace in the dreams of you, right before his wide-open eyes.

In those dreams, your hair took on a darker hue underwater, the waves cradling you warmly, dispelling any fear. He was convinced the ocean would hold you dear, intimately familiar with your name. Your every movement, the way your hair framed your face, the melody of your voice—these elements combined, making it impossible not to be captivated. If he had known the outside world held you, he would never have considered leaving the comfort of his home. Yet, that's the hand of fate, a concept you humans often label as destiny.

Rafayel remains baffled by the mysterious workings of this thing called fate. Is it akin to a magnetic force, or does it mirror the intricate patterns of the ocean? The idea of one's entire life being meticulously planned before even opening one's eyes, waiting for the precise moments when everything aligns, isn't a matter of him being unable to grasp the logic. It's more about the undeniable sense that everything in his life, leading up to the moment he encountered you, felt purposefully directed to bring him to you, and you to him. Love, as it turns out, was a weighty burden he had never anticipated carrying around.

That's likely the reason his gaze carries a tinge of sorrow today. Seated on the vacant space of the couch while you rest, your once radiant eyes now only half-open, your lips slightly parted to ease your breathing. He appears and sounds concerned, though he understands that your fever prevents you from recognizing the emotional turmoil he currently grapples with.

"You're already playing the hero as a Hunter," he remarks, his fingertips registering the warmth of your skin—feverish, and he can't help but check it persistently. "What more do you need to offer as a hero? Was it really necessary?"

You remain silent, the weight of your breath filling his expansive studio, visibly swallowing. No regrets about your actions, but a nagging thought that perhaps a bit more contemplation would have been wiser.

"Hey, don't doze off on me now, answer me."

His tone is insistent, almost desperate, a hint of anger present, though directed more at the ceaseless need within you to be helpful all the time.

"What do you want me to say?" you reply, your chapped lips stinging with each uttered word. "I couldn't have said no, not when it was clear they needed help."

"You could!" Rafayel counters like a petulant child, his selfish side revolving entirely around you resurfacing. "You know you could have! Work and favors are different, and you weren't tasked with assisting a nerdy sociopath in retrieving… what was it again?"

"Rafayel," his name escapes your lips softly, a reminder of the unintentional power you hold over him. The mere sound of his name from you stirs something within him, and Rafayel can't help but feel a bit flustered. "I really don't want to talk about this."

"Fine," he snorts, still clearly irritated but acknowledging your lack of stamina for this conversation. "Go to sleep, then. I'll see what I can do for you."

"Not invading my personal space and laying off the nagging would be more than enough, highly appreciated, really."

A soft, breathy laugh accompanies your words. Despite the occasional sharpness of your comments, both of you understand they're lighthearted, devoid of any malicious intent.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just close your eyes. This is my house, and personal space is a non-existing concept here. Take it or leave it."

"I can't leave; I'm sick," you murmur, your voice huskier than ever due to the severe cold. "Looks like I might have to take it."

"Such a smart girl," he teases, a hint of mockery in his voice, his gaze fixed on your slightly red face. "Wish you could use that pretty brain of yours in situations like this. I feel sorry for you sometimes."

"I feel sorry for myself, too. Your sassiness doesn't spare me even when I'm sick. Plus, this is the worst cold I've ever had. Feels like I'm on my death bed with you right next to me, nagging and scolding."

He's well aware it's just a passing moment, that you'll bounce back from this illness soon enough. Yet, even the casual mention of it in a lighthearted and trivial sentence makes Rafayel squirm uncomfortably beside you.

"Shut up, don't exaggerate."

"Guess who I learned that from?"

"You're insufferable," he declares, finally rising to search for his phone, cast somewhere in his room.

"You won't believe what I'm about to say, yet again," he marvels at your knack for matching his energy, finding himself increasingly addicted to this dynamic.

"Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, maybe you'll actually manage to fall asleep and spare me the constant nagging."

"You're the one who brought me to your place when you found out I was sick!"

You stifle a laugh, resisting the urge to appreciate his caregiver side a bit more. However, your expression gives you away; the corners of your mouth twitch, a smile reaching your eyes before gracing your face.

"Ha-ha, very funny. So funny that I can't even bring myself to laugh, fearing I might never find anything else amusing ever again."

The studio carries a subdued ambiance today, courtesy of the gray clouds and dismal weather outside. Despite the apparent disorder, there's an inherent harmony within its chaotic appearance. Unfinished paintings scatter around, some paints meticulously organized by tone and hue, while others haphazardly rest on a small table in the corner. Curtains drawn wide, tall windows invite as much natural light as possible, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of pressing a seashell against your ear—faint waves hitting the shore.

With a single effortless motion, Rafayel lifts your weakened body, his concern palpable as he carries you to his bedroom. Surprisingly, you feel lighter in his arms, despite your condition, as he carefully settles you onto his bed. Profoundly sweating, you've lost count of the shirts Rafayel has helped you change into. He's already arranged for a doctor to examine you, initially fearing the worst, only to discover it's a severe cold exacerbated by exhaustion. With medication in hand, Rafayel diligently ensures you take your doses, managing the situation with utmost care.

Except for his own sanity.

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state for the first time, you appear unlike the confident Hunter he knows—or perhaps it's his own perception, magnified by witnessing your illness firsthand.

Compared to the rest of the house, Rafayel's bedroom feels refreshingly cool, providing a welcome relief to your feverish skin.

"This feels nice," you murmur as he lays you gently on the bed, the softness of the mattress embracing you instantly, coaxing your eyes closed. "Like being hugged by the sea on a hot summer day. Cool and comforting."

Your words, uttered innocently, send a shiver down Rafayel's spine.

Being hugged by the sea… comforting…

Suddenly, he's overwhelmed by an urge to hold you even closer, to let you feel the steady rhythm of his heart, to assure you that the embrace of the water is always within reach.

"That's probably because your fever hasn't gone down; just get some rest."

"Will you stay here?"

You weakly tug on the hem of his shirt, your eyes opening a bit more, almost peering into his soul.

"I will," Rafayel responds, immediately sensing he can't leave you alone even for a second, though he refrains from showing it. "If you ask nicely enough."

"Oh, shut it," you laugh, covering your eyes with the back of your hand. You stay like that for a while, eyes closed and hand resting on your face, when you feel his warm breath gently caressing your skin. A sudden urge to gulp overtakes you, your heart pounding so rapidly it feels as if it's not a heart but a bird begging to be set free.

"Come on," Rafayel murmurs, every puff of breath warming your face and body, as if you haven't fallen victim to a fever. "Just ask, it won't hurt, right?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Don't spoil the fun now."

His slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, and to your surprise, his skin is cold against yours. Despite the fever that makes you feel like you're boiling from the inside, your body craves that cool touch. Rafayel lifts your hand, slowly and carefully, pinning it against the soft pillow under your head. Now, you have no choice but to look at him, your clouded eyes meeting his shining ones as both of you let the silence linger. It's not awkward, but neither is it fully comforting—there's a subtle tension you can feel, adding to your fever, and tears well up in your eyes as you stare at him.

Rafayel feels like there's a dagger stabbed right into his chest, turning and turning like a fallen leaf on an autumn day—he shivers the more he gazes into your widened eyes and parted lips. He can't be sure if it's just your fever that's bringing a sweet tint of red to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and even the tips of your ears. All he can do is hope that, regardless of the circumstances, he's able to make you a bit flustered.

Without much thought, Rafayel presses his palm against the burning skin of your red cheek. You feel soft to the touch, and his hand is cold enough to elicit a calm, sharp breath from you. A thick fog envelops your mind and thoughts due to the fever. While it was worse a few hours ago, it still clouds your basic thinking skills. Your body is burning, but you're sure it's not that feverish. Knowing you're sick adds a psychological discomfort—you subconsciously nuzzle against his big, cool palm. A soft whimper escapes your parted lips as you lean into Rafayel's touch, his palm covering your cheek as your eyes flutter closed in a seemingly calm manner. He doesn't dare utter a word, fearing he might disrupt the moment. It feels intimate and vulnerable; he's offering a simple act born from his feelings for you, and you're fitting into his hands like the matching piece of a puzzle.

"If you could touch me all over with these cold hands, I think this fever would just disappear," you murmur against his palm, resembling a cat seeking affection. Ironically, he doesn't even like cats, but it's not about them—it's about the vulnerability of the act. You may not realize what you're saying, but Rafayel's head spins with thoughts he dare not speak. His fingertips ache to reach and tug on the hem of his shirt you're wearing. He could get you out of it in seconds, exploring every inch of you, leaving nothing untouched.

He releases a shaky breath as his other hand lets go of yours, beginning to touch your face and neck. His breath comes out shaky as his fingertips explore the softness of your face before descending to your neck—a sacred area. He senses you gulp as his palm presses against the front of your neck. The pressure is almost nonexistent as he gently caresses your skin. You don't feel brave enough to open your eyes; his touch alone is intense, and you're uncertain of the intensity awaiting you in his gaze.

"What if I accidentally make you feel hotter than before?" Rafayel breathes out the words, his voice low and hesitant as he whispers. You gulp again, making him feel the movement against his palm as he takes another sharp breath. "We wouldn't want that now, would we?"

Summoning courage, you slowly open your eyes to gauge Rafayel's expression. The moment your eyes meet his, Rafayel swallows back a desperate whimper. He wasn't prepared for your heavy gaze, feeling crushed under its weight, as if there's a demand he might not be able to satisfy even with his all.

Both of you remain awfully quiet as Rafayel's fingers slightly wrap around your neck, fitting like a perfect necklace. He gently gives the faintest squeeze, leaving you lightheaded. Your eyes get even glossier—you're like a doll, spread out in his bed, wearing his clothes. It's impossible not to be overwhelmed.

"I don't think your cold hands would betray me like that," you whisper, still feeling a bit dizzy from the gentle squeeze around your neck. Does he even realize the effect he has on you? It seems like he's testing the waters for both of you, exploring your reactions and his own feelings. The sensation is dizzying for him as well.

Remembering that this isn't the right time for something like this, Rafayel reluctantly pulls his hands back, though he yearns to have them pressed against you. It doesn't matter where he touches you; all he needs is to feel you under his touch.

"No," you whine, eyebrows furrowed. Your hand slowly reaches up, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt to bring his hands back to your face and neck. "Keep them, it feels nice."

"You have no idea what you're asking for," Rafayel murmurs. "Just because the waters are cold doesn't mean they won't swallow you whole, silly girl."

"Don't care," you shrug.

Rafayel hums in response, his fingertips trailing down to the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing before his hands sneak under the thin fabric after you give him an affirming nod. "If only you could be good and listen to me," he gently caresses your torso, your skin feeling soft and warm as he can't stop himself from traveling higher. His fingertips touch the fabric of your bra this time, and both of you feel yourselves shaken to your cores; a soft whimper falls from your lips unlike Rafayel, who's giving his all to keep it quiet for now. "Do I have to tire you out to make you sleep?"

You cannot give an answer, you're already feeling high on the feeling as his cold fingertips slip under your bra too, causing your nipples to get hard and perk up immediately. You slightly arch your back to signal him that you want it off, and Rafayel is quick to pick up on that; with a skilled and swift movement of his fingers, he unclasps your bra.

You should've checked the weather forecast more carefully, really—well, you don't feel as feverish as before, but your body feels heavy. Maybe it's because Rafayel is so adept at kneading you into the state he desires you in, who knows? With your lips slightly parted and heavy eyelids veiling the intensity of your eyes, you accept Rafayel's touch as if it's the only thing that can help you now. He pushes the hem of the t-shirt up, and you feel him tapping the side of your body. You sit up slightly to give him the access he asks for, and Rafayel doesn't waste any time. He quickly gets rid of the t-shirt and bra. Now, even the air feels cold against your skin—his hands are comforting, but the air in his bedroom causes shivers to run down your spine.

All that can be heard from Rafayel is his heavy panting as he changes his position, seating himself between your legs and slowly hovering over you as he leans in. You want to tell him that he's going to get sick after all this, but you don't have the heart to mess this moment up by bringing up such an obvious and silly thing. The sound of Rafayel's first kiss right on between your breasts echoes in the room, or that's how it sounds to you, loud and exciting—the kiss makes you breathlessly moan as you grip the sheets underneath your hands. You know what to expect, you know what's to come, but still you can't help that slight shaking of your body when Rafayel's hot mouth takes in your nipple. You try your best to hold yourself back from tugging on his hair, pressing yourself more to him, or any possible desperate act of this neediness that you have for everything that he can possibly give to you. However, as if you've lost control of your movements, your hands softly find their place in Rafayel's soft hair—experimentally tugging on, just to get a muffled deep groan against your skin.

His head moves slightly, his tongue lazily twirling around your nipple as you're withering underneath him—with one hand, palm pressing against the inner side of your thigh, Rafayel makes you spread your legs further so that he can get into a position that's also comfortable for him. Your fever feels as if it's turned into a bonfire, crackling and ready to swallow both of you whole as soft noises of yours fill Rafayel's ears. He breathlessly gulps before teasingly taking the sensitive nipple between his teeth—the act is enough to send jolts throughout your weak body, you tug on his hair harder than before.

"You enjoy that," he whispers, amused and amazed by your reaction as he tilts his head up slightly to stare into your glossy eyes, only to lean in and repeat the same action. You cry out, feeling like you're melting in his hands as he keeps teasing you. He's not doing much, but you're embarrassingly wet as he continues the act. Your panties immediately get damp, and it feels uncomfortable at some point. "Don't get ideas," you say with a huff of air escaping from your parted lips. They feel dry because of the level of heat embracing your trembling body.

"Don't you think that you're a bit late to say that?" He whispers against your skin, his hands resting on the sides of your body, fingers gently caressing the skin accessible to his touch. His mouth keeps pressing kisses all over your chest between each word. "You've given me quite a lot of ideas. I might push the limits to their fullest if you keep making those pretty noises."

"Rafayel," a gulp, loud enough to shake him to his core. "Don't play, please."

He groans in defeat, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly—how can he say no? How can he possibly say no when your heartbeat is loud and fast enough to be heard? He sits on his knees first, freeing you from your sweatpants and your embarrassingly soaked panties—the sight of your glistening folds immediately gets a reaction from him; a desperate whimper as he throws the pieces of clothing somewhere in his room. His fingers move down as he lays on his torso on the bed, sliding down, supporting your legs by grabbing the back of your thighs and pushing your legs to your chest—the position has you all red, the blush spreading down to your chest as you're now fully exposed to him. To ease off the unnecessary tension you feel, Rafayel presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh. His hot breath hits your sensitive skin, and it feels like this has meant to happen at some point, and this was the perfect time.

"You've got to tell me to stop now if you're not sure," Rafayel's whisper intensifies the sensations, and you feel a hot wave hitting you, making you jolt as your knees almost touch your chest. "Because once I get a taste, I know that I won't be able to stop."

His voice sounds much deeper, and you feel almost threatened by the tone alone—possible thoughts related to what he can do to you run havoc in your mind as you stare at him with empty eyes. All you have in your mind is that you need him; you crave whatever he can give you—of course, you're not going to tell him to stop at any point.

So you stay quiet, your eyes locked with his in an intense gaze as he looks up at you from between your legs. With your fingertips gently playing with his hair, you keep your silence, hoping that it'll be enough of an answer. Yet, it turns out that it's not enough of an answer.

"You need to use your words," Rafayel desperately murmurs this time, pressing wet and open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as he breaths sharply. "Please, tell me that you want it, I need to hear it from you."

He looks so pretty from this angle—well, it's a well-known fact that he is undoubtedly a pretty boy, but the way he's looking up at you with those expecting eyes and that expression of raw need on his face makes something in you snap suddenly. You part your lips, but it suddenly feels kind of embarrassing to say it out loud. Rafayel moves up and closer to your face, his hand cupping your cheek, and you immediately lean into his touch with your eyes closed. "Look at me, baby, say it."

Your lips part apart slightly as you open your eyes slowly, your dry lips press the lightest kiss to his thumb—and it makes him absentmindedly push his finger into your mouth. Ironically, this act gives you the push that you need. Before wrapping your lips around his thumb, you give him what he wants, you say what he needs to hear.

"I want it," just three words, uttered lowly and slowly, and coming out all muffled because of his finger exploring the warmth of your mouth—and it pushes him over the edge. "Fuck," breathlessly falls from his lips, drawn out in a long way. Rafayel pulls his hand back, his thumb staying close to the side of your mouth as he kisses you—the kiss is sloppy and it shakes you to your core. His thumb lightly gets in the way but none of you seem to care about that, the hunger you both have for each other feels insatiable as Rafayel licks into your mouth. Wet sounds of your lips moving hungrily against each other fill his room as Rafayel takes his time with tasting your lips, savouring the taste of your long gone lip gloss as you moan into his mouth, in turn, he happily drinks in all your pretty noises.

You lazily throw your arms over his shoulders, his messy and soft hair meeting the gentle touch of your hands as you two share a desperate kiss. Suddenly, you can't even remember the reason you're here in the first place—all you can think about is the way Rafayel is so, so into you. The way his one hand stays pressed against your cheek while the other pushes your hair out of the way before traveling down to the side of your waist and caressing the skin feels intimate and arousing at the same time. You try to break the kiss, to take a much-needed breath, but Rafayel doesn't let go of you. His hand holds your head in place, his lips getting more eager and hungrier as his body tenses under your skillful hands softly caressing his hair.

"Can't breathe," you finally manage to get the words out when you push him gently by pressing your hands against his chest. His skin feels as hot as your feverish one, but you can still feel the subtle chill to his hands. "Rafayel, wait—let me, ah, breathe a second."

He is long gone, lost in the whirl of primal emotions that he has fallen victim to. His lips are relentless, his head seeking a feeling that he can only expect from you in the crook of your neck—his kisses trail a wet line along the side of your neck. "Okay, okay," he whispers, visibly trying to calm himself down. "I just—ah, shit, I just need to feel you somehow, taste you."

The way his words come from a feeling that is unfiltered and genuine has you succumbing to his desires. You feel the need to give your all to him, to offer yourself in any way possible, in the way he wants you. As you throw your head back to give him more room, a breathless "yeah," falls from your lips. "Yeah, okay, go on."

Rafayel becomes unstoppable once he gets your consent, once he realizes that you're okay with this. And that's really all he has to get from you to feel something snap in himself—a whiny whimper falling from his lips etches itself into the soft and hot skin of your neck as his kisses follow each other all the way to your shoulder.

"I'll be so good to you," he breathlessly reassures you, even though you don't need any reassurance because you know that he will. You know that he will be such a good boy for you—he will be able to tame that burning desire in you in such a way that you'll get hooked on the feeling. "I know," you, too, reassure him, letting him know what he does to you with little to no effort. Just by following an instinctive feeling, he has the power to rule your body and your mind.

His cold fingertips trail down on your body, finding their place in between your legs. The feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your slick folds make both of you moan, your back arches, your body begging to get the best of this feeling. Even though he's peppering your body with open-mouthed kisses, you still feel embarassingly empty somehow—even this thought alone is enough to get you all flustered and shy.

For some time, it's probably minutes but feels like an eternity, none of you speak; just enjoying the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. Your hands are as mindless as usual, you don't know what to do with them as Rafayel rubs your aching clit in a teasing way; you feel yourself growing impatient, desperately needing him to make you feel full, it doesn't matter how he does it, but he has to do it.

"Rafayel", you whine, impatiently tugging on his hair as your body feels like shattering into million pieces and being kneaded into this desireful shell from the scratch. He hums in response as his kisses start to trail down further down to your torso, it kind of tickles—your body jolts forward when he playfully bites the side of your waist. Swallowing down all the shyness, you try to push his head down a bit more, leading him to your weeping cunt—the sheets underneath you and your inner thighs are damp with your wetness. The way Rafayel manages to get you this turned on and this wet makes both of you gasp when you feel his fingers gathering the slick and smearing it to your folds as if you're not wet enough. The swift movement of his fingers against your folds make you suck in a sharp breath, your body feels like it's about the explode if he makes you wait for it any more than this moment.

"What is it, Miss Bodyguard?" He taunts you, or you think that he does so, it really doesn't matter at this point. "Running low on patience?" His voice is deep, and you feel him finally adjusting his position as his lips press a kiss right to your cunt. You immediately cry out, the movement feeling as intense as it can be. You tug on his hair again, needing the feeling again, and you hear him chuckle. To your relief, he does it again, again and again—teasingly sucking on your clit between the kisses.

"Maybe you should've listened to me," Rafayels pants between the kisses. "I told you to go to sleep, didn't I? You wouldn't be begging like this if you could've just listened to me in the first place."

You cannot find the right piece of your mind to answer him, he's good at making you unable to think properly. Your only answer to him is another low moan—making him get al the answers he needs. You want to tell him to stop the teasing, but the feeling is so good that you can't even acknowledge his words. Rafayel looks pretty from where you're looking at him, his hair doesn't do any justice since it hides his eyes but you're sure that you won't be able to bear the intensity in them if he ever looks into your eyes. His shoulders look broader when he's buried between your trembling legs, the way his biceps flex while his arms are hooked around your legs to keep you in place makes you suck in a shaky breath.

His head moves up and down, his tongue deliberately exploring and tasting you. You grind against his hot mouth, and he groans in response—loving the way you're demanding more from him. It's almost like he exists to serve you; Rafayel has always been attentive to your wants, and to give you what you want now is nothing but pleasure to him. His tongue moves skillfully and also hungrily, you think that you might cum at any given moment—and the thought is a bit embarassing, really, because you want to enjoy the feeling a bit more.

Just as you part your lips to say something, Rafayel slowly pushes a finger inside your cunt—eliciting the most delicious moan from you. You're burning up now from the inside, feeling your body becaoming helpless and succumbing to his mercy as he starts to finger you slowly at first. When your walls stop clencing around him, Rafayel adds the second finger—this is even more dizzying, and you feel yourself getting suffocated by the feeling alone. It'll never measure up to the way his cock stretches you out, but he manages to satisfy you no matter how.

"Hag—ah, Rafayel," you breathlessly mumble, your heavy eyes falling to his broad shoulders again. He's still fully clothed, so you tug on the sleeve of his shirt, that's when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes directly. The sight of him makes you dumb; his chin is wet, his lips glisten, and his eyes carry such intensity and adoration that you stumble upon your own words. Stuttering, you say, "take it off," but Rafayel chuckles as a whisper before leaning down again to suck on your clit while also moving his fingers faster than before.

"No."

"No?"

"No. This is about you feeling good, not about me. Just enjoy it, don't think of anything else."

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even let you start.

"Well, I might be enjoying this more than you maybe, just to let you know. You sound pretty," he breathlessly murmurs, words coming out slurred as his lips presses kisses to your inner thighs. You feel yourself getting even closer, and your body slightly trembles—you can't help but press your legs to the both sides of his head, keeping him there, where he belongs prettily.

"Because you're a pretty girl, aren't you? Even when you're as stubborn as ever, even when you're crying underneath me, you're always a pretty girl, making pretty sounds," his fingers start to move even faster now, your legs shaking on both sides of his head as your chest heaves up and down with your erratic breaths.

Before you need to say it, Rafayel can feel that you're about to cum—your walls clenching around his wet fingers are enough to let him know. He doesn't stop nor does he slows down, on the contrary, in addition to his fingers he gets back to sucking on your clit. It doesn't take you long to cry out his name, or you think so, complete gibberish falls from your lips as you cum—thrashing around his fingers while your body is shaking. Rafayel keeps fingering you and eating you out through your orgasm, tasting you like a man starved as you hear the slick sounds of his fingers and his tongue. Feeling overly sensitive, you gently push his hand back, and he obliges—slowly pulling back to look at your face. Eyes heavy, cheeks tinted with red, chest heaving up and down... he's glad that he's able to paint you in any way in his memories. What would he do if he couldn't do that? Well, he might've had to make you cum again and again until it became impossible to not see you whenever he closed his eyes.

"Ssh, my pretty girl," he whisper as he gets on the same level as your face, there's the slightest smirk on his face as he carefully pays attention to every detail about your face, and your expression. "You good?" Rafayel asks.

"Yeah, yeah I just—uh, I think I just need to..."

"Sleep, maybe?"

"Yeah, that."

Rafayel laughs, low and genuine, soothing you as you listen to it. You want to kiss him, accepting the fact that you'll taste yourself if you do so, but your eyelids feel so heavy that you cannot resist against the drowsiness taking over you.

"Okay, do that then." Rafayel slowly gets up from the bed, and you can only guess how hard he is after all that—your hands ache to touch him, take his hardened cock out of his pants and help him relax, too.

"But you—"

"I told you that this is about you," Rafayel says, walking to the bathroom, You lay on his bed, feeling cold, immediately missing his warmth. He comes back with a wet towel, sitting next to you before he starts to clean you up.

"But, of course, this doesn't mean that I won't ask for what's rightfully mine," he softly chuckles. "But only when you're feeling all better, now sleep."

And you do as he tells you to do so, a slight smile forming on your lips as you close your eyes—realizing that you've needed this sleep really bad, but still had Rafayel to serve you like a true devotee.

#🩰.ela writes #love and deepspace #l&ds #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #rafayel imagine #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #love and deep space x reader #love and deep space x you

[lovebugism]

u said 2 do ur worst for shy!r so…. steve and reader go to the hawkins snowball dance and a slow song comes on and its a uber romantic song (i’m talking taylor swift type romance) and steve ofc asks r to dance… she’s super shy so she keeps looking at the floor but then steve does the thing where you lift the other persons chin up so they’re looking into ur eyes… if u wanna elaborate on this :)

i changed this up a wee bit, but i hope u like it! — when steve is finally crowned prom king, all he can think about is getting a dance with his (sorta) secret girlfriend (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort, 1.2k)

Steve abandons his crown and scepter somewhere between the bleachers and the snack table. The thought of finding you is far more important than the chunks of plastic they give him. 

The cold breeze of the early evening cools his warm cheeks, flushed red from the adrenaline and the alcohol. He finds you sitting on the wooden bench outside the gymnasium, pretty and all alone. The skirt of your fairy-tale dress billows around your calves. Elbows digging into your thighs, you prop your chin on your fists and pout softly beneath the pale moonlight. 

You’re the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. The saddest, too, maybe.

“Been looking for you,” he says to announce his presence. The lopsided smile on his face is audible. You know it’s dancing on his pink mouth before you ever turn around to face him. 

He’s a pretty thing in a sleek tux. Boyishly handsome. Sort of like he’s playing dress-up. The thought almost makes you smile.

“Sorry,” you apologize in a mousy voice, blinking up at him with sparkly, made-up eyes when he looms over you. “It got… really loud in there…”

“Well, Tommy spiked the punch, so… It was kinda inevitable,” Steve jokes with a lazy shrug, even though he isn’t really joking. 

He watched the idiot steal his dad’s best liquor from the high-up cabinet two hours ago. The Hawkins High class of ’85 got drunk on it in record time. The school pulses with life accordingly. The brick behind you threatens to shake with it.

Your nose scrunches. “Is that why it tasted like gasoline?”

“Probably,” Steve grins.

He huffs and sits at the spare spot next to you. The old bench creaks in protest. He takes his first good breath all night when he’s finally alone with you. The fresh air and your perfume fill his lungs, smoother than silk. There’s a subtle euphoria and a distant nostalgia between it all. 

He’s spent years chasing this feeling. He thought maybe being crowned prom king would solve all his problems. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. ‘Cause you did.

“You coming back inside?”

Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you ponder the question. “I don’t know… Probably not.”

Steve’s freshly shaven face swirls with visible confusion. He loves a party — especially when he’s the life of it — so it’s hard for him to comprehend how other people don’t. Even though he knows, more than anyone else, that you’re made of something much more delicate than that.

“Why not?”

“Prom’s not really my scene, Steve,” you answer with a scoffed-out laugh.

He flashes you a crooked smile in return, painted silver in the moonlight. His cologne swaddles you in its musk when he leans over to nudge your shoulder. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Your soft features harden into a frown. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon! You know you wanna dance with me,” he protests through a poorly bitten-back laugh.

“Why?” you press, meeting his beam with a lighthearted scowl. “So all your friends can laugh at me?”

“Screw ‘em! They’re assholes— who cares?”

“I care. ‘Cause you’re not the one they’re laughing at, King Steve.”

You spit the stupid nickname with playful venom in your tone, but Steve can’t help but smile at it, anyway. He’s a week away from graduating, halfway employed, and Hawkins High’s reigning prom king. It’s all slightly maddening — especially now that he’s got you.

He wonders if you applauded when he won that stupid crown. If you laughed at him about it, or if you were strangely proud. He’ll ask you about it later. After he gets that dance.

“Let ‘em laugh,” he shrugs.

You shake your head, averting your gaze with a sad smile. You wish it were that easy. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you tell him as the heavy bass inside the school starts to slow. Through the high-up frosted windows, you hear Girls on Film fade into Never Tear Us Apart. 

“Sorry for wanting to dance with my girlfriend,” he teases to ease the tension. It comes out more serious than he intended, though, ‘cause he is sort of sorry. Nothing about your two worlds exactly meshes — yet here he is, still hopelessly trying to tangle them together.

You know this, so you sigh. “Sorry for not being prom queen,” you joke back, only partly serious. You blink at him with a pair of twinkling eyes — slightly smudged with mascara. The sparkles of your eyeshadow glint when they catch the moonlight. 

“Don’t want you to be prom queen,” Steve confesses softly, smiling at you somehow softer. “I like you the way you are right now.”

You get a warm, tingly feeling in your stomach. It wells up your chest and into your throat until you feel like you might cry. 

You roll your eyes at him when they start to burn, laughing softly to distract from the overwhelming feeling. Your gaze flits to the velvet night sky, speckled with twinkling stars, until you get the courage to look back at the boy beside you. His face glitters with something hopeful. 

You swallow hard and ask, “You still want that dance or what?”

Steve glows with a boyish excitement. “Yeah! Are you kidding? Of course, I do.”

“Out here, though,” you tell him when he rises from the bench.

He smiles at the stern look in your delicate eyes. “Why? You ashamed of me or somthin’?” he jokes, as if he wasn’t named just prom king.

You stand before him with your arms crossed over the pretty corset of your dress. You bite back a smile. “I just wanna spend time with my boyfriend without it being on the cover of The Weekly Streak tomorrow,” you confess.

“Fair enough,” Steve nods, smoothing his wide hands over your sides. 

Yours are much less confident. They tremble with a misplaced worry as they spread over his shoulders. Your fingers fidget on the satin lapels of his expensive suit. His longer ones guide you back and forth, swaying you gently to the slow beat of the muffled song.

—Don’t ask me, what you know is true…

Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart—

You get lost in it all before you mean to. The warmth of having him so close, swaddled in his big hands and deep cologne. 

His honeyed gaze hasn’t yet wavered from you, but you don’t have the heart to meet it. He’s looking at you like he loves you. Like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Like you’re the fucking prom queen. 

You don’t feel particularly deserving of any of it.

“Are you still having fun?” you ask with a scrunched nose, visibly riddled with feelings of inadequacy. You still haven’t quite figured out why he’d rather be out here with you than inside with everyone else — with Vicki Carmichael, the actual prom queen.

“Loads,” Steve answers without missing a beat. His hands squeeze reassuringly at your hips as he flashes you a crooked grin. “It’s not even a question, honestly. I’d choose you over those schmucks in there any day of the week.”

He nods his slicked-back hair to the pulsing brick a few feet away. A few gelled chestnut strands drape over his forehead. You fight the urge to push them back.

“Really?” you squeak with your pretty face, all dolled up, twisted with an innocent look of confusion.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Steve thinks to himself.

“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wide and wearing all his adoration on his chiseled, golden face. He could hide it if he tried. “Tommy Hagan isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.”

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

[artaxlivs]

Were they kidding with this bullshit? Like, seriously? So many gates opening up to different dimensions now that there were too many for Supergirl to close and this? This is what they got? Fuck this. Seriously.

"Are you a virgin?" Mike asked like the total little dickhead he is.

"So what if I am? Aren't you? And the rest of your little friends?" Eddie sniped back at the rude little bastard but then, he blanched, "actually, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

Why did this have to be happening when Eddie was on a perimeter check?

Mike rolled his eyes like he couldn't believe how ridiculous Eddie was being, "Dumbass, we're children. Unicorns never go to innocent children in fairy tales. Because we're all innocent. They go to innocent adults. Virgins." He put far too much emphasis on the word because he is, as mentioned, a little dickhead.

"Listen, fuck you and the unicorn you rode in on. I'm not fucking innocent. I've done...things. Things I'm not gonna tell you about!" Eddie sputtered, crossing his arms and almost losing his precarious balance on the tree branch.

He needed to be careful because there was a unicorn circling underneath him. And not the beautiful, ethereal kind. It was beautiful, sure, but it had blood all over his muzzle and splattered across it's chest and on it's front hooves. Probably from the last virgin it had tracked down in god knows what dimension and trampled slash eaten to death. It's eyes were blazing red fire and it had fangs. Fangs. Fuck. That.

Eddie heard Steve sighing and then he flailed an arm from Eddie's tree branch to Robin and said, "It can't be trying to get you because you're a virgin, it's not going anywhere near Robin!"

The girl in question squeaked. Her ears and cheeks went bright red. All three of them turned to look at her.

"Wait, what? Was it you know who? From the...? You didn't tell me? When did you...?" Steve asked cryptically, shedding absolutely no light on who Buckley was knocking boots with.

"Yes after we met at the...place." Robin supplied lamely and then bared her teeth and said through them, "After. But before we went back in to fight Henry slash Vecna slash One." She shrugged and let out a hysterical sounding giggle. "It was...End of the World Sex. Just in case, you know?"

"Ohhhh I'm so proud of you!" And oddly, Steve really did sound proud. Which was weird. Eddie was pretty sure Robin was gay which meant the caginess was in reference to a girl but the fact that Steve was so supportive was a little suprising.

Without actively thinking about the repercussions, Eddie's mouth decided to test that theory, "Well damn, wish I'd have thought of that. Steve - want to deflower me so this unicorn leaves me alone?" The hysterical giggle Eddie let out rivaled Robin's.

Slowly Steve turned back to him but before he could reply, Mike scoffed, "You are his type. Skinny, big bushy hair, big eyes, you and Nancy both talk like everyone is just waiting to listen to you to speak." He rolled his eyes, "Annoying."

"Rude!" Eddie tilted his head thoughtfully, "You know what though? I'm fine with it. Nancy Wheeler is a badass and I want to be her when I grow up. Or when I get down from this tree." Eddie cringed, staring down as the unicorn stopped and looked up, one of it's flaming eyes bore into him. It neighed, shaking it's gorgeous mane but also splattering little droplets of blood everywhere.

Gross. So gross.

"Huh. Now that you mention it..." Robin stared up at Eddie thoughtfully, "I totally see it."

Steve just dragged his hand down his face and glared at the angry unicorn, "Okay, we need a real plan because Eddie isn't coordinated enough to have sex in a tree." He put his hands on his hips like a baseball mom wondering if she brought enough orange slices and Shastas for the whole team. "Do we know any other adult virgins to lure this one away?"

Mike snorted, "Those are probably more rare than the unicorn.'

Eddie flipped him off, "You're rolling at disadvantage on all charisma and persuasion checks for the rest of time."

"We'll have to find a new DM when the unicorn gores you anyway," Mike shrugged. "Whatever."

Then he wandered off. Just walked away, like Eddie wasn't two feet away from being mauled by a feral beast who's name was probably Glitter Sparkle or some shit. What a dickhead.

Looking away from the unicorn, Eddie watched Robin wave Steve over and whisper to him. They had a hushed conversation for several minutes while Eddie yelled things like, "Wanna share with the class?" and "Good friends don't make shitty plans in secret!" But they ignored him. Bastards.

Until Steve turned to the tree and asked, "By 'things' what do you mean?"

What?

"Harrington, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You said you've done 'things' but not had sex. What things?" Steve brushed a hand through his miraculously still perfect hair, and sighed, obviously frustrated, "We're trying to figure out what the unicorn considers virginity. Robin's never..." He petered off and glanced back at her and then over at Mike who was half way down the block with his radio out, sitting on a bench with his back to them, probably telling everyone that Eddie still had his V card. Traitor.

He was too far away for them to hear his conversation so he was probably too far for theirs.

Robin cleared her throat. "I've never had, you know, penetrative sex. Just...um...uh...third base!" She squeaked again and then covered her face with her hands.

"You're being extremely weird about sex talk while a blood covered unicorn is stalking me like a jungle cat!" Eddie informed her. "Oral. Just say oral sex, you weirdo!"

"Ok fine!" She shouted, "I've given and reciprocated oral sex! Jesus." Then she crossed her arms and grumbled under her breath, tapping one foot on the grass.

Eddie couldn't help it. He laughed with glee. "Was she cute?"

Robin sputtered, mouth dropping in shock.

What? Did she think she was a subtle lesbian? Because she wasn't. Not at all. Her high tops had boobs drawn on them like some twelve year old boy just hitting puberty. He rolled his eyes.

Steve looked up at Eddie then. His eyebrows were arched in that way they get when he's thinking up a plan. They're not always good plans but he carries them out and everyone usually lives so, Eddie could do worse. "Well - Big Boy?" Steve's lips twitched in a smile at using Eddie's nickname for him. "I'm guessing when you said you've done 'things,' you were lying?"

"Yeah, duh." Eddie retorted, snapping in his irritation and mounting fear. Mounting, ha. Like a horse and like sex. Mounting. He bit his lip to contain the very poorly timed giggle.

Robin rolled her eyes, grabbed Steve's arm and gave him a severe 'be careful' look and then hustled over to where Mike was sitting. When Steve tucked his bat into his backpack and started to creep around the tree, he realized she was giving them privacy. Holy shit.

The unicorn didn't even acknowledge Steve's presence as he skirted around it and climbed the tree, grunting and complaining under his breath how nobody better call him the Virginsitter because he swears to God. Then the rest of his grumbling got lost, buried under the sound of Eddie's heart pounding in his ears.

Holy shit.

And that's how Eddie lost his mythically constructed virginity in a tree to Steve Harrington who was apparently bisexual and very, very good at blowjobs.

Neither of them even noticed which way the unicorn went.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #feral unicorns #it's a thing #I'm making it a thing #virginity is a man made construct to place value on a women's virtue and fuck that nonsense

[miinatozakiii]

killshot

im nayeon x fem!reader ; smut!! 

synopsis: your roommate is aware that you hate her and she likes irritating you but oh no she just now realizes you’re hot and wants you so bad

warnings: kinda porn w no plot ; smut!!! ; mentions of alcohol ; hate fucking(???) ; degradation kinda ; insulting each other as they fuck yesss ; face riding ; comp sci major!reader *shivers and shakes* ; fwb-ish but not really ; nayeon is umm lowk manipulative but only if you squint , maybe? ; not proofread as always

wc: 5.1k

a/n: computer science major slander (i'm jealous) and also i don’t like the pacing but oh well maybe u guys will (i'd be such a great writer if i weren’t lazy af... )

with a groan, you lift yourself off the bed after hearing a loud thud. tiredly, you blindly reach for your phone and check for the time with squinted eyes: 1:04am. 

a low “fuck” leaves your lips while you struggle to sit up, still hearing the impact of bodies crashing against the walls and the faint sounds of a woman and man groaning through the bedroom door.  

nayeon is home. 

this is a bi-weekly occurrence; your roommate nayeon stumbles into the apartment all hot and heavy from the alcohol that was in her system, and then you can hear her getting all intimate—against your will—with some random person she’s found at the various clubs she cycles through. to be completely honest, you don’t care for her midnight rendezvous, just as long as they don’t bother you. 

however, this night she’s bothered you greatly; you’re fucking irritated. 

just when you had finally sought solace in the arms of sleep after hours of laboring over a project, your few minutes of rest are abruptly shattered by the intrusion of nayeon. —all drunk and insatiable—who’s barging into your room whilst some average guy latches onto her neck. he doesn’t look like he knows what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter because nayeon’s senses are too fucked to really pay attention to that. 

“get the hell out of my room.” you yell angrily towards the two. to say you were annoyed would be an overwhelming understatement, you were furious. 

“ah—fuck, sorry y/n,” she responds, voice all airy and light whilst the man’s hand slides down to play with the edge of her dress. “wrong room baby, let’s go.” she says whilst pushing the man off her a bit, much to his dismay. 

they both leave the room, still attached to each other with their hands roaming and gripping at anything. to make matters even worse; they didn’t close the door behind them. 

“fucking whore.” you scoff, falling back down on your bed and groaning.  

- 

im nayeon is an indescribable pain in your ass and unfortunately, she also happens to be your roommate. 

for the most part, you generally pride yourself on your composure and tolerance, but living with nayeon has truly put your patience to the test. she's irresponsible and unreliable, which regularly pushes you to your limits. you find yourself frustrated sharing an apartment with someone who’s always falling hort of your expectations. she's falling far from them, really, and it’s almost impressive. 

she has a knack for disappearing into the lurking in the apartment while you're away, often entertaining friends and leaving behind a mess in her wake. the audacity she possesses to neglect simple chores like doing the dishes or tidying up after herself borders on infuriating, you’re fighting the urge to bodyslam her into the mattress sometimes. it's as though she expects the cleaning fairy to magically swoop in and restore order while you're left to pick up the pieces of her irresponsibility, maybe she thinks you’re the fucking cleaning fairy. 

living with her was hell, you don’t even know how she managed to keep up with her courses and stay sane with how she lived her life. she was a pretentious, sassy little thorn stuck in your skin. 

but still, there are two things that keep you tethered to the apartment, even if it's a bit embarrassing to admit on factor. one: the rent is cheaper, and your shared living space is nice. two: nayeon’s fucking hot. 

the truth is: nayeon is the epitome of physical allure, the hottest person you've ever laid eyes on. as much as you resent her for her shortcomings, you find yourself unable to ignore the pull of her undeniable visuals, which whispers against the urge to pack your bags and leave.  

you despised the stupid allure of her face, the way her figure teased and tempted, and the fact that she held the power to have you on your knees if she poked you in the right ways. it grated on your nerves to know that you weren't the only one drawn to her; half the campus seemed to be either enamored with her, aspiring to be her, or eager to get into her pants. and she wielded her beauty like a weapon, using her "pretty privilege" to her advantage.  

the feeling you had towards her was bitter, but the attraction you had made things complicated. 

it was easy to mask your little attraction for your pretentious roommate with annoyed comments and irritated glares, but deep inside you wanted her in ways that you could never admit out loud. countless daydreams and very questionable thoughts about her invaded your mind at the worst times possible, espeically when she was near. 

- 

- 

your irritation mixed with attraction was mutual. nayeon felt the same way about you; what a match. 

at first, nayeon found herself irritated by your stuck-up demeanor and seemingly perfect self. your involvement in various extracurricular activities, dedication to your studies, and honestly majoring in computer science major as a whole contributed to her initial impression of you as someone who had it all together. it was a stark contrast to her own carefree attitude and laid-back approach to everything, which built friction between the two of you. 

(nayeon could never do all of that, study for hours and keep her shit together. and god, especially watching you type for two hours straight already made her head swirl. how does someone do that without losing their shit? she wonders if you’re okay) 

from nayeon's perspective, you were nothing more than a stuck-up bitch in her shared home, always fussing over cleanliness like a relentless clean freak. it striked a nerve every time you scolded her for leaving behind a couple of dishes or a few stray bottles of alcohol. if it bothered you so much, why not just pick up after yourself instead of constantly complaining? 

despite the irritation you stirred within her, nayeon couldn't deny the undeniable truth: you were actually pretty cute for a nerdy, uptight roommate. in fact, she'd even go as far as to admit that you were pretty hot. 

nayeon has seen the people in the computer science department, most of them are men who look like they’ve never spoken to a woman or gone outside for more than thirty minutes a day. you on the other hand were quite the sight, someone nayeon would describe as “eye candy.” 

and yeah, she kind of overlooked the fact that you were her type after you had yelled at her so much, but then there was this one little moment that changed her mind. maybe she could tolerate you more. 

(maybe nayeon had to put looks first in this case.) 

-- 

-- 

some thursday afternoon, while you typically would be found either buried in books at the library or enjoying the afternoon at a café, nayeon found herself in a predicament—she couldn't find one of her favorite t-shirts. with frustration growing, she decided to take matters into her own hands and went into your room to see if it had somehow ended up there, given that you were supposed to be out.  

to her surprise, she discovered that you were most definitely home, a fact that caught her completely off guard—especially when you’re home in your room, in the middle of taking your pants off. 

she barges into your room to see you with your shirt off and the fly of your pants down, revealing some of the logo of your victoria’s secret underwear. your cheeks flush a dark hue of red when you realize she’s invaded your privacy, and you quickly cover your chest—which, is already covered since you have a bra on, but god is this whole situation embarrassing.  

after you literally push her out the door—slamming it shut with embarrassment—nayeon stands outside the door with a newfound interest.  

nayeon couldn't fathom that someone who dedicated their sanity to lines of numbers and letters on a screen could look so good. there was something mesmerizing about the subtle groove tracing down your stomach, hinting at the definition of your abs, or the glimpse of your bicep as you hastily covered yourself and scolded her for intruding, maybe even the hint of muscle on your shoulders. whatever it was—all nayeon knew was that the little mishap of you not locking the door and giving her the chance see you like that piqued her interest without doubt. 

and after seeing you half naked? the image of you, with your shirt off and the hint of your physique tantalizingly on display? holy shit you had her fantasizing a little (a lot) more than she already had been; she needed some of her fantasies to come true.  

your roommate had already been attentive to your quick—and evident—glances on her body and her lips. she also noted the subtle bite of your lips when she swayed by, your eyes barely caught her, but she noticed it all. getting her fantasies to become a reality seemed easy enough—probably—and she was determined to make it all happen.  

she knew she already had you starting to wrap around her finger, just by those observations, so it should be easy enough to get you hot and heavy, right? 

- 

“oh look who’s finally fucking awake.” you mutter, turning around to see the hungover, marked up woman emerging from the hall.  

nayeon rolls her eyes at you like always and simply responds, “oh shut up, don’t be a drag.” 

“i’m a drag? i’m not the one barging in at one in the morning the same night my roommate stays up to actually do their school shit. not only that, but that fucking guy—” 

“was a terrible kisser,” nayeon cuts you off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i kicked him out so can you please just—” 

“no!” you scoff, surprising nayeon with this burst of anger. you’re much more irritated than usual, which is weird. nayeon suspects that it’s because she’s never accidentally stumbled into your room, and to be fair; this was kind of intentional.  

you see, nayeon thought that if she could make you a little jealous, it’d increase the chances of you intervening. just what she wanted. 

“i couldn’t fucking sleep and i have a really important assessment today.” 

“yeah yeah, move over i need some tea.” nayeon says tiredly. upon hearing her response, you clench your jaw tightly and lean against the marble counter, gripping it with one hand tightly to suppress your annoyance. 

your roommate looks at you and a laugh slips out accidentally. after hearing that, there's probably a vein visible on your forehead, maybe your neck—somewhere. 

that was your last straw. 

angrily, you lift yourself off the counter and swiftly advance towards nayeon, pinning her against the fridge with force. the impact reverberates through her as her back meets the cold surface, while you lean in closer, your eyes narrowing with intensity.  

now, this should not be turning nayeon on—she’s going to blame it on her hangover and whatnot, and maybe the fact that whoever that guy was and whatever he did didn’t really satitate her—but it does.  

with barely an inch of space separating you, your height advantage allows you to tilt your head down, locking eyes with nayeon with a glare. the tension crackles between you like a firework, it’s thick and palpable, your look shows restrained anger. despite how furious you look, there's an unexpected allure to you, drawing nayeon in even as she senses the little reprimanding you’ll give her. 

“don’t give me that fucking attitude nayeon. you’re fucking unbelievable, you’re a fucking slut, you know?” 

“yeah?” she says, a smirk tugging at her pretty, plump lips.  

you feel your body tense as soon as you start to take in the proximity of the two of you. gulping lightly, you move yourself away just an inch, but nayeon pauses you, pinching your collar. 

“oh don’t get so timid now, you were just fuming earlier pretty.” she laughs. “keep going. this is cute, i like this. what did you call me again?” 

as nayeon's eyes flicker from yours to your lips and back again, the tension between you is like pushing down on a spring, and it’s about to pop back up any moment. sensing an opportunity, nayeon skillfully navigates her way out of the looming scolding, her allure becoming a potent weapon against your mood. she begins to weave her charm, coaxing a reluctant softening in your expression. despite your initial anger, you find yourself drawn to her, you can’t let yourself slip up, not now, not when she’s the reason you might fail your assessment. 

“you’re— you’re so... fucking irritating…” you mumble the last part of your sentence, voice getting smaller. you push yourself away from her and shake your head, trying to conceal your blush. nayeon giggles before going back to making her tea, the tension in the air like an invisible weight pressing down on you, and this whole morning might just completely flatten you down from how distracting it’ll be the whole day. 

nayeon’s relieved, at least you’re not scolding her while she dips her chamomile bag in and out her little mug of hot water. 

- 

the day is filled with the events of the morning, with you struggling to finish various lines of code because the feeling of nayeon toying with your collar lingers, and nayeon trying to force the thought of you finally snapping in her head. 

seems like the two of you are trying to avoid the same thought, despite how badly you two want it. 

it's palpable that there’s something in the air that needs to be swatted away, and nayeon knows you’re too much of a coward to really do anything about it, so she’ll figure somethign out.  

one thing about im nayeon: she always gets her way, no questions asked, no matter what it takes. 

- 

nayeon finds you on the couch typing away later that night, probably doing some homework. 

nayeon plops down next to you, intending to tease and push you over the edge. you turn your head after feeling the cushions under you shift, immediately grimacing once you see your roommate. 

“what do you want?” 

“what, i can’t sit next to my roommate?” nayeon questions, “i’m just going to watch tv, if you don’t like it you can leave.”  

“whore.” you mutter under your breath, quiet enough so she doesn’t catch what you say.  

your roommate lounges lazily on the couch and rests her head against the armrest. as she reclined, her hair spilled over, framing her face like a halo. nayeon's gaze wandered lazily around the room before settling on the tv, and with a languid movement, she turned to lay fully, bending her legs so they didn't intrude into your personal space. 

your jaw tensed, a visceral reaction to the sight before you. the light from the tv in the dimmed room accentuated the allure of nayeon's figure. you couldn't help but steal a glance, your attention momentarily torn away from your screen by the annoyingly captivating vision in your periphery. 

casual sweatpants adorned her figure, the looseness of the bottoms from brandy allowing for comfort yet teasingly hinting at the eye-catching curves of her terribly alluring figure beneath. the fit of her tank top—cropped just enough to expose a sliver of her toned midriff—effortlessly made your gaze linger. the fabric clung to her silhouette in all the right places, revealing the subtle contours that sent a subtle jolt through the room and your veins. you completely forgot about pretending to be irritated in that brief trance. 

the tank top, snug against her skin, revealed a gentle dip of her collarbone, an enticing invitation that you took note of. the image staying in your head even as your attention returned to your screen. a flush settled on your cheeks as you tried to focus again. the ambiance of the room, however, remained penetrated with the downplayed sensuality that lingered in the air. you huff lowly. she's winning whatever game this is without even trying. 

after typing at your laptop for a bit, you hear the faint sound of people talking in the background. you look up from the screen and see some show playing, then turn to see nayeon’s head turned toward the tv.  

shaking your head, you redirect your attention back to the assignment in front of you; the task is quite easy, but it’s insanely tedious and for some strange reason nayeon’s presence isn’t helping you. 

nayeon shifts on the couch and sits upright against the cushion, you don’t bat an eye. your roommate is sick of you being academic, she’s bored and wants your attention. needs it, maybe. 

“when’s that due?”  

without turning your head, you respond, “next week.” 

“why do it now?” 

“why do you care?” your tone is impatient. “and besides, it’s better to get things done earlier.” 

“nerd.” nayeon sighs. she scoots over and peers at your screen, putting her hand down beside you to prop herself up and when she leans over, her boob smushes against your arm a little.  

you glare at her. “aren’t you usually out? it’s a friday night.” 

she shrugs. “didn’t feel like it.” and after she scans the screen one more time, she leans away (to your dismay) and continues on with whatever drama she had been watching.  

the thought of her boob being smushed against you lingers, embarassingly it’s almost tattooed in your mind for the next half an hour. 

when you finish your assignment, that’s when you let out a big, hefty breath and close your laptop.  

nayeon's annoyingly melodic giggle dances in the air as you sink into the plush couch, surrendering to its embrace that eases the pain in your shoulders. after savoring your few seconds of tranquility, your thoughts drift to the comfort awaiting you in your bedroom, your bed, peace and quiet, being enveloped by the blanket.  

as you start to stand up, a delicate yet firm grip clings to your forearm, delaying your departure. nayeon's touch, like a sirens call, invites you to linger, gently coaxing you to stay a little longer. 

she bats her eyelashes at you. “stay here.”  

you brows knit. “why would i stay with you?”  

“watching shows alone is boring, and i know your ass isn’t going anywhere tonight.” 

you groan in response and decide to give in—you might as well lounge on the couch for a bit—earning a smug smile from your roommate. she unpauses her show and you allow yourself to ease into the cushion, then watch with her (against your will), only to immediately tense up at the scene that unravels before your eyes. 

two girls appear on screen, and they’re kissing each other.  

they’re close, kissing, and then fifteen seconds pass and boom—they’re eating each other’s mouths sloppily, groaning and everything, tongue and all. you shift in your seat when you feel a weird pulse down at your core. 

“y/n,” nayeon starts, “have you ever even kissed someone?” 

“of course i have.” you respond, crossing your arms.  

nayeon turns her head in surprise and tilts her head. “seriously?” 

“yes, is it that surprising?” 

“well, you’re always cooped up in the house and whatnot… didn’t think you had any game.” 

“i hooked up with someone last month for your information. i'm not a homebody.” 

“yeah? sure, you did.” she laughs, shaking her head. you roll your eyes at her. 

“fuck you.” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the tv and watching the two girls undress each other. “do you always watch shit like this?” 

“why, does it turn you on or something?” nayeon asks, shifting closer to you. a lump forms in your throat. 

you shoot a quick glare at her and lie, “no.” 

nayeon laughs in amusement after pink dusts your cheeks. “you seem pretty flustered baby.” 

what the fuck? 

as you meet her gaze, a wave of surprise washes over you, mirroring the hunger that burns in her eyes. nayeon's laughter tumbles from her lips, enchanting and playful, as she places her hand delicately on the couch. leaning towards you, she ignites a spark that makes your heart skip a beat. feeling a sudden urge to be closer, you subtly shift in your seat, captivated by the exhilarating simplicity of the moment and giving into nayeon’s intentions. 

“i don’t believe you.” she says. 

“what?” 

“you’ve never kissed someone, hell, like you could even fuck someone.” 

“excuse me?” 

she just laughs at the mix of emotions coming from you; your cheeks are dusted pink, but your tone and expression displays that regular irritated look of yours. 

then she bites the corner of her lip, finally easing into the reason she even bothered you in the first place. she leans a little closer, lips hovering near your ear lobe, and giggles again. 

“how about you prove that you’ve fucked someone, hm?” nayeon suggests, raising her brows. “that you even can.” 

your breath trembles slightly, you’re stiff in your place. 

“if it’ll shut you up then... fine.” 

she clicks her tongue, then pulls away from your ear. now she’s looking at you with a shit eating grin, you want to wipe it off her face. 

the air stilled, your breath shook, and nayeon’s hand inches to your forearm. her other hand grabs the collar of your shirt, pulling you in and your lips meet in the middle. 

she tastes like cherry, well, her lip gloss does. 

your hand finds its way to the back of her neck, pushing her deeper into you so your lips can hungrily slide and suck and gosh, everything, all of the above, both a and c, you name it. 

the last thing you had on your mind for the friday night was kissing your roommate aggressively. initially, you were just going to finish the assignment and take a nap or something, but this? it’s much better than what you had planned originally. 

nayeon practically takes your breath away after simply kissing you, just the way your lips lock makes you greedy. you groan accidentally, embarassed until you have nayeon groaning into you too, even louder for that matter. 

you pull away for a brief moment, voice a little shaky and out of breath. “is this why you bothered me? are you that horny that you wanted me to fuck you?” 

“oh shut up, it’s not like you’re against it.” nayeon’s right, you’re not. not in the slightest. 

“fuck you” is uttered from your lips before you crash your lips against her again, taking the air from her lungs again. 

the kissing quickly escalates and your tongues are in each other’s mouths. you’re both unashamedly moaning and groaning into each other carelessly, it’s funny how quickly everything escalated within seconds, the boundaries between whatever you two had dissolved like sugar in boiling water. you shift yourselves over so that nayeon is under you, both your knees on either side of her legs. you reach over for the remote to pause the two girls who were mirroring the two of you—well, the two of you started going at it after they did so maybe it was the two of you mirroring them. 

each subsequent kiss felt as electrifying as the crackle of sparks dancing in a bonfire. the more nayeon deepened the kiss the more it drove you crazy, irrationally enough to continue kissing her and slip your hands under her shirt. 

nayeon sighs blissfully as you kiss down her neck, her fingers tangle with your hair while she claws at it aggressively, and still, the pain from her grabbing your hair only turns you on more. 

“fuck,” she groans when you suck on her neck, sinking her nails into your tricep. 

“slut.” you mutter, smirking against her. “so easy to rile up.” 

unashamedly, nayeon begs and begs for you until you’re biting down on her skin, repeatedly uttering your name until you’re leaving marks that’ll have her friends wondering who ruined her this time—and this time, it’s not some person she’s run into at the bar while tipsy. 

still, she could get drunk just off of you. 

you start to undress her, starting with her top and taking a moment to gaze at her undeniably alluring figure. strands of hair just barely stick to her forehead as she gazes at you breathlessly with eyes full of lust. she moves her slender fingers to work at the edge of your shirt, urging you to take that stupid t-shirt you have on off so she can get a sight of your surprisingly exciting figure. maybe she’ll get a better, longer view of what she had seen that night she walked in on you changing. 

“fuck, why have you been hiding this?” she mutters, sliding her hand down your side. “god you fucking bitch.” 

“if i didn’t you’d be all over me, you fucking horny mess.” you spit back harshly, but the way you moan when nayeon latches her lips onto your neck completely rids of that fake, irritated tone of yours.  

nayeon ends up on top of you in a matter of seconds, thenyou’re groping her ass shamelessly as you two devour each other’s mouths again. hands tug at whatever else covers your bodies until it’s just the two of you skin to skin. everything that had just happened in the span of ten minutes was for sure ten times better than whatever else had been going on in the movie. 

you can feel her grinding desperately against your thigh as you kiss her, feeling the moisture from her needy cunt that dampens your once-dry upper leg. you palm her breasts blindly and feel her gasp against you, and then nayeon forgets how to breath when you press your thigh up and against her, adding more stimulus. 

she moans frustratedly, the feeling of just your thigh against her throbbing pussy is far from what she needs. so, she’s putting her hand on the middle of your chest and pushing you down to lay flat on your back. she bites her lip blatantly before lifting her hips away from your skin. 

you furrow your brows in confusion and begin, “what are you—” 

“shut up,” she grunts, shoving one hand in your head and gripping your hair so rough that you whimper. she shifts over so that her pussy is directly above your mouth and orders: “just eat, bitch.” 

this is something you can’t argue with her about, and fuck you’re hungry.  

there’s a meal waiting for you that you’ve been craving, you can’t just lay there and starve. 

eagerly, you lift your head up a bit to meet the aching in between her legs; she’s so wet and you’re definitely teasing her about this later—but who knows how long it will take until it’s later. 

she moans louder than ever and it surprises the both of you, it only leaves you wanting more of her, wanting to hear her when she’s at her limit. your nails sink into the flesh of her thigh as you devour ravenously, taking note of what makes her twitch more and what earns lewder noises. what earns noises that turn you on more than ever. 

it doesn’t surprise you how shameless she is during sex—clearly, she isn’t ashamed of seducing her roommate—the way she rides your face so desperately gives you enough to know how she is. 

nayeon likes when you suck on her clit, she grips your hair tighter with each “pop” sound that’s made after you release the suction. she’s easy to read, her cunt is easy to adjust to. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” nayeon moans, leaning back little while she continues to ride, head tilted back and face almost parallel to the ceiling. “god-- fuck, oh my—shit, keep going,” 

you can see her tits from your view, nipples all perked up while you grip onto her thighs tighter, feeling her shake in your grasp.  

nayeon's like an alarm clock, ticking and ticking away until the alarm rings, her cry echoing through the room, hand gripping at your hair tighter than ever as her head falls back. you continue to savor her arousal even after she came, earning little whines and whispers of your name. 

“oh, y/n, just like that...”  

you're doing all the work now, which only helps with your aversion towards her, but still, you’ve made her moan, cry—all of the above, so at least there’s something to use against her. 

and then she lifts herself off of you, letting your head rest back against the seat of the couch so you can catch your breath.  

when she looks down, all she can make out through fuzzy vision and overwhelmed senses is the puff of your lips, hooded eyes, and fucked up hair; everything about the sight of you is a product of her desires, a fantasy that’s been lingering in her mind now come true. 

“slut,” you mutter, almost breathlessly. “you’re really loud, you know.”  

“fuck you.” 

“already did.” you retort, giggling. “let’s go for another.” 

“oh so now look who’s a horny mess.” nayeon responds, moving over to sit on your lap. 

you sit up, holding yourself up with your hands placed behind you. “you just never shut up, do you?” 

nayeon smiles before tracing her finger along your skin. “do you me want to?” 

you look at her amusingly before shifting positions so she’s laying down flat on her back, with you hovering above. the two of you kiss again, nayeon savoring a the traces of arousal off you, a muffled hum of delight vibrating against your locked lips. 

she pulls away, thumbing your nipple and making you groan surprisingly. you pull away to glare at her. 

nayeon laughs, “wow, you’re so--” 

you cut her off by shoving your ring and middle finger in her mouth, she almost gags, but the way she sucks obediently is enough to tell you that she’s enjoying this. 

“you just never shut up,”  

in response, she moans with your fingers still in your mouth, right before you pull them out, skin coated with her saliva. 

you bring your fingers down to her cunt, teasing her folds. 

“let’s change that.” 

#miinatozakiii #twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #nayeon x reader #im nayeon #im nayeon x reader #twice smut #twice nayeon

[alexias-putellas]

the proposal // l.wälti x reader

l.wälti x reader

based on this request! lia and caitlin never dated in this and i added my own little flair to make it that little bit fluffier. also i’m being vague about the ring so you can picture any one you want :))

-

“what about this one? ooh, that one’s pretty. look at that one though. would it be cringe of me to get one with a red diamond? i just think she looks incredible in red–“

“jesus, stop and take a breath,” beth laughed, placing her hands on your shoulders and shaking you gently. “this is lia we’re talking about. you could propose with a haribo ring and she’d say yes.”

“still. she deserves a pretty ring, bethany.”

“and we will find the prettiest,” leah reassured you, popping up at your side. “if not in this shop then the next. we will find the perfect ring.”

“i’m not sure we will,” you sighed, nibbling on your lip. “i mean this is the third shop we’ve been in and we’ve found nothing.”

“because you’re overthinking it.”

“of course i’m overthinking it. you only get one ring, beth. i can’t buy one, propose, and then change my mind about it. it has to be perfect—everything has to be perfect.”

“and it will be,” leah piped up again and you turned to her. “i think we need to take a little break. we can get food, coffee, whatever and talk about what it is you’re looking for because i don’t think you know the answer to that right now.”

you wanted to argue but ultimately leah was right. you really had no idea what you were looking for. the three of you found a nearby restaurant and you practically collapsed into a chair as beth patted your back sympathetically.

“why is proposing to someone so much work?”

“just wait until you plan the wedding,” leah snorted, lowering her head when both you and beth glared at her. “sorry.”

you turned your attention back to beth when she tapped you. “i meant what i said earlier. i know that you think that you need to do something extravagant but you really don’t need do. lia’s gonna say yes no matter what.”

“i hope so,” you muttered under your breath. “i still want to do something nice. i mean we’re in the public eye, people are going to ask questions and i don’t want her to have some stupidly lame story for an answer. i have to do something.”

“okay,” leah nodded, sitting forward a little. “let’s brain storm. three heads will be better than one, right? if we work together, we can definitely come up with a plan and find a ring.”

and over a giant pizza and a share bowl of chips, you did just that. since it was nearing summer and london was growing warmer, you’d come up with the plan to take lia on a romantic picnic somewhere, somewhere you could hang fairy lights and make the set up really fancy. with the help of leah and beth of course.

as for the ring, as soon as you’d outlined to the girls what you were looking for, beth had found the perfect one in the next shop you went to.

“it’s perfect,” you’d whispered, staring down at the ring in awe, the added red ring box an added bonus. “beth, oh my god, it’s beautiful.”

“see?” leah grinned, nudging you playfully. “told you we’d find one.”

“thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you,” you whispered continuously, throwing your arms around both blondes and squeezing them tightly. when you pulled away, you quickly hid the ring box and wiped at your eyes. “sorry i don’t know why i’m crying.”

“if you’re crying now what the hell will you be the like when you propose?” beth laughed.

leah nodded, a laugh escaping her own lips. “we’re definitely staying. i want to see the entire thing.”

you rolled your eyes and for the rest of the shopping trip, you found yourself at the receiving end of their teasing. you simply decided to be petty by taking a little too long choosing shoes or trying on clothes.

your arms were filled with bags when you finally headed back to yours and lia’s house, having took the shopping facade a little too far.

you made sure the ring box was hidden before heading into the living room, finding lia sat on the sofa, doing what you assumed to be uni work.

the brunette glanced up at you, not at all surprised at how much you’d spent. “have fun liebling?”

with a huff, you dropped all of the bags onto the other sofa, placing your hands on your hips. “i spent the entire day with leah and beth, you tell me.”

lia laughed softly and you dropped into the seat next to her, leaning your head on her shoulder as you watched her type away.

after a few more minutes, you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before hauling your shopping bags into your shared bedroom. you made quick work of sorting everything into its new home and took a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing at the door to make sure lia wasn’t there. and when you were sure that she wasn’t moving, you pulled the ring box from your pocket and opening it.

for a moment, you had the urge to just burst back into the living room and dropping to your knee then and there. but you couldn’t, you had a plan and you were going to stick with it.

after training the next day you were ambushed, a loud yelp falling from your lips as someone grabbed the collar of your training shirt and yanked you into an empty room.

“what the hell are you doing?” you stared at katie with wide eyes, watching as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“what are you three planning and why am i not part of it?” she asked and you immediately rolled your eyes.

“nothing.”

“i don’t believe you,” she told you. “you’ve been whispering and giggling about something all day and i want in.”

“my god, fine! but you cannot tell anyone and i mean anyone!” you said sternly and she nodded. “i’m gonna propose to lia.”

katie grinned. “really?”

“yes and if you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can have in on the plan.”

and with a quiet promise that she wouldn’t tell anyone, even caitlin, you swiftly informed her of the current plan. and as the two of you walked towards the locker room, you answered any questions she had, motioning for her to be quiet once you’d pushed the door open.

katie headed to her cubby and you headed to yours, deciding to have a shower when you got home. you skipped over to lia once you’d grabbed your bag, throwing your arms around her. she playfully pushed you off with a grimace, her hair still wet from the shower she’d obviously decided to have.

“lia!” you half-whined, half-laughed as she pushed you away again. “stop! i wanna hug!”

as your girlfriend finally gave in and pulled you into the hug you wanted, there was only one thought swirling through your mind.

you could not wait to make her your wife.

ᡣ𐭩

the whistle blew and the crowd erupted, your teammates practically bowling you down as they jumped on top of you. after all it wasn’t everyday you scored a goal that secured a champions league victory.

“we got the treble, baby!” you heard katie shout and your teammates burst into cheers, lia helping you up once the pile had disappeared.

she hugged you tightly, swaying you from side to side as you held back tears. the brunette just about managed to kiss your head before you were whisked away to go round shaking the other teams hands and getting ready for the medal ceremony.

as always, you stuck close to lia, comparing your gold medals as you headed to the rest of the team awaiting the trophy. the two of you found yourselves near the middle of the team, cheering loudly with the fans as soon as kim and leah lifted the trophy.

katie wasted no time covering everyone with champagne and by the time everyone had wandered off to celebrate with fans or family, you had been her target multiple times.

you and lia managed to find a quiet-ish corner away from the chaos that katie was still unleashing on your unsuspecting teammates. you laughed softly as alessia squealed, running away from the champagne spray.

“i’m so proud of you.” lia whispered, bringing your attention back to her as she brushed your wet hair back from your face.

you swallowed thickly, the words falling from your mouth before you could stop them.

“marry me,” your heart was pounding in your chest as you realised what you’d done but it was too late to turn back. “this wasn’t the plan—i have a plan, i have a ring, but i can’t wait. i love you too much to wait any longer—oh god, lia please marry me.”

it felt like forever had passed before the brunette responded. “only if you marry me.”

you blinked. it certainly wasn’t the response you were looking for. “what?”

“i have a ring too.” lia admitted and your eyes widened.

“really?” you asked.

“you sound surprised.” she noted with a laugh.

“i am a little but i also thought going ring shopping with beth and leah would be easy so what do i know?”

lia laughed again and you pulled her into a hug, resting your chin on her shoulder. you breathed out in relief, eyes fluttering shut as she pressed a featherlight kiss to your jaw. “i can’t wait to marry you liebling.”

you nodded in agreement, whispering the words back to her before pulling away, turning around in time to see leah, beth and katie all grinning at you like chesire cats.

with the adrenaline from the win and incredibly recent engagement running through your veins, you couldn’t really focus on one thing at a time but there was one thing you did know.

none of them were helping you plan the wedding.

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #lia wälti #lia wälti x reader #lia wälti imagine