#if i could just read love poems all day long i would

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

[rinbowaman]

H I S M A R K : H E E D A M

WARNINGS: FLUFF, SMUT (UNPROTECTED), ORAL (MALE REC.), REFERENCE TO NONCON SMUT, MENTIONS OF FORCED BREEDING, SEX SLAVERY (HISTORICAL), DUBCON, MYTHOLOGY, ANCIENT HISTORY, SYMBOLISM, MARKINGS, YANDERE LOVE, OBSESSION, POSSESSIVE, FANTASY, MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, PARANOIA, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, FORCED LOVE, ISOLATION, AND CURSING. NOT PROOREAD (YET).

THIS TAKES PLACE SHORTLY AFTER ‘CHILD OF THE SEA’ DRABBLE. ALL PART IF THE MERMAIDS TALE SERIES ON MASTERLIST.

This Drabble had me feeling something that is surreal I swear. Probably my favorite Drabble yet.

THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL.

For days, weeks, and months, you’ve questioned your sanity. It was the same routine; waking up in an unknown territory, wondering if you’ll ever get to experience freedom again. You’ve tried to calm yourself, but a factor prohibits you from gaining rest. It has been so long since you were able to roam the streets on your own, to visit the bakery that you loved so much, and to sip coffee while viewing the window of your high-rise apartment. It wasn’t that you couldn’t do the things you enjoyed in life, you just had to enjoy it…with him.

Over a year, this man had broken you down, restricted you of using your own senses, and prohibited in exercising your own way of thinking. No. Everything was about him. He made it that way to reflect his own spirit, since for him, everything was about you. You were all he sees, eats, hear, and breathes. It caused his insanity in which formed that insatiable love for you. He wanted you to rely on him, to think of only him, and to love him the way he does you. It’s…sickening. The worst part…was that you were actually starting to succumb to your weak heart.

The other day he made a great effort to impregnate you…the image plagues your mind, no matter what you’re looking at. You’ve tried to erase it completely, yet the view of his exposed throat, his thick neck in full display as he shoves and rests his length deep inside your womb, pumping out each string of release. His hands gripped your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist while he rests in between your legs, and his head remained flung back. His poignant Adams Apple bobs up and down delicately as he restlessly murmurs…’Uh-Uh-huh.”

He tells you that you should be grateful. For the rumors of his ancestors and their harsh breeding methods with Sirens were merely just to produce sons. At least with him, he did it out of love and passion. He tells you of how the sirens would eventually weakened to the desires of an Adams touch, and eventually grew to love their captors…which he predicted would become the end result for you.

‘It’s only a matter of time’ he says.

If only what he said wouldn’t hold any truth, yet as each passing day rotates in and out, you’re slowly coming to realize that he spoke the truth. It may not be out of your own willingness to return that love, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was the end goal, despite it being a result of Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless of his abusive method in claiming you, that love he displayed…it was getting to you.

‘It’s only a matter of time, baby. You will love me…you will, Siren.’

Sirens…a creature only read in mythology books, or poems and mentioning’s by philosophers. Who could ever believe that there was more truth to their existence?

A Siren cannot feel the physical touch, sensation, or feeling of anything. Not even pain at a high scale. Should anyone cut off your limb, or carve out an eye, you wouldn’t feel it. You wouldn’t scream. You wouldn’t even shed a single tear. No matter how many injuries your body would display, you’ll never feel the blister of the injury….unless it was done by an Adam.

The only person that can make you feel things. He knew that…he knew that too well. From the moment he sensed your expression and witnessed it at the party, he knew that something was amiss. He could feel it.

The Clan of Adam is what they are called, singularly referred to as ‘Adam’s’ named after the first man. The bloodline stemmed from the sons sired by Alexander the Great, that much you both knew. At least up until the moment he found the memento remnants of his late grandfather…who met a tortuous end by his grandsons hand.

“Huh…look what I found baby.” He holds the large book in both hands. It was ancient, laced by a gold chained binding, with thin wooden slats, polished to perfection with the inscription carved in the finest font. Elegant and edged with Hellenic images, charts, and astronomical symbols, you could tell that the contents contained knowledge that was unreal…stuff people read out of a fairy tale.

He pulls you back by tenderly holding your waist, sitting you on his lap as he sets the book before you. Resting it on your thighs, he passionately roams his palms up and down your ribcage, taking deep inhales as he whiffs in your scent, burying his nose at the back of your neck. “Mmm, fuck I love you.”

Your eyes begin to form tears…again. Yet each time you calmly sobbed, they became less and less watery. The feeling of touch, while initially had disgusted you, has now become the very thing you embraced. It was something you craved…and only he could give it to you.

“Read it baby.” He sighs out as he takes in another whiff. His hands lower their grip to your hips; his thumbs pressing in right above your derrière, beside your tailbone.

You arch your back as you winced your eyes. Your mind kept telling you to be strong and resist…but your heart told you the opposite. He pulls you in, smoothing your rear to grind and settle right on his bulge. “You’re sooooooo perfect…perfect for me.” He drags a deep tone as he flings his head back, lightly bucking his hips upwards. The sensation formed a familiar knot, a tightness that expanded until it snaps, releasing the flow of intense orgasm and pleasure. “P-please…please don’t—“

You gently spoke your words, moaning them out as you plead. You wanted it and didn’t want it. He reached up and around, turning your head to the side to face him, eloping you in a beautifully tender kiss. He grinds, and you move. He bucks, and you press in. Your bodies became a perfectly tuned rhythm of pleasure…and love.

“H-Heeseung…” you moan in between the small pecks. He lightly groans into your mouth, admitting a long and harsh lick up from your bottom lip to the top. “Aw fuck…yeah baby? You like that?” He doesn’t give you room to answer before re-sealing your mouth into a rather messier kiss. The twisting and twirling of tongue and the stroking of canines has completely melted you, and he could feel it on his crotch.

His hands migrate up and around, unionizing on your tummy. They slowly mesh downward and apply pressure as they rub on the flat canvas above your clit. It didn’t take long for him to find his way under your dress, his hands were so gifted in knowing the in and outs of feminine-styled seams. He hooks your panties and shove them to the side, and God..the way he could move his hands alone was enough to get you heated and moist. So wet.

Not once did he release your mouth. The flaring of your nostrils indicates the struggle for breath, yet the latching proved that it was all worth the struggle. Your lips quiver as your thighs shake; his fingers gently rubbing small circles right at the tip, surfacing a toil of piercing desire that raged within you like the fires of Hell. You moan some more in his mouth, hating how you were loving the way he explored inside you. That damn tongue of his…he was so experienced, being a former playboy, but now a committed husband who only had eyes, a heart, and soul, just for you.

“Oh Heeseung…mmmm! Oh please-“

“Fuck yeah baby. Never felt someone as good as you.”

His heart pelted against his chest, you could feel it underneath in between your shoulder blades as yours felt as if it would explode from within. He played around with your womanhood until he firmly gripped your waist, thumbs pressing against your back as his fingers dig into your torso. He lifts you just a tad, before slamming you down against his clothed groin. He continues to buck up while bouncing you in a momentum that was out of this world. You gasped out a series of yelps, all in sync with his motions. “Pl-please!!! Please..!”

“Please what? WHAT?” He whispers as he buries his nose and lips into your ear. “Fucking tell me what you want. Let me hear it.”

You reach up and gently palm the back of his neck, struggling to move smoothly as the quaking aches of pleasure and desire took over your body. “Ugh…please…please give it to me…”

You can’t believe you just said that…

He smirks. “Oh yeah baby…don’t worry, I’m going to.” He reaches beneath you to unzip his trousers when a sudden knock causes you both to pause.

His growl told you of anger and frustration as he bites down and grits a groan. His hands emerge up and grip your waist, slightly shifting you forward.

You whine out, begging for him to keep going. You cup his chin as you continued to melt against his chest, grabbing onto his free hand and resting it on your pelvis. “Please…please…Heeseung.”

What he wouldn’t give to satisfy you right now. Times like this, he truly sympathizes for you, and wanted nothing more than to give you everything you asked for. He gently takes your hand in his, causing you ti release his chin as he places a kiss on your forehead. “Shhh…I know baby. I know.”

He would have dismissed the person outside the door, instead, he mentally kicks himself in the ass. He was the one who summoned the curator to help translate the book after all.

“Hello, Mr. Lee. My name is Johnathan, I am the curator from the national library, we spoke on the phone. You stated you needed some assistance in translating some family artifacts?”

The young man was polite and well mannered, not at all losing composure, even after seeing you sitting on your husband’s lap, legs widespread. At least Heeseung reinstated the hem of your dress, layering it over the exposed parts. Maybe Johnathan was not at all familiar with the image of sexual desire, but it would otherwise seem quite obvious.

“I am sorry I’m late.” He states as he sets his briefcase on his lap, flipping the gold latches up.

“Not as sorry as I am right now…” Heeseung mutters against your ear, wincing as you admitted small and subtle waving motions at the hip, grinding against his groin. The pulse of desire hasn’t worn off inside you.

“What was that Sir?” Johnathan peeks up with a look of curiosity.

“N-nothing. What can you tell us about this?” Heeseung firmly wraps an arm around your waist as he leans forward, taking the book from your hand and passing it over. You whined as your body shifts forward from the leaned in motion. “Don’t worry…i’m never going to let you fall baby.” He whispers into your ear after taking notice of your hands gripping his thigh, halting the sliding of your rear on his lap. Meanwhile the curator remained completely oblivious as he closely admires the book. “Ah, the literature contains the ancient tongue that the Greeks used early on. It is most notably communicated by philosophers. Perhaps a well known philosopher drafted this.”

Johnathan examines each lettering and symbol, placing a magnifying device to study the engravings.

“Clan of Adam…interesting, I haven’t heard of them. Has your grandfather ever mentioned this clan to you before?” He speaks without lifting his head, keeping his eyes glued to the wooden frame.

“Maybe a couple times in reference to this heirloom.” Heeseung calmly fibs. If there was one thing you both agreed on, it was to keep your ancestries, and the knowledge of, a secret. Excluding the current lesson that was now being taught of course.

“Interesting. It says here that the clan were all male descendants of the first sons…sons of—“

“Alexander.” Heeseung calmly finishes as he pinches his grip, tightening his hold on your waist the moment he spoke out the name.

“Yes that’s correct. Alexander the Great, king of Macedonia.”

The curator continues to look over the slats, rotating the book as he studied the diagram of constellations and Greek symbols. “It says that the first sons of Alexander were hidden away in a monastery, many miles away from their kingdom. They were known as the first of the clan…says here they displayed inhuman abilities.”

Johnathan chuckles. “I see, this seems to be a book that contains speculation of fiction and fantasy. It talks about them battling mermaids—ah, sirens, as they are commonly referred in this book.”

Heeseung’s member twitches at the historical mentioning of your ancestors. You felt the snake-like feature of his size slithering and flickering under your thigh, causing you to gasp.

“This particular page goes into detail about the clans genealogy traits…saying that it derived from their grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” Heeseung raises a brow as he keeps his eye on the curator, yet shifts his mouth to place a kiss against your cheek upon hearing a small whine escape your lips.

“Yes sir…it says here that the late King of Macedonia and his wife, Olympias, was bedded by Zeus. This was recorded in private to a monk residing in the kingdom, and journaled after the king passed. Alexander took over the throne and was exposed to the secret of his origin, by his mother.”

The curator chuckles in disbelief. “Well that would explain why the clan could take down mermaids.” He laughs as he jests, little does he know that everything he had just relayed was whole-heartedly true.

Your eyes widen as he unveiled the truth behind the clans whereabouts. Descendants of Zeus? No wonder they held such tremendous power and combative abilities. They were commonly known as Spartans of the Sea.

Heeseung, being a former SWAT captain, eluded those traits. You’ve witnessed his training sessions he maintained simply for fun. The way he moved, the way he maneuvered in water, and his stamina…it was Godly.

Zeus…Zeus was the true father of Alexander…

“And the sirens were all daughters of —“

“Poseidon…” you calmly interject. Heeseung faintly smirks as he admires your side profile. “Yes ma’am, that’s correct. Have you both read this book?” The curator asks earnestly, subtly surprised by your perfect translation and knowledge of what was inscribed in the book.

“We looked it over prior to your arrival.” Heeseung states.

“Wow…so you both can read Ancient Greek?”

You both stayed silent as Johnathan’s innocent smile slowly fades. A moment of awkwardness fills the room. “Well…anyhow…there was a war between humanity and the sirens, and the godly descendants produced by Zeus engaged, becoming a formidable opponent to the sirens. In fact, it says here that the clan nearly wiped out the entire ocean of them, causing them to go nearly extinct.”

Heeseung taps against your thigh, vaguely whispering for you to stand just for a moment as he thanks the curator for his time.

“I’m sorry to tell you this book hardly exposes factual knowledge regarding your family, however, you’ll be pleased to know that it is a genuine artifact that is priceless. Should you ever care to get an appraisal, please do not hesitate to call us.”

“Without hesitation. Thanks.” Heeseung places the book to the side as he sees the young man out.

You sat by the window.

Descendants of Zeus…and Poseidon…you, and Heeseung.

He cups your cheek, gently forcing you to face him. “That pretty head of yours thinking about the history lesson we just got?” He smirks as he kneels down before you, reaching up as he strokes your hair. “All that talk about Gods and our lineage got me thinking baby…”

You gave an inquiring expression. “About what?” You calmly issue as he pulls you in for a kiss, never divulging an answer. “You’ll see.”

…………….

“Welcome to Brewery’s Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Tall chocolate cream latte, and a venti Americano.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the name for the order?”

“Heeseung.”

The barista labels the cups. Handing the receipt, she admires the devastatingly handsome stranger as he walks to a table. Something catches her eye as she ogles his neckline. A small mark, looked to be of a tattoo, printed nicely and centered on the back of his neck. It was symbolic in nature, though she had absolutely no idea of what it entailed. “Do you see that?” She whispers to a fellow co-worker. They both admire the mark, when the latter recognized the main structure of the symbol.

“Oh! That’s the symbol for Pisces. The symbol represents commitment, and togetherness for eternity. I’m a Pisces myself, but I don’t know what that small symbol to the right of it is supposed to be.”

Heeseung takes a seat across from you, admiring how you sat patiently while he ordered the drinks. Not like you didn’t really have a choice, although now it seems he did manage to tame the shrew. You found yourself accepting the concept of belonging to him, especially after reading the history of his lineage.

Taking your hand in his, he rubs the back of your palm with his thumb. “You didn’t feel a thing, did you?”

You shook your head. “Me neither.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He’s too damn strong, some needle punctures would hardly faze him. You reach up and delicately smooth the tips over the back of your neck, yet couldn’t even feel your own phalanges as you attempted to search for it. He chuckles before reaching across the table. “Here.”

He takes your fingers and places it on a certain spot behind your neck. “Right there baby.”

You still couldn’t feel anything, other than the brush of his knuckles as he guides you to the matching mark. The sign of Pisces, with the respective symbols of the Gods that fathered both your ancestries. His, with Zeus, and yours with Poseidon.

Combined and side by side, it would form the Union of love…the love that he inherited for you…the love that you were forced to adapt to.

It was entirely his idea, of course. You recalled how he vividly told you of the theory in Zeus transforming Aphrodite and Eros into fish, paired together so that they may escape from the clutches of Typhon, the monstrous being. You laid on your stomach as the artist took his time to delicately outline the unique features of the custom symbolic nature of love and commitment.

After coffee, he brings you back home where he had every sense of focus to finish what was started earlier.

“Come here.” He gently calls to you as he flips two fingers up and flickers them, signaling for you to respond to his calling. His voice was tamed and gentle. So very calm and sensual.

You kneel before him as he took his seat, holding onto your hand. You lean forward in between his manspreading legs, guided by the subtle grip of your chin. He lures you directly to his bulge. “My woman…my life…my everything.”

You knew what he wanted, and you would never admit it aloud, but you wanted it too. The pains of yearning never left, it remained lodged deep inside your womb even after the curator left.

You unzip his trousers. It didn’t take long for him to whip out his cock, waving it in front of your face as if he was teasing you with it. Like quenching thirst, you caught the very tip of it with your parted lips, immediately swallowing as many inches as possible—and there were many. The man was gifted, such was expected as the descendant of a mighty God.

He groans out, holding the base of his shaft for you, while encouraging you to keep going. He collects your strands, and grips it in unison. Holding up your poneytail, there, in full view was the beautiful tattoo…his other half. Resting in the same spot as his, it nearly glows. He watches and maintains sight of it as you continue to bob for his girth.

“Thatta girl…keep going darling…get it while you can, I’m about to conquer you.”

You swipe your head up and down, motioning it with a sensual passion that could only be found in a love like this. One that was filled with so many contradictions, yet hold so much history. And with that history, came progression and transcendence. It was both frustrating and peaceful. Forceful, and yet consensual. It was…it was…

“Fuck! Get over here.”

“H-Heeseung!” You gasped outright as he used his god-like strength and lifts you up. He stands tall and straight, leaving you suspended in air against his chest as he grips your thighs, forcing you to straddle his groin. You hug his neck, embracing it against your breasts as you remain higher up while he cradles your rear, stabilizing his hold. Slowly…slowly, the moment you breached for all day, he finally inserts his stiffed muscle in between your slit. “Oh my God..!” You breathe out as he breaks you, inch by inch. The feeling was so different from the other day. This was different. The painful yearning that pounded your womb from within, sending tingles up your spine, and released a rushing flow of blood through your veins. All you could think about was being touched, being fucked, and being kissed over and over again, and he was the only one who could give it. The key to your release.

“Ah! P-please! Oh god please don’t stop!”

The very second he sat you against the hilt of his pelvic floor, he began thrusting at a phenomenal pace. God, was he perfect. He was so good, you just couldn’t contain yourself as it slipped…

“B-babe! Baby please!”

He pauses for just a second as he smirks against your neck. Did he just hear you call him ‘baby’?

He continues to grin as he slowly pumps up into you.

Realizing just what you had done, you found it useless to make excuses or to continue to fight it. Finally, after all that he’s done to trap and torment you mentally, he finally had you…all of you. You wave the white flag and surrendered. If it wasn’t in the endearing pet name that you sputtered out, it was in the tightening of your embrace as you pulled him close, thighs shaking and your derrière jiggling from the quivering jolts of pleasure…so good, it hurt like Hell.

“Say it again.” He snarls against your skin as he licks the underside of your chin. You shook your head, wincing your eyes as you refused initially, but he had his ways to make you give in.

One, two, three…no, four. Five! God…maybe it was twenty times, or more, he held you firmly and smacks his cock inside. It was brutally pleasing as he thrusts upwards, splattering the juices of his labor—and yours, everywhere. The offensive sound of his cock squeezing, squelching, and sliding in and out as his balls smack against your skin while he went in fast and hard, causing you to scream. Your mind blows away as you absorb his rhythm. “Ah! Fuck! Baby!”

There, he got what he wanted, and did he ever love it. He could hear you call him that, over and over again. And he did.

The undercarriage of your buttocks were painted with white, thick splatters of creamy and sticky fluids. The constant and solid tempo of his thrusts acted as a beater, stirring the semi-clear residue and turning it into a thicker consistency. A product of the love you both shared.

You scream out his name, gasping for air as the soft spot inside you releases, all thanks to the constant punching of his tip, and the pounding of his thick and lengthy cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, the overstimulation makes you beg for him to tone it down but he doesn’t.

“TAKE IT!!!” He yells out against your skin as he holds and squeezes your cheeks together, creating a bubbling image of skin and muscle as your derrière becomes abused by the harsh grip.

Shooting everything he’s got inside, he holds you steady, burying deep. Pelvis to pelvis, hilt to hilt, you feel the pressure of his grip holding you down against his groin. A few minutes of his cock pulsating, pumping, and pushing, he finally loosens his grip. You slide down, legs still grasping his waist as he embraces your waistline, tumbling back. Bringing you down with him, he lays next to you on the silky bedding.

You both lay, admiring each others glistening skin. The beads of sweat dripping down your foreheads, the heat exhausting from your breaths, and the panting and heaving of your chests.

He pushes the wet strands away from your brow, leaning in and kissing you so passionately, he would have done his deity ancestor proud.

“…I love you.” You mutter out, nearly shamelessly and defeatedly.

He smirks as he gulps down a subtle swallow, already knowing, just waiting for you to say it. “I know.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, instead, you look away as he caresses your cheek, not minding the shyness you were displaying. “I could never be anything in life without you…daughter of the seven seas…you got me all to yourself. I live only for you.”

And with that, concluded this night, but birthed many more. This was only the beginning, what new life exists for you both? Now that you have each other…

And so the war between the Adams and Sirens came to an end, resulting in generations that mirrored the forbidden love between the two descendants. Mixing the bloodlines of Poseidon and Zeus, the clan formatted the ultimate beings, part God and part mortal. Despite the many rumors of the hostility the two parties initially held against each other, let it be known that no matter the history…no matter the bloodshed…by the prime example of sea maidens and sons of Alexander the Great, love conquers all.

@hoonieshoney and @sweeheehees 😏 they not cry or explode. Because I certainly almost did both when imagining heedam….BRO JUST TOPPED THE LIST.

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enha x reader #heeseung hard hours #heeseung hard thoughts #heeseung fanfic #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere #yandere enha #yandere enhypen #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenario #Heeseung fantasy #enhypen fantasy #fantasy fics #dark fantasy #yandere imagines #yandere fantasy #Spotify

[ihopeucomehomesoon]

living from love poem to love poem

#they make me so!!! #if i could just read love poems all day long i would

[inkskinned]

i have spent a few days listening to the music you like. you have a tattoo of the band's logo on your ribs. you got it when you were still kind of a kid. my first tattoo was a bird instead. i did the math - we got our first tattoos in the same calendar year. isn't that kind of cool.

my mom loves hallmark movies, so i grew up thinking love would look like a firework. it feels like one, after all. it's just that my house wasn't safe. i thought love was a weapon, could be pointed at your eyes. could lose a finger to it, or teeth. my father used to say passion is everything. i thought that meant constant fighting was a good thing. i thought that meant love looked like a week of bickering, because it was worth the the weekend's boombox apology. i thought quiet love was boring. i thought love had to blot out everything, compel the body and the mind like puppetry. i thought love looks like ruining your own dinner table - but at least you set a feast.

but love looks like a scarf. your hands smoothing it down my chest, being sure each of the edges are tucked in, worried about my asthma attacks being cold-activated. i race you while i'm wearing heels, you hold my hand to guide me downhill while walking my dog. we dance in my living room to waltz of the flowers, i show you how to hold your arms in proper ballet port de bras. you write a song about looking out of my window while the snow falls. i ask you to text my friends back while i'm driving. you play dj in the front seat. somewhere on route 93, we start murmuring about secret things.

oh. there is a difference between peace and dispassion. it was never that i feared quiet, it's that i didn't know what safe felt like. i liked the chaos because it was familiar, not because it was kind. i think i used to fear the word wife. i didn't like the idea of long, lonely days and being yelled at for small things. i didn't like the idea of sacrificing my one beautiful life.

you meet my friends and make a point to learn things about them. we both get excited about the other person's passions. you read my book for hours, squinting at the small words. i try to understand basic guitar information. we talk for four hours on the phone while i string together a garland. we talk for six hours while you write a poem. i save a pintrest tip for the summer about making paper kites. i plan us a week-long trip to maine, map out my favorite places for an eventual hike. you fall asleep on the ride home, and i turn down the radio so it won't wake you up. your quiet hands fold over mine.

when i look up, the stars are brighter. how carefully you've woven gold into the corners of my life. when i move, i feel some part of my soul reflected back onto you.

oh, love is not a net. it's a blanket.

#spilled ink #warm up #wlw #writeblr

[mo-aiki]

One-sided Love Exist... (Yandere Fiancé x F. Reader)

Summary: You have been in love with your fiancé, but all you know is that he isn't in love with you until you do something about it.

Notes: I got this inspiration from @mayulla, their story is here. Also, I might or might not do a part 2 for this story so wait on that

Warning: fake love, forced love, obsession, I don't condone these behaviors, I just write it.

Love.

Something you have always wished for to happen to you. All of the love stories you have read. You wished to be the princess saved by her knight or to be a princess who saves the one she loves. That was all you wanted. A knight or a prince in shining armor. That's where your fiancé came in.

A duke's son. Your fiancé, Alaric de Caius. He had seemed to fit the mold, perfectly. He looked regal and handsome with his black hair and dark blue eyes. You were only 9 when you had met him, but you couldn't help but smile when you first saw him.

Overtime you had absolutely fallen in love with him. He was a man of morals, he believe in the same things as you of what was right and wrong, he was academically talented, he was athletically talented, and he treated people around him the same whether or not they held a title.

A wonderful man.

But the problems arose when you had seen he had never paid attention towards you.

He never looked you way, seemed to say anything towards you, or seem to acknowledge you at all.

"Good morning Alaric!"

He wouldn't look.

You didn't understand why he ignored you. His indifference towards you, hurt. You didn't know if it was your ego that was hurting or it was truly your heart that was hurting, but something was in pain. But you didn't give up! Both of you were bound to get married to each other, one day!

Often talking to him first, soon enough he responded.

Bringing sweets such as cookies or sweet bread from the kitchen. Watching him eat it with no signs of disgust, might have made your day.

But you must also strive hard too! To be worthy of being a Duchess, you must help him by studying, taking up hobbies such as perfecting painting, embroidery and writing poems that have deep meanings. You must also know how to manage a household, so you asked your father if you could learn how to manage the servant's wages and everything going on in the household.

Everything you did was for him.

You did not partake in gossip with your bestest of friends, you didn't spread malicious rumors about someone, and you tried not to do the most selfish thing if there was a selfless option. Your friends, love you but saw you in pain. "Why do you do these stressful things (y/n)?" they would constantly ask.

"Because I am going to be future Duchess one day, I must prepare!" You would say cheerfully.

Alina Thompson.

Her family was new money. Her father was a merchant who was able to strike gold in selling a once thought, rare ore. Opening trades with the east, she has risen to become the daughter or Baron Thompson.

Your friends didn't like her. One of them saying, "There is something off about her..." and another saying, "Why does she look at Duke Caius like that..."

You had brought it up to Alaric one day. He said there was, "Nothing to worry about, she is just an acquaintance.", and at first you didn't worry, heck you even befriended her. She was pretty. Her hair, long and blonde, her eyes a bright green color like emeralds, and her smile the brightest you have ever seen. She often wore pink and you did as well. But she always seemed to not get along with your friends after a few meetings. Or any noble women in fact. She had always stirred the pot with the other women in high society, supposedly acting different as if she had 2 different personalities in front of others. But she had always gotten along with the men. They spoke high praises of her. From her looks to personality. She even had admirers of her own. She was perfect, but most women disliked her. But you didn't think anything of it.

Until the day of the royal ball.

You saw with your very own eyes. Alaric's arm, being held by her's. She had the brightest, most shameless smile that day. All the men looked uncomfortable while the women were shocked. It was no secret that you and Alaric were engaged. And it was definitely no secret that you were in love with him.

They danced together. They wore matching outfits. Even the flowers on both of their corsages were the same. He had smiled at her as they were dancing. He gave her, her first dance of high society at her first ball, a royal one in fact. There was no way he had no idea what he meant by his actions. Your heart shattered as your friends got mad at both of them.

"Why that sly fox! How could she betray your kindness like this?!"

"(y/n)! If you need to I can kill him myself!"

"No!" you had quietly yelled out.

You friends looked at you, worried on their faces. "(b/s/f #1), (b/s/f #2), I need to...go..."

You ran away towards the royal garden, letting your tears to flow down.

Once you got home, you destroyed the books, the gifts he gave you and finally sat down on the floor and cried you heart out.

Your heart had shattered that day, nothing felt like it was going to fix it. It felt like the end of the world.

The next day came, and you holed yourself up in your room.

Your bedroom door would not open. Nothing will work. Your father was worried, your friends, pestered at you, and the servants knock and check up on you as well. But even though you knew all these people cared, you truly only wanted one person to come and see you, Alaric.

You don't know if you were a masochist or not, but you did want answers.

Soon, one of the maids came in. "Leave me alone..." you mumbled in your pillow.

"No. Duke Caius is here to visit you. So I must get you ready, young lady."

You looked up at the maid as she chuckled. "What's so funny?" you asked almost like a pouting child.

"Your eyes are puffy my lady. If you do not want the Duke to notice it, I suggest you get ready, now."

You pouted as you got up.

The next thing you knew, you had seen Alaric. His perfectly combed over hair, his eyes, calm, and the placement of his lapels, in order as followed. You had bowed your head down slightly, as he sat down at the table.

You didn't even bother looking at him. If you did, you didn't think you could bear it. It was an embarrassing night for you. All you did was look at your tea, slowly stirring the sugar cube, looking at it and spacing out in the process.

"(y/n)?"

You looked up. This was the first time he had ever called out your name. He had always referred to you as Lady (l/n), out of formality, but he has never called out your name like you do his.

"Did you hear what I said?"

You took a moment and shook your head. "No, I'm sorry..."

"That's okay, I can say it again."

Why did your heart tug at this? You felt yourself being anxious for what he wanted to say. But first you wanted the answer to why he brought Alina to the royal ball the other night.

"I had brought out Lady Thompson to the ball a few nights ago, because of her father. He had wanted to make sure his daughter secured an escort for her first royal ball. He had insisted I had better escort her, otherwise she wouldn't come."

An excuse.

"I helped her father find the rare ore that had made him Baron. I must help him again."

Lies.

"So that's your excuse..." you mumbled out of your mouth.

He looked at you, his eyes were still. He had no emotion after what you had just said. "(y/n), it's the truth."

"Lies. We are engaged, but my debutant ball and first royal ball, you didn't escort me at all."

You remember it well. He had said he was busy, and you thought nothing of it, because he wouldn't escort or dance with anyone else anyways.

"When we had our first dance, you didn't even look at me."

It broke your heart that night when you both finally had that first dance you had been waiting for, only to be sad when he didn't smile, look or seemed to be enjoying it in any way.

"I had wanted us to get matching outfits, but you held it off saying, 'you hadn't gotten measured yet'."

He would get measured for an outfit for another woman, but not you? His own fiancé?

You felt nothing but anger now towards him. "Was it a waste of my time to devote it all towards you? I know your favorite snacks, colors, meal, drink, what to do as duchess..."

You felt like you were about to cry again, but tried to hold it in. "WAS IT ALL FOR NOTHING?!" your hands slammed the table as you felt your tears coming down your face as you looked at him.

Hoping he would say it wasn't in vain. That all of these things you did for him, would mean something.

"I had never asked you to do these things, (y/n). I am tired of your antics."

You couldn't believe you had ever loved this man.

You immediately went back inside, and into your room to cry once more.

Alaric has never needed anyone close to him.

He never understood you and your stupid antics to get closer towards him. From bringing snacks, to gifting the books he so wanted, to talking to him way to often.

He had an alright childhood. His father was sick and his mother was dead from childbirth, so he needed to become duke heir at a young age. Relying on himself to make the right or wrong decisions while his father's health deteriorated overtime.

His father wanted him to get married to his close friend, Marquis (l/n), so he arranged the engagement before his death, and after his death when he was 15, he kept it on because it was one of his father's final wishes. To see their families united.

But sometimes he couldn't stand (y/n). When he first met her, he had no opinions of her, other than the fact that she was nothing more than a clumsy girl trying to get his attention.

She was trying to live out fairytale romances through him. She had wanted him to be her knight in shining armor. And he didn't care for it.

He ignored her until she kept on pestering him.

Soon, they did their small talks.

He ignored the food she had gave him.

Until he ate it because he was hungry and it was his favorites.

He ignored her all throughout his childhood, because he never needed her as much as he did. He saw her as pathetic, but he couldn't help but fuel her pathetic attempts to get him to love her.

He did didn't need her. He didn't need her at all.

Plus, she was well liked. Both women and men liked her. But sometimes those men that liked her too much got on his nerves to the point of threatening them into silence. She didn't need him, she wanted him. And he didn't need her as well.

But he thought he felt something when he met Alina for the first time. But later, he realized it was nothing more than curiosity. But whenever he was around (y/n), there was always a feeling that he didn't know what it was, but always put it off, until it came creeping onto him whenever he was with Alina.

It was clear she was jealous of (y/n) and her life, so she had tried to mimic her. Her cheery attitude, beautiful smile, and her happy-go-lucky demeanor, even though he could tell that she was nothing more than hollow shell of an impression. She did all these things so that he could pay attention to her. But Alina was worse than (y/n).

Her personality and character are terrible.

She always seemed to get into fights with the other women. Whether petty drama or something a tad bit more serious. She had always seem to never get along with them. Unlike (y/n).

She was terrible at any financial things. Counting money properly, distributing money equally, and figuring out the budget. Unlike (y/n)

She had always seemed to look at others as if she was better than them. Often subtly bragging a new pendant, earrings, bracelet, shoes, dress, or hair accessories. Unlike (y/n)

Her tea was awful to drink. She always stepped on someone's toes for no good reason. Her embroidery was lackluster. Her paintings, a clear imitation. Unlike (y/n).

He remembered a time where (y/n)'s tea was bitter, when she stepped on someone's feet while dancing, when her paintings were dull, and when she had a hard time managing money. It was absolutely a clumsy and nerve-racking time. But slowly, it had shown improvement, unlike Alina's tea.

All of these hobbies that Alina had picked up and all of her personal quirks have cause him to realize one thing.

He would never look her way.

He picked Alina because he thought he could finally drive (y/n) away from her antics and say he is not interested in her at all.

When he went to the royal ball and was dancing with Alina, all he could ever think of was how (y/n) would react in the same situation. Her bright smile, cheerful eyes and glowing aura would all be very lovely. He couldn't help but unconsciously smile during the dance, and it seemed to have fueled Alina's determination to take her down.

But now he wonders why he had those thoughts during the dance with Alina.

She had holed up in her manor ever since that royal ball.

Alaric didn't see her. No letter, no snacks, no anything. Nothing had came. He should be elated. Happy. Excited. Joyful.

But all he felt was a big hole. A big empty hole somewhere in his body.

He had thought he had heard her all over the place. "Alaric. You need to stop overworking yourself to death! You might get sick!"

"It's none of your concerns, Lady (l/n)."

"Huh?"

He looked up from his paperwork, only to see his secretary looking at him, confused? "What did you say, Your Grace?"'

He looked down at his paperwork. "Nothing of note."

It happened again when he was reading through the manor's ledgers. "Can I help you with that Alaric? I'm very good with ledgers!"

"It is fine Lady (l/n)."

"Your Grace?"

Once again, he looked up only to see his butler, looking at him confused.

He felt like he was going insane.

He had developed a high fever one day from overworking. His butler called in the family's doctor, and the doctor said to take a break today.

But his fever kept on running, and the maids didn't know what to do. They gave him water that was too hot, his body kept on sweating, and they gave him food too salty for his condition. They were all incompetent when he was sick all of the sudden. And to top it off, his secretary still needed him to do paperwork for the estate.

During his time with his fever, he unconsciously only thought to see one person. (y/n).

He had wanted her to be by his side when he was sick. To take care of him and to see him recover. He wanted her to scold at him for overworking. He wanted to see her happy after he did recover from this fever. He had wanted to see her, no, he felt like he needed to see her.

He slowly opened his eyes as he was asleep for a bit. He thought he saw her in his groggy state. "...(y/n)..?"

Only to finally see clearly. It was Alina. And she looked pissed, but he was even more pissed. "How dare you! How dare you call out the name of that woman when I'm here?!"

He got up and yelled. "GUARDS!"

She got mad. "Oh, now you're calling the guards?! I came here to help you! And this is what I get?!"

He looked at her with contempt. "How did you know I was sick?"

She looked anxious. "The butler told me! He contacted me with a letter! Look!"

She pulled out a messily handwritten letter as people came up towards his room. His secretary and butler came to his side. "Who is this?" his secretary asked.

Alaric's head was banging, but managed to respond. "Lady Thompson. I do not know how she got here."

Alina looked scarred as the secretary called a maid to call the guards. "How did you get in here Lady Thompson?"

"I got here because the butler told me to come here because His Grace is sick!"

The butler looked confused. "I do not recall writing a letter to anyone."

Alina got mad. "Yes you did! I have the evidence!"

She held her letter as the secretary grabbed it out of her hands. "Butler, is this your handwriting?"

The butler fixed his glasses and shook his head. "I do not write this sloppily, even when writing fast."

Alina got even more mad as the guard got up the stairs. "Your Grace?"

"Take her away, and make sure she never sets foot in the estate again."

"Wha..? HEY!" The guards took Alina while she protested. All the servants went back to work as his secretary looked at him. "I will investigate where that letter came from, Your Grace."

Alaric looked at the ceiling as he started to lay down in his bed. "There is no need. But do investigate how she got in here and how she knew. We might have a stalker on our hands if I'm not careful..."

His secretary nodded. "Yes Your Grace, I hope you recover quickly, soon."

All he could do is stare up to the ceiling. Thinking. If (y/n) had done this, maybe he wouldn't had been as mad as he was back there. Maybe he would had enjoyed her trying to fumble out a response of how she knew he was sick. Maybe he would had enjoyed her antics of trying to cure him of his fever.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he slowly fell back asleep, dreaming.

When he had gotten better after 3 days, he immediately went to the (l/n) estate. He didn't know why, but he needed to go there after his fever.

He was led to the garden as he waited for her to get ready. Then he looked around. The garden was filled with flowers. Pink, white, purple, and blue flowers seemed to be her favorite. The servants brought out her favorite tea set. A pink and white ceramic one. He has only seen it every time she had hosted her friends. She only brought out the other tea sets with him.

She looked different. She looked less lively. Her skin looked pale, her eyes a bit puffy and her hands fiddling with the tea cup, nervously.

He had only brought up his purpose at being in at the royal ball with Alina, when she started talking about his shortcomings in their relationship.

How he didn't accompany her to her first ball, didn't look at her for their first dance, and how he always gave an excuse for not wearing matching outfits.

But something came out of his mouth when talking to her. "I had never asked you to do these things, (y/n). I am tired of your antics."

He felt annoyed at her behavior. She got too clingy and annoying now. Bringing up insignificant things. She got annoying in this very moment.

She soon ran away as he left the (l/n) estate.

He wanted to go home and rid his memories of her immature behavior. Hoping that her behavior won't continue again.

A/N: I should do a part 2. But you'll have to wait a while.

#yandere x reader #yandere childhood friend #yandere oc x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere duke #yandere duke x reader #x f reader

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?

Argenti:

Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.

He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.

He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.

At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.

Sunday:

He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.

He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…

Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.

It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.

So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.

Gepard:

He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;

Everlasting winter

He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.

His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.

And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.

Dan heng:

He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.

Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.

Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.

Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.

Welt:

He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.

Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.

Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.

You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.

#hsr x y/n #hsr imagines #hsr x reader #hsr imagine #Honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail imagine #Honkai star rail imagines #hsr argenti x reader #argenti x reader #Argenti imagines #Argenti imagine #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday imagines #Sunday imagine #dan heng x reader #Dan heng imagine #Dan heng imagines #welt yang x reader #welt Yang imagine #welt Yang imagines #gepard imagine #gepard imagines #gepard x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr gepard x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #dan heng x you

[angelltheninth]

Humbly requesting HSR men sending love letters to their girlfriend/wife while on a mission? Do they make them detailed or short? Also do they include and pictures or drawings? I'm sorry if this is weird, I was watching the Legend of Korra and I'm at the part where she's getting letters from everyone and it got me thinking about this.

I love TLOK! That part hits hard, so fucking hard. Good luck with the rest of s4!

Pairing: Blade, Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luka, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, love letters, married, long distance relationship

A/N: I remember when I was in middle school and we had to send a letter to someone for an assignment. I sent it to my bestie!

Blade writes you letters only because he promised you he would. There aren't many, you get a new letter maybe once a month but they are always quite detailed, telling you where he's been, where he's going and that you don't need to worry about him. There can be a lot of pages for you to read but that's to make up for the fact that he doesn't write to you that often, he prefers to say things in person.

Caelus never thought about writing you letters until you expressed how romantic it would be to get one. Then one day while on alone you got one, from him, who was on a mission at the time. The letter spoke of the things he saw, what he ate, what the weather was like, wishing you a good night and sweet dreams. A crudely drawn picture of his was the signature. You've been getting letters ever since.

Dan Heng writes letters that are straight to the point and a bit on the shorter side. Usually one or two pages is enough for him to summarize what happened, but his letters arrive a few times a week, constantly keeping you updated on his whereabouts and health. Now when you feel his rough fingers you wonder how much is from his weapon and how much is from his writing to you.

Gepard not only sends you letters but also full on poems and love songs. He is that much of a romantic. Don't tell anyone though, everyone is under the impression that he's only informing his wife of when he'll be getting home. You keep his letters right beside your bed, sometime reading them to him and watching his face get redder and redder with every sentence.

Jing Yuan tells you the details of his day pretty thoroughly but not so much about the mission. He makes a sort of cliff note version of that part. This is because he would rather tell you those parts in person, they'll be much more interesting and dramatic that way. But as for what he does daily, the people he meets, the animals he sees, the food he eats, he writes about all of that for you.

Luka doesn't write that much in his letters. He's simply not sure what he could write that would be interesting other then who he beat up and how he got a thank you for it. He does include a few drawings of him fighting against his opponent though, it's the only good way he can think of to let you know how awesome of a fight it was without taking a whole books worth of pages to do so.

Welt is all to happy to write home to you while he's on a mission. Of course you get just as many drawings of the places he's been too. There's so many drawings that you can make a scrapbook with them, or decorate your entire wall with them. He puts as much detail into his letters as he does in the drawings he makes so you can be sure you won't miss out on a single thing, it's like you're there with him.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #caelus x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #luka x reader #welt x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanon #hsr imagine #hsr headcanon #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x female reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x female reader #hsr x you #blade fluff #caelus fludd #dan heng fluff #gepard fluff #jing yuan fluff #luka fluff #welt fluff

[trashywritestrash]

Short and Sweet

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count: 853

Warnings: Best friend’s brother— is that a warning? This is just a short lil thing for Valentine’s Day

A/N: The poem and response in this came from Thomas Richardson’s “Gentleman’s Valentine Writer” which wasn’t actually published until 1828 but I needed ideas, okay? Also, I wrote this when Bridgerton was still the lead in the poll lol

Living beside the Bridgerton household had many advantages. Being close in age to Daphne gave you the perfect excuse to spend time with her. However, spending time with Daphne meant also spending time with the rest of her family, which allowed you to form a close bond with them all. One Bridgerton in particular being Benedict.

Benedict was a few years older than you, but within a perfectly reasonable range that made it acceptable for you to fancy him. How could you not? He was sweet and sensitive, but he had a playful side that brought joy any time you were fortunate enough to witness it. Although, you never dared to dream that Benedict might return your affections. You were the best friend of his younger sister, surely he would not think of you in that way.

Initially, you had been excited to be presented before the queen and sent out into society. But while Daphne had been deemed the season's incomparable, you had fallen into her shadow. You were happy to see your friend receive many visitors and gifts, but some days it would hurt to see a line of men outside her door while you waited in an empty sitting room.

Waking on Valentine's Day brought nothing but sorrow. It was only one month into the social season and you already felt that you were destined to become an old spinster. With no prospective husbands in sight, you would likely have to face a second season. You did not expect that you would receive any callers that day, yet you waited in your sitting room in a fine dress, as you did every other day. Your mother sat in a chair at the far end of the room, leisurely reading until something would happen.

Early into the day, your butler entered the room with a calling card in hand, "A Mister Bridgerton is here to call upon Miss Y/L/N."

"Send him in," You replied, feeling your chest constrict. It was possible that one of Daphne's brothers had come to pass along a message for her, but a gentleman visiting while you were accepting callers still brought you a shred of hope.

Moments later, you saw Benedict step through the doorway, holding something behind his back. He smiled, "I see I have gotten here before the rest."

You returned his smile, nervous, yet calmed by his presence. "I think you will find that the gentlemen are coming to your door today, not mine."

"Then they are fools and I am lucky to have you all to myself."

"What can I do for you, Benedict? I find it hard to believe you would be here as a suitor." You spoke the words in jest, but felt your throat tighten as you said them all the same.

Benedict's smile fell into confusion, "What is so hard to believe about that?"

Taken aback by the genuine confusion in his tone, you clarified, "I only mean to say that I would not have expected it."

"If that is the case, I hope that you find this to be a good surprise," For just a moment, you heard a bit of nerves in his voice as he tried to present a confident image. "Unfortunately, I cannot stay long. But I wanted to bring you these and to officially declare my affection."

Finally, Benedict moved the hand behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of morning glory and myrtle. You smiled wide at the sight, "Thank you, Benedict. They're lovely."

Shortly after, Benedict had to take his leave, although he promised to come back the following day. Once he had left, you reached for a book on the language of flowers. You found that morning glories are used to represent affection, meanwhile myrtle is used to represent love and marriage. Learning that brought a blush to your cheeks, finding the meaning to be a little bold, but not unpleasant.

It was then that you noticed a small folded piece of parchment beside the flowers. When you unfolded the paper, you could see the painted design done in watercolors. A man and a woman stood beneath a tree, which was situated between a lovely cottage and a church. The image was small, but you could tell that the couple was you and Benedict. On the other side of the parchment was a simple note.

I boast not eloquence, dear Miss, Nor do I write exceedingly fine; Therefore, I bluntly ask you this-- Pray, will you be my Valentine?

As you looked down at the note, you felt your heart swell. You held it close to your chest, feeling as if you could burst from happiness at any moment. Your mother then looked up from her book. "What is that, dear?"

"It is nothing!" You responded quickly. Luckily, your mother did not push the issue further.

That night, you folded the note once more and placed it in the drawer of the nightstand beside your bed. As you attempted to fall asleep, all you could think of was that you could not wait to see Benedict again.

----------

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#nel writes #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfic

[that-sweet-jester]

So long King❤️

I've been introduced to mcyt and dsmp by my best friend and thanks to her I could discover Techno. For the past 2 years he had impacted my life a lot, through inspiring me to improve my skills on character design and art overall, to become more outgoing and full of passion for things I do. Because of covid and me finishing high school and going to university I had been struggling a lot with my mental health, but every time I saw a new upload or upcoming stream my day would instantly brighten up. He brought so much joy and love to the community and I'll forever be thankful for that.

This whole day had been a mess since I woke up and saw the news, it still feels unreal and when I think I'm alright, the feeling comes back again. Never thought that a person I didn't know, almost at all, would make such an impact on me.

I'm still going to make art of his character, I think that's something he'd want, to continue his legacy and for his character to still bring people joy.

I don't normally write much stuff here, only post art and reblog stuff, but I had to vent a little. I just wanted to thank Techno for everything and send love to anyone who is struggling about this too or is in a bad place overall. I hope you'll get better and everything will be ok❤️

And the universe said I love you

And the universe said everything you need is within you

And the universe said you have played the game well

And the universe said you are stronger than you know

And the universe said you are the daylight

And the universe said you are the night

And the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

And the universe said the light you seek is within you

And the universe said you are not alone

And the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

And the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

And the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

~End Poem

#fuck I'm crying again #I miss him so much #technoblade #mcyt #my art

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 4 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Anna was afraid to face her new friends after the night out at the bar. Admitting she was attracted to Bob was easier to do than explain why she couldn't have him. When she finally sends him some book recommendations, she finds his taste in books familiar in an all too intimate way. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, eventually 18+

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Anna spent the rest of her weekend working on lesson plans and looking at Bob's number saved in her phone. She had compiled a mental list of titles she thought he would like, and she'd even pulled a few dog-eared books from her own collection and stacked them up on her narrow counter. She would absolutely love to have Bob borrow them from her, but she'd completely messed everything up.

Why, when confronted with a decent man, did she shut everything down and destroy all hope? Because of Kevin. That's why. She knew this crush on Bob was a bad idea. Nothing good could come of it, but she still caught herself looking at his contact information on Sunday evening with longing in her heart.

She made herself a sad sandwich for dinner and packed herself a second sad sandwich for lunch the next day and then she settled in with her computer. The idea of taking her sad sandwich to the quad and eating with her friends was making her anxious. What if they didn't even want her around now that she'd made a complete fool of herself in front of their friend? What if they looked up at her as she approached them sitting on the bench with their perfect, beautiful lunches and scowled with their perfect, beautiful faces? 

"Oh no," she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. She really liked them, but they probably hated her now. And she really liked Bob, but he probably went home with that better looking woman who was at the Navy bar and hadn't thought about Anna one time since. 

She forced her attention to her computer screen which was prompting her for a password. She entered Kev1n1s@t00L and watched as the website she'd had open on her browser came to life. She sighed as she scrolled through her saved favorites on PoetsAmongUs. It was kind of pitiful that she knew what she was going to end up reading before she could actually admit it to herself. 

Your whispers call out in the darkest shadows, My heart answers like a flame, Igniting this shared space with every breath I take, Giving you a love that will never find the end. It binds me to you, pulsing through my veins, Emotions like I've never known before. I've doubted that I could reach this place, But I feel endlessly sure here now.

Anna whined from her bed in her sad little apartment as she looked at the pen name of her favorite poet before clicking on it. He either never finished filling out his profile or he was being purposely vague. Male, 30s, United States. 

"Sky Writing. The only man I would trust with my heart ever again." She read the poem once more. That was her favorite passage, but she knew everything he posted by heart and got excited every time something new from him popped up every few months. 

It was late enough that she could probably just go to sleep without acknowledging that she hadn't texted Bob and probably never would. She couldn't set foot back in that bar ever again. Maybe that other place that Jessica loved so much would be somewhere she could check out next time she had nothing better to do. Chippy's or something? She started to doze off.

When her alarm started blaring, it was almost like she had slept too well. She'd dreamed about a faceless man with beautiful hands reading poetry to her while he ran his fingers slowly up and down her bare thigh. She couldn't shake the delicious feeling even as her alarm got louder. When she managed to turn it off, she lay there wishing she had time to go on the poetry website and masturbate before work. 

"Stop it," she whispered as she got up and started getting herself ready for the day. 

At least she got to teach English 522 this afternoon. Feminist Literature was becoming one of her favorite classes, as evidenced by her well worn copy of Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu which was in her bag. When she stood in her kitchen and ate a peanut butter granola bar and drank some coffee, she looked at the books she had pulled out as options for Bob, but she shook her head and left for the day without dwelling on how disappointing her life truly was.

Relying solely on public transportation meant leaving a lot earlier than you wanted to, but Anna still barely made it to her office in time to grab her notebook and teach her first lecture of the week. Half of the students still looked like they were asleep while the other half were looking at her like she was a literary messiah. It was almost comical, and when lunchtime rolled around, she was in a pretty great mood. Until she realized she was still on the fence about going to the quad. 

"Just do a vibe check," she muttered as she grabbed her lunch from her office. "If they look pissed off, you can come right back here and never talk to anyone else again for the rest of your life." She could subside on sandwiches and online poetry and only speak when she was giving lectures. That sounded simultaneously amazing and also terrifying.

The college campus was bustling today. There were some guys skateboarding through the quad, and she recognized a few other faculty members from the English department who waved to her. But that didn't stop her palms from sweating and her heart from thudding in a sickening rhythm that Edgar Alan Poe would think was beautiful. When she spotted the two women on the bench in front of the weird tree, Anna was shocked to see them waving to her with smiles on their faces. 

"Anna!" called Jessica. "You'll never believe it! The vending machine just gave me my bottle of Pepsi and a bonus bottle of ginger ale! Like it knew I was about to see you!"

"Chaos Theory at its finest," said the other woman before she bit into her carrot stick and hummus. 

"It's really more of the Butterfly Effect," Jessica replied. Anna had no idea what they were talking about, but they scooted away from each other on the bench to make room, so she decided to stay.

Anna swallowed hard as she sat and opened her pack of peanuts. "How was the rest of your weekend?" she asked the two of them, and soon her nerves calmed down. 

"Excellent. Bradley and I took a tour of the library yesterday."

"Pretty good. I helped Jake make waffles for breakfast. Lots and lots and lots of waffles. What did you do with the rest of your weekend? After the Hard Deck?"

Anna accepted the bottle of ginger ale that Jessica handed to her as she said, "Um, well I did my lesson plans for the next few weeks. And I started writing my midterm exams. Nothing exciting."

She was met with a bit of awkward silence, and she could feel the two women sharing a look behind her head. "Did you happen to text Bob?" Advanced Calculus asked cautiously, and Anna knew this was the part where it was all over. The dramatic climax, except she was actually the villain in this story.

"No, actually. I think that ship has sailed," she replied softly. 

"Why?" Jessica asked, not unkindly. "When we figured out that you and he already met at the bookstore in North Park, we were ecstatic. He's the mystery guy you were losing your mind over, Anna! The handsome one with glasses who smells so good!"

"He really does smell good," Advanced Calculus muttered as she dipped another carrot into the hummus which was probably unfairly homemade. "Are you no longer attracted to him? Was it his nerdy tee shirt? Or were all the guys so obnoxious you couldn't wait to leave?"

Anna held onto the cold bottle of ginger ale a little tighter as she said, "It's not that at all. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't be attracted to Bob? And I thought his shirt was kind of charming. And the rest of the guys were welcoming in a slightly intense way."

Now Jessica was turned to face her, eyes wide behind her glasses. "Bob thinks you ran away from him twice now because he's unappealing and boring."

Anna jolted and the pack of peanuts went flying to the ground, nuts rolling in every direction. "He does?" she asked, palms beginning to sweat again.

"Yeah. Big time. But he's quite attracted to you. Apparently the red hair is a thing."

"Oh my god," Anna moaned in embarrassment. Bob liked her red hair? "Oh no. No. No. He's just.... he's so.... and he's also.... I can't even." She took a deep breath as she kicked at the lost peanuts. "Bob is so handsome. It's hard to look into his eyes for too long, because you start to feel like you're going to break out into song. And I don't think I've ever been around a man who smells quite that nice. And he's funny and just a touch nerdy, but that's a good thing." 

There was another beat of silence before Advanced Calculus said, "I'm not really understanding what the problem is."

Anna shook her head and unwrapped her sandwich to keep her hands busy. "Listen, none of my weirdness is because of him. It's all because of me. I can't have a crush on him. I can't be interested in him. I can't be interested in any men whatsoever."

Jessica nudged her shoulder and said, "Maybe you could just text him? Maybe making another new friend wouldn't be so bad?"

--------------------------

"Well if you can't find a girlfriend, I hope you're at least getting your rocks off with an attractive lady."

Bob was cradling his forehead in his hand and trying to escape from Suzanne's house without having this conversation. Whenever he stopped to pick up dinner instead of cooking something at home, he always brought something for her, too. It was the neighborly thing to do, especially when your neighbor was decades older than you, but right now he just wanted to vanish. 

"I wouldn't tell you even if I was," he replied, earning a laugh as she opened up the container of soup at her kitchen table. 

"Sit down and stay for a while," she told him, pointing to the empty chair. "I'll pay you back for dinner with my charm and witticism since you won't accept any money."

His phone started to vibrate in his uniform pocket, and he dug it out thinking it was probably Jessica having finished mocking up her barbarian character for their campaign, but it was a text from an unknown number. He was about to pocket his phone again, but then he saw the words book recommendations and paused. He quickly unlocked the phone and started reading the texts that were coming through.

I have some book recommendations for you if you still want them. I'm sorry I didn't send them over the weekend.

This is Anna, by the way.

I should have started with that information.

Wow. This is already embarrassing.

Bob laughed and started to type back immediately, and then Suzanne's voice cut across his thoughts. "Are you sure you don't have a special lady? You're smiling an awful lot at your phone."

He looked at her and shook his head. "I'm sure. I like this girl, but she doesn't return my feelings that way. She's just sending me some recommendations." He started to back away as he added, "Enjoy your soup. I'll see you later, Suzanne."

"Good night, Robert."

Bob ended up standing just inside his front door as he saved Anna's number and typed back a message to her. He thought keeping it simple would be his best move. Anything more than that and he'd embarrass himself once again by getting ahead of himself with his feelings. 

I would love some more recommendations from you. You're the expert.

He only had to wait about a minute for her response, which was just a list of book after book after book that he'd never even heard of. The first were the ones she'd given to him verbally on Friday night, but the rest were just as foreign to him.

Anna Webber: Persuasion by Austen. Northanger Abbey by Austen, Lady Chatterley's Lover by D. H. Lawrence, The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton, Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy, Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell, and The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (because you like poetry so much)

Bob quickly ate his own container of soup while he read the list over and over again. Then without changing out of his uniform, he grabbed the keys to his beat up truck and headed to the bookstore in North Park to see if he could find any of these titles before they closed.

The store was virtually empty, and when he climbed the stairs up to the slightly dusty loft he could practically picture Anna's pretty hands and painted nails gliding along all of the spines. He could imagine her pretty, wide eyes looking up at him before she figured out he was boring. He could hear her laugh as he made his way to the spot where they had been standing together.

That horrible Vonnegut book was still there which made him chuckle. "Figures nobody else would want to read it," he muttered as he reached for it. Then he backtracked a little bit to start collecting everything from Anna's list. He referenced his text messages several times, hunting all over the Classics section until he had almost everything in order. Then he spread them out along the shelf and took a photo. He texted it to her before he could second guess himself after he added a short caption. 

Did I miss anything?

He was walking back down to the poetry section when his phone vibrated.

Anna Webber: You're at the bookstore right now? The one in North Park?

Bob froze in the middle of the stairs. He embarrassed himself without even knowing it. He must seem desperate right now. Running out to the store as soon as she sent him the list. "Shit," he groaned softly. When he got another message, he was almost afraid to look at it.

Anna Webber: I LOVE that store. I wish I were there right now, too.

Bob thought that sounded perfect, actually. Maybe if she were here now, she wouldn't run away this time. He'd been playing those kinds of scenarios over and over in his head, ones where she liked him back the way he liked her. Ones where they left the bookstore holding hands.

He continued downstairs to look for the book of poems she suggested for him, which he found quickly, along with Votive by Keiran Goddard. Would Anna like a copy of his favorite book of poetry? Did he even want to ask her? At this point, he had nothing to lose. She wasn't going to suddenly want him, but that shouldn't stop him from sharing a recommendation of his own. Especially when she might really enjoy something he found so spectacular. 

Bob held the book up and snapped a quick selfie, sending it away into the universe before dwelling on it too much.

--------------------

Anna was preparing a piece of toast with jelly for herself or dinner, desperately wishing she were back at the bookstore. Bob was there, probably smelling so nice and luring everyone else who was shopping closer to him. Perhaps he was wearing another Dungeons & Dragons shirt like he'd worn to the Navy bar. Perhaps his biceps were straining against it.

She didn't have to use her vivid imagination for very long, because suddenly Bob was staring at her through her phone screen with his crooked little smile and his beautiful eyes. And his uniform. 

"Oh my god." The toast slipped from her fingers and landed jelly side down on her plate as she took in every single detail. Navy uniforms were khaki? Why had she assumed they were all navy blue? Why didn't she know more about the Navy? She was going to take the time to learn everything she could about the United States Navy. 

When she realized her mouth was dry, she reached for her glass of water and downed it. She was in a daze. A Bob Floyd induced daze. Even all the little pins on his shirt were distracting. She wanted to count all of them. She wanted to touch them. She wondered what they would feel like if she pressed her lips to them. 

"Stop," she gasped. But she couldn't. Now her eyes drifted up to his face again, and she thought she'd only really ever seen the exact color of his eyes in a Kandinsky painting at the Guggenheim. She couldn't look away. "No. No. No!" she moaned. And then she finally read the actual message he'd typed out after gawking at his photo for five whole minutes. 

Bob Floyd: Have you ever read Votive by Keiran Goddard? It's my favorite collection of poetry. 

Anna laughed a little hysterically. She hadn't even noticed he was holding up a book at all. His graceful fingers were wrapped around the damn thing, but she'd been too distracted by him to actually look at the book. But now the fact that she'd never read Goddard before had her flushed and flustered, because Bob had sent a book recommendation to her. Nobody ever did that, and all she could think about was how she absolutely needed to get her hands on a copy and devour the whole entire thing if it was something he liked. 

Very calmly and rationally, she typed back to him.

I have not read it yet, but I'll add it to my list of things to check out of the library. 

When she set her phone down and realized her toast had become a casualty to this text conversation, she moaned and flipped it back over. Her heart was still beating a little erratically from looking at Bob's photo for too long, and she didn't think she could even eat. There was no way she could waste any food in her current financial state though, so she took a bite anyway as he texted her back.

Bob Floyd: I'll just pick it up for you while I'm here. I hope you'll like it, but if you hate it, that's okay too. It's a bit of an acquired taste.

Oh no. She couldn't let him buy it, because she didn't have any extra spending money at the moment to be able to pay him back. But admitting that to him would be excruciatingly embarrassing, and she didn't even think she could do it. Perhaps she could scrape together twenty dollars if she skipped a few meals, but then she wouldn't be able to join the girls in the quad at lunchtime. They'd notice her lack of food right away. 

"Why are you such a disaster?" she asked herself as she scarfed down the rest of her toast and typed back to him.

Thank you. I can pay you back for it later.

She would figure it out. She always did. Even when she didn't want to, she managed to find a way to solve her problems. Even when it hurt.

Bob Floyd: It's my treat. I can give it to Bradley or Jake at work tomorrow. I'm sure either of the ladies wouldn't mind getting it to you when they see you. Or if you feel like it, we could meet for coffee one day and I could give it to you in person. Just let me know.

"Oh, Anna," she whispered, already typing out a response before she could think better of it.

--------------------------

Bob was surprised Anna took him up on his offer to meet for coffee, but he found himself looking forward to it in spite of the fact that he was still pining a bit. He'd get over it in time. He'd find someone new to crush on, or maybe he'd meet another girl that he was interested in, and maybe she would be interested back. But none of that stopped him from being excited at the prospect of being around her again. And none of that prepared him for the way he felt when Anna pushed through the door of the coffee shop on Wednesday evening and looked around tentatively. Her red hair was in another loose braid, and her freckles were so endearing.

As soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked less apprehensive but also more resigned. When she approached the table where he was sitting with three books, he stood. "Hey. Anna. How are you?"

"Hi, Bob." Even her voice was soft and sweet as her eyes swept along his face and body. She blushed a pretty shade of pink as she said, "Thanks for the book. Will you let me buy you something to drink?"

He didn't respond beyond nodding and leading the way toward the counter. He listened to her order a small coffee before he ordered a large hot tea, and when she reached for her wallet, he was already handing over a twenty. When she looked up at him with wide, brown eyes, he just smiled. "You don't have to buy me a drink."

She watched the money leave his hand as she said, "Well, you don't have to buy me one either."

"Too late."

She was quiet as they returned to the small table with their hot beverages, but as soon as she sat, she said, "You'll have to let me pay next time."

Bob slid two of the books across the table as he asked, "Next time?" But she didn't respond as she let her fingers brush along Votive before she picked it up to reveal the one underneath it.

Anna's laughter filled the small space as her eyes darted back up to meet his. "You bought Cat's Cradle? I didn't think that was the kind of thing you were looking for?"

He glanced down into his tea. "Uh, it's not. I got it for you."

"Bob," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the spine now. He liked her nail polish and wanted to touch her hands. "You did not have to get me two books."

"Yes I did," he said with a smile. "Vonnegut sounds horrible. I felt bad for it because nobody else was ever going to buy it. I couldn't just leave it to rot on the shelf when I know the only person who would be willing to give it a nice home."

When she laughed again, she seemed resigned to the fact that the books were both hers. "Thanks. Money is a little tight for me right now. You know how it is when you first move," she told him while she fidgeted a bit. "But next time, I'll buy your drink. Or your book. Or something."

"You keep saying 'next time'."

Anna poked at her coffee cup and said, "I thought maybe.... we could be friends."

"Friends." His voice felt and sounded stale. The word made him feel sadder than it should have. "Of course."

She looked even more relieved now as she took a sip of her coffee, but Bob was busy trying not to memorize the pretty pattern of her freckles across her nose and the way her lips were pursed. He wouldn't look at a friend that way. 

"Which book is that?" she asked, nodding toward the last one in front of him. 

He flipped it over so she could see the cover, and he said, "Oh, it's The Age of Innocence. I'm almost done reading it, and I was just hoping to get your opinions on a few things."

Anna's eyes went wider. "You're almost done reading it? Already?"

"Yeah." His voice sounded like a groan, and he knew he should be embarrassed since she recommended it two days ago, but he said, "Once I start a new book, I can't put it down if it's good."

"So you like it?" she asked, leaning a little closer to him as a smile played along her lips. 

"It's fantastic," he replied, and her foot brushed his softly beneath the table.

Anna licked her lips and shifted in her seat as she made a soft sound that just made Bob want to get closer to her. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and cleared her throat before she blurted out. "You're really handsome." His lips parted wordlessly, unsure how to respond, but he didn't have to as she immediately said, "And you're not boring. Not at all. I could have stayed in that dusty bookstore all afternoon, tucked away in the loft, talking to you about book after book."

"Oh," he replied, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Really?"

"Yes. Really," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "I didn't disappear because of you. I disappeared because of me. And I'm really sorry about that."

Then he realized what was going on. His friends got to her already. He'd told Jessica on Saturday night that he was sure Anna ditched him because he's probably not as handsome or interesting as she's used to. And now he was going to have to text her and tell her to lay off. This whole thing was embarrassing enough without having to hear Anna pity him like this.

"Don't worry about it," he told her softly with his best attempt at a smile. "We can be friends."

When he got home, she texted him to thank him again for the books and the coffee. But he was still thinking about her freckles and how far down her neck they might go. Maybe they made a pretty pattern across her shoulders, too. Maybe they would disappear into her bra, a perfect treasure for another man to find. But not Bob. Bob and Anna were just friends.

------------------------

When Anna finally got home after taking two buses, it was so late, she knew she should go right to bed. But she was wishing for another cheap bottle of wine to try to take her mind off of Bob. He was perfect, and she couldn't let herself have him. They could be friends, but nothing more. She could send him texts, but they couldn't flirt. 

She already missed his soft voice and the way he gave her his entire focus when they were together. He bought her two books! Nobody else ever bought her books! And he read the ones she recommended to him! Maybe Kevin was to blame for most things that had gone wrong in her life, but literally no man she'd ever known was as kind and thoughtful as Bob.

She collapsed back onto her bed in her sad apartment were she could look at her kitchen and her bathroom at the same time, and she opened the book of poetry. Bob's favorite poetry. Within minutes of reading the first few pages, she felt warmer and maybe a little flustered. The passages were romantic and insightful in such a familiar way. Something was tickling at her brain, trying to trigger a memory. She kept reading, making it fifteen pages in before she gasped and realized what it was. 

"Sky Writing," she murmured, reaching for her computer in favor of the book. She was reminded of her favorite novice poet from her favorite website. The poetry in the book sounded a bit like the poems written by Sky Writing, and now Anna was even more of a mess knowing that this was the kind of intimate literature Bob preferred to read. 

She wanted him. She wanted to know what his big, sturdy hands would feel like on her body. What his lips tasted like. She wanted to erase that pinch of doubt she saw on his face when she tried to reassure him that even though they were going to be just friends, she definitely found him attractive. 

The next time she went shopping, she was going to need to stock up on some more bottles of cheap wine.

-------------------------

Just friends. Okay, Anna. Sure, babe. Let's see how long that lasts. Bob's wingwomen are powerful. Thank you @lauratang for the book/reading list! And thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

@thedroneranger

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@callsign-magnolia

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #robert floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #roosterforme #covering the classics

[txtgkk]

Muscle Memory

Synopsis: things get a bit heated while you’re reading to Nanami as you guys are cuddled up in bed.

Warning: nsfw, 18+, fluff, smut, fem!reader, overstimulation, creampie, masturbation (fem!receiving)

A/N: Got this Idea at 4am while I was reading poetry…don’t judge me! Anyways I hope you guys enjoy! 😭✌🏽

Also! I’m so sorry for the lag & errors I literally NEVER proofread what I post cuz I’m tired and idc that much but yeah 😭 & I totally forgot I was writing this. 😜

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nanami was always very tired and grumpy all because of his job. He hated it, he didn’t really enjoy anything in life but one thing that never failed to bring him comfort was when you guys would cuddle up in bed at night and he would listen as you read him one of your many poetry books. It was something that started randomly then developed into a routine but, tonight was different.

Nanami got home from work more frustrated that usual, he set his things on the entrance table and put his shoes against neatly against the wall. He walked straight to the bathroom and got into the shower without looking your way or saying anything. When he finished showering he walked over to his side of the closet and put on boxers and pajamas pants.

“Rough day?” You asked.

“Mhm.” He responded and let out a long sigh. He climbed into bed and pulled you close burying his face into the crook of your neck breathing in your scent.

“Do you want a massage or something?” You ask and he shook his head.

“No, can you just read to me like you usually do?” He asked and you nodded.

You picked up the book you were currently reading and began to recite the poems to him, Nanami felt himself relax as he held you close. It was only then that he realized what you were wearing, you were wearing his favorite nightgown. He loved the way it looked on you and how the baby blue color made your skin look so nice, he also loved how it showed off your curves and would ride up when you sat down.

You could hear as he groaned, he pulled away and rested his head on his arm as he laid next to you. Your body shivered when you felt his hand on your thigh, at first he was just running the tips of his fingers against it but then he began to squeeze it.

Namani didn’t know whether it was your tone or the way you were dressed but it was arousing him. His hand slowly inched closer and closer to the end of your skirt, “I love the way you read.” He said in a low tone.

“Thank you.” You smiled and continued.

His moved his hand down so it was now in-between your things, you immediately felt your body heat up and your clit began to ache.

“Your voice is so soothing.” He groaned and you could feel his fingers graze your panties.

“T-thank you…you’re too kind.” You stutter.

As you continue reading it becomes harder for you to concentrate now that all your mind is focused on is satisfying the aching feeling in-between your thighs.

Suddenly Nanami cups your cunt with his hand never once looking away from your face, you moan as goosebumps cover your body which causes him to chuckle. He loves the way your body reacts to his touch and he loves how you squeeze your thighs together.

“You’re already so wet just from my touch.” He smirks causing you to swallow hard.

You had completely forgotten about the fact that you were reading and you pressed yourself against his large hand moaning at the feeling.

“Nanami please.” You whine but he ignored you.

“Keep reading love.” He demands and you pick up the book trying to continue reading.

Once he hears you reading he slides his hand up your dress and into your panties, he then begins to massage your clit causing you to yelp. He moves his fingers in a painfully slow circular motion, your body shivers as you try to keep your composure. He picks up the speed causing you to moan, your mind becomes foggy and the once simple words on the page in front of you become more difficult to read than ever.

“Don’t stop reading.” He orders.

“Nanami I c-can’t.” You moan.

“Then I guess I should stop.” He says and your eyes widened when he suddenly stopped, the high you were chasing disappears, you quickly pick up the book.

“I-I’ll read!” You cry out and he smirks as he continues to rub your clit.

This painful torture continues until you feel and orgasm wash over you, every muscle in your body tenses as you cry out till you cum. Your chest heaves as you come down from your high, you suddenly gasp when he slips two of his large fingers into your cunt.

You clenched around hit fingers causing him to groan. He began to slowly thrust his fingers into you before picking up the pace, you moaned every time he curled his fingers inside you as he laid right by your side with a smug smirk on his face enjoying the sounds you made.

Nanami thrusted his fingers into you and curled them slightly causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head and your back to arch. Your cries filled the room and you dropped the book, “fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!” You cried as he hit you g-spot.

“It’s like fuckin’ muscle memory princess.” He chuckled softly.

Nanami suddenly sat up and moved over to your thighs as he sat on his knees, he continued to thrust his fingers into you and watch as they slip in and out of your soaped cunt.

“Baby…” Nanami said in a low growl.

“Mhmm, ahh! Nanami d-don’t stop!” You moaned.

“I love watching how your pretty pussy swallows my fingers.” He smirked.

Watching how your body reacted to his touch and hearing your lewd noises has his dick begging for relief, he continued to finger fuck you till you came around his finger then he unbuttoned his pants.

“What do you think love? Want me to fuck you till sunrise?” He asked with a large grin in his face.

“What about worked?” You breathed heavily.

“I’ll just work overtime.” He said and pulled down his pants ready to fuck you senseless. 

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #nanami fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #smut

[lilspooky-doll]

True Happiness Headcanons

pairing — Aegon II Targaryen x Handmaid! Reader

themes — canon targcest, fluff, aegon is a soft boi, au! aegon, one bad word (that's it, just the one), female! reader, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, children (warning in and of itself), some healing for Alicent, one mention of child death, just very fluffy headcanons

author's note — hello again, lovelies! this was going to be a two-parter but i decided to condense it down into one post. it wasn't realy as long as i though it was lol but, it involves the different headcanons of their lives from when they first met all the way into the bits of their lives that i didn't really touch on in the original parts. i have plans for a more canon version of aegon soon and it will be a very dark fic overall. so i hope you enjoy these little fluffy tidbits!!

ADOLESCENCE

Once Aegon trusted her, he started teaching her Valyrian in attempt to be able to speak to one another throughout the Keep without word getting back to Otto or his mother

Sure, his siblings could slightly understand what they spoke of but, there was no need to eavesdrop on something that was working

Aegon loves his hair being played with whether it’s just fingers combing through the strands or braids being plaited into small sections before gently being pulled apart

There has been a few times that he has fallen asleep with his head in her lap in the early days of them being close to one another

More open to one another, she taught Aegon how to braid hair so at the end of the day when they debrief about their days, she would play with his hair as he talked and he would braid her hair as she spoke

On rough days, she would read aloud or recite stories that her mother and father would tell her when she was young

Aegon would hoard his snacks that he would collect throughout his scheduled day and have her try some when they are together

When Aegon began to develop feelings for her, he would leave little bundles of dragon’s breath he picked throughout his day on her bed

She started reciprocating by leaving notes and poems in Valyrian under his pillow for him to find when he would rest for the night

Sporadically during the week, Aegon would take his supper in his chambers as a way of innocently courting her despite the differences in their statuses

She was the one to help Aegon with cutting his hair when the length began to bother him; the braided strands of cut hair are hidden away as a souvenir in her bedroom chambers

ADULTHOOD

Aegon is a giver in every sense of the word

He always tries to take care of her like how she takes care of him

He enjoys the warm feeling in his belly every time he saw her smile or laugh

Every few nights, Aegon would sneak them away to the pit for an evening ride on Sunfyre

The older they get, the more everyone began to notice how much he’s changed

He stopped picking on Aemond; 

He was able to maneuver things around for Helaena to marry Aemond; 

She would help him in her free time to catch insects to deliver to Helaena at the end of the day

They all begin to appreciate each other more

On days where there isn’t anything scheduled for them, picnics were organized for all of them in the Godswood and when Daeron is visiting from Oldtown, he is along for the trip

It’s the smallest things he does for them and they love how much he’s matured 

Aemond has thanked aegon for helping his betrothal

Alicent has walked in on them on multiple occasions

 She found them cuddled up on the couch him asleep and her playing with his hair; 

During a festival in the streets, she’s witnessed them dancing to the music and cheers that could be heard from the windows

Aegon has talking to Rhaenyra not long before their marriage as a way to bridge the gap between them

Rhaenyra’s shock receiving his letters wore off when she read that he had fallen in love with his handmaid and he planned to wed her much like she and daemon did

He offers Rhaenyra’s children sanctuary if Alicent or Otto ever tried to change the succession; this was his way of trying to ensure that he has no ill will towards her and her family anymore

She has them do their  wedding at Dragonstone under Valyrian tradition

Aegon uses a refitted ring of his for her to wear as a sign of marriage and he purposefully wears only one ring on his left hand

After the fight in her solar, Alicent still tries to force a betrothal upon Aegon

It immediately fails as every one of the betrothal letters Alicent sent out are either met with no response or word of outrage that she would try to arrange a second marriage; worried about another Maegor situation

Eventually, Alicent starts to love and respected Aegon the way that she does with her other children

Aegon didn’t instigate the nephews during that family dinner

Otto has tried to manipulate her but she’s far too aware of his games for his liking (gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss)

FAMILY

She became pregnant not long after their wedding and Aegon quietly announces the news to a select few people; in person: Aemond, Helaena and Alicent, by letter: Rhaenyra during a regular correspondence he has with her

After learning the news, Alicent starts to make an effort to know her and help her with what she needs as a way to make amends

Aegon handling her pregnancy like a pro 

Constantly he was catering to her every need and trying to make her comfortable

He always tried to make sure she didn’t get hurt while doing the few chores that she wanted to do (she comes from a long line of headstrong women who will not let a pregnancy stop them from doing what needs to be done)

He usually ended up just helping her with what she needed to do 

When it came time for their first born, Baelon, to make his appearance, she kicked out all of the maids and Maesters demanding only for Aegon to stay

Of course, he was well out of his depths but she tried to prep him the best she could the last several days leading up to the birth

Baelon was born with no complications with only his parents in the room and was never away from his mother despite the disgruntled protests that she used a nursemaid for the baby boy

Shortly after his birth, they set up a more secure and secretive correspondence between them and her family in hopes that if the time comes and Otto does something stupid, they could safely flee to hid away

Alicent is definitely a better grandmother than she was a mother

She routinely sets up for long relaxing midday activities for all her grandchildren so, she can spend time with them and the little cousins can grow together while their parents can relax worry-free

There’s 2 children who were born before they fled: Baelon & Alysanne. Once they settle on the homestead, they have twin girls: Laera and Rhaela with one more boy, Aerion

The children are raised with equal love from their parents and are raised under the belief that although they are technically royalty, they will learn to be kind and considerate of those around them

Raised to put the work into what they want just like their mother was raised before she left to work at the Red Keep

The Boys are strong but not emotionally stunted. They are taught that emotions are okay to have and apart of who they are

No toxic masculinity bullshit

The girls are taught to defend and protect themselves. They are physically strong and can use any weapon they can get their hands on if they need to

THE DANCE OF THE DRAGONS

The second they get to the Dornish marshlands, Aegon dyes his hair brown to hide better (brunette! Aegon all the way)

Once they settled on the family homestead, it didn’t take long for Aegon to fit in with her family

He actually quite likes the hard work that the family does everyday to make sure that everything runs smoothly

Aegon still keeps in regular contact with his family whether it be his siblings or even Rhaenyra; he always tries to maintain some semblance of what is happening with them as he escapes the plan that was to be forced upon him

When the plan Otto sets in place happens with Aemond as the usurper, they coordinate for all of the children from both his full siblings and half sibling to be safely hidden away on the homestead to prevent any possible bloodshed of the innocent

The plan went into effect too late as Lucerys was brutally killed on accident

As much as it pained Rhaenyra that she lost her children, she is happy that she can now safely know that they are away from this disaster

As a sign of thanks, Rhaenyra sent some of Syrax’s eggs so that Aegon’s children had a chance at being a dragon rider like their cousins

The Dance did not last long with Aemond as the usurper since he had no real standing like Aegon, first born son, or Rhaenyra, first born and declared heir

The Dance was more of a fight between councils and not nearly as bloody as canon

Once Otto was found to be the one pulling the strings, he was sentenced to death and the Targaryen children by Alicent bent their knee at Rhaenyra being the true Targaryen heir after Viserys

#aegon ii targaryen #handmaid! reader #hotd fanfic #hotd headcanon #house of the dragon #house hightower #house targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon the second #headcanon #house of the dragon x reader #true happiness universe #au! aegon targaryen #hotd aegon

[leighsartworks216]

Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out 😭😭😭

Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

Word Count: 1,041

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.

Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.

It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.

He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.

(“Distracted, are we?”

“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”

“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)

So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.

You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.

Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.

He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.

It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.

And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.

When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.

He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”

He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.

Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”

“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”

A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.

“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”

You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“But a nice bastard.”

“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”

And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #fem tav #female tav #fem reader #female reader #x fem reader #x female reader

[bedoballoons]

Hello!

I really love your writing! This is my first time making a request :^)

Can I request kaveh, tighnari and whoever else you want to include reacting to the reader (preferably m or gn) showing them a guestroom in their house/teapot that they decorated just for them? I'm imagining alot of blushing pre-relationship vibes but established relationship would also be very sweet so it's up to you ^^

No worries if u dont like the prompt and would rather not do it. I'm excited to read more of your work regardless!

AHHHH THIS IDEA IS JUST CHEFS KISS!! This is your first request and it's literally incredible!! Thank you thank you! It's a honour to write your first one so I hope you enjoy it!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ❄️

{༻~A safe place~༺}

CW: Fluffy! GN! Reader! Pre-relationship blushing and cuteness!!

(Includes: Tighnari, Kaveh, and Kazuha!)

𑁍༄Tighnari:

"Alright, now!" You stepped aside as Tighnari moved his tail, uncovering his eyes so he could finally see the surprise you had waiting for him...you'd been decorating and placing everything for days now, even making some of the furniture by hand just for him to have a perfect room in your teapot. Now you'd know if he liked it or not...and your heart was racing with anticipation!

"You did all of this...for me? I don't even...I don't even have a sarcastic remark to make. This is perfect.." He walked inside the room, examining everything even closer, you'd managed to find books on herbology he didn't even know existed and there was a incense burning on his new desk that smelled calmly of flowers...even a small picture of him with you and Collei. No one had ever put so much effort into a place for him or thought of everything like you had.

His cheeks suddenly blushed at the realisation of how much he'd be here now, never wanting to leave a place so perfect for him...a place with you, "I don't know how I could ever thank you enough."

You felt your heart skip a beat, "Just stay around for awhile...?"

"I absolutely will."

𑁍༄Kaveh:

"You really didn't have to make me anything. I was just kidding about the whole giving me a gift makes me sleep better thing, I promise. It's something Alhaitham said and I...well it doesn't really matter but-"

"Kaveh, this has nothing to do with that. This is a gift that I wanted to give you because I like you alot and I think this will make you really happy...or at least I hope it will." You opened the door for him before he could answer you, hoping to distract him from your almost confession about liking him alot...you still didn't know if he liked you back, though maybe this gift would make it clear?

It took him a second to adjust to the new sight, to realise just how big of a gift this truly was.."I- did you decorate this room...just for me?" His mouth hung open in shock as his eyes scanned the beautiful place you'd made for him. Every inch of it decorated to his like, no even better then his liking and he didn't think that was possible. He could cry in happiness, "I am in such awe right now, I don't even have words"

"I definitely understand that feeling, especially when I'm with you." You looked away, your cheeks on fire...you'd never been so bold about your feelings before and this could be coming on stronger then needed, but you couldn't back out now.

"How so?"

"I-...Kaveh..."

"Yes?"

"I like you.."

𑁍༄Kazuha:

"And we are here!" You removed the blindfold from his eyes, ready to show him his new room, the place you'd made just for him whenever he needed it...which you silently hoped was alot. It had everything he could need, sword racks and empty books for his poems, a cozy fireplace for when he returned from a cold rainy adventure and a vase of flowers that made the whole place have a soft floral scent.

His cheeks were dusted with a light blush and he almost appeared to be in a trance...maybe he didn't like it? "Kazu? If you don't like it I could always change it-"

"It's been a long time since I had a place I could truly call home, yes many of my adventures have lead to places with the feeling of home...but to truly have a place I can return to any time I'd like... I'd forgotten how it felt. Please know I love it all, you've done a wonderful job and I thank you for this...for giving me a home." He turned to you, his eyes almost dazed and his smile sweet and sincere...you could have kissed him right then..

Your cheeks went bright red, that thought aching to become a reality, "No need to thank me, having you here is enough thanks in itself. I hope you will use this room often, I would...love to spend more time together."

"As would I with you."

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #tighnari x you #tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #tighnari headcanons #kaveh fluff #kaveh x you #kaveh x reader #kaveh headcanons #kazuha x reader #kazuha headcanons #kazuha fluff #kazuha x you

[sweet-as-an-angel]

I may or may not have written a love poem about a COD character and I was wondering how the ones you write for would react to getting love poem from their s/o? Thank you :3

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Love Poem from their S/O

Warnings: Pure Fluff <3, Just Big Military Men™ in Love, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You'.

Ghost

Dies on impact.

Will seize up like a mannequin for a solid three hours before he can even open the darn thing.

And when he does, with twitching hands and a flinching heart, the stiffness plaguing his body evaporates.

His heart leaps out of his chest with each passing word, and the world around him grows into blended shades of red and pink.

His skin is prickling, though not with injury, but abashment.

Love.

He’s sweating so much that, by the time he’s finished reading the poem, some of the letters where his fingers have been are smudged.

He panics, tears his hands off the scene as quickly and as delicately as he can before placing the poem somewhere safe.

From that day forward, he can’t seem to keep eye contact for as long as he usually could.

Or remain in as close proximity to you as he would like to.

One may take Ghost’s behaviour as stand-offish, perhaps even rude.

But you know otherwise. Especially when you see the corner of your love note peeking out from the pocket of his tactical vest, knowing that Ghost knows there is no place safer in all the world for it to be kept; the same reason he keeps you by his side. Because you both know that nothing short of an act from God can harm you when he’s there.

König

Regardless of how long you’ve been dating, König will always have to sit down for half an hour or so with your note across from him on the table before he can even bring himself to open it.

Why, you ask ?

Well, when you’ve gone without love for as long as König has, one typically becomes…unaccustomed to such grandiose acts of selflessness.

Especially ones as strong as love.

So, with the contents of your heart bursting onto the paper that König can so easily hold, crumble,tear in his hand, he wants to be extra careful.

To him, you are that paper. And he would rather face Hell and fury than let it get damaged in any way, shape or form.

When he eventually does pluck up the courage to read it, he’s never been so grateful for his veil.

His face blooms a deep red, burning his skin.

He’s certain it would show even beneath the war paint.

He doesn’t want to rush, to take anything you’ve written for granted, so he reads every word twice.

Sure, it takes longer to read your poem, but that isn’t a disadvantage to König.

That’s a bonus.

And he carries your words with him wherever he goes – memorises them like the holy scripture they are.

He doesn’t want to risk your note getting hurt or lost while he’s out at work, so whenever you visit his apartment when he’s away, you see it framed and hung up in his bedroom, right where it will be the last thing he sees as he falls asleep and the first thing he sees when he wakes up.

Soap

Though he won’t show it, he’s a bag of nerves.

But, he’s the type to deal with his anxieties as quickly as possible.

He’ll tear through your note like a summer wolf, thin and growling and restless as he obtains the general vibe of your poem.

But, even with a passing glance, he can feel how strongly you mean them.

When he’s prepared himself for the onslaught of feels your note is going to impart on him, he starts from the beginning.

And takes his time.

He wants to savour every word, every letter and syllable.

And he does.

Believe me, he does.

And when he’s finished reading it over for the eighth time, he folds the paper – carefully – and holds it to his chest.

He can feel his heart thrumming through the paper, feel it in his head like church bells.

And he remembers that feeling.

Whenever he’s scared, doubtful, alone or anxious, he remembers not only the poem, bu the feeling of it.

Your skin palpable in his hands, your spirit watching over him like Heaven’s Phoenix.

And the world isn’t so scary anymore.

Valeria

Don’t tell anyone, but she can feel her whole chest flutter when that slip of paper is pressed between her fingers.

She shuts herself off in a quiet room, unwilling to share your light with anybody else.

She wastes no time in uncrafting the lithe swan you’ve fashioned the paper into, deconstructing it like an anti-god and reducing it to its most basic form.

But that makes it no less beautiful.

Now, your love has nowhere to hide, not between the illusory feathers or the cracks in the body.

And Valeria, her heart stammering, reads your poem.

For a time, she forgets where she is – who she is – as her world is brought into focus with yours, two moons passing in a fleeting eclipse.

And in these twilight moments of you, Valeria feels what no amount of money, work, or euphoria can bring her.

Joy.

She can feel her cheeks lifting the deeper into this Aphroditecal fantasy she descends, for this feels more of a work of fiction than real life.

Caleria brings the paper to her nose when she’s done, her eyes close and in the darkness of her mind forms a likeness of you.

A crude recreation compared to your beauty, but a monument all the same.

And there, Valeria holds you, looks upon you, feels you, knowing that, even though she’s not with you, you can feel her and all the love that weighs her heart and keeps her human.

Price

In all his years of service, he’s seen terrible things, as well as the piques of human selflessness.

Sacrifices for the greater good, for love, the destruction of cities and lives.

But, as he sits at his desk, his cigar extinguished as he gives all his attention to the fragile poem in his hands, his eye twitches.

His heart pounds, spinning an orchestra of drums and nothing else.

Even in his infinite wisdom, his intellect and intuition, Price knows there is nothing in all the world that can prepare him for this.

He knows that, in his hands, he holds art.

In its purest and most innocent form, he holds a sliver of you, a wraith.

He unfurls the paper as if handling the gossamer threads of a spider’s web, the paper reclining into his touch.

And he reads.

He consumes every morsel of amour you’ve packed into the letters of your most soulful confession, that being the most universal phrase there is.

I love you.

Price is glad for his hat for, as he reaches your signature at the bottom of the note, he can feel his throat burning, his eyes stinging and straining.

A tear, mythical in its nature, a family of one in a species thought extinct, takes to the table. Makes it its home.

Price’s fist clenches, your note remaining uncastracted in his other hand.

He needs to be with you. Now.

And he does everything in his power to make it home to you.

Horangi

Considering how bare his existence once was – owing money to some very choice individuals, making poor choices, living a bleak existence – Horangi feels nothing short of overwhelmed when your poem sits in his hands.

His heart throbs and he can barely keep still as your love lies between a folded page.

And, excavating it, reading of its expanse and extent, Horangi’s throat goes dry.

All he can think, wonder, is what he did to receive such unconditional, unfathomable love.

And from you, of all people !

Horangi reads, re-reads, re-re-reads that poem every day, regardless of the time or how exhausted he is.

When he’s away from you, settling into bed for the night, he likes to imagine you there with him, laying at his side, your head on his chest.

And you recite the song of your undying love for him.

“I love you more,” he says to the darkness.

His words don’t carry to you, but he hopes beyond hope that the feeling, the sincerity, does.

In a world where hate is the greatest weapon, love is Horangi’s greatest defence.

Truly, with your letter nestled into the wristband of his uniform, right where his pulse is, Horangi knows there is nothing in the world that can hurt him.

Alejandro

He already knows what your poem is going to say.

How can he not ?

You’ve both already said all that can be said to each other a million times.

Every form and configuration of love is no mystery to the pair of you, having found and documented and catalogued each one.

Nevertheless, there is a harpstring thrum in Alejandro’s chest as he unravel your note, merely a bundle of thin strips of paper fashioned into an iridescent, gift-topping mass of brightly-coloured ribbon.

Each sentence could be read in any way, any order, any direction, and still make sense.

And Alejandro smiled, widely and unabashedly, for he knew the world that went into it. Felt the love, joy and logic that was demanded by your unique form of love.

And Alejandro read each strand.

For hours, he read each sentence backwards, forwards, in different orders, until every combination had been discovered. Found.

And, despite his preconceived notion that every form of love had already been ventured by you and him, he found excitement and gratitude for his incorrect assumption spark in his centre.

Much of the poem was familiar to Alejandro, yet the sentiment was…different.

It was not spoken in neither the dark hours of the night, nor the morn, but laid bare on paper in pen and ink.

Tangible.

Alejandro kept the bundle in a locked box in the wardrobe, covered by blankets.

And on missions where the hours gruel and the light never comes, he walks through his house, a phantom, brushes past you while you sleep.

He sees into the wardrobe, into the box, and reads your poem.

And he can feel the sun flicker against his eyelids.

Rodolfo

Giddy.

Does a little twitching dance and a squeal when he receives your poem.

And he squirrels himself away into another room, away from where anybody could see him and judge him, to read your note.

The love and effort you put into it is palpable in his hands, a live, beating heart.

And when he reads, he does not look upon your creation as literature, but as a painting.

He watches the shape of the words, a bobbing, oceanic rhythm, a tide lunging and baying.

When this planet is mapped, every continent, country, county and city, Rodolfo allows himself to read.

And he is lost to this familiar terrain, this best-selling concept which all artists mimic in some proportion or another, yet all fail exceedingly in their lack of experience.

And Rodolfo knows that you are writing from experience.

His experience.

Your tale of adoration is so distinctly and universally that of love that it could not be construed as anything but.

Love in both its simplest and most intricate form; to weave the fabric of your consciousness into the incomparably simple and cognitive language of humans.

Rudy doesn’t even let Alejandro see the letter.

To him, it is his slice of Heaven, a page from a human Bible, a declaration of epic proportions.

And the blanket warmth that overcomes him whenever he thinks of that poem – of you – fends off all manner of nature, of destruction and callousness.

Because, at the end of it all, no matter how dire the circumstances seem, Rodolfo can remember that, even if he dies, or succumbs to a medical sleep from which he will not wake, he was closer to Heaven alive than he is then for he, if only for a second, had you.

And you have him.

Graves

Just because he’s Graves doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate art.

On the contrary; he’s so rich that he studies it in his spare time for fun.

And not just your Michaelangelos or your Klimts or your O’Keefes.

This man knows art as if he’s created it.

And all that knowledge, that recognition and appreciation for art and artists either forgotten or rewarded by time is nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of uh-oh he gets when he receives your letter.

At first, he’s unsure as to what it is. But, inspecting your handwriting, the neat folds in the letter, he’s calmed by the fact that you did not write it in a hurry, nor did you seem panicked or hastened to get it to him.

But that begged the question…what were the contents ?

And, with neither caution, nor trepidation, he tore open your letter.

The desire to be patient has never haunted Graves more than it did in this moment.

The content of your letter didn’t sink in, even as he skimmed over it like blades across ice.

It was only after he’d finished it, laid it on the table, that his understanding unfurled.

Realisation dawning on him, he snatched the note back up, eyes softening as he noticed a crinkle along the edge, and re-read it.

It felt as if the words which were invisible to him before suddenly seeped through the paper, the letter feeling longer now yet not long enough.

Graves’ heart fluttered.

For the first time in…his entire life, Graves’ chest tightened with the feeling of crawling.

Restlessness.

He sucked the inside of his cheek between his teeth, his gaze settling on nothing in particular, only the off-white of your note and its incantations legible to him.

He knew the tune of this mood, heard it, saw it in other people, yet never recognised it in himself.

Until today.

A distant song, a relic of a time passed, he thought and thought, in his desolate office, for its title, its origin.

And it hit him.

The artist was you – your soundtrack to love.

And Graves was simply one of your instruments.

Leaning back in his chair, his discovery urging a smile onto his face, Graves looked back to the poem.

He knew all that you displayed so plainly for him to see was, in no uncertain terms, love.

However, what he didn’t expect, what had knocked him so far back that he was now staring at the dimly lit ceiling, the constellation of you appearing in his mind’s eye, was for it to afflict him, too.

Something that, until you, had never happened before.

Gaz

War is exhausting. Especially on someone as young as Gaz.

That’s why, when that little note with your handwriting emblazoned across the front lands in his hands, the weight of the world is lifted from his shoulders.

And your poem is nothing short of tranquilising as Gaz soaks the love poured into them, basking in a warm glow of a man-made sun.

He holds your poem to his lips and presses a spectral kiss to the letters, able to feel, just for a second, your lips doing the same.

Your letter is kept stored away safely with others you’ve sent over the past few weeks, in a padlocked box beneath Gaz’s bed which, occasionally, even he can’t access because he’s hidden the key so well.

He never takes your poems for granted, often reading them to help him get to sleep on the nights where work is particularly taxing.

And when he comes home, he plans on returning the favour tenfold.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #mw2 ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #konig x reader #valeria garza x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas x reader #rudy parra #horangi x reader #graves x reader #phillip graves x reader

[icycoldninja]

Headcanons for the Sparda lads and V getting massages from their s/o? Assuming they'd want one/would be comfortable with it, I mean.

Absolutely, here you go! 💜

Sparda boys + V x Reader massage headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Is very, very stiff after years of fighting demons, doing crazy aerial acrobatics, getting stabbed in the chest, and falling asleep almost every night in his wooden office chair.

-Was a little shocked when you offered to give him a massage because no one had ever suggested something like that. Ever.

-His muscles were kinda sore though, so he agreed and hopped onto his bed, stomach down.

-The moment you started kneading his back, he heard so many cracks. It was like years of stress, trauma, both physical and mental, tension and pain was being popped and squeezed right out of him. It was such a good, relieving sensation.

-He soon melted into it, enjoying every second of your masterful mashing of his muscles with delighted little "Oh"s and "Ah"s.

-When you were finished, he found himself to be twice as flexible as before; the discomfort of a million battles finally gone. He'll definitely be coming back for a round two in the near future.

■ Vergil ■

-Does not like being touched by most people for whatever reason. He is constantly paranoid and afraid that he will be attacked if he lets someone touch him.

-However, you're a different story. He knows you wouldn't do anything to hurt him and that he could trust you, so he agrees to your offer of a massage, with some half-hearted grumbling.

-He wasn't sure what to expect from this "massage", but it certainly wasn't what he got. The moment you set to work on his taut, tense, rock-hard muscles, he felt himself instantly relax. He even let out a soft little moan.

-Vergil enjoyed the massage a lot more than he ever expected to. The sensation of having someone press down on your tense areas without murderous intentions was pure bliss.

-When you announced that you were finished with the massage, he whined. Yes, he genuinely, actually, unmistakbly whined. You thought he would request a continuation, but no. He simply stood up, stretched, and slipped his jacket back on.

-Massages are now a nightly tradition between the two of you. He even goes out and gets different lotions and oils for you to experiment with.

□ Nero □

-Nero has never had a massage in his life, nor has he ever wanted one. He didn't dislike the notion of you giving him a massage, nor did he like it. He simply accepted it to make you happy.

-Turns out massages are way better than he could have ever imagined! He just can't get over how it seems to make all his stiffness melt away.

-Now he wants you to massage his legs, arms, shoulders, and neck too--oh, and also the rest of his body.

-At one point he fell asleep while you were massaging him, proving one of two things: Either A, he's very, very, tired, or B, he's just that relaxed.

-Getting massages from you is now the number one thing Nero looks forward to when he comes home from missions.

-Sometimes he has Nico put together a new, vibrating attachment for his arm--which he will then give to you so you can have a helping hand.

● V ●

-V has never heard of a massage and therefore has no idea what it is.

-After Googling it, he deduces that such an activity would benefit him, and that he would be wise to take up your offer.

-And so he does; while the sensations are an entirely new experience for him, he finds them very enjoyable. In fact, they're so helpful in mitigating his stress, he should write a poem about them.

-V loves to have you massage his legs because they're so weary from traveling and supporting his lanky frame all day long.

-Also, he can read while you massage his legs, which makes it all the more comforting.

-Massages are now one of his top stress-relievers, other than cuddling with Shadow, that is.

#Dmc #Dmc5 #Dmc5 dante #Dmc5 Nero #Dmc5 vergil #Dmc5 v #V x reader #Nero x reader #Vergil x reader #Dante x reader #vergil devil may cry #devil may cry #Devil may cry dante #Devil may cry Nero #Devil may cry v #Requested #thanks for requesting #icycoldninja writes #Dmc x reader #Headcannons #Kinda fluff #Sorry it's kinda short