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praisethegabs · 6 months

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B.D.S.M

Leon Kennedy x F!Mistress!Reader

synopsis: leon has a guilty pleasure, which is a deep secret no one knows. every time after a stressful mission, leon goes to this particular place to release his tension. you're too familiar with the man, already knowing what he loves. he's your favorite customer. you're his favorite mistress.

warnings: PURE SMUT. bdsm on its edge. degradation kink, praise kink, shibari, use of pet names, sex toys, sub!leon and dom!reader, handjob, edging, spanking, gaging, spanking, flogging, role-playing.

word count: 3735k

a/n: sub!leon always comes to my mind for unknown reasons. he's so fucking cute and awkward. sometimes, I don't see him as the dominant one, I think he's more of a switch. anyway, I wrote this bc I thought it would be funny to change sides (since the last smut I wrote was with dom!leon)

Leon's footsteps echoed through the corridor as he made his way back home. His mind was still reeling from the stress of the mission he had just completed. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his shoulders, and he yearned for a way to escape the constant tension that plagued him.

It was almost three in the morning, but he didn't care. Due to the nature of his job, Leon had a highly irregular schedule. His timing was inconsistent, and he did not have a set time to return home. It could be morning, afternoon, evening, or the middle of the night. Although his busy schedule demanded most of his time, Leon still had something that couldn't be postponed.

As he entered his apartment, he casually threw his leather jacket onto a chair and ran his hand through his tousled hair. The peaceful solitude of his home only intensified the profound loneliness that had settled deep within him. He needed a release, a way to forget the horrors he had witnessed. With a sigh, he reached for his phone and dialed a number that he had carefully stored in his contacts. The screen lit up, and he waited for it to ring. He felt a mixture of anticipation and relief when the call was answered.

"Hello," a sultry voice purred on the other end of the line. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Leon's voice was filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability as he replied, "I need to see you, Mistress."

A wicked smile played on your lips as you spoke on the other end of the line. "Of course, darling. I have just the thing to help you forget about your troubles. How soon can you come to my dungeon?"

Leon quickly checked his schedule. "I can be there in an hour," he replied.

"Perfect," you purred. "Prepare yourself and don't keep me waiting. We have much to explore, and I promise you that by the time we're done, all your worries will be left far behind."

As the call ended, Leon felt a renewed sense of anticipation and excitement. Your dungeon provides a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where he can relinquish control and seek solace in the pain and pleasure you provide. It was his escape, a way to let go of the burden he carried, if only for a few precious hours.

As Leon sipped a glass of wine, he gazed out of the window, his thoughts in turmoil. His work demanded discipline, control, and unwavering focus. Yet, it was in the realm of submission and surrender that he found the release he craved - an escape from the relentless pressure of his responsibilities.

Leon had always been a man of contradictions, and his desire for you was no exception. He wondered if his fascination with you was a reflection of his own internal struggles, a means to delve into the depths of his own desires and vulnerabilities. Guilt gnawed at him as he thought about the secrets he kept and the double life he led.

But as he replayed the memories of their encounters in his mind, he couldn't deny the intoxicating allure of your power and the blissful release it provided. It was a guilty pleasure he couldn't resist, a secret aspect of his life that provided him with a sense of liberation he couldn't find anywhere else.

You knew absolutely nothing about Leon, except for his preferences.

He always liked the rough style. As a skilled dominatrix, you know how to please a man. Since he discovered you, he has requested to become your exclusive client, and the payment he has provided is sufficient to reserve your availability exclusively for him. Fortunately, you were familiar with his schedule, so you began working mostly at night, which suited him perfectly.

You have set up an entire dungeon in your basement. It was the perfect place to meet his needs exactly as he wanted it.

At first, seeing his physique made you think he would be a great dominant. However, you eventually found out that he was more of a submissive man. Completely bent over your knees, ready to obey your commands without hesitation. Most dungeons do not permit sexual intercourse between dominants and submissives, but for him, this dynamic does not adhere to such restrictions. Since you have a dungeon in your own home, you have decided to make some slight modifications to the rules.

Obviously, you have never had sex with him, but other aspects of your relationship work just fine.

Leon's footsteps echoed through the garden as he made his way towards the entrance of his hidden sanctuary. Each step was a solemn reminder of the mission that had just been concluded. The scent of leather and candle wax hung in the air, familiar and comforting. He pushed open the unassuming door at the end of the hallway, revealing a hidden secret world beyond.

The dungeon served as a sanctuary for him, a place where he could escape the burdens of his perilous existence. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim lighting, and there you were, dressed in black leather, waiting for him in the center of the room. Your presence commands attention; your aura is a captivating blend of power and sensuality.

"Welcome back, Kennedy," you purred, your lips curling into a mischievous grin. "You're not late; you arrived just in time."

Leon's tense shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the dungeon, the door clicking shut behind him. He locked eyes with you, and a silent understanding passed between the two of you. He shed his jacket, the leather creaking as he tossed it aside, revealing the tension that had built up in his muscles during the mission.

You moved towards him, the sound of your heels clicking against the cold stone floor, with a devious glint in your eyes. "You look like you've had a rough day, my dear," you said, as your fingers lightly traced the contours of his jaw. "But, you know, I'm here to take care of you."

"Yes, Mistress," he nodded, closing his eyes to savor your touch and emitting a slight moan.

"Strip now," you ordered him, and stepped back to prepare the rest of the room and your toys.

The words were both a promise and a command, and Leon nodded in agreement. He needed this - the sensation of control slipping away from his grasp, the catharsis of pain and pleasure intertwined. You led him to the St. Andrew's Cross, a symbol of his shared desire for submission and domination.

With practiced ease, you secured his wrists and ankles to the cross, using leather restraints to keep him in place. Leon's heart raced, his mind focused solely on the anticipation of what would come next. The room seemed to shrink, closing in around him, leaving only the two of them and the palpable tension in the air.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his earlobe. "What would you like today, darling?" You whispered, asking your question.

"Take me to the edge, Mistress," Leon said, gazing at you with unwavering confidence.

"Very well," you nodded in agreement. "Remember the safe word, just in case."

Leon nodded once more and prepared himself for what was about to begin. He was waiting for the first strike to experience pleasure, but nothing happened. His eyes met yours, and he felt a shiver down his spine when he noticed the smile on your face.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" You approached him seductively, holding a flogger in your hands, your nails digging into his flesh.

"I forgot my collar, Mistress," he said, his breath heavy with the sudden realization that he had forgotten the only item he was permitted to wear. "I'm sorry, Mistress."

"Oh, bunny, you know we don't accept apologies," you said, biting his earlobe. "And do you know what this means?"

Leon nodded, biting his lip. He felt the first whip strike him hard, causing him to emit a loud moan. He tightly grips the leather restraints on his wrists, and the second blow leaves a red mark on his stomach. The third strike narrowly missed his cock and you can see him trembling as each blow compels him to seek relief from the agony of your flogging.

"Please, Mistress, forgive me," Leon begs, as you continue to flog him. Another strike, another groan.

"Have you learned your lesson, bunny?" You asked, delivering another whip to him, striking harder.

“Yes, Mistress. I did” Leon almost yelled, trying helplessly to avoid your strikes. His body was already red from the flogging. "Please, I won't forget it anymore."

You stopped, letting the flog aside. You took a leather collar from the drawer and placed it around his neck. His breath was heavy, and his entire body was shaking. He was indeed enjoying the anticipation of the punishment, although he had no idea what was about to happen. You untied him from the St. Andrews Cross, and he stood there, waiting for your next command.

"Stand in the center of the room," you commanded, holding a remote. He nods, walking with his naked, red body to the center of the dungeon.

You threw a silver spreader bar in his direction, and you didn't have to say it twice. Leon secured his ankles in the spreader bar, and once he was done, he glanced at you again. Silently, you pressed the button and then shackled his wrists to a drop-down ceiling bar. Pressing the button again, he stretched his arms in the air. The bondage dungeon is filled with furniture that enables you to attach him to any object in whichever manner you please.

Now he stands completely naked, with his ankles spread apart by a spreader bar and his arms stretched in the air, wearing nothing but his collar.

You stand before him, wearing a devilish smile on your lips. Suddenly, you firmly grasp his erect penis and apply pressure. You can see tears welling up in his sapphire-blue eyes as he bites his lip and tightly grips the shackles above his head. You squeeze it harder, and he gasps, yelping in pain. You paused for a moment, observing him. Another intense squeeze, another wave of pain, and he screams out loud. You finally release his cock and he exhales with relief, tears still streaming down his cheek.

"You're nothing but a sex toy. Look at you, so miserable," you said, as you walked around him and slapped his ass. "Such a naughty boy, desperate to be humiliated, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mistress," his voice trembles as you slap his ass.

"Your purpose is to provide fuckings, am I right?" You asked again, delivering another slap to him, causing his body to jerk.

"Yes, Mistress," Leon nods again, his body jerking with each slap against his sensitive skin.

"Who owns you, fuckboy?" You stepped closer, gripping his hair firmly, causing him to emit a soft groan.

"You do, Mistress," he quickly replies, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly up and down.

"Do I own your cock as well?" You asked again, leaving love bites on his skin.

"Yes, Mistress, you do."

You take his cock again, smacking it harder and making him yelp again. Tears were already rolling down his cheeks once more. You walk to your box of instruments and retrieve the manuscript clips. You take one clamp, gently open it, and place it over his left nipple. Carefully close the clamp, ensuring that it does not cause any pain. He tries to hold his breath and keep his mouth shut while you repeat the same process on his right nipple.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll bear it all night," you wink at him, and he nods silently.

Then, your hand reached his cock again and you started to masturbate him. You can see his hands tightly gripping the shackles, and his breath growing heavier with each passing second. Leon began moaning, with each moan growing louder as you continued to stimulate him with your hands. And you keep masturbating him until you know he's close.

And then, you come to a complete stop, causing him to whine out loud.

"Bad boys don't get rewarded," you said, and pressed the button to lower the ceiling bar. "Kneel."

He obeys by kneeling down. The ceiling is high enough for him to stretch his arms in the air, and you are sitting directly in front of him. You don't have to say anything; he already knows what to do. Leon crawls between your legs and opens his mouth. He bends forward, his arms stretching upward before him. The restraints are not sufficient to allow him to approach you, and observing him beg for your pussy amuses you.

"Please, Mistress, allow me to pleasure you in my mouth” he begs, his voice filled with desperation as he fights back tears, inching closer to you.

His cock twitches and aches. He's desperate to be released, to ejaculate all over his body, longing to feel your touch. You keep teasing him by not allowing him to get closer to you, making him see your wide pussy open in front of him, yet denying him the ability to touch or engage with you.

"Please, I'm begging, Mistress," he pleads again, desperately trying to reach you.

"Such a pathetic, whining boy," you said, tightly gripping his jaw in your hands.

You released his wrists and ankles, instructing him to walk towards the bondage horse. He silently obeys you and walks straight to the corner of the room. With red ropes, you tied his arms and hands behind his back. Its shape is that of a half barrel with wide ledges and wings, covered in black leather. Leon positions his knees on each wing, and you proceed to shackle him once more, ensuring that he is securely locked on the edge of the frame. His collar is attached by chains on both sides to the ceiling bar, keeping his head up and facing forward.

"What do you deserve?" you ask, as you walk around the room and pick up your flogger once more.

"To be punished, Mistress," he responds, his eyes locked on the wall in front of him.

"Why?" you asked before striking him hard.

"Because I am a bad man," Leon says, his body jerking again with the whimpering.

You smiled, satisfied, and started to whip him until his entire back was red. When you're done with his back, you move to face him, squeezing his cock again. Leon is on the verge of tears, gasping and unable to control himself. In an instant, without your command, he ejaculates onto your hand. His entire face turns red.

"Did I say you could cum?" you asked him, squeezing his sensitive cock, causing him to whine in pain once more.

"No, Mistress. I'm sorry," he begs, tears falling down his face once more.

"Privilege revoked," you hissed, walking towards your torment box. Leon is visually impaired, but he sheds tears when he senses something cold around his cock. He knows what it is. "You'll come only when I say so."

You walk back to the corner of the room after locking the chastity cage on him. When you return, Leon flinches slightly as he feels your thumb pressing against him from behind. You uses oil and you're smearing it around his anus. A finger slips, then your thumb. Another finger, he already knows what's coming.

He feels the rubber sliding inside, and he moans again. He feels the initial pain, but he's okay with it. You slide it further, allowing the oil to lubricate him internally. You pull back the toy and gently begin a rhythmic back-and-forth fucking of his ass. You have precision and an obvious regular rhythm. Leon moans, closing his eyes and feeling the helplessness of his submission. You insert the toy into him, and he can hear you pressing a button.

It starts to vibrate inside his hole.

To keep him quiet, you place a ball gag in his mouth and leave him in his current state. He is tormented by a dildo in his anus, restrained by shackles and ropes, rendering him unable to move, resist, or voice any complaints. You sit, playing with the remote control of the device in your hands, adjusting the intensity to elicit either loud moans or soft whines from him.

The cock cage on him is painful, and he is aware of it. With his already aroused state, it becomes nearly impossible for him to cum without your consent, and he is aware that this is precisely what you desire. He is unable to move, but the vibration in his ass makes his flesh to ripple. It makes him shake his body. Leon moans again, whether from the pain caused by the cage or the vibration inside his ass. He shakes his head, the only movement he can make.

You press the button, and he sighs with relief, but not completely. You pump him again a few times and stop. You thrust into him quickly and forcefully, causing him to groan and moan. After some time, there is a final push, a powerful thrust that is enough to rock the bondage horse. He moans aloud again. You walk around the corner again and gently push something metallic, cold, and smooth inside his ass. Leon feels the object and thinks it's large, expanding inside him. Then, it pops in, causing a painful stretch that makes him scream again.

"Clean it," you tell him, pointing to his white semen on the leather bondage material. You unshackle his collar from the ceiling bar and his ankles from the restraints, but keep his arms tied with the ropes.

He obediently leans over from his waist until his tongue reaches the black leather. He licks it in wide swaths, gathering all his juices from his previous unauthorized release, leaving only his saliva behind.

You can see the color of his cock. He's so hard and sensitive. When Leon finishes cleaning the bondage horse, he kneels in front of you, waiting patiently. He is clearly struggling to hold back his orgasm, but at the same time, he is on the brink of climax.

"Desperate to cum, huh?” you teased, gently stimulating his sensitive nipples, eliciting another groan from him.

"Yes, Mistress," he says, his voice shaking once more.

You sat in an armchair in front of him, your legs spread apart, offering a tantalizing view of your glistening arousal. He doesn't move, but when he sees you nod, he knows what to do. He leans closer, and you can feel his tongue on your wet, sensitive, and swollen clit. He sucks you, savoring your taste, and moaning from the pleasure mixed with the slight pain he feels on his cock. You moan and grip his hair tightly, urging him to continue sucking you.

And when you reach your orgasm, Leon has to force himself to calm down, feeling your cunt on his face. His cock is hurting and you decide to please him in the appropriate manner.

“Color” you ask him, playfully tweaking his nipple.

"Green, Mistress," he says, trembling. He's lying.

"What color is it, bunny?" you asked him again, gripping the metal of his collar.

"Yellow, Mistress," Leon shakes. The pain in his cock is excruciating.

You released his cock from the cage, and he sighed with relief, only to gasp at your touch. He was very sensitive, and you started to masturbate him again. You took your magic wand and placed it under his dick, vibrating with intense power, while your other hand moved up and down on him. Leon can't last long. He's already too close to reaching orgasm. You, on the other hand, don't care. You continue to deliberate, his rhythm becoming tense.

"Go on, be a good boy and cum for your Mistress," you said, increasing your pace on him.

The words are enough. It emanates from his core and bursts out. His thighs and red belly shuddered first, as if he were being electrocuted. Then, it surged upward, causing his entire chest to shake as he let out a guttural moan, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Afterward, you removed the clips from his nipples, and he yelped and cried again. You also removed the plug from his anus, leaving it elsewhere.

Now, you have him standing at the end of the bondage horse again, and you instruct him to bend over and protrude his ass out. You tied him with the red ropes in a different manner, and he obeys you. This time, you take a flogger to his ass, almost caressing his cheeks with its sleek leather strands. Then, it comes out of nowhere.

The brutal spank of the cane striking his ass. He screams.

You cane him again, this time on his right ass cheek. He screams again and sobs. The third strike goes again. Leon yells.

You guide him to a nearby mirror and compel him to observe the three red marks on his ass.

He's crying. You had successfully led him to his edge, but you knew when to stop. You removed the gag from his mouth and untied the ropes that had left his arms almost purple. Then, you placed a robe on him. Aftercare is important, even in this type of situation.

"Are you okay?" you asked, leading him to the sofa in the opposite corner. "I know you wanted to be on the edge, but this is dangerous. Did something happen?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Leon says softly, although his entire body is in pain. "Just... don't worry, okay? I like it when you get rough with me."

"I'm not complaining, but are you sure you're okay?" you asked, embracing him and allowing his head to rest on your chest.

"I'm fine, trust me," he chuckles.

There is a moment of silence. Usually, he doesn't stay for aftercare. He gets what he wants and then leaves, but there's something different this time. You don't say anything, you decide to give him some space. This night was heavily different from the others, and you're not sure he's really alright.

“Can we do it again?” He lifts his head so he can see you. “But this time, can you blindfold me?”

You smirk. It's time for another round.

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 9 months

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Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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definitelynotafurinasimp · 5 months

Text

“Love is a rebellious bird that none can tame”

After everything she’s been through, falling in love was the last thing she thought she’d ever achieve. And yet, even though she thought herself completely undeserving of anyone’s feelings, she still yearned for it… Maybe you’ll be the one to grant her wish.

characters: Furina x gn!reader

words: ~6360

warnings: spoilers for the 4.2 Archon Quest and Furina’s Story Quest

a/n: So I thought “let’s write something short for Furina, probably won't take too long”, and here I am now, writing this since thursday and with a total of 12 or so pages...

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Furina

There were many things that had changed in the life of the human once known as Fontaine’s beloved archon after the waters swept through Fontaine, engulfing the entire nation as prophesied and leaving her crying on the same chair she had sat down almost an hour before, still devastated from everything that had happened, only for the water to recede once more, leaving the city destroyed but its residents unharmed…

In those moments, Furina couldn’t imagine any of her past subjects being willing to ever look her in the eyes with anything but scorn again, considering how she had lied to them all for hundreds of years, pretending to be their Archon when she was nothing more than a normal human girl drawing nearer and nearer to unavoidable doom… She couldn’t imagine things to turn better in her personal life at all either, having been sentenced to death in front of everyone not too long ago… and yet here she was, reading through the script passed to her by the director, being asked for her opinion and recommendations the same way as when she was still putting on that horrible masquerade.

“My eyes can’t spot any glaring sins in writing in this dialogue… in other words, it’s good, as expected from someone as talented as you, director”, Furina responded once her eyes finally separated from the sheets of paper, catching herself falling back into those theatrical speech patterns she had grown so accustomed to, her lips curling into a polite smile as the director thanked her before quickly moving on to talk to another person.

It had taken Furina quite some time to return to the world of acting, and even after her appearance in the little Oceanid she tried restraining herself from diving head-first into the show-biz again and while there was barely a week she didn’t receive an invitation for a role for the next up-and-coming show, not even being asked for an interview first, acting played the second fiddle when compared to trying to get some time for herself. For centuries her every move was intensely watched, with the only hours she was truly alone being when she was asleep, so getting some time where she was free to try her hands at things in the comfort of her new home was a nice change of pace… especially since her cooking might have required some more refining.

But while Furina was finally free to live the life she always wanted… there still weren’t that many people she could call her friends. The traveler and their companion always on all sorts of adventures, while she still hesitated to reach out to her past colleagues, doubting if they even still wanted her around in the first place.

“Mhm, how could I forget I was dealing with the greatest of actors in all of Teyvat, just remember to look at the stairs the next time we’re on stage, we don’t want a repeat of last time, don’t we?”, the voice of one of her fellow actors rang out, causing Furina to look at the source of the sound, only to see a small group of her coworkers huddled around each other, joking and teasing around while rehearsing their lines and laughing at all kinds of stories of their past and inside jokes… both things still seemingly far out of reach for herself, at least for now. She didn’t like to admit it, but she felt a bit jealous.

Suddenly feeling out of place, Furina forced her eyes back onto the papers in her head, trying to read through her scenes once again, only to find her mind filled with all kinds of different thoughts.

Which sauce should I be trying today? Bolognese? Alfredo? Something new might be nice… but do I really feel like experimenting today? Maybe I should just go out to eat once in a while. It felt like a lifetime since I last visited that bakery near the city center… oh yeah, they shut down a generation ago.

Before she knew it, she sunk further and further into her thoughts, only to suddenly be startled when she felt a hand touch her shoulder, causing the culprit to follow suit.

“Oh, sorry! I was just trying to tell you that today’s rehearsal was over, but you seemed spaced out, so I thought…”, you apologized after quickly pulling your hand away, a look of slight embarrassment on your face before it quickly disappeared again, replaced by a smile that made her heart stop. For a split-second, Furina was about to refute your claim of her spacing out in public, her mouth still working on her centuries old autopilot, only for her to stop herself before a tone could come out, giving you a silent nod of her head.

But while this had ought to be it with your conversation for the day, Furina’s mouth refused to close, the realization that if she didn’t do anything about it, she was just going to go home, do the same thing she always did, eat the same meal she had… admittedly grown a bit sick off, even though she’d rather walk through hell and back before admitting to that flying companion of the traveler that they may have been somewhat right to judge her cooking skills, and get not a single step closer to finally using the chance at living the human life she had always wanted, instead just wasting her days with no meaningful connections until her time would run out quickly dawning on her.

And so, before any of her anxieties could stop her words were pouring out of her mouth once again.

“Do you have some spare time to rehearse our dialogues? I didn’t have the chance to see you in action yet, and I’d like to see if you’re worthy of acting alongside me.”

If it wasn’t for her self-control returning to her body at that exact moment, she would have facepalmed herself with enough force to leave an imprint, the cocky remark at the end a textbook example of the bad habits she still struggled getting rid off.

Surprisingly enough however, you didn’t seem insulted, nor disgusted by someone like her, who could not even do anything but watch in her nation's biggest crises, having the galls to look down on someone else. A grin that stretched from ear to ear finding itself on your face instead, your hand reaching out almost instantly as you offered her a handshake.

“Sure, Miss Furina, let me show you what I’m made of.”

Before she could think things over however, her hand had already grown a mind of its own, shaking yours as she spouted out another confident boast.

“Are you out of your mind?! What good does it do to anyone if you go and throw your life away in a pointless duel? You could have at least asked me for my opinion before challenging him out of nowhere!”, you snapped, a mixture of anger and desperation seeping through your voice as you took a step towards Furina, leaning slightly forward, only to jerk back when she did the same, almost making your foreheads collide.

“I don’t belong to you, I don’t have to ask you for permission for anything. Challenging him might not have been the right course of action, I admit that, but at least it is an action. You hear the townsfolk weep whenever he and his band of mercenaries march into the townsquare and extort them for all their worth. So I’m not going to apologize for trying to help instead of just watching from the sidelines as you love to do”, before you could manage to say another word, Furina had turned around and stamped away, completely ignoring you calling out her name before you were all one… once again.

“Well, you are quite talented, I have to admit. I can see why you were hired to play alongside me. Although you still have a long way ahead of you if you wish to get as good as me”, Furina spoke half-jokingly, she never doubted your acting skills in the first place, she had heard of how talented you were after all, but given her excuse earlier, that wasn’t exactly something she could admit.

“Thanks Miss Furina, it’s an honor to hear someone like you say that. I hope I’ll be able to improve my acting while working alongside you”, you were quick to respond, putting your hand on your chest before giving her a small bow, leaving the actress stumped by your sudden modesty.

What’s this? Where are the competitive remarks you had been spewing out during the entirety of your private rehearsal? Why are you so… modest now?

Furina’s expression must have done a great job at revealing her inner monologue as you were quick to respond.

“Is something the matter, Miss Furina?”, you asked in the same calm tone, only for her to quickly turn her head away, as she realized she had been staring.

“N-nothing”, Furina responded in a subdued manner, looking out of the window and watching the streets grow less and less populated as the sun started to set, painting the skies in colors that made her want to whip out her camera and snap a picture or two.

As the silence stretched longer however, and the colors faded from the skies, Furina was teleported back into reality when your footsteps echoed through the room, approaching the front door one step at a time, causing her to turn around to face you once again.

“Thanks a lot, Miss Furina. I’ve learned a lot today”, you stated with a small smile, your hand already touching the doorknob when Furina interrupted your exit.

“Let’s go home together, I’m not too fond of the city's alleyways once they get covered in darkness”, she suggested. The phrase “not too fond” being a bit of an understatement considering her run-in with near death all those moons ago. And yet, Furina couldn’t help but feel a bit silly for asking you to accompany her, she was an adult after all, one that didn’t have that much of a chance to live life yet, but one nonetheless. But before she had the chance to open her mouth and spout an excuse you were already holding the door open for her, gesturing her to step out first.

“And we’ve arrived”, Furina announced, stopping in her tracks so suddenly that it took you a few steps to realize she was no longer by your side, quickly turning around and seeing her proudly point at the building in front of you. It was a lot smaller than you expected, considering she was the previous Archon and still widely appreciated as an actor. The burning lights in one of its windows made it pretty clear that her apartment wasn’t the only one in the building. But it was far from shabby. It had a nice exterior, was located near the city center and only a few steps away from some major shops, a nice house all in all.

“What? Left speechless by my abode? You flatter me”, she asked theatrically once the silence grew a bit too long to be considered anything but awkward, her voice hiding the faintest hint of nervousness.

“It’s pretty, I wish I’d have a place from which everything was as quickly reachable as from here”, you responded, a polite smile making its way onto your face as Furina’s head tilted by a bit.

“Don’t you live somewhere near here?”

A shake of your head was enough to make her eyes widen, but once your response left your mouth, you saw her jaw hit the ground. “I live on the other side of the city, so it’s always a bit of a footmarch to get here.”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you to accompany me if I knew you’d have to march all across the city to get home afterwards”, apologies quickly started flooding out of her mouth, obviously feeling bad about her previous request, but when you simply waved her worries off, she grew silent once again.

“It’s no problem. I look forward to our next rehearsal”, you said your goodbyes, only for Furina’s voice to once again stop you in your tracks.

“Next rehearsal?”

At that exact moment, something in your brain clicked. Today was a one off thing, you had proven your worth as an acting colleague after all, so there was no reason for this to continue. The realization hit like a rock, you had enjoyed it after all, even if you had once again fallen into your old habits of becoming too boastful and competitive once your rehearsal’s started to get into motion.

“Sure, see you tomorrow!”, just as you were starting to think about breaking the silence by apologizing, her voice rang out to snap you out of it, a small smile on her face once you dared to look back up at her.

“Good work as always, Miss Furina. It really felt like I was talking to another person just now”, words of praise left your mouth in place of the line you were actually supposed to say, catching her completely off guard to the point her cheeks started to blush a bit.

"T-Thanks? Did you forget your line all of a sudden or did the script change?”, she shot back with a tease, hoping it would be enough to serve as a distraction from her face. Instead of making your eyes look away however, your stare grew more intense, to the point she was fearing she might have said something very insensitive.

“I don’t forget my lines, Miss Furina, that’s not something that happens. Scratch that, I don’t forget lines at all, I’m pretty sure I could recite your part from memory at this point”, you shot back with a big grin on your face, your competitive spirit seemingly having been reawakened.

While Furina herself liked to indulge herself in boasting about her skills from time to time, she learned that there came a time when words alone were no longer satisfactory and had to be backed up by actions, so when she heard your remark she didn’t hesitate for even a second to take you up on it, laughter escaping her mouth as she struck a confident pose.

“Heh, well then, bless me with your performance, oh great and mighty one.”

What followed was silence, as you seemed to get lost in thought, your ear-to-ear grin slowly vanishing as your face returned to normal, but once the actress was finally about to offer you a chance out, you started your monologue. One, which while only seeming slightly familiar to her at first, quickly crystallized itself as none other than her character’s from the little oceanid. And while Furina had to admit to herself that you did a pretty good job remembering it, not only knowing what to say, but also when to pause, making it appear as easy as reading it from a script, the way you tried to imitate her voice even if yours was so different from hers made the corners of her lips curl into a smile. Whether it was out of admiration or meant as a parody of her she didn’t know, what she did know however, was that she couldn’t be angry at you even if you were trying to make fun of her, simply finding herself smiling at the thought.

“So you’re either so obsessed with the idea of impressing me that you learned every single one of my lines from heart, or you’re secretly my biggest fan”, Furina joked, only to find you shooting her a smile.

“I couldn’t help it, the little oceanid was just too good for me not to watch it more than once”, you refuted her accusation, finishing the graceful bow you had tried performing before being interrupted by the person in front of you.

“Well, Miss Furina. You’ve heard my rendition of your lines, so make sure to do your homework and read some of mine. Or are you scared you wouldn’t manage it as stunningly as me”, you challenged her before quickly putting on your jacket, opening the door and holding it open until the two of you had stepped outside.

There was no rational reason for her to accept. Taking on extra work when she already had to study enough lines for the play for no other reason than to fuel your urge for competition? That sounded a bit too absurd, even for her. Especially for her.

“Well, let yourself be amazed. Just don’t come crawling to me afterwards begging me to stop humiliating you so thoroughly.”

As Furina silently watched you chop together whatever ingredients she found at home from the dinner table, she couldn’t help but think about how wrong what was supposed to be nothing but another one of your private rehearsals had turned out…

“Bravo! It almost felt like looking into a mirror”, you exclaimed while clapping once Furina had finished reciting your lines perfectly, striking a pose that practically screamed at you to praise her more, a request you were all too willing to indulge her in.

“I’m starting to worry for every actor’s career, considering how you seem to be able to play every role you can get your hands on, Miss Furina”, you continued, only for her face to get happier with each passing word, before eventually raising her hand.

“This should suffice. Do not fret for your career, I’ll make sure to secure you a role alongside me if you ever find your pool of possibilities to suffer from a drought.”

You had a fully prepared response ready, but when you noticed the dark clouds covering the usually colorful sky, you quickly sidelined your current thoughts, choosing to focus on what seemed important.

“It might not be a bad idea to finish for today. It seems like it’s going to rain… and quite a lot at that”, you stated before pointing out of the window, causing Furina’s eyes to wander to where you’d been pointing, only for her to let out a deep groan.

“Rain? Why now? Couldn’t it have rained at night?” She complained to no one in particular, turning around and grabbing her jacket, giving you a small smile as you held the door open once again before speaking up.

“You should head straight home, or else you might not make it before the rain starts.”

“Heh, I’m not made out of sugar. I’ll be fine”, you joked in a confident tone, almost as if challenging the sky to try and wash you away with a flood, ignoring her attempts at playing the voice of reason…

“How’s the rain?”, you asked from the other room, trying your hardest to multitask everything from holding a conversation, walking around the kitchen, peeling some potatoes, cutting a carrot or two and not starting a house fire by accidentally leaving the stove on for a little too long.

“Not great, it seems to have gotten worse”, Furina responded in a meek voice, continuing to stare out of the window, refusing to look in your general direction, too scared of what sort of look she might find on your face.

“Something wrong? You’re unusually quiet”, you asked, only to get a semi-attentive hum as a response.

If only you had agreed to go home on your own instead of accompanying her, maybe then you wouldn’t have to see the inside of her apartment. Sure, she wasn’t as depressed as she was before rekindling her passion for acting, leaving her home far more often and for different reasons than just to buy macaroni, but that still didn’t mean her home looked too much different from back then.

With how little time she spent in it during the day, going to your private rehearsing sessions whenever she found the time… which she admittedly did have a lot of, and how tired she was when returning home, only wishing to grab a bowl of pasta and sauce before falling asleep almost instantly, there wasn’t exactly that much time she had for cleaning. But it was fine, she was eventually going to get around to do it, tomorrow maybe, she was tired already after all. Unfortunately for her however, the rain came before “tomorrow” could finally make its appearance. Now forced with the choice of either letting you see this rather pathetic side of her or forcing you to go home in this horrible storm, Furina couldn’t stomach the thought of shutting her door in front of you, and so… this happened.

“Here, it’s a recipe my father always used to make whenever there wasn’t much around. It requires little ingredients and tastes pretty good for how little time it takes”, you stated before setting down a plate in front of her, meeting her glance upwards with a smile you hoped would cheer her up somehow.

“Now that I think about it, you would have loved that old man. He had a lot of stories to tell, enough for him to write a small book about them. Apparently they found some popularity abroad for a few years, it would surprise you how much it netted him. Enough to take us on a small holiday abroad”, you talked to fill the silence, sitting down on the opposite chair from her, digging into your meal almost instantly.

“Was your father an adventurer?”, Furina eventually asked, catching you by surprise as you struggled to gulp down the last bite as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave her waiting for a response.

“No, a clerk. Quite a boring job, but what his life missed in adventures, his imagination made up for”, you responded before just as quickly continuing, “My mother however was one, quite a passionate one at that. We couldn’t exactly see her too often because of that, but whenever we did, she returned with all kinds of treasures.”

“I’m sorry”, came the words from Furina’s mouth, almost silent enough for you to miss them, confusing you for a split second, but just as you were about to reassure her that it was fine and she had no need to feel bad for asking about your parents, her voice rang through the room once again. “I should have cleaned up, it’s just that I didn’t know you were going to come over today and… things have been a bit difficult.”

Only at that moment did you look around the room, trying to understand what she was talking about, and sure enough, there were quite a few things one could point out as not exactly being tidy, but considering how much worse apartments you had witnessed over the years, it was nothing too bad. No matter how much she talked herself down, Furina still made sure her home had a certain level of tidiness, after all.

“No need to apologize, it’s really not that bad, especially considering you probably weren’t too used to living alone before. If you need help with anything however, just tell me and I’ll lend you a hand. The only thing I’m judging you for are your acting skills after all”, you responded half-jokingly and while it didn’t seem to have too much of an effect at first, you did notice Furina gradually returning to her usual self during the course of your meal.

Eventually however, the storm finally subsided, leaving you free to finally return home. “Thanks a lot for today’s rehearsal and for letting me stay here instead of walking through the rain. Until next time, Furina”, you said your goodbyes only for Furina to quickly step forward and open the door for you, gesturing you to step through the door with a smile once again adorning her lips.

The following weeks brought surprisingly little changes to Furina’s schedule, something that would have usually meant a lot of discontent from her side, considering how she liked to spice things up every now and again, detesting the idea of living through the same cycle day in and day out. And yet, she found herself rather content with it all. And although your private rehearsals still continued outside of your normal one’s, they strayed further and further from their original goal as time went on, both of you starting to simply use it as a convenient excuse to hang out instead of solely using it to rehearse.

And so, after you had managed to rehearse the few remaining lines until you knew them from both heart and memory, the two of you still found yourself with a lot of time left, the sun still far from setting as it illuminated even the least accessible corners of Fontaine. Furina had nearly suggested parting for the day, when you had come up with a different idea, one she found herself easily getting on board with.

“Would you like to go eat somewhere? I feel like I’m starving”, if it hadn’t been for the sound of your stomach rumbling, Furina could have caught herself thinking you were simply too shy to ask her to spend a bit more time together, and while your face was as red as she imagined her own would be when asking you out on a date, it was a safe bet to say you blushing probably had a lot more to do with the previously mentioned reason than with anything romantic.

And here you were now, sitting at a table for two in a cafe she had always wanted to visit but didn’t find the time to, Furina already having placed her order while you still struggled with choosing what you’d like to eat, intensely staring at the menu in your hand while subconsciously making a… rather cute face. It had taken her quite a bit of convincing to make the cafe owner accept money from her, arguing that there was no reason to treat her any differently from the other citizens since she wasn’t their Archon any more, but even then the two of them could only agree on a discount, and yet all the conflicted feelings the undeserved, preferential treatment made her feel, vanished into thin air while she observed you, a small smile making its way onto her face when your eyes widened the moment they skimmed over the parfait section.

“Looks like you made your decision”, she joked as you got startled by the sound of her voice, your face turning red as you avoided eye-contact.

“No, I was just wondering why they were selling parfaits in a cafe like this. I doubt there’s any children visiting this place”, you argued back, only for the blue-haired girl's smile to get ever so slightly bigger.

Oh my, what happened to your usual self? Was all it took for you to get self-conscious to be surrounded by strangers in a public place? If so, she was surprised you could walk onto the stage as easily as you did, never so much as showing the slightest hint of nervousness while acting.

“Excuse me, could I have two parfaits please”, she asked the server passing by, only to receive a nod of acknowledgement before they wrote something down.

“Didn’t you already order something?”, was all you had to ask, the slightest hint of teasing in your voice, only for Furina to give you a small smile in return.

“Just demonstrating how easy it can be to pick something. Did it help?”

When she saw you struggle not to smile at her comment, she couldn’t help but congratulate herself by taking a sip of her drink and before she knew it, you had finally managed to order a drink, only for her second order to arrive merely moments after you had done so. Without saying a word, she slid one of the two desserts over to you before quickly making up an excuse to appease your mind.

“I may have ordered a bit too much for myself, would you mind sharing?”

When you finally finished your act of reluctantly accepting the food and took your first bite, only to throw any semblance of ego out of the window as you practically began melting in front of her the second your spoon made contact with the inside of your mouth. It was then that Furina caught herself shamelessly staring at you, ignoring her own food entirely as her stomach was filled with butterflies at the sight of how happy you were. It was cute, there was no use in calling it anything else anymore, and the thought that you were this happy just because of her filled her with an indescribable feeling. Sure, there had been many times she inspired positive feelings in others, but never before in her entire life was it anyone she considered close, so knowing she could make your days a little brighter with small deeds like these gave her hopes that she wasn’t completely without a purpose in life.

She hadn’t even noticed her mouth slightly opening before your voice had brought her back to reality, instantly causing her to turn away as her face heated up.

“Do I have something on my face?”, you asked, only for Furina to try her best at playing it off, nervously piecing her response together word for word until she had found something workable, something that allowed the day to continue for a little bit longer before you eventually had to part ways.

As time went on, both of you began to care less and less about the big show on your doorstep, you had spent more time than anyone reciting your lines, learning them until you knew them better than their author, studied your choreography until you were certain you would be able to seamlessly perform your roles even in pitch-black darkness and were instead spending most of your time together doing what you wanted, already having practiced everything there was...

Well, there was one more scene left for the two of you to rehearse. One you two had procrastinated on for weeks. Was it because it was the final scene in the play or because the longer Furina got to know you, the more nervous she became whenever it got closer. You had miraculously avoided having to rehearse it with the others around, Furina bluffing her way out of it by telling the director doing so was just a waste of time, since it only required the two of you and you had practiced it often enough in private for there to be any need. The whole discussion was embarrassing, but far less mentally scarring than it would have been if she hadn’t said anything.

That being said, today was the last chance to rehearse it, and while neither of you had any problems with anything up until now, you could see her grow more and more tense with every word you spoke.

“I have many regrets in my life, whether one of my many mistakes and shortcomings, or moments in which I stood and watched while I should have acted. I chose to follow you, even though it meant I’d see many of those I treasured the most leave without saying their goodbyes. I fought with you at least as often as I fought by your side, often facing death head on, and still I wear more scars on my heart than on my body”, you spoke with an aura of certainty, one that forced people to listen whether they wanted to or not, your voice was strict as if lecturing someone yet still carried a hint of gratitude, one getting more noticeable once your face softened, “And yet, if I were given the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. Because no matter how much misery this path I took led me to, it also allowed me to stay by your side, something I wouldn’t trade for anything this world has to offer.”

“Why?”, Furina asked in a tone that was as soft as it was confused, only for you to smile in response, one, while amused in nature, still shined as radiantly as a stagelight.

“Because I love you.”

Furina was a masterful actress, being able to come up with suitable responses on the go and, with the exception of a few cases, never breaking character. And yet, even though she knew fully well what the script intended for you to do, when you started to slowly lean in, she just couldn’t do it, shutting her eyes in embarrassment as her face turned red enough to match a tomato.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t!”, she practically screamed in your face, only to immediately apologize, feeling herself shrinking as she wished for nothing more than to sink through the floor. And yet, her wish wasn’t granted, and instead she found herself still standing in front of you the next time she opened her eyes, just in a far more pathetic manner than previously.

When Furina looked up at your face however, the shocked look on your face spoke more than a million words, your questions being so clearly on display that they might as well just be written all over your forehead.

“No problem, I’m sure it must be awkward to do this with a friend, even if it’s just for show… Ah, just imagine someone else, like a-... celebrity you had a crush on… or a cardboard cut-out of yourself”, you tried to lift the mood with a small joke, barely managing to raise the corners of your lips yourself when you saw her still worried face.

“I-... never did this before”, Furina murmured out, barely loud enough for it to be intelligible, and yet, you picked up on it, immediately raising your eyebrows.

“Kiss someone for a play?”, you asked, only for the former Archon to shake her head, her face turning a deep red as you saw her struggle to speak.

“Kiss… someone.” It shouldn’t be such a big deal, she spent the last 500 years playing the role of the Archon of Fontaine, never as much as making a single meaningful human connection, so her not having a slither of romantic experience was nothing surprising. Kissing anyone else for a play also wouldn’t have been that difficult, since Furina was sure she’d be able to enter her professional mode and just see it as a normal part of her career, and yet, with you, she found the task almost insurmountable, her heart beating with such ferocity and pace that it was a wonder you couldn’t hear it while she grew so nervous that it became difficult to breathe whenever you said or did anything romantic… even if it was clearly just part of the script.

“Oh”, was all you managed to say, a downcast expression setting on your face for a split second before it quickly vanished, replaced with an apologetic smile. “I’m very sorry I have to be your first, I’m sure you’d want to save it for someone special, but considering we don’t have any rehearsals until the show anymore we have to practice the scene today”, you stated only for worry to once again fill your mind when Furina didn’t seem to react at all, simply having shut her eyes while taking deep breaths, only to suddenly spring in action the moment you opened your mouth to say something once again, pressing her lips against yours with such determination that it took you completely off-guard, before eventually pulling away.

“There’s no one else I’d want to give my first kiss to more than you”, Furina spoke, having summoned enough courage to finally speak again, although her voice was still somewhat shaky. It took you a few moments to finally comprehend what was happening, although by the time you did, she had already started her next sentence.

“I love you. I don’t know for how long, but I know why. I love to make you smile, I love to hear your laugh. I love that you didn’t judge me no matter how arrogant and overly brazen I can be from time to time or no matter what a mess I am outside of acting. Without you my only interactions would either be for work or with the shop owner. I’ve learned and experienced so much these past few months, and I know it wouldn’t have been possible on my own. You confide in me so much, and I wish for nothing more than to finally start doing the same, but I still can’t bring myself to do it when there’s just the smallest possibility of us not seeing each other again once this play is done. So will you please tell me how you feel so I can put either my wishes or fears to rest?”

Now that Furina voiced her feelings, she felt herself deflate like a balloon, all of her summoned courage leaving her body as she started to squirm at how cheesy she sounded, but before she could fall into old habits and start looking for an escape, she was brought back to reality by the feeling of her hands being taken into yours, causing her to look up for a split-second, one long enough for you to give her your answer by placing your lips on her’s.

“Was that enough to get my feelings across, Furina?” The moment the words left your mouth, Furina embraced you in a hug, holding onto you as if her life depended on it before you quickly put your arms around her as well, only for the sound of her sobbing to cause a mixture of worry and confusion to flare up inside of you. Just as you were about to comfort her however, you were interrupted by a giggle, faint at first but growing louder until Furina was laughing to herself in between her tears, her lips curled into a genuine smile as she pulled back and looked you in the eyes, her own slightly puffy.

“We can celebrate later, we still have a scene to practice.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #furina x you #furina #furina x y/n #furina x reader

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blue-grama · 5 months

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Fave Thai BL moments of 2023

I thought about doing fave series for my own personal BL Wrapped, but this is the "live inside 3 seconds forever via a GIF" website. So: Here are some moments I keep coming back to. Thank you to the GIFmakers because you all are amazing.

Wen and Jim's first meeting, Moonlight Chicken

There are so many visceral, gorgeous moments in Moonlight Chicken, but this scene?? My Roman Empire. Perfectly encapsulates the feeling of being drunk and wistful somewhere hot and humid. Anything could happen and everything mundane feels beautiful. Mix does yearning so well.

2. Khun Yai's drunken poetry recitation, I Feel You Linger in the Air

Again with the drunken yearning. Yai's such a romantic and I love that in a period piece. Bright nailed that foggy intoxicated state and his makeup people nailed the flush in his cheeks.

3. The olive oil, I Feel You Linger in the Air

This was maybe the most intimate scene of the year. The TENSION, the backwards way they get into the scene, the cuts between Jom and Jom with Yai. It was so creative and ridiculously well-done. I just--

4. The spin, Laws of Attraction

Laws of Attraction was here to have a good time and so was I. Also, Jam Rachata should call me.

5. Tinn destroys a custom bedframe, Laws of Attraction

This was everything. A clear Manner of Death homage, undercut with Laws of Attraction's unhinged brand of humor, in a scene that rapidly swung into full tear-your-heart-out mode. LoA was a series that knew exactly what it wanted to be and never failed to deliver. Often in slow motion.

6. The 25th hour, Only Friends

I ultimately felt like Only Friends faltered pretty hard on story, and I will always be mad about Boston, but when this series hit, it hit. I loved its aesthetics and the music, and I will credit the writers with creating some absolutely amazing characters. The Sand and Ray angst in Episode 5 was probably the peak of Only Friends for me. The 25th hour concept was so good, and First and Khaotung just nailed the emotion.

7. The fishtank, Last Twilight

It says a lot that just four episodes in, I struggled with which moment to pull out of Last Twilight. I'm going with the fish tank, because of the cinematography of it all -- the split between the clarity and the blur, the reflections, the way it's giving 1996 Romeo + Juliet. This also could have been the hands, or the pink shirt at the marketplace, or the flirting-via-the-scent-of-jasmine scene or or ... Anyway, Aof Noppharnach 4lyfe.

#laws of attraction the series #last twilight #only friends the series #i feel you linger in the air #ifylita #moonlight chicken #i'm gonna remember something else i can't live without as soon as i post this #thai bl #2023 bl #earthmix #jimmysea #jamfilm #firstkhao #brightnonkul

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siren-serenity · 1 month

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a bouquet and scored dates

A bouquet of flowers is a surefire way to score a date with your crush. Seeing it go viral on Magicam immediately made Cater jump in on it too! Who wouldn't want to take this opportunity to blow up their account? And if Cater managed to score a date to the Unbirthday party too, then that's a lovely bonus.

characters: cater diamond, gn!reader, grim cameos!! warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst and self-hate a/n: - i feel so bleh for not writing for slow long so here you go!! a small cater diamond x reader fic bc i love my husband 😍😍😍 - @ceruleancattail, this is also for you!! united by our love for cay-cay, who slay-slays hehe - feedback is appreciated!

A knock against the old, rickety door of Ramshackle made you blink your eyes wearily. Grim leaped off your stomach, walking around the wooden floors before yawning.

"Who disturbed the great Grim's nap?" He yowled out, obviously annoyed. "Come on, I was having such a nice sleep!"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. "Mhmm...tell me about it."

The knock came again, this time more urgent. There was almost a playful pattern to it, a rhythmic beat building into a melody of taps and raps.

"Coming!" You yelled, sliding across the floors (and proceeding to trip over an uneven wooden board, making one of the three ghosts giggle at you) before landing in front of the door. You swung it open and a grin crawled onto your face. "Cay-Cay!"

The orange-haired student smiled sweetly before winking at you. "It's your favorite junior, Cay-Cay! Good morning, Y/N."

Leaning against the doorframe, you tilted your head. "It's always nice to see you in the morning, but whatcha here for? Classes don't start for another hour..."

You trailed off as a beautiful bouquet came into view. Cater blushed as your scrutinising glance shifted from the gorgeous array of flowers to his face. He fought the urge to hide his face behind the flowers and took a deep breath in. Hopefully, he won't butcher it up! He spent hours on making it perfect all by himself.

(Riddle and Trey let out a sneeze simultaneously before returning to their business.)

...But of course, when did things go to plan?

"So I saw this one Magicam trend online and was like 'OMG those flowers look so adorbs! So I decided to make a couple to follow the trend and wow, I blew up!! The flowers look so beautiful on pictures that people went crazy liking them and I got over a thousand likes in the first hour! So, realizing my talent, I was like 'hey, Y/N likes flowers right?" So I went in the botanic garden, BTW Leona says hi and warns you to never get anywhere near Savanaclaw or the guys will rip you up from limb to limb. IDK but anyways! I got some flowers, put a bit of tender, love, and care, and voila!"

Cater held out the flowers as an explanation. He internally frowned at the ramble he had spoken rather than the touching, sentimental paragraph he planned on reciting. But when your fingers brushed against his to grasp onto the bouquet, his mind blanked out.

Soft...your hands were so gentle against his. A soft breeze caressing a petal.

You took them and held them up to your nose to inhale its sweet scent. It wasn't overpowering, thankfully; It was the right blend of fresh wilderness and soft, subtle floral scents.

"This is...Cater, I'm lost for words," You breathed out.

He gulped and his heart stuttered at the joy in your eyes and your smile. He knew being magicless in a world like his was no easy feat. It was even harder to ignore when every lesson involved the use of magic one way or another; Being surrounded by mages day-by-day would have caused him to go insane if he were you. But, you simply stride onwards. He admired your persistence and optimistic approach to life and it was what had drawn him to you in the first place. Being able to put a smile onto your face made him yearn for an eternity to do that for you, right by your side.

Realizing he hadn't spoken in a while, he cleared his throat.

"Riddle's hosting an Unbirthday party tomorrow."

You raised your gaze from the bouquet to meet his, (E/C) eyes against emerald ones. Cater fiddled with the buttons of his dorm uniform.

It was now or never!

"Would you like to attend with me?"

You laughed and nodded. "Of course I do! I'll go and tell Grim about the party-"

"-I meant with me. As my date," Cater blurted out. His face must be as red as his vest because his cheeks felt as if they were set aflame. "Would you like to attend the Unbirthday party tomorrow as my date?"

"Oh Cater..."

He closed his eyes and tightened his fists involuntarily. He opened his mouth, ready to put a fake (fake feelings, fake friends, mask on his face as usual-) before he felt the softest of kisses against his cheeks.

His eyes shot open as Cater stared at you, faintly registering the close proximity between you and him. The bouquet paper crinkled against his uniform but it seemed that neither of you paid any attention to it.

"I would love too," You smiled softly. "Tell me how you'd like to match? I know you love coordinate couple outfits on Magicam."

Yet another reason why he loved liked you.

"Yeah," He breathed out. "Yeah, yeah I'm going to go do that."

You leaned back and he yearned for your presence again, like a plant bending to the whims of sunlight. It was simply intoxicating.

"See you in class, Cay-Cay," You winked. The bouquet remained clutched in his hands and he was forever grateful for that silly Magicam trend.

He blew you a playful kiss, elation in his veins and joy in every corner of his smile. "Can't wait!!"

Cater skipped all the way back to Heartslabyul, too busy planning your and his outfits to notice the odd glances cast his way.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #cater x reader #heartslabyul

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daribertduck · 1 day

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Fucked up Monday.

A/n: this is the first Ellie x female reader I’ve ever written so pls be kind ??? ( let’s be real, first thing I’ve ever written ngl) Also, English isn’t my first language so excuse my mistakes. Otherwise have fun!

Summary: Having Ellie as a friend is great. Having her as you’re patrol partner? Even better. Loving her though, that’s where all the problems begin. Especially since Ellie doesn’t feel the same, right?

Warnings: slightly mention of grief, anxiety,post apocalypse world!! Slightly curse words ( what’s you’re favorite curse word? Probably fuck.)

-5,9K words or something xx

The world suddenly became gray, the clouds got thicker and as the rain started to make its way down onto the dirty ground surrounding your house, you knew today was most definitely not a good day. But It's not like you didn't know that already. The last couple of days weren't great either, and that's not something you can blame on the terrible January weather.

No, partly you blame yourself for those terrible hours that turned into days you spent in front of your living room window wasting away important minutes, stuck with way too many thoughts to function. So many things you have to think over and over, without really ending up with an answer that satisfies you. And you blame her, too, for somehow making the world much darker than it already is. But deep down you knew that this wasn't the right way to go, you could not make her the center of your problems, couldn't build your own mistakes around her. But you'd like to try anyway.

Monday, only a week ago, everything was as fine as it could be, considering the circumstances. Because life in the post-apocalypse isn't always easy, because one of your closest friends, Dina, is in love with Ellie Williams. Because Ellie Williams is the girl you gave your heart many years ago.

This specific Monday,where everything went down, you were on patrol with Ellie. Over the past two months, it had become a ritual. The two of you made the best team in Jackson, using supplies judiciously and working smart and fast. Everyone could rely on you both, and you loved it. The feeling of being needed was something great. The idea of people believing and trusting you was something you wouldn't trade for anything. You loved to help, and God knows you were doing a pretty good job at it too.

That Ellie was the one assigned to you wasn't something you were mad about. You craved nothing more than the attention from the emerald green-eyed girl. Knowing that you two spent hours on patrol with nothing but meaningless conversations filling the air made life taste a bit sweeter. And Ellie felt the same way. From the moment you first exchanged words in Jackson, you both knew right away that whatever you had in your hearts for each other was too precious to let loose.

But now, that specific feeling you get whenever you think about her is probably the reason why you're scared in your living room, hiding from everything and everyone, but especially from her.

Having Ellie as your friend was incredible. You both talked about everything and always found playful words even in serious situations, lightening the burden on your minds. But being friends with her wasn't enough for you. You yearned to be closer, to have her in every way you could possibly want a human being. And that terrified you since your friend made her intentions about Dina very clear.

And having her as your patrol partner was the wisest decision Maria ever made. Even though you weren't always assigned to each other, the moments you shared on patrol were precious. The way you both moved in sync, anticipating each other's actions, spoke volumes. It was more than just duty; it was a connection that defied mere partnership.

At first,starting off new right after the parole training Tommy gave you, you were in a group with your cousin Dylan. He was a smart man, kind and caring—one of the closest people you'd ever call family. Not much older than you or your friends, but he lost his life in a fight with a bloader while the two of you went to check on an Abandoned School near Jackson. When you returned without Dylan by your side, the traumatic experience still etched into your bones, you explained the situation to Maria right away, sharing as many details as you could remember. You hoped that you wouldn't have to recount this nightmare of a story multiple times. You described to her exactly where it happened and how you somehow managed to escape, paying the price of Dylan losing his life while distracting the bloader. Maria promised to be there when you told all your family members and to send out a group of people to the building. Their mission: to finish off the bloater and retrieve whatever was left of Dylan for a somewhat respectful funeral. Something he deeply deserved.

After your conversation with Maria, she immediately called Ellie in to ask if it would be okay for her to pair with you. Returning to work wasn't something you originally had in mind, but in hindsight, Maria probably knew that working would keep your mind off things. She was also aware of the deep connection you had with Ellie. If she had assigned you to someone else, you might have been too terrified to venture close to the outside world ever again.

Ellie, however, always wanted to go on patrol with you. She hated the idea of you going with Dylan instead. It wasn't that she didn't like him; it was more that she felt like she lost control the moment the safe gates of Jackson closed, and she wasn't by your side.

The first couple of times the two of you went on patrol together were more challenging than you had anticipated. Sometimes, you believed you could still hear his screams echoing in the back of your mind. Other times, his anguished facefilled your thoughts, and you grappled with the regret of running in the opposite direction. The guilt of what you *should* have done never truly left your mind.

Maria, understanding the weight of your experience, altered the usual patrol routes for you and Ellie. She ensured that you both didn't have to cross the area where the incident with Dylan occurred. Deep down, you knew there was nothing you could have done to save Dylan, yet you couldn't help but blame yourself.

Ellie did her best to empathize, and you noticed and appreciated her efforts. While she couldn't erase all the pain, her presence made the feelings a little less overwhelming. You sensed that she was aware of this too since she let you sleep over at her place almost everyday since and somehow already knew when a new anxiety attack was about to happen without you even knowing it.However, over the past few weeks, you've been avoiding her, along with almost everyone else. The ache in your heart, triggered by thoughts of Ellie being with Dina, became too much for your frightened heart to bear. Distance seemed like the only viable solution—a way to shield yourself from the emotional storm.

On that bittersweet Monday,where the two of you headed out a little earlier than you'd prefer, the sun not yet fully awake, you embarked on a new route. Not far from Jackson, there lay a small town—one that Maria wanted both of you to investigate and "clean." With that purpose, you made your way over there.

As you and Ellie stepped into this town, its quiet streets greeted you. The air smelled of pine and nostalgia, and the sun cast long shadows across the wooden storefronts. Maria's instructions echoed in your mind.

Ellie walked beside you, her gaze scanning the facades. Her emerald eyes held a mix of curiosity and determination. You wondered what thoughts raced through her mind.

As you explored the town, you noticed faded murals on brick walls, their colors muted by time. Abandoned storefronts stood like sentinels, their windows boarded up, history locked within. The creak of a rusty swing in the town square hinted at children's laughter long gone. And somewhere, perhaps hidden in the shadows, lay the heart of this place.

With each step, you peeled back layers—the layers of dust, of stories, of forgotten dreams. The sun climbed higher, casting warmth on your shoulders.

"Hey, I thought I was funny!" Ellie's voice echoed in the back of your mind, snapping you back to reality and the conversation you and her had going on."God, Ellie, you know I love you lots, but do you have to be so weird?" you asked her, a smirk spreading across your face. "No idea what you're talking about, babe. Am I not allowed to express my love for clothing?" she said dramatically. "Not when you show up at a parole meeting wearing a cowboy hat?!" you said, laughing, recalling the expressions on Maria and Joel's faces when Ellie walked in. "It was a statement!" - "A fashion crime, that's what it was!" Your tone was amused. Ellie didn't respond to your playful jab and just shook her head, her laughter filling the air. That sound, that sweet sound you could never get enough of, made everything feel more than alright. It was just the two of you, on your horses, riding near a lake, continuing to cross the small town, laughing as if this was how it was meant to be. But the comfortable silence that enveloped both of you suddenly halted when you laid eyes on a massive, abandoned mall ahead. "Seems like we need to check this place out," Ellie said, her voice calm as she studied the map in her hands. You tightened your grip on the reins of your horse. "Alright, lead the way?" you asked her. She responded, "Already on it, princess." You rolled your eyes, but the nickname slid off you, making your heart beat faster.

Ellie dismounted her horse, handing you the reins. She strode toward the entrance, determined to open the massive door that separated you both from the darkness within. Meanwhile, you secured the horses to a nearby fence and joined Ellie, who stood waiting. "Ladies first," she quipped, making a sweeping gesture toward the freshly opened door. You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. As you prepared to step inside, Ellie's hand pulled you back. "Spores. Masks on," she mumbled, adjusting her own mask. You followed suit, the cool fabric pressing against your face. Stepping over the threshold, you moved quietly, attuned to the sounds echoing through the abandoned mall from clickers and runners. Ellie held her gun with unwavering resolve, and you mirrored her stance. Her gaze met yours, locking in a shared understanding."Try not to get bit," Ellie said, her voice low. "I don't really feel like shooting you in the head today. Maybe tomorrow, though." Her eyes crinkled, a smile hidden behind the mask. You couldn't help but grin. "Fuck you, Williams," -"Nah, I'd prefer somebody else doing it."

As the two of you make your way deeper into the building, talking nonsense quietly while finishing off Clickers on your way, A loud sound makes you and Ellie stop in your tracks. ''what the fuck was that...'' She mumbled, and you're looking past Ellie in the direction the horror sound was coming from. ''I…”You were unable to speak, move or even breathe because you recognized that sound immediately. ''Hey, are you okay?'' You heard her saying, she moved closer to you and softly grabbed your shoulder with her free hand, shifting your chest so you're looking into her direction again.'' Babe, are you okay?'' Ellie repeated her Question, looking for something in your eyes, you cannot make out. Yet again you were unable to answer, fear slowly making its way up into your lungs, preventing you from breathing properly. She was about to say something again, but she got interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps moving into your direction, revealing one of the most terrifying things this 'new' world has to offer. ''A fucking Bloader...'' Ellie's whisper recalled in your mind and without even knowing it, you're back with Dylan. You were back in the school with him by your side, you hear him screaming your name in pain, begging you to leave, you taste the blood of his on your tongue. You can't breathe. Tears started to form in your eyes, the world got blurry, and that anxious feeling from that same night made its way back into your bones. The feeling of Ellie's hands drifting away from your shoulder, just past to your underarm. Her grabbing your hand was the only thing you noticed before a jerky movement brought you back into reality. Ellie was leading you up an Escalator, running as fast as your guys lungs allowed. ''Fucking shit, we have to move, princess!'' She said, her voice demanding. You couldn't say anything, not even recognizing the nickname she gave you that normally makes your knees weak, the only thing you were able to do was moving with her, her soft hands grabbing your underarm being the only reason you were able to move in the first place.

You couldn't even notice the way Ellie ran a bit faster than you, not letting go of your hand while shooting down upcoming Runners and Clickers, snuffing out whatever life they still clung to. You couldn't even hear Ellie's words as she spoke to you, couldn't see her breaking down a random door and pushing you both inside, closing it firmly and securing it with whatever heavy material she found to lock you two in. Your mind was a whirlwind of panic, grief, and regret. You couldn't move, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to control your agonal respiration. The mask felt even more uncomfortable than it already was. Then, two soft hands carefully grabbed your face, removing the mask and gently resting on your skin. It was a lifeline back to reality.

"Babe, you're okay. We're safe. Come on, try to breathe with me, okay?"Her voice slowly penetrated your foggy brain. Your right hand automatically found her wrist, and for a moment, you tried to do what the brown-haired girl in front of you said—you tried to breathe. "Doing so good, Darling,"she encouraged. „Keep going. Focus on me, alright? Breathe in... hold it, love... okay, breathe out." The softness of her voice traveled up to your brain, dispelling the dark smoke that had clouded your thoughts. "Shit..."you whispered, not caring how pathetic you probably looked right now. Her eyes never left yours, and finally, you took your first real breath since arriving in the mall. "Yeah... that probably captures it best,"she said, her touch gentle as she caressed your cheek. She was still a bit out of breath from all the running.

You looked at her for a second longer, and for some inexplicable reason, everything didn't feel so dire anymore. Maybe it was because with Ellie by your side, you could never feel truly unsafe. A grin crept onto your face, and without bothering to hide it, you burst into laughter, tears still wetting your skin. Ellie stared at you, momentarily confused, but her expression softened. She wasn't able to hold on the grinning expression herself.

Ellie looked at you for a moment, her confusion giving way to laughter. "What the hell, the fuck was that?" you said, still chuckling. „I wish I fucking knew“ she said. Ellie's hands remained pressed against your cheeks, and you didn't mind at all. She grinned, pulling you a bit closer until her forehead rested against yours. "You feel okay, though?" she asked, her tone shifting back to concern. You replied quietly, "I'm with you, so... yeah." Ellie didn't say anything, but her touch lingered on your skin before she pulled away.

"Let's try to find a way out of here," she declared, already scanning the small store she'd barricaded you both into. Her movements were purposeful, and you appreciated her practicality. "I'm definitely not cleaning this entire mall up by myself."- „I mean, you did almost half of it already?“ you said, grinning again. „Yeah, the others can do the other half. I’m fucking done with this place.“

The closeness between you wasn't weird; it was familiar. Ellie had always been a touchable person, and you never complained. In fact, you loved the feeling of having her close—the warmth of her skin against yours. It had happened countless times before Hands touching a little too long, hugs that stretched into eternity, and mornings waking up tangled together. It was no longer something to overthink; it just was—a connection that transcended words.

You made your way through the store, noticing only just now that it used to be some sort of clothing shop. ''hey, look at that. Should I grab that for Dina?'' The voice from the opposite of the room bought your attention, you let your eyes travel their way to where your best friend is standing, holding up a basic brownish lined jacket, weirdly posing with it like she's some sort of model getting pictures taken. ''Yeah. Sure, do that.'' You said, already regretting how your voice sounded out loud. Ellie being in love with Dina wasn't news to you, you were the first person she ever told about her undeniable feelings towards Dina. That your heart shattered in about a million pieces isn't something you ever considered of telling her-You wanted to be supportive, knowing that Dina also felt the same about your best Friend. ''Is everything alright?'' Ellie said, confused by your lack of enthusiasm. ''Yeah, all good, just still, you know, fucked up from that bloader trying to rip us apart.'' You answered while pretending to look through some of the clothes. you practically didn't lie. The encounter with the bloader made you feel all weird and anxious, you were already struggling with not allowing yourself to even think about the incident and with that thing crossing your path it was almost inevitable to keep those memories locked away. Ellie looked at you as she isn't really buying it ''Hey, we don't have to leave right away. We surely can take a break?'' she suggested, making her way over to you. ''A break does sound fucking nice.'' You said, giving the slightly taller girl a tired smile. Ellie nodded at you, nudging your shoulder with hers while walking past you. Now opening a gray door behind the cash register with the words ''Employees only.'' written on lined paper.

Entering the common room was more than disappointing. Although there was an old sofa welcoming your stay, Ellie and you must've shared the same idea because before you could even make a step towards the in dark blue colored sofa, Ellie already dropped her body on it with a load groan. "Fuck you, move your ass over, El.'' You said, smirking as you moved to the small space. She looked up at you, her face blessed with another grin as she crossed her arms behind her head. ''Nah, I'm quite comfortable, thanks for suggesting it though!'' She closed her eyes and moved around on the cheap looking fabric to find the most comfortable position. ''Oh yeah? I mean, you wanted this. Practically dared me to do it'' You said. One of her closed eyes opened „what do you mean?“ she said. Without saying another word you set yourself as carefully as you can down on her lab. Ellie, on the other hand, dramatically lifted her upper body up, pretending to cough for much-needed air ''Help!! Help!! Doctor, I Can't breathe!'' Her arms went in every direction, making it seem like she's struggling to move, "c'mon, fuck you, I'm not even using my full body weight!" You said defending yourself. "Okay, okay, I'm done for. Dead, you won this round, you're officially the “Ellie defeater”.now get down!" She said, laughing as she gently pushed you from her lap. As you got up, Ellie actually made some space for you to sit down, which you did almost immediately. You lean your head against the wall behind you and look at your best friend now sitting leg crossed facing you. "You actually feeling okay tho?" she' asked for what felt like a million times today, which brought a small honest smile onto your face „yeah, as okay as I can be. Seeing that thing did bring some memories back, if rather forget. Thanks for saving me though" you said, playing with the strands of your jacket. „Yeah, glad to be your savior when time gets rough. You owe me one" she said, grinning. "Yeah, sure I owe you" you said. „Totally. Hmm," she said, pretending to think "what could you possibly do for me to regard me for saving your life?" with a grinning face she looked you up and down, and you knew immediately that what your friend had in mind wasn't something that's going to turn out good. „What are you thinking right now? Should I be scared?"- ''Don't know yet.'' Ellie said, lifting her body into a more comfortable sitting position."How about... I ask you a question, and you'll answer truthfully?" Ellie's words carried a weight of seriousness, and you couldn't help but feel anxious. "I'm always honest?" you replied, looking at her, bluffing with your answer. You knew that you weren't always honest, but you kept your own truth close to your heart because it wouldn't change the outcome anyway. Survival often required pretty white lies.

"Cut the bullshit. Okay, so... why are you avoiding Dina all of a sudden?" The question caught you off guard, and you looked at your best friend as if you'd just seen your dead cousin dancing with a Clicker in the distance. "What? I'm not?" you said, knowing Ellie wouldn't buy your bluff. "Hey, you promised to answer truthfully," she insisted, making you roll your eyes. "I never said I'll answer." You shrugged your shoulders, and Ellie gave you a slightly annoyed look.

"Babe... be honest," her voice calm and almost a whisper, her body leaning against the sofa frame. "Dina and I talked about this. She feels insecure, like she's done something wrong. And thinking about it, I feel like you've been avoiding me as well. The only time I ever see you is on patrol. It used to be more, you know? We barely talk. I think it's rather sad. Have I done something? Has Dina made you uncomfortable? Don't give me that look, love. I'm trying to understand you." Her voice shifted from calm to confused, and you knew right away that Ellie wouldn't let this go until she knew the real reason for your distance.

"No... Dina did nothing wrong."It's the only thing you're able to answer. You look down at your hand, playing with the matching bracelet you share with Ellie. „Did I do something...?"you hear her whisper, her voice filled with insecurity. Your heart clenches at the thought of being the reason why Ellie's overthinking her behavior. So, before you can overthink your next move, you look up to her. You move your body a bit closer and lay your hand on her knee, comfortably caressing the fabric of her skinny jeans.

"No... God, of course not. You did nothing wrong. It's just... it's me."Her eyes meet yours, and you know right then and there that you're fucked, unable to lie with her eyes looking at you like that. „What is it, then?"she whispers, resting her own hand on yours. The touch makes you feel like you need to run away as fast as possible. „I... I'm hurt, okay?"You say it with all the honesty in your heart. „Hurt? From what? Dina and I didn't—"You don't let Ellie finish her sentence. Instead, you get up from the comfortable sofa and run your hands over your face. "... this is exactly why I don't want to talk to either of you!"You're now standing in the middle of the room, looking at Ellie who remains in the same sitting position. Her eyes follow you as you pace the small common room.

"You and Dina, all day... when I hang out with you, you only tell me how beautiful she is, how perfect you guys are together, and how deeply in love you are. If I hang with D, it's the same fucking story."Your voice shakes with all the built-up anger inside of you. You're well aware that you don't have the right to be mad about those two people falling in love. You've never even addressed your feelings to anyone else except your mirror at 3 am. How are Ellie or Dina supposed to know that it's ripping you apart? "And what's your problem with that? And did Dina really say she’s into me too?" Ellie asks, and you couldn't help the tears already welling up in your eyes again. "Yes, she did, Ellie. You know she feels the fucking same," you say, your voice breaking into a desperate whisper.

"Hey, the fuck?" Ellie's voice is already alarmed with worry as she gets up to walk those three more steps, entering your personal space again. Her hand reaches for yours, but you subtly step away from her, your back slightly hitting the white wall behind you. "Love, what? Why are you crying? What does Dina feeling the same have to do with you avoiding us?" She asks, her eyes showing some sort of disappointment the second you stepped away from her."Just... forget it, okay? I don't want to talk about it." You mumble, your voice breaking. "But I want to talk about it." Ellie's eyes never leave yours until you look down at your dirty, almost broken Converse shoes. "Ellie, just leave it b—" You get interrupted by Ellie's sharp voice cutting you off. "For fucks sake, can you be fucking honest for once? I don't get your fucking problem. You don't talk, you ignore me and Dina, and now you're saying it's because Dina and I are falling for each other? I thought you're fucking happy for me! Like a best friend should be! I don't understand you, really, I don't." Her voice grows louder with every word. You try to say something again, but you can't bring yourself to talk. You notice Ellie walking toward you again, the wall behind you failing your escape. You felt anger rushing over you, mixed with regret and.. disappointment.

"How about you finally say what you think, huh? Can't go around treating your friends badly because you have some weird jealousy problems. It’s not my fault you don’t have other friends besides me”She's mad, and you know she doesn't understand your reasoning for drifting away from her. Deep down, you also know she's just hurt and, more importantly, scared of losing you.

"...Why are we still talking about this?" You say, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you look into her eyes. She's already looking at you, and god, she's close—too close. "We're going to talk about this until you tell me what's going on." Tears continue to stream down your face for the second time today but this time not because you were sad. You were angry, without even being sure at who you’re angry at.You shake your head, not wanting to answer, and begging to whatever is above you to somehow make Ellie drop the entire topic. ''No, no, you'll answer me right now. What the hell is wrong with you?'' Her hands grabbing your shoulders, pressing your body more against the wall behind you. „You already know it anyways, now let go of me.'' You said, although you were not even trying to pushing her away. ''Not until you answer me with your own words. I Can do this all day'' She said. ''fuck,els, you don't want to know, okay? Just forget it, let me go and let's get the hell out of here''-''So that you can ignore me again? Hell no, we're having this talk now even if it's the last thing I’ll do'' She demanded. ''I don't know what you want from me right now, Ellie!'' you said, voice rising as well with every new word leaving your lips. ''The truth! Why the fuck are you avoiding us?!'' You closed your eyes, taking all that bravery you have left inside you to speak the next heart wracking words filled with honesty. ''Because I Can't handle you falling for somebody else. Because knowing you want her breaks my fucking heart, because I want to be the girl you think about, talk about, dream about! Because I fucking love you, okay?! I’m sorry!” You looked at her, eyes scared, like a little puppy. She didn't answer but didn't let go of your shoulder either. ''you happy now?'' You said and before Ellie could prevent it, you took the moment of her confusion as a way to escape her grip, pushing her away slightly. That movement was the wake-up call Ellie needed because she grabbed your shoulder again just to push you into almost the same position, back pressed against the cold wall.

And suddenly, you waited—waited what felt like ages—for the eclipse of her cutting words to happen. You anticipated her telling you to never talk to her again, accusing you of selfishness, and lamenting the ruin of a perfectly good friendship. But instead, there was silence. The only sound that reached your ears was her deep breathing, mirroring your own. And in that hot, suspended moment, you feared she could hear your heart beating, laid bare and vulnerable for her to either take or break. You studied her face intently, fear gripping your heart. Scared of what you might find in her expression. She does the same. Ellie's eyes traced every contour, mapping your features as if committing them to memory. And then, abruptly, her gaze halted. It rested on your lips-

"What are you doing?" you barely whispered, your voice a fragile thread in the charged air. The brown-haired girl lifted her gaze to meet your eyes once more, only to trace a deliberate path back down to your lips. A soft, almost imperceptible pressure settled against your chin, her hands holding you in place. Her thumb danced gently over your bottom lip, igniting a flutter of anticipation within you. You swallowed, the moment hanging suspended—a fragile bridge between friendship and something more you’re not ready to cross. "Ellie..." you murmured, the syllables almost lost in the charged silence. Her face drew closer to yours, breaths mingling, and before you could draw your next breath, her lips crashed onto yours without further hesitation. A simple kiss, yet it ignited a cosmic explosion within you. Her lips on yours transformed the quietude into a kaleidoscope of colors. Every rational thought in your brain was stripped away, replaced by her presence—the warmth of her hand still cradling your chin, the delicate shift as it left your shoulder to encircle your waist. Your fingers, guided by instinct, wove through her tousled hair, pulling her closer. Because when it's Ellie, close is never close enough.

As you finally convinced yourself to pull away, the air around you seemed to shimmer with heat. But your brain? It was a tangle of wordless wonder, unable to string coherent thoughts together. So, without hesitation, you drew her back into your space, pressing your soft lips against hers once more.

———————————————————

The ride back was weird. The air around the two of you, once filled with comfortable silence, had shifted. Now, it hung heavy with unspoken words, a chasm between you that seemed insurmountable.

After the kiss, neither of you said much. You swiftly wiped away your tears on the gray sweater you wore—a piece that belonged to Dylan, a memory of another time. Ellie, unable to meet your gaze, chose the only sensible course of action: finding a way out of the mall, escaping the charged atmosphere that clung to you both. Escaping you. And so, you found a backdoor, a clandestine escape from the weirdness that had enveloped you both. Even as you stepped into the outside world, a part of you wished you could linger within those walls a little longer. The horse up front awaited you, and you mounted it, riding away from the mall. The silence between you and Ellie weighed heavily, an unspoken question echoing: Why did it all become so weird?

Embarrassment clung to the silence, and you wondered what comfort you had once found in the noise—the cacophony of everyday life. But answers eluded you. As you returned to Jackson, Ellie by your side, you led the horses back to the stable. Maria received a brief explanation about the situation inside the building, her eyes curious but respectful. And then, without uttering a single word, you and Ellie went your separate ways. The silence remained, a chasm that neither of you dared to bridge.

This was 2 Days, 5 Hours and 54 Minutes ago. But who's Counting, right?

Ever since then, knowing you had three days off parole with her, you barricaded yourself at home. Maria didn't question it; she probably assumed it was because the bloader brought back too many memories. You certainly wouldn't correct her on that theory. Instead, you settled by the big window in your living room, watching raindrops trace their paths on the glass. But it couldn’t it stay that way and you knew eventually you'd have to talk to her, face her, and work with her. You didn't want things to become even more awkward than they already were. So you prepared yourself for a long, difficult talk.

With what felt like hours of convincing yourself and an argument you played out in your head, you got up and made yourself look presentable again. Leaving the comfort of your house, you took a little walk around the built neighbourhood in Jackson, pondering what you'd even say to her. Instead of taking the short road leading directly to Ellie's safe four walls, you made your way to one of the information stations across town, just to have a quick look at next week's schedule.

Arriving there, you meet a friendly face: Sophia. She's almost like Maria's right hand, diligently putting up new lists every week. You give her a small smile, though the turmoil inside you threatens to spill over. Her pitying look doesn't go unnoticed. Your eyes scan the handwritten list, searching for your and Ellie's names, followed by the assigned route. But something catches your attention: Ellie's name isn't next to yours anymore; it's now paired with Dina. You blink, thinking it's some cruel, messed-up joke. Your eyes dart around, seeking your initials, and there they are—next to Jesse.

"What the hell?" you mumble, the confusion swirling in your mind. Sophia approaches, sensing your distress. "Can I help you with anything?" she asks, her voice gentle. You hesitate, then blurt out, "Why am I assigned with Jesse instead of Ellie? Is this some sick joke?"

Regret tinges your voice; it's not Sophia's fault. Mistakes happen, right? She shifts uncomfortably, glancing at You. "Oh, Maria didn't talk to you yet?" she says, reading your expression. "Uhm, Williams, here." She points to the list, where Ellie's name is scrawled in an unsteady handwriting. "Asked Maria to switch parole partners... I don't know why," Sophie mumbles, fear evident in her eyes on how you'd take the news.

You turn to the door hearing a cracking sound, and there's Maria, striding toward you with multiple papers in hand.

"Maria, what the—" Your words catch in your throat. Maria's weathered face meets your gaze. "Hey, sweetie, don't give me that look," she says gruffly. "I tried to talk Ellie out of it, but she insisted on changing partners. Didn’t even gave me an explanation but I could tell she was serious. And since you and Jesse are friends as well, I thought it wouldn't make much of a difference. He can help you out” she said, making it sound like not a big deal.

She insisted on changing.

The words hang in the air, a sledgehammer to your already fragile heart. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? What are you supposed to do?

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #joel and ellie #the last of us #ellie the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #joel miller #joel tlou #elliexreader #elliewilliams #ellie x fem reader #ellie #ellie x reader #reader x character #ellie x you #last of us

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captainofthedauntless · 5 days

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Home Is Where The Heart Is

Rise Leonardo x Reader imagine

Info + Warnings: Reader's having a bad time. It's fluff anyway. No gendered language, pronouns, or Y.N used for Reader. Friends-to-lovers type beat, yearning era. Set a few years post movie. Suggestive comments, maybe.

Commentary: This is not proof read.

He loves this.

Not- not whatever your head's doing, with the grim skies and that far away look you get every now and again and the fact that your sleep's shit and- well, not that.

The way you're laying on his floor.

He'd left the room long enough to grab some snack mix- because it's easy, it's quick, you like it, and there's something almost like nutrition there, protein probably- and when he walks back in, you're on your back on the floor, arms draped by your head, one ankle tossed over the other knee as you stare at the ceiling.

He has literal benches against the wall of the old subway car. A bean bag chair. Your favorite chair is in the corner, the one he's all but verbally declared your seat, that he always throws a hoodie in (out of convenience, mind you. That's all. No ulterior motives here, no sir). His entire bed is free- and made, thank you- and yet you're sprawled on his floor as though social norms are nonexistent here.

He really, really likes that idea.

"Comfy?" He asks playfully, moving around you with ease.

You hum a yes, and he glances back at you.

You're tired. He knows that already. But somehow, the bags beneath your eyes look darker from this angle. The weight that's been holding your sunny smile back from its full force is almost visible here.

He gets hit with a wave of want- want to fix it, want to hold you, want to make it better- so hard that he feels it physically, just beneath his plastron, fierce and yearning in his chest.

An irrational part of him thinks you must feel it somehow, because you glance over at him as it happens. "What?"

"Trying to remember the last time I swept," He quips instinctively.

You roll your eyes- the way that means you're amused, the way that he chases like a dog after a ball- and they settle back on the ceiling. "Somehow, I think I'll manage a little dirt."

It's not quite right. It's off center. Off the mark. Your voice- it's just to the right of where it should be. It's missing its shine, the playful way you meet him where he lives and make his quips-and-wordplay house your home too.

Luckily, he's pretty damn mobile.

So he moves. He nudges you with his foot, and you move your arm to lay across your torso and clear a spot for him, and he easily drops down next to you and passes you one of the bottles of water he'd grabbed and sets the snack mix between you.

He lays down next to you in whatever this other house is, and he can feel the cobwebs trying to cling to you.

"Hi," He says softly, staring at the ceiling.

"Hi," You repeat, and it's monosyllabic and neutral and means nothing but he feels like you're making a space for him at your table.

It feels like an invitation, an acceptance, like a "why don't you stay for dinner?".

He thinks he'd stay forever, if it'd help. He's good with a duster. He can help tidy things up, if you let him.

Leo wants to ask why you moved in. What brought you here, to this dreary, haunted-looking old place.

"Wanna watch some Vine greatest hits?" He asks instead.

Not even half an hour later, your breathing has all but convinced him that you're asleep.

He's fighting the urge to check, not wanting to risk waking you up somehow.

Instead, he reaches up and into his little viewing-portal, turning his phone down slightly where it's resting on his bed. (No tired arms, no piecing together a makeshift phone stand, no risk of dropping it on your face. As easy as portals are to maintain these days, it's a no-brainer.)

The screen goes dark as another compilation ends, and instead of hitting "Play" on the suggested video, he finds your face in the reflection.

You look asleep. You look tired, and it aches a little to see.

He can let his eyes linger, now, with yours closed, so he reaches up to turn his screen off.

You're still gorgeous, he thinks with a fond half-hearted frustration. Even exhausted.

When he gets into these dark places, he looks like a wreck.

When you do it, he wants to pull you in by the waist and kiss it better.

Fucking ridiculous.

He finds himself trying to match his breath to yours. Inhale, small pause, exhale, longer pause, inhale, and in that second small pause he realizes this is how he always feels. Like you're synced, like you give him a rhythm to rely on, like you give him something to orbit around when he's knocked out of place.

It's not a new thought, but the analogizing makes something shift in his chest to make room for the sheer size of the feeling.

He loves you. That's not news. You're one of his closest friends- his closest, maybe- and he loves you.

But he's been having the dangerous thought that he might love you, lately.

Might be in love with you.

And when you do things like instinctively look at him right as he glances your way and play off of his jokes like a tennis match and text him pictures of the sunset just because you think it's pretty, he thinks it's more than a might.

But now, something's dragging rainclouds into your sky. And you've found your way to his floor, his space, his company. Again.

He'd barely even had to offer it on the phone earlier, hearing the gray in your voice and tossing the idea of company your way.

You'd barely even had to consider it. You'd just said you'd have to stop by your place, first, and set your stuff down.

You were tired enough to fall asleep, and still came.

You're comfortable enough on his floor, in his space, in his company to fall asleep.

And, if the way he knows in his bones he'd sit here for forever if it means not disturbing you is any indication, he's fallen into something else entirely.

Something that feels like listening to the ocean hit the piers, something that feels like the humming of all of Donnie's security gadgets, something that feels like brushing against his Ninpō. It's familiar, consistent, comforting.

You make a little moaning sound eventually, rolling your shoulders some and inhaling deeply as you rejoin the land of the conscious.

It sends blood straight to his cheeks, and he tries not to think about anywhere else.

"Sorry," you mumble, voice thick and syrupy from sleep.

For half a second, he thinks you're apologizing for the sound, and he's trying to figure out how to tell you to never apologize for that ever, and actually, do way more of it.

Then his brain takes over, shuts his body up, and points out that you probably meant for falling asleep.

"Nah," He says lazily, the picture of chill. You could commit a murder on his floor and he doesn't think he'd care much.

"Didn't mean to fall asleep," You continue, groggy as you dig the heel of your palm into your eye. "How long was I out?"

He has no idea. "An hour, maybe?"

He catches your eye in the reflection on his phone screen, and you tense, and then you soften again.

"You weren't just laying here, were you?" You ask, in that gentle hidden-guilt way of yours, and he kinda wants to shake you by the shoulders until your brain reconnects and realizes that he'd just lay there forever if you'd let him, attention span be damned.

He opts to tease you, instead. "Oh, so when you think the floor is comfy-"

"You have a shell," You point out dryly.

"You think a turtle can't enjoy the floor? Rude."

You grumble something about it being too early for this, and he doesn't even bother to bite back his grin.

"Thanks," You say after a minute, catching his eye again. Your features are soft and vulnerable and open, and he has to fight not to turn to you, to let you stay in the safety of a reflection. "For being here."

"Always," He says immediately, not even considering it. It's instinctive, reactive, true.

It makes you smile, and he thinks- knows- he's a goner.

He gets three proper laughs from you before you leave.

Two actual smiles, too. They're muted, but they're there, and he hopes he can keep his mental snapshots of them for forever. Longer than that.

You're still gray, still muted, still hazy, but you're here. You're bathed in the multi-colored light of his room and comfortable and safe, and he's wondering how he ever thought he might be in love.

And when you finally do leave- late, and only because you have life again tomorrow- he portals you straight to your room.

He catches your hand impulsively on your way out, giving it a quick squeeze, and smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring manner when you look at him.

You give him a small smile back, and it's resilient and strong and it feels like hope.

You're resilient and strong and feel like hope.

He's in love.

"Wanna do this again tomorrow?" He asks, sounding much more casual than he feels.

"I don't want to-" And you cut yourself off just as he feels an eyeroll building in his skull, bracing himself to hear bother you or be a pest or something similarly insane. "...Yeah. I do."

He squeezes your hand again and grins, and he has to swallow back something gooey and too-much. "Just say the word, and your chariot shall await," He says instead, tilting his head towards the portal.

You study him for a second, something calculating and scrutinizing in your eyes. "Thank you," You say softly, like you mean it.

"Always," He repeats softly, like he means it.

You step through the portal, your hand slipping from his, and he gives you a little salute before letting it close.

He glances at his bed.

He lays down on the floor, instead, and makes a mental note to actually sweep.

#leonardo #leonardo x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt x reader #aged up characters #idk technically he's also aged down bc of future leo. idc #imagines #*writing #2018

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nonexistent-introvert · 11 months

Text

Hug Me

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Content: angst, fight, Joel being mean, guilt, heartbreak,

A/N: I really just wanted to write a fic based of the cover of this song done by BTS V and J-hope. I linked the original artist but there is a part where its J hope's rap so it wasn't included in the original song.

Update: I decided to link a SoundCloud link for the cover too!!

Part 2 !!!!

Unable to win over my heart of sorrow

I endure yet another dark night of sleeplessness

Without a care about my despair

The morning heartlessly wakes me up

The buzzing of Jackson was replaced with silence at this hour. The sounds of nature replaced the usual city buzz. You hated the silence, the bustle was the only thing that distracted you from your thoughts. While everyone is asleep, you lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Trying your best to push down the lump in your throat and silence the voices in your head. Every time you closed your eyes, the whole scene replays on a loop, reminding you of what had happened. Your heart clenched, constricting on itself. The tear streaks still shine in the moonlight.

You don’t think you got a single night of sleep since your fight with Joel. If you were lucky, maybe you would get naps and the times when you had just collapsed because of sheer exhaustion. It was lucky that you always collapsed when you returned home. You didn’t want anyone realising how much despair you were in, you didn’t need the concern.

When the voices stopped, a bright light has already shone into your room. The silence was now filled with various greetings and laughs. Many people waking up early for patrol or to provide and contribute their services to Jackson. You stood up, exhaustion weighing your body down. You tried to ignore the reflections of yourself, you doubted you looked well at all.

It was heartless, wasn’t it? How time still passed indifferently despite the pain you were in.

The scars hurt more than I expected

The pain goes deeper than I expected

The countless nights I spend resenting you

Are like hell to me

You catch passing glances at Joel, he always seemed preoccupied with some kind of work. You tore your eyes away from him anyways while your heart ached longingly for him. His porch was empty at night, he used to strum his guitar there, hoping that the melodies would bring you to him.

You rid the thoughts of him, you really should stop thinking about him. Your heart clenched at the thought, as though it protested against you. The logical part of you urges you to just move on with your life, go back to the life before you filled your days with Joel’s company. Then there was your heart which ached constantly for Joel, and yet, it refuses to let go of him.

What was wrong with you? It has been almost a month since the both of you fought. Joel looked like he moved on fine so why were you the only one who was suffering?

You hated Joel Miller. You hated him for the pain he had put you through. You hated him for how easily he moved on, as though you hadn’t meant a single thing to him. Your logical mind listed every single one of Joel’s faults and flaws. However, your heart simply yearned for Joel, reminding you of the times you spent with him. When he made you the happiest you have ever been. When he gave you that boyish smile, when he laughed at one of your remarks when he teases you with his iconic drawl.

When he had muttered to you the words he never had the courage to say while you’re awake.

“You mean so much more to me than you’ll ever know darlin’”

The tears flowed again, just like every other night. It was like your own personal torture.

Stay by my side, stay with me

Don’t let go of my hand you hold

If you take one step away

I can just take one step closer

“Joel please!” You begged, holding onto his hand. There was a split moment in time where Joel hesitated and his gaze softened ever so slightly. Joel wrung his hand out from your grip, turning away from you as he ran his hands through his hair. You took a step closer to him, “I’m sorry.” You uttered. “I need some time.” And Joel slammed the door behind him

Thousands of times a day

My thoughts come back to you

All the cruel words you said to me

That icy look, those cold expressions

You blasted the music that was playing in your ears. Trying to drown out the words that he had said that day. You distracted yourself with the lyrics of the song, hoping that it would stop the scene from replaying in your head. You were never seen without your earphones after that day, because when your mind was allowed to wander, it would wander back to him. The music helps to reduce how vivid the memory was.

“There is no ‘us’. There was never an ‘us’ and there will not be.” Joel gritted out. Your fists shook uncontrollably beside you. When you finally found the courage to look up at him, the look in his eyes was unrecognisable. It was a look he gave to enemies, a cold glare void of any warmth, so unlike the looks he always gave you. He was no longer the Joel who called you darling then, he was Joel Miller, the man who murdered the fireflies in cold blood and destroyed any chances of a cure.

You shivered at the memory, your breath hastened considerably.

You were such a pretty person

Please don’t do this to me

You know me well

In this apocalypse, no one trusted each other. Even in Jackson, trust takes time to build, you had to earn your place here by helping out. Joel Miller was reliable, polite, and reasonable, being Tommy’s brother also helped him easily earn the trust of many. However, you don’t remember the day you decided to trust him with everything you had. Maybe it was the countless times he had saved you from close calls during patrols.

It was definitely the times he had spent slowly warming up to you. When he had mentioned to you what Ellie was up to during patrol when he came up to you and asked you all about the lore of Savage Starlight. Those were the times when you slowly gave your heart to him, bit by bit, till it wasn’t yours anymore.

His good looks were hardened by the apocalypse, but when he let the traces of a smile show and let out a laugh or wheeze, you knew you fell for him even more. So when he slammed the door on you that day and walked out of your life like he never meant anything, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

The glimpse of a pained look on his face showed that he knew that your heart shattered at his words. Knew that his actions were enough to leave a bleeding heart behind. Joel Miller knew you too well.

And that was why, it had hurt so much.

Those words you said lightly at the time

Made light our relationship in the end

I didn’t know familiarity was the scariest thing

I didn’t know your heart, until our end full of regrets

By the day, your empty spot grows bigger

Perhaps it was your fault that you decided to try to walk on the tightrope that was yours and Joel’s relationship. The both of you tethered on the line of friends, as though the both of you were testing the limits of it. You should have known that when you went beyond the line, you would walk on the tightrope, never sure if Joel would catch you when you did fall from the tightrope. From your situation now, you know that he didn’t catch you, he was never prepared to catch you.

The months you had spent with him, the time you had spent laughing and talking to him under the stars, the nights you had spent in his arms. It all felt like a long dream as soon as the weight of his words comprehended in your mind.

“There is no ‘us’, there never was and there never will.”

“We should have never met.”

You chuckle sadly at yourself now, you had even once thought of what it will be like being his wife. Just like how Maria is Tommy’s wife. It seemed like a childish dream now. The scariest part of it all was how you thought you knew him like the palm of your hand, you trusted him enough to not hurt you and walk out so heartlessly, that he would at least have had the decency to let you down slowly. It took everything falling apart, it took regrets pilling on one another to know Joel Miller truly. No matter what, the place Joel had left vacant in your heart only seems to grow bigger by the day.

Even if we water our flower bed that was once beautiful

Only our memories remain in full bloom

Only the scent of longing wafts out

Time doesn’t heal all wounds, it simply numbs the pain that comes from the wounds. When you stare at Joel as he passes you, you couldn’t help the sad smile that forms on your lips. Mourning for the one who got away, what could have been a fairytale. As you watched him lift a bunch of fresh supplies for Jackson, your heart ached numbly in your heart. Even if you did give him and you a chance again, the fight and the trust that was lost between you in this period of time would forever hinder the relationship. You knew Joel and you would never go back to how you were back then, you were thankful that at least the happiness was contained in happy memories that you could look back on. On those days when you reminisce your memories with him and contemplate fixing things between the both of you, you could only remind yourself of the cold truth. However, you couldn’t stop your heart from yearning for him.

If I can just see you again

I want to show you my everything

I’ll hug you and hold you tight

So you can read my beating heart

For real, for real

Until this truth rests in your embrace

Joel sat down in his favourite chair with a grunt. The cold silence that greeted him in his home was not something that he looked forward to. He sighed, listening to one of his records play, letting the music accompany him instead. So he does not feel that alone.

“She left today. Not sure what she’s up to but she did make some joke of coming back if she doesn’t die.” Tommy casually told Joel over patrol. Joel’s heart stopped for a moment, asking for more details but it seems like you deliberately didn’t leave much. Joel bit back on his tongue, he had no right asking about you, not when he treated you like that.

The guilt haunted him every day since he walked out of your house that day. His pride not letting him go and apologise to you, and because he also thought that you would be better off without him. You deserved better than an old grumpy man like him.

But knowing that he couldn’t even see you around town now, unable to know if you are okay killed him internally. Joel could only blame himself for letting you go. Then he slowly got selfish, till the point where if he saw you again, he would plead every day for your forgiveness and hope that you would give him another chance. He will hold you in his arms, letting you hear his heartbeat, how it skips when he’s near you, how it paces when he sees you. His heartbeat will tell you the words he never got to tell you. Until you finally realize how much you mean to him and that he will forever blame himself for letting you go.

Just hug me, please hug me

Just run to me without a word

Joel wishes you would run into his arms again like you always did. You would call out his name and run towards him with a big grin. He will extend his arms out and welcome you into his arms. If the both of you were alone, you would even wrap your legs around him. Then he could let his heart skip a few beats at the sound of your giggles before you nuzzle your nose into his neck. Maybe after you came back from the trip you were on, you would run into his arms again, and he will welcome you like nothing has ever changed.

With a lonely and anxious heart

Like this I wait for you

For the first time since that day he fought with you, Joel picked up his guitar and sat on his porch again. He strummed melodies that he knew you would hum to, that you would start walking in beat to. Then you’ll dramatically sing out the lyrics when you see him, like you were a Disney princess in a Disney musical. He chuckles at the memory. Joel Miller will wait for you to come back to him. His music expresses his love for you, hoping that one day you’ll notice it.

He will talk to the moon about how much he loves you and hope that you’ll forgive him. His lonely heart anxiously awaits the day he will receive the message that you were back in Jackson and he had a chance to make things right with you.

His foolish and weak heart wishes that the moon would help convey his love and intentions to you. Joel hopes that you were talking to the moon too. After all, the only thing he had in common with you now was the sky above you from wherever you stood now.

I love you, I love you

I’ll shout out from this long silence

My foolish and weak heart

317 notes · View notes

vote-gaara · 4 months

Text

Positive Results - Gaara x (Fem) Reader

(NSFW under break)

Read on A03

Summary: You're at the stage in your life where you desperately want kids…Actually, you've always dreamed of having a family, and now that you've been in a relationship with Gaara for a few years now, you're thinking of broaching the subject with him.

There's just one problem, though: You have absolutely no clue what his opinions are on the matter!

Could it be that due to his past he might refuse to start a family, spelling the end of your relationship with him? Or are you just getting ahead of yourself and panicking over nothing?

You suppose there's only one way to find out: You need to build up your courage and simply just ask him…

Warnings: lots of fluff, impregnation, pregnancy, wanting to get pregnant, talk of kids, sex, creampie

Authors Notes: I don't know what happened with this fic, but it just got on the wrong bus all of a sudden and ended up in fluff town. Don't worry, though, there's still lots of steam.

This fic is read best by someone who wants children or can imagine themselves having children/getting pregnant. If that's not you, you could probably still enjoy it for what it's worth, but it might not be your thing.

Anyways, enjoy.

Positive Results

Everything you desperately yearned for was dependent on the answer you would receive in the next three minutes.

You were standing alone in your bathroom with an anxiety so great it nearly made you nauseous. To steady yourself you held your breath, but when you began hearing the blood flowing through your ears along with the hard drumming of your heart, you changed tactics and opted to take slow, deep breaths instead.

In front of you was a white, plastic pregnancy test you had purchased only half an hour ago. You had promised yourself that you would wait until Gaara got home so that you both could endure the torture of the wait together, but you couldn’t help yourself. You simply had to know.

Now you occupied yourself the best you could, covering the test with the instruction booklet so that you didn’t have to look at it; then, quite abruptly, you changed your mind and ripped off the paper pamphlet to stare eagerly down at the result window. This compulsive action repeated so many times that you were certain you could have set your own world record for most amount of paper moved in 3 minutes.

It was torment. Utter torment.

You began reasoning with yourself the best you could, “If it’s negative now, it’s really no big deal. We can always try again next month.”

This thought comforted you and eased the tension from your shoulders as you reminisced over the last few months leading up to this very important moment.

***

The question on whether or not Gaara wanted to have children was something that burdened you with a doubt so strong that it paved its way to dread.

You had always wanted to have children, but now you desperately wanted to have children with Gaara, and the prospect that he didn’t feel the same anguished you greatly.

“In the way he was raised, of course he wouldn’t want to have children!” You reasoned, advocating against yourself. “And of course even if we did have children, they would be expected to be shinobi and he wouldn’t want that! Ever!”

For each logical explanation you offered as to why Gaara wouldn’t want children, you sank further and further into despair. You loved him with all your heart, but having children was something really important to you.

“Could I really carry on being in a relationship with him if he never wanted kids?”

While you were busy tying yourself all up in knots over his stance on the subject, the fact had slipped your mind that you had never actually asked him how he felt about it. In truth, you had absolutely no clue where he stood on the matter, and it was a very real possibility that you were dreading an outcome that didn’t even exist!

Gaara was, to many people, a mystery. With his difficult to read expressions, his calm demeanor and to-the-point attitude, he was a perplexing mix of being extremely difficult to gauge and yet simultaneously extremely open with his expectations and ideas. Though throughout your relationship you could pick up and recognize even the most subtle changes in his expression, voice and demeanor with near 100% accuracy, there were still certain things you still needed to ask him about; after all, your ability to notice his tells him didn’t make you a mind reader.

Gaara, though reserved with his emotions, was upfront and honest about his intentions. When he wanted something, he would work hard to obtain it. When he was curious, he would ask questions. If he was upset about something….Well, eventually you could pry that out of him, too.

Yet when it came to having children, the jury was so far out that they may have well conspired together to skip trial to never be seen or heard from again. He never mentioned his thoughts about the subject, and he never asked you your opinions on the matter, either.

“Did he not think about having kids at all?!” You thought to yourself from where you were sitting next to him on the couch, some months ago. Admittedly you were squinting hard at him, as if straining your eyes could help you peer inside his mind and find the filing cabinet in his brain labeled “whether or not to have children”.

He turned to look at you.

“Y/N…” He said, his voice was level but the way he trailed off made you realize that there was something important he wanted to say. This made you flustered and you deflated backwards, giving him space.

Could it be that he was the one who had peered into your mind?

“Yeah?” You asked, glancing away quickly trying to play off how intently you had been staring at him just seconds before.

“I wanted to know…” He began and then stopped as he collected his thoughts; a troubled expression overtook his face.

“What is it?” You leaned forward again, but this time out of worry.

“It’s just…well…” Gaara began again and faltered again. He steadied himself, placing his warm hand on top of yours and he gazed into your eyes; eyes that were so soft and full of love, and yet you could see that pain resided in them, too. “I wanted to know if you were upset at me for something.”

The question caught you so off-guard that you let out a small gasp.

“What? Of course not, why would you think that?” You asked frantically, pulling your hand out from under his so that you could place it affectionately on his cheek.

“You have been acting differently lately,” Gaara explained, eyes still darkened, as if he didn’t believe you when you assured him that nothing was wrong.

You pulled your hand away from his face, but nestled closer to him. “There’s nothing I would be upset at you for,” You said but still Gaara didn’t budge, forcing you to probe deeper. “What have I done to make you think I’m upset with you?”

“You just seem to be acting differently lately,” Gaara asserted again, but this time he opened up with an explanation. “I have noticed it for a while now…that there was something on your mind, but I could never place what it was…” Gaara drifted off and now you could really see the hurt pooling into his seafoam green eyes. “I wondered if maybe you had changed your mind about us.”

“That’s not true at all!” You exclaimed, pushing yourself towards him so forcefully that you were nearly sitting in his lap. Your arms wrapped around him tightly and your face found its way to the crook of his neck; when you felt his arms wrap around you, you began splashing his neck with little kisses.

“I love you very much,” you said, pulling away just enough to meet his gaze.

“I love you, Y/N.” Gaara said as he snaked a hand behind both your knees, pulling you close so that he could cradle you in his strong arms.

You didn’t complain, and rested your head on his shoulder, one hand reaching out to affectionately caress his cheek. The two of you sat, nourished by each other’s company until Gaara spoke again.

“Then…What is it?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” You were puzzled. The alarm you had felt mere seconds before had completely wiped your mind clear of any previous thought.

“What has been bothering you?”

You moved away from him slightly to stare into his eyes, thinking back to all the interactions you had had with him lately; of course, nothing came to mind. You hadn’t been fighting or arguing, you both had been making ample time for each other; your sex life was active and intimate…

Suddenly it became clear to you and you let out a small giggle. You had to hand it to Gaara, he had always been a shrewd one.

“Nothing about you has been bothering me…but there is something…” You trailed off, seeing your opportunity to finally ask him the question that’s been itching in your brain for months now. “I wanted to ask you, but I guess I’m afraid of the answer.”

“What is it?” Gaara asked patiently.

“Well…it’s not so easy to just come out and ask.” You admitted as you deflated, leaning back away from him. “The trouble is that if you give me the wrong answer, then…Well, then you would have been correct to assume that we couldn’t be together.”

Your heart was beating hard against your ribcage as fear pooled into your navel; yet at the same time, you felt a deep comfort come over you, as if there was a spirit wrapping you in a warm blanket and telling you everything was going to be okay.

“Why?!” Gaara asked, his voice hoarse with pain.

“It’s just…Well…” You thought to explain the complexity of it all, but then you simply just blurted out, “Gaara, do you want to have kids?”

Gaara’s eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open slightly before he caught himself. He gazed into your eyes, searching into the depth of your soul. It made you flustered - the expression on his face which you could not place - but you held firm.

“I’m relieved…”Was all Gaara said after what felt like years of intensity, but the simplicity of it made you bristle slightly.

“What do you mean?” Your voice came out more cross than you had meant.

“I’m relieved that this has been what has been bothering you,” Gaara said, again quite simply. He let a small, relieved smile come across his face. “I had been worried this whole time that there was something else…Something that meant you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” His smile fell and he lifted a hand to gaze solemnly into his palm. After a heartbeat he said, “I’m glad that’s not the case.”

The tightness in your muscles relaxed and you reached for Gaara’s hand, holding it delicately. You could feel his soft, warm skin in yours and you squeezed. “No, that was never the case,” You reassured him before pausing awkwardly. “But…Gaara…What do you think? I mean about having kids?”

Gaara blinked and looked over at you, his calm demeanor never wavering. “I had never thought of having children on my own, but not that I was against it. I felt perhaps that I would never have the fortune of having a partner, but now that I have you….Well, I think I’d really like to have them.”

Your body moved faster than your mind and suddenly you dove towards Gaara, kissing him clumsily and hard on the lips. Your reaction had surprised him and moved away slightly before he oriented himself and began kissing you back.

Reaching his hands to cradle your face, he pulled away slightly, but you were adamant. “Gaara, I want you to fuck me.”

A deep crimson blush came over his face which you found so adorable, you dove in for another passionate kiss.

“I…” Gaara sputtered, his mind still reeling, abruptly and clunkily switching tracks.

“I want you to fuck me right here on the couch.” You asserted, adjusting yourself so that you were sitting upright. “I want you to fuck me for all you’re worth, I want you to bend me up in knots, I want -”

“Y/N!” Gaara cut in gruffly, the sound of his deep, authoritative voice sending a shiver of excitement through you as if a cold breeze had suddenly passed through the room. Gaara took you by the wrist, his grasp firm which drove you even crazier. He had composed himself now and was staring at you deeply. “I don’t know if I have ever seen you so worked up…” He said, but there was a slight sliver of playfulness in his tone.

“Please Gaara -” You began to beg, but he cut you off with a kiss; the kind that firmly put an end to your inhibitions - not that you had any in that very moment, anyways. You let him push you backwards onto the couch and you spread your legs wide for him so that the two of you could fit together perfectly. He kissed you over and over until it made you dizzy, the hot wetness pooling between your legs.

“Ugn…I just want you to fuck me so bad…” You whispered into his ear.

“I will.”

Gaara’s voice was assured and you turned your head, allowing him access to the sensitive skin on your neck. He began kissing you over and over, all while you squirmed with pleasure and bliss from beneath him. You could feel the bulge in his pants as you pushed your hips forward, desperately grinding against him in the hopes that he would take you right then and there.

Though Gaara was far more reserved than you in that moment, pulling away so that he could help you remove your shirt. You didn’t need any help with your bra, however, for as soon as he had your shirt free from you, you had swifty undone the clasps and thrown the pesky article across the room at lightning speed.

Gaara’s eyes widened in surprise but he was smiling now, too; the type of rare smile you didn’t get to see often, but that always made you fall in love with him all over again when you saw it. It was just a shame you couldn’t savor it for longer as your tongue had found its way into his mouth as he once again leaned overtop of you, matching your energy this time as both of your tongues met in intimacy and pleasure.

You felt his wandering hands; how his caress traveled upwards towards your left breast. You felt him squeeze and as he did so, you moaned into his mouth which encouraged him further. Soon your tender nipple was between his fingers, and he began pinching it lightly, gradually applying more pressure until you let out another gasp. Now he couldn’t compose himself, he broke away from kissing you, turning his attention fully towards your breasts. He dove forward, sucking on your nipples so relentlessly that you knew he would be leaving his mark on you. All you could do was surrender to the sensation as butterflies fluttered and danced in your stomach, and more heat built up between your legs.

“Gaara…” You moaned as you tangled your elegant fingers through his thick, red hair. You relished how he moaned back. You loved feeling him moving his hips forward, pressing firmly against your womanhood.

“If only he would take off his clothes!” You thought impatiently, pushing him away so that you could work at the buttons on his shirt. You didn’t have time for games, you wanted him to enter you so desperately that it almost hurt. You wanted to feel him pulse inside you as he orgasmed, releasing the seed that would give you your baby.

His shirt was off now and you got straight to unbuckling his pants, all while he let you set the pace. He could appreciate the mission you were on so he didn’t interfere by slowing things down, and you could tell by how hard his erection was once you had freed it from the confines of his pants that he didn’t want to wait much longer, either.

Now you were working on his underwear, tugging at the elastic band to free his stiffened member. It looked so swollen that it appeared to you almost uncomfortable, as it twitched impatiently, a bead of precum budding on the tip.

You wrapped a hand around his thick member, but Gaara grabbed you by the wrist again, pinning you back onto the cushions of the couch. When he was confident you would stay there, it was his turn to reveal his prize. He wasted no time, hooking his fingers into your waistband, he rid you of your pants and underwear both, and you opened your legs wide, revealing yourself fully to him.

“You are so beautiful,” He whispered, admiring your naked body with his gentle gaze. His hand was on your shin, slowly working its way upwards until you couldn’t take it any longer. You grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close to you, your tongues dancing together once more.

“Fuck me,” You said simply, and Gaara obliged.

With one hand, he guided his cock towards your entrance; your heart filling with giddiness as you heard him moan softly at the slick, warm, wetness of your flesh.

Pushing forward, you connected with him, throwing your head back in bliss as the tip of his penis entered you slowly. Gaara leaned forward, his elbows resting on both sides of your head as he let out a pleasured gasp, pushing harder and harder until his full length was inside you.

“Damnit,” He grunted, pressing himself so hard against your entrance that you could feel his balls against your flesh.

It drove you wild.

You began rocking your hips forwards, your fingers tangling through his hair until they traveled downwards towards his back. You dug your nails into his flesh like an animal, but Gaara didn’t seem to mind. He was giving it to you in hard, passionate strokes until he was making noises you had never heard him make before.

“Oh god!” You cried out as he abruptly hooked his hands around your knees, pushing your legs towards your chest. Now you could feel the tip of his cock rubbing relentlessly against your g-spot, and the sensation made you moan and pant. Better yet, you could feel from this position how deep Gaara could reach inside you, and you begged for him to cum in you.

“Please cum in me, Gaara!” You cried, your own dirty-talk pushing you closer to ecstasy.

“Tell me…” Gaara panted without breaking stride. “Tell me what you want.”

Now your womanhood was pulsing, drawing nearer and nearer to orgasm. You tried grinding against him, desiring him to go faster and harder, but from your vantage point you couldn’t. However, Gaara was observant and he drove his cock into you with such strength and speed you could barely think straight.

“Tell me what you want!” He repeated, demanding this time.

“I want you…” You moaned loudly, “To put a baby in me!”

Gaara fucked you harder and harder, you could tell how close he was, and you would meet him there. You concentrated deeply on the blooming pleasure that was stirring deep inside you, so near that you wanted to chase it. Then something truly sent you over the edge.

“I will put a baby in you.” Gaara growled in your ear, and that was it for you.

Your orgasm was strong. Your legs shook so hard you thought they might permanently turn into jello, and the pleasure was so great that you couldn’t even moan or breathe, you simply just had to endure wave after wave of bliss as your womanhood tightened and spasmed around Gaara’s thick, hot cock.

Gaara himself was close behind you. You felt him pushing deeper and deeper into you; so deep that it nearly made you wince as the head of his cock pressed up against your cervix. Then you felt as his cock began pulsating, joining you in orgasm, as ropes upon ropes of his cum filled you up, pooling against the entrance to your womb. You swore that sensation alone extended your orgasm for so long you could barely take it.

Gaara collapsed on top of you, panting hard. You could feel his penis softening inside you, but he was in no rush to withdrawal from you. With your legs still pinned upwards, the two of you caught your breath before kissing affectionately.

“I suppose we’ll have to do this more often,” Gaara said, his lewdness taking you by surprise - if you could even call that statement lewd.

“As many times as we can both handle,” You replied with a big smile. You took him by the face and kissed him again, taking your time to pull away. However, it seemed that this stirred something inside Gaara, as you could feel his cock waking up, stiffening once more inside of you.

“Again?” You asked, your grin still big and bright.

Gaara let out a sheepish scoff but his answer came as he pushed into you more deeply again. His lips met yours, but in a less hurried manor this time. This time, it was slower, more attentive.

This time it was lovemaking.

***

The three minutes were up and you snatched the pregnancy test from the counter, casting a quick glance at the result window to receive your highly anticipated answer.

Positive.

Just then, you heard Gaara coming down the hallway, and you flung open the door and dove into his arms. He caught you, receiving your celebratory kisses without much question.

“I’m pregnant!” You announced with joyful tears in your eyes.

Gaara’s eyes widened and a big, genuine smile warmed his face; his eyes softened as he held you in your arms. “Y/N…” He said breathlessly, “I’m so happy. Congratulations.”

You kissed him again, your embrace long and intimate as the two of you relished the exciting news together.

“Your baby is inside me,” You said softly in his ear as he held you close. You weren’t sure what to expect from this comment, but the sudden poke you felt from his groin was a pleasant surprise.

“Does that excite you?” You asked, teasing him slightly.

Gaara turned his head away slightly out of embarrassment. “Yes…it does…”

Now you felt it too, and your hand strayed downwards, cupping his bulge. He tensed up at this, but gazed yearningly into your eyes.

“What do you say we go for celebratory dinner?” You asked with a spark in your eye. “But before we do that…What do you say we have some celebratory sex?”

With that Gaara scooped you up into his strong, unwavering arms and carried you to the bedroom. Little did you both know that by the time that you were finished with each other, all the restaurants would have been closed for the night.

This was okay, though. The celebration could always wait until tomorrow.

#gaara #kazekage #sand siblings #naruto #sabaku no gaara #gaara of the sand #gaara x oc #gaara x reader #gaara headcanons #naruto shipuden

90 notes · View notes

14dyh · 2 months

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Look My Way | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x gn!reader Summary: The 14th of February is a day of love for many, but maybe not for you. Word count: 1.1k Content warning: blood (from a nosebleed), tiny bit of angst A/N: I'm not crying during Valentine's Day I swear 😇 (liar) anyway hvd, hange lovers!!

Noise and laughter enveloped the room, friends giving gifts, lovers holding each other. One would look at the scene and tell you it was such a loving ambiance, yet your heart grew heavy. It felt so cold and alone from where you sat. Maybe it was the A/C, or maybe it's just cold in February, who knows? You tried to ignore everything, head bowed down to your notes. It was a hectic school day, after all. You should be worrying about that more, shouldn't you?

However, a soundless gasp escaped your lips as your notes slowly became dotted with your tears. It was embarrassingly plenty, even creasing the paper and making the ink bleed through.

You've overheard so many I love yous, so many words of affection, piercing your ear. Each endearing word coupled with pressing school matters only colluded to pierce your ripping heart to ruination.

Yes, you want to celebrate this day. You wish you could. You wouldn't have spent last night pouring out your heart to the love letter you wrote for them, but now you're letting time slip by, letting that letter crease inside your tight school bag. Even the flowers you bought began to get smothered inside, your bag zipper even caught one petal.

You wanted to leave. To get out of this suffocating room and free yourself. But your body remained tied to this place, tied to the sound of their voice and their presence inside the room.

Hange.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to tell them how much they meant to you from the moment they sat by your side that one Monday afternoon a year ago. Your periphery caught them smiling from the other side of the room as people gave them flowers and chocolates. They are so polite, kind, enthusiastic, and everyone loves them. Everyone loved their brilliance, their helpfulness, the depth of their passion and curiosity you couldn't find in anyone else. They are so dearly loved.

You were convinced that yours was different. Everyone talks about them like a dream come true, and yes they are. However, you couldn't utter a word to describe them. They felt like everything good in the world, you would tell yourself. Your heart aches whenever they look your way, when your hands brush against the hallway, or those few times they gently touch your shoulder and mutter a soft excuse me as they pass by with a smile.

How could someone with such an explosive, fascinating personality act so gentle and lovable all at the same time?

Hange could be the most complex paradox and you would've loved them still.

But you sat alone, a few empty chairs away from them, yearning and wishing for them to look your way. For their eyes to meet yours on this day of love.

Eventually, the school event began. Sweet serenades and romantic dances filled the gymnasium with love. If love is in the air, it must be suffocating, you thought as you sat in silence with a book as far away from the noise as possible.

You tried to resist tearing up once again. But their sweet voice filled your ears and nestled its beautiful tune in your mind. They looked so happy during the event, laughing and joking with their friends. They don't have a special someone by their side but they don't seem to need anyone anyway. You didn't hear them being involved with anyone for the whole year you knew each other. No one deserves such a heart anyway.

The air only grew thick, more suffocating than it ever was. It was two hours away from dismissal, but some students were beginning to leave the gymnasium, probably to celebrate the rest of the day with their lovers. You decided to slip by the flocks of people, walking with haste as tears flowed from your eyes again. The last Valentine's Day felt like this, if not worse. You always remain an admirer from afar, clamming up the moment you even think of confessing.

You were too occupied by trying to get away without tripping on your own feet, while also quickly wiping down tears. You're beginning to hate how leaky your eyes always get.

All you feel brings more weight to your body as you walk, you could have sworn that your feet were beginning to sink on the ground.

But all this time you were busy hating this day, Hange wanted to make you feel otherwise. They began to regret not noticing the sadness clouding your eyes since morning and only processed things as you were leaving with haste. They could always pick out your sound even amongst a sea of voices. It pained them that you never uttered a word but only sobbed. They got up from their seat the moment they noticed your departure, slipping past the crowd and into a shortcut so they could race you to the school gate.

They knew they succeeded the moment you passed them by, your footsteps quickening as your teary eyes caught theirs. Hange was quick to catch you in their arms, excusing their sudden action with a conversational "hey."

Your mind raced for a plausible reason as to why your eyes were tearing up, dismissing it with a wave and a believable smile.

I have to go home, you told them. And as you were smoothing out your clothes, and wiping down the tear tracks on your cheeks, your handkerchief caught red.

You winced at the sight of the nosebleed running past your lips. Could this day get any worse?

Do you have to bleed, to go through extremities for anyone to look your way?

Hange pulled their handkerchief, firmly staunching the blood pouring out of your nose.

You would try to laugh, try to tell them that your nosebleeds are common, and you could handle it better at home. But your words halted when Hange spoke.

"I noticed you didn't have lunch today," Hange muttered, both worried and upset, brows slightly furrowed. Their voice became softer as they continued. "Why don't we go out? We could eat somewhere."

They had a small smile on their face, and their eyes shone as well as if smiling along their lips.

Hange couldn't bear to see you alone and hurting in the day when you're supposed to feel more loved than you ever were. It wasn't from their pity or plain friendliness unlike what you might be thinking, and Hange will make sure to let you know by the end of the day.

“I bet there would be a table for two at any restaurant at this hour," they proposed, lacing their hand around yours, the soft smile on your lips making their heart race.

The night remained cold, and February was unforgiving, but it all ceased to matter the moment Hange took you in their arms for the rest of the evening.

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jhuzen · 1 year

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give and take [m.reader]

happy birthday to our beloved ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝ . i’m very glad i finished this just in time for his birthday. hehe. it’s a crime not to write for kuni. anyway, for coherence purposes, we call the wanderer by his first of many names. this is a very soft fic, purely self indulgent, very intimate. again another descender reader because you my dear, are otherworldly ;))

Kunikuzushi swears by his nonexistent heart that even as Scaramouche in his years of joining the Fatui did he not ever wear this much layers. He also swears that you’re doing this just to mock him, especially on sultry nights when he longs for nothing but your touch.

Yet his yearning becomes far more delayed than necessary as he watches you unbuckle leather straps of your very, very long boots, your many, many coats that just seemed to stack on top of another. Was it that cold back where you live? Surely it couldn’t compare to the Tsarita’s abode in Snezhnaya.

Many times even for a puppet like him who didn’t require sleep often fell into one when you would ask him to wait as you get ready for bed. Kunikuzushi was also sure you would wake up in the wee hours of the morning just so you can get ready. Why did your clothing require so much leather straps buckled for security? Were people always itching to tear away at your clothes when you’re off for work?

A deep scowl broke into his rather serene expression at the thought of the lowly creatures of this world and your world clawing at your pristine clothing, hoping to just catch a glimpse underneath those layers.

Kunikuzushi was really getting good at ticking himself off. Ah. No. None of it was his fault. The blame is all yours to shoulder. Even without your presence beside him, even when you’re worlds away, you still manage to find ways to tug at his heartstrings — often into melodies where his insanity and annoyance flares into an allegro, barely mellowing out until he sees your loving ( lovingly irritating, Kunikuzushi corrects) face.

Really, why must you always be busy with your work? Can’t you just be like the traveler that he would begrudgingly accompany — going on countless missions in search of their sibling. Why can’t you also just have a sibling that you must search for here in Teyvat?

He dreads the day you would suddenly take interest in other beings. And he can’t exactly keep track of the people that you meet in your own land. His surveillance is rather lacking and is only limited here in his world. All he has is your promise and the memories of your searing touches from a couple of nights before.

And the one thing that irks Kunikuzushi more than seeing you unfasten the tenth buckle in your clothing was the fact that he willingly gave his trust. Countless times he has told himself to never ever trust someone like you, someone who brings him a life full of sweet promises when all he has ever known was bitterness.

Yet you’ve breached his walls in more ways than one.

You provided heat on nights he was cold, when he needed that raw connection, you never once denied him that luxury. And when he had no heart, you gave him half of yours. You, of all people, worshipped by others, worshipped him and the ground he walked on. You waited on him hand and foot, ready to act when he asks.

Kunikuzushi’s gaze softened, perhaps its why he never demanded either to know where you go and never asked to tag along. You gave so much of yourself to him willingly and in the process, unbeknownst to him, he had also given himself to you. So much that he doesn’t feel the need to worry.

And in this sanctuary of yours that you call home — he was becoming a fixture in it. He finds himself around more even when you insisted he join the traveler when you’re away. Perhaps suddenly, the tides have changed, and now it was him who waits on you, at your beck and call, ready to do what you ask.

He’s heard countless people talk about relationships before, even when he was deemed as a kabukimono in his years of residing in Tatarasuna. Often times, he heard the words ‘give and take’, and only now is it slowly settling in. Five hundred-odd years later, he was finally understanding the crinkled smiles of the old lovebirds, the loving gazes of the newlyweds, and the bashful demeanors of young couples.

Though right now, love feels like a worm is crawling underneath his skin, itching with want to hold you, with the need to see and hear you.

And maybe it’s because he’s been good lately, that he’s slowly recuperating and recovering from his devastating actions as Scaramouche, but the fates have answered his yearning when he heard the door open.

Alas, he’s one to be cautious and stood up, ready to act if in fact it was an intruder — though he doubts it. You were revered so highly that he was sure even if you leave one single possession of yours out in the open, people would stray from it and build a shrine around it instead.

His tensed shoulders immediately dropped the moment he heard the familiar clicks the heels of your boots made against the hard floor of your home (‘Our home’, you’d correct him with a grin that could melt the cores of his insides).

He walked out of your shared room and took it upon himself to greet you in his own way. Only that when he did, he was met by you, who sluggishly leaned against the wall, diverting from your usual entrances upon your return from work.

“…You look terrible,” his tongue acted quick and Kunikuzushi desperately wished this fell into the line of those give and take moments the couples he met spoke of. Though the voice at the back of his head knew better.

Your eyes which held many stars in them that he refused to believe in before dimly glowed and it simply did not sit right with him. He hated the way you looked right now, eyes desolate of that spark that everyone including him admired you for.

“Ah… Kunikuzushi…” he also hated the way even with the crippling exhaustion you obviously had in your system, you still managed to muster a smile so filled with love just for him. “Sorry, I actually intended to surprise you yesterday.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he regarded your words, “It’s a surprise alright.”

“Haah… I should hope you let this one slide. I’ll try to surprise you tomorrow.”

“Spare me the torture,” he scoffed as he walked his way towards you, hands immediately latched onto yours as he pulled you inside your home effortlessly. “Have you eaten?”

He was glad he was built different or he would’ve toppled over with the way your frame slumped onto his for support. Slowly, his hands made its way to your back to support your weight.

“Hunger and sustenance is a societal construct that I wish to defy in my waking days.”

“Those waking days of yours will be long gone if you don’t cave into that societal construct. You’re not like me, [Name]. You need food.”

Your words were barely coherent at that point, “Can it wait until tomorrow? I haven’t eaten for two days at best. I will be alright.”

Poor Kunikuzushi could only balk at your words, completely baffled at your nonchalance of it even. He was quite sure that floating insect beside the traveler could barely go an hour without food, how in the many worlds were you even able to stand and comprehend things without food for two days?

And somehow you could read his mind. Effortlessly, you rose from his grip as new bouts of energy flooded through your system. Truly, being with him gave you the only strength you needed.

“I can go on for days without food, love. Though it definitely has diminished my independence from it. I should say, your delicacies are to blame.”

And despite his words earlier, you really were sometimes like him, unable to hold yourself accountable for the mundane things, always blaming him like how he blames you. For all the things that mean so little — like the way you smile and its correlation to the sudden giddiness he feels or the way he suddenly feels breathless with every graze of your skin against his.

Was this yet another situation of giving and taking?

Lost in his mind, Kunikuzushi barely processed how you pulled him with you into your shared room. And all of a sudden, he was faced with a brighter room. The walls were more saturated with color and he could not help but see the way the entire room managed to make you look so much better.

He almost felt his throat clog up at the way you led him in, and he couldn’t protest and only stepped inside. He has been practicing the many ways of submission in personality with Nahida, especially when she said it could greatly help his interactions with you. And while he refused to admit his need for help, even he himself could not deny it.

Kunikuzushi wanted to be better. Better for you and him and the seeds coming in bloom with every single moment you spend together.

“Love, do you mind?”

Suddenly he was pulled back into reality from his fantasies of you — completely not an unwelcome sensation as he gets to be with the real you instead of the you that lives in his head relentlessly.

Out of habit, his eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched up, “Mind what?”

“Help me?” There was a spark of plea in your eyes and Kunikuzushi couldn’t fathom what you were asking for him. Only then did it become clear when you opted to spread your arms for him, letting your coat to the floor as another look from you beckoned him to come closer, “Undress me?” You finally asked.

Kunikuzushi wished he got your request before you could even voice it. With your sharp wit, you can connect the dots between your request and the way his face suddenly bloomed into a nice shade of flustered red.

How annoying.

He huffed yet complied, like always. He headed over to you and slowly unfastened the cape clasps that held the thick fabric you had. Honestly, why bother with the cape when you have a thick coat? A question he once had for you, only to be met with laughter for an answer.

(“It’s a fashion statement, love!” You would say so jovially, to which he would roll his eyes at.)

As soon as the clasp was done, he let the heavy cape fall down on the ground, adoring the way your suit just seemed to hug your figure despite being the outer layer of your grand clothing.

Subtly, his fingers traced against the embroidered patterns on your suit, often you told him that they told the stories of your sacred family, of the trials and tribulations you had to face before you were the man everyone adored. And somehow, Kunikuzushi could see it — how he only wishes you both had met sooner, so both of you wouldn’t have to face the scars you both now have.

He unbuttoned your suit with care, each button now he sees clearly, each had an insignia of your family, quite unfamiliar to his eyes but the closest he could describe it was a legless dragon with ruby red eyes.

“You know, one of these buttons I intend to replace with your mark embossed on them,” you suddenly claim and Kunikuzushi could see and feel the way his hands trembled against the last button.

He remained silent while you went on, “It’s a symbol of everlasting promise between family, friends, lovers.”

Off were the pesky suit and came on your waistcoat, plain in contrast to your grand suit. He was slowly stripping you of your clothing as you did with his dignity. Still, he persisted with sudden determination, and if he survives this, he can deem himself the strongest version of his self.

The waistcoat was off with less difficulty and he was tasked with yet another harrowing set of buttons from your dress shirt. How on earth do you survive with this much layers? This is all too concerning. Kunikuzushi really ought to see your world for himself.

The way you laughed prodded something at him as he hurriedly took off your dress shirt and was ultimately faced with the last two layers.

And suddenly Kunikuzushi felt as though the curtains should have been drawn to a close. Suddenly, he thought the way you looked was too good for anyone but him to see.

Underneath all that, you wore the one thing that did all the work for your back support — a corset snug and tight against your torso and under that was a white sleeveless top almost rivaling his black body suit with the way it seemed to cling onto you with no hopes of being pried (much like him on special nights).

He frowned and glared ahead of you, checking if there was any unsuspecting passerby that could see you through the bedroom window.

“Kuni,” you cooed so sweetly and his eyes were back on you. “Pay no mind to the rest. I’d like to have your eyes on me.”

Kuni scoffed, “I’m just checking. I don’t want anyone else seeing you in your most indecent form, you have a reputation to uphold.” His words were hollow and both you and him knew it was just a mere excuse, but you did little to refute it.

You always loved the way he would get possessive over you. And you yearned for his want for you just as much as he yearned for your attention on him.

“Worry little, beloved. I’d rather them see you and I like this than anything.”

“Shameless bastard,” Kunikuzushi hissed through his lips that you could see trembling.

You ignored the way he spat his words and only laughed, this time giving him your service.

His breath hitched as he felt your hands through his clothes, his tucked in robes slowly loosening as you slid them off his shoulders, exposing his flawless and creamy skin against the cold air of the room.

Your touch burned and it was addicting. Your fingertips lingering against the skin of his shoulder, the way you slowly caged him in your form, untucking the robes from his shorts to finally take it away. And unlike him you took care of his pristine clothes, taking it in your arms instead of letting it fall to the floor.

Kunikuzushi felt bare, not just because your actions but the way you made him feel. All of a sudden he felt seen — gazed at with so much love that he was deprived of and he could feel the trust that he knows you won’t betray any time sooner, or ever. After losing so much of himself, suddenly you came along to bring a piece of him back, except it was a piece of him that he can cherish and appreciate and truly love.

You were like the vision he received, taking the form of a god— no, a human.

Both of you were extraordinary in your own ways. You were an otherworldly being revered as a god and he was a puppet made for a god and to be one, yet this moment made you feel both so human, so fragile, and so, so soft.

He suddenly took note of the way your arms snaked into his tiny waist and the way he caved into your form, closing what little gap you two had before.

The way your skin grazed his made him feel tingly and he felt breathless for the nth time today. He swears he doesn’t have a heart, but suddenly his ears were ringing from the blood rush from his suddenly thudding chest, he swears he can’t feel anything but suddenly he was overcome with nothing but warmth and need, and he swears he could never find himself trusting you but suddenly he was pressed up against your body into complete submission.

Kunikuzushi loved you so much and he could only hope you were feeling what he was feeling in this very moment.

And maybe again, it was because he was learning to be better for you that the fates— no, that you answered his unspoken pleas this time.

You tilted his chin up with a hand so gentle and gave him a small smile that was so sweet. He couldn’t bring himself to return it, but the way his eyes screamed with so much want so earnestly was enough to give you the affirmation of how much he loved you.

You were courteous enough to lean in and press your lips against his and he quickly returned it, his arms finding their way around your shoulders. He kissed back like he needed you and you couldn’t have asked for more. Elation flooded through your veins. You my have brightened the room, but Kunikuzushi gave the warmth in it with his endearing subtlety in romancing you.

To give and to take — such a confusing concept; and yet this one, Kunikuzushi does so with ease when you’re around.

#genshin impact x male reader #scaramouche x male reader #kunikuzushi x male reader #wanderer x male reader #jhuzen’s stupid one shots

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txtmetonight · 6 months

Text

My Heart.

call summary⋆ ★ you're slowly going sour in your room

pairing *. * choi soobin x fem! reader

genre⋆ ★ heavy angst, fluff?

warnings *. * reader is not mentally okay, crude language, violence, bad grammar, pet names, suggestive?, death, derealization

call duration ⋆ ★ 2k

a/n*. * wrote this like in an hour so forgive me if it's horrible also the grammar is going to be sooo bad. English isn't my first language, soryyy, also I barely even proofread it so.....but anyway, enjoy and don't forget to reblog and comment or like!!!

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

You used to be carefree.

But now you just spent your days locked up in your room, rotting away inside as your head churns and liquidizes into soup, gurgling up through the pits of your nose. You don’t feel real, the bed doesn’t feel real, nor do the walls but you still hold on. You feel as though you’re amidst of an angry sea, one that has the knack of producing powerful waves that hold cruel currents, dragging you up, instilling the warm sense of hope that you craved relentlessly before it plunges you deeper into the murky cold water, exploding all of your senses.

The phone on your bed stand vibrates and you find yourself reaching for the device to shut it off. Yet the Caller ID stops you in your tracks as your eyes widen in surprise, practically choking on your spit. “Soobin?” You murmur, lifting the phone to your face, blearily and morbid lights blinding you for a moment, but you’re impatient, and you yearn to see his name once more on your screen, so choke down the pain in your dilated pupil, and you let your dangerously weak fingers dangle over the answer button.

Your guts churn inside, and you’re about to puke...the room is spinning, and you’re being suffocated but your eyes don’t tear away from the phone, staring at it with such great marveled eyes, lungs taking in less oxygen than it needed each time you let air through. “Soobin, why am I crying?” You ask, and the screen goes back to its wallpaper; a selfie of you two. Hands strung around his back, he smiled goofily into the camera, lips puckered into your cheeks as if you were on the verge of passing out from exhaustion, eyes lidded with sleep.

Smiling is hard, you conclude, and your ears are bleeding heavily. The phone rings again and you’re plagued by its annoying noise that can’t seem to shut up. You tried everything, silencing your phone, turning off your ringer, throwing the device against the floor, followed by Mr. Carrots but you quickly found yourself either picking up the phone with the utmost care, turning your phone right back, or even clicking the switch that allowed to music to emit.

You wonder how your phone hasn’t died from the number of scars you’ve given it just now. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin. Soobin. It was like you were going crazy! Why was he calling you? You shriek against your pillow, letting drool seep from your mouth while you bite your tongue hard enough to make it bleed, and you savor the sweet metallic taste that coats your mouth. Turning around in bed, you shut your eyes in hopes that everything disappears, that the phone disappears, that you disappear. Not that it already happened. You were nothing and will never be from the depth of your pounding heart; not without Choi Soobin.

“You’re so astoundingly pretty” Someone familiar mouths into your skin and you feel the butterflies arise in you again, so fierce but lovely as it flaps against the inner lining of your throat, almost rendering you speechless. Blonde hair as the snow, he was utterly beautiful for this world. He was show-stopping, heart-pounding, beautiful. His lips were always pillowy soft, tempting you to be a little selfish a steal more kisses than needed, not that he ever minded. “More you, love” You retort, spinning around in his arms to face him. His bright eyes never wavered from yours and every single fucking time, he always looked at you like you hung the stars, like you were his whole world. “Stop lying, pretty girl!”

He stumbles, pulling you closer and leaving heart-shaped kisses all over your body, not stopping until every inch of your skin is covered in his love. He held passion, a burning passion that burnt your skin until you were numb, yet it was addicting. It was poisonous. “My pretty girl” Soobin sighs against your lips, before tenderly taking your cheeks into his warm palms, tugging on your lips onto his, longing for the warmth that followed, swooning over the feeling of you while his fingers roam around your body. And that very night, he made him yours and yours as his.

You’re awakened but this time when you flutter your eyes open, it is late at night and sweat pours through your body. Groaning over, you quickly realize that the phone has plucked you out of your slumber and you start panicking once more. Your hands shiver towards the phone, as you pick it up again, tears welling up in your glossy eyes. Your resolve was starting to crack faster than you thought. Heart beating fast enough to break through its cage, your fingers drift onto the accept button and you gasp once you come back to sense, lip bitten by your teeth.

You hope–no prayed that no one answered. That this wasn’t real, but it was...it was as real as it gets. You think. You don’t know. Or maybe you do. You also think you’re clinically mad. But when you hear your name whisper through the speaker, your brain dies for a second and then comes back alive. Jolts of electricity travel through your veins and you feel like you are flying. “(Y/n) ...sweetheart?”

“Soobin?” You cry, and you swear you could hear his heartbreak on the other side. You imagine him in his bed, cuddling Mr. Carrot’s sibling; Mrs. Rabbit to death, having it choke on his iron grip. You want to scream so badly until your lungs give out and vocal cords snap, but you can’t. “Hey love, I just wanted to drop in and say that I’m sorry...and that I’m outside your door right now.” The phone drops to the floor in shock, the clatter echoing against the walls. “No, you’re not” You rasp, trying to make sense of the situation but your idea is deflected when you hear knocking on the door. Hesitantly pulling back the covers, you slide onto the floor, and you’re unable to even look up from it, rather your eyes follow the ridges that slither.

Unfortunately, the cold doorknob was in the clutch of your fingers, threatening to turn to let in the love of your life. You rethink your decision, but it seems that your hand had a mind of its own, and the knob twists without you knowing about it, letting a gust of wind in. “You’re unhappy.” A voice sweet as honey drips down your spine and you shiver uncomfortably against it, furrowing your eyebrows when you meet the dark eyes of your lover, knees shaking and ready to give out. “You’re also crying” He chuckles, leaning closer to your face to wipe away fallen tears, but in the name of irony, you notice the angelic drops coat his cheeks too.

He was too pretty to be crying. “You too” You quietly whisper, breath barely ghosting over the swirling breeze as you let him in, closing the door right behind him. “(Y/n)” he sniffles, pulling you closer and you reel into him for a second expecting the safe warmth he gave out, only to be stuck against a walking refrigerator, cold as ice cubes. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, weeping over me!” He sobs, falling into your arms, and you finally, let out too, dropping to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. “Then why did you leave me?!” You mumble, afraid to close your eyes, clawing him harder, as you break his skin, but he doesn’t even flinch, instead he sinks into it even more, relishing you. “I had no choice, I tried, I really did.”

“Well, you should’ve tried harder” You harshly spit, before you breakdown into his arms, liquidizing into him as a whole. “I’m so sorry baby” He babbles, “I miss you so much, I can’t even–I feel like I’m being dragged through the pits of hell–it’s so bad baby. Please make it stop! Please!” Pulling away from him for a second, you slam your lips against him, and it feels just right, just like old times. “Then stay with me,” You say, not leaving him a second to respond, because you’re scared of his response. You’re scared that he’s going to leave again and leave out to decay with skin peeling off your bone as you left to survive off your own emotions, regurgitating them when you digested them all, repeating it all over again. “I need to, I’m so sorry.” He presses his forehead against yours, smiling with your lips. “You will?”

He nods into your skin, “I’ll stay” He declares before he drags his palm up to your chest and lays it over your heart while his other hand pushes you down, where he lays down on you, head over your heartbeat. “I love you so much” You whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. “I love you so much fucking more, I can’t even express it” He sighs contentedly, closing his eyes, snuggling into you. “And I’ll always be there with you, even when you don’t even know” He mutters, but you’re long gone into another round of slumber, so he decides to wrap his arms tighter against your figure.

The light cast across your face startles you awake, but this time you’re happy and more in love than ever. The weight from before has lifted, but that was casual, Soobin had always had his eyes open before you and he was probably in the bathroom. Moaning in pain, you stretch to your feet, as you twirl joyfully, padded feet. “Soobin?!” You call out, expecting a response but when you don’t hear a thing, your grin widens. He was just hiding from you! So, you call out his name several times, chanting it like a prayer while you turn your whole apartment upside down. “Hey baby, where are you, this isn’t funny anymore” You wail, sulking like a toddler before you tumble into your own room, the last place you didn’t check. “Soobin seriously, you’re getting me worried!” Your hands softly brush against your bed, then slide against your table before they stop along a pair of documents. Your heart is suddenly stuck in your throat; you struggle to breathe when you bring the paper to eye level.

Choi Soobin was pronounced dead at 5:53 AM.

Your feet roll underneath you, so you hit your head against the sharp edge of the table, cutting the skin in a straight line. “What the–” You laugh, bringing your shaky hand to your cut, smearing it over your finger, trying to distract yourself from the pain that was starting to well inside your heart. The same pain that was poorly buried. And right when the first drops contact your skin, your heart jitters and it feels horribly painful, as though you were being burnt alive. You swiftly wipe away your tears, and you crane to gaze at the picture of your fiancé, happy smiles, nothing else. You despised yourself in that portrait. You looked so happy in a situation such as this, you were supposed to feel guilty, so why were you smiling in that picture?

Would you have stopped grinning so alienated if you knew what the future held for you?

“I hate seeing you cry so much; it feels like someone poured acid all over my face like I was being burnt with hot oil!” He says, into your ear, after one night where your hurtful words were thrown around.

Lips parting, you gasp into your fingers, clutching your left breast.

“Choi Soobin, you’re in my heart aren’t you” You pant, as you memorize how his hands felt against you, where he placed his fingers, and how he promised you that he would stay. Your other arm tucks itself into the hold of your left arm, holding it down where Soobin held you–in that dream.

That car crash was inevitable, and so was the death that came along with it, but with Choi Soobin placed in the safety of your beating organ, maybe everything will be fine!

Or maybe you should rip out your heart instead.

#txt x reader #soobin x reader #k-labels #soobin #soobin angst #soobin x reader angst #soobin fluff #soobin x reader fluff #soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #txt x reader angst #txt x reader fluff #soobin headcanons #soobin reactions #soobie boobie #soobin oneshot #txt oneshots #txt scenarios #txt headcanons

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riaki · 6 months

Text

> under warm kitchen lights and puffy silk sheets dad!aki hayakawa x reader hcs/drabbles

man... i finally finished this. oh my word wc: 3.2k :cry: cw: fem!reader (use of mother terms but no explicit description), brief mention of hospitals, kids omg so scary boy n girl not proofread!!

i always find myself writing waaayyyyyy too much for these 'short' drabbles/hcs/whatever they are. i think this one got even worse than the yoshida one. anyways its ok cus i live laugh love aki

also thank u @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for feeding me ideas with canon hayakawa family interactions :3

it's hard for him, to say the least.

while parenting is a new experience for the both of you, it's more than appropriate to say aki's the least bit familiar. putting up with denji and power (begrudgingly, he'll tell you-- although you never believe it) certainly has him battle-ready and prepared, albeit with a slight darkening of the circles under his velvety blue eyes and a minute downward tug on his chapped lips that need yours on them for rejuvenation when he thinks about the tiring journey lying ahead on a path of family that's only been slightly worn. but then you smile, squeezing his calloused hands that are bigger than yours and intertwining your fingers gently, and he forgets there's supposed to be blood between them as he presses a light kiss to your forehead and tells you in that smooth velvety voice that he's ready for whatever pandemonium your rascals will cause as long as you're there with him.

truth be told, there's nothing in this damned world that aki wants-- yearns for than a life of normality with you. he doesn't have a lust for a revenge that festers and infects, anymore; the only thing on his mind when his work gives the luxury of a time of rest is how wonderful it'd be to start a lively little family of your own as you smile at him or card your hands through his damp hair when you share a lukewarm bath surrounded by cold austere tiles in the darkest hours of the morning, having found him covered in a thin veneer of chilling sweat only moments ago, knuckles pale white as he clung to the duvet. more often than not you find a knot between his dark brows; a heavy weight on his shoulders that's perceivable but frustratingly intangible-- like an ugly patch of weeds in an old, worn garden that's not worth saving, but still has enough life within it to be marred by rot and degradation of soil. but when you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him flush to your chest, so close to your heart-- the place where he thinks he deserves to be furthest from-- when your lithe fingers work so gently it's almost painful to soothe the crease on his nose bridge and the tension between his bare shoulders, he's so bold as to dare to just hope for a life further than nights of hollow intimacy that, in vain, attempt to sew and patch up the gaping valley between the wants of his heart and of his mind. further than exhausted mornings littered with extinguished cigarette butts and framed with curling smoke, pale sunrises and slow, languid movement that reflect the growing shadows beneath his tired eyes; further than the bitter scent of the black coffee he always makes for himself because the pathetic attempt at at romantic in him insists that your sweet lips are the sugar and cream to his life enough. but in truth he can-- and thought he'd always be able to taste that overwhelming tang of something equitable to sourness on his tongue when he downs the bland caffeine, like the feeling that crashes and overwhelms him when he realizes that what you have right now? is just an illusion for his poorly-kept facade of something he wishes could be more. something with a shared bed and an extra room painted bright pastel, a bunk bed tucked into the corner and kids' toys scattered all over the place.

(and as much as you tell him otherwise, some small part of him that he's tucked into the darkest recesses of his mind will always, always believe that you deserve someone immensely better than him-- better than a cynical devil hunter with nothing to offer but years of bottled tears, unspoken words that die on his parched tongue, and withered feeling in his heavy limbs that come with the sensation of dragging himself through the pool of molasses that is the routine of life-threatening missions he throws himself into by a hollow ambition. but he's never, and if he's being honest, he doesn't want to have the heart to end things with you. and imagining you, holding hands with someone else, laughing that bubbly bright melody and smiling that cheery grin in any direction but his, makes his heart hurt uncomfortably and his cold blood boil.)

and so, when the fever dream that's your wedding day comes around, he wishes he had met you early enough to be addicted to the taste of your lips instead of the rough, paper end of a cigarette and the numbing thrill that settles in his diluted veins at the hit of nicotine clogging his lungs, before it's disillusioned and the despondent cycle repeats. you don't know the half of what he'd give for that. either way, he believes it a miracle that he even got the chance to see the starstruck look in your gorgeous eyes when he slid that silver band onto your ring finger; that he lived to see the day where the familiar touch of your tender hands coupled with the refreshing bite of cold metal on his skin, treating him like some elegant thing in your garden; a lily of the valley when in reality he's just some weed that should've been rid of. a flower who's bell shaped bunches of milky petals hang from the stalk like a condemned man on a court platform, yet still so bright and graceful you could forget the plant was poisonous. when aki had laid eyes on that pretty ring, tucked into a black box of deep velvet on a shaded patch of street one sunny afternoon, he immediately thought of how nicely the elegantly-cut gem would match your dazzling irises; he takes extensive care to make sure the luster suits as an addition to your appearance instead of a distractor-- after all, when he looks at his then future spouse, he wants to be drawn to your eyes, then the ring tying you two together like a red string on your pinky fingers. that, and the way your gaze will soften as it lands on him, in the way that could only happen when the purest angel from heaven chooses to spot the bastard straight from hell out of the crowd who dared to nose his way into your ethereal presence. it's truly befitting, he thinks; your touch is featherlight even when all he does is weigh you down like a ball and chain locked to your ankle, bound by softly-spoken vows and a promise amongst the white of veils and pretty cream flowers. and aki is a selfish man, so he's only glad he decided to weave your fates together, even if it meant the good and bad mingled to paint a splash of gray on love's canvas.

that's the story of your love on weighted scales that runs through his buzzing mind the night your sweet little kids ask their mama to recount the tale of your plunge into devotion together to them, far different than the telling words which seem to sweeten tenfold as they fall from your lips onto eager ears that soon turn deaf, sleeping soundly in your arms. for all the aloof, coldness and silence he's ever turned out into the harsh world your family lives and breathes in, aki's surprisingly loving as a father-- he can't help the gentle soft spot he has for your children when he remembers the big, teethy grins with little cinnamon pastry crumbs scattered around their curved lips and round cherry cheeks are a result of your combined efforts; the streak of tenderness you unearthed in him finds itself being yanked wide open by two pairs of small, grubby hands that are tiny enough to wrap around the length of his thumb, like a little pair of gloves that sponge the inpurity from his hands and make his eyes soften, crinkle around the edges in the way that you love. it's certainly not an unfamiliar feeling; the one invoked deep within his hardened chest buds and unfurls within his organs when your kids take their first breath of fresh air-- well, as fresh as clinical hospital air and stark white lights can get-- is the same one that hit him like a truck when his gaze inevitably finds its way back to you every moment you're near him. cupid's arrow has long burrowed into the cavity of his chest, and if he's honest, he doesn't mind at all. if you had the energy to, you would've snuck a quick picture, if not mental, and made a little sweet teasing fun of him for being so dumb-- no, starstruck; a fool absolutely enamored with two little reflections of you and him. the product of literal years in blood, sweat and tears; maybe some coffee, and definitely some love.

and while aki may involuntarily be an intrinsic liar to his very core by nature (you still love him either way, even when he tells you he tried to stop your baby boy from crawling onto the kitchen counter over the sink and clambering onto two shaky toddler legs to paw at the jar of peanut butter in your cabinet), you're not. so you'll enjoy the strawberry blush that seeps its way across the soft skin of his cheeks that you've mapped with fluttering kisses and trembling hands when you tell him just how much of a great father you think he is to your kids, on the nights when he gets home with sufficient energy to whip something up for the haven of cozy warmth he calls 'home'. you'll prep a warm stew together that makes your daughter's mouth water and eyes go round as saucers as she clings to aki koala-bear style, legs wrapped around his neck and fingers curling into his raven hair as she watches him stir the broth with one hand (the other resting firmly, yet gently on her ankle) to melt the icicles clinging to the awnings of your windows for frigid winters. or, maybe some cold soba for those humid summer nights to enjoy amongst the symphony of cicada buzzes and city sounds, watching lights flash by as you laugh and reach out to wipe the soup off of your son's cheeks when the noodle he was indulging on goes up a little too fast, missing the way your husband's eyes fall on you ever so affectionately. you'll enjoy a sweet, tender kiss in the golden hazy glow of your warm kitchen bubble, full of lively mirth as you carve out silly little smiley faces and stars out of potatoes and bits of cucumber and carrot. on the rare occasion you decide it's a good idea to let your kids contribute a little, the immediate and guilty regret you feel when you watch your daughter slip up and knick her little finger gets washed away by a familiar, blooming feeling of adoration, almost sickeningly sweet in its intensity as you pause to watch aki kiss away the beads of ruby red blood welling on the cut, rubbing her 'boo-boo' so tenderly it makes your heart hurt as you gently plaster a cute sunflower bandaid over the cut while your baby girl stares at your husband with such wonder you think he might be a knight-in-shining-armor in her wide round eyes. and it makes his bleeding heart skip a beat when you tell him you see him the same way, too. there's always guaranteed to be a fresh plate of intricate bunny-shaped apple slices as dessert after dinner, and on slow nights spent in the company of family, there'll be a quick and intense battle of rock paper scissor or sticks between the love of your life and your beloved children on who'll be the lucky winner to put their head in your lap tonight.

(although, aki rarely lets himself win, because he knows he'll be able to later that night if not in that fond moment, sure to become a treasured memory.)

aki sees himself as a good father; he's strict when he needs to be, and he always tries to make time for his kids. he's even stopped smoking in front of them; in the house, as a whole. he had to pepper you with a few sweet, slow and intentional kisses and light-hearted apologetic words when you demanded to know why your requests for him to stop slowly killing himself with each drag fell to deaf ears, but suddenly you got a little more intimate and out popped a few kids-- and he'd stopped. of course, those were enough to pacify you; he made your resolve weak, like the sweet wobbly jello you indulged your daughter to as you watched your husband work out a crossword puzzle with your son. sometimes, you have to remind him sternly not to curse in front of his kids. but when he reminds you of the vehement stream of swears that always left you when you had to change less-than-pleasant diapers in your earlier parenting years, he’ll chuckle at the flush on your face, because you seem to elicit a lot of those from him. he’ll smile, because he’s finally found something worth the effort. and he'll run a hand through your hair and press a kiss to your forehead because you've made him capable of caring (and he knows how to distract you). sometimes, though, he thinks he's a little too soft on their pleading looks and puppy eyes on the nights when lightning streaks across the sky in frightening arcs, claps of thunder rumbling across the dark clouds when the streets of tokyo are enveloped in curtains of rain showers, when one (or both) of your beloved kids peeks their head from the doorway, a little 'can i sleep with you guys?' escaping as a timid peep. he watches in a sleepy sort of amusement as you nod, one hand lazily curling around your waist to keep you close to his side as he rests his chin on your shoulder. and it's your turn to stifle your amusement when a small, quiet mumble of protest leaves his mouth as your kid sidles into the covers between the two of you, effectively splitting you from your husband. if he was impatient, you know he'd have half the mind to pick them up and plop them at the edge of the bed to have you all to himself, but on most nights he'll just observe in quiet affection when you scoop up your son or daughter in your arms, cradling them to your chest and playing with that head of soft hair, humming gently in a way that makes his heart melt at the edges

sometimes, when 'uncle' denji and 'auntie' power are over, they'll poke fun at him in their usual, disrespectful and chaotic manner, because it doesn't take a pair of keen eyes to see the way he looks at you like you've hung the very constellations in the sky; like the stellar designs in the firmament were all carefully crafted by your hand. he's no overdone zodiac freak, but he dares to say the stars aligned the night he was finally able to call you his and only his. denji and power get along incredibly well with his kids; it almost makes him jealous. like you, his resolve is incredibly easy to weaken with the right expression and the right words; your kids must've picked up a few tricks from your book, because they know exactly how to play him into the palm of their tiny little hands. denji and power spoil them to no end; the wonder duo indulge the kids through games of tag and roughhousing, treating them to a wide array of candy and sweets that guarantee a doctor's visit the following week. he swears the pinch between his eyes you worked so hard to eliminate returns little by little when he watches them run around the place he used to call his safe haven, leaving a trail of absolute destruction and havoc in the form of torn magazines, splintered puzzle pieces, apple sauce sludge, tiny lego blocks (that leave a lifetime of pain), and pairs of his socks. it only gets worse when they learn how to negotiate; he makes a mental note to blame denji and power, because there's no way in hell your children figured out how to bargain from you or him. whines of "aww, but uncle denji lets me take the toys outside, dad!" and "buy me that neko charm, or else i'll tell mom you knocked over her plant pot yesterday!" (which, for the record, isn't true. that was 'auntie' power.) that being said, it's a given family outings are narrowly avoided disasters; as the kids grow, aki swears he'll have to start keeping them on a leash, or they might end up accidentally shoplifting your local 7/11's supply of sour gummy cubes, or have fed daffodil seeds to each stray cat on your condo's street under one blink of a weary eye. at the end of the day, he always caves with an exasperated sigh and an irritated 'fine. but don't tell your mom, okay?'. after all, he's always been a sucker for you; who's to say he's not the same with your kids?

unserious hcs... :3

def the type of dad to mutter 'no she didn't' or 'they probably deserved it' under his breath when ur daughter's school principal calls u both in to tell u she stuck her chewed melon gum in three different girls' hair that day

unreasonably competitive w his children. god knows why

yells at ur kids a lot and starts pouting like the grown ass man he is when u scold him for it ("sorry, love. i got used to it. power and denji were a hell of a handful.")

tucks them both in n denies it with everything in him when u ask if he likes making them beg for goodnight smooches

tells them to fuck off (in childrenspeak) when its ur marriage anni / date night

when they were rlly young, u guys used to all do family showers and or baths together but then water would get everywhere and the rubber duck would be fought over n bathbombs would overflow and the kids would get mad at each other so u dont do that anymore...

an absolute goof and doesnt know what the hell hes doing at first... one time ur son was choking on a cherry pit and he didnt know what to do so he just. shook him. by some miracle it worked (if it was denji or power he wouldve js smacked their back unnecessarily aggressively)

unrolls his cigarettes and makes origami shapes out of them; once ur daughter got her ears pierced he made a pair of crane earrings for her from the paper (clean ofc. i hope)

thoroughly enjoys forcing himself into mother daughter nights and he grumbles but secretly loves when ur daughter practices makeup on him or braids his hair

hopes and prays like an idiot that his kids see him as a cool epic devil hunter awesome sauce dad and not a silly pathetic failwife househusband (that's only for u to think)

stitches up any clothing, pillow cases or stuffed animals that r falling apart, also makes sure that no color bleeds when washing clothes and that nothing shrinks cus he does all the laundry for evryone

helps u make a family photo scrapbook and tape polaroids to ur fridge. lets the kids cut out patterns and shapes (his fav r the nutrition facts for some weird reason) from their juiceboxes and kids' magazines to put in the scrapbook

whenvr ur napping he always tells them to shut up. or he just forces them to nap too so he can be lazy and crawl into bed w u

a very good dad !!

hes such a loser oh no.. i should've just used the unserious hcs for the entire thing. i rambled im sorry it will happen again. i love himr

my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

#i j remembered thatm y school's swim had states today and yet im here writing instead #ooops!! its okay. i also have two essays to write but we up!!!!#eeeee i write too much but its ok. i lovr dadki!! !!!#gonna aim to post every weekend starting now #she says #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #csm x reader #aki x reader #the aki in my head doesn't really value or like himself anymore :(#give him a hug #i think this has more words than the req amt im supposed to have for my essay #i have like 400 on it rn BYE #billet-doux

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ghostchems · 6 months

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Sweet 16. having your actions controlled by a shadow figure that's moving right outside your room

May I request a trip to spicy town with either Terzo or Dracopia? Your pick!

the phantom touch - papa emeritus iii x f!reader/cardinal copia x f!reader

this takes place after upiór (ao3 linky). i have wanted to return to this world so badly and this prompt absolutely kicked off the inspiration. 2k words of FILTH. FILTH. 18+! mdni! highly recommend reading upiór first :) ao3 link for this one!

Cardinal Copia has been gone on clergy business for the last week, leaving you alone in the abbey for the first time since you had been moved into his quarter. Except you aren’t really alone. There is a ghoul posted outside of your door, rotating every few hours to ensure that someone is always there, watching you. When you leave, they follow you and even after pleading with them that you just want time alone they tell you they are under strict orders to keep you safe. Copia is convinced that you are always in danger, especially when he is away.

But hasn’t the danger been dealt with already? Terzo is gone; Copia banished him back to hell after he had turned on her (no thanks to the Cardinal laying out why it had been her fault all along, even if it was a lie). Nothing stands between him and the power he so desperately craves anymore but you still feel like a prisoner to him. Meanwhile, Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil are having him be their little errand boy but he is too under their thumb to see that they are merely using him. You keep your mouth shut, though, because most of this is only from what you’ve observed. It’s not like Copia has opened up to you about this, anyway. You feel like a pretty, little trophy of his. A reminder that he gets what he wants, no matter the cost.

It’s late and you’re snuggled up in bed beneath the softest, most luxurious covers you’ve ever felt. Being Copia’s pet has its perks, not that you would ever admit that to anyone. And even with him gone and with you having the bed all to yourself… some sick part of yourself misses him. Your mind starts to wander away from him, the yearning for the time before overtaking the perks of the now. You miss Terzo, even after everything. You hope that he’s found peace in hell, that he’s finally at rest with his brothers. You think about him so often, no matter how much you try to push him from your mind.

Loving him was easy. The two of you got along and you had the most fun with him out of anyone you’ve ever dated. There seemed to be no consequences at the time and you were just enjoying him and his company. You feel you saw the real him more than anybody else — he was a goof but his emotions ran deep.

You find yourself starting to doze off as you think of him and his delicate touch you feel a sudden gust of wind from nowhere. The room is lit up, no windows are open and the air is turned off. Your mind buzzes, almost as if someone is poking around it, and you sit up in bed to cast your gaze around the empty room. There’s nothing there but you feel it, something pulsing inside you.

And then you hear it.

I am here to ask for forgiveness, amore.

The voice is unmistakably his. Even in death, Terzo knows how to find you.

I am here to ask you for forgiveness and to give you a gift.

He starts to somehow take control of you and guides your hand over your body, groping and pinching your breasts through your black satin pajama top. You have no idea how he’s doing it but you know that it’s him. Terzo’s thoughts mix with yours — you see visions of Hell, visions of torture, but also visions of Primo, Secondo and him taking their rightful place. You’re distracted by these images while your hands work deftly to unbutton your top and then cup and knead your tender breasts. You give a soft groan, the touch undeniably his even though he is using your hands.

A gift for il amore mio.

Your breath starts to quicken as arousal spreads through you, your fingers rubbing at the peaked flesh of your nipples.Heat pools between your legs and you give a soft groan as you pinch at your nipple. One hand slips slowly down your stomach and pushes at your pajama bottoms and underwear. You feel insane… but stranger things have happened. You choose to lean into it, to believe it’s him and that he’s here possessing you to give you this gift. It feels like closure to you.

You wiggle out of your pajama pants and underwear, your palm pressing against your already swollen clit. His name falls from your lips in a needy moan.

That’s it, amore.

Your other hand moves from your breast down to your dripping cunt, circling your lips tantalizingly slow. You lean your head back against your pillow, lips parted and eyes shut as one of your fingers slips inside. Words of encouragement fill your mind, loving words and sweet coos, and you find yourself getting lost in the feeling. You curl your finger inside of you just right, just as he would, finding that spot deep inside you that makes you tremble. You feel so free, more free than you have in months, and its building inside of you. He hasn’t even touched you for long and you’re already hurtling towards release — because it’s him.

You’re so close; it’s dangling right in front of you, ready for you to dive for it when —

“What have we here?”

You freeze, eyes darting to the voice, immediately feeling Terzo’s presence slip away. Copia leans in the doorway to their bedroom, in his usual black tailcoat, and crosses his arms. His lips curl into a slimy smirk as his eyes wander your body. You don’t even know how to react, still hazy from how you had touched yourself, eyes wide as your gaze meets Copia’s. You slowly slip your fingers out from inside of you, all too aware of the sound it makes. Your heart thunders in your chest, already so wound up from your release being cut off.

“You couldn’t wait until I got home, yes? So needy for your Cardinal, aren’t you?” Copia slinks closer to you, his words going straight to your slick cunt. He’s always had this way about him, ever since he moved you into his quarters. You hate the way it makes you want him. The feeling of betrayal lingers in the back of your mind each time but that doesn’t stop you, it never does. “Give me your hand, amore.” He purrs, reaching out for it. You know exactly what he wants. You lift your hand, fingers still slick from touching yourself.

Copia grabs your hand by the wrist and brings your fingers to his lips, slipping them inside his mouth with a groan. His tongue swirls around your fingers, licking and sucking the slick off of them as his eyes squeeze shut from your delicious taste. Your lips part in a soft gasp, your cheeks flushing and the ache between your legs burning more than before. He pulls your fingers from his lips, still gripping your wrist tightly and presses a tender kiss to your palm. This is your reality: Terzo is gone and Copia is all that you have.

He lets your hand go and leans in, his nose just brushing against yours as you feel his hot breath on your lips. You can’t help it — your fingers card through his hair and pull him down to you, your mouth crashing against his. Copia hums into the kiss, his tongue pushing inside and you can taste yourself on it. He gets onto the bed, hands pushing apart your legs so that he can settle between them and he starts to slowly grind himself against, his cock already throbbing through his tight black pants. You groan into his mouth, your own hips jerking to meet his, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Fuck, amore.” Copia huffs as he pulls away from the kiss only to press his forehead against yours. He reaches down to work at his pants, tugging at the zipper while you take it upon yourself to unbutton his tailcoat. You’re almost frantic as you undo each button before pushing it over his shoulders just as Copia gets his cock free. He feels how urgent you are, how much you need him so he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock applying pressure to it and giving you a smug grin. “How badly do you need me, my sweet?”

“Copia.” You whine and run your fingers up his chest, nails scratching lightly at his chest hair. You try to move, squirming below him for any kind of friction but he holds you in place and keeps his cock pressed almost into you. “P-please, I need you. I… I’ve been fantasizing about this ever since you left.” A lie. A little white lie but you see how Copia’s face lights up, encouraged by your response. He pushes in slowly, his eyes focused on your reaction as his own breath catches in his throat from how you stretch around him. A deep, shameless moan tumbles from your lips, your arms curling around his shoulders while he fills you.

His thrusts are slow and sensual, truly taking his time with enjoying your body. His lips trail along your neck and collarbone while his free hand strokes and pinches at your sensitive skin, roaming your body. You melt into his touch, your body moving along with his, pleasure and relief washing over you. Copia groans into your neck as his hands reach your ass, squeezing it harshly while his thrusts grow more needy. You arch your back which allows him to drive himself even deeper into you, massaging along all of your sensitive spots. He slips one of his hands up your neck to the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair and giving your head a sharp tug just as his hips piston into you at a reckless pace.

You scream out, your nails clawing across his back, legs trembling. His breath is hot on your ear, mixed with growls that rumble against you while he maintains this new, unrelenting tempo. Your walls start to spasm and contract around him, feeling your release building at an intense rate. Copia lifts his head, eyes half-lidded and lips smeared with black paint and you catch his mismatched gaze. He looks hungry, starving for you, a low snarl ripping from his lips before he kisses you again. You sigh against his lips, eyes squeezing shut as your body writhes beneath him. Copia is devouring you, his tongue tasting every inch of your mouth as he keeps a tight grip on your hair.

“I’m -ah- close!” You choke into his mouth, your body trembling and your hold on him tightening. He groans in response, his lips hovering just above yours and he snaps his hips even harder into you. A whine leaves your lips, your legs trembling around him, your nails scratching along his back again. You start to come undone as your muscles tense and shockwaves grip your body. Copia fucks you through it, his hips stuttering as his own orgasm builds. It washes over you, a sob falling from your lips as your vision blurs and you cling to him, unable to think about anything other than how good he makes you feel.

He comes inside you, filling you with his seed to assert his possession of you. You know deep down that’s why he does it but something about it turns you on. Copia hovers over you, panting lightly as he brushes the hair from your face. Your eyes meet and he offers a sweet smile before slipping off of you and pulling you into his embrace. Silence falls between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up to his face and finds his eyes closed, a content look on his face. Coherent thoughts start to creep into your brain and you find yourself staring off into space.

You feel that Terzo is gone, perhaps for good this time. When your eyes focus on Copia again, his eyes are open and he is looking at you almost lovingly. He leans in and presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you too, amore.”

#cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost band fanfiction #terzo x reader #copia x reader

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