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forlix · 7 months

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Text

a day in the life (ymls)

it's been awhile since I've posted anything about these cuties so here's a lil blurb!!!!! hope you enjoy :)

word count: 1.3k

content warnings: family stuff, y/n is no longer pregnant BUT there's discussions of her pregnancy, giving birth, and lactating/breastfeeding

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. . .

Y/N never asked Harry to live with her.

They never had a conversation about it, instead just deciding to go to her house after she and Clementine were released from the hospital because it would likely be easier to recover in her own space — all of her lactation gear was there, along with the three (3!) different pregnancy pillows Harry purchased for her throughout the duration of the pregnancy.

But then he just never… left.

In hindsight, despite neither of them bringing it up, they both recognize that it’s a way past overdue discussion. Someone should’ve been like, “hey, I know we’ve only been dating for like four months or so and we’re having a baby together, but should we live in the same space, maybe? Just for ease of parenting and all that?”.

Surprisingly, though, since Y/N very much appreciates her own room — she didn’t do well in college when she had a roommate in their dorm, and she’s very much an introvert that adores heading home at the end of the long day and simply being alone — she hasn’t completely hated Harry being around all the time. It’s the most that they’ve ever spent time together, a whopping three and a half weeks straight since Clementine was born.

It’s a different kind of time, though, considering a newborn’s schedule is unlike anything else. They alternate between who gets to nap during the day and while Y/N is technically cleared for recovery, she still aches like… well, like she pushed an entire body through her. (Even when she tears up looking at Clementine nearly every day, she still shudders at the thought of giving birth. Harry called it the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and she sincerely wonders if he’s mentally well.)

And somehow, they’ve developed a schedule that works quite well, for now at least. Clementine, their sweet little baby girl, is a decent sleeper. Per all those parenting books Harry obsessed over for nine months, she spends most of her time sleeping, with multiple feeding times throughout the day and night.

When Harry and Y/N both manage to be awake and conscious during the day, they hover over her bassinet — well, formerly in Y/N’s room, but now it seems to be Y/N’s plus Harry’s room? — quietly leaning in to make sure she’s breathing okay, admiring her cute little face, and taking pictures of the adorable onesies Harry puts her in. They have visitors, of course, including both pairs of their parents, siblings, and mutual friends. There’s a lot of crying and smiling and, oddly enough, entertaining, which is silly considering they’re still brand new parents who are working off of two- or three-hour incremental naps.

In terms of their dynamic, things shift slightly, but Y/N is still the grump Harry adores. She’s exhausted, understandably so. The whole breastfeeding thing wreaks havoc on her body and Clementine doesn’t love it, so she tries her best to regularly pump milk for her, but she hates sitting on the couch, asking Harry to turn on some stupid reality show to distract her, and feeling the machine push and prod at her breasts.

“This makes me feel like a cow,” she’d huffed the first time they did it, and it made Harry snort so loud he had to excuse himself from the room.

But Harry… he’s good, even if it’s difficult for Y/N to properly communicate that to him. She knows she got very lucky with him, not just from a partnership standpoint — which, that’s an entirely different conversation that they haven’t gotten to yet — but a parenting one, too. He has no reason to get up with her at 3 am because Clem’s doing her sweet little lamb cries from the corner of their bedroom. Y/N can very easily escape to the room she designated as her nursery months back, where there’s a comfy nursing chair her mother bought her, but instead Harry’s up before Y/N’s eyes are even properly open, gently placing her in her arms and pushing a warm bottle into her hand.

He insists on helping her with every feeding, taking on more diaper changes than Y/N, and even doing his best to take care of her along the way. He helps her into the bath when her bones and joints are too achy to stand in the shower, he never complains about cooking them dinner (if Y/N orders food one more time, she thinks her bank will call her and ask if she’s been taken hostage by one of those ordering apps), and, even with her heightened hormones and emotions, she does indeed cry helplessly, salty tears leaking onto her daughter’s forehead when Harry comes home one day with a bouquet of flowers, a tidy note in the front that says “for my girls”.

It makes him laugh so hard, the sight of his cranky girl in her milk-stained robe standing in the kitchen, gently rocking Clementine as she holds the pretty stems.

“Why are you laughing?” Y/N sniffs, lifting her hand to quickly wipe tears away from her cheeks.

“Because you just look so cute right now,” he says with a grin. He takes the flowers back from her, murmuring out something about putting them in a vase.

“Sometimes I do wonder if you’re certifiably insane.” Y/N mutters, partially to herself. When she glances down at a milk drunk Clem, a smile quirks at the edges of her lips. “What do you think, Clemmie? Is dada crazy?”

Harry knows that this isn’t the traditional family he dreamed about, that having a baby with Y/N was a risk he was only willing to take because he always wanted to be a dad — but shit, he’s so happy.

(Y/N is, too. She’s over the moon, with the way gratitude feels like it fills up her body in a way she’s never experienced before. And she knows she’s awful at expressing her feelings, but when she glances back up at Harry, eyes twinkling with a healthy blush over her cheeks and a smile on her lips, he knows. He just knows.)

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mysweetlixe · 7 months

Text

-“You’re so pretty”

Words: 2.1k

Chan was laying in bed with his laptop working on some unfinished songs when Y/N walked in the room and smiled at him. She had a soft, loving look on her face as she said "you're so pretty".

Chan couldn't help but blush and turn away from Y/N's gaze, unable to take the compliment. Y/N could feel her cheeks get warmer too as she walked up to him and put her hands gently on his shoulder.

Looking into his eyes with such love, she kissed him lightly before returning back to admiring the beauty of Chan's features - taking in each detail one by one like it was something out of this world entirely - until neither of them could deny what they felt for each other anymore; that moment when words are no longer needed between two people who share an untouchable bond.

Chan smiled shyly at Y/N while trying not to seem too embarrassed about being called 'pretty', yet he couldn't stop blushing even harder than before either!

That infatuation which kept growing stronger every day started becoming more visible through his physical reactions, and it was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever seen.

His eyes glimmered with adoration as he looked at her too, and Y/N couldn't help but think about how lucky she was to have someone like Chan in her life; so honest yet caring all the same - sharing a connection that could last a lifetime if not longer.

With every moment they spent together it seemed more certain that their love would only keep blossoming.

Minho usually kept his cool but when Y/N cupped his cheeks in her hands, he couldn't help but feel a bit of nervousness. “you’re so pretty do you know that?"

his heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man alive, no one had ever looked at him with such admiration and love before - it was an emotion that made every part of him swell up inside.

As if he took in some secret power from Y/N's gaze, Minho felt himself flush more than usual while looking into her eyes; It seemed like she could see straight through to his soul when they held each other’s gazes for too long- something about their magnetism just captivated them both entirely!

Minho quietly muttered “Gosh you’re really going to make me blush aren't you?” as he leaned closer to share another gentle kiss with Y/N.

His mind raced thinking about how infinitely beautiful she is; making even a simple conversation fill up the room with sparks of electricity all because this woman standing right beside him saw nothing but perfection within Minho and wanted everyone else around them to see it too.

The more Y/N touched Minho and looked at him with such adoration, the deeper he fell for her - his entire being captivated by eternity's finest love.

Changbin had just gotten back from the gym and was taking off his shirt when she leaned in to whisper something that made anything but a soft smile tug at the corners of Choungbin's lips.

“You're so pretty,” She said with such sincerity that Changbin couldn't help but feel like he had just won the lottery - despite how embarrassed he was by her comment!

He rubbed the back of his neck playfully as if trying to hide away from Y/N's gaze even though deep down inside it only motivated him more; to be the best version of himself for her.

Changbin leaned in closer, feeling Y/N's breath on his skin as she held onto him tightly.

He knew at that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her; to love her with every fiber of his being and to cherish every moment they had together.

As he looked into her eyes, he knew that Y/N was the one for him - the perfect match to his heart, mind, and soul.

With a grin on his face and love in his heart, Changbin whispered back, "No, you're the pretty one." And with that, they shared a loving embrace as their hearts beat in perfect harmony - united in a bond unlike any other.

Hyunjin invited Y/N to watch him practice his dancing and as she watched he couldn't help but feel a bit of pride in himself, knowing that Y/N looked at him with admiration.

But then midway through she leaned over and said something that made his heart flutter - “You’re so pretty”.

Hyunjin felt a blush rising up on his cheeks; no one had ever said such kind words to him before and it was the most beautiful thing he had heard all day!

He thought back to how much effort he put into this routine, taking extra time every night to make sure it was flawless just for her—and here she stood right beside him appreciating every single second of it- admiring not only what everyone else saw outside but also making an attempt at seeing inside too - viewing the real essence within Hyunjin's heart which could only shine brighter because of Y/N being by his side each step along in their journey together.

He smiled softly while holding onto her hand tightly, saying “ I’m not the pretty one, you are, Y/N.”

Hyunjin felt grateful for Y/N's presence in his life, her constant love and support motivating him to be the best version of himself. As they continued watching his practice,.

Hyunjin couldn't help but think about how lucky he was to have someone like Y/N by his side - someone who saw past his exterior and into the soul beneath.

The rest of the practice flew by as they danced together, their movements perfectly in sync with each other, sharing a bond that only grew stronger with every beat. They both knew that their love was here to stay, and nothing could ever change that.

Jisung had just stirred from his slumber and turned to see Y/N. She moved her hand lovingly, pushing the locks of hair out of his face. He felt like the luckiest person in the world - no one had ever shown him such delicate care before.

She kissed his forehead and whispered in that gentle voice of hers “You’re so pretty, Jisung” sending a wave of warmth through his entire body;it was as if she had pierced through his soul with those words.

Jisung couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride knowing that Y/N found him attractive. It was a feeling that he had never experienced before - one that made him feel incredibly content and happy.

Jisung leaned in closer to Y/N, feeling her delicate touch on his face as she caressed his cheek gently “Baby, you have no idea how much those words mean to me,” he whispered back with a sense of vulnerability in his voice.

Jisung knew that Y/N was the one for him - the missing puzzle piece that completed his soul. He held onto her tightly, not wanting to let go of the warmth and comfort that he felt in her embrace.

As they lay there together, Jisung thought about how grateful he was for this moment - for Y/N's presence in his life and for all the love that they shared.

He knew that they were meant to be together, two souls entwined in an eternal bond that nothing could ever break. With every passing moment, their love grew stronger and deeper, a flame that could never be extinguished.

And as they lay there together, lost in each other's embrace, Jisung couldn't help but feel like the luckiest person in the world - to have found someone who saw him for who he truly was and loved him unconditionally.

Felix was told my everyone how pretty he was that it stared to lose its meaning but when Y/N said it, there was a sincerity and warmth that he had never felt before.

She looked at him with eyes that sparkled with love and admiration, and he felt himself blushing at the intensity of her gaze.

“Felix, you're so pretty,” she whispered softly, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Felix couldn't help but feel like he was floating on clouds - her words were like music to his ears, filling his heart with a sense of pure joy and happiness.

He looked at Y/N with a smile on his face, feeling grateful for her presence in his life. She had seen past the layers of makeup and the superficiality that came with being an idol and had found beauty in his soul - something that no one else had ever done before.

“Y/N, I...I don't know what to say,” Felix stammered out, feeling overwhelmed by emotions he couldn't quite describe. Y/N simply smiled back at him,

reaching up to caress his face with trembling fingers. “Then don't say anything, just let me love you” she whispered back, enveloping him in a warm embrace that left him feeling safe and content.

In that moment Felix knew - no matter what the future held for them, they would always have each other to rely on and their love would be strong enough to see them through any obstacles life threw at them.

Seungmin was sitting on the couch with Y/N, watching a movie together. As they laughed at a funny joke in the film, Y/N turned to Seungmin and said, "You know what? You're so pretty, Seungmin."

Seungmin's reaction was immediate. His cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of red and his throat felt like it had suddenly gone dry. He looked away shyly, trying to compose himself but still feeling incredibly flustered by Y/N's words.

"T-thanks," he stammered out, feeling a warmth course through his veins as the compliment sunk in fully.

Here was this beautiful person - someone whose love he cherished more than anything else in the world telling him that they thought he was pretty and seeing something special inside of him that nobody else had ever seen before.

It filled Seungmin with a sense of pride unlike any other; it made him feel alive and strong knowing that Y/N saw beauty beneath all of the layers upon layers covering up who truly is on the inside..

Y/N must have noticed how overwhelmed Seungmin felt because she reached over to hold his hand tightly in hers “You don't need anyone or anything to make you amazing Seungmin, you're already perfect the way you are," she said softly, her eyes full of love and compassion.

Seungmin's heart was overflowing with emotion - here was Y/N reaffirming what he had only ever known to be true deep down inside; that no matter what anyone else said or did in life ,he would always have her by his side encouraging him through even the toughest times.

It made him feel secure and safe- like nothing could ever go wrong so long as they were together.

He squeezed Y/N's hand back tightly before leaning over to kiss her forehead tenderly “I'm really lucky to have found someone like you" he whispered against her skin, feeling more loved than ever before in that moment..

Jeongin was taking pictures for his instagram when Y/N walked into the room. She had this look in her eyes that just made Jeongin stop what he was doing and turn to face her - it was a combination of admiration, affection and understanding all at once.

“Jeongin you're so pretty,” she said softly with a loving smile on her lips as she crossed the room towards him.

Jeongin blushed, feeling a rush of warmth spread throughout his body at Y/N's words. He had always been self-conscious about his looks, but somehow Y/N always managed to make him feel confident and assured in himself.

He couldn't help but grin widely at Y/N's compliment, feeling grateful for her unwavering support and love. "Thanks, Y/N," he replied, feeling his heart swell with affection for her.

Y/N walked up to Jeongin and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, holding him close as she whispered softly into his ear "You know what makes you even more pretty? Your kind heart and gentle soul."

Jeongin felt himself melt into the embrace, his heart swelling with love and adoration for the girl in front of him. Y/N always knew how to make him feel loved and valued, and he knew that he would never be able to repay her for all that she had done for him.

As they lingered in each other's embrace, their bodies pressed together, Jeongin knew that he never wanted to let her go. Y/N was his rock, his anchor in this crazy world, and he was grateful for her every single day.

No matter what the future held, he knew that they would always have each other's back, their love a constant source of strength and comfort.

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reidmotif · 7 months

Text

Safe and Sound

Summary: Reader comforts Spencer after she unknowingly does something to trigger some unhappy memories of his.

Prompt: Spencer Reid going through a panic attack because of Cat Adams. He asks Reader to stop calling him "Spencie".

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst (Happy Ending)/Smut/Fluff

Content Warning: descriptions of a mild panic attack, light allusions to Cat Adams/Prison, pre-established relationship, fluffy, loving smut, he's just super passionate and loves Reader, hickies, slight nipple play, female masturbation, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3.5k

Spencer Reid felt like a cliche in all the best ways possible. From the way he took you on candlelit dinners on your birthday, to how he always found a way to wrestle a bouquet into your apartment right as the last one he’d given you before began to wither, you’d grown entirely fond of the man you’d met 6 months ago. A man you met possibly in the most horrifically cliche fashion.

You’d ordered a drink at a local coffee house, standing in front of the counter patiently, rocking on the backs of your heels as you waited for your drink to be called out so you could head onto work. Then came him.

He was impossible to not notice. He was out of breath, and his leather satchel moved with him as he made a beeline to the counter you were standing at, long legs carrying him across the room swiftly as he grabbed a drink right as the barista put it down. Your eyes widened as you realized the drink he’d grabbed was actually your own, and you quickly put up your hands to warn the man before-

His face scrunched up adorably as he swallowed the drink, and he looked physically pained, and upon looking at your bewildered expression, he grew sheepish.

“That.. wasn’t my drink was it?” He said, slowly, putting the cup down.

You try to play it off, taking the drink back and biting your lip a little at the antics of the man. “Unless you like straight black coffee, then no. Not your drink.” You say, letting a small laugh escape your lips.

It was only then you got a good look at the man, and it wasn’t hard to not like what was in front of you. He had sweet doe eyes, and a mess of brown curls atop his head. His cheekbones were sharp, and yet there was a quality of softness to him, one that made your chest bloom with attraction and want.

“I can pay for your replacement.” He offered, but you shook your head, offering a sincere smile.

“Don’t even worry about it.” You take a sip from the drink where his lips had already touched and watch a rosy tint encapsulate his cheeks, and you internally smile at the thought that he too, could be attracted to you.

“I actually really have to get going to work, but um-” You thought about how you could prolong your conversation with the man, find a way to look into those gorgeous eyes of his, to feel those plump pink lips against yours, until a name was called out by the barista beside you.

“Spencer Reid?” And the sound of a coffee cup being placed on the counter could be heard.

He grabbed the drink, and you took a second to notice his long, slender fingers grabbing the sleeve of the drink. You felt a blush rise to your face as you realized there was a way you could play the situation.

“Hand me your cup.” You say, grinning a bit and reaching your hand out.

Maybe it was corny. Maybe it was totally childish, but considering how goddamn cute the guy was, you weren’t about to let him go.

He furrowed his brows a bit. “Are you going to drink from it to get me back or something?” He said, tilting his head as he subconsciously moved the drink out of your reach.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, silly. Just trust me.” You say, and the words seem to have a spell on him as he slowly hands you the coffee cup.

You quickly take out a pen you’d been carrying on you and scribble the ten digits of your phone number, signing off with your name and a small heart next to it. You bite your lip as you hand the disposable cup back to him, watching as his confused expression turned to one of curiosity as he read what you’d written.

“I’d love to take you up on that coffee some other time, if that’s alright?" You say, a bit bolder than you normally would have been, but for him? You were willing to embarrass yourself even the slightest bit at the off chance to spend more time with him.

A flush of red spread across his face as he smiled at the cup, then you.

“I’ll call you?” Spencer says, a small grin on his face.

“It’s a date.” You say, mirroring his expression. You check your watch and realize you are beyond late for work at this point. “I really have to go but- I’ll see you around, Spencer!” You say, remembering the name from his coffee cup.

“You too.” He says, and you leave the coffee shop, heart pounding with excitement and the butterflies that came with an act like that.

He wasted no time calling you, actually dialing your number that same day and setting up a place and time for the two of you to meet. First dates were always such a hassle, but Spencer made them so easy. Talking to the man had been the most uncomplicated thing you’d ever done in your life.

You found yourself willingly divulging details of your life as he gave you his. He was an FBI agent. His mother, Diana, was currently at a treatment facility in DC. He says she would like you, and you find yourself falling helplessly for him. He’s earnest and kind. And when he asks you if you’d like to be a more permanent item, you don’t hesitate whatsoever in agreeing.

If dating Spencer Reid was nice, being his girlfriend was even nicer. Moving in with him was possibly the nicest, and in a short amount of time you’d grown used to the domestic bliss and routine living with him provided.

He’d already told you the schedule he was on, in which he’d work a hundred days in the field and then be back in DC to teach a seminary class for thirty days, and you had no problem with it. You were also working full-time, albeit not the insane hours the FBI put him to- but still. You had no trouble coming home to an empty apartment, knowing that soon enough, your boyfriend would be back in your arms.

When he was at home, it was perfect. He’d grade papers on the couch, some documentary droning on in the background. You’d read or use your phone on the opposite side of the couch, occasionally letting your eyes drift to his focused figure. He’d roll his pen between his fingers, sometimes placing it in between his lips as he thought about the next comment to jot down on the paper, or tapping the writing utensil against the side of his cheek with a distant look on his face.

You’d smile to yourself before crawling over, slowly removing the papers from his lap and settling yourself in their place instead. He'd greet you with his hands on your hips, and soon enough, his lips would begin trailing soft kisses along the column of your neck before eventually fucking you right into the couch, having you moan out his name as his perfect cock drove you to your climax.

Needless to say, it was absolutely divine dating Spencer.

Which is why today, things seemed off. He was distant, retreating into himself all day. He shied away from your touch, when normally he’d lean into it. You would generally share some banter in the kitchen, Spencer oftentimes stealing languid kisses from you as you both made dinner, but this time around he seemed sullen, keeping his head down and eyes away from yours as he cooked with you.

You had no idea what had happened.

Things had been normal just a day prior.

You decided to take a little initiative, biting your lips a bit nervously as you came up behind him, wrapping your arms tentatively around his waist, which he responded to by lifting up his arms so you could lean against his back.

“Mm. Something wrong?” You murmur, taking in the scent of his cologne and the feel of his cardigan that he’d occasionally sport around your shared apartment. It was soft, and provided the perfect padding for you to rest your head against as you hugged him from behind.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” He replied, almost curtly. His voice was steady, but the tensing of his shoulders revealed that a lie had been uttered through his lips, and you instantly caught onto it. You may have not been a profiler like he was, but your shared time together had allowed you to find ways to read him, ways that revealed something was truly bothering him in that moment.

“Spence.” You say, hugging him a little tighter. “Come on.” You slowly turn him around, as to get a better look at his face, watching him carefully.

“Did something happen- are.. are you mad at me?” You find yourself asking. It was almost like whiplash, watching your normally sweet and loving boyfriend withdraw like this, and you couldn’t help but worry some part of it was your fault.

He immediately sensed your insecurity and brought his hands to your shoulders rubbing them soothingly.

“Oh, baby.” He said, in a low tone. “Please don’t worry about it like that. It’s just.. work okay?” He says, hesitation in his lips as he said “work”. You narrow your eyes a little and continue to look into his eyes, trying to sense any deceivement on his part.

“Just work? You promise?” You ask, looking up at him. You offered a gentle expression, one that conveyed the enormity of trust and love you’d placed in the man, and hoped the expression was mirrored in him as well.

He nodded and moved to plant a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips. “I promise.”

You return the kiss, smiling softly as you place your forehead against his, looking into his hazel eyes. You felt so safe with him, so comforted, and you genuinely loved him so much for that.

“I love you, Spencie.” You murmur, moving in for another kiss but before your lips can meet his again, he instantly moves you away from him, nearly jumping back and moving himself towards the bedroom, effectively halting the intimate moment you’d been having.

You watched as he went to your shared bedroom, closing the door behind him. Your eyes were wide, unsure what had even just happened. One moment you’d been kissing, and the next he was running away like he was revolted by just the thought of being near you?

You tried to replay the action. You’d said “I love you” before, so that wasn’t it. Spencer wasn’t scared of physical intimacy. He’d shown that as much from how much he enjoyed touching you, having a need to have you close to him in public, always holding onto your hand or waist in enclosed spaces. You bit your lip, trying to regain your thoughts as you realize the only way you’d know what exactly had gone wrong would be to ask Spencer himself. You give yourself a few minutes to pace, before walking slowly to where he’d boarded himself up.

You knock on the door once, your hand already on the knob. “Spencer, I’m coming in.” You don’t hear an answer, and start to feel your pulse speed up. “Spencer? Please? Answer me?”

Still nothing.

In the end, you twist the doorknob, finding your boyfriend curled up on your bed, breathing a little heavier than normal as tear stains streaked his cheeks, and you find yourself instantly heartbroken by the sight.

It no longer matters what was wrong- you just desperately didn’t want him to feel this way. You join him on the bed promptly, your hands going to his hair, trying to soothe him the way he usually liked.

“Spence? Spencer, baby.” You say, softly.

Despite how he’d usually tower over you, right now he looked impossibly small and vulnerable, a look of absolute fear and panic plastered over his face. “Shh. I’m right here, alright?”

He clung onto you, hands abruptly wrapping around your waist as he buried himself into your chest. “I’m sorry.” He said, his voice quiet and small. “I just.” He took a deep breath, and the grip around the fabric of your shirt didn’t let up in the slightest.

You didn’t say anything, only stroking his hair and placing soft kisses on the top of his head. You had no idea what had happened. He had nightmares, yes, but this was different from those. You weren’t sure why this had happened in the first place.

His soft voice broke your thoughts. “Please.. please don’t call me ‘Spencie’ again.” He murmurs, a small sniffle being heard from where he was against you.

You complied straight away, nodding. Things started to click for you when you realized you’d let the nickname slip from your mouth the previous day as a sign of affection. You were quickly realizing the action had the opposite effect. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” You say, looking down at him with concern, even if he wasn’t looking at you. “I won’t, I promise.”

He takes a breath and adjusts himself, wiping his eyes and looking at you now. “I don’t really- talk about these past few years with you.” He says, softly. “And honestly? I still don’t want to.” He admits, his eyes looking downward with shame.

You shook your head as soon as the words were uttered from his mouth. “Spence- you don’t have to. I.. I like you even if you don’t talk about things. I just want to be here for you, yeah?” You say, trying to convey just how much you loved and cared for him. How badly you wanted to make sure he felt just as secure as he made you feel.

He pauses and nods, but sighs. “I don’t want to get into the whole of it- but a few years ago there was this .. woman.” Spencer says, still looking away. “She really, really got into my head and managed to hurt me in more ways than one.” He looks down and tears start to fill his eyes again. “I don’t really know if I’ll ever be the same again. If I’ll ever be good again.” He murmurs.

Your heart instantaneously shatters with his words as you try to pull him close again. “Hey, hey.” You say, cupping his face. “Don’t say that, love.” Your eyes dart, trying to find the words. “You are- one of, if not the bravest, kindest, loveliest men I’ve ever met.”

He smiles weakly at the words but they don’t seem to take root in his heart. “You don’t know half of the things I’ve done.” He says, his eyes filled with sorrow and you shake your head.

“I don’t need to, and I never will.” You say, softly. “I know you, alright? In all the ways that matter.” You pause, not wanting to say the wrong thing but still wanting to convey just how much he meant to you. “If- if this is you after, after every single bad and terrible thing that’s happened to you- God, Spencer.” You smile softly at him, tracing the nape of his neck gently. “You’re so good, okay?” You whisper. “The best.”

He tears up at that, moving to bury himself in your neck this time and you can feel him inhaling your scent, melting into your touch. You hear him whisper again. “The woman.” He mutters. “She used to call me ‘Spencie' to mess with me. That’s why I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You say, rubbing soft, soothing circles into his back. “She sounds awful, from what you’ve said. I’m sorry I did something that reminded you of her, even if it wasn’t intentional.” You say, kissing the top of his head once more, trying to offer reassurances and love in any small way you could. Anything to make him feel safe.

“It’s okay.” He murmurs, and he moves to kiss your lips, softly. “I love you.” He says, his lips brushing against yours.

You kiss him back, finding your hand going to his cheek now, nodding. “I love you too.”

He starts to kiss you a bit more vigorously and you sense his need for intimacy, for something to remind him of how close the two of you are and you respond readily, moving your lips over his as he positions himself in a way that straddles your hips, your body under his now. You want him to feel protected. To feel known, even if he couldn't talk about his past. To tell him that regardless of what he said or didn't- you'd love him. That he was your home and you were his.

He pulls back and attaches to your neck, leaving wet and hot kisses in his wake.

“I love you.” He murmurs against your skin, lips brushing against the sensitive surface of your throat.

“I love you.” He starts to suck softly along your jugular, making you shudder with pleasure.

“I love you.” His tongue traces the outline of the mark he’d made, sure to bruise by tomorrow.

“I love you too.” You breathlessly whimper, as his lips start to trail down lower and lower. He begins to undo your shirt, as to gain more access to your skin and you allow him, shrugging off the fabric as fast as you can. Your hands move to remove your bra and he's on you swiftly, tongue swirling around your nipple in a way that causes your back to arch into him.

You can feel the way he grins when he feels it, and he continues, before moving onto your neglected breast. Your eyes have fluttered shut from the immense pleasure you’re feeling right now, and you relax into how good he makes you feel. How right this is. How safe you both are with each other.

He moves down further, quickly undoing your pants and underwear in a clean swoop, and with little warning he dives into your wet folds, lapping up an embarrassing amount of wetness that had accumulated with so little of his touch.

His tongue eventually begins to flick against your clit, darting to drive you to the precipice of pleasure you’d been feeling throughout this entire tryst. His fingers plunge into you as well, delivering a satisfying stretch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The combination of his long, slender digits buried inside your heat and the constant prodding of his tongue has you quickly unraveling, your toes curling as you release right on his tongue, which he eagerly drinks in.

When you recover from your orgasm, you watch him, his chin glistening in your arousal, and it is just so fucking hot. You move to return the favor, but he shakes his head.

“I want- I want to feel close to you.” He breathlessly explains. “Can I?”

You understand, quickly lying back so he can reposition himself above you. You watch him undo his belt slowly, pulling his cock out from the confines of his briefs before passing the tip through your wet folds.

“God, you’re so good.” He whispers, and you feel a soft smile grace your face before he pushes into you, slowly filling you, inch by inch.

He moves with purpose, driving into a spot that has you clutching the bedsheets and moaning his name. He whispers sweet nothings as he pounds into you. He treats you like you’re made of glass, like he never wants to lose you, like his life depends on making this as good as possible for you.

You want to do the same for him. You arch your back to take more of him, and he moans at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.

“Fuck- I’m not gonna last.” He pants into the crook of your neck. You can feel his thrusts getting less rhythmic and you knot your hands in his hair, nodding.

“Me neither.” You moan, feeling your second orgasm rapidly approaching, your eyes screwing shut once more.

He removes himself from your neck and uses his fingers to rub tight, slow circles around your clit and it’s enough to make you tip your head back and climax, the spasms of your cunt being enough to elicit the same reaction from him, his warmth spilling into your deepest point.

He pulls out and kisses you all over. Your face, your neck, your cheek, your lips. It’s as if the sex wasn’t enough, that no action could convey the enormity of his desire and trust when it came to you.

You grab his face as he moves to kiss you one more time, and he looks confused as to why you stopped him, tilting his head.

“I love you, okay?” You whisper, before he can say anything, looking up at him with a loving gaze, losing yourself in his own eyes that shined with the same affection you felt for him.

“I love you too.” He whispers. “I don’t deserve you.” He says, softly. “You make me feel so safe- and wanted and. I don’t know how I can thank you for that.”

“You wanna know a secret?” You murmur, softly.

He nods, and you lean up to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. “You make me feel the exact same way.”

hello!! tried my hand at writing something just a tad more angsty and sad for @tobias-hankel 's whump challenge! hope you guys liked it. thank you so much for all your support whether its likes or reblogs or comments, i'm grateful for all of it!! ty ty ty

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader

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kisakis-boyfriend · 3 months

Note

I've been waiting for your requests to open back up! Hopefully I've made it in time lmao. I've been dying to request something with Mitusya.

I've always imagined Mitusya being a romantic person and I can totally see him setting up a date or a surprise for the reader after not seeing each other for a while because of their work schedules not lining up correctly, due to the holidays making him busier than normal. Like him making the readers favorite dinner and just taking care of them before they end up making love in front of the fire place.

Hopefully that fits the winter theme well enough, if not I do apologize

Pairings: Mitsuya x reader

Warnings: Male!reader, soft dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Mitsuya, soft sex, blowjob, riding

Genre/Format: Smut; Oneshot

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

“–and then the manager went ballistic on like three people today...it was stressful just to overhear...”

“Wow. That's crazy. I'm sorry you had to deal with all of that, sweetheart.” Mitsuya's voice came through your phone speaker, sounding sincere as always while you ranted about work on your walk home.

“Thanks, babe. It's so stupid– the holiday shifts, I mean. I can't wait to get home and forget about it all.” You laughed, digging through your bag for your keys. A sigh escaped as you lamented, “I just wish you were here with me too...I hate that neither of us have time off during holidays...”

“Mm. Me too.” Your partner hummed in agreement. As much as you loved hearing his voice almost every night, it wasn't enough. Winter was the busiest season for both of you, and there was never any time to visit each other during. It had been nearly a whole month since you had a physical date! A month! Eating takeout together on a video call was fun, but you missed in-person dates dearly...

The keys clinked against each other as you fumbled with pushing your house key into the lock, turning the doorknob and entering your toasty home a second later. “I really miss you, Taka...” the sadness layered under your breath was not lost to Mitsuya, nor was it lost to yourself, cursing yourself mentally for sounding so depressed.

His soft, reassuring voice came through again, “I miss you too. I'm sure we'll get to see each other real soon, y/n. I guarantee that.” The love weaved into his words brought a small smile to your lips, already daydreaming about your next date. But... something quickly caught your attention. When Mitsuya spoke, it sounded as though his voice also came from your kitchen? Like some sort of echo effect.

“Taka? Can you say that again?” You asked, a bit concerned and confused.

“Uh, sure– I guarantee that, y/n.”

In complete disbelief, your eyes widened and you ran straight towards your kitchen, rounding the corner and just barely preventing yourself from slamming into the wall. Standing next to the counter was none other than–

“TAKAAAA!!” You exclaimed, running directly into your partner's arms, nearly dropping your phone and knocking Mitsuya over at the same time.

Laughter filled the room, along with your happy sobbing, while you bear hugged your poor lover to death. “M-missed you too, y/n. Haha...ah, your hands are freezing...”

“Sorry–!!” you immediately removed your bare hands from his skin, trying to warm them up a bit by rubbing them together. “I just can't– How?! When?!”

“I asked to go home early today. Thought I might surprise you,” Mitsuya explained while cupping your face, warming up your cheeks in the process, “consider this an early Christmas present.”

“I love you so fucking much, Taka...” You whispered before catching your partner by surprise with a hungry kiss.

No longer sulking from the awful stress of work, the two of you sat down and had a lovely dinner; Mitsuya had prepared your favorite meal and set up the dining table with a few candles and a nice bottle of wine to share.

Afterwards, while he was taking care of the dishes, you walk up behind him...

“You're too sweet...I can help with these, you know?” your arms wrapped around Mitsuya's waist. He can be such a housewife most of the time, but it was very appreciated.

“Nope. I told you, I'll take care of everything. Food, dishes, putting the leftovers away. You, my darling, can just relax.” His words were enough to make you cry sometimes. What did you do to deserve someone this thoughtful and kind?

A chuckle left him as you nuzzled into his neck, breath tickling his skin slightly. “-love you...you're too good to me...” For a split second, it seemed as though you were going to cry. Tears welled up in the inner corners of your eyes, and a familiar heat rose underneath the skin of your face, but you choked it down quickly. Instead kissing Mitsuya's neck, exposed by his open collar.

“Whoa- Take it easy, babe.” Mitsuya laughed, bracing himself against the counter when you pressed forward, kissing lower, kissing harder, “We, aah... We have all night for that–” He trailed off, succumbing to his growing desire. Ah fuck it

Neck kisses turned into shoulder kisses, turned into unbuttoning Mitsuya's shirt, turned into stumbling over towards the couch, turned into sloppy kissing while your shirt was discarded, turned into grinding against each other, turned into stripping down to nothing, turned into Mitsuya flipping you so that you were on your back now–

“I did all this to you, huh?” He teased, with eyes fixed on your leaking cock. Your lover's lips were on your dick within seconds; kissing the base and working up to the head. Shiny precum smeared on his lips as he worshipped your cock, finally taking it into his warm mouth, humming with just the tip in his mouth.

Your only light source was the glow of embers from the fireplace, lovingly lit by your partner before you came home so that the house would be warm and cozy. The flickering orange lighting suited Mitsuya wonderfully. Casting just enough light onto his face so that you can make out his features, yet still dark enough to reflect in his eyes — causing his gaze to appear more piercing. Your partner kept eye contact with you as he bobbed his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks. The feeling had you throwing your head back against the couch cushion, so close to an orgasm already, thanks to Mitsuya's skills.

Before you could cum though, Mitsuya popped off of your cock and sat up, lining his hole — that he had casually been fingering while he sucked your dick — up with it. Steadying himself against your chest, he slowly eased himself lower and lower; you had to bite your lip to prevent a flurry of curses from coming out. The way your partner's insides molded to your shape — it was an indescribably pleasurable sensation.

“Takashi...f-feels good- Need you c-closer...” You moaned, pulling him down and into a passionate kiss. As Mitsuya ground his hips against yours the room seemed to spin. Between his groans of pleasure, the mumbled words in between kisses, and the feeling of his body pressed oh so close against yours–

Mitsuya tightened around you, his moans grew louder, and finally... “G-going to...ah! Cum...y/n- ” With your hasty encouragement, your lover came and white globs painted your stomachs — you'll clean up later though.

“Fuck I'm gonna–!! Hnngh—!! ” Moments after his, your own release followed, pumping a load of cum into Mitsuya's ass. After clenching for a few seconds your muscles finally went slack, followed by a deep sigh of content.

The two of you laid there for a while, tangled together and bathed in warmth. You remained like this for some time; together. With Mitsuya's head laying on top of your chest and your fingers brushing through his hair, lightly tickling his skin as you trailed along his back. You couldn't have asked for a better night than this

#my writing #tokyo rev smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #mitsuya takashi #mitsuya smut #mitsuya x reader #sub mitsuya #male reader #dom reader #top reader #oneshot #winter specials ❄️#requested #mitsuya x you #tokyo rev x male reader #mitsuya x male reader

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doggoboigaugau · 10 months

Text

Stray dog (Part 7)

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Summary: Male Reader apologizes to Ghost after the incident. The two men confess.

Word count: 1516

Warning: Slight description of violent thoughts.

And here he is. Without the skull mask. The face of the man that has appeared so many times in your dream. Blond hair, long and perfectly curling eyelashes that slightly shadow his brown eyes. A long scar that starts at the corner of his left eyebrow, pretty near to his piercing, and runs down to the corner of his mouth. He looks even prettier than you could ever imagine. But you would never wish that you’ll see his real face for the first time in such a scenario like this. You gulp, trying not to stare at the three red scratches on his right cheek.

“I– I’m sorry…” Finally, you muster enough courage to say the words. Your mind thought of what had brought you here, into this embarrassing situation. You and the first man you’ve ever had a real crush on, Fyodor, met again after years of no contact. You lost yourself and found a place to fall into your old habit of burning your arm with cigarettes. Ghost found out, people started to surround you, and you got mad and attacked him like a rabid dog before running away. Then, Soap showed up in front of your door, and stayed with you in your room for a while, helping you to mentally prepare for this difficult ‘speech’ of apology.

Ghost looks at you, his brown eyes narrow, probably to gauge how sincere you are with your apology. The three scratches on his cheek that no one but you caused during the motion glow so bright to your eyes that it makes you feel even more guilty and horrible than you already were.

“Y/n, did you know you strip my mask off during that little act of yours? In front of everyone?” Ghost hisses, obviously very angry and disappointed.

You widen your eyes, feeling a lump in your throat as you try to say something. Anything. But you know nothing can fix what you caused. It’s because of you that everyone there has seen Ghost’s face, the thing that he has put effort into to hide from people.

Soap says, “Look, I’m not trying to underestimate the severity of this situation, but I just wanna say that I did step up and help Ghost to hide his face in time before anyone can have a good look at its prettiness.”

Now Ghost’s burning eyes turn to Soap and the Scottish man chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry… You two continue, I won’t butt in.”

Again, the man of your dream turns his attention back to you, and you have to embarrassingly admit to yourself that he still looks so hot being angry like this. You turn your head slightly to the side with the hope that none of the two men will notice how blushingly red your cheeks and neck have gotten.

“Look straight in my eyes, Y/n.” The man roars.

Tremblingly, you turn your head back to look him in the eyes as he demands.

“Why did you do that to yourself?” Ghost asks, as he grabs your left arm and lifts it up to emphasize his point. His fingers squeeze around your flesh so tightly that you unknowingly grimace.

“I– I don’t really know…” You stutter. The Brit is furious, his aura is powerful and intimidating, and you can do nothing but shrink in his raged presence.

“You don’t know? YOU DON’T KNOW??” Simon grits each word through his teeth.

Tears brim in your eyes again, “I don’t know! Alright? It’s just… I just felt this burning anger inside my body, my stomach, and I wanted to… do something… to hurt someone! I wanted to punch someone really hard in the face multiple times! And then when they fell to their knees, I’d kick them really hard in the face. Then– then I’d peel their skin off! But I cannot hurt anyone but myself, so I did it! I burnt my arm and it made me feel better!”

Simon stares blankly at you, saying nothing but breathing heavily. Soap observes you two carefully, his eyes move between you and Simon.

You expect Simon to scream back at you, calling you ugly names, like a failure, a monster, a psychopath, a liability, or just a crazy, unloveable dog. But all his reaction is a surprisingly soft, trembling voice, “This is the first time you’ve ever opened up to us…”

Your big puppy eyes widen again at the man, as never in your dream would anyone respond this way to such bloody, concerning words.

“W-what?”

“I said, this is the first time you’ve ever opened up to us.” The man ‘kindly’ repeats the sentence for you, and Soap almost bursts out laughing. The Scot is notorious for laughing in unfitting circumstances.

“Well, actually he opened up to me just a few minutes ago.” Soap jokes.

“Shut up, Soap.” Simon rolls his eyes annoyedly.

“Sorry, sorry…” Soap giggles and then does the ‘zipping’ motion across the line of his mouth to indicate that he won’t butt in again and he’s serious this time.

“Y/n, why is it so hard for you to open up? To trust us?” Simon proceeds, his brown eyes glittering in the dim sunlight that manages to pass through many layers of blinds into his own dark room as if he’s crying. But he is not, because there is no tear.

Seeing that you’re not replying, he pries further, “Why??”

It’s quite ridiculous to think that it turns out Simon is the one who has this kind of talk with you. About ‘Why don't you just open up?’. Admittedly, no one will expect this seemingly emotionless man under that legendary skull mask and with the thickest shell ever to be forcing this conversation onto you. You thought he must’ve known why. You thought you two are somewhat similar, and he’ll understand why you do the things you do. Two wounded children who have to spend a lifetime trying to find ways to ease the pain engraved so deeply in their souls. He should’ve known…and helped you to avoid opening up about it. Instead, unfortunately, he’s here, making you pour your heart out.

“Alright! I’ll tell you why!” You shout, and the mountain of a man flinches, obviously not expecting you to be so harsh, “I’m just– not really good at maintaining relationships, OK?” Your brain starts playing tricks on you again, as Fyodor’s face pops so vividly inside your mind, along with the memories between you and him, and between you and some other people whom you wish things could’ve been different…

“I don’t understand how relationships work. I don’t understand how other people do it so easily. I don’t know, they just… they send each other stupid messages, stupid little jokes and memes, and then they hang out with each other,... I try to do the exact same things as them, but still I can’t. Everything that has me in it is just meant to end sooner or later. No matter how much effort I put into a relationship, it still ends in one way or another. It’s just– I’m just– different.” You stop to catch your breath. It feels like your heart can jump out of your ribs at any moment now and it’s hard to breathe. Then, you realize your vision is blurry, and that you’ve been crying this whole time.

Simon is silent for a while, before speaking again, “So… you don’t believe any relationship will work for you, so you just don’t open up to avoid…”

“Attachment.” You say. Breathlessly. “I will never be who I want to be.”

“What do you mean?” Simon is right in front of you. You two are so close now that you can feel the heat of his body radiating around you, as if it’s wrapping you up in the warm cloth of a blanket. He lifts his hand and wipes your tears rolling down on your rosy cheek with his rough thumb.

“I want to be…a happy, humorous, and likable person. Someone who can crack funny jokes. Someone with a positive and attractive aura. Someone who can make people immediately like them and want to be around them. Someone who has a lot of friends, knows a lot of people,... Someone is able to give love in return…”

“I’m pretty sure you’re already such a person.” Simon speaks gently, his voice is soft and warm.

“No. It’s just a facade. A mask. The truth is I’m a despicable person filled with ugly thoughts and jealousy.” You shake your head.

“What’s so fun wishing to be someone else?” Soap suddenly speaks up after being silent and observing you two for so long. He moves closer to you too, and now you realize you’re being cornered by both of the men. As you instinctively take a few steps back to maintain a ‘safe’ distance, the Scot smirks dangerously, amused at how scared you appear to be and how your adorable puppy eyes nervously dart between him and Simon.

“We love you for who you really are.”

To be continued... (Our men finally confess...)

Taglist:@justdawn @killmeprettypleasee @livelaugh-light @therealppboy @arthurmorgansballsack @redjeanjacket @gay-as-hell-blog @b0g-b0y @somothegraffitiartist @kodasstar @teippirulla @aphroditeslovr @peter-the-pan @wvandahoe@c0nny3917@talia-the-gemini

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multiwreckedmess · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 4

Prompt: Teratophilia Pairing: monster!IN(Jeongin) x fem!reader WC: 3,395 (I literally said “what” outloud...no way) Summary: Would you still love me if I was a worm? Of course you would! But what if I had three tails and claws and teeth sharp enough to rip your throat out and black eyes? Would you still love me then? This is a work of fiction, it does not represent IN or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. Additional warnings under the cut.

TW/CW: Idk a great tag for this but Jeongin’s conscious is essentially trapped when he shifts into a monster (unwillingly), the monster is very enthusiastic about fucking, Jeongin is not so much out of fear you’ll get hurt. That said IDK where to rate on the consent scale.

Also I use italics to indicate conversations between the monster and Jeongin. Sorry if that’s annoying or unclear.

Simple warnings - monsterfucking, big dick, humping, unprotected sex, breeding, knotting.

“Babe, I think you need to know something about me before you start fantasizing about our dream apartment together,” Jeongin sighs. He knew this day was coming. For as excited as he was to dream about the future with you, he was afraid. He knew if it got to this point he’d have to tell you. Mentally listing the number of people who knew and the number of people who’d stuck around he found the number could be held in one hand alone. You don’t even look up from your phone, scrolling aimlessly, waiting for him. Your eyes flick up to look at him as he fails to continue further. “Mhm. Okay? “You know how you have a time of the month and like, I am super understanding and buy you supplies and have no problem going out to grab pads or even, like, lay down a towel because a good orgasm can really help cramps? I’m going to need you to be just as understanding okay? Finally you look up from your phone, concerned. “You don’t need the monologue, what’s up? He takes another deep breath, hands gripping his knees. Staring straight forward he blurts his whole prepared speech, “I’m actually a monster. A real monster with teeth and fangs. Once a month I need to lock myself to a chair because the need becomes too strong and I could-I could hurt people.” You’re a blank, expressionless. It worries him, it isn’t a reaction he’d prepared for. “Okay? Like a theoretical monster or-” “No, like a schedule three restricted access elevated permissions type monster. As in only a few people and even fewer know who are alive. Real serious shit type of monster. Your brows furrow, “like a werewolf or…?” At least you don’t look scared. It’s only natural for you to have questions he tells himself. “It’s complicated. Not like one of those hollywood types. Technically I think I’m ‘otherwise unspecified’ but, to summarize, think scales and teeth and wings and talons and black eyes. The fear and regret and panic in your precious Innie’s eyes is hard to miss. The rapid way he’s rattling through the worst as a nervous habit proves his sincerity. You smile softly at him, “I think I need to see for myself.” “What no. NO. I could- did you not hear me? I could hurt you if I-” he shudders. “If I get free I don’t know-I couldn’t guarantee-I’m not myself. You shrug and turn back to your phone, “I trust you. I just wanna see.”

It takes weeks of working on him to get him to agree to let you join him on his formerly labeled “boys night”. It was not without a long list of compromises on your part. You were to only observe through glass of the french doors in his living room. He would wear additional heavy duty cuffs and chains to hold him back in case the first set failed. “No matter what,” he reminded you as you locked him into the recessed hooks behind his couch, “no matter what you cannot touch me and you cannot leave the next room. Not even to leave the apartment. The apartment door is the last line of defense and if I get out-” ‘I know. You’ve said a billion times Innie,” you say as you push his hair back. “It’ll be fine. I trust you. Jeongin shakes his head, holding his tongue. So stupidly confident, he knew no matter what he said he couldn’t shake it from you. Stubborn and confident in the face of the unknown. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he looked over your handiwork. Everything was just the slightest big large, for now and not for long. The faintest shimmer crossed his forearm beneath the cuff. “Leave. Now.” Tucking back his hair again you can’t help yourself, tilting his chin up to kiss him. “I love you.” The kiss dries his mouth, he’s so thirsty he could die. His tongue presses to your lips, eagerly licking into your mouth as you grant him permission. You taste so sweet, sweeter than any candy he’s ever tried. Chasing your lips hungrily his teeth snap at you as you pull away. The sudden aggression making you both jump. “Are you deaf? Leave!” Jeongin’s fingers dig into his knees, veins popping out all over. Grabbing you he tries his best to toss you backwards, chains cutting his throw short. It’s just enough to send you stumbling backwards. A split second of fear shines in your eyes, a split second that he hates himself for. “Leave,” he whimpers, head hung as he hears the click of the door behind you.

It’s just in time. Jeongin’s arms start itching, he twitches and contorts to try to relieve the nagging flares popping all over his arms and legs. Slowly the iridescent shine stays, black scales tipping his arms and covering his hands. He screams as the bones of his finger morph curling back and up before lengthening into claws. The human part of him that remains is glad he can’t find you, hoping you left fully and locked the door behind you. Pain shoots through his spine, forcing him to curl in on himself. His jaw unhinges, gurgling through the spit pooling in his mouth, teeth turning to fangs as two feathery wings sprout from his back. Panting and screeching he’s a half formed creature. Part lizard, part bird, part wolf, and still some human left to spare. The doctors told him it would’ve been easier if he had been able to fully transform, that being in limbo is what made him able to remember it all. This partial transformation kept the sliver of human unable to act and conscious of his state. Full shift meant the human portion wouldn’t know, could escape the pain of knowing and being unable to act. The creature inside was pissed. It was always upset but tonight the cuffs felt particularly tight and heavy. Tugging with all his might the metal left raw impressions in the scales. Teeth snapping into the night air in desperation. He wanted to feed. He wanted more than food.

You sat in the small what the landlord considered “dining room” just beyond the doors. Hidden in the pitch black dark beyond the doors you followed your boyfriends’ instructions to remain still and calm. Watching the pain and anguish crossing his face, you want to burst through the door. Despite the various ways he could rip you limb from limb or otherwise harm you, he looked sad. Your heart ached as you watched him struggle, magnificent wings beating and folding and flexing to try to assist his fruitless tugs. Beautiful. He was beautiful, an angel even.

Almost an hour passed of him fighting frantically with his restraints until he wore himself out, scraped and bruised. Pitiful vocalizations were all that was left of his resistance. Feathers covered the floor, some falling from stress and others from effort. He was still beautiful. Hair hanging into his eyes, he was still beautiful. You watch him for hours, staring, though he really didn’t do much more than doze off and tug at the chains. The way the light falls on him is entrancing, dark scales seemingly twinkling at you like he was covered in stardust. Moreover he still looks like your boyfriend, despite the additions. Your heart ached for him, face covered in tear stains. The once loose cuffs looked far too tight.

The scraping of metal against metal perks his sensitive hearing. The most delicious scent of vanilla and coconut wafts past his nose. His breathing accelerates as the pat of a bare foot hitting the ground echos loudly in the otherwise empty apartment. The door clicks and his head snaps to face the intruder. Your stomach drops as his black eyes turn to you, grinning. His teeth are sharp and slick with saliva. “Innie, it’s me,” you whisper. Eat. EAT. Take. TAKEtaketakeeatdevourpossess. His senses go hayware, newly invigorated to tear at his bindings. What a delicious offering. What a snack. If only this body could have her whole- He snaps and growls in your direction, chains straining and cuffs cutting in. “Innie! Yang Jeongin! I know you’re in there!” The monster howls, doing one last tug before settling again. Don’t hurt her, you can’t hurt her. I will kill us if you hurt her. She’s not for eating, she’s not an offering. She’s my girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend. The monster huffs, head twitching to his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he gives you a once over. “I’m going to come closer. I’m-we need to be able to get along.” He sneers and growls at the thought. This tiny thing is right. No eating. Girlfriend. Fine. No eating. The monster appears to sulk as you draw nearer. What used to be your boyfriend’s body has grown much larger than you originally thought, almost completely covered in a pattern of smooth scales. “I’m going to touch you, the cuffs look tight. I want to make sure you aren’t hurting yourself.” Please no please no please no I can’t control it, I’m not- he’s not in my control. The monster gives you a sideways glance but makes no movement as you reach your hand out slowly. The scales vary from slick and soft like a snakes underside to thicker and more protective where callouses used to be. In particular where the cuffs encircle his legs and arms has built up a layer of armor. A small chirp noise eminantes from his chest over a deep rumble. “Are you purring? Do you purr?” You smile as you continue to stroke the soft side of his body. “Is the big scaly boy purring?” A small click comes from his throat, head shaking back and forth. Moremoremoremoremore this. Need this. Good. Hunger. Want tiny thing. Everywhere. Yes. Want everywhere. More everywhere. More now. More fast. Moremoremoremore. Practically panting his eyes slide closed into a state of bliss. Suddenly he flinches and pulls from you with a snap.

Your blood runs cold, teeth inches from your shoulder as you throw yourself backwards to the wall. “Hey! Innie! Be nice!” No leverage to hold over your words, a rush of adrenaline has you giggling. “I know you don’t mean it. I know my Innie won’t let you. I trust him so I trust you.” Stupid tiny thing. Pretty. Want. Want more. Need. He whines and hangs his head. “It was my fault, I went too far and you didn’t know how to handle it. Just warn me next time, okay?” You approach him again, speaking in a low soothing tone. He’d been overstimulated, he didn’t know kindness, he acted out of fear not out of a wish you hurt you. You made every excuse in the book. Heart beating wildly you were closer than ever before as he leaned back, shaking his hair from his eyes. Closer close, yes, close. Do not fucking hurt her, you know what will happen to us if you hurt her. Closetastytinyclosetastytiny. DON’T. Both of you barely breathe as you stroke his hair, slowly pushing it back so that it doesn’t bother him. You’d politely not looked at his boxers, previously loose now stretched to the max, but it was hard to ignore the twitch at your thigh. His eyes slide closed again and you withdraw your hand, his mouth twisting into a frown. “This time you’ll warn me right?” He chirps again. Stupid tiny thing more now more. Instead of returning to his hair you start touching his chest. He’s still human here, morphing into fur on his stomach and then to scale on his thighs. Your hands shake as your fingers caress down to the band of his boxers. The faint rumbling starts again. Long strokes from chest to waist, steady as you feel the muscles below relax. As your fingers ghost over the band he growls. “Not there?” You ask softly, shortening your path. Claim. Hurt hurt need claim. Tiny human need. Need. Breed. Spawn. Offspring. Yes. Tiny thing carry spawn. “Touch. Hurt.” The words are mumbled and unclear, monster unsure of the shape of the words when spoken. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Hurt? Where, how can I help? What can I do?” His head hangs down, staring at the nearly destroyed boxers. “Hurt.” Thumbs slipping below the waist band you watch his face, his mouth, his claws as you tug downwards. The soft thud of muscle against muscle as, whatever is going on down there, hits his furry lower abdomen. The noise he makes is new to your ears, a pleased trill traveling high to low. Pheromones flood the room, musky and masculine. Your head rings, blinking to clear your vision. “That help?” You don’t dare look down. Whatever it was sounded as monstrous as the being that had changed your boyfriend. Don’t you dare, don’t you dare let her. You can’t have her. You can’t. You’ll hurt her. The monster huffs. Eyes glued above his waist you continue to pet him, opting to skim his collarbones and shoulders instead of lower. “How is that my sweet thing? See we can be friends. I can help you. You don’t need to be afraid of me.” Purring, his head droops again, chin to chest, “more.” You gulp, heart dropping into your gut. “Oh-okay. If you’re sure.” Holding your breath your eyes flick south. “Fuck, more? More?” Your voice trembles. Innie wasn’t normally anything to shrug at, perfectly average length and just a little bit thicker. This, whatever the monster did to his body, this was the most. Your abs flex, walls of your sex clenching. His dick looked mostly human, deep purple and blue veins ran the thick shaft, all the way up to the head, tapered and an angry red. “Touch,” he insists. You’ll hurt her. She-I-. Your spawn too. Our spawn. Our brood. We breed. We spawn. He lightly growls as you hesitate. Shooting a glare at him you scold, “be nice, or I leave.” His claws grab what he can, the lower half of your calves, sharp ends carefully pressed. You weren’t going to leave him. Whining he almost looks sorry. “You manipulative little shit.” Pressing your palm to the base his cock easily passes the length of your fingers. “There’s just no way-” “Find. More. Moremoremore,” he moans and thrusts against you. The tang of need on his tongue. The chains rattle ominously. “Find. Hurt.” “Let me just take,” you try to scoot away from him, his claws scratching lightly as he tenses. “I need to take these pants off. To help. If you want me to help--” the grip drops immediately. Growling and snapping as you leave him he looks more like a feral creature than your beloved. Hair wild and wings stretching to his sides. She won’t leave. She should leave. God damn it, can you just control yourself? Listen to me and we can get through this. You’ll have her, fine, you’ll get to have her. My rules, her rules. You get your fucking claim can you just listen for once? The monster leans back, heels pressing into the floor. Naked in the moonlight you straddle him, bolder than before as you hear the familiar clicking and rumbling. “I promised. I kept my promise. Now promise, no bite, no scratch, no eat.” Your elbows rest on his shoulders, pressing his hair out of his eyes to stare into him, trying desperately to reach the boy inside the beast. He growls, burying his head in your chest. You heard her. Tentatively you wrap your hands around him, needing both to cover his circumference. He’s already sticky with slick. Self lubricating perhaps, or from the steady stream of substance trickling from his slit. You squeeze and pump him as you rub against his scaled thigh. IN looks pleased at least, head back and eyes closed as he purrs. However your arms quickly start hurting, range of motion and girth a challenge to your muscles. Meanwhile you’re practically dripping down his thigh, quickly growing desparate. Your scent is potent in the air, drool leaking from the sides of his lips. Delicious devour defile deep so deep want need wantwantwantwant candy dumb stupid tiny. Fragile mine mine have need mine. He grunts and whines, arms tugging again at the chains. For some reason despite the closeness, despite the fact that he could easily bite you, you aren’t afraid. “Normally you’d prep me but,” you smile adoringly at his pleased expression, “I somehow don’t think that’ll happen huh.” He chirps back, hips bucking enthusiastically upwards as your grip loosens. You’re glad for the tapered tip as you position him at your entrance. It’ll still be a stretch no double but at least it wasn’t a blunt one. Baring his teeth IN growls, writhing and thrusting up into your wetness. “My speed!” You yelp as the head pops passed your entrance. Her speed jackass go her speed! Warm, want more. Deeper need, need deep. Tiny thing is small tight warm warm tight need. He pants and groans as you slowly slip down, his hips canting and bouncing, eeking out whatever extra depth he could. Finally you settle, only able to take a little over 3/4th of him, leaving the bulbous, calloused base exposed. You bend forward and wrap your arms around his neck, rocking your hips as you get used to the burning stretch. With your ear to his neck you can better feel his pleased subvocalizations, trilling as your fingers scratch the leathery base of his wings.

“Good boy. You’re being really good for me,” you mutter as you feel him tense and shudder. “Doing well, going my pace. Feels good. Good right?” Leaning back you grind against his lower abs, letting the coil in your stomach wind back. “Just a little more and then I gotta rest, okay?” Your walls squeeze desperately around him. Your beautiful monster. Dangerous and hungry but yours. More need moremoremoremoremoremoremore faster go faster deep fast. He grits his teeth and yips, frustrated. His muscles flex, as his arms tug again. Grab, grab tiny. Grab fill breed fill spawn. Mate mine mineminemine. Hungry. Twisting and tugging again a link pops with a bang. Throwing you off balence, falling foward to grab him by the shoulders. Your overstimulated clit spasms, orgasm rolling painfully over you. Your scent floods his nostrils, sweet and musky and a little spicy now. Delicious. No don’t you dare don’t you dare. She’s my girlfriend don’t you dare. He tugs again, the second set of chains popping open. Our tiny. Our. The curve of his talons perfectly fit over your shoulder as his arms wrap around you. It all happens in the blink of an eye, the chains popping, his arms gathering you between them, the force of his hips driving forward as he locks you in his embrace. You’re screaming as he forces the rest of himself inside of you, practically roaring as you both fall forward. Hanging off of him he cradles you as he pounds brutally quickly into your cunt. There’s no art or finesse to it, only aim to drive himself as deeply as possible into your womb. Every noise he makes is strange and animalistic, rough tongue licking away at your neck as if he was preparing you for something much more sinister. You’re moaning, maybe, or choking on air, could be screaming. The blood rushing in your ears clouds your perception of noise. Cumming again on him, drives as deep as he can go, base of his cock growing thicker and locking inside of you. Whiting out from the pressure, your body is limp and vulnerable to the monster. Bitebitebitebitebitebitebitebite mate bitebitebite. He waits for the other man to speak. Bite? The other man has quieted or left. He bares his teeth, your neck exposed. It would be easy. He huffs, another spurt of release emptying into you, stomach distending slightly. The monster gathers you, sitting back and draping your form over his chest as he purrs. You shiver, locked to him naked in the cool night air. Two wings wrap around you, cloaking you in what little he can provide. The man will be back in the morning light, the monster is satisfied and so are you.

I was thinking about this one and as I was writing I feel like next year I’ll do fewer prompts but just...all monsters. Like monsterfucker october for kinktober. Assign different traits to all the skz and atz members.

#yang jeongin smut #jeongin smut #IN smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #stray kids kinktober #skz kinktober #kpop kinktober #kpop smut

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jacktoria4ever · 1 year

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Disney Could Never (Rafe Cameron)

summary: Rafe comes up and tells you SOMETHING while you watch a movie with Wheezie.

Warnings: sexual innuendos-ish, sorta fluff, rafe being lowkey kinda adorable, swearing, confusion, idek but hope you enjoy even though it took me like three weeks to write this

A/n: this is something I'm doing with @pink-princess-pussy-pop so enjoy!

You were hanging out in the family room of tannyhill with Wheezie watching The Little Mermaid and just hanging out when you realize you ran out of snacks so you went to the kitchen to grab more.

"Hey, Wheeze, I'm gonna go grab more snacks, okay?" You tell her quickly running to the kitchen because you didn't want to miss any of the movie you've seen countless times.

You're speeding through grabbing the snacks when you feel a strong pair of arms around your waist and a head on your shoulder with a kiss to your neck.

"If this isn't my wonderful, amazing boyfriend than someone is getting punched." You said severely scared about whether or not it was Rafe.

"Don't be scared sweetheart, it's me." Rafe said with the sweetest little gravely sleepy voice that you've been in love with for two years.

"Okay. How you doing sleepyhead?" You ask him in a joking manner but also kinda serious about it and when he doesn't answer you get scared and confused. "Baby, are you okay?" You say turning around in his arms to find him asleep and using you as a form of balance. "Baby, time to wake up. Hello, Rafey?" You say in a soft voice not wanting to startle him.

He groans at your efforts and stands up straight, looks at you with the most sleepy eyes you've ever seen and for a split second you feel bad for waking him up but you quickly shake the thought when you decide to continue on with the snacks. After he realizes that you aren't going to treat him like the huge toddler he is he whines something that sounds like a muffled version of your name into the crook of your neck qnd when you don't respond he walks away to what you thought was your shared bedroom upstairs but oh how wrong you were.

"Okay, Wheeze, I've got some Goldfish, Swedish Fish, little fishing rods I made with pretzels and some sea creature fruit snacks...Rafe, I thought you went back upstairs." You say severely confused as to why your 6"2 boyfriend is splayed across the couch that you and his sister were previously chilling on watching a movie.

He looks up at you with sleepy eyes and your heart melted "not without you baby." he whined with the cutest little pout you have found nobody else could get out of him.

"Come on, Rafey. Time to go upstairs. I'll br back, Wheeze." You say helping Rafe stand up to the best of his current abilities. As soon an you get to your bedroom he falls into a deep slumber or so you thought when you went downstairs.

You thinking Rafe is asleep you sit back down with Wheezie and continue watching the movie that at this point you have missed half of so far because of Rafe wanting cuddles which you cannot give him you suddenly feel breathing on the back of your neck followed by "I'm so hard right now, babe." Whispered in your ear praying to God the Wheezie didn't hear.

"Rafe, please stop scaring me."

"Sorry, babe, you just look so good today" He says with an evil smile you're sure he had to muster up from the depths of his soul because not even ten minutes ago he was falling asleep on your shoulder.

"Hey, Wheeze, I'll be back in just a sec-" you try to say as you get cut off by Rafe pulling you to the other room. "Rafe! What are you doing?" You say rushed so he can't cut you off.

"Sorry, Love, I just wanted to say hi." He says with that signature Rafe smirk.

"You could have just said 'Hi, Babe.' Instead of saying what ever THAT was infront of your 13 year old sister. Don't you think?" You say obviously pissed at him for saying something like that infront of Wheezie.

"M'Sorry Love. Can I kiss you now?" He says with a sincere look that you're not sure you should believe because you know him like REALLY WELL.

"Fine. But only one." You say in a joking tone, one that you both know is fake.

"Okay, baby, whatever you say." He says closing the gap between the two of you not wanting you two to ever leave this moment. At the same time you hear a faint "Ewww, Get a room you two!" Behind you which you could only guess was Wheezie because Ward was at his office, Rose was out somewhere doing Lord knows what with the other Figure Eight Moms and Sarah was with the pogues so it kind of had to be her.

"Sorry, Love, I didn't want her to walk in." He said after pulling away just a bit.

You knew he was telling the truth and gave him a quick peck not knowing when Wheezie would give you two alone time.

"It's okay Rafey, I still love you." You mumble quickly trying to escape him knowing he would never actually let you go without him into the other room.

He looks at you with the cutest serious face he could muster up from the deepest part of his heart. "You better, because if you didn't that would have been a waste of time for both of us." He says somehow annoyingly deadpan.

You just roll your eyes at him because you just want to finish the movie with your boyfriend and his sister because at this point he won't leave you alone.

A/n #2: English IS my first language but I suck at it so I hope you understand also absolutely love this story and if you want more just lmk bc I always want more stuff to do.

Ask me if you want to be apart of my tag list

#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #rafe cameron #drew starkey #drew starkey fluff #rafe obx #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fluff

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weird-is-life · 7 months

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hiiiii! so i found ur blog on my feed, and LOVED IT!!! so can i request a oneshot?

basically, reader is more on the insecure side, and has social anxiety? I'm not sure if this represents social anxiety, or regular anxiety, or none at all?? but reader wants to drop off lunch or some breakfast and a coffee for Spencer but doesn't want him to be embarrassed by coming to his office. so he confronts us about it one day then we explain

much love from a new follower <33

Hii lovely, thank you for this request and for following🥰 hope this is okay. Warnings: use of pet names, fluff, anxious feelings, mentions of lunch/eating? (0.6k)

You are lost in your thoughts as you and Spencer eat lunch together in his kitchen. It's not unusual for either of you to be zoned out, but your frown clearly tells Spencer that something is bothering you. He doesn't need to use his profiling skills for that.

"Hey," he squeezes your hand to get your attention," what's going on up in that beatiful brain of yours, huh?"

"What?" you break out of the thoughts, but then you add, "nothing." Obviously it's a lie and you both know it.

"Nothing? Doesn't look like nothing to me, sweetheart," he says, rubbing gentle circles over your skin.

"It's just....-it's silly, really," you mumble quietly.

"Amuse me?" he inquires, eyebrows drawn up.

You hesitate for a second, suddenly feeling a bit shy. But it's Spencer, your Spencer, that is asking you to be honest with him, so you tell him what is on your mind, "I know, you are going to work tomorrow and-and you always say, that you either eat junk food or you don't eat at all. And I don't want you to do any of those things, so I was thinking, that maybe.... that maybe I could bring you some lunch? I want to but...-" you ramble quickly.

"But?" Spencer asks.

"I don't know if it would be okay. I don't want to embarrass you, Spence," you sheepishly admit. Your eyes looking everywhere, but him.

"Embarrass me? Are you serious?," he expresses, he says it as if he's just heard the most ridiculous thing," I'd love for you to bring me lunch tomorrow, love. Really, it would be great and I would definitely not be embarrassed. Are you kidding? I would proudly show everybody how nice my girlfriend is and make them be jealous of my delicious lunch."

Your cheeks go red from his last few words," really? You wouldn't mind?"

"Never, you can come to my work anytime, pretty girl, okay? Please do come, anytime."

"Okay, good" you respond, a content smile on your face as Spencer kisses your hand, before he resumes eating his food.

"Good," he smiles at you, too.

You are standing inside the elevator, contemplating about turning away. You've got Spencer's lunch in your hands and a nervous smile on your face.

You've met Spencer's team before, but you've never been inside the Bau before. And let me say, it is very nerve-wracking to be there.

You definitely know, that you are at the right place, because as you walk through the room, everybody looks up. Nothing goes unnoticed by those agents, it's literally their job to be aware of their surroundings.

And Spencer notices you straight away too, especially because you are beelining your way towards him.

"Hi," you breath out, a small blush on your cheeks.

"Hi, sweetheart," he stands up to hug you immediately. Which calms your anxiety by a lot, "how are you doing? Did you have any problems getting here?"

"I'm okay and no, the security knew where to send me after I introduced myself to them," you admit, you know, that it is because Spencer told them.

"I'm glad," he takes the food from your hands and immediately takes them into his, "I'm also very happy, that you came here. Thank you for bringing me lunch, love" his warm hands over yours sooth your nerves almost completely away.

"Your welcome, Spence," you smile at him sincerely.

"Now come on, I'll show you around, before you decide to run away from him," he jokes, he can see that you are still anxious to be there. So he hopes, showing you around will help. And maybe when you pass some hidden corners, he will get to kiss you. To kiss your worries away.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid

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adaptacy · 5 months

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A Found Flame {Pt.4}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: forgot to mention this in ANY of the previous parts but i do have a silly spotify playlist for this silly man. includes a LOT of hozier because... i mean.... y'all know exactly why. (Link)

Word Count: 5.9k

“I’m not sure that I’m understanding.” You frown, leaning against his desk, raising a hand to scratch at your head, combing over his words once more, trying to make sense of them through whatever means necessary. “You’re going on a trip? You? Gale Dekarios? Mister stays-in-his-tower-all-day, the same man who sends me just to fetch fresh water?” You laugh, truly figuring he was joking. That, maybe, he was trying to play you for a fool – and yet he looked so terribly solemn, the opposition an unsettling sight, and his expression only served to further disorient you.

“Yes, the Wizard of Waterdeep is leaving his tower. I know such a feat is quite unimaginable, but I assure you, I speak with complete honesty. I have matters to attend to that require my presence elsewhere. I’ll be leaving you to the tower, though you won’t be completely on your own. Tara will remain here by your side,” he explains, running a hand through his hair. His hand pauses when it rests on his hairline, holding back the front strands to clear his view, and he looks down at the hide pack grasped in his left hand. He angles his head back up at his bookshelf, pondering which of the story is most necessary to bring along with him.

“Damn, it wasn’t the flowers, was it?” You chuckle awkwardly, breaking your attention away from your mentor to look at the flowers you’d picked yesterday, showing their first signs of wilting despite sitting in a vase of fresh water. You had only Gale’s misfortune with plants to blame. He hadn’t opened up last night, despite your ambitions, but they’d brought a smile – and the faintest of blushes – to his face, and that was good enough. Though now in retrospect the offering-slash-gift seemed a little too forward, and your attempt at a joke stemmed from the mildest of insecurities that maybe the indigo petals had given him the wrong idea and rendered him uncomfortable.

“Pardon?” He asks, standing up straight again, his backpack hanging loosely from the curled fingers that held it, and you look back at him, meeting his gaze. You can’t quite place the reasoning behind why your stomach sinks, but there’s no mistaking the discomfort of a growing pit in your abdomen. There’s a nearly mystical forlornness in the creases on his face, and his eyes appear dim; you’re sure it isn’t the lighting in the room that makes them out to be so cheerless, as he faces the sun and it lights his features up in all ways except emotionally.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Dekarios?” You ask, your tone quiet and more anxious than you mean to let on. No longer leaning so casually against his desk, you dare to take a step towards him, head craning to the left as you search his eyes, though you only find them to be harshly guarded from your inspection.

“There’s truly no need for such formalities,” he replies, straightening out his posture and taking in a quick breath, a dreadfully forced smile replacing the careful line that his lips had been forming. He lifts the backpack, jostling it, and nods his head. “I’m alright. Well, save for the slightest traces of stress, if I may be so daringly sincere as to admit it.”

You pause your approach, not wanting to scare him should he prove skittish if you get too close, and you fold your hands behind your back, glancing at the contents of the traveling pack he holds. You can’t see much, but you are able to make out the off-white cylindrical shape of a scroll. “Might I inquire why it is that you’re feeling stressed? If you know why, that is.”

Gale contemplates the request, a commonly seen – at least on Gale – introspective expression knitting his eyebrows, urging you to remain patient as he crafts a response. Eventually, he concentrates on you again, subconsciously dipping his head. “I expect the trip to be a long one, is all. I fear I’ll miss this sentimental belfry. As dusty and aged as it is, I’ve spent countless hours inside of these walls – If it weren’t for Tara, I’m quite sure I would’ve made friends of the bricks and family of the columns long ago,” he muses, his sarcasm tainted with uneasy contrition.

“Well, you know it’ll be waiting for you whenever you come back. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep my perfect fire bolts to my own trained hands until I have you to supervise me again,” you laugh, tone purposefully parodic to lighten the mood, but the older man quickly shakes his head.

“Oh, gods, no – you’ll be doing no such thing,” he forbids, his immediate frown quickly softening out of instinct, as though he means to hide how serious his disapproval is. “You proceed with your studies and your practice, even if it is only Tara who can be present to guide you. I expect the flame to be perfected upon my next arrival,” he chuckles, and you find peace in his relaxation. Unfortunately, his pleasant expression is momentary, and the amusement in his smile fades as quickly as it came, leaving you with an unfamiliar turmoil in your gut, some twisting mix of doubt and rue.

Intent on making said amusement return, you don’t allow your own dissatisfaction to reveal itself, instead choosing to gloss over the strange ache by shrugging and rolling your eyes, further pursuing your playful façade. “Well, with you as my mentor, I’m certain I’m already on my merry little way to being the next Mystra – I’ll most definitely have a seat at the table of gods by the time you return.” Your lighthearted tease earns a quick cringe from the wizard, the outer corners of his eyes creasing as he virtually recoils, and then chokes out a fractured chuckle, shifting his gaze to the left.

Before you can ask what agitated him to the extent of deserving such a reaction, he speaks, the distress forcefully plucked from his face. “Beware – that’s quite the promise you’re making. Though it would be nothing short of an honor for this old stone nest to have hosted a premature god.”

“A bigger honor to have mentored one, no?” You remind him, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’ll be pleased so long as you manage to remember me, even once you’ve reached such admirable degrees of power. Praise my name to the high heavens – should you be so inclined.”

Why his response feels so incredibly despondent, you can’t really place. His tone takes on a strange, distant hurt – as though he were dejected by the mere idea of your potential (though rather improbable) apotheosis. However, such an attitude from the man who was, himself, mentored and sponsored by the very goddess you so jokingly threatened is… certainly implausible – it has to be – so you brush off the feeling as nothing more than a result of his unrelated stresses accidentally bleeding into this topic. Clearing your throat, you approach him, and the next expression on his face comes in the form of suspicion, though whatever mild paranoia might be cursing him isn’t strong enough to convince him to step away from you. Once comfortably close, maybe even a little too close, you look to the books decorating the dark wood shelf, pouting as you contemplate. “Fiction?”

Even if it does take him a second to process what you mean, he nods, clearing his own throat and shifting his attention to the variety of options, all of them being books he’s read far more than once, but familiarity never did keep him from enjoying the plots, or so he liked to tell you. “Indeed. I’m aiming for something to keep me company in the case of free time. Stories tend to pass that time quicker than studies, and… I’d rather leave any education material behind – for you, of course.”

“Do you plan on having a lot of free time during your trip?” You ask, merely aiming to keep the conversation up as you scan his choices, weighing the possibilities as you try to imagine what he may enjoy rereading the most.

“In all truthfulness, it may only be free time that I find myself with,” he sighs, a quiet thump following his admission, and you look down towards the noise to find his travel pack now resting on the ground. Slumped, and open wider than it was previously, the contents are revealed to your prying eyes; the silver glint of a blade, the scroll you saw previously, a jeweled ring that glows with a faint orange, and at the very bottom is a lazily-wrapped bedroll, haphazardly stuffed into the pit of the bag. You expected to find a change of clothes, a little bit of gold for wherever he plans to visit, but find only an absence of what you deemed traveling necessities.

“Where are you going?”

Turning your body reveals that Gale had moved across the room while you were investigating his package, and now he stood hovering over his desk, one palm flat against the surface. You were left only to watch the back of his head as he chose to gaze out at his balcony rather than meet your curious – and very concerned – stare. You know something is wrong, you’ve known all along, and you’d thought, or at least very desperately hoped you were overreacting. At least then you could ignore your aimless quells and instead put that energy towards cheering him up and making things better, but you are quickly realizing that whatever disturbs him is far outside of your pay grade, and understanding your hopelessness as an assistant is no help in overcoming his contagious dread. “North,” he answers, devoid of emotional attachment, his tone as dry as his throat. You shift your weight from your right hip to your left, an idle adjustment to bear whatever burdens he carries, aiming to prepare yourself for where this conversation could be leading.

“And… what exactly is waiting for you up north?” Your body moves forward in a slow three-step stride, your action haunted by the same hesitancy you exercised upon first meeting him, as if you don’t know the man who stands in front of you now.

“Solidarity.” He inhales, slow and restrained. Then his head drops, releasing that same breath. He continues; “You’re a good soul. A fine housemate – an even better apprentice. You deserve transparency, but I’ve allowed our conversations to remain fogged by my own guilty conscience. Of course, all secrecy has really done is riddle me with more guilt, and yet I prolonged your innocence.”

“I’m… not following,” you speak tenderly, the tension rising both in the air around you and in your throat, grieving whatever confession he teases before he’s even announced it.

“I won’t be returning. This trip will be my last. Due only to my own faults – there is no blame to be shared, before you ask.” He stares down at his desk, but then his focus shifts, and he watches your frame out of the corner of his eye, head just barely turned to see more of you in his peripherals. “I understand I’m asking a lot of you. To abruptly entrust you with the care of this tower, and my belongings, and darling Tara, it is a callous and inhuma–”

“Why?”

Gale falls silent, his mouth closing, his preplanned defense never making it off of his tongue. There’s stillness for far too long, neither of you managing a word. It makes you wonder if he’s trying to be cruel, leaving your mind to its wandering, silently panicked thoughts. You can’t help but begin trying to decipher the codes in his body language, in the interactions you’ve had with him recently, in the hints of his teachings gone unsaid, or in the secrets he’s never shared.

Just as you find yourself on a cliff’s edge of emotions, throat stinging with the urge to cry, your mentor stands up straight and approaches you, stopping when he’s a few inches away. He reaches for your wrist. He holds it, tenderly, the delicacy of his touch posing a silent request. Only after investigating the melancholy hazel of his eyes do you lift your wrist towards him, allowing him to guide it until you find yourself in a distantly familiar position.

He stands before you, holding your wrist in the space between your bodies while his spare hand takes a hold of the neckline of his robe, sliding it several inches down his chest, revealing the full mark of the weave, scattered brown hairs hardly shielding the brand from exposure. From there, he raises your wrist a little higher, and you recall the last time he allowed you to get this close, the memory leading you to straighten your hand and lay it against the pulse of the blight. Your touch is gentle at first, but when he gives a small nod, you ease your concerns and press more firmly, feeling the surprising softness of his skin, the texture of the hairs on his chest, and the distant beating of his tortured heart.

Last time, you recall being mildly surprised at the heat it produced, as it had been centralized in such a small location. This time, you feel the artificial warmth radiating off of his chest from further regions than just the pinpoint location of the orb. And it’s much higher in temperature than you remember, his ribs home to a silently raging furnace. You can’t help but feel intimidated – not by Gale, but instead by what he contains. It beats much like his heart, but it’s slower, and yet even more determined. While you hardly understand why, you feel connected to a starving malice within him, some inhuman spirit that seeks a meal you aren’t sure truly exists, at least not in this realm.

You look up at him, his eyes trained on the hand that rests on his chest. You’ve never seen worry so clearly displayed on his face; his eyebrows aren’t furrowed, but they’re firm, drawing faint lines in his forehead. His mouth doesn’t frown, it idles, waiting for the words to come to him before he makes any attempt to speak. His story is told in his eyes; the way he counts your fingers as they stem a connection with the weave, grounding himself in the stir of emotions, his gaze troubled and lost, nothing more than a clueless shell of the powerful sage he makes himself out to be. The powerful sage he’d made you believe in.

“It is the only god I answer to.” Gale meets your eye, the emotions that swirl behind his irises cause them to tremble, and you feel as though he seeks something from you. “It is all that I am; a vessel for the weave. I cannot run, I cannot hide, I cannot escape it. Try as I might to keep it satisfied, there is always more that it craves. This wildfire within me will reign carnage unforeseen by any prophecies, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. The artefacts – they hold it back, but I’ve found it burns with newfound impatience. It wills for destruction, whether it be the body of the host or of those around me. As difficult a choice as it is to make, it is an inevitable one, and I much prefer the former of my options. I’d rather no books be written about the Wizard of Waterdeep than bard’s fables on the extirpation caused by his shameful gluttony.”

“So you’re going north?” You whisper.

“So I’m going north,” he repeats. “I’ll travel until I reach empty plains, perhaps even uninhabited mountains. Some place quiet, some place lonely, some place where my curse will not befall others. This is my fate, and mine alone. I only pray that my final chapter is selfless enough to rewrite Selûne’s judgment of me.”

“Why haven’t you told me any of this before?”

Gale hesitates, and you see the ridge in his throat flinch as he gulps. “I thought it to be a mercy; to spare you from the truth was to spare you wholly. In hindsight, I recognize that this cat would claw its way out of the bag no matter the precautions I took, and my secrecy ultimately worked against my intentions – which I assure you, were nothing but the best – to protect you. Recently, if I may confess, I’ve come to doubt my decision to take you in.”

Your eyebrows flinch, you blink, unsure how you should respond – unsure how he expects you to respond. “Doubt?” You ask, deciding to allow him to share his story before you form an opinion on the matter.

“I believe I was desperate – not that I was fearful,” he clarifies, though the thin, watery line that sits on his lower eyelid betrays his defense, “but I reckon I didn’t think over my original promise to you as thoroughly as I should have. The truth is, I needed a second life. A chance to extend my own through a means that I understand, and have always understood, to be impossible – ambitious at best. I worry for Tara. I worry for this home. I worry for the secrets contained in my journals, or the studies that I have spent my entire lifetime, as short as it will soon be, perfecting and building. I yearned for an insurance; a way to prevent my existence from being a worthless one. If my intelligence enlightens no minds, if my studies save no lives, if my talent manipulating the weave means nothing, then I am nothing. I only wish to be more than a mere vessel for this scourge in my chest.” He pauses, his gentle hold on your wrist growing a bit firmer, and he closes his eyes, as though ashamed of the confessions he whispers. “My worries led me to you, believing you to be the answer to them. I never could have predicted that you would become my greatest worry of all.”

Now, you let your lips curve into a frown, and he seems further wounded by your physical reaction. “More than a vessel? That’s–” You can’t prevent a scoff from leaving your throat, and you shake your head. “You’re not just the orb, Gale. You’re a person. You were a man before it, and you’re still a man now, aren’t you?”

Gale’s hurt turns to confusion, and he shakes his head as well. “You’re not understanding.”

“No, I’m not,” you cut back, disbelief clear in your tone. “You’re the Wizard of Waterdeep. You act like you’ve never done anything of importance.” You retract your hand, and Gale is hesitant to release his grip, but he does nonetheless. “What are you even running from? If you want to make a difference, then stay and make one. Did you eat a bad meal? Are you seriously thinking straight?” You question, brows furrowed.

“Your words flatter me, but I fear I haven’t made myself clear. I can’t stay. This mistake is not a mere embarrassment, this is not just an attempt to flee from my problem. There is no avoiding this fate. I’m going to die.”

It’s unlike you to feel genuine frustration – anger – at a situation, especially one brought on by Gale’s words, but you can’t help the near boil in your chest. “You sound pathetic,” you huff, and Gale’s lack of insult only irritates you further. “Look around, Gale! Look at you.” You point at the black circle on his chest, prodding it with your finger. “You told me, when we first met, that you were a prodigy. That you were a master of the weave. I mistook you for arrogant, but that was being modest. You were, you are, Mystra’s chosen – who are you talking about now? Because I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios who has sheltered me, taught me, and supported me. I know it’s not the Gale Dekarios I’ve shared books and home with for the last year and a half.”

“You sound like my mother,” he chuckles, as if anything about the situation is amusing. “I’ve heard this speech before. You need not waste your breath on an inevitable doom such as myself. Please, save it. There are much better words to spend your time crafting.” He doesn’t scold you, he doesn’t defend himself, he merely deflects your disagreement, and you scoff – you’ve heard self-deprecation from him before, all of the prior remarks being attempts at humor, but there’s no sarcasm lacing his tongue this time around.

“Do I mean nothing to you?” You ask, stern, barely keeping composure.

That question seems to stir something within him, and he frowns. “Of course you mean something to me. You mean plenty to me – more than you may ever understand. Don’t be foolish.”

“Yet you keep refusing to hear me out.”

“There is nothing to hear out,” he argues, a short sigh leaving his lips, signs of a growing irritation. You feel the need to latch onto that – to see him get angry means that he cares, and you needed to know that he cared, because he spoke about his own death as if it held the same importance as a simple meal. Like this suicide mission he threatened was a mere walk in the woods. It made you sick.

“Grant me an audience, if you care. Even if you don’t care about yourself – if you care for me, as you’ve said you do, all I ask is that you listen.”

“There is no changing what I’ve been afflicted with – there is no undoing this curse I’ve wrought upon myself,” he continues, taking a step back and closing his eyes, searching for some kind of calm. If he believed you would grant him that mercy when he refused to have any mercy on you, he was more of an idiot than you’d ever expected.

“You’re being unreasonable. For such an intelligent man, you’re closer to a jester than any wizard I’ve ever known. You are not just this curse – You are a scholar, and an accomplished sage, and a friend, and a son, and a mentor!”

“For the love of all that is blessed – stop talking!” He barks, shaking his head, his eyes squinted, his stress forming shallow lines across his forehead. He takes a moment, breathes, and then opens his eyes again and steps forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as though to steady you. “No matter your words, I am still a threat to every living being around me. The orb is unstable, I know this for a fact. I am living on borrowed time. Should I stay, I risk leveling the entirety of this city we call home and dousing it in a thick red paste that was once the breathing civilians. I have studied this feat, and all that may relate to it in even the slightest parallels, and there is no solution. No amount of words – read or heard – can prevent fate. Yell and bicker to your heart’s content, but know that it will all amount to nothing.”

“You speak without a care in the world for yourself. Aren’t you scared?” You’re pleading at this point, unable to grasp the idea that he’ll be gone so soon, that this disappearance has been building for as long as you’d known him and yet you remained utterly unaware. It was the content of nightmares, and yet he stared you in the face with such assurance.

“I am terrified,” he sighs, grip tightening on your shoulders. “But I must trust destiny’s path for me. I will walk this road alone, just as I truly deserve. Your ‘great mentor’ is no more than a shell of a mortal man, and I have survived off of my greed alone. I could not be content with everything Mystra so graciously offered me, and I am facing the consequences of that naivety.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, you shake your head – you aren’t sure what else to do. You’re completely lost, unable to help the man you pledged your allegiance to. The man who took you in, who looked after you and asked only for your assistance in return for his undying generosity, is in need of assistance and you, his only trusted assistant, are completely unable to help him. It feels cruel, to him and to yourself.

“Mystra was not merely my mentor. She was everything to me. My entire world revolved around her, and to an extent, it still does – She guided me to possess the wonders of the weave in ways I never imagined possible, and did it all while allowing me to share a bed with her, and find a place within her heart. I owe my life, body, and soul to her, and yet I was not pleased with the power she lent me.”

Only further confused, you blink several times, his words finding your mind a difficult place to settle in with the tornado of thoughts and feelings that raged within your skull. “You– You were her lover?”

“I understand it’s hard to believe, a mere mortal man laying with her holiness, and it only deepens the canyon that is my regret. I believed I could prove my undying love for her through means no other mortal has ever even dared of imagining. Well, through means only one other man has ever dared attempting. Do you recall the story of Karsus?” He asks, taking in a deep breath, and you reply with only a small nod. “See, when Mystra was resurrected to rule the weave, there was a part of the weave that remained inaccessible to even her great power. A fool I was, to believe I could retrieve that final piece without repercussions. In my pursuit of professing my boundless affections and gratitude for her, I opened a pandora’s box, and when Mystra learned of my disobedience to her orders, she left me. Rightfully so.”

“She what?” Your jaw slacks, the buffet of this new information providing only a headache where you expected answers. It made sense, now, why he was so touchy at the mention of her – this curse he found himself hexed by was caused by his feelings for her, feelings you never even knew existed, and she’d abandoned him in his time of need?

“As you know, the piece became one with my body, and has left me with an incurable appetite for the magic contained in enchanted artifacts. The temporary stabilization those consumptions provided has long past fled, and I find the orb entirely out of my control. Without satisfaction, it threatens to rupture, and it will reign tragedy on my surroundings with my body as the time bomb – you understand I do mean that quite literally. I am a danger. A threat. I am the blight within me, no matter your objections, however passionate and good-spirited they may be.”

It isn’t only the presence of his hands that make your shoulders feel so heavy. It was far too soon in your apprenticeship for him to part, but with the urgency in which he spoke, it wouldn’t be long before he left. You were angry – or, at least you most certainly should be angry. You should be yelling at him, scolding him for springing this on you at the last possible moment, and you even go so far as to lock eyes with him, prepared to voice your pounding thoughts, and yet it’s the eye contact that renders you speechless. The only thing you feel aside from your confusion is a stirring guilt. Your mouth falls open, tongue seeking the words that your throat lacks, and you shake your head, pleading with him, pleading with his fate.

Gale looks at you with pity. It stings worse, like salt in the open wound that was your bleeding heart, to know the man who would soon be forced to tangle with death took pity on you. The hands on your shoulders pull you in, and you lean into his chest, expecting to cry, but you can’t even manage tears. His arms wrap around you, and your upper half falls limp, relying on his strength to support you. Strength you’ll soon be without.

It’s stupid to cry, and you’re almost glad that you fail to do so. It’s stupid to be worked up over. The entire situation is hopeless. Perhaps there is solace to be found in understanding that it’s inevitable, that there is nothing you could possibly do to change the circumstances, but you struggle to see that as a silver lining.

There was still so much to learn – so much he needed to teach you. He was leaving you a fortune, a home, even a companion, and yet you were utterly ungrateful. He didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly understand, that you’d only ever be satisfied with him, and there was no point in communicating that now. It would only serve to increase his guilt, and he deserved what little peace may come with believing you’d somehow manage without him. Eventually, you aren’t sure how long it takes exactly, you return the hug, your hands clasping behind his back.

The mood is long past soured, but his warmth is unchanged. The comfort he provides is as persistent and reassuring as ever, even if it does little to quell your concerns. Your appreciation of him thus far, as endless as it has been, has certainly not been enough. So you appreciate this moment as much as you can, burning it into your memory. His warmth, the faint, familiar scent of sandalwood and sage, the sound of his breathing – his presence as an entirety. Memories would never do him justice, you knew that, but memories would soon be the best you could manage of him, so they had to be perfect, clear, permanent. Even when you tighten your hold on him, refusing to give him up so easily, he doesn't say anything, allowing the bliss-laced ignorance of fate to linger for a little longer. Where you just about burrow into his chest, his hug is much gentler, polluted by the bittersweetness of his proclamation. Although the contact is minimal and noticeably restrained, his chin rests on one of your shoulders, his stress evident even in the reticent huffs of his breathing.

However much you wish otherwise, the hug too comes to an end, and Gale pulls away, leaning down to be perfectly eye-level with you, an all-too-familiar snide smile on his face. He holds your jaw with one hand, while the other remains on your shoulder, and both hands squeeze where they rest. “I have no doubt that you’ll make me proud. All I ask is not to let this place rot away without me. I don’t expect you to carry on my studies, or ‘gain a place at the table of the gods’. I only wish for you to find success. Follow your dreams, the whole spiel. Wherever you may find that happiness is entirely up to you. I’ll rest easy so long as it is found.”

You return his smile – as empty as it is, you want to give him hope. Of course, it’s hard to pull from an empty trough, but perhaps he doesn’t mind. With a pat of your cheek, he stands up straight again, taking in a breath and returning his attention to the books he’d been perusing before the whirlwind of a confession. Helplessly attached, you lean against his side, shifting your attention as well. After a few moments of scanning, you approach the shelf and reach for the faded orange cover of a book, the silver words embedded on the spine having lost their shimmer long ago. Gale tilts his head, curious at your choice, and you glance over the cover before handing it off to him.

“The Would-Be Saint,” he remarks, taking hold of the book and looking over it himself. In search of a confirmation, he looks up at you, meeting your eye. You nod, and only then does he reach for his traveling pack and slip the book inside.

“When do you leave?”

“I’ll make my departure this afternoon.”

“I’ll miss you.” The words have to be squeezed out of your still tensely tightened throat, and you offer another small nod, not wanting to say more for fear of cracking. The two of you would never see one another again – you want to leave him with a positive image of you, you’d hate to add to his worries. Staying strong wouldn’t make up for your inability to fix the situation, but at least it was something.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replies, still smiling, and you wonder if he is attempting the same false composure as you. Your perception of him could never be ruined, or even damaged, but you remind yourself that you should still be grateful for the generous thought.

Then, there’s a moment where you can’t quite read his eyes, as the anguish in his expression is clouded by some other, notably foreign, emotion. It lasts just a moment – and then he looks away, towards his balcony, and clears his throat, and the mystery vanishes. It leaves you with a new, small but certainly present, twitch of discomfort, and you attempt to follow his lead, distracting yourself with the surroundings.

“I need to gather a few more items to bring along with me. If you’ll excuse me,” he says, dipping his head and moving towards the door. You reach for him, catching his arm and stopping him in his tracks. He looks back at you, his face slightly red, but you assume it’s due to the vulnerability he expressed in the conversation.

“Please don’t leave without saying goodbye,” you request.

He sparks a small smile, and he shakes his head. “I would never. I’ll return to you for a better final moment. I’d hate to leave this off on such a melancholy note.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You hold his gaze for an extra moment before releasing him, trusting him wholly; he wouldn’t lie to you. Especially not about this. He gives one last nod before walking away, and you decide to spend the rest of your morning in his study, picking up spare items that are out-of-place, making the room a little neater. It’s a nervous tidying, most certainly, but you hope it will keep you busy. And you want his final viewing of the study to be a pleasant one, not one tainted by his stressed irresponsibility.

– – –

“I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, nightmarish, dire mistake.”

“Oh, you’ve made plenty of those, Mr. Dekarios. What is it this time?”

“I can’t leave. I can’t possibly leave.”

The tip of her tail flicked, and then a low purr followed, vibrating with a sense of pride – of amusement. “Foolish boy. You’ve realized, haven’t you? I’d believed you’d be clueless enough to remain completely unaware; you had me worried for a moment there.”

“Worried?” He squints at the Tressym, confusion replacing his guilty expression.

“You didn’t really think I’d be so eager to release you? Oh, you doubt me. I’m wounded. You don’t have the heart to disappear. You just needed a reason to stay.”

“I don’t want a reason to stay.”

“But you’ve found it, haven’t you?”

“Against my better judgment.”

Another purr, this one sounding more akin to a chuckle. “What mistake have you made, dear?”

“I’ve allowed my heart to overrule my head.”

“A wondrous thing, love is.”

“A treacherous thing.”

#gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios angst #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale bg3 #gale bg3 angst #gale bg3 x reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale baldurs gate 3 #gale x reader #tara the tressym #fuck mystra

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ivyppoison · 4 months

Text

pairings. jason todd ⠀𝒙⠀ civilian!fem!reader

warnings. derogatory language. religious references ( i have an obsession ). mention of death.

note. this is my first ‘cigarettes after sex’.( album specifically ) inspired fic !! i used a few lyrics & honestly it hasn’t worked better. i love my mind. i haven’t written in so long & i wrote most of this whilst i had a bad stomachache in the car so i don’t really know if it’s good. in addition to this, i thought it would make sense for the reader to be the wayne’s gardeners daughter or something, meaning she’s known the family for years ♡♡ ── yours sincerely, maxine

words.

#. dc masterlist. | main masterlist.

THE NIGHT, FULL of silence and tranquillity, had been more than simply your acquaintance for the past few weeks. A close confidante you could say.

Every story that laced your tongue withered into the breeze of the winter’s night sky, ── an endearing poem full of confessions, and it seemed the newborn moon took pleasure in it.

One thing that remained a secret, however, was the missing puzzle of your heart, who was roaming about in another city not too far away from where you are.

If you could, you would beg the gods above to retract your choice on whether you wanted your love to be immortal, or immoral, which presumably, you chose the latter. He had warned you, over and over and over again not to fall in love with him, but whether it was his expressions which were adorned with a smirk or the touch of his hands gracing your body; somewhere between the lines of your sick love story, you fell in love.

You looked over at your phone, expecting for the screen to light up, but it didn’t. When it did, it wasn’t what you wished for.

“Call him,” your mind kept on repeating, almost driving you into a state of paralysis.

After a moment of hesitation, your hand reached out for it, pulling back for a moment as you came into contact with the cold device. As you held it close to your body, you found your contacts list & under your emergency contacts, there was his name.

‘Jay-bird’, a nickname that you had been teasing him with ever since you met him. It was entirely fitting, especially as he used to be Robin. The name still stood, albeit he was the Red Hood now. You were the only one he trusted to use the name without the intention of bringing up his past. He only trusted you, as he knew you’d never mention the time before his death.

He was Lazarus, and you were Martha, and he placed the trust of his life into your hands, because he knew you truly loved him.

“Call him,” you whispered to yourself, letting out a breath you’d unconsciously been holding in before clicking on his name.

A few seconds had passed, and your call went straight to voicemail.

Were you so idiotic and foolish to think he’d ever want to talk about you? After that night, after that night were you unintentionally broke each other’s hearts?

You had better be joking.

II.

Sometimes, you could recall that exact moment: duffle bags in a small pile on the floor, his armour sprawled out onto the carpet of your living room, and the cautious footsteps Jason took so he didn’t wake you up. Yet, the empty and cold bed told you otherwise.

Wrapping yourself in the thin blanket which was draped over the bed, you made your way into the room, leaning on the doorframe.

“Jason ──,” you whispered, tilting your head in a curious manner.

This caused Jason’s head to tilt up towards the sound of your voice before he stood up in a defensive manner.

“Where are you going?” You asked as your voice trailed off. You knew exactly where he was going; the act of him being desperate to cover it up or even keeping it secret from you told you where he was going.

“I would have told you, I just ── I couldn’t,” he replied, running his fingers through his hair, staring back at you with those cold but gentle grey eyes.

Every night, after he’d go out on patrol, he’d lay down on your lap, perhaps with a cigarette in his hands as he looked up into your eyes. Now, here you were.

You didn’t know whether he was anxious or angry. You’d never seen him anxious before.

“You couldn’t tell me you were leaving?” You asked, walking up to him slowly. “So, you were planning to leave without saying anything?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered, his voice now stern and assertive.

He was your fucking boyfriend, yet he couldn’t tell you he was leaving for weeks?

He was pathetic.

You were pathetic.

“Because you were afraid I’d get hurt,” you replied, tilting your head as you mimicked what he always said to you.

“Can’t you, for once in your life, live without me?” He inquired, his voice started to sound more agitated.

“I already have Jason, and I don’t want to do it again. You can leave, but fucking tell me,” you retorted, sadness now lacing your voice.

He was taken aback, he knew what you were talking about. When he died, and left you alone.

“It wasn’t my fault you didn’t have anyone else,” he said, running his hands through his hair again. “You just follow me around like a helpless child. You’re scared that I may leave and never come back? Well, that’s life. Clearly you haven’t lived it enough to realise that.”

“You were a helpless child, Jason,” you said, pointing your finger at him, “I’m too tired for this shit, honestly. Just leave, I don’t care. Don’t fucking come back,” you added, holding the blanket closer to your body.

“Fuck you,” you then whispered under your breath, making your way back into the bedroom. Your bedroom.

Your eyes felt dry from your petty tears, it was enough. Everything you could possibly relate to your relationship was petty. Petty conversations, petty insults, petty sex. He felt bad for you, and you, him. Yet, in between that, you fell in love with each other.

All you wanted was to hold him and cry into his chest till you fell asleep. To kiss him in the comfort of your room.

He was gone.

III.

You were tired.

This false sense of hope you still had was killing you.

No calls, no messages, no voicemails, no signal, no letter; nothing existed or happened with the possibility that Jason was still alive.

Another night had passed, and you questioned how you were still strong in this belief that he was okay.

Even if he was, he wasn’t coming back.

This was your first incorrect assumption.

As you clambered out of the sheets, a figure on the balcony caught your eye.

You were a mere civilian who managed to be associated with the vigilantes of Gotham City, so this wasn’t a surprise.

Approaching the figure with a slight hesitation, you pulled back the lace curtains and opened the door, your eyes setting on the man in front of you.

“You came back,” you whispered, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands in an attempt to warm them up.

“Of course I did,” Jason responded.

His hair was unkempt, adorning that white streak of strands you loved so much. His hands gripped his bag, his knuckles red with blood. His eyes looked down at you with pure adoration, a bruise forming around his left one.

Jason was back.

Your Jason was back.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jay,” you apologised, walking up towards him. “I should have never said any of that.”

“And I shouldn’t underestimate you,” he replied, placing his hand on the back of his neck.

You smiled at him softly before taking his hands into yours, using your thumbs to gently stroke them.

“Stay with me, Jay,” you asked, gazing up at him. “I don’t want you to leave ──”.

Jason smiled back at you, before pressing his lips to yours in perfect unison.

It was going to be okay.

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luveline · 1 year

Note

hi baby!! could we get sirius comforting shy!reader that’s a bit embarrassed of her body hair? maybe she’s trying not to shave for the first time? thank you ily

hi! im not sure she's as shy as you wanted but i hope it's OK, thank you for requesting! ♥︎ fem!reader

"My darling," Sirius says, sweet and silky and only half-joking. "Move over, please."

You snap out of your movie-fuelled reverie and shuffle over with an apology, making room for him to stretch out on the sofa beside you. He does so without remorse, more comfortable with you now than he'd be by himself.

"What did I miss?" he asks, smelling like garlic cloves and olive oil, the dinner he's just set to simmer.

"Want me to rewind?"

He buries his face in your shoulder. "No," he says, breath hot on your skin, "just tell me what happened."

You start to explain, sinking down with his weight. He listens, hand flattening over your stomach and squeezing gently when he likes what you've said.

The movie goes on and Sirius gets bored, fingers running along the edge of your t-shirt. You squirm, knowing exactly what it is he's about to do, and usually you'd love it — he slides his hand under your t-shirt and gives your tummy a good old-fashioned loving. You sit up to discourage him and he takes no notice, fingertips pushing under, pads a split second from feeling your naked skin.

You slap your hand over his. "Wait."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. "What?"

"Uh." You thread your fingers through his. He's resistant.

"What? You don't want me to touch you?" he asks. Sirius is straight-forward when he wants to be. Which is usually when you want him not to be.

"You- Uh. You remember that conversation we had?"

He stares at you. "You realise we spend a lot of time together?"

"Right," you say. You have a lot of conversations. "About my-" You hate how shameful it feels to say aloud. "My stomach. My body hair."

He tries to pull his hand out of yours, an eagerness on his face that makes you want to leave the country. "I remember. You didn't shave? Let me see."

"No," you moan, face hot, trying very hard not to laugh at his enthusiasm. "No, get off."

"Please?" He tugs your t-shirt up before you can stop him. It's so dark in your living room that there's no way he can see it clearly, the beginnings of hair growing back in. "Nice."

"Sirius, please don't," you plead, words coming out in an embarrassed mumble.

"Can I touch you?"

You sigh and deflate. Trust him to be so awfully serious when he needs to be. He's endearing, and the worst, and you love him and want to shake him by the shoulders. Body hair isn't anything to be ashamed of, as he'd said emphatically and sincerely, but just because he says it doesn't erase years of self disgust. When you're taught so intrinsically to hate it, even his unwavering affection can't convince you otherwise. At least, not straight away. It had taken more than a few words for you to make this decision.

"Yeah," you mumble.

"You sure?"

You smile at him. "Yeah, Sirius. You can touch me."

He lays his hand flat over your stomach. You cringe, wondering if he can feel your short hair, wondering if he hates it, if he'd tell you if he did. He doesn't say anything, only gives you your usual squeeze and tips his head back. He waits for you to meet his eyes and smiles, so wide his eyes squint shut.

"Love you," he says, hand climbing up.

"Love you," you say. Then, "Are you… sure it's not gross?"

"Positive. Next question."

"Seriously, Siri, I know you're my boyfriend and you love me but if it's gross I'll get rid of it."

"Do you want to?" he asks.

You chew on your lip. You do want to shave it. You feel prettier when you're bare-skinned. But you also want to learn to love your natural body, because you know there's nothing wrong with the way you are or the things your body does.

"I don't know."

He lifts his hand, peering down his nose at your stomach. "Don't bite me, but I think it's cute." He runs a fingertip down your navel. "Little crab trail."

You yank down your shirt over his hand. "Shut up."

He laughs, hand clamping down on your hip so he can press a mass of kisses into the curve of your neck. "Love you," he says between them. "Love everything about you." His hand drifts back to your stomach and you slap it. "Ouch. Don't bully me. Just wanna touch you."

"Insufferable boy…" You melt a little under his touch. "Thank you. For not caring."

"Of course. You're perfect the way you are." He leans backward into the sofa cushions and strokes your stomach gently. "You know?"

You refuse to answer.

He shrugs. "We'll get there. You're perfect to me. And that's what's important."

You elbow him in the side.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black drabble #sirius black imagine #sirius black x you #sirius black #marauders era #marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fanfic

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avallon · 1 year

Text

It Could Be Sweet

Kishibe x fem!reader

A/n: first of all, I would like to thank @vilsoo for letting me participate in this project, the Ultraviolence Collab, I'm a little nervous because it's my first participation in a collaboration and also, because English is not my native language, I would like to apologize for some grammar errors that may appear, I have proofread but still some error may have escaped. This is based on the song Pretty When You Cry by Lana Del Rey

Hope you like it, please like and reblog if you like it, thank you <3

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Canon!AU, female reader, smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s and kishibe is in his 50s), blood, alcohol, angst, kishibe sucks at romance, 18+, minors DNI

Summary: “Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.”

"I need you."

Kishibe had never said that to anyone.

The words sounded so strange coming out of his mouth.

But Kishibe never before in his life uttered such sincere words.

Kishibe was used to women, they were great, all he needed to do was smile at some girl in a bar or, on the worst days, take a few walks in the red light district, and walk into the door of the first smiling face that blew him a kiss. But that was only on days when work had sucked.

He already knew through the rumbles in the corridors that a new hunter was about to be hired, he just hoped they didn't throw the rookie behind his back, he had just trained Himeno and sent her to the front line, and, at the moment, everything what he wanted was just to drink whiskey in his office, and wait for the calamity that awaited him day after day.

But as soon as he stepped into the firm's building, he was told that Makima was waiting for him in her office.

And then, in that sterile office, and with Makima smiling behind her desk, he saw you; nothing special, just a plain girl, not the slightest bit of a hunter's profile, with your crisp uniform and your hands behind your back, your head down as a sign of respect and subservience, a little afraid to look him in the eye, you had probably already heard of his reputation there.

Kishibe snorted with impatience.

“I have more things to do, I won't waste my time babysitting. Send her to Himeno.”

And he was already leaving the room when Makima gently pulled him by the shoulder, leading him to the far corner of the office, away from the newcomer's ears.

“Kishibe-san.” Makima gave him one of her gentle, hollow smiles. “I need to inform you that the orders came from above and we are in no position to deny orders from a superior, and well.” She cast a polite look at the newcomer. “The rookie showed capacity in the interview and a willpower that is very rare in young hunters nowadays, we want to test all that determination in the best way; on the front lines and with the best hunter, so she will knows for sure if her determination will remain the same and she will be useful to the organization.”

And with that, Kishibe just looked at you and motioned for you to follow him.

And maybe that was his first mistake.

***

You were a good girl, shy but good, and by 'good', Kishibe meant the sweetest sense of the word.

“Crying already?” he said, just in your second week of training, opening the flask of whiskey and watching the blood that oozed from the cut on your collarbone and wet your white tank top, marking your breasts.

“Sorry, Master.” you sniffled and then tried to get up from the ground, passing a bloody hand across your nose and putting yourself in the fighting position again.

"How old are you?" he wanted to know.

“Twenty-four, sir.” you replied dutifully, being taken aback when Kishibe yanked on your wrist, bringing you straight into the sole of his shoe that hit your chin squarely.

“Slow reflexes.” he warned. "Any second of distraction counts as hours of head start for a devil."

You spit blood, looking at the floor, you felt that your head was going to explode in two pieces, the air had been lacking for a few seconds and your elbows had been scraped by the fall, you tried to get up but your arms gave way, not supporting the weight of your body. You stared in shock at the amount of blood lying beside you, but the shock turned to worry when Kishibe's shoes took your line of vision.

"Here." you saw a handkerchief held out to you as your gaze rose. "Come on, kid, if I'd kicked it real hard you wouldn't even be up to tell the story."

"Thanks." you thanked him in a nasal voice, taking the handkerchief and placing it over your sore and throbbing bloody nose.

Kishibe helped you up and sit on a bench.

"I'm sorry-"

“Stop apologizing.” he cut you off and looked at you, this time seeming to really see you. “You're trying, aren't you?” and watched your flickering, watchful eyes. “So keep going, stop thinking you won't make it or that you owe me an apology for failing a task, I don't want your apologies, I want the best you have to offer me. And it still wouldn't be enough. I want to see you enter this court without fear of me. Next week we will train in an open field.” and saying this he got up and walked towards the entrance to the court, stopping at the door and turning his head towards you. “Would you be up for dinner out?” he asked in his usual monotonous, drawling voice.

You gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise, followed by a quick nod.

"Right. But first, go to the infirmary and take care of it.” he pointed to the cut on your collarbone that was still bubbling blood.

When he realized it, he had already invited you to eat somewhere, and he immediately found it strange. Usually he didn't feel sorry for the rookies he trained, no, with you it wasn't a feeling of pity, but something more drawn to duty, perhaps the duty Kishibe felt to himself, at that moment, to have you close to him without that bloody nose and that tension you radiated from being around him. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him.

Shit.

“Fuck-!” you moaned timidly against his ear, squirming in pleasure as you felt his fingers curling skillfully inside your wet cunt, your hands gripping his rigid shoulders tightly, your back between the entrance wall of your apartment and his body, your breasts against his chest.

"I barely got my fingers in and you're all wet already." he whispered against your neck, not resisting the temptation to lick that piece of skin, and taking advantage of his free hand to grope your breast. “Sassy kid, do you have the hots for me?”

You didn't respond to the taunt, too embarrassed to even look at him. You hid your face against his neck, too lost in the feeling of pleasure he provided you, making you completely forget about the boss and subordinate relationship that you should follow to the fullest extent.

“Look at me, kid.” he commanded in a soft growl, cupping your chin, pulling your face up and making you look at him, he needed to see your eyes, your sweet eyes and full of delight. “Did you want me from the start?”

You tried to lower your head, but his grip on your chin wouldn't allow it, so you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

"Say it." he ordered.

“Y-Yes, I wanted you from the first time I saw you.” you echoed silly.

“Good girl.” he whispered, taking his hand out of your pants, licking his fingers and pulling your face, kissing you passionately.

“Ouch!” you moaned against his mouth, pulling away and holding your bruised nose, looking at the bandage on your collarbone - which still hurt a lot, and gave him a playful look, which he reciprocated by taking your hand and bringing it to the hard volume in his pants, then he gently kissed the bandage, paralyzing you for a few seconds.

Kishibe gasped as your trembling hands unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants.

He's never been as hungry for a woman as he was for you.

And no, his intention was never to have sex with you when he asked you out to dinner, but once again he had to blame it on that uncomfortable feeling he had towards you. And then, to make matters worse, you had only had two cans of beer and that was enough for you to let go, he liked it at first, he liked it even more when you invited him, laughing, to your apartment for coffee and, by finally, he sent common sense to hell when you couldn't unlock your door and bit your lip, smiling at him in a slurred voice. “Do you want to spend the night? I can make coffee in the morning.”

"Screw this!" he whispered, opening the door and pulling you in by the waist, kissing your open mouth that panted for him.

***

You were so young.

Sitting on a bench in the park, his canteen of drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he watched you while you bought a hot dog, coming back with a smile on your face, it was after one in the afternoon and you had been complaining of hunger since eleven .

“Patrols are like that.” he had said.

He had approved you in training, those crazy weeks of hard training during the day and even more grueling sex at night. Once you had sex for the first time, he couldn't do without your young, healthy body. A good girl, he thought, as he thrust into you, with strength and an absurd desire to consume you, you looked so fragile, already exhausted from a full day of training and covered in the bruises he had inflicted on you, and in that moment, giving it to him and being perfect at holding it, sticking out your wet tongue at him or staring at him with your eyes full of a feeling that made him uneasy.

He destroyed you on the training ground and in your bed.

You were the toy that refused to break, you pushed yourself to your limits for him, refusing to leave him with nothing.

“Inside, please.” you stammered, burying your fingers against the roots of his hair, forcing him to look at you, he was about to come, already pulling his cock out of you to come on your breasts, one of his favorite spots.

Both of you were drenched in sweat, Kishibe was thrusting fast and deep, your favorite time when having conventional vanilla-style sex.

"What?" he growled, panting, resisting the temptation to cup your breasts, glistening with sweat, which swayed with his erratic movements, his gaze arranging for the scar that was marked on your collarbone, marbled into your skin, the cut he gave you, as if it were his signature on you.

“Your cum, I want it inside me, p-please.” you closed your eyes when you felt him touch your sweet spot.

Feeling like he was about to fall apart, Kishibe thrust his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you as he came, deliciously, inside you.

It was like he was going to melt.

***

"Stop this." he ordered in a low tone.

“Screw you.” you returned, sniffling, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

You were in a residential neighborhood, more specifically in the house of a family, the police had called you after reporting a murder case involving devils; the parents were away on work and the children, a boy and a girl, were at home doing their homework when they were attacked by a hungry devil, who tore them apart and devoured them in a matter of minutes.

As much as you'd been at this job for months, cases like this were hard to digest.

“Your reports are very accurate, as always.” said Makima, sitting behind her desk, looking at the paperwork, she put the pile down and looked at Kishibe. “Say, Kishibe-san, does the girl have the aptitude to work in Division 4?”

The question didn't surprise him, but he pondered before answering. You were strong, you gained strength through training, but you were still a sentimental crybaby who didn't know how to deal with the loss. You were competent, no doubt, but the fear Kishibe felt before answering bothered him.

“She is not ready yet.” was all he said, refusing to give Makima what she wanted.

“She already has a contract with a demon.” he heard Makima from the hall, before closing the door. “Please, better you say goodbye, we need promising young hunters in this division.”

"Why are you crying?" he asked, softly, it was the middle of the night, you were naked, in your bed, he was sitting up, drinking - you had already left a sideboard in your room for him, - and you were curled up against the pillow, your arm around his waist.

"I'm not crying." you muttered, your voice muffled against the pillow.

Kishibe pursed his lips after taking a swig of whiskey, uneasy.

How did things get to this point? The thing between you was already beyond sex, you were work and bed partners. Kishibe was old enough to be your father and that seemed to turn you on, and he loved it, becoming addicted to the fascinated gaze you always cast at him after completing a mission or when out on patrol, investigating. You were completely faithful to him, you even managed to let go and be yourself, now and then, dragging him to a kitten fair you saw somewhere or making him pay for overpriced meals at maid cafes.

You lightened his dark reality.

And at times it was almost unbearable.

The thoughts he arrived at, at dawn, were satisfying and sweet, as they involved you, but also, depending on which path they followed, could become tragic and irreversible.

And he didn't like this, this feeling. However, this same feeling burned for you.

Fear? Or, maybe something else?

“Look here, kid.” he called, taking a sip of his whiskey, as soon as you lifted your head from the pillow, he grabbed your cheeks, parting your lips enough for him to spit the alcohol into your mouth, which you swallowed, like the good dutiful girl who you was. “Tell me, what is it?”

You grimaced as you felt the alcohol burning down your throat and you snuggled up in bed before answering, covering your breasts with the sheet, not caring about your messy hair.

“Why do we never go to your house?”

“Because there is not a safe place.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling your eyes water, the fear of losing him consuming you again, you knew it would lead nowhere, this kind of relationship or whatever it was you had. Kishibe wasn't even nice, he was always apathetic or drunk or crazy hot for you, and that was enough, because you were hanging out and working and doing your best, well, at least you were, for him, everything that was customary. And in the moments when Kishibe told you 'That's my girl', you felt like the whole world to this man. He was your master and also your lover, and you admired him so much, always wondering what he had gone through, as a young man, to end up like this, but still keep moving forward.

Kishibe devoted himself entirely to his profession as a hunter, which made you admire and respect him as a professional; your colleagues would ask you what it was like to work with the infamous Kishibe and you'd answer, with a shrug, "It's not easy at all."

You closed your eyes and the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You were in love with this man, and he knew it, and he didn't care one bit.

“You look so pretty when you cry.” you heard his voice, low, followed by his lips on your face, licking away the tear that rolled there.

“And you are so cruel.” you murmured, your voice breaking, letting him cup your face and kiss you, his other hand going to your breasts, his fingers caressing your already hard nipples.

"I'm not cruel, I'm just a bastard waiting for the end." he said against your lips, sliding his hand down your belly and down to your cunt. “Spread your legs for me, love.”

Love.

That word warmed your aching chest as well as caused a new verge of tears.

You gave yourself to him, not complaining that he was, once again, seducing you to end up in sex, instead of talking to you and, in a way, opening up to you.

***

He was so curious about you it was dangerous.

“Why did you want to be a hunter?” he simply asked into the night wind, the cigarette dangling between his lips as he flicked on the lighter.

You were at the back of a cheap ramen restaurant, you had just finished dinner and Kishibe had said he wanted to smoke a cigarette before taking a taxi.

Your mind drifted back to your high school days as you thought about his question, it flew back to you best friend from junior high, you had studied together until the end of high school, and drifted apart during that time; she had met other people and made new friends and you, well, you continued to be friends with her, even though things were never the way they were, and with the end of high school, you split up for good and each went on their own ways, new adult life. The last time you heard about this friend was a few months ago, when the local news reported her death by a devil. You even went to the funeral, it all seemed so strange to you that you couldn't stay there for long.

“I don't really know.” you shrugged. “I had this friend from my teenage days…A devil killed her and… Well, I wasn't doing anything good with my life, and the opportunity just presented itself. You know, it's not this private revenge thing or anything like that.”

"I am really sorry." you heard him wish.

"It's nothing, it's over." you waved your hand vaguely, it really was past, these days all you had was this job and, in a very sad and dark way, Kishibe. Your family was fine, your mother worried about the risks your work offered, but you tried to reassure her during the sporadic visits you made, your family was good to you and all, but you always felt out of place with them, like a defective piece of a puzzle.

The taxi arrived and you got in first, looking at Kishibe, confused, when he closed the car door, stopped on the sidewalk.

"You do not come?" you asked anxiously, watching him duck towards the car window.

“Not today, kid.” he gently touched your chin, his thumb gliding gently over your lower lip. “I need to spend a night without you to see if I can survive.” he stared at you solemnly for countless seconds, causing your chest to burn.

Kishibe gave your address to the taxi driver and paid the fare, watching the car pull away and blend in with the others on the busy avenue. A heavy sigh left his lips, along with the cigarette smoke, his hand drifted to the canteen in his overcoat's inner pocket.

You were the most precious thing he, a selfish old man, could ever have, the best thing that ever happened to him in all these miserable, dark years of hunting devils and losing devoted mates. The simple way your whole face lit up with just a smile, and especially when the smile was caused by him, was something as frightening as it was adorable.

You were his girl, he kept you in control just so you wouldn't realize the power you had over him.

Oh, damn it, he needed to bury that feeling again. Tonight he was going to need to buy more booze.

As soon as you got home, the first thing you did was take a cold shower, hoping it would help calm the agonizing throbbing in your chest. Twenty minutes later, you were curled up on your bed, hugging a shirt of Kishibe's that he'd forgotten there, your eyes closed as you smelled him on the fabric, whiskey and perfume - he'd started wearing woody cologne as soon as you guys broke up of training, you could hardly contain yourself with happiness at the time, when you discovered this detail.

“I'm such a fool.” you muttered against the shirt, smiling as you remembered what he had said before the taxi left.

***

“Hey, old man, do you like my moves?” You smiled and winked at Kishibe, swaying awkwardly towards him, who was leaning against the hood of the car, cigarette in his hand, inches from his dry lips, his gaze might seem empty or far away, but Kishibe was rapturous inside; seeing you completely drunk and free, extremely happy.

It was Saturday night and you were on a beach, the idea, as always, had been yours. You were at your house, anxious and restless, thinking about what Himeno had told you, that she would soon be your senior in the 4th Division, and you found it strange at first, causing an embarrassment in Himeno, who shrugged and apologized, but assured you that the paperwork was on for your transfer, she even tapped you on the shoulder and told you, in a welcoming tone. “Talk to the Master.”

And that had been enough to end your peace of mind.

And when the weekend arrived, there was nothing in this world that would leave you in a state of peace.

So, you accepted the first crazy idea that crossed your mind; call Kishibe, rent a car, buy drinks and hit the road, maybe go to the beach. You were dying to see a bonfire on the beach, it was something that could really calm your mood.

On that night, you would put him against the wall.

The corner of Kishibe's lips curved, as if a tiny smile of pleasure wanted to appear, such was the simple satisfaction he felt when he saw you, there, with a bandana tied around your head, a pair of worn-out jean shorts and a cream sweater, dancing awkwardly, filling your sandals with sand, every now and then he had to warn you not to step on the fire that you had lit yourself - with his help, a you that he was not used to seeing in this last year that you guys lived and worked together, and, damn, how good it was to see you like this.

Maybe part of your relaxation was thanks to the drink, but he didn't care about that at the moment.

You approached him with your bad dance moves, trying to keep up with the seventies music playing on the car radio, you took his cigarette and inhaled, trying to seduce him, but the cough that attacked you after the drag made him smile, and Kishibe was seduced by your sincere attitude.

“Your cigarette is too strong.” you said between coughs, leaning on his shoulder, giving him an amused look when you saw him smile. “I think this is the first time I've seen you smile like that… Are you in love with me or something?” provoked you, not resisting the temptation.

Kishibe took the rest of his cigarette and threw the butt into the fire, he blew the smoke to the side, away from your pleading face, cheeks flushed from the beer you drank all the way to this beach, in that moment, you could ask for the world for him, that he would go to Hell to give it to you.

“You are a tease, you know that?” he arched an eyebrow, pulling you down so he could kiss your neck, his hands slipping inside your cardigan, he felt your skin crawl under his fingers.

“I know, your seductive young student.” you murmured, feeling suddenly betrayed, all the freshness and joy of moments before wafting out of you like Kishibe's cigarette smoke.

Kishibe pulled away from your neck and looked up at you, his hair falling over his wary eyes.

"What?" he questioned, still holding you against him.

"Don't play dumb, this is the last thing since the creation of the world you can be." you rested your hands on his firm chest and pulled away from his embrace, gasping for air, the sudden, painful throbbing in your chest returning full force. “I need more beer.”

You went to the car, took a bottle of beer that was in the cooler in the back seat of the car and closed the door in a slam, already with the open bottle on your lips.

“Hey, take it easy there.” Kishibe appeared at your side, he tried to take the bottle but you pushed him away and walked around the car, following to the bonfire, Kishibe watched you, analyzing all your form and behavior, probably already knowing the cause of everything.

He heaved a heavy sigh, his soul crying out for a shot of whiskey.

As soon as he approached you, still with your back turned, he heard you ask, in a broken voice, against the sound of the waves breaking on the edge of the sea:

“Do you always have affairs with your students?”

“No, you were the first.” he said, the answer was as simple as breathing, he thought.

And then you turned to him, the wind blowing your hair into your teary eyes.

“Then why are you going to abandon me?”

That image broke him completely, Kishibe could have fallen to his knees against the cold sand of that beach, on that windy night, as violent as the regret that took him like an assault. He would rather die a thousand times than have to see you in that state, lost because you were already aware of the end of everything, the end of you two, and that was what hurt him the most.

“You were hired for Division 4 from the start—”

“Then why the hell did you let things get to this point?” you exploded, dropping the bottle onto the sand beside you, Kishibe noticed your scar glistened against the bottle's reflection.

“Because you're amazing,” he said. “And everything I've come to want, besides slaying devils, was seeing your face one more time.”

“Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.” you sniffled.

You lowered your head, crying, let him touch you gently and pull you to him, holding you as you cried against his chest, his hand went up to your head, stroking your hair as you lay there, with your nose against his shirt, you could smell his heady woody scent, the scent you started to miss right away.

“You made me strong enough to live without you…” you whispered, lifting your tear-stained face to his, closing your eyes to his touch on your face, then you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, his lips were dry. “I can do this, I can do this.” you breathed against his lips, like a mantra you already knew wouldn't be enough. "You are the best." you confessed in a passionate sigh.

Kishibe buried his hands in your hair, commanding the kiss, he would give you what you wanted.

That night, you had sex for the last time, and it was like Heaven.

***

It all happened so fast, like the blink of an eye, one second to the next.

Kishibe and you were having lunch at a restaurant, it was your last patrol together in Division 1, you were wearing the firm's uniform and your hair was tied up in a sloppy way, but that day you looked prettier than any other day you worked together, there, sitting in front of that old blue mosaic wall and eating katsudon, as you always ordered for; maybe it was the regret that this should be your last lunch together being reinforced in Kishibe's mind.

He couldn't continue having this relationship with you when you were in Division 4, it wouldn't work out, one of you would end up being harmed. You were young, you still had a whole career as a hunter ahead of you, you were going to meet new people and was going to date guys your own age who weren't fucked up in the head like he was, and who weren't committed to devils in their lives like him.

"What are you looking at?" You asked, lowering your chopsticks into your bowl, brows furrowed.

Kishibe just watched you for a few seconds, barely supporting it, despite his dead stare.

“You are adorable, kid.” he said in a heavy whisper.

You gave him a small smile, sort of letting your guard down by shrugging your shoulders.

“Listen, Kishibe, why don't you come with me to the priv-” but you couldn't finish your longed-for question, as you had been thrown into the center of the street by something gigantic that rose straight out of the ground, breaking the floor and the walls of the cafeteria, next to the streets and sidewalks, Kishibe had been thrown against the opposite wall of the restaurant.

At the same moment Kishibe was already looking for you, finding you on the other side of the avenue, also standing up, despite the blood staining your white shirt, several citizens were running and screaming everywhere, and Kishibe soon found out why.

A gigantic centipede devil was everywhere, the cylindrical body like that of an earthworm fully popped out from everywhere, its paws were large and scabby, some even had humans impaled on them.

He screamed your name and told you to run away, but you were too lost and scared to listen, there was a cut on your head and all you could do was call the devil you had a contract with to help you with that giant centipede, Kishibe realizes that you did not obey and then ran towards you, invoking several knives and already throwing them against the creature's body, but before he reached you and you could invoke your devil, a long, rigid and pawl sharp had already pierced your body, you spat out a cascade of blood and your vision blurred before going dark.

No!

Please don’t!

Anything but that.

His blood boiled, his body took on reflexes as quick as a ray of light and nothing else in the world existed but the rage of killing this creature, Kishibe no longer had consciousness and was no longer a human being, not while this accursed devil was alive.

Nothing else in the world existed but you.

And that was the thought that took over him completely, when he regained consciousness, a rain had started, washing the greenish blood of the centipede into the drains, already dead and unconscious on the sidewalk, with infinite knives stuck against its skull, far away of you, lying in Kishibe's arms.

The raindrops fell non-stop on your face that was already losing color, Kishibe was already without strength, something he never thought would happen in this life.

“Come on, kid. Don't come to me and die now." he said, destroyed, practically voiceless, feeling all the life draining out of his body along with that rain that wet him to the bone. “Please…” he begged, voiceless, laying his head against yours, waiting for your strength to come out through your mouth.

That was too cruel to be true, not for him, ever, but for you, you didn't deserve this. Kishibe refused to believe his senses, two minutes ago you were alive, young and beautiful in front of him, he even smelled your shampoo, but now, the smell that was on you was metallic and Kishibe couldn't accept that. You couldn't be bloody because you were healthy and you'd be fine, you'd be fine.

Kishibe had committed many crimes and sins in this life, this was probably supposed to be his heinous punishment.

He cupped your head and stroked your wet cheek with his trembling hand.

“Please… I need you.”

That hurt so much, so much that it caused pain in his being, the feeling of not having you anymore, as if you were a piece of him.

And then, one shuddering sigh, brought both you and Kishibe back to life.

"This is funny." you said in a hoarse voice, your eyes practically closed.

Kishibe closed his eyes as relief warmed him, a smile forming on his quivering lips.

“You still will be the cause of my death.” he said, watching the small smile you gave.

***

You woke up with a colossal headache and your whole body aching.

"Good morning, gorgeous." you heard a familiar voice beside you, still lying down and your eyes twitching because of the bright light in the room, you turned your head and found Himeno sitting on a chair beside you, it didn't take long for you to realize you were in a hospital room .

“Himeno?” you questioned, your voice weak as you sat up in bed, grimacing at the pain you felt in your belly and the right side of your torso.

"Hey, take it easy, you're still recovering." Himeno warned, worried, she grabbed a glass of water from the table beside her. “Here, drink some, slowly.”

You accepted the water and drank in short sips, your free hand touching the bandages on your head and the bandages around your entire body.

“How long have I been here?”

Himeno scratched the back of her neck and tried to look away.

"One month." she said.

"One month?" echoed you, in disbelief, your whole body shook and you tried to get up. "I need to get out of here-"

"Hold on, you're still in no shape to get up." Himeno soon tried to hold you and make you lie down on the bed again. “Today or tomorrow Makima will authorize you back to fieldwork… we will be partners in Division 4.” informed Himeno, with a certain regret in her voice. “I'm sorry to tell you this way and here."

And then the memories washed over you like an avalanche.

You didn't want to ask about him, but you didn't care.

“What about Kishibe?”

Himeno shook her head and pursed her lips, she wanted to be the last person in the world to break the news to you.

“He is in China, on a mission.”

And with those words from Himeno, you knew it was over. You wanted to ask her if he had come to visit you, if he said anything about you, but nothing made sense to you at that moment, because you probably wouldn't see him again. You remembered that time when he had said that people with a screw loose live longer or something, and well, you wish you had learned to be like him, maybe it would have been easier.

Tears were already spilling out of your eyes and running down your face, you touched your scar on your collarbone, as a certificate that the time you spent together, the life you lived with him had been real.

Yes, it had been real, and it had never hurt as much as it did now.

#kishibe x reader #csm #chainsaw man #csm fanfic #fem reader #vilsoo collab #smut #ultraviolence collab

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sherlockscumslut · 1 year

Text

☆ Kaeya Thirst Part 2 ☆

This is the final part! Read Part 1 here

18+ only. P0rn without plot, drunk sex, blow job, creampie, c0ckwarmong,rough sex, vaginal sex, soft Kaeya yes yes, this turned out so Damm soft idk why but I live for it.

Word count: 641

Altr link

Reblogs are very much appreciated 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You...you came all over my skirt..." You said after coming to your senses.

In all honesty, you couldn't care less about a piece of fabric but the wet spot surely wouldn't go unnoticed. Even in the middle of the night, it felt embarrassing to go out with a stained skirt.

Kaeya didn't speak a word. His desire to tease and be the flirtatious type he is was gone. Could it be the embarrassment of cumming untouched? The fact that he stained your skirt? Perhaps the realization of what just happened between you?

"Let me...let me clean you up at least." You said and leaned forward, both hands caressing his erection causing his hips to jolt.

"You know what...? Maybe if we both get drunk we'll feel less awkward." You suggested.

He grinned seductively. "Is that so? Well...Let's try it out. Shall we?"

Two shots, three shots, four shots…

You and Kaeya could've been drunker if you didn't spill the entire bottle on each other's bodies, licking and sucking the wine off your sensitive parts. Both fully naked on the couch, Kaeya sitting with his legs spread out as you slowly poured a glass of wine over his chest, licking your way down his abs and groin.

Kaeya surely sounds hotter when he moans. The way his voice echoes in the room as you sloppily move your tongue on his cock, gives you the strength to keep going, to keep giving him the pleasure he deserves.

It seems as though you got carried away with your tongue movements when Kaeya rolled his eye back and pushed your head down to let his cock deeper inside your mouth. He came without a warning. The way his legs clenched around your waist was a warning. You managed to pull out in time, watching him cum on your hands.

"This doesn't look good...I think I'm gonna pass out...are you even listening?" He asked panting.

You wiped your hands off his pants that were on the floor. "We're even now."

He smirked. "I apologized for your skirt. Then we agreed to take down the entire bottle...why this then?"

"Nothing personal. I just want everyone to see that Mister Kaeya came untouched." You replied jokingly.

A few minutes passed with both of you speaking nonsense as wine ran through your veins and blurred your sense of reality.

"Are you satisfied? Because I'm not." He asked.

"Wasn't you that said that you're gonna pass out?"

"Did I say that?"

"I don't remember. I can't even see at all." You laughed.

"If you let me...I want to do something that it'd be hard to forget even when we're sober."

His words were sincere. You could tell from the softness of his voice as he caressed your cheek.

"Then...do it..." You whispered.

"Come here."

[...]

Kaeya got you laying over his desk, hands gripped on your knees while pushing his cock inside your pussy with all his force, his long blue hair tickling your feet with every thrust. You didn't expect him to last as long a since he has already cum twice but it felt so good to have him inside you.

"Look...Look at me while you do it..." You panted.

Having his eyepatch on didn't stop him from looking straight into your eyes as he finished inside you. He let out a deep breath and laid his head on your shoulder, hands gripped around your back, almost suffocating you.

A moment of silence followed. He proceeded to pull out but you clenched your legs around his waist. His cock has started to get soft again but you didn't care. The sun had begun to rise and soft light penetrated through the curtains. Kaeya's earring touched your collarbone as he gave your neck a quick smooch.

You blushed.

He laughed.

"Now let's get sober together." He whispered.

《 THE END 》

#genshin impact #genshin impact kaeya #genshin smut #genshin scenarios #genshin kaeya #genshin x reader #kaeya smut #kaeya x y/n #kaeya alberich #genshin imagines

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heyidkyay · 7 months

Note

Oh my god now you’ve got the image of G and Birdie with a little baby girl into my head… you can’t not write it now! I’d love to see maybe them introducing their baby girl to the rest of the band… or anything else you can come up with 🤣

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name | The aftermath

A little snippet:)

My due date was March 23rd. Which meant that George would be getting quite the birthday present (if the baby had perfect timing) and that they’d most definitely be an Aries, which were two things I couldn’t quite get behind, but something G was ecstatic over.

Matty had been hoping the little one would arrive a little late, two weeks late to be precise, just so that he could get one over on George and have the baby share something in common with him instead. He really had been an absolute sweetheart throughout the entire pregnancy, but my God was he pushing it trying to get me to extend the absolute hell I’d endured.

I’d gone through almost every symptom pregnancy had to offer, from day one I’d felt absolutely vile and then when my second trimester had rolled round I’d had to deal with Braxton Hicks, an undeniable appetite (I’d felt like an actual monster), and dizziness that rivalled anything I’d ever felt before. Including the time when I’d been hit by a fucking car.

Still, all of Matty’s efforts appeared in vain now seeing as though I went into labour on February 13th, five whole weeks before I was even due.

To say I’d shit myself would have been an absolute understatement. I was fucking terrified to give birth, let alone that early, and to make matters worse, George had been set to play a show, which meant that he’d had no idea my water had broken until I was high as a kite on fucking gas and air, and he was finally off stage. But thankfully, I’d also been at work and Delia had been the one to walk me through the whole process, we’d headed straight to hospital, due to the fact that I should not have been going into labour this prematurely, but also because she was afraid I was going to give myself a sodding aneurysm simply down to the amount I was panicking.

But who could blame me?

Anywho, the whole thing seemed a bit small in comparison to when I finally did give birth. We’d been blessed with a tiny, little baby girl- 7 lbs 4 ounces and with a head of thick unruly hair. But before George and I could even get a look in the doctor had told me to start pushing- again.

“They’re coming along quite quickly now, just a few more deep breaths.”

“You what?” I ask the man in scrubs settled between my legs. Baffled wasn’t even a word I’d begin to use to describe the emotions that hit me right then, having thought I’d heard him wrong until I saw the alarming look on George’s face.

“We need you to push, you can already see baby’s head.” A midwife informs me, ushering George to once again take my hand, to comfort me. He does but he’s caught in a daze.

“But, but I just did that bit.” I say, mostly stunned, delirious almost for a moment.

“I know, and you did wonderfully. But baby two isn’t too far behind.” She replies, smiling down at me sincerely even as her attention diverts between a handful of other people stood in the delivery room.

Her words seem to startle G back into reality, “Baby two? As in twins?”

“Twins! What the hell do you mean, twins?” I feel dizzy once more, head darting between the nurse beside me, G, and the doctor who’s seen a little too much of my insides for my liking. I think I start mumbling then, rambling off a ton of questions, a mile a minute, to anyone and everyone who will listen. Twins. “Are you sure? Twins?”

The nurse laughs, not unkindly, then nods, “Definitely sure, even saw it for myself.”

I’m still not really pushing, too confused, too stunned to really do much, in truth. “Are you having me on? Is this a prank?”

She appears to realise G and I aren’t messing about here and I watch on, frozen, as her whole demeanour shifts before my eyes, “Yes, sweetheart, twins. You really didn’t know?”

I shake my head and am just beyond grateful that George is here with me, holding my hand so tightly that I can truly feel it start to numb- because, what?

Things seem to take a turn then, the entire atmosphere in the room drops when beeping starts up and lights start flashing worryingly. The doctor at the other end of my bed is coaching me through it again, his voice high and harried almost, and I know then that something’s wrong and that it’s all my fault.

“What’s going on?” I ask, eyes immediately snapping over towards the nurse standing beside me but she’s gone, fiddling with the oxygen machine behind my head and then the heart monitor. “G, what- what’s happening? Are they okay? The baby. Are they?”

“You need to push. The baby is losing oxygen, we need to get them out as quickly as possible.”

My heart plummets. I start to panic. It’s my fault. My fault. I’m doing it wrong. I’m to blame. It’s all my fault. I’m messing up and they’re not even really here yet. I’m doing it all wrong.

“We need you to push harder.”

“Breathe.”

“Come on, mum. We need you to really push now.”

“That’s it.”

“Birdie, it’s alright. You’re okay, love. The baby is okay. You just need to push a bit more. Just a little longer, okay?”

I feel my head move- nod?- but the room is spinning, I reckon I’m screaming too. Sobbing, even. My mind so focused on the baby I hadn’t even known I’d been housing, let alone created. My baby.

Two babies! Two.

I let out a loud groan. Barely even aware of the careful fingers on my temple.

“Good girl, B.” George whispers to me, lips pressed against my cheek as he brushes hair from out of my face. “You’re doing so well. So good.”

I cry harder, I push harder.

Time seems to have stilled in its entirety, the minutes won’t move, the seconds don’t count. I am lost in this moment, my mind screaming at me to just try harder.

“And it’s a boy!” I finally hear and then I’m weeping again, crying and clinging to George before he too is dragged away from me by nurses to cut the umbilical cords. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to do much else, chest heaving, thick tears streaming down my cheeks, and all I hear is an overwhelming buzz. The kind I’d grown so used to, starting in my left ear before it soon echos in my right. Jumping, back and forth.

“A boy, Birdie. A boy and a girl.”

I blink and George is there again, hovering over me. He takes my face in his careful hands and holds me so close that we are nose to nose. I realise then he’s crying too.

“Twins.” I whisper breathlessly, every inch of me burns, but I itch to get up, to move and see them.

“Twins.” George repeats with just as much disbelief. “Twins, B. Ours.”

A baby boy, he’d told me. A tiny thing, so full of surprises. He was born smaller than his sister, an even 6 lbs and only ten minutes behind, but his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, huge and so very innocent, placed between a scattering constellation of tawny freckles that dot his cheeks and kiss his lids.

A girl and a boy. All ours.

I’d been taken with them both the moment I’d set my sights on them, ‘the twins' people had dubbed them. ‘Let’s go see the twins!’ ‘The twins are finally crawling!’ ‘Somebody grab a camera, the twins are being cute again!’

Never did I ever believe I’d have a family of my own, let alone a husband or these two beautiful beings that always seemed to stare back up at me with an incredible amount of innocence. It stirs something deep within me each time they do, both the thought and the very sight of them, and when their tiny little hands wrap their way around my fingers I know that I’ll never feel this type of love again. I don’t think I could even begin to describe it.

They are beautiful and they are ours, and I know from the very bottom of my heart that I will protect them until the day that I die. Because, how could I not?

How could anyone not?

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number1jeonginstan · 6 months

Text

Coffee pt.V

A/N: I wanted to make this longer because you guys waited so long for it, which I sincerely apologize for, but I kept getting busy with my papers and then I got sick twice so it was kind of hard, but I'm slowly getting better, and I hope my writing is too, so I will be posting the next part by Sunday, and hopefully, I will start making it so I post every Sunday! Thank you guys for all of your support and I hope you like the next part! Also, this is kind of a slow burn, but when I write smut, I will make sure it is heavily detailed

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: None tbh

part I part II part III part IV

Jeongin finally got home, groaning as he fell into his bed only to be met by the wrath of Seungmin. “Jeongin, what the fuck did you do to y/n? She cried to me for 20 minutes straight while vomiting.”

“I just gave her coffee, and might have told Han to put a ton of salt in it, and then made her drink the entire thing,” he said with a groan. “But she deserves it, she is the one who ghosted me on the first day of school, and then acted oblivious about it.”

“What do you mean she ghosted you, she hasn’t been on a date since junior year, I should know because we got ice cream after and she explained to me in, disgustingly heavy detail, about how they made out. But that’s beside the point, that doesn’t allow you to fucking poison her.” Jeongin looked at Seungmin puzzled, “What do you mean she hasn’t gone on a date in two years, we literally matched on Tinder and set up a date at The View, she gave me her number and everything.”

“Dude, y/n hates Tinder with a passion. She’s one of those people who need to “meet people organically” and shit. Not to mention, she doesn’t like hookups and that’s what she thinks Tinder is for.” Seungmin said, hopping on his bed. “What do you mean this account isn’t hers?” Jeongin through his phone to Seungmin. He started scrolling through the picture on her profile “Hate to tell you man, but these pics are from her insta from like high school, don’t you think she would want to add new pics.” he rolled his eyes. “What number did they give you because I know for a fact it can’t be y/n’s,” Seungmin asked throwing the phone back to Jeongin.

“It was XXX-XXX-XXXX,” Jeongin read out loud after finding “your” contact. “Yeah, that’s not y/n’s number. I hate to tell you dude, but you got catfished and then harmed my best friend in the process.” Seungmin said, throwing a pillow at Jeongin’s face. “You better fucking apologize because I know for a fact that she’s too much of a people's pleaser to not get mad at you and say it was ‘just an accident’ on your part.”

“Fuck” Jeongin groaned rubbing his hand over his face. He had no idea that the reason he was mad at you was all based on a lie, if he knew it wasn’t you, he had to prove to you that he was truly sorry for what you did.

You finally got back to your dorm room, your entire body still hurting from vomiting in the library's bathroom. You don’t think Jeongin did it on purpose, I mean you know he hates you, but he wouldn’t purposely do that to you… right? You decided not to think about it, going to take a shower in hopes of getting the smell of vomit off your body and breathe.

After you got out of the shower, you heard a knock at your door. Still in your towel, you went to crack it open a bit only to see Jeongin in front of you. “Could we please talk?” he asked, head tilting to the side. “Umm, yeah, come in and let me quickly get changed,” you said while closing the door.

You quickly ran into your room, throwing on a hoodie and some shorts, still embarrassed by him seeing you in a towel. You let him in, still a bit confused about what was going on. “Would you like to sit down?” pointing to your bed. As he sat down, you just rocked back awkwardly on your feet.

Before he could even say anything you spoke up. “Did you get the money I put on your bed for your dry cleaning? I hope you saw the note as well, I just wanted to apologize for spilling coffee on such an expensive shirt. I should have been watching where I was going, so it was my fault anyway.”

Before you could finish your tangent, he interrupted you. “You should not be the one apologizing, I mean yes, I got the money for dry cleaning, but you shouldn’t have had to do that. I was being a dick to you and I want to apologize for everything I have done to you.”

“Oh” was all you could say still unsure if he was being sincere or not. “Can I please just explain everything to you, and then you can go back to hating me?” he pleaded. “I don’t hate you?” you say a bit puzzled. “I mean sure, I don’t ever want to talk to you after everything you have done to me for the four weeks, but I could never hate someone without hearing their side of their story,” you said so sincerely that Jeongin could feel his heart beating against his chest.

After everything he has done to you, the belittling, pouring his drink on you, yelling at you, and forcing you to drink that god-awful drink; you still didn’t hate him. “Why are you so fucking nice?” you could hear a bit of anger in his voice. “What happened to the person who said I would have to ‘grovel at their feet’? Like seriously no one can be that nice all the time.” he said looking directly into your eyes.

“Okay, if you don’t want to be the way I usually am, to everyone no matter what they do to me, I can be that way.” you began raising your voice a bit, your cheeks turned red as anger filled your entire body. “I do not understand what the fuck I did to make you hate me so much, like I get the whole coffee incident because yeah that was a dick move, but you were the one that ran into me. Not to mention, I was just trying to enjoy that party, but you decided to be an asshole, and not only go against our bet but throw another drink on me. And then after all of that, have the audacity to pretend to apologize, but put fucking salt in my drink causing me to vomit my guts out.”

As you finally calmed down, taking a breath, you tried to see his face for anything. He was stoic, not a single feature on his face moved from when you first began talking. “Are you going to say anything or are you just gonna sit there with that blank dumb look on your face?”

You were still agitated, before you could speak up, he began talking. “The reason I got mad at you was because I thought you ghosted me.”

“What!” you exclaimed, “How the fuck could I ghost you if we didn’t even know each other existed or even talk before me spilling coffee on you?”

“If you let me explain” Jeongin went on, “It was because I thought we were talking on Tinder because someone catfished on you, and before you interrupt me again, I know you don’t believe in dating apps. When I told Seungmin everything, he told me how you don’t believe in them and then when we compared your number to the one I was given, they weren’t the same.” he rambled on while you were still standing in front of him.

“So then, I thought you were purposely ignoring me after we had such meaningful conversations, so I got frustrated. I waited in at The View for like thirty minutes for you to show up for our date, but it wasn’t actually you and I had no idea, so I was walking to class and when I saw you, I tried running up to you and asking you if you just forgot or had a scheduling conflict, but then you bumped into me and just apologized, barely acknowledging me, so I got frustrated. That’s why I kept doing everything, I was trying to get you to notice me, but I was also taking all of my anger out on you.”

“If you want me to leave I can, but I just needed you to know the whole truth y/n.” He said getting up off your bed. You felt your tense shoulders loosen up a little, still trying to process all the information he had just told you. “So you’re telling me, all of this could have been resolved or never had happened if you just communicated with me,” you said while walking up to him. “Yeah” he said while scratching the back of his neck confused about what you were doing next.

“Are you fucking kidding me, you put me through so much, for no reason. And I apologized to you on numerous accounts and you still didn’t tell me any of this?” you said while walking up to him, mere inches separating your faces. It was your turn to look up at him, waiting for any kind of response from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said while giving you his signature puppy dog eyes, hoping that it would lessen your anger towards him, that you would go back to your overly kind and joyful self.

“Get out of my dorm, right now or so help me god.”

He quickly scurried out of your dorm apologizing once again, running back to the house. As he got back to his room, he saw Seungmin on his bed, scrolling on his phone. “Jeongin, your conversation with them is already over? I thought you guys would talk for longer or something. y/n is quite the talker, she feels the need to listen to all sides of the story and even that doesn’t shut her up. It’s like she always has something to say.”

“She kicked me out of her dorm” he said, taking off his shoes and placing them back in his closet. “She did what!” yelled Seungmin loud enough for Changbin out in the hall to hear them.

He entered their shared dorm room, still sweating from the gym. “Who did what?” he asked, his voice booming per usual. “Nothing, just Jeongin being an absolute fucking imbecile,” Seungmin said, not having to even look up at who was talking. “Makes sense, most people are idiots their first year of college” he said while leaving their room, shutting the door behind him.

“What should I do” Jeongin groaned into the palm of his hands, sitting on his bed. “She was like full-out mad, but it’s kind of my fault, I pushed her into yelling at me.”

“She yelled!” Seungmin screamed as he sat up. “In all my life, never have I ever heard her yell, or get mad at someone. You are in deep shit dude.”

“You don’t think I know?” Jeongin said flopping on his bed. “Do you think she will ever forgive me?”

“I don’t even know why you still want to talk to her. I thought you hated her?” Seungmin said turning his head to look at Jeongin.

“I don’t hate her, I mean I did, but getting to know her, seeing her in class, and seeing how nice she is to everyone, I want to get to know her.”

“Then maybe, you shouldn’t have been a dick to my best friend!” Seungmin exclaimed, “Plus, I know for a fact she’s going to start ignoring you and running away whenever you try to talk to her, so you are fucked.” Jeongin just groaned the only way he was going to see you now was in your shared classes and even then you were going to ignore him.

While Jeongin and Seungmin were talking, you were ranting to Sana in your dorm, explaining everything that happened. “So you are telling me, he was an idiot, fell for a catfish, and then took all his anger out on you?”

You just nodded your head, sipping on the coffee that she brought you. “Yeah, I just hope I never have to purposely talk to him again, but I think that might be hard because we share a few classes, and he’s friends with Seungmin.”

“Don’t worry, there are over a hundred kids in each of your classes, you won’t be forced to sit next to him or something,” Sana said, stealing a sip of your coffee and then going back to her side of the dorm. But little did you both know, that fate had other plans.

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