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peachesofteal · 5 months

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Simple Math / Part Three

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Flirting. Emotional hurt/comfort. Panic attack. PTSD. Comfort. "You'll be with him?"

“-nna let ‘im die out here-“

“-is too risky without adequate-“

Johnny is drowning in a sea of shattered voices, whispers of words that sound like they might be coming from Gaz, or Price, hushed prayers and promises, jargon he doesn’t understand washing over him from unfamiliar, clinical mouths.

It’s overwhelming. He can hardly get his eyes to open, and when he does, they stay half shut for what feels like hours, even though he knows, logically, it’s mere seconds.

He’s no longer strapped into a backboard, but a bed, and the ceiling is not metal and rivets, but white and canvas, voices competing with the constant sound of beeping.

“Soap.” Price leans into his line of sight, hat gone, exhausted. He’s holding a sat phone, the one they usually carry during missions in one hand, a file folder in another. He looks his age, Johnny thinks, for the first time in his career. Looks like he’s spent eons in combat, like he hasn’t had a full night’s rest in a decade. “John. You’re in the hospital on base.” At the use of his government name, Johnny tries to straighten on instinct. The soft, floating feelings he’s been having for the past who knows how long have faded, and his body is starting to feel like it’s been pumped with gasoline, and then lit on fire. From the inside. “Are you with me, Sergeant?” He tries to vocalize, tries to say yes, or nod, but can hardly get his neck to work, bones and ligaments and everything in him screaming in agony. “They want to take you in a flight for life, get you home to a top hospital. Simon's already agreed, but he- he wants to speak with you.” Price wrenches his fingers open and lifts the clunky satellite phone to his face. “I rang him, on the emergency line, at home. Just… you need to-“ he stops, chest heaving with a desperate breath, an indulgence of emotion that Johnny has never seen. His captain wants to tell him- you need to say goodbye, just in case. But he can’t find the words, and Johnny can’t make it fit in his head, the reality, the stark reminder that he could not be here, in a moment. Or an hour. A day. “Open your eyes, John. Stay awake.”

“Johnny.” The Manchester accent crackles through the receiver. Johnny can almost see him, cell pressed to his face, pacing in the living room. He wonders if he’s got the fireplace lit, if it’s chilly now that it's turning to winter, if there’s been frost on the windows of their little house. If Simon is wearing a pair of sweatpants, if he’s got the television on as he tries to make dinner. “Johnny. Sit rep.” The status check comes through harsh, but the truth is tucked away beneath the grit. Fear. Life altering, heart breaking fear drenches every syllable that spills from his partner.

Pain sizzles through his muscles, across his brain, but he swallows it, shoves it down into a dark hole for another minute.

“Pretty banged up.”

“They’re going to lift you to a hospital,” He thinks he knew that. “and you’re goin’ be alright. I’ll meet you there.”

“Ah love ye, Si.” It’s all he can say. All he can think about. The excruciating agony that is radiating through his body robs him of everything else.

“I love you too. Hang on.” Johnny grinds his jaw, blowing short breaths through his nose to try to control his pain response, and then holds his breath when soft babbles echo through the phone. “It’s Da, Pen. It’s Da. Can you say Da?”

“Da?” Penny mimics her dad, and Johnny wonders if they’re sitting on the couch, Penelope tucked up against Simon’s chest, wispy curls tickling just below his nose as she climbs all over him like a jungle gym.

“Ma wee lamb.” Johnny whispers. “Ah love ye, Pen.” There’s more babbling, half strung together words, more than appropriate for a fourteen-month-old, and Johnny’s temples shine with tears that drip from the corners of his eyes. There’s talking, around him, people bustling back and forth. A hand brushes against skin, sharp pinch squeezing along the inside of his arm.

“Can you say, I love you?” Simon encourages, but Johnny knows it’s a lost cause.

“When she’s old enough to understand, ye tell her Ah loved her, loved her so much. Ye an’ her, is all I ever wished fer.”

“Stop.” Simon breathes. “You’re going to be fine.”

There’s another poke in his arm, someone lighting a fire in his veins, and he loses the battle to his eyes once more.

Your neck grumbles in protest when you try to twist it, working out tight muscle and tendon, rolling it across your shoulders and down, back and forth, over and over again.

You should go home.

You know you should. It’s two hours past seven, you should already be home. Should already be in your flat, showering the workday off and crawling into bed. You could be having a tea, snuggled up in your sweatpants, moving playing on low in the background. Warm, safe. Nearly asleep.

Johnny twitches beside you. His fingers clench in the blankets and then relax, face smoothing out in his dreams. The mask is gone, replaced with the cannula that loops beneath his nose, and the monitor beeps in soothing, reassuring, stable tones. One chime right after another, relaying his vitals to where you sit in Simon’s chair, feet slung over the side, kindle in your lap.

You made a promise.

And even without that promise, for some reason, you couldn’t just leave Johnny here to wake up alone. The idea of him coming to and being confused, or scared, again, made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Even before you promised Simon to stay earlier, you already knew.

You wouldn’t be leaving.

“He’s had a seizure.” Simon’s eyes widen above the mask and then flatten into something harder, something almost distrusting. “Neuro’s done an exam and they’re of the opinion there will be no long-term deficits, but we’ll need to wait until he wakes to be sure. They’re still trying to figure out what caused it, but most likely it's a result from surgery.” He moves to shoulder by you, no doubt trying to beeline back to Johnny’s room, but you hold your hand up with a pause. “I can’t let you go back in there yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not awake.”

“I don’t-“

“Simon, this is the ICU. I don’t know who or what strings you pulled to even be allowed to sit with him in there twenty-four seven, but it’s not the norm. You won’t be allowed back in that room until we are sure he is stable.” You don’t tell him that you don’t want him to be there when Johnny wakes in case there are deficits, that you’re trying to save him from the pain, the heartbreak, of seeing things that patient’s loved ones are not meant to see.

He regards you silently, and you fidget under the scrutiny, waiting for him to speak, trying to ignore how your mouth is going dry. This isn’t the first he’s watched you like this, stared at you like he’s trying to pick you apart, and you swallow your grimace until the long moment passes, his voice low, gritty with stress. Exhaustion.

“I’m supposed to go home today for a bit. I… don’t want to leave ‘im.”

“You can still go. He’s sleeping for now, and when he wakes, they’ll have to do some more tests that you won’t be allowed in the room for anyway.” He looks down the hallway towards Johnny’s room, before his eyes find yours, heavy with grief, indecision.

“You’ll be with him?” He can’t hide the hopeful inflection at the end of his question, his need for a light in the dark of this situation.

“I-“ The thought didn’t occur to you, to not be there. You imagined you’d wait until Johnny was cleared by neuro and Simon was allowed back in the room, but the morning has dragged on, and he’s been sleeping peacefully. There’s been no desire to wake him unnecessarily. “Yes. I’ll stay with him. I promise.”

“He go home?” Johnny’s voice, scratchy from sleep and medication and everything else, startles you from a half doze, spine straightening into a rod before you’re leaping to your feet, leaning over his prone figure.

“You’re awake.” You find his good hand, slipping two fingers into his grip. “Can you squeeze my hand?” When he does, tightly, more strength in it than you were expected, you give him an honest, happy smile, and retreat to the end of the bed, flipping up his blanket to poke at the bottom of his feet. “Can you feel that?”

“Aye.”

“And this?”

“Aye.” He huffs at you, impatient. “Did he go home?” You sigh in response, hand on your hip.

“Yes.”

“Finally. Been tellin’ him he had to. The man’s back ‘s not made to sleep sittin’ up.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t want to leave. I told him I’d sit with you.” You reach over to press the page button, looking intentionally away from where those bright blue eyes track you, sweet and soft and open, lips slightly parted. “How’s your pain? I’m not on the clock any longer, so I can’t page the neurologist, but they’ll have come and do a few tests.”

“Ye wanted to sit with me, pretty girl?” Your face gets hot, blood pooling beneath your skin, pit of your stomach liquifying into something honeyed and potent that flows through your veins until you swear you can feel the room getting warmer.

“How’s your pain?” you repeat your question, words dumb on your tongue.

“A five.” You raise an eyebrow. “Alright, a seven. And a half.” The days nurse knocks with perfect timing, all hustle and bustle, bright and cheery, and asks Johnny the same questions, keeping up a perfect stream of small talk between you and Johnny until Neuro is standing at the foot of his bed, and you’re excusing yourself.

“Okay, I’m-“

“Dinnae leave.” He protests, voice quiet. Your stomach lurches at the vulnerability there, and you’re quick to reassure him.

“I’m just going to get a tea.” You promise, even though you know he’ll probably be half loopy by the time you’re back, and the dayshift nurse gives you a nod, acknowledgement of his state, an understanding that she’ll be here with him.

Not an hour later, your pocket chimes with a text from the dayshifter as you half sip your tea, letting you know that Johnny’s exam is done, and as you pass her in the hallway, she gives you verbal confirmation of what you were hoping for: his brain function is normal. He’ll have to go for CT later, but she’s just given him another dosage for pain management. You yawn in the middle of her pass-on, and she tells you that she'll keep an eye on him. You can go.

She's not wrong.

You need to go to bed.

You know your presence at your patient's bedside won't be viewed as unprofessional, since others have done it in far less severe situations, but the pendulum your emotions swing on every time you step foot in that room leaves you with a sinking feeling that's starting to crawl across your skin.

You wanted this. You wanted to stay with him.

Simon asked you stay with him.

Yeah, but for how long? He cannot expect you to spend all day here. You have to go to bed. Are you just going to leave him all alone? Are you going to wait for Simon to come back?

The dread spiral is easily answered when you slide open the glass door and lay eyes on the very handsome man from the other night, the younger one from the chair vigil, now sitting beside Johnny, the two of them softly chuckling.

When Johnny spots you, he manages to fire off your name as a half-effort introduction, more than expected considering his slowly slipping state of consciousness.

“I’m Kyle. Soap an’ I work together.” Soap? Who is Soap?

“She doesnae know me b’ Soap, only calls me Johnny.” He explains your confused look, to which Kyle raises an eyebrow.

“Wow. Letting your nurse call you Johnny, eh? Simon better-“

“Ach, stop.” He rolls his eyes, but sleep tugs his lids downward.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You give Johnny and his monitor a once over, catching yourself on his sweet, sleepy gaze, flushed face and lazy smile, before directing your attention back to Kyle. “I told Simon, I’d sit with him for a bit before he got back, but…”

“I’m here in his place.” Kyle explains, motioning to the chair, and you breathe a small sigh of relief. You will get to go home and get some sleep, after all.

There’s a woman with a confused look on her face just outside the elevator. She looks exhausted, skin raw under her eyes, clutching a baby who’s maybe a year, or a bit older, in her arms, glancing up and down the hall before she spots you.

Fuck. You’re still wearing your scrubs.

“Hi.” You smile, and she visibly relaxes, obviously relieved. The baby tucks her face into the woman’s chest like she’s shy, coyly looking at you from corner of her eye. “You look lost.”

“I’m looking for the nurse’s station. My husband was supposed to meet me here but he’s running late and I-“

“It’s all the way down, take the first left, and it will be at the end of that hallway.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much.” She glances at your ID, punctuating her gratitude with your name, and you give her another smile, leaning to extend towards the baby as well.

“So cute.” You tell her, pressing the elevator button with a ding.

“Cute. But she’s a little terror, especially when she’s missing her Da.” She grumbles, and then waves, setting off against the white tile as you laugh to yourself. Pretty much sums kids up. Cute little terrors.

A week passes easily, beds and rooms changing over, room two sixty-eight remaining a constant. Johnny takes his battles on the chin, burn debridement on his side, casting for his wrist, removal of his chest tube, a third surgery.

“He’s a fighter.” Simon tells you one night in the dark after he’s slipped off to sleep. “Always has been. He's strong. Spirited.”

“I can see.” You agree, holding out the extra blanket you’ve pulled from a cabinet. When Simon takes it, his eyes meet yours, something soft shining in them, and you give him a smile in return.

“Thank you.” He murmurs. “For everything.”

A few days later, you’re surprised, and secretly pleased, to find Simon in the café.

He’s standing in front of the counter, paying for what you think might a baked good of some kind, sweet lady behind the register eyeing him up suspiciously as he deposits the note into her hand, and you stay on the outside of the doors, lingering in the hallway, watching.

At least he’s eating something. He’s still wearing the mask, and although it’s not uncommon, especially in a hospital setting, it does give you pause. Does he wear it all the time? Is it just because this is a hospital? He observes the room, steadily taking in all of the people meandering about, some eating, some standing, making their selections, engaging in conversation, and you notice how his hand slides to the back of his neck, distractedly rubbing the hair at his nape before he makes his escape, long legs eating up the distance between him and the door, him and… you.

“Hi.” You squeak when he steps into the hall, turning the corner to find you standing there like a deer in headlights, your water bottle clutched in one hand, phone in the other. His head tilts, eyes narrowed, and you manage to give him a half smile. “Getting something to eat?”

“It’s for Johnny.” He notes. “I ah, had something to eat earlier. When I was home.” Oh, good. Being in the hospital twenty-four seven isn’t healthy for anyone. Not even patients.

“Cool.” Cool? What is this, a pub? You swallow your embarrassing, awkward acknowledgement, breezing past the word like it didn’t happen. “Well, I’m about to badge in, so I’ll see you in a bit?” He nods, eyes still trained on your face, and you beat back the heat that’s spreading through your body like a fever when they drift down to your shoulders, and then to your badge.

“Cute sticker.” He points to where it’s clipped to your top, shiny bunny sticker from a patient’s child still there, holographic print sparkling in the dusk.

“Oh, thanks. Another patient of mine has a little kid. I was hanging out with him for a bit yesterday.”

“Suits you.” His gaze dips downward, glancing over the curve of your hip, plush from the swell of your ass, taut pull of your scrubs all of the sudden feeling too tight, too stretched across your waist, and you scramble to make sense of his comment.

“A bunny?” Your brows raise in disbelief, confusion, but he only nods, head tilted slightly, posture broad. Your brain turns over, frantically trying to think of a response, something clever, but he continues to talk, clearing his throat with a question.

“What do you call a line of rabbits hopping backwards?” Huh?

“What?”

“A receding hare-line.” Wait. What? Is he… joking with you? Your mouth drops into a little o of part surprise, part confusion, before you squint at him in disbelief.

“Oh… my god. That’s…”

“’s not that bad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, giving you the impression that he might be smiling beneath the mask, making you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“It’s pretty bad.” You croak, nervous laughter bubbling up in the back of your throat. “Well, I… uh-“ His phone dings, pulling his focus to the screen, and he swipes out something quickly with his thumb.

“I’ll see you up there.” He jerks his head towards the elevator, and you mumble out a mild, flabbergasted reply.

“Alright... yeah.”

Your first break comes up fast. Your morning, everyone’s evening, is busy, with a code, a tricky vent, and a needy, elderly man in two fifty-two. It goes from busy to worse, an argument with the pharmacy heating your blood, spurring anger through your veins and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from berating the poor tech at the window. Useless. You seethe in your mind all the way back up to your floor, frustration driving you to seek solace, eager to escape the eyes of the hospital, running away from the possibility of being noticed.

But supply closet 2b is occupied, a frazzled resident huffing into a pillow in the back, hyperventilating with tear-stained cheeks.

Without even fully realizing, you find yourself inside two sixty-eight, Simon’s sharp eyes falling upon you with scrutiny. He looks at Johnny’s monitor like something might be amiss, relaxed posture straightening into something tense, structured. There’s a card game in progress on the swivel tray table over Johnny’s lap, the glaring reality of your interruption, and you blanche.

You’re immediately incredibly embarrassed. What are you even doing in here?

“Miss me already?” Johnny coos, beaming, and your throat feels dry. He’s feeling the best he has since he got here, albeit not great, still in awful pain, still staring down the barrel of more surgeries, but the pain medication from earlier is working its way through his system, and you’re happy to see it’s taking the edge off it all for him, allowing him comfort and conversation with his partner.

“My um… usual break spot is occupied?” You don’t know why you phrase it as a question, it just comes naturally. Like you’re seeking permission. Agreement.

“Ye want to sit with us? While ye eat?” Johnny asks, somewhat pointing to your yogurt cup, and you shrug, but Simon motions to the extra chair, the one that now sits on the other side of the bed, across from him. Guess facilities finally brought down that recliner you requested.

“Would… would that be alright?”

Johnny looks to Simon, and Simon nods. Slowly.

Your yogurt goes down easy, light chit chat bouncing around the room, Johnny nodding in and out with drawn out answers to your questions, until a noise startles you from the chair, pushing you onto your feet to peer out the door.

It’s a man, yelling, screaming, from a room down the hall, not from sadness or despair, but rage, and your mind goes haywire when security is paged over the PA system.

Deep breath.

This happens sometimes. Patients, or loved ones, become disruptive. Secrets and lies all come out in the wash in a hospital. Custody agreements, battles, DNRs, last wills and testaments, any of these things are a perfect tinder box. One match, and it all goes up.

A siren blares.

“Code black, code black.” echoes through the hospital, each room on every floor, down every hall.

Johnny startles from his near sleep stupor, eyes alert, the outline of his muscles solid beneath his gown.

Security risk. Lockdown.

You straighten your spine.

Deep breath.

This is your job.

Part of your job is being able to handle things like this. Protect, take care of your patients, and their families. Keep them safe.

The man shouts again, sharp tone of anger snapping through the air and across your frame, forcing your muscles tense.

You slide the door lock into place, pulling the curtain to only allow a small line of sight.

“What’s going on?” Simon stands, turning towards the door, and Johnny pats his hand, like he’s trying to soothe him.

“Oh, uh. It’s… just a lockdown. I don’t know.” You’re vaguely aware of the numb feeling that’s spreading from your chest down into your hand, and the sound of the irate man gets closer. Fuck.

“Ye okay?” Johnny’s voice is gentle, and when you glance over your shoulder to reassure them, you realize they’re both watching you, Simon’s eyes locked onto your now trembling fist, as Johnny regards you softly, with kindness.

“Um. Yeah.” You suck in a quick breath, forcing yourself to steady, gritting your teeth against the frozen, involuntary fear that’s trying to overpower you. You think Simon might be frowning beneath the mask, confusion shading his question.

“Why are you standing at the door?”

“It’s standard operating procedure. If there’s an issue, or a disturbance. If you’re in a patient’s room, if I- I’m in a patient’s room, I’m supposed to act like a… barrier. Just in case.” You keep your eyes fixed out the glass, watching for any sights, listening for any sounds. The door is locked, and glass is thick, and security would be here if anything were to happen, they’re already down the hall, everything is fine. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep-

“Go sit with Johnny.” Simon's standing just behind you, voice pitched low, sweetened into one of those softer hums, the kind of tone he usually uses with Johnny. Not with you. He’s so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and you shake your head with a refusal.

“I have to stay-“ He cuts you off, not even letting you choke out the rest of your quivering protest.

“No. Go sit with Johnny.” He pauses, stepping around to angle his body in front of yours, looking down at you over his shoulder, and you think, for a moment, you see a glimmer of the tenderness there that’s reserved for Johnny. “Please.”

“My wrist hurts.” Johnny calls hopefully to you, mischievous smile and eyes sweet, his good hand outstretched with an open palm. “Need ye to rub it.” Simon nods, serious look quashing any rebuttals you might have, protocol and procedure slipping far from your mind as you let yourself drift to Johnny’s side, settling back into your seat previously abandoned. Johnny offers you his wrist, smile fading when he looks closer at your curled fingers. “Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

“Low blood sugar.” You lie. The man in the hallway shouts again, closer, loud and awful, roiling with rage, and you inadvertently tense, jolting minutely in the chair.

“Hey now.” Johnny reaches for you, gentle touch against your skin, warm fingers holding onto yours. You look down to where he tries to give you comfort, where he tries to soothe you, instead of the other way around, as it has been, as it should be, and you get lost in it, the idea of comfort, the feeling of care. It makes your heart stumble in your chest, almost like you can’t breathe, staring off into space, trying to pretend like there isn’t a man screaming down the hall, like you’re not the person you are, buried beneath the insurmountable weight of scars, memories of pain and fear etched into the very tissue of your brain, the backs of your eyelids, every strand of hair.

Ingrained inside of you, forever.

Someone says your name, and you blink back to the face of your patient, who looks to Simon, his expression unreadable until it shifts into tender warmth, re-focused on you. “What is it?”

“I-“ You picture yourself, letting your lips go loose, entrusting your secrets and worst fears to these strangers, these men who you don't even know, who don't know you. “I’m exhausted.” You offer, and shadow flickers across Johnny’s eyes. It’s not a lie, not technically. You’re always exhausted.

“Ye-“

“Code black lifted. Code black lifted. Lockdown complete. Resume normal operation.” The PA system drones, tension between your shoulders draining, and you jump to your feet, palms and fingers smoothing over your scrub top.

“Well, I’ve got to check in at the nurses’ station now. Protocol.” You explain, nearly tripping over yourself on the way to the door. Your heart is still raging inside your chest, beating faster than it should, and you steady your breathing with a mental count. One... two... three... one... “I’ll check in on you later.” You promise over your shoulder, slipping by Simon to disappear down the hallway.

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghoap #soap x ghost #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #simon ghost riley

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nysrage · 6 months

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College Daze, Connie Springer.

college days were hard. you hadn’t quite found your footing around campus, not making any friends, and often times too homesick to even get out of bed. being the quiet introvert didn’t help with any functions going on campus either. but nonetheless, it was that college daze. days were especially hard when you were hours away from everything you knew, your town, family, one friend, and boyfriend. all the things that made your heart so full.

the only thing keeping you sane were the phone calls you’d share with them. parents giving you encouraging words to keep you going and motivated. your friend who remind you of the vision you had for yourself when you felt low enough to quit and come home. Connie, who’d stay up with you on those long night where you’d study for upcoming exams, and fill that lonely hole with warmth during those overnight calls. It’d been months since you been face to face with any of them and you couldn’t help the feeling of loneliness clouding your heart.

that was until there’d been a knock at your front door, pulling you not only from your thoughts but also your bed. annoyed that your roommate most likely left her keycard in her room for the umpteenth time since you’ve settled on campus. “ girl you’ve got to learn to—” swinging the door open to be met with your boyfriend, “surprise mamí” flashy smile on display as he engulfed you into his arms. “connie?” you mind barely processing all of this until you were burying your face into his neck. opening up to that safe, warm, and familiar scent that you’d missed for so long, taking in as much of it as you could not knowing how long it’d last. “c’mon lemme see that pretty face.” pushing those soft natural coils out of your face, taking you all in. “how… when did you even find the time..?”

“like i told you princesa..” connie smiled, giving you a small peck in the cheek. “i’d be outside your dorm for you one of these days.” you giggled, quickly wiping away any tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “you know i can’t be away from you too long.” nuzzling your face into that warm hand of his that rested against your cheek. basking in that feeling of home and happiness.

the next few days were spent on some much needed catching up, quality time, and acts of service. showing connie around campus and enjoying a few parties, along with a nice stress free day at the salon. connie paying for all those self care needs that you’d neglected in the past few months, getting you back to that bubbly personality he’d grown to love. those beautiful smiles returning back to your face. the next day was spent in sweetheart circle in the center of campus, full of beautiful land that was perfect for a picnic. which connie made sure to pack all of your favorite fruits, wraps, and drinks into your basket. Along with three small canvases to draw whatever your heart desires.

the gentle breeze, warm sun on your skin, and connie’s arm wrapped around your waist made everything feel so much better. like this journey isn’t as lonely as it seemed, not when the people surrounding you did everything in their power to keep you happy along the way. It’d been the most you smiled since the first week of school and you didn’t think it’d fade anytime soon. the two of you sharing your paintings when you were done, connie’s canvas colored with doodles of you and him beneath the sun. while your gave a more realistic and detailed portrait, one your sure he’d be hanging up somewhere in his room to keep your close to him. A third canvas of your painted hands on either side, and the date that the two of you became official in between.

ending the day with a walk around the trail, a known legend at your university for couples that visit sweetheart circle. “you know legend says, if you walk sweetheart circle the right way three times.. you’ll be married.” connie chuckled, “oh yeah?” playfully biting down on his lip. “right or wrong, you’ll end up as mrs. springer regardless” pulling you close his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “we work too hard at this relationship for us not to work.” his words were sweet and sincere, eyes never leaving yours as he spoke. your body whirling around in front of him to stop his tracks, taking his strong hands in yours. “i’m really glad you surprised me for the weekend baby.” a bright smile of your face as you looked up at the towering form of your boyfriend. his smile just as wide as yours, placing a delicate kiss on your intertwined hands. “I know this big city was a lot for you and you really needed some piece of home..” shrugging his shoulders as he looked out at this distant fountain. “so i thought i’d bring home to you.”

squeezing his hand as his eyes met yours, those golden brown orbs holding so many emotions. “I love you..” his reaction to your words always the same, small curve in his lips along with that brightening of his eyes.

“i love you more princesa.”

#nys works.ᐟ ᥫ᭡#aot fluff #aot connie fluff #aot connie #connie fluff #aot connie springer #aot connie x black reader #aot connie x black!reader #connie springer #connie x black y/n #connie springer x black reader #connie x black!reader #connie x black reader #connie x you #connie springer fluff

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mykoreanlove · 1 month

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afraid of love

Exhausted from the intensity of the night before, you sank into the comforting embrace of your fluffy bed. But even in the tranquility of your room, your mind raced with memories of Eun Woo.

Did he make it so Seoul already?

Images of last night flooded your consciousness like a vivid, intoxicating dream.

Heated kisses on every inch of your body ignited a fire within you, each touch sending shivers down your spine and leaving you breathless with desire. Eun Woo's lips, soft and insistent, traced a path of passion across your skin.

His dark, brown eyes seemed to peer into the depths of your soul, stripping away all pretense and laying bare the raw, unfiltered emotions that lay hidden within. In those moments, it felt as though you were the only two people in the world, lost in a shared intimacy that transcended words.

Your bodies intertwined for hours, moving together in a dance of ecstasy and longing. Every touch was a symphony of pleasure that left you both gasping for breath.

Dirty promises were whispered into your ear, each word sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins. In the darkness of the night, with only the sound of your ragged breaths to fill the silence, you reveled in the shared intimacy of your whispered confessions, each promise a testament to the passion that burned between you.

As the night wore on, you both became a canvas for each other's desires, covering each other in colorful marks that served as a physical reminder of the passion that had ignited between you.

And as sleep finally claimed you both, you drifted off in his strong embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a peaceful slumber. In that moment, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that you had found something special, a connection that transcended the physical and reached deep into the depths of your soul.

Adrenaline flooded your system as you thought off all the things you did last night.

Or three nights prior to that. You matched on a random Sunday, after being abstinent from dating for a long time. Eun Woo was in town only for a couple of days for a video shoot but that didn’t stop him from having a good time.

He had been single for years after having his heart shattered by his first love. Ever since, he toyed with women as he pleased.

The first date was spent in his apartment, eating, and talking, cuddling, and fucking.

He was a passionate lover, even though he was starving for love and affection. The second date was a spontaneous invitation late at night, after all his mandatory meetings had been dealt with.

You repeated the first date’s actions but this time it felt more familiar, already knowing what you liked and needed. Eun Woo gave you his all, adoring you in every way he could.

Until he had to leave.

You remembered the sound of his alarm clock this morning, way too early and too sudden. He shifted in his sleep, groaning as he did not want to leave you.

Kisses on your neck were accompanied by his fingers entering you, sighing in appreciation. “God, you feel so fucking good, y/n.”

Minutes after he was gone, catching his plane back to Seoul. You put your fingers on your lips, looking for the traces he had left. The sudden vibration of your phone brought you back into the present moment.

I landed. Tired as fuck though. How are you?

Missing you.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up – after all he didn’t even live in the same country. This was nothing but a repeated one-night stand, right? You thought back to the conversation you had before falling asleep.

“Do you think there is a future for us?”

He caught you off guard with this question, making you panic to find the right words.

“That depends on how well you treat me, Eun Woo”, you mocked jokingly.

He broke into laughter, loving your sassy side.

“I will love the ground you walk on, my queen. How about that?”

You joined in on his laughter and turned to face him, staring into his beautiful eyes.

“Do you mean it?”

He nodded.

Did you really mean it, though?

Oh, good! Seoul has you back then 😉 Lying in bed and cuddling my plushie since you’re gone…

Did that sound stupid?

Your insecurities churned within you, suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything you said and did.

Haha

That’s it?

You felt sick to your stomach as you took that as confirmation. After all, you were right about him. He only used you for some fun during his trip. And now he’s back in his real life, in which you had no place in.

This was nothing but fun to him. Nothing but a repeated one-night stand.

Brrrr.

Brrrrr.

What the fuck?

Barely awake you searched for your phone on your nightstand.

3:33 AM.

Who the fuck texts me at this hour?

You were instantly awake as you realized who it was.

Eun Woo.

I have no idea if you’re awake. You’re probably asleep. And I shouldn’t blow up your phone. But I can’t help myself.

Anxiety formed in your stomach.

What was that supposed to mean?

Are you okay?

It took him seconds to answer.

You’re awake? Did I wake you? I’m sorry.

You sat up in bed, anxiously typing your reply.

It’s alright. Why are you up? Everything okay?

You saw him type his reply for minutes, driving you crazy in your heightened state.

No. Nothing is okay. I can’t stop thinking about you.

You swore your heart skipped a beat.

Did I read that right?

I can’t stop thinking about you and it drives me crazy.

You gasped, trying to think of a reply.

You make it sound like it’s a bad thing…

Countless messages followed.

It is. Because you are not here with me. And I’m not there with you. I… I didn’t want to leave you this morning. I wanted to stay. With you, y/n. I really wanted to stay.

You pinched yourself, unsure if this was real.

Ouch.

Definitely real.

I know I sound crazy. Maybe I am. But I have fallen for you. HARD. The last hours I’ve thought about how I can manage to come back to your city. Or how I could persuade you to come visit me in Seoul. I almost popped a blood vessel thinking of ways. What did you do to me?

You chuckled. Relief washed over you, since he felt the same way you did.

I keep replaying last night over and over. How mesmerizing it felt to look into your beautiful eyes. How amazing it felt to kiss you. How mind-blowing it felt to be inside you. Oh god and speaking of blowing. The way your juicy lips wrapped around my cock? I’m losing my mind here, y/n. I’ve jerked off twice and still I couldn’t fall asleep. Or stop thinking about you. I’m a simp now, aren’t I? Look what you turned me into.

You were in shock.

Hours ago, you thought he would abandon you and go on with his life but here he was, confessing his desire for you. Making it obvious that he wants to continue this and get to know you better.

Now is the time to get my hopes up, right?

Do you want me to fly over?

You felt brave asking, believing in your chance at love for once.

Already checking flights, babe.

A broad smile formed on your lips.

I can’t believe this.

He is serious, isn’t he?

I can’t wait to be with you, y/n. I really fucking mean it. And that scares me the most.

You understood him perfectly, especially since the connection between you was so strong. This was nothing like you had ever encountered before. It scared you just as much, but you were willing to try.

Hey, uhm… Wanna be scared together?

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the-cat-atonic · 2 months

Text

Godrick the Grafted's boss area

Acrylic on 11x14 canvas

About 22 hours total spent on it over a span of three weeks? I never keep track of how long until this piece cause its currently the biggest one I've done!

I really wanted to challenge myself and I'm so glad I did. I'm super happy with how it came out, I really want to make more paintings like this in the future! I plan to have this for sale, and hope it find a good home :]

Enjoy!

Also if you have any areas from any fromsoft game you think would look great for a piece let me know!

#elden ring #godrick the grafted #painting #acyrlic #scenery #fromsoft #soulsborne #catatonic2024 #artists on tumblr #my art

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rafferty3207 · 9 months

Note

omg I'm the anon who requested the jamie x reader neighbours fic and boy you delivered! fucking love it! can't wait for part 2

This is so lovely anon, I'm so glad you liked it!!! For you, I will deliver a part two with the caveat that I'm so sorry I got carried away and now it will be in three parts (sorry again), but the last part will be the finale!!! Anyway I present to you:

Too Good to Be True (part two)

read part one here

warnings: allusions to abuse, mention of anxiety/panic attack, daddy issues, two hopeless idiots flirting, a bit of angst at the end but worth it (sorry again)

A/N: I have nothing to add except this gif is not mine and has turned me feral

It’s been several days since you left your phone number and you are nervous.

You don’t get why you care so much.

It’s just Jamie, your annoying neighbour. Your annoying, but also extremely handsome neighbour. Your annoying, handsome neighbour who massaged your feet, and your legs, and almost your thighs and god you couldn’t think straight. You’d been able to get nothing done as you had spent the last few days just constantly replaying that evening in your head. And to make things worse, it turns out Annoying Handsome Jamie was in fact a very famous Premier League footballer. Who has also been caught having sex on TV. (Yes, you had binged the entirety of his Lust Conquers All series since that night, but that was neither her nor there.)

After almost a week you had given up. The exhibition was just under two weeks away and you hadn’t seen him in the garden or outside the house at all. He had probably come to the conclusion that you were both too weird and too normal for him and the only conclusion was move on with your life and forget his stupid sexy face ever existed, when you got a text.

u free tonight

Jxoxo

Of course, you wanted to play it cool. After all, you had spent the entirety of the week waiting for this message.

29 minutes and 59 seconds later.

I might be.

The phone immediately pings.

do u not know??

xoxo

Depends, what are you thinking?

thought u wanted a model

Xoxo

Of course, he was thinking about the painting. As you also definitely were. You were a professional artist. Almost.

What time?

ill come after the match

You spend your evening preparing and also perhaps figuring out an outfit that says 'casual bohemian artist that definitely doesn't care' while redoing your makeup twice. However, as the hours stretch on and on and on you are at the point of giving up and going to bed, when the doorbell finally rings.

You race down, before waiting a minute, quickly checking yourself in the mirror and pulling out your phone to pretend you had already been looking at something when you open the door.

But before you can pull the casual act, he walks right past you.

“Hello to you too, Jamie.”

He strides into your living room where the canvas is set up and immediately starts taking his clothes off.

“Woah, what do you think you’re doing there?”

“Er, I thought you were painting nudes?”

“Er no-” At this point his shirt has already come off and he’s starting to unbutton his trousers. Of course he is very toned, with tanned arms and neck where his football shirt has been. You feel the breath knocked out of your body, glimpsing the very top of his boxers as you struggle for words.. He looks at you confused. Eventually you stutter an answer. "K-Keep the trousers on, okay?”

“What should I do then?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I pose, like?” You shrug.

“However you want to, Jamie.”

“I dunno what I want.” You sigh.

“You just need to stand there and look pretty.”

“Well I do that all the time, so.”

“Great. So just…keep doing that.”

Jamie smiles to himself.

“What is it?”

“So you do think I’m pretty?” He smirks at you. You fold your arms.

“What are you, a sixteen year old girl Jamie?” You start sketching. “Besides, you know what you look like.” You go back to drawing in silence. You swear you see his cheeks dust pink for a second before he ouffs his chest back out and smiles.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I think you’re pretty?”

You freeze.

“No, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m not sixteen. I am an adult woman and I don’t need random men for unsolicited affirmation, no matter how pretty they are.”

Jamie opens his mouth, before closing it again. Maybe that was a bit harsh, but what else could you say? Tell me how pretty you think I am Jamie. Or better yet, show me. I’m dying to know. You could practically feel the feminism leaving your body.

You dismiss these thoughts and get back to sketching. You can see Jamie is looking down and acting fidgety, swinging his arms.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” You walk over and plant your arms on his shoulders. He is surprisingly warm and firm to the touch, and you try not to blush. “Is it okay if I move you?”

He nods, surprisingly quiet. You turn him ever so slightly, before gently pushing him down onto your stool. As you move one of his (very muscly) arms, you swear you feel a slight tremor. Was he shaking? You step a little closer, a hand on his back.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Jamie.”

His face hardens.

“But I said I will, so I will.”

“But you don’t have to. Only do this if you want to.” You smile at him, and his face softens again.

“I do want to, trust me. It’s just been a long day.”

“Okay, but if you need to stop or take a break, just say the word.”

You step back to your canvas. You try to focus solely on the drawing, but every time he looks at you, you find your whole body heating up. Despite this, you steal glances anyway. He stares at you constantly, in a way that makes you feel stupid and giggly. Observing all the soft and hard lines of his body, you eventually start to notice small scars all over his body until you reach his hands. You don’t know why it took you so long to notice, but his knuckles are slightly bruised.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about your day.”

“Why? It was dead boring.”

“I don’t know. I find it helps me find the right mood.” You prepare your brushes. “You know, it tells me what colours to use.”

“Oh. I mean, nothing much happened.” He looks down at his feet. “I got up, went to play football, came here.”

“But why did you text me? Why today?”

“I dunno.” You sit in silence for a moment, as you mix the colours. “I mean, my dad came to the match.”

“Right.”

“Pulled his usual shit.”

“Usual shit?”

“Just being a complete dickhead.” You start painting.

“In what way?”

“Saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just the usual stuff.”

“You keep saying “usual” Jamie. I don’t think whatever he said is usual for most people.”

“What about your dad? He said that thing about you being a teacher right? Because you couldn’t paint or summat?” You put your brush down.

“Yeah he did say that. He says a lot of shit, none of which I would consider usual. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” You step off your chair and towards Jamie, reaching gently for his hand. “We don’t just have to take this shit, you know.”

“I don’t fucking take it!” He pulls away. You flinch back. He looks alarmed as he realises. “I should go.” He starts to walk out.

“Jamie, I didn’t mean to upset you -” You walk after him as he paces towards the door. He halts at the entrance.

“I’m not upset, I just - I came here because I didn’t want to think about my dad. When I’m with you, I never think about him. Or anything else, really.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.” Before you can reply, he runs off.

The next few days pass by. You send a few texts to Jamie, but no reply. The exhibition is only a couple of days away now, so you try to keep yourself busy. But his words won’t stop swirling in your head to the point you struggle to sleep. So you do what you always do: paint.

It’s not until one of these nights when you're up late at the canvas that you glance out of the window. Your heart stops. Someone is lying in Jamie's garden, very still. You dare to look closer. Is that..Jamie? He looks glassy eyed. He can't have...Without thinking, you run down.

"Jamie! Jamie!" Your heart is thumping in your ears so loudly you can't hear anything else. "Jamie are you okay?" You ask as you scramble to climb the fence. However just as you are almost over, you catch your foot, spectacularly falling over it into the bushes. You hear that trademark laugh.

"Why are you laughing? I thought you were dead, dipshit!" You say, crawling out of the shrubbery.

He remains lying down but he’s smiling at you now.

"Why would you think I was dead?"

"Why are you lying in your garden on your back completely still at 2am? Let's not pretend this is normal." You crawl down next to him.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“No I won’t.”

He looks away from you.

“I mean everyone else does, why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think they do.”

“There’s my dad. Plus, I’ve read Twitter.”

“You know how I feel about your dad and Twitter is full of very stupid people. But never mind them. I can promise you I don’t. And let’s be honest, I’m the only opinion that matters.” He scoffs as you offer him a pinky. But, he puts his pinky in yours before looking back up at the night sky.

"I can't get up."

"What? Are you injured?"

“No…I dunno, I told you it was stupid."

“It's clearly not that stupid. Are you okay Jamie?”

"I dunno. I was thinking about the other night with you and my dad and then I came outside because I needed some fresh air and then I lay down and started thinking about everything and now it feels like I'm stuck here. It's stupid -"

“Stop saying that.” You lie down and grab his hand. “Sometimes when you've gone through some shit, it comes out of your body in weird ways. But you're okay. We can stay here for as long as you like, but when we get up, you will be able to.”

He nods, and the two of you lie there holding hands in silence. You take some deep breaths and he follows. Eventually a small voice pipes up.

“I think I can go in now.”

You sit up and slowly pull him.

"See?"

He smiles at you gingerly before he looks down.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?”

You look down. Both your knees are cut, along with one of your palms and your wrist.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

He gently holds your wrist up to the light. He looks sad.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I need to work on my graceful dismount. Either that or just walk around to the back door.”

“I mean, I dunno, I think you could give Simone Biles a run for her money.” You swat him.

“Oi, you cheeky shit! Next time I’ll just leave you for dead.”

“I think the blood loss is going to your head, we should treat that ASAP.” He leads you into his house. “I think I’ve got a first aid kit upstairs.”

He starts walking up and you follow him. He seems surprised. You realise your error.

“Oh, I can wait downstairs if you like.”

“Er, no, it’s fine.” He steps into a bedroom and starts rummaging around in what is clearly an ensuite bathroom. You sit on the edge of his bed and look around. There’s pictures of him and his mum, as well as some pictures with the team and one with a slightly older moustachioed man.

“Is that your dad?”

He pokes his head out and laughs.

“No, that’s our coach Ted.” You look up at him. “He’s a nice guy though. Annoyingly nice. Almost too nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” It was clear Jamie was soft on this man, but you wouldn’t push it today. He sits down and starts gently wiping the cuts. It is the same tenderness he held your foot, and it is the same tenderness that is slowly melting your heart. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were starting to fall for Jamie Tartt.

You yawn as he applies the final plaster. “Right, you need to go to sleep.” He says, through his own yawn.

"I could say the same for you"

You sit up to leave, but hesitate. YOu feel Jamie’s about to say something.

“Hey, I don’t suppose.. You’d maybe fancy…”

You turn around.

“Staying around?”

Jamie looks at you pleadingly.

“No funny business I promise.” He looks up and offers you a pinky.

“What if I want funny business?”

“Eh?”

“I’m just messing with you Jamie. Besides, I’ve already stolen your knickers anyway.”

“Someone told me that’s a weird thing to say to people.”

“Well, that person sounds very wise.” You look around. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He gestures towards it and you go in. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you think: what the fuck is going on here? You splash some water on your face and tell yourself to get a grip.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the blue pot if you need it.” Jamie calls through the door.

“Ew gross Jamie, I don’t want to use one of your many girlfriend’s toothbrushes!”

“I’ll have you know that’s brand new as I don’t have any girlfriends at the moment. Although there are sanitary towels if you need them love.”

“Piss off you patronising git!”

“‘Ey, I was trying to be nice and a good feminist and that.”

You brush your teeth before coming out and leaning against the doorframe.

“No girlfriends? What happened to the Island’s top scorer?”

He groans before flopping back onto the bed.

“I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I’ve been doing my research.” You get into the bed next to him. He flashes you a dirty grin.

“Bet you have, you little perv.”

“Me? The perv? What you did in that jacuzzi was a crime to my eyes, and probably in several countries.”

“Woah, you have been doing your research - that was like episode 42? 43?”

“What can I say, you make good television?”

Jamie pulls the duvet back before hovering for a moment.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” He gestures to the bed.

“I know. But I’ve been in your position before, and I really needed a friend back then. And I think you would do the same.”

“Any time.”

You squeeze his hand.

“Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Aye aye captain.”

____

You wake up and find yourself once again not in your own bedroom. In fact, not only are you not in your own bedroom, but you appear to be cuddling Jamie Tartt. You panic silently. Your leg is swung over his, while his arm is draped over you. You try to move, but still asleep, he squeezes you a little tighter. And then something really surprising happens.

He kisses you. Just a little kiss on the forehead, but your chest is fluttering. You hate to admit it but, it feels just so natural. You’re so content and relaxed in his arms then…

Fuck. You fell back asleep. You’re in the exact same problem as before.

This time however, you are both awoken by Jamie’s phone going off. He reaches to switch it off, eyes still closed, but then it rings again. And again. The third time his eyes shoot open.

“Shit!”

“What is it?” You ask from behind bleary eyes.

“The match!”

You slowly sit up and watch him run around and get dressed, silently handing him things on occasion. He runs downstairs and you plod along after him, still half asleep. He runs out of the door, before abruptly stopping and turning around.

“Aren’t you going to wish me good luck or something?”

You wrinkle your nose at him in confusion.

“I don’t need to. You’re going to smash it anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

You shrug and smile.

“I just know.”

At this point, he strides right up to you, before cupping your face in both his hands.

“Jamie what are -” Before you can finish, he kisses you, hard. Your eyes flutter closed and you melt into the kiss, before he pulls away, but only just. His arm reaches around the small of your back and his forehead touching yours, he whispers.

“Wait for me.”

He runs off to his car, and you stroke your bottom lip, where you trace the swell of where he used to be.

Your heart is still pounding and you are unsure what to do with yourself, so you try to make yourself at home. You take a very long, hot shower before getting changed. Of course, you didn’t have any clothes here, so you find some pyjama shorts along with one of Jamie’s old jerseys.

You sit down to watch the match. You had never really gotten into football, but now you were glued to the screen. You couldn’t believe that the little Jamie on screen was the same one who shared a bed with you last night. And the same Jamie that kissed you…

The game is electric, and Jamie in particular is the standout player. Even the commentators remark on his zest this match as he keeps skilfully weaving through the players to lead Richmond into not one, not two but three goals.

Once the match is done, you watch, still glued to your seat when Jamie is invited to an interview.

“Jamie the way you played today was extraordinary, against Man City too. If you don’t mind us asking, what happened?”

“Ah well, I was really inspired by Simone Biles. She’s honestly changed my life.” At that moment, he turns straight to the camera, grins and winks, and you feel like he’s somehow winking right at you. Your heart skips a beat. You were really in trouble.

You look at your phone and Jamie Tartt is trending. Simone Biles herself has already tweeted reminding everyone she is a married woman and has never met Jamie. There are plenty of other women, including some famous other gymnasts and celebrities offering their Biles-like services to Jamie in some rather explicit tweets. You wonder if Jamie reads these ones too.

You walk to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and as you wait for the kettle to boil, you look at Jamie’s calendar. There’s all sorts of notes, primarily training and matchs but you notice your exhibit is there too, with a little heart drawn around it. Jamie never stopped surprising you. But then a cold shock goes down your spine. You remembered today’s date. You are meant to be going to the gallery this evening to plan the exhibition. Shit. You check the time. You’ve still got three hours left, but you need to get back into your flat ASAP. You scramble around before realising that you had left your phone in the flat last night in the chaos to get out. But you also remembered Jamie and what he had said.

Wait for me.

You write a little note and stick it on the fridge.

____

Jamie comes back way later than he planned. Of course, after the match, there were drinks and celebrations but he couldn’t concentrate on them, just trying to leave to get back to you. He finally manages to break away, but when he gets home, he finds the living room empty. He searches around the rest of the house, and you are nowhere to be found. He checks his phone. No messages. He gets a message through from Keeley about how he’s trending online.

Of course he sees all the Simone Biles stuff and smiles to himself. He made a note to send Simone Biles a message in future, if this all worked out. Then he sees all the stuff other women are saying online. A lot of it is quite graphic and he wondered what you’d think. He imagined the two of you laughing together at them. Then he sees. The tabloids are already speculating. Not only do they actually think he’s having an affair with Simone Biles, but they have already posted some paparazzi shot of him with Keeley, along with long extensive timelines of his tumultuous dating history. His stomach drops. Anyone would run away if they saw this much baggage.

He tries to ring you. Once, twice, three times, No pick up. He’s desperate and pacing, until he realises he can just walk over to your front door. He rings the bell several times, before loudly knocking. Still nothing.

He can’t believe how much he’s fucked it. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you, but he couldn't help it. No one had made him feel like this, like he was going crazy but also that he was calmer than he had ever been, like riding a lifeboat in the centre of the storm. As he walks back into his flat and into his kitchen, he doesn’t see the small corner of a note that has fallen under the fridge. He checks his phone again.

Still nothing. What could he do?

____

Sorry for the angst kids, hope it was worth it and the finale will be juicy!! lmk if you want to be tagged in the final part!! Not sure if I've done these tags right, apols if not!!

@skewedcherries @e-mmygrey @reading-blogs @alex-sulli @cameoutstruggling93 @sqrlgrl22 @maydayfigment @aiyaiy @alipap3 @okkkkkkksure @city-of-cards

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt x reader #fanfic #romance #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt

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duskandcobalt · 6 months

Text

bloodlust 🩸🗡️

Happy Halloween 🎃🎃🎃

Azriel's covered in blood and Elain has an ✨awakening✨ (18+)

This is my contribution to kinktober, it's porn with a smidge of plot and a dash of pining because of who I am as a person.

TW: slightest bit of knifeplay and a hint of degradation, like so so so miniscule for both.

3.8k words

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Azriel is covered in blood.

It’s soaked through his clothing - his white shirt and jeans are stained with massive splotches of blood, his black combat boots act as a canvas for large crimson droplets. It’s smeared across his broad chest and shoulders, splattered all over his strong neck and handsome face. Streams of it drip down his toned arms. The bright red rivers stand in stark contrast to his deep brown skin and the black ink of his many intricate tattoos. Even his hands and nails are flecked with dried blood, as is the shining dagger clasped in his right fist.

Elain is irrevocably frozen in place, unable to do anything except gawk at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

———————————————————————————————

Elain didn’t have a single clue as to what her sisters were talking about as she stood in between them. Her mind was elsewhere, her back pressed against the wall as her eyes anxiously flickered to the front door of Cassian’s apartment each and every time it opened, hope cresting within her like a wave only for it to crash into crushing disappointment when the person entering was inevitably not the person she’d been praying would make an appearance tonight.

She hasn’t seen him in almost three long months. He’d been away for almost the entire summer, traversing Europe on an unplanned trip that was almost definitely a very expensive effort to avoid her.

They had had an arrangement. One that had them secretly meeting over the course of three whole years to satisfy physical needs in between other on and off again relationships. It was an arrangement that had worked well until lines had started to blur. Until their nights turned into mornings and mornings turned into afternoons and afternoons turned into entire days spent together.

It all came to a head one tumultuous evening when he’d gone and ruined everything by letting three small words slip in the heat of a moment. She’d been so shocked at the time that she hadn’t even tried to stop him when he quickly got dressed and left her in bed, sweat soaked sheets that still smelled of his cedar cologne clutched tight to her chest.

Elain hadn’t seen him since. Hadn’t even really heard from him except for one drunken text from an unknown number that started with the Italian country code. Despite it all, despite her better judgement, he lived at the forefront of her mind.

All she wanted was to know what his face looked like now. She wants to know if he has new freckles from the European sun. She wonders whether he’s changed his hair, gotten any new tattoos, or if he’d still be wearing the chain she’d bought him two Christmases ago.

A chain that he’d only taken off once - for a period of 162 excruciating days, while he dated some pretty redhead he’d met at his gym. The chain had been back around his neck the very same day that relationship ended and he was back at her door the very next night.

In Elain’s mind, that thin strand of gold acted as a physical marker that a part of him still belonged to her.

…

When the front door swings open again almost two hours later and she finally sees the face she’s been waiting for, her mouth goes dry. All thoughts and questions empty out of her head.

Azriel is covered in blood.

Elain is irrevocably frozen in place, unable to do anything except gawk at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

She should feel alarmed, should be at least a little frightened at the thought of this absolute tower of a man drenched in blood. Instead, it’s a pleasurable tingle up her spine that she feels as she devours the sight of him, flashing images of those blood covered hands on her naked body invading her mind.

It isn’t until his eyes lock on hers that she’s pulled out of her deranged reverie.

Azriel’s face is frustratingly neutral, no hint of emotion visible even as his gaze drags quickly down her body and then back up again. He gives her no further acknowledgement before he turns and stalks towards the boys in the kitchen.

Elain bites down on her lip and drains the last bit of the vodka soda she’s been sipping on before she passes her glass off to Feyre who’s too drunk to question why Elain is handing her an empty cup in the first place. She mutters something about going to the bathroom to Nesta and then makes her way towards the stairs at the end of the hallway.

She tells herself it’s that singular drink settling warm in her stomach that has her pulling out her phone from where it’s shoved between her breasts and her dress to send a text that’s sure to be the first of the many bad decisions she’ll make tonight.

…

Azriel hadn’t let it show but he’d been shocked beyond belief when he walked into Cassian’s apartment tonight and saw her.

For as long as he’d known Elain, she had always favoured flowy dresses and skirts that only ever presented the occasional glimpse of her thighs or a hint of cleavage. Even when it came to costumes, the furthest she’d go would be a tight dress or leather pants.

She’d clearly chosen a different direction tonight.

He doesn’t quite know who she’s supposed to be dressed up as but he also doesn’t quite care because he’s more focused on the fact that she’s barely even dressed to begin with.

All she’s wearing is a ludicrously sheer pink negligée with fuzzy pink trim over her breasts and along the hemline that matches the fuzzy pink high heels on her feet. Her dress is so obscenely short that it hardly grazes the elegant sweep of her hips and just barely covers the pair of lacy pink panties clearly visible underneath.

It bothered him that he had felt an immediate, overwhelming desire to wrap her in a throw blanket and hide her away.

He wasn’t that type of guy, had never been that type of guy. But that instinct had always come out of hiding around Elain and something about her tonight, something about the thought of other people seeing her like this made him so unbelievably jealous that he was genuinely concerned he’d use his fake dagger to carve out the eyes of any man that looked at her too long.

“Jesus Christ… is that a costume or did you actually fucking kill someone?”

Azriel barely hears Cassian’s question over the thumping bass of the explicit rap song that’s blasting through the house.

Nesta and Cassian’s Halloween party was an event that Azriel secretly looked forward to each year even if he liked to pretend that he’d rather be absolutely anywhere else if only to quietly antagonise Nesta. He enjoyed seeing the months of careful preparation come to fruition almost as much as he looked forward to the sheer amount of gossip that would inevitably surface over the coming days as a result of whatever debauchery was sure to occur on this beloved holiday that went hand in hand with lowered morals.

“Nes said I wasn’t allowed to show up as off duty Batman again.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes as he finally addresses his best friend. “Apparently it’s lazy.”

“So you went out and murdered someone before coming here, instead? Is that why you’re late? Am I your alibi?” Cassian is very obviously three sheets to the wind.

He’s also dressed as Hercules, which Azriel could say is a bit on the nose for his athletic friend but he decides to keep his thoughts to himself.

“I had a gallon of fake blood shipped to him this morning and told him to figure it out.” Nesta appears behind Cassian, dressed in the coordinating Megara costume to her boyfriend’s Hercules. Her long purple gown has a high slit running all the way up to her right hip bone that Azriel’s certain didn’t exist in the movie.

“You look great, Az.” She reaches up to press a welcoming kiss to his cheek, carefully avoiding the splatters of blood on his face. “Terrifying, but great… a significant improvement to coming dressed as a slightly more goth version of yourself.

He's just about to give in to the temptation to deliver a snarky comment back but he’s too busy pretending not to notice the bounce of Elain’s ass as she walks out of the kitchen and past him without so much as a sideways glance in his direction.

Two minutes later, his phone pings with a new text message notification.

Cassian’s bedroom. Now.

Azriel squints at his phone, the bright light of the screen is obnoxious in the dark kitchen. The number isn’t saved to his phone anymore because he’d deleted it after an incident where he’d sent her a completely illegible apology while drunk in Italy, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have it memorised.

He reads the message again. And then once more for good measure just to make sure he’s reading it right.

He’s not even sure what excuse he gives his friends before he’s on the move. He goes over a number of potential options for what she could possibly have in store for him in the minute and a half it takes him to navigate sweaty bodies and various costume props as he makes his way upstairs.

He knows she must be pissed at him, that she probably has months worth of pent up anger that has been simmering until she had the opportunity to unleash it on him in person. He almost shields his face as he lets himself into Cassian’s room out of fear that one of her fluffy heels will come flying at his head.

No shoes are launched at him yet he still feels like he’s been hit over the head because none of those imagined scenarios could’ve prepared him for this. For the reality of seeing Elain standing at the foot of Cassian’s bed, staring at him with a look that can only be described as trouble in her eyes.

She’s still in that ridiculous costume, but the little lace panties she’d been wearing underneath were now dangling from the crook of her index finger.

…

It’s one of the most vulnerable things she’s ever done.

Probably one of the dumbest too.

But there’s no room to overthink her decision as she stands half naked in front of a dazed Azriel, watching with a mix of nervousness and anticipation as he pulls his gaze away from her bare sex long enough to quickly and quietly shut the door behind him.

He shakes himself out of his stupor. His entire demeanour shifts within a blink of an eye as he walks slowly towards her, flipping that blood covered blade between those beautifully bloody fingers.

“What are we doing, Elain?”

It’s been so long since she’s heard him say her name and the effect it has on her is unbelievable. It makes her knees go weak. Her heart pounds in her chest so loud that she’s sure he can hear it. Her brain goes all fuzzy around the edges.

“Ideally, each other.” She fights the urge to slap her forehead the moment the words leave her mouth, knows she’ll think back on it later when she’s laying alone in bed and wonder why the hell she said that.

The corner of Azriel’s lips turn up with a hint of a smirk but he refrains from commenting on her awful attempt at humour.“We should talk.”

“The time to talk was months ago but you ran off to Europe instead. I’m not really looking to talk right now, anyway.” Elain collects herself enough to give him a pointed look. “But if you’re not interested, I’m sure I can find someone else to fu-”

Azriel doesn’t let her finish that sentence. He reaches forward, plucks her underwear off her finger and shoves them in his back pocket. He waves his dagger at what’s remaining off her costume, “Take that off.”

She grins with the knowledge that even after all this time, she knew exactly how to get to him.

Elain reaches for the hem of her dress and peels it slowly up and over her head before tossing it on the floor. She moves to step out of her heels but Azriel stops her with a murmured instruction to leave them on.

“Tell me…” He steps closer to her, mindlessly tapping that blade against his palm. “Did you miss me like I missed you or is there something else that led to this?”

She doesn’t reply verbally, doesn’t trust herself to speak when she’s trying not to overthink that he’d admitted to missing her. Instead, she deliberately lowers her eyes and not so subtly allows her gaze to linger on his blood stained clothing, on the dagger in his hand. When her eyes return to his, she sees the surprise and understanding written clearly across his features.

“Interesting.” His voice is full of wonder as his initial surprise fades into curiosity. “I suppose bloodlust is a natural next step after you asked me to bite your neck when we watched Twilight.”

She can’t help but laugh at the memory but her laughter is abruptly cut off as the dagger in Azriel’s hand presses against her sex.

She has no plausible explanation for why the idea of Azriel covered in blood with a sharp object in his hands makes desire pool between her legs. For all the experimentation they’d done, for all that they’d explored together over the years, they had never crossed into territory quite as macabre as this.

Elain’s breath hitches as Azriel drags the tip of his dagger in a long, alluring line up her stomach and between her breasts. The plastic is unexpectedly sharp against her skin as it journeys up the column of her throat until it’s pressed firmly against the underneath of her jaw. He applies a little bit of pressure, just enough that her chin tilts upwards to look at him.

“Is this how you want to play?” Azriel taunts, still holding the dagger to her neck as his other hand settles against the small of her back, pulling her against him in one rough movement.

“Yes.” Elain moans when she feels the way he’s straining against the zipper of his pants.

He increases the pressure on the dagger as his lips meet hers in a heated kiss. His teeth close around her bottom lip, pulling back slightly before his tongue slips into her open mouth. Elain’s fingers fumble with the button on his jeans, itching to feel the weight of him in her hand.

Azriel groans when her fist wraps tight around him, twisting and sliding as she pumps him. She turns them around, walks him backwards a few steps until he’s seated on the bed and then she’s clambering onto his lap. Each of her knees find their place on either side of his thighs.

It’s rough and rushed but not a single second is wasted as she grinds herself against his length, coating him in her arousal before she sinks down on him in one hasty movement. She buries her face in the crook of his neck to muffle her scream just as his teeth close around her shoulder. She hears the soft thud of the plastic dagger hitting the wooden floor a second before his fingers are gripping her ass.

She’d forgotten how it feels to have him inside her body. Has to pause for a full minute to breathe through it, giving herself a bit of time to adjust to the stretch of him before she’s able to move again. Her fingers clutch at his shirt, the red stained fabric scrunching in her hand under the force of her grasp. She rocks back and forth on his lap, her hips rising and falling as she finds her rhythm.

“Talk to me.” Elain’s words are breathy, she’s distracted by the feeling of Azriel’s hands as they move to her breasts.

“Thought you didn’t want to talk?” He challenges. His fingertips pinch her peaked nipples, drawing out a sound from deep within her belly.

“You know what I mean.” She hesitates for a second before she gives him a teasing grin and continues, “Just don’t accidentally say something you don’t mean this time.”

Azriel glares at her, his eyes darkening as his hands leave her to reach behind him. He lifts his hips slightly to retrieve something from his pocket. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Elain listens, pausing her movement to bring her hands behind her. He takes hold of her wrists in one of his large hands, lace chafes against her skin as he binds her hands together.

“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t use those panties to gag you.” He huffs, grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Did you like all the attention? Did you like the way all those guys downstairs were staring at you in that little outfit?”

She’d noticed, of course, the way some eyes had leered at and lingered on her throughout the night, surprised that the most timid of the three Archeron sisters had showed up to her sister’s Halloween party in literal lingerie.

Elain hadn’t cared, hadn’t paid them any attention. She hadn’t put on that costume for any of them.

“Everyone thinks you're so shy, so quiet. But I know you.” His hands travel back down her body, pausing to gently press into her throat and then pausing again to palm her breasts. “Don’t I, Elain?”

Azriel wraps his hands around her torso, his thumbs trace over her ribcage while the rest of his fingers splay out against her back.

“I know just how loud and filthy you can be.” He watches her carefully, makes sure she’s okay with this before he continues. “Since you want to dress and act like a slut tonight, you can get fucked like one, too.”

His fingers dig into her skin when he lifts her up until only the head of his cock is inside her before pulling her back down, over and over again, with more intensity each time until the sharp sound of her ass slapping his thighs fills the room, synchronising with the increasingly obscene noises he’s drawing out of her.

“Who else fucks you like this? Who else fills you like I do?”

“No one. No one fucks me like you.” She fights to keep her eyes open, knows that he has a proclivity for eye contact while he’s inside her.

“That’s right.” Azriel nods. “Let them try, I’ll fucking kill them before they even get a hand on you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I killed for you?”

Elain looks down and sees that some fake blood has transferred from his skin to hers, staining her pale skin with light red streaks and splotches. She can’t help but picture Azriel killing one of those men downstairs before coming up here to fuck her with blood still warm on his hands.

She’s playing along when she answers him but a small thrill does race through her at the idea of him being so possessive that he'd kill someone for even thinking about touching her. “Yes.”

Elain rolls her hips against him, seeking relief for the pleasure coiling low and tight in her stomach. She reaches to touch herself, forgetting that her hands are currently confined behind her back.

“What is it, Elain?” He bucks his hips up into her. “Use your words.”

“Azriel.” She pleads. “Touch me… I’m so close, let me come.”

“I think you forgot your manners, El.”

“Please.” She mouths quickly, desperately. “Please touch me. Please let me come.”

She knows he’s close too because he gives in entirely too easily, bringing a hand in between her legs and lightly flicking her clit just enough to make her cry out in frustration. “Here? Is this where you want me to touch you?”

“Yes. Fuck . Please.”

Azriel rubs her clit, his fingers moving in firm, tight circles that have her tossing her head back as she arches further into him in search of even more pressure. He gives her what she needs, expertly caressing her exactly how she likes until her walls flutter around his cock, clenching tight around his rigid length until she’s breathless and slumped against his chest.

“That’s it, Elain.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, kisses her throat. “Always so good for me.”

Elain rises off of him and Azriel’s hands immediately return to her hips, steadying her as he helps to guide her off.

Between her loose muscles and restricted hands, she somewhat clumsily settles onto the floor in between his legs and lowers her mouth to his cock. Her tongue runs along the length of him, tasting the proof of her release on his skin before she hollows out her cheeks and takes him between her lips until his tip prods the back of her throat.

“ So fucking filthy . ” Azriel groans, wrapping her ponytail around his fist. “You love having me down your throat, don’t you? My pretty little slut.”

He’s not looking for an answer and she isn’t interested in giving him one as she takes him into her mouth again, relentlessly working him until she feels him start to throb against the inside of her cheeks. She pulls off of him and settles back on her heels.

Elain watches, half in a daze, as Azriel takes a second to appreciate the view of her kneeling in front of him with her arms tied behind her back, her breasts presented to him. Her sinful mouth is open wide, pink tongue out and ready.

He takes ahold of his cock, smacks it against her waiting tongue and then begins to swiftly fist himself until he finishes with a quiet shout of her name. She keeps her eyes on his, greedily waits until every last drop of him decorates her tongue, before she brings her lips together and swallows.

Azriel pulls her back up against him, holds her close and kisses her slowly before he reaches behind her and unbinds her hands. He takes hold of her red wrists, carefully rolling them out before bringing each of them to his lips and pressing his lips gently to the delicate skin on the inside of each wrist.

Elain takes advantage of this quiet, intimate moment where she’s still propped on his lap as their breaths steady to properly look at him.

She quietly counts the new freckles that grace the bridge of his nose, notes his slightly darker complexion. She runs her hands through his hair - slightly lighter from the summer sun but the length is about the same as the last time she’d seen him. She runs her fingers along his strong nose, his sharp cheekbones. Traces the lines of his neck and skims along the neckline of his shirt, fingers dipping underneath the fabric to trace over his skin.

She almost sighs in relief when her fingertips graze the cool metal of the thin gold chain circling his neck.

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #azriel #elriel smut #kinktober #my writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #mine #acotar #azriel x elain fanfiction #knifeplay #degradation kink #blood kink

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swannieluv · 3 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖꩜ Portraits and flowers- PLATONIC Albedo and Klee x Child!Reader

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐜: 1,4k

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: Slight mention of a bruise.

✦⸼࣪⸳ Part II of: Alchemy, bombs... Family?

✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: HII!! Writing for Klee is so nice, she's just a silly ball of energy. Hope you guys like it!! Also, a friendly reminder that you're free to send whatever thoughts you have about this or my other fics on my asks <3

"Stay still."

These two words had been repeated thousands of times over the last two hours. A single command that should be simple, if it weren't terribly boring to sit in an armchair posing for so long.

"I still don't understand..." Their eyes turned to the back of the easel, which concealed Albedo's work. "Why do you want to make a portrait of me?"

"Because you're our new addition to the family; it's only fair that we have a portrait of you to put on the wall."

He wanted to present them with a painting that he would do himself. Although most of his drawings didn't make it out of the sketch phase because he always found other inspiration and left his unfinished projects lying around, Albedo was clearly making an effort for them.

For Albedo, this wasn't just a gift. It had been a few days since [Name] had joined the small family made up of Albedo, Klee and Alice; although they still hadn't had direct contact with the latter.

They were still adapting to the new reality they were living in, in the midst of a great deal of internal confusion because they couldn't remember anything about their past. That's where the idea for this gift came from, something that would make them feel embraced by him and Klee.

Albedo then returned his attention to the painting. He seemed focused, trying to capture every possible detail in his work and create the best possible representation of the person in front of him.

"It's already a great honor to have the opportunity to be painted by the 'genius' Albedo..."

They teased him in a light-hearted way. Albedo was known to many as a 'Genius'. Something in his mind said that the person who told [Name] about this title was a certain Cavalry Captain with, apparently, too much free time for his liking.

He wasn't particularly fond of being called that, thinking it was a big exaggeration on people's part. Nevertheless, he decided to join in.

"And it's a great pleasure to be able to paint the great Dodoca..." he smiled and looked at the canvas, his eyes analyzing every detail of what he had already done so that he could correct the mistakes.

"The mini terrorist will surely want a portrait if she sees it."

"Mini terrorist? New nickname for Klee, I see."

In a small family of three - or four if you count Alice - Klee was the bomb-maniac little sister. Although Albedo was the one who spent most of his time looking after the little girl, now that [Name] is here, she has been dividing her time between the two of them. Whenever Klee met [Name] along the way she would jump around and show off her new bombs, causing the two to end up in solitary confinement more than five times before even a week had passed since their arrival.

And today would probably be no exception.

"Mr. Albedo!"

Klee appeared as energetic as ever. The girl looked as if she had just returned from her adventures in Mondstadt, adventures she could only experience outside solitary confinement. In her hands was a bouquet of orange flowers: Windwheel Asters.

"I did it! I've collected all the flowers!"

Albedo stared at Klee in silence with wide eyes, his panic inside was apparent. He had agreed with the little girl to deliver the flowers after the painting was finished, not before!

But seeing Klee's sparkling eyes, he could only laugh softly and stroke her head gently. The little girl was really excited to hand over her present.

"Thank you, Klee."

As soon as Albedo's hand left her head, she ran and threw herself over them in a tight hug. Causing some of the flowers in her arms to slip, not that that was a problem at the moment.

The seat didn't have a back support, so as soon as Klee jumped, they both fell straight to the hard floor and remained there completely motionless while hugging each other.

The sound of two awkward giggles echoed around the room. The fall was funny, but a little painful for [Name]'s back.

"That was so fun!"

Klee stood up awkwardly; her backpack weighed a lot, even if she could carry it around. The contents of the backpack? A mystery, she always took the most random trinkets out of it. The only thing you could be sure of was the dozens of bombs she must hide in there every day.

"Klee picked the best flowers she could find! Just for you!" She brought the flowers close to their faces; a sweet but early surprise for [Name].

"You didn't have to..."

They prepared to get up, wiping the accumulated snow from their clothes. Their efforts were met with a gentle hand extended to them, just like the day Albedo and Klee had helped them.

"Thank you."

They accepted the support and were finally on two feet. Their sore backs would probably end up having a few bruises from the sudden impact they had suffered, but they didn't want to have to worry when they were having such a good time.

“Did Klee hurt you? I didn't intend to…” she mumbled under her breath, a hand over her mouth as the worried girl looked at them.

“I'm not hurt at all. It's okay.”

It wasn't exactly the truth, but what heartless person would say that to her? She looked so guilty right now, fearing having hurt her new friend like that.

“You could've used your vision to avoid your fall. Why haven't you done so?”

That was a reasonable question. The fact they wielded an anemo vision and weren't actively using it when needed was quite curious for him; maybe he could get the answer he was searching for. All evidence, from their vision's shape to their past clothing pointed out their origins coming from Snezhnaya.

It would start to make sense if they truly had come from the snowy nation, since they could stand the cold naturally without feeling slightly bothered by the lack of natural warmth inside his lab – unlike Klee, who would complain to no end about how her ears were “freezing” before getting her vision and becoming the walking heater she is – and their effortless pacing around the mountain, when even skilled adventurers would find the area rather hostile for exploring sometimes.

Yet, no answer would be concrete while [Name]’s memories continued to stay locked inside their mind for who knows how long. But even so, Albedo was more than willing to help them and wait for the right time when things will finally become clear.

“I don't know…” they answered with a rather puzzled look on their face. Their hands clutching to the hanging vision on their side.

“It's alright, just take your time.”

He put a hand on their shoulder, it was a reassuring action to make sure they knew he truly meant those words. Behind him was Klee, picking the flowers that fell when she jumped.

“Remember, no one's pressuring you into remembering anything”

Albedo's tone always carried a wave of gentleness with it. Years of taking care of Klee had surely improved his skills when dealing with children, she was the perfect definition of a ball of sunshine that could melt everyone's hearts.

“Yes, thank you—”

“What's this?” Klee’s question caught you two by surprise. She was standing close to the canvas, eyes exploring the painting quickly as if she was searching for something specific. Yet her facial expression showed a hint of confusion. “Oh, a drawing?”

“Yes, I'm important now so I can have one.”

They playfully stuck out their tongue to her, which she responded by leaving the flowers on a table and putting her hands on the hips with a pouting face. Of course Klee found [Name] amazing now that she was their friend, yet it didn't prevent her from feeling slightly jealous of Albedo's attention. Though it was more of a lighthearted, childish kind of jealousy.

“Right, Mr. Albe—”

He was gone.

“Oh.”

Albedo disappeared without saying a word, leaving them both alone in the lab without any kind of explanation.

“Let me see it.” [Name] ran to where Klee was, in front of the easel. Instead of a half done portrait, there was only a sketch.

Two hours, two freaking hours staying still like a porcelain doll for a sketch. It was quite infuriating, but maybe that's how artists worked? They wouldn't know.

“...”

They were so focused on their representation in the canvas that had failed to see the other two faces composing the picture. It wasn't only them; Albedo and Klee were also present in the sketch by their side. Written delicately in a small blank space was the word “family”.

“Family…"

A cozy home, big dinner, and a fireplace. Those images appeared for a second in their mind alongside the face of a familiar woman, but they couldn't remember whose face was that. It was blurred, just like everything else about their past.

"[Name]?" Klee's voice cut their thoughts. She had the flowers in her hands, ready to gift them with it.

Klee finally gave them the Windwheel Asters. A small smile on her face as she placed them carefully in [Name]’s hands. Maybe, just maybe, they were accepting it better than they thought.

“Klee wants you to be happy. Let's be siblings! I promise I won't explode you with my bombs, really!”

This time, though, the one to start the hug was [Name]. Their arms cautiously wrapped around the smaller child, afraid of hurting her somehow.

If Klee was a small flame due to her vision, [Name] would be the calm breeze to carry her with themselves. It's the very concept of siblings, right? Fighting, yet hugging by the end of it all.

“Thank you, Klee.”

#genshin impact #genshin platonic #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #mondstadt #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo #klee #genshin klee #genshin #Swanniesarchive<3

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welcomehomerandomness · 2 months

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Welcome Home Website Update Reaction Notes (3/9/2024) Part 1 (SPOILERS)

Hey guys! Today I'm gonna show you my reactions to the Welcome Home website via my notes on Google Docs. I wrote 5 pages and spent around a few hours exploring the website lol. Hope you enjoy it! Here's Part 1!

NEW HOME ART IT'S SNOWING

Wally’s Christmas outfit makes him look like he’s ready to work at the North Pole lol

I also love how the little doodles are very Christmas-like

THE VISITOR COUNT THINGIE IS BROKEN

Idk if it’s intentional or if it’s actually broken lol

THE NEIGHBORHOOD HAD SOME FEW CHANGES WHAT

THEY’RE ALL DECORATED FOR CHRISTMAS (or in this world they seem to call it “Housewarming” which is pretty fitting)

Also “Happy Housewarming” and “Welcome Pillar Family”??? WE GET TO MEET HOWDY’S FAMILY???

I remember seeing Clown’s post that there’s going to be a new voice actor in Welcome Home so I’m wondering if the new voice actor is voicing one of Howdy’s relatives I can’t wait to find out

Also is that a clock tower at the bottom??? It looks like a clock tower lol

Also the clock tower’s faces looks like Yellow Guy from Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared lol

Wally has painted something on the empty canvas…Is that a cup or a genie lamp? Please let me know what this is lol

New Wally information added: “Home is the reason behind the creation of ‘Homewarming,’ a holiday created by Wally.”

New Barnaby information added: “Similar sources, such as Barnaby’s Joke Kit in ‘The Welcome Home Wishbook,’ noted Barnaby being able to perform a gaggle of tricks, such as juggling, balancing on a ball, and steadying large objects on the tip of his nose.”

I think Barnaby’s Joke Kit is a new merchandise that the Playfellow Exhibition uncovered but we’ll see later

New Julie information added: “Many of her skits and activities centered around playing games, whether they were as familiar as jump rope and hopscotch or simply made up on a whim. ( See ‘The Welcome Home Wishbook.’ )” and “Hibernation may be another descriptor of this cartoon species, as uncovered media surrounding the holiday of ‘Homewarming’ depicted Julie hibernating throughout the winter. Akin to Barnaby, Julie’s paws also have hearts at the bottom.”

So basically Julie and her family hibernate and she has paws that have hearts in the bottom??? Interesting…

New Frank information added: “Some audio, such as in the vinyl record titled, ‘Homewarming,’ presents a strange sound that can be heard accompanying Frank’s vocals and could imply his head rotating.”

…Frank??? Are you ok??? I’m scared…

Also I just realized that at the end of their profiles so far, it shows how the puppets operate except for Wally (which is sus)

“It is assumed Barnaby’s puppet was rotated between a live-hand puppet and a walk-around puppet, typically to keep him in frame with his much shorter neighbors and requiring two puppeteers.”

“Julie is believed to be a puppet operated by one handler.”

“Frank is believed to be a puppet operated by one handler.”

Eddie doesn’t seem to have new information added except that he “...was a live-hand puppet who required two puppeteers to operate.”

HOWDY I MISS YOU

New Howdy information added: “Within the vinyl record, ‘Howdy’s Holiday Hullabaloo,’ one can see a ‘quarter of a wiggle’ of them.”

I don’t know what that really means but I can’t wait to hear (or maybe see) Howdy again

“Howdy’s puppet was rotated between a live-hand puppet and a walk-around puppet in order to keep him in frame with his fellow residents, requiring two or more puppeteers.”

If I was a puppeteer and got hired by the creators of Welcome Home, I would work with the Howdy puppet lol

SALLY’S BACK TO NORMAL…but I’m still worried about her…

New Sally information added: “In recently uncovered material and archived footage, Sally is shown to be able to literally shine or glow in the dark, although it is unclear if a similar effect was applied to the puppet. Concept artwork revealed that Sally was a live-hand puppet that required two or three puppeteers to operate due to the size of her head, as it was much larger than other puppets.”

I wonder if a toy exists somewhere where it’s a Sally plush that talks and glows in the dark…That would be sick and I would buy it immediately and use her as my new cuddle buddy/night light…

New Poppy information added: “Poppy was rarely seen outside of her barn, typically being visited by neighbors instead, and has no material, illustrated or otherwise, showing her outdoors. This is further proven in found footage where Poppy is excluded (for unclear reasons) from Wally’s Homewarming party.” and “Within the context of the show, this was because she was too scared to use appliances. This also may be the reason why she is a vegetarian, according to “The Welcome Home Cookbook” that depicted an only sunflower seed turkey.”

Poppy is excluded??? For unclear reasons???

I’m worried about Poppy now…

“Poppy’s puppet is a walk around puppet that concept work noted stood at around eight feet tall, but photographs showing her height have yet to be uncovered.”

Also the clock tower doesn’t seem to be clickable…sad

Omg the neighbors have little snow globe stickers awww

WAIT A MINUTE HOLD UP

IS THAT TWO OF HOWDY’S FAMILY MEMBERS IN HIS SNOW GLOBE??? WHAT???

I’m guessing they’re either his parents or one of his uncles and aunts…But we’ll see…

In the About Us section, there’s a new question which is “This isn’t the same website as before. Why did you move it?” and a doodle next to the question…Interesting…

I checked the News section and I only see half of the title “Latest Headlines and Updates for Welcome Home!”...I wonder if that’s a mistake or if that was on purpose…

“I apologize about the date on the most recent news post. I assumed it was still December. I’m not sure how this could have happened. The individual who posted this must not have been paying proper attention. Please pay it no mind, have a wonderful day! Happy spring! Almost as good as Homewarming!”...That seems kinda sus

THE WALLY PHONE CALL AUDIO IS GONE

“(NOTE: The audio for Wally Darling is experiencing a glitch and has been temporarily taken offline. Please be patient as we work to restore this as soon as we possibly can!)”

The Official Welcome Home Cookbook!!!

I want to get one of these copies so bad

Also it has a doodle next to the title of the cookbook lol

Now it’s time to listen to The Welcome Home Wish Book here we gooooo

Also is the doodle next to the title a cigarette???

ALSO SANTA IS IN THIS???

Santa is the best Welcome Home character fight me

Who’s Howdy? I don’t know him…I only know Santa

I love whoever voices Santa…It definitely fits him

MOM CAN I GET A HOWDY CASH REGISTER SET??? I NEED IT TO SCAM MY FRIENDS!!!/j

NO NOT EDDIE

SANTA WHYYYYY

Actually let’s not blame Santa let’s blame the “static and muddled sound” in the radio that cut off Eddie’s gift

Anyways

The “Homewarming” Storybook Record!!! Yayyy!!! Let’s go!!!

Oh it’s a different narrator this time…The voice reminds me of an old grandpa telling his grandchildren a Christmas story…

“The hubbub is that the Homewarming party is tonight, Barnaby. But I don’t think I know how to do Homewarming right… What should I do? What if I do it wrong? What if it makes Home sad?” Awww Wally…

“Hello, Wally. Barnaby.” Frank is so sassy love them

“Hiya Jewels! Frank.” Barnaby LMAO

“With fire wood, kindling- Home would probably like to be warm in all this cold weather, just like this bug!” I’m sorry but my crack brain imagines Wally accidentally burning Home down what is wrong with me lol

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home spoilers #wally darling #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #frank frankly #eddie dear #howdy pillar #sally starlet #poppy partridge #welcome home home

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rubysunnday · 2 years

Text

sleeping beauty

a/N: i hate the word huskily

summary: painting the woman of his dreams feels like a fairytale warning: smutty ish at the end... kinda... sorta - aka lottie thinks she's written some very vanilla smut

"Thank you, Miss Elliot. I shall have it finished by the end of the month."

Y/N stood up from the chair she'd been sitting on for the last three hours, hands clasped in her lap, face calm. "Thank you, Mr Nichols. I look forward to seeing it."

She grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair and draped it over her arms, walking out the room. The Royal Academy was a beautiful building. Y/N walked down the corridor, looking around in awe, wishing she could spend more time here.

Y/N walked past an open door, peering inside as she passed. She skipped to a halt and looked back inside, double-checking what she thought she'd seen.

Benedict Bridgerton had his back to the main door, his jacket abandoned on the chair behind him as he painted a background onto a canvas. He was absorbed in his work, clearly oblivious to everything else around him.

Y/N had spent a lot of time with Benedict over recent months. They had walked around galleries and museums together, promenaded through the park - she had even been invited over to Bridgerton House for dinner.

But this was the first time she was seeing him as Benedict and not Mr Bridgerton. His walls were down and he looked... happy.

Y/N reached over and knocked gently on the door. Benedict turned, his paintbrush still up against the canvas, and looked at the door. His eyes widened and he almost dropped his palette in his hastened attempt to get up.

"Miss Elliot, I am so sorry, I did not -"

"Do not apologise, Mr Bridgerton," Y/N said, chuckling as he tried to make himself appear more presentable. "I was merely passing by."

"You've been here?"

Y/N nodded, walking into the room, folding her shawl over her arms. "I am having my portrait done by Mr Nichols. My mother insisted."

Benedict nodded, laughing softly. "Mr Nichols is an excellent artist."

Y/N hummed, tilting her head slightly, approaching Benedict. "I think we both know there is someone else I would rather have, Mr Bridgerton." She stopped in front of his canvas. "If you do not mind me asking... what exactly are you doing?"

"Oh, I am just starting a new painting," he said, turning to face his canvas. "This is just a base layer before I start the actual thing - it's a colour wash. Gives it a base that isn't white. It helps make the colours look more natural."

Y/N nodded. She glanced down at the stool next to him. "Is that a book of fairytales?"

"Hmm, what? Oh, yes." Benedict sighed, smiling. "My little sister Hyacinth -"

"Mr Bridgerton, I do know who Hyacinth is, I have been to dinner -"

"Yes, of course, my apologies. Hyacinth asked me to do her some paintings inspired by the stories in the book. Anthony and I read them to her a lot back when it came out - we still do sometimes."

Y/N gently picked up the book - which was evidently well loved. She carefully opened it, flicking through the pages and admiring the drawings within. "Which is her favourite?"

"It depends who is reading," Benedict answered, leaning over Y/N's shoulder. "If it is Anthony, it is Little Snow White. If it's me it is Cinderella. But her absolute favourite - no matter who is reading - is Little Briar Rose. Why I do not know."

Y/N laughed to herself. "So, is that the one you are painting, then?"

"Well, trying to," Benedict replied, taking the book from her. "I have. studied the drawings in here for hours and yet I cannot quite figure out the composition. What I really need is a model but unfortunately Isabella - our usual model - is away for the next few months. I am a bit stuck."

Y/N was silent for a moment, clearly thinking. "I do not know if this is at all wise..."

"But?"

"Why don't I model for you?" She suggested. At Benedict's raised eyebrows she sighed. "I know it is not proper but I would enjoy it. As long as I do not have to take my clothes off and that door remains open, we should be fine."

"I do believe Briar Rose remains fully clothed throughout, Miss Elliot, you are quite safe."

Y/N smiled. "There we go, then. Besides, I adore Hyacinth. We all know I would do anything for her."

Benedict chuckled, tucking the book down again. "And that is precisely the issue, Miss Elliot - everyone would do anything for her."

"Ok, then, tell me what to do."

Y/N stood there as Benedict looked at her, his eyes narrowed slightly in thought. He abruptly walked away, over to a large crate sat in the far corner of the room. Benedict rummaged through it and eventually pulled out several large pieces of fabric. He put them on the floor next to his easel and then grabbed a wooden rectangle block, lifting it up onto the small rectangular platform in the centre of the room.

He stared at it for a minute and then jumped off the platform and grabbed another box, pushing it up against the other one.

Y/N watched with a fascinated expression as Benedict rushed around, throwing cushions and fabric over the boxes, and placing odd items in the background.

Benedict stopped for a moment, looking at his work. He then turned to Y/N and held out a piece of dark blue velvet. Y/N took it, brushing her fingers over the soft material.

"Put that one over your shoulders," Benedict said, pulling her shawl off her arms, "and then this one on top."

Y/N obliged, wrapping herself in the dark velvet, letting it fold over her arms. Benedict then took the lighter blue shawl she had been wearing and put it over the top, the colours contrasting one another perfectly.

"I assume I am to lie down?" Y/N asked, looking at the makeshift bed.

Benedict nodded, taking her hand. He led her up to the podium and to the makeshift bed. Y/N sat down on the edge and carefully laid down, not wanting to knock any cushions off.

She looked up at Benedict, waiting for him to move. "I am your model, Mr Bridgerton," she said softly as he stared at her, "you can touch and move me."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have agreed to this otherwise."

Benedict took a step forwards and heistated. He crouched down beside Y/N and took her arm, his fingers wrapping around the fabric of the makeshift shawl. Y/N inhaled suddenly as she felt him take her arm but kept her composure as he moved her left arm, placing it gently on her stomach.

"Would it help if I closed my eyes?" She suggested, turning her head so that she was looking up at the ceiling.

"Please."

Y/N glanced at Benedict and then shut her eyes, nestling her head into the cushions. She could feel Benedict moving around her and she found herself trying not to breathe too loudly, for some bizarre reason.

She flinched with surprise as Benedict grabbed her legs and carefully moved them closer to the middle of the bed, grabbing the edge of her dress and straightening out, his fingers brushing her calf. He then moved the velvet as well- Y/N could feel it tugging on her arm as he pulled it onto the floor.

"Can you let your arm hang for a moment?" He asked quietly from somewhere to her right.

Y/N let her right arm go limp and allowed it to fall off the edge of the bed, hanging in mid-air. The velvet fell with it and she felt Benedict's fingers brush the inside of her wrist as he manoeuvred it around until it sat just right.

"Do you want me to take my hair down?" Y/N asked, glancing up at him as he fiddled with cushions.

Benedict turned to face her, smiling softly. "If you don't mind."

Y/N leant her head forward and roughly pulled on the pins and combs holding her hair together. Benedict came over and she felt his fingers brush hers again as he helped untangle her hair, letting it loose.

"Feel free to mess with it," Y/N told him, lying back down, trying not to move too much.

She shivered as Benedict combed through her hair with his fingers, spreading it out over the cushions and over her shoulders. Every time his hand brushed against her bare skin, her breath caught in her throat and goosebumps decorated her skin.

His hands gently pushed her chin up and he turned her head to the side, brushing against her cheekbones.

"Ok," Benedict said, his breath tickling the bare skin of her neck. "Do not move an inch."

Y/N smiled gently. "I do not dare, Mr Bridgerton."

She watched as benedict jumped off the platform and rushed over to his canvas, sitting down in front of it. He glanced over at her as he picked up his pencil and then back at the canvas.

The sound of a pencil against canvas was a rather soothing sound. That mixed with the smell of paint made Y/N feel at ease in a way nothing else truly could.

"So, why is Mr Nichols painting your portrait?" Benedict asked, his voice slow, showing how much he was concentrating.

"My mother wanted it done before I marry and am no longer Miss Elliot," Y/N said quietly. "She wanted one more of me as her daughter and not as a wife."

"Has someone proposed, then?"

"No." Y/N tried not to move her head as she looked over at Benedict. "But we all know who will."

Benedict smiled. "Apparently so." He paused his sketching and peered around the canvas. "Close your eyes for me."

Y/N chuckled quietly but obliged, closing her eyes and staying as still as she could. As he worked, Benedict began to hum quietly. Y/N couldn't work out what exactly he was humming but the sound began to lull her to sleep.

Benedict glanced over at Y/N, pausing for a moment, flexing his hand. He could tell she'd fallen asleep - her breathing had evened out and her body looked more relaxed than it had ten minutes before. Benedict smiled to himself as he looked at her - he knew she was beautiful but there was something about how she was that made her even more so.

The peaceful expression on her face. The way her chest rose and fell as she slept. He did have to admit that she looked like something out of a fairytale.

Benedict finished his sketch and immediately picked up his paint brush, wanting to get as much done as he could before he had to inevitably wake Y/N up and escort her home.

Almost two hours later, Benedict was happy with how much progress he had made. He knew he'd be able to finish the rest of it off later on either at home or in his studio.

He set his palette down and stood up, quietly approaching the platform. Benedict crouched down beside Y/N and gently shook her shoulder. His breath was stolen from him as she slowly opened her eyes and blinked, the confusion fading away as she realised it was him. God, she was beautiful.

"You did not do it right," Y/N said softly, looking up at him.

Benedict frowned. "What did I not do?"

"If I remember correctly, she is woken up by a kiss."

Benedict pressed his lips together as he smiled. "Is that so? Well, I do fear that would be improper of me, Miss Elliot."

"I do believe we can make an exception," Y/N told him. "After all, I am not going to marry anyone else, am I?"

"Are you proposing?"

"I will if you do this right," Y/N replied, her voice a whisper. "Go on."

Benedict shook his head at her antics but stood up, stepping back from the platform. Y/N closed her eyes again and Benedict walked up to her. He knelt down on one knee and gently moved Y/N's hair behind her ear, running his knuckles along her cheek and down her jawline. He leant forward and pressed his lips against hers.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, a smile growing on her face. "Perfect."

"I am glad," Benedict whispered huskily. He was inches away from her and everything inside him wanted to climb on top of her. "There is another part of the story."

"Oh? Which is?"

"After the prince wakes Briar Rose up, they get married and have two children together."

"You honestly think I am putting this body through two children?!"

Benedict burst out laughing, tilting his head forward. Shaking his head, he said, "that is not what I meant."

"I know what you meant," Y/N told him.

"Unfortunately, I am a gentleman."

"Fortunately," Y/N countered, "you are already on one knee."

Benedict glanced down and belatedly realised that he was. He looked back up at Y/N. "Well, then, my sleeping beauty. Will you marry me?"

"You already know the answer, my prince."

Y/N pushed herself up and put her hands around Benedict's neck, catching his lips with hers. She pulled him down towards her and Benedict didn't resist. He swung one leg over her body and straddled Y/N, his hands on either side of her shoulders.

Y/N leant up into him, pressing her stomach against his as she kissed him, unwilling to let go. But she had to - mainly because she was running out of air.

"Are you sure?" Benedict asked, panting slightly.

Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly. Benedict closed his eyes, trying not to moan as the small action sent fire through his belly.

"Of course I am," Y/N said, brushing her lips against his. "I would not still be lying here if I wasn't."

"The door is locked."

"Excellent."

"It is late. No one else will hear."

Y/N smiled against his lips. "Even better."

Benedict pressed himself against Y/N, forcing her back down onto the cushions. His hands reached behind her and he began unhooking her dress, tugging it off her shoulders and down to her waist. Y/N pushed herself up and Benedict pulled it all the way off, throwing it to the floor.

It was the first time he'd seen her in just her undergarments. And as much as he wanted to rip them off, he knew he had to savour each moment.

"One day," he whispered into her ear as his right hand danced up her thigh, "I'll draw you in nothing but these."

Y/N arched into him as his hand got higher. She dug her nails into his shoulder, burying her head in his chest. "That day better be our wedding night."

Benedict laughed, ducking his head into her shoulder. His hand moved higher still, drifting just below her stomach. Y/N groaned, closing her eyes as she gripped his shirt tightly.

"I'm sure," Benedict muttered, delving inside her and savouring the noise that came out of her with a chuckle, "that can be arranged."

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader

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