#I have a few stories but one of the more prominent ones is when

[satoshy12]

Tiny Percy

Tiny demigod Percy did beat up bigger bully in School. And the thing is, no one believes the bullies when they go to the teacher to snitch (many bullies are that way). The victim fights back! I will make him a bad person!

The situation worsened as Percy confronted Ethan Thompson after he attempted to grab his lunch once more. Percy beat up the taller bully.

After the event was reported via email, Principal Matthews called Ethan, his parents, Karen and David Thompson, and Sally Jackson.

Percy was immediately accused by Karen, who said, "Your son assaulted my baby boy, Ethan." 

Sally Jackson, Percy's mother, responded with disbelief, "I don't believe it. It can't be true."

At the same time, Percy's home teacher and swimming and gym instructor, Coach Anderson, weighed in skeptically, saying, "I find it hard to believe. Perseus has a lot of athletic potential. Let's avoid drawing hasty assumptions." The suggestion is that, given young Percy's ability, he would simply ignore it even if he did participate in such an activity.

David Thompson chimed in, "You've seen how Ethan is." Ethan has several bandages prominently around his head and limbs, indicating that there are several wounds or abrasions below. There appears to be a fracture to one arm, as indicated by the cast, which is kept immobile by a sling. His face is rather bloated, and the bruises that have caused his skin to become purple and yellow are a few days old. Patches adhere to various body areas, perhaps masking minor wounds or scratches. "My child is an MMA fighter! Explain this!!

Sally was unwavering in her belief that Percy was innocent, saying, "It just can't be Percy."

David brushed off Sally's justification, saying, "Don't try to excuse it!!"

Principal Matthews stepped in and called Percy into his office, recognizing the gravity of the issue. He hit a button on his radio. "Perseus, could you please come to the principal's office?"

Shortly after, there was a very young voice that said, "It's Percy, and you all know it." 

The parents saw that Percy was considerably smaller than Ethan as he walked in.

This even made some kids and professors chuckle, as it finally made the Thompsons' parents understand why their assertions appeared improbable to others.

The parents, bewildered as to how their small child could have surpassed their strong son, were left to wrestle with the possibility that their son's story could not be credible. To hide a friend who had committed this, he just told lies.

"We would just now depart, and it would be best if we forgot about this whole thing," David Thompson said as he got to his feet. "It seems like I noticed the error."  Karen quickly got to her feet as well and dragged her son out. Already, this was too much for her, and she was terribly ashamed. She didn't even look aside as she dragged her son, Ethan, along.

"Can I stay here till math is done?" Percy asked Principal Matthews as the three of them were outside and heard the two parents scream at Ethan.

Sally gave her son a look and said, "No." Percy simply turned and walked out the door. "Drat."

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #Sally Jackson #OC #School #Tiny Percy #Child Percy

[lovecolibri]

And yet if it was all questions related to Tommy they wouldn’t have a concern in the world. They like to say stop making it about buddie, and that it should be about just Buck, but then they turn right around and make it all about Tommy and his perfection. But like you said, asking about buddie is asking about bi Buck. And not to mention buddie is 6 years worth of history at this point. And we’ve learned enough the last few days to know a big portion of bucks bi sexuality was in tandom with Eddie. There is next to nothing to go off of in terms of things related to Buck Tommy. They have had a single kiss and a bad date. That’s it. Interviews would get like one question out of that and then end of topic.

Yeah, I just don't get the hype 🤷🏻‍♀️ Which is normal, I'm a chronic mono-shipper so I just avoid ships that aren't for me and block tags and such. But it's hard because right now there is a LOT of mis/cross tagging so I'm trying to just stay in my bubble.

But yeah, it's weird that people are both saying this should ONLY be about Buck but are also mad that it's not more about Tommy. He's a side character whose job is to move the plot forward, and there are lots of other storylines going on that are going to get the focus in upcoming weeks, and they haven't shot the last couple episodes yet so what is Oliver supposed to say? If there are only a couple more scenes with him and Lou coming up while the storyline focuses on Madney, Bobby, and Henren, he won't want to spoil them. If they already have maped out where the relationship reaches its natural end, he's not going to spoil that either but also won't want to super hype up a relationship he knows isn't going to last. He HAS made a point to say he hopes Tommy can stick around as a friend which to me says that the cast enjoys working with Lou and the audience has been mostly receptive so it's a good character for the show to keep in their back pocket as a recurring guest.

But Buddie??? Oliver has YEARS of pent up Buddie stuff he didn't feel like he could talk about, especially after FOX shut down the storyline, and that he's talking about it now tells me conversations have been had with him, Ryan, Tim, and the network about what possibilities are open to them and likely a broad timeline/plan. Which is of course, subject to change as we saw with this originally being planned for Eddie but due to actress availability, got shuffled around but I don't think they would be clearing these questions and Oliver especially would be answering so freely if he didn't feel like it's where things are eventually heading. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, I think it's important to remember it's a STORY and so of COURSE people are pulling in threads from previous seasons and connecting the dots because that's what you do with stories. And from the first moment Buck sees Eddie and doesn't quite know what that feeling is that he's getting, it's all been tied up in Eddie, with the show reinforcing that relationship at every turn. Why WOULDN'T people make it about Buddie when the story itself tells us it always has been? I just don't always get the "these stories have to be entirely separate from each other" because beyond all else Buck and Eddie are best friends. Of course their stories are going to include each other and be intertwined! And if Buck is looking at his life with new eyes or Eddie is examining what he actually wants in a partner for himself, why WOULDN'T they examine their relationship with each other since it's the most prominent one they have?

ANYWAY

*i just have a lot of feelings.gif*

#my sweet nonnie friends #911 #buddie

[waspredteeth]

I see a lot of confusion on why calling Damian Wayne "feral" is racist/problematic, so here's a rundown.

There's a difference between calling your child or your younger sibling "feral" and calling a character like Damian "feral." You know your child/sibling/niece/nephew etc. They're real people, and unless they have a problem with it personally, then there's nothing wrong with calling them feral as a joke. It doesn't (shouldn't) affect their perceptions by other people. It doesn't become a label that follows them.

Damian al Ghul-Wayne is a fictional character. A canonically mixed Arab/Chinese/Jewish White character with a history connected to some of the most prominent Arab comic book characters, who themselves also get insanely mischaracterized.

He's constantly whitewashed. He's been written with racist undertones (the suicide bomber vest). He's had his character development and progress backtracked time and time again by DC. DC treats him weirdly most days and completely shitty in the worst stories.

A good majority of fanon hasn't done any better than DC. You cannot pat yourselves on the back for being more inclusive or mental health aware than DC when you call a mixed Arab/Chinese boy "feral". It's constant. You can come up with various titles and nuances for every Bat-character, for every Robin.

Tim can be smart, a skater, a genius, the one holding everyone together, the little brother, the one who needs love. Jason can be cool, morally "right" or "wrong", unstable, PTSD-stricken, the one who was betrayed, the one with Shakespearean tragedies. Dick can be fun, happy, the first one, the prodigal son, the one with complicated history and the big brother.

You give them room for exploration. Love and care and attention and research. Many headcanons. You either comply with canon or you don't, but there's substance to their character.

What does Damian get? He's feral. He's rabid. He's a gremlin. He can't be reasoned with. He has no self-control, he's impulsive. He's hurt others, and you can't forgive it. Sometimes he's homophobic. Or classist. Or plain mean and rude to your favorite boy. He's always carrying a sword. A psychopath with no regard for another's well-being (usually Tim in a lot of fics). He can't be taught what's right.

I've seen people cry that Damian needs to punished or kicked out or treated the same way he's treated others. He needs to be brutalized or talked down to. He can never grow as a person, because he's mean to Tim or Jason, and you need him to exist as the abuser. His first move is always violent.

Fanon compares him to an animal often; he bites, claws, hisses, growls. Bruce or Dick or Jason or Tim have to wrangle him, tame him, civilize him the white man's way in lieu of his brown mother and grandfather who "clearly" raised him wrong. You don't see the issue with that? The issue with always labeling one of the few major brown characters in Batman comics as the unreasonable animal? That the child of color is always the abuser, the instigator, to older characters?

And even if you don't see him this way, you don't write him this way - then are you giving him the care and attention you give for other Bat characters?

Do you know anything else about him other than his "anger"? Because he isn't always angry. In fact, he's typically well-mannered. Quiet even, when he's not being provoked. DC's writing will always vary but whenever Damian lashes out, he's usually written with a reason to act the way he does.

Are you making him intelligent like he should be? A hard believer in redemption? A neglected and abused child who isn't meek or crying or closes himself within? Are you willing to explore that he's always exhibited the "wrong" kind of trauma responses - lashing out, being snippy, ruining relationships, refusing to admit weakness?

Do you write anything about him without making his mother and grandfather comically abusive and violent? Will you give him the supporting cast/friends he actually has? Can you write his dad/siblings interacting with him without making them white saviors or therapy pets? Can you write him without a ship or his love for animals or being vegetarian overshadowing everything?

Is he a character to you at all other than a glorified plot device with a sharp tongue and the convenience of being violent?

#damian wayne #dc #robin #damian wayne meta #dc meta #fandom needs to start interrogating their choices around non-white characters in general but especially when it comes to Batman comics #you may not intend to be racist or ableist or misinformed #but what you put out into the world is going to be seen by everyone #and you should very much reconsider doing things like calling Damian feral and implying he has zero self-control or civilization #or implying Duke is uneducated by hc'ing him with terrible handwriting or making him the “sane” one bc you haven't read any comics w him #or shoving Cassandra into a corner as a perfect unvocal specimen or making her a sentient therapy animal for your favorite white boy #or sexualizing Dick in obscene amounts and making him a “slut” when its against his entire character #its day in day out in this fandom when it comes to snubbing and being utterly wrong about characters of color #fandom critical #damian al ghul #a painted bird called tamer #batman #batman meta #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #cassandra cain #batfanon #bruce wayne

[sillylittlecandlestick]

Sammy pushing away her trauma with that “I've already forgotten” line is so real for a lot of farm kids, like damn.

#no but actually #sammy gutierrez #camp cretaceous #jwcc sammy #jurassic world camp cretaceous #trauma dump in the last few tags #I have a few stories but one of the more prominent ones is when #I was (still am) a vegan and took an agricultural class #(my first mistake) #we had to raise chicks that were going to be killed and I barely remember them despite the fact we were around them daily #I can’t imagine what it’d be like to live these animals like sammy does and not be able to anything but contribute to it #like - thousands of cattle have been through her farm and killed by her parents and grandparents that’s not something she’d just accept #without majorly desensitizing herself to it and justifying it to herself #they could’ve done more with that imo

[eliotlime]

Funnily enough some characters in this list have been redesigned or will be redesigned in the future, I’m mostly just glad that I’ve stuck to my guns long enough to complete this!

Original Template

#png #oh! ages in quotation marks means the ages when they died btw #let the record show if there were anypost i cared about more than others it would be this one #i’ve actually got a few more prominent characters I could put on this list plus i have a buunch more side characters from individual stories #also looking at the dates this seems to be a 6 month long project! wow! although 3 months of that was spent not working on it because school #nawt tagging all of them cause um....... #characters #art #100 oc challenge #100ocschallenge

[meringuejellyfish]

oh my goodness freckles 😭

#i go back and forth on whether or not i give tetia freckles but i had no idea they were actually present in concept art #so wild how none of the apprentices have anything of the sort. #thats sort of just a thing with character design is people just do not quite consider casual facial details like freckles and moles for one #reason or another #at the very least characters get scars but like. it has to be a big story thing or relate to their character in some way #which makes sense because character designs are all about communicating information but still would it hurt to give characters #moles just for the sake of giving a character moles. does everyone have to have a clear face #also wheres the rep for people who ran into a bench when they were 4 and still have a dent on their face? (me #dont even get me started on noses. why does every child have to have a button nose with a select few adults sometimes getting a more #prominent nose. drives me crazy #especially because kamome is very capable of drawing interesting noses (i think about this one docter lady all the time) and its like okay #if the apprentices had different noses id be forever happy. #allisters atelier

[lavenderjewels]

I’m too busy rn to write a whole thing on my thoughts on this jjk chapter (now it’s officially translated and out) but it’ll be good to have more time to sit on it

#soooo busy but having real life be so hectic actually helps lol bc I’m not too sad or angry about the chapter #maybe I would’ve been a few years ago when I. cared more about media in general but school and life is too much to add that on top haha #saying this as if any chapter w yuuji focus won’t crush my heart completely :( #buuuuut thinking about the chapter rn #don’t like how we got to gojo dying. or how the time skip is placed. bc those questions have to get answered #but I would’ve preferred some to be sooner than later. or at least more time w gojos internal thoughts that aren’t fight related #I do love the actual airport state of death scene. those in between states are my FAVORITE in jjk #and imo nothing seems ooc I like how the scene can be interpreted in many ways #love that nanami gets to be so prominent too. it’s fitting #I don’t really care about gojo being ‘offscreened’ since the flashback was him dying #but yeah all my issues are things that I think could’ve been solved in previous chapters but this one in itself is fine #also how I view all this depends on where the story goes ofc but I’m just here for the ride #jjk spoilers #jjk 236 #need to reiterate this but mark my words that next chapter is just kashimo fight #I’ve known jjk long enough to understand there’s never breathing room when it comes to any deaths 😭

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #chani kynes #paul atreides #adaptation #dune spoilers

[murdrdocs]

yknow what…….. you should elaborate more on after shows w/ rockstar bf hobie……

mhm ik what ur asking for ... and i will deliver fem!reader

he always comes off the stage drenched in sweat. a bright look in his eyes, prominent cheekbones glowing with happiness instead of just sweat. he chats to a few people on the way down, dapping them up as he goes, and you stand just a little bit away, rocking back and forth on your feet, playing with the rings hobie's gotten you, gnawing on your lip as he gets closer, and closer, and closer.

until sweat-slickened hands are pulling you into him by the waist, your hands finding the cotton of his muscle tee. he asks you the same question that he always does ("what'd you think?"), and you give the same answer as always ("was amazing") and then he kisses you, just like he always does.

there's some more time where he's dragged into different places, his hand in yours as you walk behind him, then his hands on your hips as he walks you in front of him. he talks to his mates, fingers tapping along the denim of your skirt, angular jaw resting on your shoulder and you can practically feel the anticipation buzzing from his body.

you finally end up outside, under a streetlight with your backs against the wall of the pub. hobie smokes a cig while he listens to you tell him about what the show looked like from your end, something he makes you do as he values your opinion (though he says it like it doesn't matter but his attentive eyes say otherwise).

the last drag is taken, you've finished your spiel, hobie stomps the butt out into the asphalt with his boots, and then his hands are pulling you into him, slender fingers hooking into your belt loops to encourage the movement.

your hands collide with his chest, he stares down at you, dark eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips, and then his lips are on yours.

it's usually like this, intensely making out just steps away from where he'd performed, a few feet away from where he'd laid almost all of his heart and soul out, always leaving just enough left to give to you.

your back ends up against the wall and hobie crowds your space. he tastes like cigarettes, and a little like beer, with a tinge of the gum you'd given him when he'd asked for it a few minutes ago. he smells like you, and like him, a mixture that works more than it should.

his hands are warm and rough when they meet your thighs, thumbs on the innermost parts of your skin. they dig into the flesh in a silent command to spread your legs more, one you easily obey. it gives access for hobie's deft fingers to push your panties aside.

he takes a step closer, his head dips down, he pecks your cheek. "d'you want me to stop?" it's always the same question, formatted slightly different each time.

and each time, you shake your head.

there are some nights where you just talk, his arm slung around your waist, your head rested somewhere on his chest or shoulders, a cigarette either between his lips or fingers as he tells you stories that he somehow hasn't told you before. those nights end with you back at either of your places, in a position similar to this one.

but there are other nights, most nights if you're honest, where hobie looked so good on stage from your perspective, and he had adrenaline pumping through his veins that couldn't be quelled with spiderman duties, and neither of you could wait to get home so the side of a pub was the next best place.

his fingers work you in ways that only he can do, and as you start to unravel from his ministrations, you don't have any worries about being seen because you know that in the off chance that would happen, hobie would handle it. he always does.

#hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x you #hobie brown #celeste writes mcu #spider man: across the spider verse #hobiesworld!

[angelltheninth]

Can you plz plz write a smut where Mike takes readers virginity and they are kind of innocent

Sure thing, my Mike brainrot is still going strong.

Pairing: Michael Afton/Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, virginity loss, kissing, body worship, praise, gentle sex, soft!Michael Afton

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: He would be the softest lover in the world, have you seen this man?!

Michael sat right across from you on the bed, his boner prominent despite his nervous glances at your equally naked body. Tonight was supposed to be perfect, at least according to him, perfect date, perfect drive home, perfect ambiance for the first time you'd have sex with him, or anyone really.

"The candles are too much aren't they?"

"Mike."

"Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have gotten them!"

"Mike."

"I wanted it to be all romantic for you, it's your first-"

"Michael!" You cupped his face in your hands, cutting off the rant he was bout to go on. He looked so cute like that, eyes big and wide and lips pressed together. "It's fine, I think it's very romantic. Very movie cliché of you, but I like that side of you."

Michael couldn't help but blush at your compliments of him, taking your hands in his and rubbing his thumbs over them. "That's good, cause I gotta be honest, I only did it cause I saw it in a movie and it looked pretty." He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, "I only want the best for my gorgeous girlfriend." His cock pulsed when it met your wet pussy which pressed it against his abs more and more the closer you got.

"And that's why I love you." Your lips meet in a deep kiss as your arms fell over his broad shoulders. You kept rocking your hips against his cock, your clit constantly rubbing against the length, "Second drawer, I wanna come on your cock first."

"Do you baby? You want it?" He asked between each kiss as he moved you both backwards, his hand blindly moving to get the box of condoms, "Wanna put this on me?" Of course that meant you needed to move way from him but it was worth it to see him tear the package open with his mouth. "Lubed up on the outside."

You rolled your eyes as you took the rubber, "I know, I've had the same health class as you Mike."

"Yeah, that's what I worry about. I've had to learn from practice." And based on the stories he told you there was a lot of mishaps in his previous relationships. Although not from his lack of sexual province, rather from the lack of time he could dedicate to his girlfriend. But now he finally had a stable job, one that allowed him to spend more nights with you and actually afford a babysitter for his sister.

"You don't have to flaunt your experience at me. Besides I'm a very fast learner."

"I'm not- I just don't want you to feel pressured here. You can lean back and le-et me-!" Michael's eyes fluttered open and closed as you held his cock still with one hand and pulled the condom on it with the other. There was no way you were gonna look him in the eyes right now. "You... that's fine."

It was almost a shame to let him go, even through the rubber you could still feel every vein on his cock, pulsing at your touch, "This fees very different than toys." It was a lot better, seeing him almost shaking with excitement as he pushed you down and lined up but didn't put it in, instead he ran his hands up to your breasts and took one nipple into his mouth.

You could see all the muscles in his taunt back working as he moved little by little, "I want to make you feel good. This pretty body of yours, I want to know all the places that will make your eyes roll back, get you to make all the sexy noises for me." He released your stiff nipple with a wet pop, moving to the other, "Thank you for trusting me enough to be your first. I'm gonna try not to hurt you, so tell me if it feels bad and I can pull out okay? This is all on you."

"Mike... okay, I'm ready, I want to be one with you, please make me feel good." Mike gave your breasts a few more kisses before kissing you right as he pushed forward, sheathing himself inside you in one go, bodies and mouth pressed against each other, it was the only thing you could do to keep your voice down as you felt yourself get stretched and filled up by a real cock for the first time.

"Are you hurt? You're not saying anything..."

"Only stings a little. But I think I'm okay. Hold on... let me try to- oh!" Your forehead fell against his when you felt his cock react to your pussy fluttering around him, "Oh my god. Okay... maybe... pull out a little?" His hands moved down, holding you just above your waist, his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he pulled back. "Not all the way!"

"Ah! Sorry. It's okay, take all the time you need, I'm here." He couldn't do anything but stare at you, feeling his cock enveloped in your warmth again as you pushed him closer with your legs, once again taking all of him.

The clenching of your pussy pulled him deeper, letting him sink in all the way, fully bottomed out inside you. You kept pulling him close every time he pulled out too much for your liking, now that you knew what it felt like to have Michael's cock inside you it was hard to imagine you could every feel as good without it. He got the message, keeping most of it in with fast, but shallow thrusts, focused on the way you mewled past your tight lips, how your nailed raked down his back and pulled him even closer.

"Feels good to have you this deep." You kissed his cheek, his stubble scratching your lips but you didn't care, he could shave a little after. Besides the stubble made him look hotter in your opinion. "Can you... thrust a little faster, I'm getting close."

"What ever you need babygirl." He picked up the pace as he intertwined his fingers with yours and kissed your ring finger gently, almost dreamily as your pussy came with his cock deep inside you. "You feel amazing, that's it, keep that pussy tight for me." Michael wasn't far behind you, and while you could feel his cock pulse and his hips stutter, you were deprived of the feeling of his cum, caught by the condom instead. "Ahaha, don't be disappointed sweetheart, we gotta be careful with this stuff."

"I know." You almost whined but calmed down when he nuzzled the tip of his nose to yours, "I wonder what it feels like though, to have your cum inside me."

"You'll find out some day." As quickly as those words left his mouth he hid his blushing face in the pillow, "I-If you want that of course."

That sounded a lot like he just asked you if you wanted to have kids one day. "That'd be nice."

#fnaf x reader #fnaf smut #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #michael afton x reader #mike schmidt x reader #michael afton #mike schmidt #micheal afton x reader #fnaf headcanon #fnaf imagine #fnaf x you #mike schmidt x you #michael afton smut #mike schmidt smut #x female reader

[froggibus]

The Three Times You Share A Bed - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff, some light angst thrown in towards the end?

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: two times you sleep in leon's bed, and the one time he sleeps in yours

CW: roommate! Leon, kinda friends to lovers?, light angst, abandonment issues, paranoia, fear + insomnia, mentions of zombies, bedsharing, leon has intimacy issues (get therapy challenge)

OMG HAPPY RE4 RELEASE!!! I am SO excited to play once im done work this weekend! Leon looks so damn fine in the gameplay ive seen and i am going FERAL! pls no spoilers for anything new in the game! <3

RE4 remake spoiler free zone!! I have yet to play the remake so there are no spoilers in this!

————

The telltale clicking of a key in the door has you on your feet in seconds, abandoning the plush throw blanket on the couch. Before it even opens, you’re standing on the doormat. You feel a little silly, like a golden retriever waiting for its owner, but the shame is washed away when Leon steps through the door.

It’s been three weeks since you’ve last seen your roommate and best friend, and just as long since you last had company. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you standing in front of him, the dark circles under his eyes becoming more prominent. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He sighs and drops his backpack on the floor, locking the door behind him.

“How was it?”

You fight the urge to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and inhale his scent, knowing that’s not what friends do. Still, the feeling is there and if he went in for it, you’d reciprocate in a heartbeat.

He opens the fridge and beams at the fully stocked drinks and snacks. He cracks open a can of cider and leans against the counter. “Long,” he admits, “way too long. And my nose is still burning from the smell of rotten flesh.” You crinkle your nose at the thought. Leon’s never been much of a talker and most of his work being classified didn’t help. Whenever something wasn’t top secret, though, you were sure to sit there and listen no matter how horrific the details were.

You settle in on the couch next to the agent, listening to him drone on about a zombie-like creature that had peeling flesh and fifty eyes. You could vividly picture it from his words alone, and the image of the creature sent a shiver up your spine.

Leon talks for hours, spilling every miniscule detail of every horror he encounters. You stay the whole time, nodding along. Leon laughs at the way you scrunch your face in disgust or close your eyes in fear. He hates how cute you are, but he can’t seem to stop telling you stories. After many hours and a few drinks between the two of you, he’s almost run out of stories to tell.

Leon pats your shoulder gently, collecting his cans from where he’d set them on the coffee table. “I need a shower,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.”

“Go shower. You stink,” you joke and punch him in the ribs.

He feigns injury at your blow, pretending to suck in a breath like you’d really hurt him. He keeps up the facade the whole way to his bedroom, only leaving character when he shuts the door behind him.

It’s only when he’s disappeared that you realize how late it's gotten—and how dark. Even though your shared apartment is on the 19th floor, you can’t help but worry something is going to crawl through your window. You shake the thoughts away and get ready for bed, but every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes you flinch.

You close your eyes and tug your comforter over your head, hoping that if there is something out there, it won’t know you’re there. You toss and turn for a while longer, staying dead quiet and pushing your fears away.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You take a deep breath, throw your comforter off of your shoulders, and sprint to Leon’s room. It’s like your brain is on autopilot—it knows exactly where to go to be safe.

You don’t knock on the door, instead quietly twisting the knob and slipping in through a crack in the door. Leon sits up as soon as your feet touch the wooden floor, eyes snapping towards your silhouette. He’s been a light sleeper ever since Racoon City, waking at the slightest of sounds.

He relaxes at the sight of you but only for a second. He glances at his digital clock, eyes widening at the time. “Y/n? What are you still doing up?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep…I feel like a flesh eating zombie is going to climb through my window and eat me.”

He chuckles. “That would be my fault.” He shuffles over in bed and pulls back the comforter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night.”

You crawl into bed next to him, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. You can feel his body heat radiating through the blankets and smell his body wash on his skin. The feeling is new, yet so familiar it eases you instantly.

“Leon?”

He hums in response.

“Is it safer to sleep next to the window or the door? From like, a secret agent standpoint.”

“We’re on the 19th floor so window, but unless it's a hotel room, the door. You would more than likely hear it if they broke down the front door so you’d have more time to get out.”

You think for a second. “Can we switch places?”

“Honestly, y/n,” he laughs dryly, “the safest place to sleep right now is next to me.”

Your face warms at that and you nod, relaxing into his pillows. While you drift off to sleep, Leon watches over you. He knows nothing is going to come for you here, but he did promise to keep you safe, and he’ll keep that promise no matter what.

—

When you get home, you’re in a foul mood. You practically throw the groceries onto the counter before walking to your room and throwing yourself onto your bed. It’s been a long day. All of the stores were so busy you could hardly get through the aisles, and all of the people you encountered were rude.

Leon comes out of his room a few minutes later. Seeing the groceries abandoned on the counter, his first thought is to check on you. He doesn’t check on you, though. Not yet, anyway. He knows you’ll just be more upset if the frozen items melt and the milk sits out all night, so he sets out on putting them away.

After almost an hour of laying in your bed trying to recuperate after the day you’ve had, you’re snapped out of it by a text.

Leon: Come here, I have a surprise for you

You don’t feel like leaving your bed, but you force yourself out of it anyway. It’s not Leon you’re mad at. Leon is probably the only person in the world you don’t hate right now. You knock on his door softly, holding your arms behind your back.

“Come in!” He shouts.

You open the door, shuffling into his room and closing it behind you. Your jaw drops when you see a tray in the middle of his bed piled high with your favorite snacks, drinks and two wine glasses. Leon pats the spot next to him and you’re happy to oblige, relaxing onto the mattress.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

He shrugs, pouring you a glass of wine. “It already seems like you had a bad day, I just wanted to do something to make it a little better for you.”

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, turning on his tv and handing you the remote. “You can choose the first movie. Just—maybe no zombies?”

You snort at that. Classic Leon, using his corny jokes to make light of even the worst of situations. You settle on an old favorite movie you love, handing the remote back to the blond and switching it for a wine glass.

Between your favorite movie, the delicious wine and your favorite snacks, your spirits are lifted in no time. One movie turns into two, and two turns into three. Soon enough, you’re dozing off in Leon’s bed.

He moves the tray of snacks and the glasses off of the bed to give you more room to sprawl out. Laying down next to you, he watches you sleep. A part of him wishes he could see this every night—the same sight he fantasizes about on even the hardest of missions.

He flicks off the lamp on his side table and settles in. “Good night, cutie,” he mumbles, knowing you’re far too deep in sleep to hear him.

—

You wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight streaming through the window and illuminating Leon’s bedroom. You’re still numb from sleep, your senses dulled just enough that it takes you a minute to realize that something is grabbing you. No, not grabbing—holding. 

You blink a few times. Leon is laying next to you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms around your waist. You can feel the slow beating of his heart and the heat coming off of his skin. He’s so close it overwhelms you, yet it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You think about slipping away but you know what a light sleeper he is, and you don’t think you could handle it if he woke up and saw how close you were. You close your eyes and try to calm the beating in your heart so you can fall back asleep.

When you wake up again, Leon is gone. Your body feels cold where his once was. You sit up—is he showering? He can’t be, the bathroom door is open. You sit up, letting the blankets fall off of you. You swing your legs over the side of his bed, walking out to the kitchen, but he’s not there either.

Did he leave to go get something? 

You check your phone, expecting to see a text saying he ran out to go get more milk or something, but there’s nothing. You sigh, typing up a message and sending it to him.

Y/N: where’d you go?

You practically jump when your phone lets out a noise, but your heart sinks when you see what it is.

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

You sigh. That can only mean one thing: he’s on another mission. Typical Leon, disappearing in the middle of the night to go god knows where for god knows how long. The frustration bubbles up in your chest and you feel like hitting something, but you don’t. It’s not worth it.

You try to keep your mind off of his sudden disappearance by throwing yourself into chores. You wash his bedding and make his bed, then wash your own. You sweep and mop the floors and vacuum the carpets. You dust the blinds.

It doesn’t help.

Your mind keeps wandering back to the fact that he left without saying goodbye. That he woke up at some ungodly hour, saw you laying in his arms, got up and left without another word. He didn’t even leave a note. He really cares that little. 

You shake your head and even though the pit in your stomach makes you feel like not eating, you make yourself a sandwich regardless. Seeing the untouched groceries in the fridge just adds to the feeling.

Even though you know he’s not going to get it, you pull out your phone and start typing.

Y/N: do you at least know when you’ll be back?

Message Not Delivered. Try Again?

The message makes you roll your eyes. Leon fucking Kennedy.

—

A week goes by, and then two, and you still hear nothing from your roommate. You send texts here and there, hoping for an answer, but none of them go through. Eventually, you start venting to him through there, too. Expressing how frustrated you are that he didn’t say goodbye, how annoying your feelings are, how sometimes you wish you didn’t know him so you didn’t have to go through this.

It’s a random Sunday night when you’re sitting on the couch, watching trash reality tv and eating snacks. It’s cold in the apartment, but you can’t be bothered to turn on the heat. Only when your arms puff up with goosebumps do you scour the room for a sweater, settling on a random one hanging on the back of a chair.

It’s Leon’s, an old one from the Police Academy. His smell floods your nose when you pull it over your head, and it's so bittersweet you don’t know if you should laugh or cry. You settle back on the couch, but a rustling at the window makes you freeze in your tracks.

It stops for a moment, and you can almost convince yourself you’ve imagined it or it’s a part of the show—until it happens again. You scramble for the remote, pausing it so you can hear better. The noise starts again, and you waste no time in hightailing it to your bedroom and slamming the door behind you.

You flop onto your bed, trying (and failing) to remind yourself that it’s just the wind. That you’re safe here. But it’s hard when it’s late and you’re tired and you’re alone and the only person you feel safe with just abandoned you.

You curl up into a ball, pulling Leon’s sweater over your mouth and inhaling the familiar scent. It’s enough to calm you down, if only for a few moments. If you close your eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking he’s there, and for now, that’s good enough.

—

Leon knows he fucked up when he gets back to the country and turns on his phone. Almost fifty messages from you, each one more sad than the last. He wants to slap himself—why couldn’t he just grow a pair and say goodbye? Why did he have to be so noncommittal?

He reads every message on the cab ride back to the apartment, and his heart breaks for you. He didn’t think about how you would drive yourself crazy over him or how worried you must have been. All he thought about was getting the call for the mission in the middle of the night and not wanting to wake you up.

But he didn’t abandon you. He thought about you every day and god—he wishes he could have talked to you. Hearing your voice and seeing your face was enough to make everything better. With the horrors he’s seen lately, all he wants is to be back in that bed with you for one more night.

He’s quiet coming into the apartment, hoping he doesn’t wake you up or scare you. And even though he knows you’re sleeping, he’s still disappointed you’re not waiting at the door for him.

He tosses his backpack into his room and strips off all of his holsters and velcro.  He’s quiet walking down the hallway to your room and even quieter opening the door. He relaxes at the sight of you curled up in a ball. 

You look so cute and so peaceful and—is that his sweater? The sight brings a smile to his face. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, climbing into the bed next to you.

You wake up when the bed dips down and arms wrap around you. You’re so tired you don’t even care who or what it is.

“If you’re gonna kill me, can you at least let me sleep first?” You mumble.

You fully awake as soon as you hear Leon’s laugh.

“You’re back?” You say, and you hate the way your voice cracks. 

You turn around to face him, tired ocean eyes meeting yours. He nods sleepily, “‘m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. It was stupid of me.”

“It’s okay,” and it really is okay. All the resentment you felt melted away at the sight of him. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles. 

You lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him. You can hear his heart rate slow down at the contact. 

“I just—I just need you tonight.” Those are big words coming from the agent, and they leave you completely stunned. He must have seen or done something horrible while he was away for him to be this vulnerable, even with you.

“You can have me tonight.” You try to keep your voice even, “you can have me whenever you need me,”

He kisses the top of your head. “But I always need you.”

“Then I’m always yours.”

Neither of you speak after that, Leon falling into a light sleep. You stay up a while longer, watching the blond boy rest beneath you. He looks so fragile like this, you can’t imagine him fighting off monsters and handling weapons. You kiss his collarbone through his shirt and let yourself fall asleep with him. 

#resident evil angst #resident evil fluff #resident evil #re4 leon #resident evil 4 #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #x you #x reader

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [13]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

A/N: Listen to 'Nobody else' by Ailee while reading this part to enhance the feels. It was on repeat for me as I wrote this story.

Part 12 | Fic Masterlist | Part 14

"Are you out of your goddamned mind? Among all the eligible women in the nation, you want the General Park Seonghwa's wife? Don't be absurd, Yeosang. They are devoted to one another and will be set to marry, as arranged by your father, His Majesty."

With a shake of her head, the Queen rubbed her temples, realising her fourth son was merely playing with her. She should have known better than to believe he would genuinely consider settling down.

"I'm serious, Mother. Don't you want me to marry?" The prince pressed, locking eyes with the elderly woman as she sighed, "Of course, I want you to marry, but not at the expense of upsetting the King's most trusted warrior. It's not feasible, my son."

As much as Her Majesty would love to entertain the idea of her son's sudden willingness to marry, she couldn't ignore the reality that going against her husband's decision was not possible. While she, as the Queen, held certain influence, especially in matters of marriage, the obstacle lay in your existing betrothal to General Park. Moreover, the deep love between you and the general was widely known.

There was no doubt that Seonghwa would raise hell if he found out about the prince's intentions of stealing his beloved from him. Even Yeosang would not be safe from his wrath by then, especially when the King was known to favour him more than his own son.

"But Mother—"

Not wanting to hear another word that could only exacerbate the conflict within her, she raised a hand to silence him, "Enough is enough, my son. None of this will happen. Besides, I am scheduled to meet the general and his wife for their wedding arrangements in a moment. I will not interfere with their marriage just because you—"

Before she could elaborate, the eunuch came stumbling in with wide eyes, "Your Majesty! The meeting with General Park and Lady Park has been cancelled; word has just gotten out that there is to be a war with Ruhon, and the general will be deployed in just a few days."

Caught off guard by the sudden revelation, Her Majesty was momentarily speechless, but she quickly composed herself and nodded, "Thank you, Eunuch Hwang. If that is all, you are dismissed."

The Queen couldn't ignore the sly grin on her son's face and shook her head, "This does not change anything, Yeosang. He may be going to war for some time, but his wife remains loyal to him."

"And if she doesn't?" He pressed on, a challenging brow raised.

She scoffed in disbelief at his words, "Do you even hear yourself? Must you pursue someone who is already unavailable?"

"Look, I understand your concerns about not wanting to upset Father, but if I can get Miss Jang to change her mind and choose me over the general, will I have your blessing then, Your Majesty?"

The mother of the nation found herself caught in conflicting emotions, torn between the desire for her son to finally settle down and the undeniable realisation that pursuing Lady Park was unequivocally wrong.

On one hand, the prospect of Yeosang embracing matrimony brought a flicker of hope to her heart. The elusive hope that her most rebellious son might, at last, find stability and commitment. The idea of him building a family, continuing the royal lineage, and securing the future of the Joseon dynasty appealed to her innate maternal instincts. This potential change in his life could be the remedy to the constant worry she harboured for him.

Yet, on the other hand, she grappled with the ethical dilemma of her son pursuing a woman who was already promised to another. The Queen, as the matriarch of the royal family, couldn't possibly condone or endorse actions that went against the principles of commitment and fidelity.

The conflicting emotions played out on her face as she considered the implications of her son's request. The desire for him to find happiness warred with the understanding that it should not come at the expense of another's commitment and love.

"Mother, were you listening? I said—"

With a heavy sigh, she fixed him with a stern gaze, "I heard you loud and clear, Yeosang. Go ahead and try all you want; I know nothing I say can stop you anyway. But don't be too disappointed when you realise she remains faithful to the one who saved her from a life of misery and has given her more love than anyone ever had. It's a losing game, and you know it, my son."

He grinned, "You know I love a challenge, Mother. She will be mine before you know it. Say all the righteous words you want; deep down, I know you want this as much as I do. That's alright, I'll be the bad guy, just as I always have been."

After smirking at his mother's apparent internal struggle, the prince left her chambers, feeling satisfied with the reaction he had provoked. He knew he had indirectly obtained her silent approval, allowing him to pursue you despite her vocal disapproval.

Pressing a palm against her forehead, the Queen muttered to herself, "Oh god, what have I done?" She was well aware that the King would not be pleased if he learned about the potential chaos that could unfold due to Yeosang's pursuit of the general's wife. The conflicting emotions within her only deepened, and she dreaded the consequences of the choices she had indirectly allowed him to make.

Meanwhile, at the general's estate, a sombre atmosphere prevailed as Jongho and Eunsook swiftly briefed all staff members about their master's imminent departure.

Although it wasn't the first time they experienced him leaving for war, it marked the first time with the new mistress around. The servants couldn't help but empathise with you, recognising that you had only recently joined the household, and now, your husband would be embarking on a lengthy absence, leaving you alone at home.

Contrary to their expectations, you appeared to be handling the news more gracefully than any of them had anticipated. The only difference in your demeanour would be the heightened display of affection. While the general typically initiated physical closeness, you became less reserved than usual. Perhaps you were cherishing every moment with him before his departure, given the uncertainty of his return.

During dinner that evening, your attention was solely devoted to looking after your husband. You carefully filled his bowl with all his favourite dishes. Whenever his long fringe obscured his vision, you instinctively reached out to delicately brush the strands away from his face, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek. The servants couldn't help but notice the unwavering gaze fixed upon him, already discerning a sense of longing in your eyes.

Eunsook had explicitly ordered that no one bothered the master and mistress after the meal, making sure that you could spend undisturbed time together. The maids were instructed to only appear when summoned.

As a result, you found yourself comfortably nestled in Seonghwa's arms within your pavilion, gazing out at the moonlit lotus pond before you, relishing in the tranquil atmosphere. Millions of thoughts coursed through both of your minds, yet neither of you spoke, preserving the serene mood.

You couldn't resist smiling in his embrace as he traced butterfly kisses from your forehead, along the side of your face, down to your neck. A small giggle escaped your lips at the ticklish sensation, and he grinned playfully. He kissed you on the ear before whispering, "Hey, Lady Park, do you want to know a secret?"

Looking up at him through squinted eyes, there was a hint of suspicion in your gaze, "What secret could you possibly be hiding from me, General Park?"

He chuckled as you played along, leaning in to murmur in your ear, "I haven't told you this before, but... I love you, my wife."

Your heart skipped a beat at hearing those three words from your husband for the first time. Seonghwa pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours and staring deeply into your eyes. Reaching up, you cupped his face with your small hands. Your heart fluttered when he kissed your palm before nestling his cheek against it again.

Braving the moment, you planted a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise, accustomed to being the initiator, but he quickly broke into a smile, closing his eyes and responding to your kiss.

In that moment, both of you cast aside thoughts of the impending war, choosing to concentrate solely on each other. His breath caught when you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. This act of boldness was new for you, but he welcomed it, tightening his hold around you.

As your lips finally parted for air, he enveloped you in a tight hug, his larger frame securely holding you. With a hand cradling the back of your head, he nuzzled his nose against your neck, committing the sensation of you in his arms to memory. It was a moment he wished could last forever.

You held him just as tightly, burying your face against his shoulder and savouring the warmth, not knowing when you would be held like this again once he leaves.

After a moment, he withdrew slightly to meet your gaze, "Wait, I just told you that I love you. Are you not going to say it back to me, Lady Park?"

With a mischievous shake of your head, you playfully stuck out your tongue, prompting him to burst into laughter. Softening your expression, you responded, "If you want to hear me say it back to you, General Park, then you'll have to come back to me safely."

He turned serious, nodding with a determined smile, "You know, I used to approach wars as if they were just games. Dying didn't matter, and I had nothing to lose. But for the first time, I'm afraid... because now I have something worth living for. It's you, my love. I promise you I will do everything in my power to return to you."

"Good afternoon, my lord." Physician Jung bowed respectfully upon entering the general's study after being summoned.

Seonghwa looked up, acknowledging the taller male's presence, "Ah yes, you're here, Yunho. Please take a seat." He gestured towards one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk.

"Have you called me over to officially dismiss me? I'm aware Lady Park's treatment is almost done; perhaps you'd like to relieve me of my duty sooner." The doctor inquired as he sat, contemplating whether he should start packing up if that was the case.

Releasing a small sigh, your husband shook his head, "No, that's not why I called you—"

"Yah, Park Seonghwa. You better have a good reason for summoning me over so soon. Your wife's next batch of clothes is never going to be ready on time if you keep calling me over for every little thing..." Hongjoong blinked as he sauntered in, surprised to see the doctor also present and not missing the general's serious expression.

"Oh dear, I know that look. What is it?" The dressmaker winced, moving over to sit down beside Yunho.

Pressing his head into his hands, Seonghwa took a deep breath before addressing the matter, "I won't beat around the bush," Raising his head, he finally met his friends' gazes, "There is an imminent war with Ruhon, and I will be deployed to the war zone in just a few days."

Hongjoong and Yunho exchanged glances, shock etched on their faces. It had been a while since the last war, and the unexpected news hit them with a wave of concern. The government had done an excellent job of keeping such matters under wraps to prevent panic among the citizens.

After a moment of shared silence, the dressmaker leaned back in his chair, a troubled frown etched on his face, "A war? How did this come about? I thought we were in a period of relative stability."

The physician, equally perplexed, chimed in, "And so soon after your marriage. It's... unprecedented."

Your husband sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, "I was just as blindsided by the news. His Majesty called me for an emergency meeting yesterday. It seems our diplomatic efforts with Ruhon have failed, and war is inevitable."

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Hongjoong's eyes widened with realisation, "Wait, that means your wedding ceremony..." He trailed off, feeling the weight of the situation sink in. His expression softened with genuine sympathy, and he spoke with a heavy heart, "Oh no... I'm so sorry, my friend."

Seonghwa nodded appreciatively at his friend's understanding, acknowledging the unspoken disappointment. Collecting himself from the initial shock, Yunho, always the practical one, voiced out, "Then you must have called us here for a good reason. What can we do for you, general?"

"Thank you, both of you. I summoned you not only to share the news but because I need your help. While I'm away, I want to ensure that my wife is well taken care of. Hongjoong, please continue overseeing her wardrobe and comforts. Also, work your magic and cheer her up for me when she's down. Yunho, unfortunately, I'm going to need you to stay here and ensure she receives the best medical attention. I understand this limits you from accepting other patients, but I promise we will compensate you for your dedication."

His friends readily agreed without hesitation. The dressmaker turned serious, "Don't worry, I'll visit more frequently to keep her company," The doctor nodded in agreement, "And I'll stay for as long as you need, my lord. Lady Park will receive the best care."

"I appreciate it, you two. I'll trust you to keep an eye on her while I'm away." Your husband said, feeling a bit relieved, knowing he could count on them to support you in his absence.

The next few days passed in a blur as you spent nearly every waking second with your husband. Daytimes were filled with endless conversations in his study, discussing anything and everything, while late evenings were cherished in your pavilion, holding each other close and sharing affectionate kisses.

Even if it wasn't a honeymoon, it felt like one.

The imminent war and Seonghwa's unavoidable departure were like an unspoken presence in the room, always lingering in your minds. However, neither of you dared to address it, choosing instead to talk about anything but the impending separation.

You started questioning whether it was the right choice not to express your love for him as well. What if he never returned? The thought of regret lingered, and you couldn't shake off the fear that he might not make it back alive. Despite his skills as a fighter, the harsh reality was that he was only human, and the uncertainties of the battlefield weighed heavily on your heart.

Spending another evening in your pavilion, you shifted slightly within his embrace and looked up at him. Your heart clenched at the sight of the worry etched on his face. Self-doubt crept in as you considered the selfishness of your actions. While he prepared to face the dangers of war, you would be waiting in the safety of your shared home. How could you deny him the reassurance of hearing your love in return after he had opened his heart to you?

Lifting your hand to gently cup his cheek, you prompted him to meet your gaze, "Seonghwa, there's something I need to tell you before you leave... I—"

Before you could finally utter those three words back to him, Jongho hurriedly approached, "Sir! Oh gosh, I apologise for the interruption!"

The general sighed and shook his head, straightening up as he turned to his assistant with a wry smile, "What is it?"

Bowing deeply, the younger man gulped before delivering the news, "Sir, the base at the war site has been set up. General Officer Song is already there and ready to begin strategising. You are expected to travel there at your soonest convenience."

Your heart sank at the realisation that the moment of departure had arrived. You felt your husband let out a shaky breath and tighten his hold around you as he inquired, "I understand. Are my belongings all packed and transportation prepared?"

With a grim expression, Jongho nodded, "Yes, sir. Everything is ready to go. All that's left is you."

"Guess it's time for me to go, my love."

The sound of your heart pounding in your ears drowned out any other noise as Seonghwa got suited up. You accompanied him, silently witnessing the transformation of the man you loved into the formidable general the nation needed. Every clink of his armour resonated with the weight of his duty, the heavy responsibility that he shouldered willingly.

The urgency was palpable. He was the linchpin of the military, and his immediate presence was required. It felt like a luxury that you had a few extra days to spend with him, but now, the inevitable farewell loomed, and the time had come for him to go.

Watching him clad in his armour, fear settled in the depths of your being. Your husband, the man you cherished, was about to embark on a perilous journey, risking his life to defend his country. The gravity of the situation sank in, and the ache in your heart intensified. You couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of dread, envisioning the horrors he might face on the battlefield.

Preparing for the farewell, you tried to muster the strength to bid him goodbye, but the lump in your throat made it difficult to find words. The separation weighed on you, and the air was thick with the unspoken anguish that enveloped both of you.

It was well past your usual bedtime when he was fully prepared to leave for the war zone. Standing at the entrance of the general's estate on a chilly night, you sent him off to work, a routine you had grown accustomed to. Only this time, the circumstances were vastly different. You had no idea when, or if, he would return. The concept of him leaving for war felt abstract until this very moment, seeing him before you in the dignified attire of a military commander.

You fought to hold back your tears as he drew closer, enveloping you in a cloak to shield you from the cold breeze, "It's cold out here, my love. You better head in soon to catch up on some rest. While I'm away, you must take care of yourself, alright? If you're bored, summon Hongjoong, and he'll keep you entertained. If you're feeling even the least bit unwell, Yunho will be around."

His heart clenched at the sight of your tears trickling down your cheeks, and he swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Leaving you was proving to be much harder than he had anticipated. Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around you one last time, holding you close as he breathed in your scent, "God, I love you so much."

Jongho and Eunsook watched with pain in their eyes as you shared your final embrace. With no choice, one of the waiting coachmen reluctantly cleared his throat, "General, I hate to break you up, but we really must go."

Feeling him start to pull away, you panicked and clutched his arms, speaking through sobs, "W-wait, before you go... I just... I really want to th-thank you for everything you've done for me since my arrival. Thank you for accepting me, for s-seeing the beauty in me, for protecting m-me. I will f-forever be grateful, and I... Seonghwa, I lo—"

Your words were silenced by the familiar sensation of his lips firmly pressing against yours. The kiss carried the saltiness of your tears and perhaps a bit of his as well. Pulling away just enough for his lips to lightly brush against yours, he whispered, "No, don't say it. I want to hear it when I come home to you."

Smiling through your tears, you nodded.

Pleased, he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, murmuring a soft, "Good girl," before shifting his gaze to his assistant and head maid, signalling with a nod that it was now their responsibility to look after you. The two bowed deeply in acknowledgement.

With a heavy heart, he reluctantly stepped away, the anxious sounds of his soldiers' boots tapping against the ground filling the air, "I'm afraid I really must go. I'll see you again, my love."

Despite the ache in your chest, you managed to beam encouragingly at him, "Go, our country needs you. I'll be right here waiting for you." It took every ounce of strength for the general to turn away, fighting the urge to look back, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist running back to you.

As the carriage rolled away, disappearing from view, you did your best to hold back your tears until the very last moment. Once it was out of sight, you sank to the ground, the weight of reality crashing down on you. Jongho and Eunsook rushed to your side, supporting you as you struggled to stand. With their help, you made your way back into the estate, the silent sobs finally escaping as you clung to the memories of the last moments with your husband.

I love you too, Park Seonghwa.

« Preview of Part 14 »

"Come on, Lady Park, don't be too down. Your husband didn't earn the reputation of the most formidable general in all of Joseon for no reason, you know? I've witnessed him in action enough times to vouch for his skills. He'll be just fine."

A giggle escaped your lips at Hongjoong's attempt to lighten the mood. He guided you around town, aiming to distract you from your concerns about Seonghwa. Two maids followed behind, ready to assist you and the dressmaker with any purchases.

He led you to areas of the town you had not yet explored, stopping to shop for materials that would aid in his dressmaking. Your eyes widened in awe as you took in the various coloured fabrics neatly arranged in the shop you had just entered.

Curious, you asked, "What is this place?"

Hongjoong grinned, pleased to see your attention finally shifting away from thoughts of your husband, "This, my dearest, is a fabric factory. Feel free to look around, but don't wander too far. I'll be here placing my order, alright?"

With a nod, you ventured deeper into the expansive store, marvelling at the diverse array of fabrics on display. Unbeknownst to you, you had wandered to the back, where factory workers toiled under the harsh sunlight, dyeing the fabrics.

A few of them cast curious glances in your direction, and you stammered out an apology, "O-oh, my apologies for intruding!" Amidst the workers, a familiar face caught your eye, and you did a double take. You doubted your eyesight, and the person glared back at you with intense hatred.

Gasping, you recognised your stepsister, not missing the sight of her body littered with new scars, "J-Jinjoo? Is that you?"

Damn, I'll have to begin working on my thesis after releasing this part. The next one is most likely going to take slightly longer than usual, so I apologise in advance!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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Tag list (cont.): see comment/reply section

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

[trulyhblue]

INAPPROPRIATE

leah williamson x arsenal! reader

warnings — tiny angst, annoyed! Leah, Emma Hayes, Chelsea, sorta fluff, coarse language, mention of injury scare.

A/N — in light of Lee’s birthday!!!! short one today, sorry! Thought I would add some spice to this. Emma Hayes needs to realize that pretty much all of woso have dated each other, including her own players lol. there is a mention of Bug, which is a character in one of my stories. Just for context, that is Caitlin Foord’s daughter.

___________________

After hearing Emma Hayes yap on about her opinion on footballers' relationships, you found yourself subjected to a pretty pissed-off Leah Williamson.

Today was the London derby, a long-awaited revenge for Chelsea, it seemed, as the Arsenal bus arrived outside the stadium. Seas of blue and red treaded the stands — you caught sight of a couple of jerseys with your number plastered on the back. Leah was holding your waist as you wandered through the mob of fans reaching for autographs and pictures, a cold facade planted across her face.

Leah was always solemn before games. She was a serious contender, North London bred, with a serious competitive nature that no one could break down.

When you moved to Arsenal from your childhood club, you instantly caught onto Leah’s prominent soberness. Every player knew that if they didn't show up for a game and give it their all, their position would falter. It wasn't like any player with a job as a professional ever thought to underperform, but Leah was an exemption from sincerity. You couldn't joke with her the same way you could during team bonding. You would be stupid to slack off during training or talk to an exaggerated extent when Leah was running beside you. The Lioness Captain copped none of it, and there was no exception for you, her girlfriend.

The woman had woken up with an eminent frown playing on her lips. This was arguably the most important game of the WSL season, and with Leah starting after a long time away, there was a newfound angst set in your shared apartment.

Not only that — the stress Leah had put on herself to perform exceptionally — but the media spotlight Chelsea’s Emma Hayes has put on herself after a certain interview regarding coach-player, and player-player relationships.

From your viewpoint, it didn't really affect you. Everyone had their own opinions based on who dated whom. There was no stopping someone for sharing what they thought, so you simply shook it off as soon as you watched the clip. You did feel bad for the select few of the Blue’s team that were dating players. To not have the personal backing of your coach wouldn't be the most relieving sensation. You knew that the fans were in upheaval regarding her comments, but to be honest, there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

But, it seemed that Leah did not share the same insight as you.

“She can't just go ‘round saying that.” She barked, hiding the Emirates logo as she crossed her arms in disapproval. “It's barmy, that's what it is.”

You were side by side in the change rooms. Leah was already in her kit, the Chelsea socks sticking out like a sore thumb. You were tugging up your shorts, your shirt yet to cover your sports bra. You sighed, having been hearing Leah go on for the best part of the morning.

“You shouldn't let it worry you, Lee.” You muttered, sorting through your bag, ignoring your girlfriend’s huff. “I don't think she meant any harm—”

“Well she did, didn't she?” She retorted.

You pulled your jersey off the hanger, slipping it on. “Leah, c’mon.”

“Why does she feel the need to talk about us, huh? She should be more worried about the amount of injuries on her team, not about what they do in their free time.”

“Leah, that's enough.” You snapped, your hands planted firmly on your hips. The blonde in front of you looked subtly started by your sudden change of demeanour. “Don't worry about it. It's not worth your time.”

You were currently faced with the nerves of the game, on top of other things like international duties, and the Olympics. To have Leah in this mood, in such a critical time like this, was not only overwhelming but downright anxiety-inducing.

Leah didn't answer you. Instead, she tied her laces and crossed the room, exiting into the tunnel for kick-off. This gave you a few minutes to breathe, to centre yourself. You weren't starting, but your nerves were rising by the time you took your seat next to Alessia.

As soon as the game started, it was clear that Chelsea had it covered. Alessia joked that it was the socks, but you could see by the look on Lee’s face that she was fuming from something other than the odd black that covered her shin pads. You warmed up along the sideline, carrying Caitlin’s bug by your side when you saw her growing restless near Frida.

Unlike the rest of your teammates, you bit their nails at the painful game in front of them, you tried to hone your focus on keeping Bug’s hood down, making her giggle instead of wince at the tackles Caitlin was receiving.

You had been benched for the past few games, your hamstring giving you grief over training. But you were anticipating Jonas to call you over. You waited for the flick of his hand, wanting to make things right on the pitch.

The second-half whistle couldn't have come slower. The starting eleven were frustrated, angry, and quiet when entering the changing rooms, an eerie aura lingering inside. You held onto Bug all the way until Caitlin took over, trudging over to Viv, who happily took the girl up to the stands to watch. Jonas had told you and Emily that you’d be put on, so you were preparing yourself for what was to come.

You tried not to interact with Leah. It was an unspoken rule that unless it was personal, it was not to be said directly, especially when you were losing. But the blonde was leaning nearer to you the closer you were meant to be out on the pitch once more. She made the effort to tug at the hem of your shorts, and hold both your shoulders as she stood behind you, listening to the plan for the rest of the game. You pushed your back into her chest, letting her hug you from behind. She squeezed affectionately, and you noticed the subtle unravelling of her tense shoulders. Her features smoothed when she found out you were replacing Victoria in the midfield, and she made sure to hold your hand as you walked back into the stadium.

“You're doing great, Lee.” You managed to say, hoping that your substitution would be before the sixtieth minute. “Just be careful near the wing. It's very congested and you should wait for the midfield to sort it, alright?”

Leah cared deeply about her career and strived for greatness in all that she did. There was nothing that she couldn't achieve without perfection in her eyes. Many people said that you would bring her down to Earth, and remind her that mistakes are human. But there was only so much you could do, and you found that simply telling the girl that she was making the right decisions, treating her softly, was a tactic no game plan could ever beat.

You were about to find your way down the sidelines, getting ready to finish your warm-up before you were subbed on. Both teams had started filing out of their respected halftime seminars, Chelsea looking as confident as ever. Arsenal were sauntering out with much determination, the spite and inherent desire for justice spewing from the gunner’s crowd. Leah and you were near the entrance of the tunnel, standing on the edge of the field in what seemed like your own personal bubble.

Jonas had taken a seat near the rest of the officials, but Chelsea’s Emma Hayes was standing not far from where the two of you stood, skimming her surroundings vaguely without giving too much away. You could feel the irritation radiating off Leah as soon as the woman was in your sight. You both knew the coach was trying to look at you, without it being bitterly obvious, but it seemed to make the tension rise all the more. Your girlfriend found solace in kissing your forehead, running her hands down your sides painstakingly slow. You felt your cheeks go red, the blush filming over your face when Hayes’ eyes darted away.

“Leah.” You warned her wandering hands, squirming in the taller girl’s potent grip around your hips.

You pulled taunt against her, sighing when she loosened. She ignored your scolding look. A smirk was aligned on her lips, threatening to spill the cocky remarks relieving her lips. You watched her run over to the rest of the team, a meek smile matching hers.

God, you couldn't wait to go home.

_________________

A/N — again, sorry it's really short but I wanted to put something out xxxxxx

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #lionesses #woso community #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #chelsea #chelsea women #arsenal #woso #caitlin foord #jessie fleming #beth mead #baby england #bug and bingo #trulyhblue #vivianne miedema #emma hayes #sam kerr #millie bright #guro reiten #erin cuthbert #eve perisset #steph catley #katie mccabe

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

#neil gaiman #terry pratchett #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ivoc #this meta ended up being only about 2/3 the length of my usual metas and somehow that feels appropriate because Terry's life ended too soon #and the jarring brevity of this piece parallels that feeling of sudden unexpected loss #for me anyways I don't know about you guys #if this made your eyes even slightly moist you are obligated to reblog to help someone else feel their feels #I don’t make the rules #but them is the rules #blessed by Beelzebub

[teabutmakeitazure]

Dissimulation Continued

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (modern au)

>Word count: 4.9k

>a/n: childe "leave your degree and be my wife" tartaglia. i dont think anything in this classifies as yan since its just a continuation of the original story but still tagging that since the original is yan. also, i wrote the beginning during my flight lol

Being housemates with a mafioso isn't a very ideal situation.

First Part

Airports are holes in the fabric of time. Minutes and hours are blurred, the signature beeping sound before the limitless number of announcements causing an odd fogginess in your mind. They're surreal but comforting. You are forever a traveller there, only at the mercy of your own mistakes and mishaps.

A familiar hair colour stands out in the distance, rising above the lake of heads. Your luggage trolley is pushed closer and closer to that lake, but instead of relief, only a subtle feeling of dread settles in. It is true that in airports you are at the mercy of your own mistakes, but it is the same for the outside world. The only difference is that simply existing and being alive is not considered a mistake in the former.

The voice you've been hearing through your phone for the past weeks finally greets you directly from the source. Everything is a blur, your eyes focusing on the person who makes way through the busy crowd to get closer as the sounds become exceedingly loud. Slowly, you stop in your tracks, mind still under the haze of indistinguishable time. 

The first to go is your backpack, the item promptly removed from your shoulders. The next is the trolley. Your grip on it is gently loosened, and fingers snap in front of your face to dispel the haze from your mind.

"Earth to [Name]? Hey. You alright? The flight couldn't have been that bad, come on."

Your eyes blink a few times, the background chatter becoming more prominent and the face in front of you being focused on by your vision. Words refuse to form on your tongue, so you have to rely on your actions as a last resort. After closing your mouth with mild embarrassment, your eyes settle on his oversized t-shirt. Bare arms greet you when you look for a sleeve, so you settle with grabbing the side of his shirt instead. 

It’s still summer. Of course he’s wearing cap sleeves. The display of what one could easily pass off as clinginess causes him to take a step closer, his arm reaching to wrap around your shoulders. You refuse to directly look him in the eye, but allow the arm to slither around you. ‘I am with this person,’ the arm announces. ‘And we are more than what a first glance can reveal.’

“Are you feeling alright?” The arm pulls you inside a half-hug, the warmth of his body comforting with the smell of familiar cologne. “Did something happen?”

A shake of your head is all you can manage, but it is not accepted.

“Hey,” voice low, the arm around you travels upwards to gently run up and down your head. “Tell me. We’ve talked about this. Don’t hide anything from me. I only want to help.”

To yield and share your feelings with someone such as him is not easy, but you do so anyway, surprised at how easily you were able to speak. “It’s something silly,” you say, eyes glued to the floor. “I just miss home.”

The arm strokes your back comfortingly. There is more than just comfort in his voice. There is sympathy. “I understand.” Commiseration drips from his tone, a hint of melancholy behind the way he holds you closer. “We’ll get through it. Don’t worry.”

The hand grabbing the shirt is now wrapped with another, the warmth from both palms and the touch more noticeable than you would have preferred. Calluses are barely felt, but you know they are there. You saw them in detail right before you left for home. How could you ever forget?

With the other free hand, the trolley is pushed along as both of you walk to the exit. You say goodbye to the building and the odd feeling of time passing inside it. A familiar routine and life is welcomed in its stead, but the welcome is short lived.

You both have stopped walking.

“[Name]?”

You raise your head but do not meet his eyes.

“You haven’t looked at me since you got here.”

Pointing out your actions is cruel, but so is your treatment. Thus, you capitulate like you always do. The sight of the familiar dull blues is something you did not want to welcome but you do.

“Sorry.” You try your best to give a smile even if it’s shaky and uncertain. “I’m just… shaken up. I’ll be alright in a few hours.”

Unfortunately for you, the devil has another demand. “Say my name. You haven’t even said my name yet.”

“Childe?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “My name.”

A light bulb shines above your head, and you immediately respond. “Ajax.”

He smiles. “Again.”

“Ajax.”

You’re near the car before you know it. 

The sun is setting which paints the sky in a beautiful gradient of red and yellow, hints of magenta red peeking through the clouds. The car’s trunk opens and your luggage is promptly placed inside. Your company for the evening comes to stand in front of you, and your eyes instead go to the constellations of freckles dusting across his cheeks. Diverting your attention to him seems to please him because he’s smiling at you.

“It’ll be night by the time we’re there.”

Your statement makes Childe turn around and face the sunset as well. Somehow the mahogany coloured t-shirt is a perfect compliment to the sky’s colours, his hair glowing a fiery red with the sunset behind him.

“If it’ll be night,” he says, hand reaching for the phone inside his pocket, “you can go home and sleep. You need the rest.”

“No.” Childe turns to look at you, phone in hand, but you continue speaking. “I need to call my mom. She said to call when I reach the airport.”

The questioning look on his face turns into a smile. “What do you think I’m doing right now?”

You raise a brow. “Taking me home?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “With my phone. What do you think I’m doing with my phone?”

Your eyes widen when he clarifies, mouth agape before you compose yourself. “Oi. I’m supposed to talk to her, not you.”

Childe’s thumb presses something on his phone, cheeky grin infuriating you further. “Too late. I sent her a text. I told her I picked you up and that we’re on our way home.”

Mouth having fallen open again, you stomp towards him. Aiming for his phone doesn’t help, for he simply raises it above his head and takes a step back. Thus, you grab onto his shirt’s neckline and pull. The smile falls from his face only to return when he’s barely an inch away from your face, noses almost brushing.

“[Name],” he breathes, eyes staring into yours, “I’m sure this counts as public indecency. Let’s go home first.”

Unbothered, you simply sigh. “I told you. I’m supposed to talk to her. Not you.”

Childe pulls away, his hand gently undoing your grip on his shirt. “And why’s that? Maintaining a good relationship with your family is important.”

“If my mother finds out I’m with you so often, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He blinks, obviously not having understood. “Isn’t that good?”

“No!”

Childe tilts his head, hair no longer glowing in the sunset. It’s starting to get dark now. “Explain.”

With a groan, you humour him, albeit begrudgingly. “She’ll scold me for being too carefree. I don’t want her on my case all the time.”

“Alright,” he whines. “Come on. Let’s go home. You need some dinner and rest.”

The car park’s street lights illuminate the area, and following Childe you get into the passenger seat. With a huff, you look at his smile - that upturn of his lips seemingly always present in front of you - and plop down onto the seat only to feel… ‘something’ under you. Childe raises a questioning brow as you halfway stand up, trying to grab whatever hard object was under you.

It would be a lie to say you weren’t daunted when a heavy, cold metal object sat in your palm.

Like throwing away a scalding hot piece of iron, you fling the gun to the back seat, eyes boring holes into the item as it lays in the back. Almost as on cue, memories of what had occurred pre-departure flood back in mockingly. It was foolish to be even slightly comfortable around him. Have you forgotten your differences?

“Woah! Careful there!” Childe glances at the firearm sitting on the back seat, but quickly turns back to you. Seeing how your chest is heaving as you look ahead, he breathes a sigh of relief. At least he used the safety lever so that it accidentally doesn’t fire. That would have ended badly.

He watches as you pay him no mind, eyes focused on what you can see through the dashboard’s glass. “Hey,” he whispers gently, “I left it there by mistake. My bad.”

You put a hand over your throat, fingers pressed to your right carotid artery. The continuously pumping blood grounds you. It grounds you, but it provides no comfort. Whatever strength remains in you after a long trip is what helps you compose yourself again.

“Let’s just go home.”

Your words are taken as a command, and Chide nods, immediately reversing the car out of the parking space. It’s completely dark now, the sky only illuminated by the moon and whatever stars are visible with the light pollution. As you exit the airport premises, you allow yourself to immerse in the silence.

Head resting against the window, you close your eyes. It’s a shame your family doesn’t know about your new living arrangements.

-

The first thing to greet you at your new accommodation is silence. The next is the sound of your phone ringing. The bag on your shoulders is eased off as you press the device to your ear, Childe leaving the thing on the sofa. Silver chalice coloured polished tiles stare back at you as you greet your mother while your new mafioso ‘housemate’ drags your luggage to your room.

After reassuring your mother that you have reached home safely, you excuse yourself with wanting to rest, something she respects and immediately cuts the call for. Now, your greatest conundrum faces you with crossed arms, dull blue eyes observing you instead of simply looking. It’s a test. You know it.

Thus, being the good student that you are, you play along. It is absolutely crucial that you do so because there is only one thing that may land you in hot water: your refusal to cooperate. Despite all that, there are boundaries you will not allow to be crossed, no matter how much he insists.

“Are you sure about the guest room?” Childe patiently eyes you as you mull over an answer. Eyes still taking in every minute detail of your body, he doesn’t miss you biting your lip for a moment.

With a meek voice that you know is his weakness, you mutter a yes. “I’m sorry,” you excuse yourself. “I don’t think I’ll be comfortable sharing a room just yet.”

“Well,” Childe tries again, grabbing the backrest of the sofa behind him for support, “maybe we could live in the same room, but uh, I’ll go to the guest room to sleep. Then we can slowly get comfortable with each other-”

“Childe.”

He blinks. “Yes?”

“Please.” You make it a point to slightly frown, just to garner his sympathy. “I promise I’m not being distant. I’m just… not comfortable yet.”

He sighs, the sound bouncing off the newly painted walls. “Fine. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” His commiseration, although begrudging, is welcomed on your end. Thus, to show your gratitude, you walk up to him and pat his cheek twice. The action makes his eyes widen as he looks at you, and you’re again reminded of how simple-minded he is at times. It’s almost cute… if you ignore the other stuff.

“Do you… want me to be next to you while you sleep?” Childe asks. “It’s a new environment for you. M-maybe my presence will help you fall asleep.”

You smile at him, thankful that he’s caring about your comfort. Nevertheless, you’ll be fine, so you decline. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll pass out as soon as I hit the pillow.”

He’s still looking at you like a sad puppy in hope you’ll change your mind. You do not. “Fine,” Childe yields. “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll… wake you up for dinner. You can nap until then.”

Just the thought of bed makes you sleepy, so you nod and head for your new living quarters. Unfortunately, you do not turn to look at your new housemate’s empty gaze.

-

It takes great strength to open your eyes, even if for just a moment, but you do not bother with waking up. Turning to the other side instead, you snuggle deeper into the cover with the contentment that your mother will come and wake you up whenever appropriate. And she does. The warm hand that rests on your cheek caresses the skin gently, a voice hesitantly calling your name.

The realisation that the hand and voice do not belong to your mother is cruel, but it suffices to instantly wake you up with a startle.

Blue. That is what you first see.

The mattress underneath you feels too hard for a moment, and you feel as though you are somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere you mustn't be. The feeling seems to be a mockery created by your mind, but you allow yourself to breathe before listening to the culprit of your disturbed sleep.

“Sorry.” You give no reaction to Childe’s apology. He continues, “It’s starting to get late, and I didn’t want to wake you up for dinner but decided against that because you probably haven’t eaten in a while.”

You continue to stare at him, giving him a look that says, ‘so?’ but he doesn’t seem bothered. Instead, he has the gall to grab your hand from underneath the cover.

“Let’s eat together.”

Childe ends up receiving a very tired raised eyebrow from you before you actually make a move to get up. However, before he could comment on your tired state and ask you to stay in bed, you have thrown the cover off your body and are already on your way to the living room. It makes him sigh, but he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is late and quiet. It’s around half past ten, but Childe doesn’t mind since you don’t have class in the morning. He took a day off as well, just to make up for lost time. The last time he saw you was weeks ago. Of course he wants to spend time with you.

You, on the other hand, down the home cooked meal without any second thought, brain still on autopilot. It makes you feel bad since you don’t have the energy to compliment his cooking, but hey. He woke you up from a deep sleep. He should feel bad. Nevertheless, the cook shamelessly asks about his cooking.

“Did you like it?”

You blink up at him, responding with a sigh. “I’m too tired to taste it.”

Hands folded over his chest, his portion of food is also gone. “I see. Want to go to bed again? I’ll lay down with you till you fall asleep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Childe gives you a look again, one that reminds you just how easily his dull eyes make you acquiesce. Despite fighting it, you fail and give in like you always do. “Okay okay,” you grumble. His celebratory smile falls when you elaborate. “But no getting into bed with me. You can uh… just sit there.”

“Why not?” The tilt of his head is accentuated by his slightly furrowed brows. It honestly reminds you of a kid trying to negotiate a later bedtime with his mother. “I promised you I won’t try anything you don’t want me to.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is?”

Sensing an argument coming up, you decide to steer the conversation elsewhere. There is too much at stake to anger him just because you’re tired, and you would rather not act like a whining child simply to get what you want. No. You are better than his tactics. Better, but not necessarily perfect.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice low and dejected, “I just want to be alone. I just got back from home and everything feels so weird.” You sigh, simply to make a point. “If I was living in the dorms, I would’ve still been in bed. I really appreciate you, truly, but I just want to be alone. Living alone isn’t easy.”

He counters almost instantly. “You aren’t alone.”

“I meant family,” you clarify. “Being away from family isn’t fun.”

A pensive expression takes over his face. Childe actually looks like he’s thinking, the gears in his head moving as he tries to make sense of your words. Though they were only to get him to back off and subtly establish your boundaries, not everything was a lie. Well, some of it at least.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “I’ll sit next to you.”

Funnily enough, sleep comes easy with his presence. The fact had baffled you when you woke up in the morning, but the plentiful rest ceased any thinking on your part.

-

Like a sponge slowly soaking up water as it’s left over a water stain, Childe has entered almost every part of your life. He has consumed it entirely, trapping you within his confines as every single activity remains scrutinised. You had first thought you were the sponge, but you were mistaken. Childe is the sponge. You are the water he has soaked up and gotten hold of.

The power is in his hands. Though it’s not unpleasant most of the time, his proprietorial behaviour never fails to remind you of the numerous differences in both your personalities and mentalities. At first, you were able to subtly manipulate him like you did when you first got back. Unfortunately, he has either realised your tactic or grown immune to your tired expressions with displeased frowns and sweet pleadings.

You have no idea what to do.

It absolutely does not help that you are under the added stress of your studies and with no means of clearing your mind because you aren’t sure how to go out with your friends. It also doesn’t help that you simply don’t have the time to go out with your friends. 

Rubbing your eyes, you cross out the name of a particular course before clicking on the submit button. The word ‘submitted’ appears in front of ‘assignment 3’, and you instantly put your head down on the table. As usual, your laptop’s screen turns off after its three minute timer is up, prompting your mind to start thinking over your next assignment.

There’s around five days to the deadline and it’s an essay. Perhaps having it drip with affectation might impress the tutor. She is one for grandiose after all. All you’ll need is to find synonyms of every other word and make them sound pretentious. Yes, that’ll do. Just make a rough draft and then edit it with the synonyms so that it’s easier to write and organise your ideas.

Wait… you haven’t even done the reading yet. How are you supposed to write it without doing the required reading? 

Taking a peek at the clock on the wall, you make a mental note of reading and writing down main points and ideas before bed. That’s the only thing you have the energy left to do. Maybe you’ll watch a movie tonight, forget any academic obligations and let the mistakes take over.

“Sulking? Or tired?”

Your beloved housemate’s voice calls out from somewhere behind. That gives you a very clear idea that he’s invited himself inside the room. The door was closed. You didn’t hear anything.

Without raising your head, you mumble out your reply. “Both.”

A chuckle, and you hear him sitting down on the bed. “Wow. You sound like you need a twelve hour sleep.”

“Maybe I need twenty.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles again, “you’re going to need drugs for that.”

With a sigh, you raise your head, eyes staring at Childe’s blurry reflection on your laptop’s screen. “Maybe a drug cartel-ish business would’ve been easier. How much do you make again?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “I don’t really need to keep track. It’s more than enough.”

“Show-off.”

“To be fair there are no drugs involved.”

You raise a brow at his reflection. “Then what is?”

“Hm.” Childe crosses his arms, faking deep thought. “You would have to be assassinated if I told you. Which is obviously unpreferable.”

“Yeah. I’m good then. Keep your secrets.”

He laughs again, louder this time. “Technically, spouses are immune to that rule. You’re gonna have to marry me if you want to know.”

A click of your tongue and you turn to look at him. Your expression is anything but playful. “Keep your secrets.” Now that you see the burnt maroon shirt and black pants, you figure that he just came back home. He’s even wearing his gloves.

“Oh, come on [Name]. I’m not that bad.”

You don’t reply.

“I am…?”

“No comment,” you deadpan. With that, you turn back to your laptop and turn it back on. Quietly, you close the pdf files of your submitted assignment and open the ones relating to the essay you need to turn in. By your estimate, you need to do lots of brainstorming, so if you start right now, you can get it done in around three days.

A hand flat on the table next to yours and warm breath over your ear startle you as you attempt to start reading. “Week six,” Childe reads, “the emotional mind: emotion, reason, and consciousness. Discuss the argument the author of this document has laid out and present your own views on the topic he is discussing. There is no right or wrong answer. You will be graded over your coherency in your writing and skills in identifying any possible discrepancies or invalidity of arguments. Please feel free to contact me or your tutor if you need help. The format is the same as what we discussed in class. Good luck.”

You open the document that is your required reading for the assignment and hear a grumble from Childe. He moves closer to you and instinctively, you lean forward to maintain what little distance there was. Gently, he coaxes your hand off the touchpad and asks if there’s any unsaved progress in the tabs you’ve opened. Once you say no, he closes everything.

After shutting down the laptop, he picks it up and places it on a side table. “Take a break,” he says. “You don’t need to work so hard.”

Tired, you’re almost tempted into listening to him but snap out of it when you hear what he says next.

“I’m going to take care of you, so even if something happens and you can’t complete the degree, you don’t have to worry.”

The statement makes you frown and you clearly show your displeasure with your expression and words. "That's not very nice."

He simply shrugs. "All I'm saying is that there's no pressure on you. Take it easy."

"The kind of pressure you're talking about is irrelevant."

Childe shifts his weight from one foot to the other, hand on a hip. "Is it? In what way," he challenges. "You left home to come to a different country to study. Of course there's pressure to succeed. I'm just trying to ease that."

"No. You're not." You finally find the courage to look straight into his challenging stare, unyielding despite feeling your heart start to beat faster. "You might be trying on your end, but it just makes me feel worse."

Your chest rises with every beat of your heart, the lub dub clearly audible in your ears. Again, Childe shifts his weight onto the other foot. He’s still looking at you that way, and it’s freaking you out. How can his stare be so… overwhelming? 

“If you really think,” he says, “that what I say makes it worse, then I’m sorry.”

Out of surprise, you look over his expression but the furrowed brows fail to show any sign of insincerity despite his flat tone. The discrepancy makes you frown again, but you don’t bother explaining the expression to him. “Alright,” you say. With that, you go back to your table only to stare at the empty space in front of you.

There’s eraser dust around the table, your stationery haphazardly lying around and a single notebook open. There’s also your phone and a little packet of salted peanuts to munch on while studying. You hear a deep inhale from somewhere behind you but don’t bother pausing your aimless staring. It’s the sudden physical presence behind you that demands your attention back.

“[Name].”

Be mature about this, you tell yourself. There’s no need to be petty and say something neither of you will like.

At your silence, he continues. “[Name], are you… mad at me?”

Of course not! I love it when you say that you’ve cemented the idea of the both of us together. You start, “Childe-”

“Ajax.”

“Ajax,” you correct yourself, “gosh I’m still not used to that name. Anyway, I’m not mad at you.”

There’s a sound of disbelief that comes from behind you. “You’re not even looking at me!”

“I’m processing not having to use my brain. Give me a moment.”

He scoffs this time. “I don’t believe you. You’re doing the same thing. You’re being distant again.”

“I’m not,” you defend.

“Yes. Yes, you are. I know how this will inevitably go down. You’re going to grow more distant and talk less until there’s a confrontation that leaves you crying.” Childe continues despite your silence. “I don’t want that.”

It forces you to think he’s selfish, that he only thinks for himself when he says that he doesn’t want that, but despite wanting to think so, you know that he says that for you. His countenance gives away what his words cannot, and you still remember the face he made when it had happened.

That pure horror and regret is one of the reasons why despite his actions you still respect this man. Maybe it’s the only reason you don’t scream at him everyday, be acrimonious and cry yourself to sleep over your predicament. He may have taken over your life, but he also undoubtedly and unequivocally loves and cares for you. Even if he sometimes looks at you like you’re hiding something.

You will ignore the occasional watchful eyes in favour of the care he is capable of. Perhaps, or even most likely, it is the only reason why you think twice before speaking when you’re in a bad mood.

“So,” Childe says, a hand now next to yours on the table as he leans closer behind you, “let’s talk it over, okay?"

A question pops up in your mind, and you voice it after pulling your hand under the table. “Talk over what? I was just about to say that I’ll try my best not to do that again. And as for right now, I’m really just processing things. I’m tired.”

“Hm,” he hums. “The offer is still on the table. I can make your life easy. All you need to do is give me one chance.”

You scoff. “Easy? I think my life is easy enough. I don’t have to work, only study. Heck, you even do the groceries and cook more than half of the time.”

“I suppose you have a point.” In one swift movement, your chair is grabbed by the backrest and dragged to the edge of the bed. There, Childe seats himself, satisfied at the eye contact. “But I could make it easier.”

Arms now crossed, you respond to his offer with a question. “What, so you’re a magician now? I didn’t know you had a side gig.”

He laughs, boyish and charming. “Of course not. I’m just telling you what I can do for you. Nothing more.” 

The smile on his face unsettles you. It’s one of the scheming ones. The one he has when he’s cooking up something that definitely is not food. Nevertheless, his little ‘clarification’ is met with nothing more than nonchalance on your end.

“Alright,” you shrug. “Thanks for making me take a break. I really needed it.”

He’s still smiling, albeit differently this time. It’s morphed into something more sincere, something more warm and welcoming. The look in his eyes is no way the same. “Absolutely. There’s no way I wouldn’t help you.”

The conversation seems almost over, and you are about to get up to lie on your bed when a demand pauses your movements. “Say my name,” he says. “I love hearing my name from you.”

You know why he asks that of you sometimes. It grounds him, reminds him of who he is behind the red mask that lays next to the vase on the side table. Gloves are peeled off, and hypnotised by the reveal of the long fingers underneath them, you mindlessly give your reply.

“Ajax.”

“[Name],” he breathes.

You are just as breathless. “Ajax.”

Face now resting in his palm, his smile is small but affectionate. “[Name].” Eyes follow as well, turning into something more soft. You finally see the image of someone adoring and can’t help the almost desperate call that slips from your mouth.

“Ajax.”

You do not know who you were calling to.

#childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #tartaglia x reader

[munariplans]

Hiii thank you for updating on your recent story! I enjoyed it!!💓 could I request Natasha x reader in a situationship & there’s a avengers wedding and they both get invited separately only for reader to see Nat in a different way and suddenly realised they had feelings all this time for her 🥹

the arrangement | natasha romanoff

synopsis: based on the request above!

natasha romanoff x reader

word count: 5.6k words

a/n: i really do have a fondness for writing pining and angst, enjoy hehehehe

masterlist

in a rare instance in the years you’ve known natasha, it was her that awoke first that morning, shaking you awake as yelena pounded on the door to her room.

“hey, hey,” natasha whispered-yelled, prompting you to get up while opening your eyes blearily, “you have to go. yelena’s here.”

yawning, you gave her an “OK” signal as you gathered your surroundings. you had once again fallen asleep in her room after last night. gathering your clothes and fixing your hair then, you spared a look at her mirror first before leaving, and what you saw almost made you want to laugh out loud. 

“how the fuck did you manage to cover me in this many hickeys?” 

natasha turned to you, halfway through freshening herself up as well. the redness in her cheeks grew prominent as she saw the many purple and red bruises littering all around your neck. cursing, she threw you a turtleneck from her wardrobe and pointed at the window. yelena was asking her why she was taking so long now.

but just before you climbed out, she thought about it, and risked it for a few more seconds, before pulling you in to press a kiss to your lips. “that girl that was hitting you up at the party last night was being annoying. had to show her you weren’t interested.”

you grinned, shaking your head at her ridiculousness. 

and right as you shut the window and slipped out, yelena barged in and threw her several wedding dress options onto natasha’s bed, demanding for her sister to decide which one looked best. but natasha hated to admit she was still distracted from the way your ass swayed right as you sultrily sneaked out of her window. 

–

later that same afternoon, you were walking with your friend, accompanying him ring-shopping, when the question first came up. 

“aren’t you ever interested in marriage? or, at the very least, finding a partner?” he half-joked. everyone knew you had been single for a while now. “we’re not so young anymore, you know.”

in response, you shrugged. “i don’t see a point.”

“in loving someone?”

“in being with someone, at all. the domesticity, the mundaneness, it’s all so…boring, after a while. i don’t see why you, and so many others, would want to be tied down by all of that, forever.”

“...so you don’t see a forever?”

“right now, with just one person, i don’t,” you said, your eyes drifting off to the street across, where a girl in braids of red hair reminded you of a certain someone you had begun sleeping with in the past few months. 

–

you called natasha on the way home, asking if she had company for the night, and if not, whether she wanted yours. 

she replied that she was frustrated, and that yelena was being a bitch about her wedding planning. natasha had insisted that a band would have been a better musical accompaniment, yelena had wanted to allow tony and clint to get drunk enough to sing for her.

you came to yelena’s rescue, apparently. because right as you arrived right back at natasha’s apartment, where the two women were clearly at each other’s throats and yelena had literally picked up a butter knife to threaten her sister, you caught natasha from lunging at her and wiping the stupid smirk off her face entirely. she thrashed in your arms, but with a few reassuring words and a promise to let yelena have a taste of her own medicine later, she relented. 

“can you believe how stupid she is sounding? wanting the drunkards to sing for her?!” natasha pointed out then, to which yelena took offence once more. 

“i’m sorry i want my wedding to be fun!” she screamed, “you can’t help it if god made your sister boring!”

“why, you–”

you held natasha firmer by your side, at the feeling of her nearly jumping to strangle her sister. “–natasha, enough. let it go.”

“she was being–”

“–it’s her choice, her wedding. let it go, will you? we can discuss this another time, when you two are less…riled up,” then, you leaned in closer, and whispered, “if you behave now, i’ll let you try fucking me against the glass of that window you like seeing me escape out of so much later.” 

her breath hitched, you knew you had struck a deal with natasha. she backed off, and even stopped herself from retaliating at yelena’s middle finger and stuck-out tongue.

but when yelena had left for the day and the two of you were alone, natasha found herself being strapped to the passenger seat of your car, as you drove her to her favourite ice cream parlour nearby.

a pout on her face, natasha asked as you parked, “i thought we were going to have sex after she left.”

you nodded understandingly. “we are, but i think i need to cool you down with ice cream first. i don’t want to get myself injured from your wrath with yelena earlier.”

the truth had been because you thought natasha needed a space to calm down and process her feelings first, and not to bottle it up and shove it away from sex. plus, you thought that the treat would cheer her up a little as well, putting aside how hot you found angry sex was with natasha.

of course, with your little quip, you could only expect natasha elbowing you as hard as she could, as you laughed and opened the door for her to the parlour.

–

“they have a new flavour here,” natasha pointed against the display, “apple pie.”

“you won’t like it.” you thought about natasha’s preferences for ice cream, and while they were boring, they were safe. “they have your usual today.”

but she took it as a challenge, apparently. “i’m going to try it.”

and as the cashier took both your orders, natasha noticed you place an order for her usual flavour. while it was odd that you would deviate from anything even remotely far from cookies and cream, she chose not to speak of it. 

you watched as natasha took her seat in front of you, then taking one bite of her apple pie scoop, before her face morphed into one of doubt, then slight discomfort, and finally, disgust. still, she tried to hide it from you, putting on a straight face as you asked her how it tasted. 

“fine,” she said, but her disdain said otherwise. 

in response, you smirked, offering her a bite of your own scoop. she was persistent in not wanting to at first, but as you offered her again, she took a bite, then another, and another, and oh well by that point you had given her your entire scoop and taken hers away from her. 

you tasted the apple pie scoop. it had cinnamon, something natasha clearly disliked. there was no wonder, you thought, smiling to yourself as you watched her finish the last of her usual order of vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. 

–

you were at the bachelor’s party of yelena’s fiancé when natasha’s call came in. she had dropped you a string of drunk texts that night, a product of her own consequences from attending yelena’s bachelorette party.

“hello, natty?” you answered, moving away from the noisy atmosphere of the club to a secluded side. you caught the groom giving you a confused look, you gestured that it was natasha on the line, and he gave you a weird smirk. 

“hellooo,” she drunkenly slurred. in the background, you could hear yelena asking for more shots. “my lovely, lovely, friend. where–are–you? i want to go home nowww…”

you moved further away from the club, bringing your phone closer to your ear. “i’ll come pick you up. are you sober enough to text me the address?”

just then, the phone was brought to maria’s side, and you could hear her shrieking for natasha to let you enjoy the party, and that there were designated drivers to bring her home if she needed to. natasha yelled back that she wanted you to come pick her up. 

you got the address from the groom, as he and the other people in the party boo-ed you for leaving so soon. you still had a line of shots to finish and a karaoke match that you would be missing, but you had already picked up your jacket and began finding your car keys to pick up natasha then. 

when you found her, she was slumped over the bar counter, in a conversation with the bartender, who was clearly wanting to serve the other customers to earn his keep. you approached, and natasha immediately went to your side as she hung off of you, smiling from ear to ear. her smile made your own lips turn up in amusement. 

“are you the one she’s been talking my head off all night?” the bartender asked, and you chuckled. 

“i guess so,” you thanked him for taking care of her, and left the bar after saying a round of goodbyes to the people in yelena’s party as well. 

– 

you helped natasha to the passenger seat of the car, but right as you reached over her body to help fasten her seatbelt, her hand caught your wrist, forcing you to look up at her. 

her eyes met yours, and in a clear split second of momentary sobriety, you saw sincerity in them. she whispered, “you’re so pretty,  i think i might be in love with you.”

you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your throat, as your first reaction was to snicker, then look away from her. then, when you heard her groan behind you, the snickers became full-blown chuckles as you laughed in her face at the drunken confession. “oh, i have so much blackmail material against you when you’re drunk.”

natasha hit you frustratedly as you returned to the driver’s seat, but you caught her hand as you continued, “you’re drunk, natasha. you’re saying things you don’t mean.”

you helped her out of the car again as you reached her apartment, her leaning her body on yours as she stumbled finding her way through the building. using the extra set of keys she had given you, you unlocked the door and set her down on her sofa. 

guiding her to her bedroom, you felt natasha’s hands then start travelling up and down your body, and while in any normal circumstance you would have indulged her, and perhaps initiated more, you knew she was drunk. you weren’t going to be the asshole who took advantage of their friend, with benefits, when it was unclear even to her what she was doing. 

you removed her hands, and let her lie down on the bed. she pouted. “do you not want me?” 

she saw you disappear into her bathroom for a minute, before returning with her toiletries. “i do. you know i always do. just not when you’re drunk.”

“but i want youuu,” she slurred, “and i’m so horny nowww.”

you smirked, but still refused. instead, you rested on top of her, slowly removing her false eyelashes, then wiping off her makeup, and finally helping her carefully wash her face. she sighed at the gentle massage and warm water. “you know, anyone else would have said yes. anyone else would have been dying for natasha romanoff, me, to sleep with them like this.”

“but i’m not anyone else, aren’t i?” you quipped, taking off her clothes and rejecting yet another advancement for her to take yours off as well. you went to her dresser to find her pyjamas. 

natasha rolled her eyes, turning her body away from you as you dressed her up again in protest. you smiled to yourself at her cuteness, tucking her in and pressing a kiss on her forehead. “tomorrow, when you’re sober and still up for it, call me. i’ll be here right away.”

she watched you place a strip of advil and a glass of water for her hangover tomorrow, before gathering your things again. “...you’re not going to stay? where are you going?” 

drunk natasha really was clingy natasha, you thought. “i have another hookup i need to get to. need to make the most of my nights, you know?”

in truth, you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries you and natasha had set up for yourselves when you first got into this…arrangement. she was clear on not wanting any feelings to be involved, and with how things were turning out tonight, you were afraid that if you stayed, there would be a blurring of some lines from her end on her feelings; lines that she would reenforce the morning after even more strictly. and while you didn’t generally have a problem with that, you had felt that you had gotten natasha to lower her walls down enough to enjoy your company beyond your flings; you didn’t want to risk all that just for a night where she could possibly tell you her drunken feelings about you. you treasured your friendship too much for that. 

and so you left, leaving natasha slightly stung and hurt with the implication that you had someone else, or a lot of someone elses, waiting for you if she wasn’t sleeping with you, and strangely, it affected her more than she thought it would, even drunk as she was. watching you leave, she thought selfishly about how she hadn’t slept with anyone since she began sleeping with you, so was it only fair that you had the decency not to as well?

but you and her were just friends, she had to remind herself. it was not like she had power to dictate who you were seeing, and who you slept with, anyway. it was not like you two were exclusive, or in a relationship at all, which was precisely what natasha hadn’t wanted at the start. now, she was wondering why she even uttered those words at all. 

little did she know, you were doing nothing of the sort. instead, you had gone straight home, put up a romantic comedy on the TV, heated yourself some leftovers, and sighed as you pondered over your own early end to the night.

– 

everyone who knew you and natasha, knew however, that whatever relationship you two had, was more than just friends. that the two of you had crossed the line of just friends about twenty late-night hookups and rendezvouses ago, no matter what either of you claimed about the other. 

it was clear in the way you cared for natasha more than any other friend you had, it was clear in the way natasha sought out for you more than she even initiated a conversation with anyone else. 

which was what made it so incredulous; that you would allow anyone else try to court natasha before you did. 

everyone had warned bucky that what you and natasha shared was more than just a surface friendship, and relations ran deeper than what he thought was possible. but still, it didn’t stop him from taking your own words against yourself, and confronting you about it one day.

“you’re just friends, right?” he asked haughtily, interrupting you as you were helping yelena sort out the final touches to her wedding venue arrangement. you dismissed him with a quick grunt and agreement. 

but he followed you. “then you wouldn’t mind helping me get to know her, would you? or better, helping her fall for me?”

you paused in that moment, yelena, overhearing the conversation, consequently giving him a weird look as well. surely not, she thought, turning her attention to you, but you seemed to contemplate his request. 

and she nearly choked in disbelief, when surprisingly, you agreed to help him out in chasing natasha.

you shared with him that natasha’s birthday was approaching, and when he asked what kind of gifts she would like, you wanted to say something small, heartfelt. but then you realised it was probably only in your case she would like it so. from anyone else, you thought she deserved the world. 

“something big, extravagant,” you told bucky, “natasha deserves only the best, you see.”

he happily lapped up any information you gave him about natasha, the person who knew her best. 

and when her birthday did arrive, you watched by the sidelines as bucky shyly presented his gift to her, an outlandish, extravagant display of just his infatuation for the woman. everyone had thought it was well-thought out, very well suited to what she liked, and you patted yourself on the back at the comments. it was you, after all, who had accompanied bucky to get her gift. 

natasha looked flustered, admittedly, at the surprise of someone knowing what she wanted so well. it wasn’t everyday that she told the people around her what she wanted for her birthday, after all. and to think about it, she had only told you, of her wishlist upon her birthday. 

when she found a moment with you alone that night, as the party winded down and everyone began to leave, she was interrupted by bucky hanging around foolishly, almost as if he was waiting for something to happen between them. she kindly gave him a kiss on the cheek, and promised him she would call him the next day. she needed to get to you first.

you were by the bar as you watched their interaction, the giddy look on bucky’s face as he left and gave you a thumbs-up making you chuckle. 

then, natasha appeared by your side, asking you what was so funny. you didn’t have the heart to tell her. 

“i didn’t forget to get you a gift, by the way,” you told her when she had coaxed you up to her bedroom, “i just…didn’t want the others to see. saved you the embarrassment of the teases and accusations in front of everyone.”

“oh god,” natasha replied, “you’re going to gift me a sex toy, aren’t you? i just know it.”

“you are such an addict,” you snickered, “what do you take me for?!”

then, you pulled out a small box from your jacket, tied in a tiffany blue ribbon with her name written in an accompanying card alongside the box. natasha’s fingers trembled as she received your gift.

to my natasha, my bestest friend. 

she didn’t know why her heart dropped a little in disappointment at the note. but she kept up her unwavering smile, and pulled on the ribbon. 

it was a silver necklace, with a flower pendant right in front. it was neither tacky, nor extravagant and luxurious, like bucky’s gift had been. and while his gift was definitely something natasha liked, and was surprised by, your gift had been the one that almost sent her to tears. 

“because you’re beautiful like the flowers,” you said, a little uncertain as you watched tears well up in her eyes, “natty, are you okay?”

she tried to reel in the tears, but to no avail. worried, you said, “if you don’t like it, i can return it, it’s okay. i can probably get back a half-refund for it, and get you the voucher to spend on something else. oh god, you’re crying because of me, is it that bad…?”

but then, suddenly she was throwing herself onto you, arms wrapped around your neck as she sobbed hysterically. she had never known someone who knew her so well. you wrapped your arms around her body, still confused, when she choked out, “i-it’s perfect. thank you.”

she asked you to help her put it on, and when the clasp was tightened and natasha felt the pendant rest on the base of her collarbones, she held it as if she was holding it close to her heart. it was the best birthday gift she had ever gotten. 

“i’m sorry it’s a little small, and kind of lame,” you professed later, as she laid on top of you, spending the last few moments of her birthday together. it was also the rare few times the both of you were fully clothed while laying on that bed. “i know you deserve so much better, but i…i saw the pendant, and it reminded me of you.”

natasha listened to your heartbeat quicken as she reached out for your hand, interlacing her fingers with yours. “i loved it. you don’t have to apologise. thank you, for today as well. steve told me you planned the party from start to finish. called the caterers to make sure they had what i liked, arranged the drinks from the bar, even nearly having a fight over the cake decorations with the bakery. it must’ve been so much trouble.”

your laugh this time was warm, rumbling from your diaphragm. “not at all. not if it’s for you.”

your eyes met hers, and when natasha readjusted her face just so that she could be closer, to give you a perfect opportunity to lean down and kiss her, to give her the perfect end to her birthday night, you stupidly looked away, and told her you couldn’t stay. 

as you left, you reminded her to call bucky again, and natasha nearly threw her own phone at you in frustration. 

– 

natasha had unwillingly agreed to a lunch date with bucky, upon your suggestion that he was a nice guy, and that she was the only one left to go to yelena’s wedding without a date. she made you promise to pick her up right after, and while you feigned that she was so troublesome for asking for such, you were happy to do it for her. 

“well, how was it?” you asked. you had been driving for a good fifteen minutes after picking her up, and natasha still had not said one word about him. she had only been talking to you about your day up until then. 

she shrugged, almost as if not giving a care for it. “it was okay. he paid for the lunch. we talked about yelena’s wedding.” 

“okay enough for a second date?”

she looked away to the window. you thought you said something wrong, when she replied, “what do you think about him?”

“well, i don’t know,” you said, “when he came to me, asking for help to get you to like him, i thought he seemed genuine enough. so…i helped him.”

“wait,” natasha suddenly sat up, shooting you a glare, “you were helping him? to get to me?”

your gaze met hers for a brief moment, before returning to the road. “...yes? is there anything wrong with that?”

she stayed quiet for a moment, but you knew she was seething. you offered to explain yourself, to tell her that you just wanted the best for her, that’s all, and that bucky seemed like a good partner for her, when natasha held up a hand to stop you. 

then, she demanded for you to stop the car and let her out.

“what?” you asked, puzzled. “it’s still half an hour to your apartment, natty. and it’s about five degrees out, you’ll freeze to death if you get out.”

“i said, stop the car!” she argued back defiantly, “stop the car or i’m opening the door right now and throwing myself out!”

you knew not to take natasha’s words lightly, as you stopped finally. then, you watched with even more disbelief, as she unbuckled her seatbelt, got out, and slammed the door shut again. 

when she began walking her route home, you followed her with your car and pleaded, “come on, natty, are you mad at me?”

she refused to make eye contact or acknowledge you. 

“fine, i was wrong. i never should’ve helped him, and i won’t help him anymore. i just…i wanted what was best for you, you know? come on, get back in the car, it’s cold outside, and you still have so far to go if you walk.”

“what’s best for me…” she said under her breath, “...how do you know what’s best for me?”

“natty, i said i’m sorry!” you begged this time, but natasha suddenly took a turn to the right, leading up to a row of shops where the roads didn’t allow for cars in, and you knew it was your sign to leave her alone. she still didn’t acknowledge you when you said you were sorry for the third time. 

–

the next time bucky came up in a conversation between you both (you had been very careful not to tread upon it since that day), natasha told you that she had let him down and told him to try again when she was more ready for a relationship.

you were afraid of asking why, in fear that she would ignore you and get upset all over again, but she invited you to do so. so you asked, and she said that she had her eye on someone else the whole time, so it was unwelcomed at the thought of you trying to set her up with bucky.

you had wanted to ask who it was, your curiosity piqued, when you were interrupted by wanda asking you for a dance. it had been at another friend’s wedding, after all. 

natasha found herself digging her fingernails into her palms when you took wanda’s hand and danced with her.

–

the woman showed you just how jealous she had been of wanda hours later in your bedroom. with the knowledge that her and bucky were no longer a thing, you no longer had to respect your boundaries with her as a friend, and the both of you returned to sleeping together again. to say that you missed natasha’s touch had been an understatement.

“you look so pretty with my hands around your neck,” natasha whispered harshly. there it was again. the last time she called you so pretty, she was drunk. now, she was sober, and you were still finding it hard to believe her words. perhaps it was just something she said in the heat of the moment.

you moaned as her fingers plunged harder, and deeper, within you, letting your eyes roll to the back of your head as natasha ravaged you for the night. in the morning you would wake in her bed again, and it would be okay, because you had her back, finally. the red, raw trails on your back from her fingers wouldn’t feel so sore, the hickeys around your neck and jaw no longer a nuisance. because you had her back, and it was all that mattered. 

–

leading up to yelena’s wedding, the two of you returned to a shared normalcy that was similar to before the bucky incident; something both you and natasha were grateful for.

you would pick her up for lunch at her favourite restaurants most days, and on more than one occasion, you would catch natasha taking pictures of you when the both of you were alone. she thought you looked too good, in the natural sunlight of the restaurant window, and in the scarf that she had bought for you for your birthday. 

when you would ask to see the photos later on, you found it hard to disagree that the world did look better in natasha’s eyes. 

away from your prying eyes later, natasha would set the photos she took of you as her phone wallpaper. 

– 

with natasha as the maid of honour and you being one of the grooms (wo)men, natasha was the one who insisted that you at least knew how to dance properly when the slow songs came about. you had whined that you wouldn’t be dancing anyway, since you didn’t have a date, and you weren’t looking to find a date, but the woman was insistent, and you could never really say no to her. 

“it’s easy, just follow me, and try not to step on my feet,” she reminded you, fixing the turntable to an elvis record. you watched in adoration at the warm lighting of the room, and how, even in her pyjamas and her hair tied in a messy bun, natasha still managed to look beautiful even in her apartment’s living room. 

she took your hands in hers, placing it on her waist, as she laid her head on your shoulder. “breathe. and follow me.”

the music played. it was easy enough keeping up with natasha, following her footsteps and swaying to the music. but what was not easy, was having her breath fanning out against your neck, the smell of wine in her mouth, and the music, oh the music. it was a huge mistake to dance with natasha when elvis’ can’t help falling in love was playing in the background.

the both of you softly, slowly danced, natasha taking comfort in your touch, while the music accompanied all that you were feeling for the night.

shall i stay? would it be, would it be a sin? if i can't help falling in love with you 

would it be a sin if you fell for natasha? you could only hold her closer, relishing in the fact that in that brief moment, where the two of you were dancing, no one else mattered, and nothing else was there, except for your two souls, beating as one. once the song was over, it would be back to being just friends for you both, but in that moment, you were infinite, and you were natasha’s. 

when she felt you let go first as the song ended, natasha resisted the urge to hold on tighter and ask for a second song. 

– 

on the morning of the wedding, you woke natasha up first, pressing kisses all over her cheeks and face as she giggled and wrestled you off. then, she tried sneaking her hand past the band of your panties, to which you reluctantly pulled her out of, mentioning how you couldn’t be late to yelena’s wedding, of all events. she groaned and kissed you for a consolation prize. 

the both of you got ready together. in the bathroom mirror, when the two of you were brushing your teeth, you made eye contact with natasha and she did with you. she smiled shyly, and you realised you didn’t mind spending the rest of your mornings brushing your teeth beside her for a lifetime. 

she sat on your lap as she did your makeup, and you did the same doing hers. the both of you must have had a silent agreement to not look into the other’s eyes for too long in those moments, because you knew natasha wanted to kiss you just as much as you wanted to kiss her when she got too close. 

and when the both of you arrived and separated into your respective sides of the venue, you wished natasha the best of luck with a kiss to her cheek. she hugged you back in reassurance, telling you would do well in the slowdance later. 

when the guests were seated and ready, and natasha and you standing in the opposite sides of the bride and groom, you caught her eye again, watching yelena walk in. she looked absolutely radiating, and you knew she was thanking natasha secretly for convincing her that a band was a better musical accompaniment than whatever she had planned for herself. 

you look beautiful, you mouthed to natasha. she hid her blush in the bridesmaid beside her, as she mouthed the same back to you. 

but when elvis’ song came on again, as yelena walked down the aisle, your eyes were still transfixed on each other. it didn’t matter, because everyone else’s eyes were on the bride then. only you and natasha had each other.

and suddenly, you realised that forever with someone, didn’t seem so bad at all. not if it’s with her. not if it’s natasha. 

 the domesticity, the mundaneness, it wasn’t all so boring if it was with her. you realised you would relive the thousands of days of doing nothing, if it was spent by her side. 

you realised you would do anything for her, even go out to get a ring for her right then, propose and then marry her in a chapel, if that was what she wanted. if it meant forever with her. 

you realised that maybe you loved her, more than just friends. and loving her meant realising that you didn’t have to make a wish ever again because you already had everything you could ever want with her. 

– 

you wanted to ask for her hand when it was time to slow dance. you wanted to ask her to be yours. you wanted to ask her if it hurt to breathe while you loved her as much as she loved you. 

but when you found her, and went to her side to ask her, you were interrupted by bucky once again, who patted you on the back and diverted his attention to natasha. 

he asked her to dance first. and the smile on your face fell, natasha noticed. she halted him, turning to you to ask what was wrong, but then you shook your head, telling her you were fine. she asked again, but you insisted that she dance with him. you would tell her later.

you didn’t know if you were too late. you didn’t know if there were good reasons natasha had established boundaries between the two of you, and whether breaking them meant losing her forever. what were you thinking, that just because you caught feelings, meant she would catch them too? 

you wouldn’t risk what you have with her just because of your feelings. you treasured natasha too much for that. 

and so when she slow danced with the man on the dance floor and tried catching your eye to dance with her instead, you only gave her a small smile and left the ballroom first. 

because you weren’t hers and she wasn’t yours. that had been the arrangement from the start. 

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel cinematic universe