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sakkiichi · 9 months

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CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

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✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

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niki-phoria · 18 days

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gn!reader with megumi, choso and yuuji where they fall asleep on the reader?? <33

⋆｡°✩ WHEREVER YOU'RE GOIN', I'M GOIN' THE SAME

fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji, and kamo choso falling asleep on you

notes: gn reader (no pronouns used), thank you so much for requesting !! i hope you like it :)), header from pinterest, title from frank ocean - moon river

the train is quiet, the silence only broken by the slow hum of the motor running. FUSHIGRUO MEGUMI sighs as he leans back against the seat cushions. exhaustion settles deep into his bones. his head aches as he closes his eyes, letting himself relax a little in the safety of the bullet train’s cabin.

you startle when you feel a weight leaning against your body. megumi flinches when his head lolls onto your shoulder. he flinches, jumping awake with a sharp gasp and wide eyes. “i’m sorry,” he mumbles, glancing at the ground. he slinks a little into his seat in a poor attempt to hide his flushed cheeks behind the edge of his jacket.

“it’s okay,” you chuckle, brushing your bloody knuckles against his bruised cheek. “sleep. i’ll wake you up when we get back.”

pursing his lips, megumi glances out of the window. amongst the slow-moving landscape outside, he catches a small glimpse of a nearby sign. saitama - at least another forty minutes away. when he glances at you once again, you’re softly smiling. the sunlight illuminates your features beautifully. golden rays highlight the rise of your cheekbones and the way your hair frames your face. when you look at him like that, how could he ever say no?

“okay,” megumi relents with a soft nod, hesitantly leaning his head against your body once again. “thank you.”

ITADORI YUUJI is less than quiet as he clumsily stumbles into your dorm room. he’s welcomed with the soft glow from the sunset and the quiet echo of megumi’s door closing from across the hall. “yuuji,” you smile. he simply hums in return, settling himself into your lap so his head rests against your thighs. “long day?”

“the longest,” he sighs. “i thought it was never gonna end.”

yuuji’s tired gaze meets your own as you reach down, gently beginning to card your fingers through his hair. your hands carefully untangle any stray knots as you brush the strands away from his face. “wanna watch human earthworm four?”

he smiles brightly. “i’d like that.” yuuji sighs as you continue to twist short strands of pink locks between your fingers; his body relaxes at the feeling of your nails gently scratching against his scalp.

the movie’s action is forgotten in favour of studying yuuji’s features - the small scars beneath his eyes; the downward slope of his nose; the steady rise and fall of his chest every time he breathes. “love you,” he whispers, though the words slur together as they leave his lips. “love you so much.”

you smile. your ministrations don’t cease, even when you lean down to press a soft kiss against his temple. his eyes flutter shut as his breathing evens out, signaling the beginning of a nap. “i love you too, yuuji.”

it wasn’t often that KAMO CHOSO felt like this - loved; respected; safe. your shared bedroom is illuminated only by moonlight shining through your window, painting the world silver. in the quiet of the night, he can hear the rhythmic noise of crickets chirping and the occasional wind blowing through the empty city streets.

“choso,” you whisper. your voice is quiet in the night; it nearly startles him to hear you whisper after such a long period of silence. furrowing your eyebrows, you shuffle a little closer to his body. the blankets rustle as you reach up, carefully resting your hand against his chest, just over where his heart should be. he can feel the tension in his body slowly disappearing against your touch, making a soft sigh escape his lips. “why are you still up?”

“i can’t sleep,” he mumbles. and it’s true. curses don’t need sleep the way humans do, but the routine makes some part of him feel more normal.

choso can almost visualize the way your lips quirk into a soft frown. your movements cease for a moment before you’re tugging him closer until his head rests against your chest. he can hear your heart beating steadily against your ribcage, soothing the worst of his anxieties.

“i love you, choso,” you whisper.

he closes his eyes, finally finding solace in the safety of your arms. “i love you too, y/n.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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endelineinwonderland · 13 days

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Let The Light In: Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Words: 1,598

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies to lovers (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so in the wrong, slow burn.

“Is that Paige Bueckers?” The guy sitting next to you nudges your elbow, his eyes glued to your computer screen.

He didn’t need to ask you to confirm that it was her, given the massive ‘5’ on her jersey and those unmistakable blonde braids. But you indulge him anyways, turning back to the screen of your laptop as if you need to double check who’s picture you’re editing, before giving him an affirmative hum and re-focusing your attention on the exposure curve that’s been giving you trouble all morning.

Seemingly unbothered by your lackluster reply, he leans closer, letting out a sharp whistle as he gets a better view. “Damn, that’s good. You take it?”

“All mine.” You reply hastily, reaching over to pat the camera bag next to you.

“Are you on the media team or something then?”

You just nod, casting a quick glance in his direction while his eyes stays fixated on the image of the girl on your screen until you swear you can see drool forming in the corners of his mouth.

“You know this should go up on the posters they have around campus” he says, finally leaning back into his chair.

It’s almost like he knows that stroking your ego is surefire way to get you to soften up.

You turn to him, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. “If you think that you should go check them out next week. There might be a few changes you'll like.”

An impressed look passes briefly over his face before returning to a cocky smirk. “You know, you’re doing her a favor. She looks way hotter in this than the ones that are up right now.”

Guard all the way back up, you turn to him, doing very little to hide your disgust. Without a word, you scoop up your belongings and move to another spot, eager to distance yourself far, far away from him.

Your new spot is near a window, which you’d normally avoid since you need to see your computer screen clearly while editing, and sunlight wouldn’t help with that. However, when a blonde woman walked by, hand in hand with her toddler who was clearly fighting off sleep with a blankie draped over her shoulders, you couldn't resist the urge to get as closer to the all-too-familiar scene.

----

"Hey, you awake?” Paige's voice is barely audible over the soothing hum of the air conditioner. You’re half asleep, nestled comfortably beneath the blankets, and all you can manage is a low, affirmative hum in response.

"I can't sleep," she whispers again, this time poking your cheek to ensure you’re paying attention.

"Count sheep.”

A loud groan echoes through the bedroom as Paige turns over to face you.

“We should do something."

You pretend not to hear her, keeping your eyes shut.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up” she intones, pulling the covers off your chest as she sits up in the bed.

"Let's go for a drive."

You peek one eye open, glaring at her. "Paige I love you but, please, for the love of God, just let me sleep." She keeps her mouth shut, but you can feel her gaze on you as you pull the covers back over yourself.

After two blissful minutes of silence, a soft "please" brings you back to consciousness. Opening your eyes fully now, you stare at her.

"Paige, I'm really tired."

"I'll let you have the aux, and you can bring your blanket," she offers, nudging your shoulder gently, trying to coax you out of bed.

With narrowed eyes, you meet her gaze, her face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through your open blinds. With just that one glance, any remaining sibilance of a resolve is shattered.

"An hour tops, and if I fall asleep again, you can't wake me up until we're home."

A soft smile crosses her face. "Deal."

Before you really know what’s happening Paige has an arm wrapped around you, practically skipping as she drags you, half asleep and wrapped in a quilt, through the parking lot to her car. She turns your seat heater on, connects your phone to the speakers, and lets you choose a playlist before pulling out onto the main road, interlocking your fingers, and letting your hands rest on the center console.

"Dude, come on, really?" she groans as your sleep playlist begins and the sounds of an artificial rainstorm flood the car.

"I'm going back to sleep," Is all you can manage to say in your fatigued state, leaning your head against the window and shutting your eyes once again.

You don’t wake up again until sunlight has begun to shine through the trees lining highway, urging you to peek your eyes open. The gentle shake of the car almost lulling you back to sleep before you realize where you are.

"Paige, you've got to be kidding me," you groan out after catching a glance at the 6:45 A.M. flashing on the car’s dashboard. She looks at you briefly, a sheepish expression passing over her face. "You're awake."

“I am.” You respond, not hiding your irritation. “Where the hell are we, Bueckers?" You ask turning to look at her, but as your eyes briefly meet hers, a soft “Oh” escapes your lips, and suddenly, where you are doesn't matter anymore.

With your camera, you could have captured every detail—the way the morning light seemed to dance across her blonde hair, the delicate shadows her eyelashes threw across her under-eyes, mingling with the dark circles from a restless night. She looks beautiful.

It could be the best picture you'd ever taken of her. - And if you hadn’t been so clueless and absorbed in your art, you’d probably be paying a lot more attention to the miserable expression across your best friends face instead of the light that was hitting her perfectly.

"Wait, hold still," you whisper, your tone softening as you reach for your phone and point the camera at her. “Just let me get this shot.”

____

It takes a few seconds for you to dig your phone out of the bottom of your backpack where it had been left it in a now futile effort to prevent distractions. Once you find it you waste no time, opening the favorites album in your camera roll, holding up the image from that morning next to the one on your laptop.

‘Oh’

Side by side, the pictures are nearly identical.

Without realizing it, the two of you had recreated on of the last pictures you had taken of her before the two of you stopped talking, before she stopped talking to you.

In this new version, a stark black backdrop replaced blurry trees seen through a car window, and artificial orange and pink lights substituted the natural sunlight. In each image, her expression remained unchanged—those firm glares and pursed lips staring back at you from both screens. A heaviness settled in your chest as you set the phone aside and shut down Lightroom.

‘I’m not doing this right now.’

It was undeniable that you still missed her, even though the two of you had barely spoken in the past year. And despite all of your friends telling you that you should be furious at her for essentially ghosting you, your feelings hadn't changed.

Pure, unbridled misery. That’s the only way to really describe it.

The day you realized your best friend wasn’t ever going to respond to the 20+ ‘read’ texts and missed calls from your attempts to reach her was one of the worst days of your life.

----

Paige had just gotten the OK to return to campus after her ACL surgery, you had been on your way to try and visit her when Azzi had knocked on your dorm room door.

“Oh, were you on your way out?” She had questioned, seeing your outfit and the purse in your hands.

“I was gonna go check up on Paige I heard she was back.” Pausing before you add, “actually I’ve been meaning to ask if you had heard from her? She hasn’t gotten back to me yet and I’ve called like a million times.” You ask, forcing a chuckle to mask the stress bubbling beneath your words.

Azzi's expression hardens, her eyes avoiding yours. "Listen," she begins, her voice heavy, "that's actually what I came to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Your voice rises slightly, a mix of confusion and apprehension.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Paige doesn’t want you reaching out to her right now. She just needs to focus on getting healthy again."

"Oh." The word escapes your lips softly, tinged with hurt and disbelief, as the weight of her words settles in your chest.

----

The memory fades but the unmistakable hurt is still coursing through you as you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself breathe.

It had been a mistake to let your guard down.

“You good?”

The voice you’ve been longing to hear for the past year interrupts your thoughts, sending a familiar pang through your chest as you look up, locking eyes with the blonde, her brows raised as she looks down on you with an unreadable expression.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige buckets #uconn wbb #wcbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn huskies

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seren1tyhaze · 1 year

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Dive

PAIRING: doyoung x afab reader (ft djj)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k (got a bit carried away)

SUMMARY: your best friend drags you out to a club to be her wingwoman as she meets back up with a stunning stranger and you cross paths with the hottest man you've ever seen in an expensive suit and a cross around his neck

THANK YOU: @strwbrysunday you know how important you've been in getting this across the finish line and you're a literal angel. thank you so much <3 thank you to all my friends who watched me brainrot over this over the past week and inspiring me to keep working on it with your positive words.

WARNINGS: explicit smut, smoking, drinking, drug reference, profanity, heavy religious imagery in a sexual setting (and I mean HEAVY - so if this is going to bother you, this isn't the fic for you)

PLAYLIST: Dive by DoJaeJung, Angel by NCT 127

This was clearly inspired by the Doyoung D&G promo images with the rosary and the rest was history...

I can dive, I'm diving into you

—

Ouch. You pinch your eyelash with the curler as you lean in closer to the glassy mirror in your best friend’s bathroom. You knew you should be wearing your contacts but had forgotten them at home and you weren’t going to hear the end of it from her if that was the excuse you had for ditching her for the night.

It had been an exhausting week at work but somehow your adorable firecracker of a platonic soulmate since childhood had dragged you to her apartment as soon as the clock hit 5:00PM in the co-working space your small start-up you both worked for shared with some other local environmental companies.

She had shed off her casual work clothes hours before, now wearing a glittery black dress, hugging her hips tightly, strings ruched up the side revealing plenty of thigh, covered with nude fishnets. You envied her long and bouncy locks that flowed down her back, reaching up to touch your straight hair that never cooperated with the curling iron.

“What is it?” she asked from behind you, catching you staring.

“Is there something on my dress?” she spun around, craning her head to look at her own ass in the mirror.

You started to speak before you realized she was showing off, dropping to the floor quickly before slowly standing again, shimmying her rear as she started to sway to the faint music coming from her living room.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, curling your other eye’s lashes and applying a few coats of mascara.

“Loosen up, angel,” she called back as she moved into her walk-in closet to select her shoes and handbag, using her pet name she had been calling you for years.

You finished up the rest of your makeup, cleaning up the little pile of products and packing them back neatly in their small pouch before examining yourself in the mirror. Your dark hair fell almost to your shoulders, eyes accentuated with smudged dark liner and cheekbones dusted with a bright coral blush that complimented the glossy color across your lips. You had let your best friend convince you to dress up more than you usually did, since she said the club you were going to tended to cater to a more affluent clientele.

A skin tight white leather crop top pushed your breasts up nicely and you had even let your friend dust some shimmering glitter across them with a large puff earlier. You smoothed the matching devastatingly short skirt and adjusted the lace up black boots that travelled up your long legs and over your knee. You felt confident in the outfit and only slightly uneasy about the night ahead. Your friend had a tendency to scan for her prey of the night the minute you entered a venue and often spent the night locking lips with half the dance floor or as she did the weekend before, dancing on stage with the burlesque dancers at the late night speakeasy.

Standing next to her as you both did final checks in the mirror, you looked like the moonlight and sunlight, night and day, devil and angel. A dangerous pair for any person to come across in a crowded club with these outfits, to say the least. You giggled as your friend planted a glossy kiss to your ear before pushing your hair back into place, following her out of the spacious apartment.

“WOO!” shrieked your friend, waving long fingernails at a tall, slender man leaning against a private booth tucked near the DJ. A warm grin spread across his plush lips and you couldn’t help it when your heart jumped a little in your chest. How your friend always found the most attractive people to surround herself always surprised you (not like you were complaining).

She had met Jungwoo the weekend before at a rave and had gabbed your ear off about the attractive and rich heir to a fortune who lived downtown in the middle of all the weekend excitement and had fed her drinks all night long while clutching onto her hips as they danced. She hadn’t gone home with him but instead had gotten his number and promised to meet him out the next weekend. The next weekend was now and out the two of you were.

Jungwoo was absolutely stunning, bright white hair damp, long, and hanging around his cheeks and across his forehead. He wore a sheer blouse unbuttoned halfway, exposing much of his toned chest and loose grey slacks that didn’t leave much to the imagination when he moved.

Taking careful steps through the crowd, you followed your friend who now had her hand held close to the lips of another man, this one dressed in the remains of an expensive suit, tie loose and sloppy around his neck with several buttons of a crisp pale blue shirt undone. He had dark hair slicked back to reveal his stunning face and his eyes glittered when he pulled them to yours to greet you.

“This is Jaehyun, Jungwoo’s roommate!” she giggled, a glass of champagne somehow already in her hand as she grinned at Jaehyun’s tender kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lovely to meet you, girls,” Jaehyun spoke deep and smoothly, his voice like velvet.

You cleared your throat with a small smile and shifted your weight in the uncomfortable shoes, eyes darting past the two men in front of you to a third seated in the booth.

Goosebumps instantly dotted your bare arms as you raked your eyes over one of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Even seated, you could tell he was tall with a broad frame. His hand was stretched out across his knee, high end designer fabric covering every inch of his body.

As if in slow motion, he lifted his head from his phone, placing it next to him to take a long sip from the short glass of dark liquid on the table in front of him. He brought his dark eyes up to meet yours and as soon as you made contact you watched his adam’s apple move in his throat, gulping as he peeled his eyes down your body.

You moved a hand to grip your other forearm, suddenly self conscious but equally intrigued, cocking your head slightly to the side. Your vision blurred briefly and you cursed yourself for not remembering your contacts as your loss of focus refused to let you make out the expression on the mystery man’s face.

“Doie - don’t be rude, say hi!” Jungwoo slurred out, taking a strong hand to the small of your back to guide you into the booth and directly next to Doyoung.

“Hi,” he spoke, quiet and soft, pulling his hand off his knee to extend a handshake to you.

You chuckled lightly and let him shake your hand, taking a moment to inspect him further now that you could see him better.

The white collared shirt under his suit jacket was tight (almost too tight) with the top buttons straining against the fabric enclosure. He had a soft jaw and plump lips, dark hair styled in a way that was kept but still messy in a sexy way. When he smiled his eyes crinkled in the corners and his neutral facial expression was hard to read when he wasn’t speaking.

You let your eyes wander down to his tight pants before shaking your head, begging your dirty mind to control itself. It hadn’t been that long since you had hooked up with a stranger at a bar but long enough to let your mind wander within minutes of meeting this man.

Doyoung reached across the table to pour you a glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket and as he did, you noticed a glimmering chain around his neck. As he leaned further, you saw the small black beads on the chain catching the light and much to your surprise, a cross slipped into view briefly.

You sucked in a deep inhale at the sight - this man was wearing a fucking rosary around his neck.

Flashes of hours kneeling for Easter vigil mass, heavy clouds of incense in your face as you held the thurible in a floor length white robe, dark smudges on your forehead, and getting tipsy off communion wine in the church basement with your cousins flew across your mind as you watched him laugh at something Jaehyun said.

Jungwoo swore loudly as he dripped tequila across the table, attempting to pour five shots evenly. You can’t pull your eyes away from Doyoung, watching as he bows his head lightly, wincing ever so slightly at the curse words.

Who the fuck is this guy?

Taking a long drink from your champagne glass and tossing back the shot that is handed to you, you reach into your bag and dig out a carton of cigarettes, pulling the ashtray at the center of the table closer to you.

Pulling a loose stick with your lips, you instinctively gesture towards Doyoung who moves a hand quickly to decline. You shrug and move a bit closer to Jungwoo who is taking a long drag from a neon green vape. He chuckles and tosses his hair from his eyes as he watches the interaction.

“You’re better off making moves on Jae,” he says to you on his exhale. He tosses an arm around your shoulder, nudging your bare shoulder lightly with his thumb, cocking his chin up to draw your attention to a smiley Jaehyun swaying to the music, slightly off beat, as your friend tries to get him to salsa dance with her.

“Doyoung is a little more on the conservative side. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t like getting high, barely gets drunk, takes his grandma to church on Sundays, all that,” Jungwoo adds, giving you a softer smile as he pulls your eyes into contact with his.

You narrow your own eyes slightly, not sure if this is some twisted attempt at reverse psychology to push you even more into the arms of his friend. While he was wearing the rosary, that didn’t necessarily scream “priest”. He was in a high end club’s most desirable VIP booth, surrounded by drinks and other substances, with two party boys that looked like models.

“Well he’s taken every shot that’s been poured for him, so I don’t know about that ‘not getting drunk’ part,” you quip back, taking a long drag from your cigarette and blowing it behind you through tightly pursed lips, intentionally avoiding Doyoung’s direction.

“Yeah he and Jaehyun lost some big account today, I think he’s just blowing off some steam. Plus he owes me,” Jungwoo winks as punctuation, making it apparent that he wasn’t going to elaborate on the end of that statement.

Throughout the night you learn that Doyoung and Jaehyun work at a big investment bank, Jaehyun sharing a small apartment with Jungwoo in the middle of all the city nightlife, the three of them having known each other since they were kids. Doyoung seemed to have never moved on from their strong faith-based formative years, holding onto these ideals even years later and still an active member of his family’s church community. When he checks the time on his phone you see the smiling face of an older woman pushed up against his, assuming this to be the grandmother Jungwoo mentioned before.

He’s quiet as you chat with him, having to do most of the talking, but is kind and puts some of your nerves at ease even when your friend is off in the middle of the dance floor doing god knows what with god knows who.

Despite his reserved nature, you feel his eyes trained on your every move, following your lips and hands as you smoke another cigarette, the way you cross and uncross your legs with ease, despite the short skirt that has a tendency to ride up when you wiggle in your seat.

You watch him in the same way he watches you, the way his hair falls into his eyes every once and a while and instead of pushing it away with his hand, he shakes his head lightly, flicking his eyes up as if to chastise the loose strands. When he leans forward to take a sip of his drink or gesture to the waitress, his toned chest is exposed by the undone buttons on his shirt.

As much as you hate to admit it, his very presence is intoxicating and it’s affecting you more than you would like. Goosebumps crop up on your arms and you suddenly feel chilled in the warm room, sending a shiver down your spine.

A loud laugh draws your attention across the booth and you are met with the sight of your friend feverishly making out with Jaehyun, sandwiched between him and Jungwoo who has his hand up the hem of her dress, laughing into her neck.

You whip your head back towards Doyoung, giving an awkward smile to him before the chill sets over you again. You train your gaze downwards, examining the patterned carpet on the floor and the laces on your thigh high boots, picking at the edge of the string. You startle at the feeling of fabric being draped over your shoulders, looking up to see that Doyoung has placed his suit jacket around your shoulders.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder after placing the jacket and you suddenly feel an additional set of eyes on you as you lift up to meet Jaehyun’s gaze. He’s staring at your slightly spread legs, running a wicked tongue across his bottom lip as it quirks up into a wry smile.

You feel Doyoung’s grip around your shoulder tighten and turn to see his face close to yours, your heart jumping in your chest when you feel his breath across your cheek. You can’t bear to break eye contact with him, despite the fact that you desperately wish you could see Jaehyun’s reaction.

“You seemed cold,” he murmurs to you, lips almost brushing across your skin as he speaks close to your ear. He smells delicious, like soft musk but still clean and warm. You mentally take note to slyly ask Jungwoo what cologne his friend wears.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster and you resist the urge to drop your head to his shoulder, suddenly feeling lightheaded in the haze of alcohol, nicotine, and the blaring music of the club.

Doyoung reaches to the table for his glass, arm never leaving your shoulder, rolled shirt sleeve revealing a large and intricate cross tattoo on his forearm. At the sight of the ink you are jolted back to the reality that this man is not who you want him to be. You would normally have a hand palming his groin in the dim lights of the club, moaning into his mouth as he gripped the exposed skin on your back and whispered filthy strings of words into your ear.

But no, you had to bag the “Holier than Thou, Man of God.” Of course you did. This was not going to be good for your libido.

Your friend is suddenly dragging you by the hand to the bathroom, moving surprisingly fast in her towering heels.

“Sooooooooo, angel,” she whines from the single use stall she pulled you into after locking the door.

“What are you about to ask me to do?” you sigh, fixing your hair in the mirror as your friend hikes up her dress to pee.

“I’m going to take those two home with me,” she bluntly tells you, as you predicted.

“Yeah I think anyone in this club could have told me that,” you reply, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. You didn’t really care what she did, only frustrated now that you had to make the hike home in an expensive taxi or wait for the unreliable train service.

“It’s fine, babe, I’ll get home okay,” you add, mustering the sweetest tone you can for your oldest friend. She deserved to blow off steam as much as next person, but you loved staying over at her luxury apartment on the weekends and the lazy mornings you spent sipping homemade cappuccinos and doing face masks.

“You’re the BESTTTT!” she nearly shouts, throwing her arms around you, damp hands fresh from washing them in the sink getting your skin wet. You laugh at her, congratulating her on getting her dick wet and ushering her out of the small room with a smack to her ass.

Back at the booth she wastes no time murmuring in the ears of the two eager men before they share a steamy three way kiss that results in Jungwoo tugging Jaehyun’s bottom lip with his teeth, looping an arm around his slim waist.

You are flicking through the various ride share apps on your phone to find the cheapest option, boots feeling uncomfortably tight on your feet after a long night. Last thing you want to do in this outfit is sit on an empty train and make the long walk uphill to your apartment complex once you arrive at your stop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, face suddenly close to yours again. There’s a level of concern in his eyes that you cannot read when he speaks to you.

“Calling for a car home, I don’t have the luxury of living right here downtown and had plans to crash at hers. I’m assuming my job doesn’t pay as well as yours and Jae’s,” you reply, only lifting your eyes up to meet his after you’ve spoken.

God his eyes are so pretty.

“Why don’t you stay at mine, I can sleep on the couch and my driver can take you home in the morning,” he offers, picking your phone out of your hand and locking the screen.

You open your mouth in protest before thinking more on the offer. His driver?! You would be crazy to turn him down and your friend is already halfway out the door headed towards what will undoubtedly be a night to remember.

You nod and quickly stand, holding a hand out for his, guiding him out the back door of the club. He’s making a call on his phone in a hushed tone while you slide your long coat over his blazer, still wrapped around your shoulders, Jungwoo giving you a small smile and wiggle of his fingers as he slides into the back of a cab.

“I love you angellllll,” your friend slurs out dramatically, knowing she is far less drunk than she appears, playing up the antics for the men around her. Jaehyun has an arm tucked loosely around her waist, grinning ear to ear as the evening wind ruffles his dark hair.

You pull your friend in for a hug before she ducks into the car, latching her lips immediately onto Jungwoo’s exposed neck, drawing a chuckle from you on the street.

Jaehyun pauses before getting in the car, dipping down to whisper right along the shell of your ear.

“Angel is it? I don’t know about that,” he practically moans out, voice breathy and deep.

“Seemed like a devil in disguise in that tight little skirt, slutty legs spread in the club for our sweet and innocent Doie,” he laughs out, laying the degrading tone on thick. His finger is under your chin, tipping it up to force you to look at him. Your heart is pounding and flying around your chest and you can feel your cheeks burn.

Suddenly there’s a hand on your back and you don’t have to look to know that Doyoung has stepped up behind you.

Jaehyun gives you a wink, pushing past you to plant a lingering kiss on Doyoung’s cheek, before turning and disappearing into the car.

Before you can say anything to Doyoung, a black town car replaces the cab in its spot on the busy street, Doyoung moving quickly to open the door for you, helping you in with a strong hand. He closes the door softly before moving around to the street side to slide in next to you, greeting the driver in the front pleasantly.

Your head is spinning and you desperately hope there is time to have a cigarette before going upstairs to Doyoung’s apartment, feeling anxiety creeping up in your chest.

Despite the spacious backseat, Doyoung can’t help but be pressed up against you, twisting to look at you as you make small talk. You watch him when he answers questions you ask and listen to a small story about a frustrating email exchange at work, as if the two of you had known each other forever.

Distracted by the beaded chain around his neck again, you reach over, taking the cross gingerly in between your pointer and middle finger, inspecting it. The metal is cold in your hand and nostalgia rushes over you as you hold it in your hand.

“I dip it in holy water every morning to help keep me grounded and ask that God bless my daily travels,” he offers, smiling lightly at you as he explains in earnest. You know by now that he isn’t lying, that there would be no reason for him to.

“I kiss it as well, asking him to bless my words and calm my mind in a world filled with temptation,” he continues, unwilling to break the heavy eye contact.

He reaches out and draws your fingers to his lips, still holding the cross, and kisses the small metal piece, catching the tips of your fingers with soft lips. They are warm and plush, sending jolts of electricity through your hand and to your chest. You have to shift in your seat to calm the throbbing in your core. This gesture shouldn’t be turning you on this much and you know now that if there is a hell, you surely are destined to take residence there.

The tension in the car is thick as you shiver, hand moving before you have a chance to think, bringing his hand and yours to your own lips, copying his kiss. You watch him gulp and pull his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes darken at the sight of the cross pressed to your lips.

Oh you are so royally fucked.

You watch him as he absently brushes the back of his hand against your own in the elevator ride to the top floor of the sleek and modern building. He lets his fingers tangle with yours briefly before holding his hand out when the door starts to open, bringing the foyer of his apartment into view.

You let a gasp fall from your lips, taking in the beautiful space around you. Lights flick on as you reach down to release the knot holding the laces of your boots in place, stepping out of them carefully by steadying yourself on a small table adorned with realistic looking fake flowers.

You try to keep your boots tidy under the coat rack, slipping off your coat and hanging it up and checking yourself in the small mirror above hooks of dangling keys. You notice one key with a Kuromi cover, smiling lightly and wondering if he had picked that out for himself. He will tell you one day that it is the key to his mailbox and one of the kids from his Sunday school class brought it in for him after they said Kuromi reminded them of Doyoung.

You follow him to the open living area which melts into the compact kitchen adorned with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. He’s opening the door to the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water and pouring two glasses.

The apartment is warm but minimalistic in style, adorned with shades of cream, black and gray. You half expect to see a statue of Mary where the tv sits but there’s barely any religious imagery present. Maybe you had misjudged him after all.

As you close the space between you, you let his blazer slip from your shoulders, catching it and folding it gently in your hands, looking up towards him through your long lashes as you lean your hip against the cold edge of the counter, offering the blazer to him. Instead of taking the jacket from your hands, he leans forward, brushing a thumb across the high point of your cheek, examining your face.

“Let me know if there is anything I can get you to feel more at home, I want you to feel comfortable,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You feel butterflies in your chest and despite how tired you know you should be, your heart is pounding and core tightening at how close he stands to you in his beautiful apartment, finally able to hear his voice clearly without the sounds of the club or busy streets of the city. It’s velvety smooth and even and his lips tip up at the edges when he finishes his kind statement. You want desperately to push up and capture them in yours but instead nod slowly, taking one of the glasses of water into your hand gulping down some of the cool liquid to try to quell the arousal building within you.

He brushes your skin with his thumb once more before taking the jacket from you, moving to his bedroom and returning moments later with a couple pillows and a large blanket, which he leaves on the plush couch.

“I don’t mind just sleeping out here,” you offer, scanning the comfortable looking room, knowing if you slept in the living room you might be able to more easily slip out unnoticed in the morning. You’ve never been one for tender mornings in bed with a one night stand and this situation shouldn’t be treated any different. You don’t believe he will actually make any move beyond what he has, despite the brief intimate moments you’ve shared since stepping out of the club.

“No no, I insist, take my bed. The bedding was just changed this morning,” he makes sure to note and you realize how rich this man truly must be if he avoided mentioning who exactly changed the sheets. Surely not Doyoung, with his thousands of dollars of clothing and jewelry on his body and on-call car service and penthouse suite.

He moves to open the door to the balcony, cool but comfortable night air flooding the living room as he hands you a vintage glass ashtray from the media cabinet.

“In case you need one before you go to sleep or in the night,” he offers, smiling lightly at the shocked look on your face.

“Jungwoo is always hanging around here when I’m working late and I’ve learned there is no way to stop people from doing something they want to do. I can’t change my friends and I wouldn’t want to. I have things in my life and things I have removed from my life but that is my own decision and shouldn’t affect my relationships with those I love,” he adds, fingers brushing over yours as they make contact to pass the item to you.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a shower quickly and then let you have the bedroom and bathroom. If you need it, there’s a toilet near the elevator and some fresh fruit in the fridge,” he continues, resisting the urge to brush his lips over your bare shoulder.

You thank him and take your purse out to the balcony, closing the door lightly behind you but making sure it latches fully. Stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony, you quickly light a cigarette and feel calm wash over you as you watch the flickering lights of the city skyline. The cool air feels good against your cheeks and exposed abdomen, needing desperately to cool down. You try (and fail) to not let your mind wander to thoughts of Doyoung in a steamy rainfall shower, steam gathering on glossy mirrors and hot water racing down toned biceps and thighs.

You burn through it eagerly, extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray and disposing of it in a small bin attached to the balcony’s railing before heading back inside. Doyoung is emerging from his bedroom in a tight white tank top and loose grey sweatpants, bare feet padding across the plush throw rug.

“I left you some clothes and towels on the bed but help yourself to my closet if you need something warmer,” he mutters awkwardly, the power balance shifting slightly as he stands in front of you in casual clothes, black rosary still visible proudly on his chest.

“I’ll wash up, if that’s okay? If you’re tired and want to sleep, don’t worry about waiting for me to finish. I usually stay up pretty late and I’m sure you have early mornings,” you ramble, scratching at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling nervous.

“Take your time, I usually read for a while before bed,” he gestures to a small leather bound bible on the coffee table. Of course he does.

In the shower, you let the water rush over your body, using some of the small skincare bottles to wash your face and step out, massaging shower oil into your damp skin. You sigh into the warm white towel fresh off the warming rack and feel like you’re living in a dream.

Can’t I just stay here forever?

You know your modest apartment waits for you a few miles away, with your own much smaller and dingier balcony where you like to sketch in your journal as you watch birds settle on the hanging flower baskets. You could never see yourself living full time in the cold of the city, barely any green space and garbage littering the streets.

Checking outside the bathroom door before emerging, the coast is clear as you step back into his spacious bedroom, lightly touching the clothing he had laid out for you. A large and faded t-shirt that appears to be from a church camp is folded neatly, logo barely still visible.

A package of unopened cotton boxer briefs is next to the shirt, knowing he must have been panicking thinking of how he could offer you something to wear without it seeming creepy. But he seems to at least have experience taking care of stranded tipsy guests (even if they usually were just Jungwoo and someone he brought home from the bar). You pull the shirt over your head and it falls easily to your mid-thigh, skimming over your hardened nipples, painful as they make contact with the cool air from the vent.

Sliding on the boxers, you pull them up to your waist and the shirt covers them fully. You decide against the sweatpants next to the shirt, knowing they will be far too long for you and opt to instead roll on the pair of long socks before placing the pants back on the dresser. You listen at the door for any noise from the living room, hearing a light hum of music you can’t decipher. Pressing your ear closer you recognize Debussy floating through the air and let out a small smile.

You’re about to tuck yourself into the king sized bed before you realize you didn’t bring the water glass in with you. Scanning the room you don’t see one and silently curse yourself.

Sliding the door open quietly, you stick your head out tentatively, his head lifting to look at you. He looks absolutely adorable, bundled up in a fluffy blanket with his small bible in his lap and two scented candles lit on the table. The music did turn out to be Debussy, playing softly on a record player in the corner.

“Is the music too loud?” he asks, moving as if he is going to turn it off.

“No no, it’s beautiful,” you breathe out in reply, sliding out from the door and covering your chest with your arms, self conscious. This causes the hem of the shirt to hike up, exposing a sliver of the white briefs covering your lower half.

Doyoung’s eyes trail down your body, as if wanting to mentally capture this image of you dressed in his clothes, standing sheepishly in front of him. He pushes away thoughts of you on your knees in front of him, mouthing along his length through his sweatpants while he tugs on your silky and damp hair.

“I, um, just came out for some water,” you add, crossing to the counter to grab the glass before returning to stand awkwardly next to the couch.

“Why does she call you angel?” he asks suddenly, pulling an arm up on the back of the couch, unintentionally opening up a perfect sized space for you to sit next to him.

You smile lightly and cross to sit next to him, perching on the edge of the cushion so as to not crowd him.

“My middle name is Angelica,” you replied softly. “She just took a liking to the pet name many years ago.”

He smiles softly at this explanation, suddenly aware that his other hand has strayed to the hem of his shirt hanging loose on your torso.

“Angel…” he tries, feeling the way it sounds in his voice, feeling the way the words taste as they roll off his tongue. He smirks, pinching the fabric at the edge of the shirt in between his fingers and releasing it.

“Can I call you that?” he breathes out, suddenly closer to your face than you had realized.

“Only if you’re a good boy,” you manage to say in an even tone, hand finally reaching out to touch his chest, flattening against his toned pecs, metal beads digging into your palm.

His eyes flutter, brain clearly short circuiting at the mention of praise, fingers stilling but breathing becoming more labored.

“Can I please kiss you?” you ask, eyes and voice hopeful. You palm the cross on the rosary, holding it tightly in your hand as you pull gently, bringing yourself closer to Doyoung as your eyes slip shut, not waiting for a response.

His lips are on yours suddenly, pressing firmly as his hand flies to your lower back, pressing you flush against his chest, capturing your hand in between your bodies. You refuse to let go of the rosary, pulling tighter so he’s forced to deepen the kiss.

You feel his hand push up the back of the shirt and up your back, as if reaching for a bra to unhook and you can’t help but smile against his mouth, knowing he is far less innocent than he seems.

You rise up on your knees, moving your legs to straddle him on the couch, suddenly feeling something firm against your bare thigh. Your grin grows, nuzzling against his nose teasingly.

“Well, well, look who isn’t such a good boy after all,” you growl out, unable to control how horny you are for this man under you.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss, brows furrowed in confusion at your comment. Reaching between your bodies, he pulls out the leather bible and you flush deeply, unable to process that you thought it was his erection.

You avert your eyes from his and reach an arm up to touch the back of your neck nervously but his hand quickly grabs your wrist as he moves your hand to his lap, eyes darkening. When he pushes you down against his sweatpants you feel him harder than you thought he would be, not to mention way bigger than you thought he would be.

“Who said I was a good boy, angel?” he asked quietly, almost sounding annoyed with you. He grips your wrist tighter, pulling you closer to him before capturing your lips in his again.

It takes you a moment to respond, brain foggy at the name and sequence of events that had just unfolded. It doesn’t take you long to recover before slipping your tongue into his mouth hungrily, fingers lacing his hair to pull him desperately close.

You can’t help but move quickly with him, spreading your thighs to grind slow circles into his clothed crotch, biting back moans that bubble in your throat.

Hands are suddenly tugging at the hem of the shirt and you quickly oblige, peeling off the thin cotton and discarding it on the floor. Your chest is heaving as you sit on his lap in just the white boxer briefs, nipples erect and back arched to push your full chest towards him.

Doyoung hungrily licks his lips, eyes darting over your body as if there’s a time limit to the amount of time he has to look. You know you look good and he knew from the minute he saw you walk in the club that you would be on his lap, tits bouncing as he pressed up towards you with an experimental thrust. A small groan slides from his spit slicked lips as he slides one hand to your lower back and the other to cup your breast.

“Good God,” he lets out before lowering his mouth to your nipple, flicking eyes up to watch as you tumble contrasting curses from your plump lips.

He moves his mouth expertly, tongue laving over the sensitive skin, teeth dragging against your tight nipple. His hand on your lower back feels huge, fingers spread wide and gripping at your flesh as if you will disappear if he loosens his grip.

“Fuck me right here,” you can’t help but mutter into his open mouth after a particularly loud gasp flies from your mouth when you feel the tip of his dick collide with your clothed clit.

He pulls back, face seemingly questioning himself, eyes flicking over to the coffee table with the bible before turning upwards and fluttering shut.

You’re amazed at how this man can have his tit in your mouth one minute and then the next…

“Wait, are you praying?!” you ask in shock, stifling the laughter that builds in your throat.

He peeks at you with one eye open, smiling lightly before closing his eyes again and humming out an incoherent reply.

“Amen,” he says softly after a few more moments have passed.

You don’t have time to question him further when he quickly pulls his shirt over his head, revealing tight and toned abs and letting his broad chest crowd you in what could only be described as a bear hug. He pulls you close to his chest and you can feel his heartbeat reverberating through your own skin.

“The angel wants to get fucked, does she?” he growls as he digs his nails into your back.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he adds before flipping you over suddenly, standing above you as he slides the boxers down to your ankles, leaving your socks on.

He then moves his hands to his own waistband, removing the sweatpants and revealing his hard cock, already flushed and angry with arousal. As he bends down, the rosary dangles from his neck and you can’t help but stare.

You’re laid out, exposed in front of him as he drops to his knees, nudging your knees to widen in front of him. Your eyes are wide as you watch him, controlling and calculated. You have to ask yourself the same question you asked in the club, who the fuck was this guy?

“You asked if I was praying earlier,” he speaks quietly, long fingers dragging along your sensitive inner thigh, avoiding where you want him the most.

“I just like to thank God before I eat,” he adds, eyes glimmering with mischief as he pushes forward, tongue licking a long stripe along your dripping core, sending shockwaves throughout your body.

Your brain is swimming with pleasure at the filthy words he spoke and the way his mouth is warm against your burning core, tugging on his hair and slipping your hand down to his neck to stroke the shorter strands there to encourage him.

His muffled moans send vibrations along your folds and shivers up your spine as he laps at you like it’s the fucking last supper. You feel your release close, thighs pulling in to tighten around his face. He shoves them back open every time they threaten to suffocate him, giving him access to every inch of you.

Your orgasm creeps up on you and you are suddenly screaming his name, head thrown back on the back of the couch, vision blinding white. Your eyes are clenched shut as you make every attempt to slow your heavy breathing.

You feel warm hands under your thighs and realize he's lifting you from the couch. You let your arms fall lazily around his shoulders and your head loll over as he carries you to the bedroom. Laying you gently on your back, he’s suddenly leaning over you, lips brushing against your jaw, peppering kisses up to your ear and leaving more along your hairline.

“That was heavenly,” you sigh out, feeling dizzy from the soft gestures.

He smiles and pushes your hair from your face, leaning down to kiss you. You can’t get enough of his lips, every time they press over yours you’re drawn in closer, wanting more and more.

“I know you said you wanted me to fuck you on the couch and as much as I would love to bend you over and slam into you, I want to see your face when I make you cream on my dick,” he says as if it’s the simplest and most normal sentence on the planet. He sits up, reaching a veiny hand over to the bedside table and into the shallow drawer there.

Your mouth hangs open for a moment until you feel his fingers on you again, rubbing slow circles on you, gathering your post orgasm arousal as he tears open a condom that is carefully dangling between his lips. He slicks up his rock hard erection with your wetness before sliding it on and running a hand through his now messy hair.

You adjust yourself on the bed, propping your knees up so he can crawl between them. He brings his face close to yours and drags his tongue lazily against your lower lip before pushing into you.

Your eyes widen, feeling the stretch of his massive cock and the look on his face when he finally feels himself inside you. You swear he’s seen the second coming of Christ and you wish you could take a picture of the pure bliss.

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a consistent pace of pumping in and out of you, grunts and moans falling from his lips and sounding almost like he’s singing. You almost come at the sight of the rosary dangling above you and moving with each thrust, knowing how fucking filthy this is but how it’s the most turned on you’ve been in ages.

He’s close and you don’t know how much longer you can last after him so you hook your legs around his back and push on him, silently begging to flip over. He obliges and lets you return to a similar position from the couch, him seated against the pillows and you rising up and down on his cock. This drives you insane, watching his face contort in pleasure as you ride him, letting his name fall over and over from your lips like your own prayer.

“Angel, I’m so close,” he moans, pulling you so tight against his chest that you feel yourself becoming one with him. You move together, moan together, and release in strangled cries together.

You pull back, out of breath and struggling to compose yourself, glancing down at your chest to see an imprint of the cross in between swollen breasts. He has a hazy, happy grin across his face and you know you have to look the same in this moment.

He reaches out, brushing pads of his fingers across the imprint on your chest before dipping down to kiss at the cross mark.

You think your heart might explode in that very moment, suddenly visualizing the two of you holding hands in a church pew or leaning over candles, lighting them and bowing your heads in silence.

What the fuck has gotten into you?

–

Once he finishes tucking the plush duvet around your naked body, he lays flat on his back, exhaling in relaxation for what sounded like the first time that night, and humming out an almost angelic note.

“And on the seventh day, God looked at all he had made and rested from the work he had done,” Doyoung paraphrased, grinning at his joke, turning slightly to nuzzle his face into your bare shoulder.

Your cheeks warmed and eyes welled as you watched your dark haired lover drift off into sleep, arms laying beside him, not clinging to you as they had been all night, as if fully relaxed at how you seemingly fit so easily into his bed, into his life.

Checking the time, you unlock your phone, lower the brightness, and fire off a couple check-in texts to your friend and one to your mother asking if you completed your sacraments as a child and if she knows where your old prayer book is. You can’t believe this man is reigniting this in you and while you know no amount of good sex is going to fully pull you back into a toxic institution, you see the good in him and wonder if there is a world where the two of you can balance his faith and your more progressive views.

The next morning comes quicker than you had anticipated and light is streaming through the sheers covering the floor to ceiling windows. You glance over to see a still sleeping Doyoung, surprised once you check the time, knowing he probably starts his day at the office before you. You check your phone, frustrated at how quickly it will soon be the time when your boss is checking in to see if you are working from home or coming into the office. You send off a quick message to let them know you will have a late start to the day, working from your apartment.

They reply with a teasing tone, noting that you and your friend must have gotten into some fun the night prior since she had called off entirely. Oh boy, couldn’t wait to hear about that.

You roll over, seeing Doyoung’s eyes open in narrow slits, running a wet tongue over his dry lips.

“Morning star,” he smiles at you, placing that same strong hand on your lower back, pulling you gently closer to him.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giggling as his fingers brush lightly over your spine, tickling you.

“Can I make you coffee?” he asks, pressing lips softly to your temple, holding there and breathing in the scent of your hair, still faintly holding the floral notes from his shampoo.

“You don’t have morning prayers to get to?” you tease, pushing your lips towards his, silently asking for a kiss.

He pulls back, knitting his brows together and almost rolling his eyes.

“You really have me all wrong you know,” he starts, pushing strands of hair from your face before cupping your cheek gently, just as he had in the kitchen last night when you first got back.

“Yes, I have my beliefs and values that ground me. But that doesn’t mean I abstain from every activity marked as a sin in the bible,” he continued, his voice even and strong but not mean.

“I would have thought that would have been obvious by everything we did last night,” he added, pressing a little more firmly on your lower back, gliding his palm down to the slope of your ass to grasp at the skin there.

You gulp audibly, startled by his candid admission. Maybe you did have him all wrong. Maybe you judged this book by the cover too quickly, your opinion shadowed by everything you knew from the devout adults you had grown up around. You had always assumed it was black and white, no gray space between for any compromise.

All you could do in that moment, overcome with emotions you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, was pull him close to you and connect your hips with his to slowly create friction between the two of you. You hungrily captured his lips in yours, sighing into him as his fingers gently tugged your hair and brought you to another two unholy orgasms.

–

You don’t bother showering again, opting to take Doyoung up on that ride home from his driver who arrives in less than fifteen minutes, despite the morning rush hour traffic. You’re soon stepping out onto the busy streets, feet back in those painful boots and coat wrapped tightly around you to cover your revealing outfit you still can’t believe you wore out all night (but probably have to thank for this entire encounter).

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t a lost little angel!” comes a familiar voice, catching you as you are approaching the black car, the driver standing with a neutral expression waiting to open the door for you.

“Jungwoo, hey,” you start, stepping towards the man who is placing his motorcycle helmet on the seat, arms crossed as he leans gently against the expensive bike.

He’s wearing low rise leather pants with a matching belt adorned with a large silver buckle. His jacket is open and you can see a tight and cropped red shirt underneath, exposing much of his toned abs and navel. Nude color blocking rose up the sides of the shirt, covered in black crescent moons and he is wearing a stack of gold chains tight around his neck. A large green stone is dangling from his ear, moving as he speaks.

His hair is fluffy from the helmet, eyes smudged lightly with dark liner, most likely still from the night before. He looks absolutely unreal and your mind drifts to images of your friend pressed between him and the equally sexy Jaehyun in the crowded bar, stirring tension deep in your core.

“How was your night?” you add, stepping closer to him, curious about what your friend had gotten into.

“I’m sure just as sinful as yours by the look of this walk of shame,” he almost sneers back, tone unmatched to the large grin covering his face from his lips to his eyes. He grabs your phone from you and punches his number in, punctuating with a sultry wink. His eyes are flicking up and down your body dramatically, making overly exaggerated facial expressions at you.

You roll your eyes at him, turning to head to the car, wagging your fingers at him seductively and putting extra emphasis in your steps as you know he has his eyes glued to your ass as you slide into the car.

When Doyoung emerges from the shower with a towel tied low around his waist he finds Jungwoo lounging in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a magazine he had left here the week before. He looks up to make eye contact with Doyoung, smiling and letting a low whistle slide out his lips.

“Don’t start, Woo,” Doyoung warns curtly, pouring two cups of coffee and preparing them the way they both like.

“Look look, I have Father Lee on speed dial, he’s ready to do an emergency confession for you in the lobby of your office if you need it this morning,” he laughs back, closing the magazine and accepting the mug.

Doyoung rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to reach over and slap the back of Jungwoo’s head. He knows his friend is exaggerating but he had consequently already sent Mark a text that he would stop by the church later that day for a chat. Having one of your oldest friends be a priest that was known for being more on the liberal side had its perks.

“Just because I don’t flaunt my escapades all over town or upload racy videos into the shared DJJ iCloud album, doesn’t mean I’m not getting my dick wet,” he replies after a long sip of much needed coffee.

Jungwoo almost spits out his coffee at the vulgar comment, lips twisting up into a wicked smile as he watches his friend, relaxed and shirtless mid-morning on a work day.

“Something’s different about you, Kim Doyoung,” Jungwoo chuckles, tapping back into his conversation with Jaehyun from earlier, who had frantically texted him from the office that Doyoung hadn’t shown up for their morning meeting and wasn’t replying to any of his texts.

“I guess you could say I was touched by an angel,” Doyoung replies wickedly, winking at Jungwoo before standing and letting his towel fall from his hips, whipping it at leather clad knees before walking slowly back into the bedroom.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face, watching his friend’s toned ass move away from him and examining the red marks dotting his broad back.

“Oh Jaeeeeee, I have an idea for something that could be fun and oh so messy,” Jungwoo whispers into the phone as he steps out onto the balcony, lighting a blunt in the cool morning air, surrounded by the sounds of the bustling city below.

Part Two TEASER + Tag List NOW LIVE HERE

#doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #religious trauma slay #djj x reader #djj smut #jungwoo smut #jaehyun smut

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thewickedspinster · 21 days

Text

Of Eternity (Thranduil x Reader)

pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...

warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war

Tathrenion = son of one willow-made

requested by @starlight5cat

Of Eternity

In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.

Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.

Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.

For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.

Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.

As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.

"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"

The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.

"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."

Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.

"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."

"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."

"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."

Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"

Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.

"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.

"You do not like him."

"What of it?"

"He is the reason you fled your home."

It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.

"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."

"I would have you by my side upon his reception."

Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."

~~~

Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.

As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.

In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.

Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.

The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."

Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.

"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"

"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."

"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.

Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."

A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.

Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.

"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.

"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.

"It is unfair to -"

"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."

Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."

"It will put him in danger."

"It will give him power."

"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."

"Or a crown."

She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."

Elrond only watched her in return.

With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.

~~~

It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.

Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.

Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.

Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.

They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.

"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.

"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."

Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."

Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."

Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.

Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.

"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.

"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."

"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.

"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."

The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."

It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.

"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.

Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."

He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.

"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.

"Tathrenion-"

"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.

Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.

She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.

"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."

His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"

"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."

He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."

"Then tell me what I was to you."

Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."

"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.

A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."

"And that makes me whore to a king."

"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.

The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.

"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."

"I always would have protected the both of you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."

Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.

"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.

"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."

"And all... went well? With the birth?"

Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."

He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.

"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."

"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."

Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."

"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."

"He will have to fight soon."

"Then this Necromancer..."

"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."

"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."

"My forces are strong."

"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."

At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."

"It will always stand. Unless you change."

"Would you come home?"

The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"

"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."

Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."

Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.

"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.

"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."

Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."

"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."

"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."

Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.

"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.

Thranduil smiled.

Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.

"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."

"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."

~~~

Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.

Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.

A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.

She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.

Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.

"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.

She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.

She smiled. "Eternity."

#thranduil x reader #lotr #the hobbit #the silmarillion #fanfic #f!reader #please be kind this is my first fic

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tojiwrd · 10 months

Text

the consequences of the voice in your head ; toji fushiguro

pairing toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary it was easy to love toji but, sometimes, it was difficult to make peace with loving toji.

word count 4k

content warnings angstyyy, hurt/no comfort kind of, open ending kind of, grieving, self-loathing, comparing, lots of overthinking. toji's a good good dad, megumi's a lil ice hockey kid, naoya and toji r civil and almost friendly cousins in this

Breaking habits was difficult. Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult. Love was difficult. These were all things you knew, and they always lingered in the back of your mind ready to put their claws into any thought that questioned why? Daybreak came and went everyday, sunlight got chased away by silver streams of moonlight, and these thoughts—no, facts—remained asleep, waiting for the moment to pounce onto the occasional question that flitted across your mind: why was love difficult?

You knew there was no true answer; there was no prose you could read written by a qualified doctor on WebMD that told you exactly why love was difficult. It just was. You could ask friends, family, and even strangers on the street and they could give you an answer that, in their own circumstance, ranging from calm to increasingly tumultuous, was true. But you could never get an answer for yourself from anybody but yourself. Perhaps breaking habit was difficult for Toji Fushiguro because he had learned that love—not the fleeting kind that you have when you meet a one-night-stand and immediately feel like the stars had aligned that night for the two of you, only to feel near to nothing for them until they turn into a silly anecdote—could only happen once, with one person.

For you, breaking habits was difficult because when you were thirteen, your friend handed you a cigarette and said once you get used to it, it’s akin to the feeling of laying on your bed and the duvet is warm to the bone on a chilly day.

Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult for you probably because as soon as your eyes flickered open, you would see Toji staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with a rueful look on his features. The first time you’d seen this image was the morning after you, Toji, and little Megumi Fushiguro moved into your new place. It brought a smile to your face, the kind of smile that is only worn by a person when they admire somebody when they aren’t looking. That was until he opened his palms and stared down at his fingers, right hand coming up to softly brush the empty ring finger. He’d bit his lip slightly, and you just about missed him from seeing you awake, before he reached down to the pocket of his plaid blue sleep shorts you’d gifted him and pulled out a ring—the ring, you’d realized—and placed it on the empty finger he was focused on.

You had beat yourself up over witnessing him having a moment as private as that for the next week without his knowledge, but there was truly no way to bring it up to him afterwards organically.

You could say, “Hey! I actually saw you put on your ring from your last marriage on your finger that morning when you thought I was asleep.” But that would, in nearly every case, not go down well.

Toji had told you, though, why this had grown into a Monday morning ritual. Well, he didn’t exactly tell you that he woke up a few minutes before you to reminisce about his late wife and their marriage, but you’d put the pieces together like you always did. Apparently, Toji’s late wife would always wake up early on Monday mornings and prepare an otherworldly breakfast for herself, Toji, and Megumi; she claimed it started off the week right, and it always made four-year-old Megumi more inclined to wake up on Mondays. In hindsight, perhaps it was silly that you clung onto that little tidbit Toji had told you in passing when Megumi brought it up, but when you saw him wake up on Monday mornings and start his day off by playing a video reel encased in his mind of Megumi’s mother, Megumi, and himself, it was difficult for you to feel comfortable by your presence around him on Mondays. Still, it was hardly Toji’s fault for missing somebody he’d spent years with who got taken away from his life so suddenly.

You were just overthinking like you always did.

A Thursday in late June marked one year since you had been living with Toji. A year of going to sleep next to him and waking up with him there. It was a silly anniversary, and you weren’t going to mention it for it would most likely garner confused looks from the Fushiguro’s, but you still decided to cover the dining table with a variety of well-enjoyed foods between the three of you.

There was a small photo-frame that stood in an arbitrary corner of the table where nobody sat. It was a small, old digital camera picture of you, Toji, and Megumi on a lake and camping trip your friends had dragged the three of you to. It was simple; Toji was sitting on a log, five-year-old Megumi between his legs who grinned wildly with a s’more in his hand, and you sat next to Toji with your head leaning on his shoulder. Your friend had gifted it to you on a random Tuesday, and when you smiled so wide at her, she embarrassedly brushed you off and said, “The person who printed this said there’s a discount if I get two pictures printed for the price of one. I just thought the picture of me and my husband would look good with you and your… Toji.”

Neither Toji nor Megumi had seen the picture. Well, not until the moment Toji walked in with a sweaty Megumi wearing his junior league hockey uniform. Megumi was babbling about the delicious smell until he saw the new addition to the table (after cooing at the takoyaki from his favorite restaurant and telling his father he knew he could smell it while they pulled into the driveway) and picked up the frame with his growing, stubby fingers.

“Is this from Lake Ashi?” he asked excitedly, eyes tracing every corner of the picture as if he was recounting the exact moment it was taken. When you nodded, he said, “I had such a good time there!”

You smiled, and ruffled his dark locks before retracting your hand and saying, “Go shower!”

He stuck out his tongue at you before he ran upstairs, saying something about how nobody can start eating until he’s back.

You walked to Toji who was watching the scene play out from the other end of the table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hey, how was your day?” You grinned slightly as your body melted against his frame, a strange sense of euphoria enveloping you even though you’d only been apart for a day.

His arms wrapped around your waist and he bent down slightly to peck your lips. “Thrilling. I watched a bunch of seven-year-olds run around ice with sticks longer than them.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” you replied, nuzzling into his chest, right against the soft thumping of his heartbeats.

“What’s the good food for today?” he asked, stepping away from your hold and scanning the dishes on the table with a puzzled expression.

You smiled teasingly. “Why? Do I not make good food everyday?”

He snorted, and you concluded that the way he looked at you then was with love. The usual deep set of his brows were relaxed as he reached over to you and flicked you on the forehead. Lovingly. “I cook all the meals because the last time you tried, there was a fire alarm and the entire building had to evacuate.” He paused, staring at you while you opened your mouth to stop him from continuing. He beat you to it, though, by saying, “At four in the morning, too.”

“Me and Megs wanted a late-night-snack,” you argued playfully, slapping his bicep.

“That you ended up getting in a 24 hour convenience store after running the entirety of the fire department and residents wild.”

“Semantics,” you brushed him off. Walking over to the plates, you started scooping portions and placing it on the plate until you remembered Megumi’s demand.

Your body unconsciously carried you to the photo frame and you picked it up, smiling slightly. Toji walked to stand beside you, his eyes uncharacteristically focused on the slightly overexposed picture. His fingers reached to pull it out of your hands and you didn’t stop him when he walked to the small ledge above the (fake) fireplace to place it between the small collection of Megumi photographs. It was a small gesture, but it was more than you could ever ask for.

Your mind skipped over the fact that all the other photos on the ledge were either taken by Megumi’s mother (five of them were) or had her in them holding Megumi (two of them did). Although whenever your friends had come over to your place, they’d cautiously asked you if you truly are OK with keeping pictures of his late wife in your living room and you’d always said that you were perfectly fine with it. Honestly, it was never your intention to erase her from their lives because, after all, she was Toji’s wife and Megumi’s mother. There was no erasing her, and that was fine whether or not you had a place in their lives.

When you came home from work the next evening, the house was relatively quiet.

You walked into the living room, feet aching from having to wear short-stump heels but, still, heels all day. Every single day at your job as an editor for a magazine made you question whether or not you truly had the skill to walk around heels, even short-stump ones. But once again, the feeling of taking them off with delicacy because you were afraid the rough insides would scrape the parts of your skin your sock didn’t cover gave you a feeling of triumph. You were convinced that the day you come home without the visceral urge to shred the dark pieces of footwear into pieces would be the day you could claim you were invincible.

You didn’t call out to Toji because you figured he was probably with Megumi, shopping and whatnot, doing simple father-son activities. He hadn’t texted you all day, and the little demon slithering through your thoughts wanted you to overthink (like you always did) and go berserk. But you had learned to tame that little demon (severely distracting yourself by doing anything and everything).

When you had changed out of your work clothes, showered under a moderately warm stream of water, and thoroughly washed your face to stave away the office particles, you sat down on the couch expecting a text from Toji. It was nine in the evening, and it was dark outside. He had never gone this long in a day without dropping you a text, even if it was just a word, and you weren’t wrong for expecting it. Breaking habits was difficult.

When you scrolled through your missed notifications and scrolled past your friends’ messages, making a mental compartment in your mind to reply to them later, you were surprised to find that Toji had, in fact, not texted you but Naoya Zen’in had. Toji’s cousin. It was simple, short, lighthearted, and it read:

missed you today!

It could have been Naoya texting the wrong person (it wouldn’t be the first time) but an itch in your mind told you it wasn’t.

It was simple, short, and lighthearted. You were surprised at how quickly the bubbles appeared on his side of the chat; you barely had time to exit the screen before he’d replied:

the stupid zen’in dinner is boring without you there to annoy toji

he said you were feeling sick tho. feel better

It was rude not to reply, but it was ruder for you to find out this way. Find out what, exactly? That Toji had simply not wanted you to go to the once-in-a-while Zen’in family dinner you had been to a grand total of one time. That was one incident you always pushed to the back of your mind—something you couldn’t do with the Monday morning incident(s) because they always played out in front of you, never missing a week—because if you thought about it too much, you would end up shattering your entire heart and it would all be your own, unstoppable mind’s doing.

Toji wasn’t the one to invite you to dinner last year. Surprisingly, the callous cousin who had manifested in the form of a breaker of peace today was the one to invite you. Your boyfriend had his jaw clenched throughout the entire interaction, and you were sure it was because Naoya wasn’t meant to meet you. You had been at his apartment while Megumi was in school to spend time with him when Naoya burst into his cousin’s home through the spare emergency key Toji had hesitantly given him. It started with Toji yelling at his cousin that it is actually rude to barge into someone’s house without knocking and that the rule applied even if they were cousins and yes, it still applied after they had come closer after being distant and despising each other their entire childhoods. It progressed to you making tea for Naoya that burnt his tongue and Toji telling him that you are no good with anything that heats up. It ended with Naoya bringing up the dinner and how he, too, was introducing his girlfriend (now his wife) to the family and it would be lovely for you to be there, too. He’d said something about divided fire.

The dinner itself was what you could call pleasant. You met his family and they were as civil as they could be surrounded by many people who are related to them. The entire time, though, Toji was bouncing his leg up and down and brushed off your hand when you tried to stop him.

You do remember his mother had said something to you that ticked Toji off, and it wouldn’t take a mastermind to figure out why.

“You’re the perfect girl to have as a daughter-in-law, dear.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t realized that Toji would see her words and level its severity higher than you would. That was why after the longest hand of the clock ticked thrice and his chair scraped against the floor when he stood up and walked away wordlessly, you were shocked.

You assumed that, today, Naoya had taken his wife to the Zen’in dinner. You could have texted her to confirm, but you knew. And you weren’t sure if you had any right to be mad at Toji over this.

When you walked over to the television next to the (fake) fireplace, you noticed something missing. You knew it was missing because despite it only having been a day, you had looked at the picture of the three of you on that ledge for so long the night before when Megumi was fast asleep and Toji was immersed in a book and the image of the scene had been ingrained into your mind. It was somewhere beside the habits, Mondays, and love compartment.

The picture wasn’t there.

And the only trace in the living room of you being a part of Toji and Megumi’s life had vanished as soon as it materialized. It was just a picture, but it was the first one that you had brought out in the house. Toji was the one to keep it between the other pictures, and he was the one who took it off, too. You understood second-thoughts, and you knew he probably had strong feelings about it but it still hurt. It was akin to being handed candy as a kid then having it taken away from you after the first bite.

You had been heartbroken before, but the way your heart sank into a cold abyss was a feeling you had never experienced before. You weren’t sure if this was your heart breaking or the tendrils of a boyfriend-girlfriend argument sowing its way into the universe and you were just the first to realize it. It had been a year and a day in this apartment you were convinced turned into a home over that time. A year and a day since you and Megumi began collecting stickers from the different stores you went to and stuck to the corners of his whiteboard. A year and a day since you and Toji woke up with each other in the same room after a night of you tossing and turning, coming to almost-there consciousness when Toji would steal the blanket back from you and pull you into his warm embrace because you had a tendency to hog it.

The door clicked and you weren’t sure when you had gone back to the couch and began wordlessly staring at the ledge. You weren’t sure when this house stopped feeling like home for you, despite your best efforts to make it one. You weren’t sure if it ever was because there were no pictures of you, Toji, and Megumi in the living room.

You barely noticed Megumi coming towards you, pressing a slobbering kiss against your cheek and mumbling, “So tired. Gonna go to bed now. Goodnight.”

When Toji was the only presence you could feel—not see, because you were sure that seeing him would ruin you when you were in this state—in the room, you continued questioning whether or not you could get upset at him over this.

So, you said simply, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

You heard him sigh softly. When he came to sit next to you and say, “Sorry, love. ‘Gumi’s practice ran late.” You knew Toji, so you knew he probably thought it was overkill to use his son for this lie.

It was like a time bomb was ticking, and you were the time bomb.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he was sweet. It made you think, for a hitch of a moment, that he cared. And you knew he did. Care, you mean. Just not in the way you had convinced yourself he did. It might’ve been your fault because you always saw Toji as your boyfriend when, in harsh, world-turning reality, Toji was just your boyfriend.

You have had many boyfriends over your lifetime, so what prompted you to believe Toji was anything more serious? Just because Toji came with a past baggage that weighed just about what you could help him carry and an adorable, hockey-loving seven-year-old kid? Because he moved in with you? People move in together all the time. Hell, you lived with a girl you only spoke to when you had to make a cleaning schedule for the room back in university for a year.

“No,” you replied truthfully.

In that moment, you were scared of how this interaction would end but you were more scared of how the words you carefully locked away in your mouth had been tampered with by some universal force and were just about to come out.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You finally turned around to look at him, and you didn’t realize you had stared over every inch of his face, as though memorizing it to a tee. He seemed to realize that, too, because his fingers fished for your hands and suddenly your hands were warm. Under his touch.

“I haven’t had dinner.” You were sure the words would come rampaging out of your mouth, ready to strike blows at Toji where it hurt, but you were reduced to a mere shell within now and the minute you saw Naoya’s text.

“Baby?” he asked and it hurt. “D’you want me to make you something? I can. Whatever you want.”

“How was dinner?” you asked, and you wanted to make yourself believe you weren’t waiting for a ‘ha, got you!’ moment, but you weren’t perfect.

“We just stopped by the convenience store to get some food.” You hated that he was lying because if you didn’t know the truth, you’d believe him. Toji, you realized, was good at lying.

“Naoya texted me,” you said, shaking your head as if you were trying to get rid of any thoughts.

“What?”

“Naoya texted me. Said he missed me at dinner.” At this point, you knew Toji could see the cracks in your facade.

Toji didn’t reply for a moment, and you felt like you both were blessed with the silence you needed for a moment. You weren’t prepared, you didn’t have a set of bullet points you wanted to discuss with him like you usually did when you were at odds. No, this time you were discussing everything you always omitted from those bullet point lists; they were off-the-table because you knew they would do more harm than good. They would break the cycle of a comfortable relationship.

“I didn’t think you wanted to go,” he said, sighing as he squeezed your hands lightly.

You exhaled sharply. “Please don’t lie, Toji.”

“I mean it—”

“Please don’t lie.” If you weren’t aware of Megumi upstairs, you probably would’ve raised your voice an octave higher. Just because you felt like you had to. But as you pleaded with him, your words came out soft, delicate, and a complete contrast to the red, hot, fiery anger taking space through your veins.

“I didn’t want you to go,” he admitted.

You had never been stabbed, but you were sure this is close to what it would feel like. “Why?” you croaked out.

“My family, they’d start asking about when we’ll get married and… yeah. Jus’ didn’t want the hassle.”

“Will we?” You didn’t think before you spoke.

“What?”

“Get married.”

“What?”

You changed the topic swiftly because truly, you didn’t care about getting married to Toji. As long as you had him and he had you. “Where’s the picture, Toji?”

“What picture?” Surprisingly, he sounded almost OK with talking to you and didn’t curl into himself like he usually did whenever topics such as this almost arose. Almost, because they never completely did.

You felt like you were breaking an unwritten rule.

“You know what picture.”

“I kept it in the room, Y/N,” he said, sounding as though he was treading carefully. As though you were a hibernating bear, ready to pounce.

This shouldn’t be hard. Love shouldn’t—

“Why?” you whispered, closing your eyes as you felt the salty wetness build up.

He didn’t respond, and you weren’t patient.

“Why, Toji?—”

“Because it didn’t belong there.”

You wanted to laugh. He might as well have kicked you and knocked the air out of your lungs because the latter did happen. You found it hard to breathe under his stare, his nostrils flaring in annoyance the way they did.

You didn’t want to ask why, because you knew why. You understood why, and you wished you could be blind to human emotion, to human flaws and errors because it would be a lot easier to walk away from this with the feeling that he was wrong and you were right.

When you stood up, your joined hands pulled away, too. If you weren’t as cynical as you were in that moment, you probably would’ve thought it was symbolic. Because a part of you was slowly pulling away from him, too. And love can be hard, you realized and accepted once again, but it doesn’t have to be dealt with all the time.

You weren’t sure if you could continue fighting constantly with the thoughts inside your head just so you could feel that Toji is here because he wants to be, and he’s not doing it while comparing you to his late wife. It was difficult to feel you being pushed away from him and his son’s life, even though it happened in the form of a photo frame from a small printing store. But maybe, just maybe, love shouldn’t be harder than you can handle.

“Do I belong here, Toji?” you asked, a sad smile forming on your lips.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #toji angst #toji fushiguro angst #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #naoya zenin loml

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xyziiix · 1 year

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𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝘕𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 - (oneshot)

John ‘soap’ Mactavish X Female!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, fluffly smut??? 🤔, unprotected p in v ( please wrap it guys ), cunnilingus (female receiving) language, porn with little to zero plot 🤭,

Your eyes shot open, the distinct and undeniable ‘squeak’ of your bedroom door is what initially woke you up, your body tensing from panic. But, before you could start contemplating whether or not to charge at the intruder, you hear an alleviating ‘shite..’ hissed by an even more alleviating Scot whom you’d been expecting home from deployment any day now.

John cringed to himself at the abrupt squeal piercing through the silence, his eyes lingering on your unmoving form under the sheets - he’d been reminding himself that he needed to fix the hinges of the door that’d started producing an ear-piercing squeak whenever someone opened it. He let out a breath, his duffel, boots, and other gear was already down stairs and out of the way - leaving him in only his pants and shirt.

“Johnny?” You timidly called out, making the soldier stop his movements of removing his last pieces of clothing, his eyes softened as he looked in your direction. A small amount of moonlight shone through the crack of the curtains, giving him just the right amount of luminance to see you, slowly rising to rest your weight on your elbow, squinting into the darkness to try see him better.

“Sorry, hen, I dinnae mean to wake you up.” He apologised, his arms stretching to pull his shirt over his head, kicking his pants off of his legs, impatience bubbling inside him when you were laid right there - a few feet away from him, after months of being in a completely different continent from you.

He watched you lie onto your back again properly, your head gracefully landing on the pillow, your hair splayed out around you like some sort of halo. You laid there, waiting patiently for him to join you, to hold you again after so long. Now only clad in boxers, he approached the bed, gently pulling back the sheets, your arms instinctively reaching out for him.

That feeling, like after spending hours trying to solve a puzzle, and you finally - finally - get those two pieces together, that’s how you felt whenever Johnny came home - for months you’d feel almost empty in your chest, and when he finally came back, you’d feel the relief of that he was the missing piece to the puzzle all along.

He met you halfway, his arms snaking around to splay across your back, pulling you into his bare chest. Your face pressed against his neck, arms held tightly around his shoulders, afraid that if you loosened your hold, he’d disappear again. You were both in a comfortable silence, embracing each other, inhaling each others nostalgic scent, the inimitable feeling of each others skin pressed together. John was pleasantly surprised to reveal that you weren’t wearing anything under the cover, he let himself hope that wonder if you’d been doing this since he’d phoned you to tell you he’d be coming home soon - planning to surprise him like this.

“I missed you…” you whispered against his warm skin, turning your head slightly to kiss his heated neck. He shifted his arm to a more firmer hold, a shiver rolling down his spine at the feeling of your lips against the thin skin. Your mouth felt kind - like home - the feeling like liquid sunlight seeping into his pores.

“I missed you, bonnie.” He returned, his hushed voice failing to hide the gruffness in his accent. He moved to litter your shoulder in small, kind kisses, trailing them up to your collar bone, your neck, lingering on your jaw before finally meeting your lips.

The kiss was warm, wet, and long overdue. His hand softly holding the back of your head, holding your face to his as you lazily kissed each other. Your tongue rolling against his, arms holding him tighter as you both felt your bodies getting hotter, full of need and want for the other.

With no indication of the kiss ending any time soon, Johnny gently pushed you onto your back, moving to hover above you, he let a soft, prolonged groan into your mouth when he felt your legs lift themselves to lock around his waist - pushing his growing erection firmly into your bare pussy.

His lips pulled away from yours, a lightbulb flicking in his head while he planted a chaste kiss to your chin. He met your eyes properly for the first time, restraining himself from moaning at the glazed, doe-eyed look you were giving him. Your lips, puffy from sleep and his kisses, were parted as you stared up at him. He threaded his fingers through your hair whilst he gave himself a minute to admire your face, the face he’d missed so much these last few months.

Still, that idea of his was flashing like an unmissable sign in his brain, the idea making his cock grow harder against your dampening heat. He pushed his hips into yours a few times, the friction from the cloth of his boxers had you both breathless.

“Johnny-“ you murmured again, your hands resting on his shoulder blades as you pressed chaste, wet kisses all over his neck, and he let out a louder groan at the mix of both of your lips moving against him.

“I wanna taste you, lass.” He finally grunted out, and if possible, you felt your entire body get ten times hotter at his words. The wetness of your desire finally seeping through the fabric of John’s boxers, and he felt himself nearly cumming right there and then at the dampness teasing his cock.

“Yeah?” Your voice broke off into a desperate, pathetic whine. Still feeling him gently push his hips into yours, he gazed down at you, an almost dumbfound look in his eyes, until he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah.” He said, his voice low and liquid.

He met your lips once more. Sharing a swift, yet promiscuous kiss before he dipped his head lower - camouflaged by the thin sheet that was draped over you both. His calloused, warm hands trailed down your sides while his supple lips tracked down your sternum, navel and then down to your thighs - deliberately neglecting the place you wanted him most. He guided your legs open, his tongue teasing a path on the inside of your thigh, moving closer and closer to your pulsing heat - only to move his head to your opposite thigh. His arms were snaked around the outside of your thighs, his rough hands soothing up your torso to leisurely squeeze one of your breasts.

You felt impatience burning through your stomach at his blatant teasing - you could feel the smile pulling on the Scot’s lips as he kept kissing the inside of your thigh - so close yet so far.

“John…” you whined, he could hear the growing annoyance in your voice.

Finally, he relented - mostly because his impatience to taste you was outweighing his desire to tease you a little longer. You feel two of his fingers spreading your pussy lips open. Flinching when your feel the tip of his wet, hot tongue slowly circling your throbbing clit.

“Fuck-“ you hiss, squeezing the soft sheets between your fingers as you tried to focus on not clamping your legs shut at the stimulation.

He hums against you, dragging his tongue from your clit down to your fluttering entrance, flicking his tongue in and out from your hole. You reach under the covers, interlocking your fingers with his, his other hand coming down to rub tight, rapid circles on your clit while he fucked you with his tongue. His cock pulsating at the taste of you and the sound of your growing moans.

He eventually exchanges the positions of his hands and mouth, his wet lips trapping your burning bud of nerves, sucking softly, his fingers trail over your opening - coating themselves in your slick and his saliva - before slowly pushing them into you.

He thrusts his finger in and out of you, picking up the pace with a ‘come here’ motion. His lips sucking on your clit like a man starved - his other hand giving yours a few squeezes as he felt you squirming, panting above him: all tell tale signs that your body was about to reach its peak.

You all but cried out when he started vigorously moving his head side to side, his tongue flattened out to fan against your bud. The burning sensation in your abdomen abruptly spreading throughout your entire body like wild fire, your stomach tensing as the walls of your pussy squeezed his fingers. You mouth falling open in a silent moan. John, on the other hand, was groaning against you as he soaked up everything you were giving him with your sweet release.

He kept kitten licking at your nerves until he was sure you’d completely ridden out your high, leaving soft kisses on your mound as your body let out slight tremors, your hands reaching to grasp his arm in a weak attempt to pull him up to meet you.

When his face re-emerged from the sheets, you groaned softly at the sight of him. His hair was disheveled, cheeks heated to a deep pink, his lips… swollen and coated in a sheen of your slick or his own spit - probably both. You lifted your head to meet his while he braced himself on his forearms on either side of your body, your tongue peeked out to lick at his plump lips - sharing the taste of you between your wet kisses.

“Mm… you taste fuckin’ amazin’, gorgeous..” he sighed into your mouth, slowly rutting his raging hard-on into your soaked pussy, gasping as the friction showed no mercy on your over-sensitive clit.

“Need you.. Johnny-“ you stammered, hands raking over his broad back, you hips tilting upwards to meet his - spurring him on- “need to feel you..”

He hummed, his kisses trailing from your mouth to your jaw, putting his weight on one arm momentarily as he blindly reached to tug his boxers away, haphazardly flinging the item of clothing onto the bedroom floor.

He gave you one more hurried kiss before pulling back to gaze at your flushed face, observing your expression as he began to slowly slither his cock through your slick folds, watching as your mouth parts slightly when the bulbous head of his dick slides over your thrumming clit. His own brows furrowing at the long-overdue feeling of your body pressed against him. Both of you letting out shaky breaths as he nudged his cock into your entrance - the burning sensation of being filled after such a long time making you hiss.

Johnny looked absolutely absentminded, his eyes glossed over with heavy lids, and his lips parted as he took deep breaths - trying his damned hardest not to let himself go just yet.. wanting to savour the feeling of your hot, tight pussy wrapped around him so perfectly. When he bottomed out, he let out a low groan as he dropped in his head to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, one of your hands grasping onto the nape of his neck - feeling a little dumbfounded yourself, the feeling of being full making your mind go into a haze.

“Missed you..” he whispered again, beginning to slowly roll his hips. The burn your felt of his stretching out beginning to slowly - but surely- ignite into a passion of pleasure, feeling his cock prodding against every nerve inside of you that had your eyes tipping upwards slightly.

“Missed me? Or missed my pussy?” You asked, unable to resist the smug smirk twitching your lips, Johnny pulled his face back to meet your eyes, a similar grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“M’I allowed ta say both?” He smirked before raising a brow at you, “feel like I’m not supposed to say both...”

“Well I can say..” your voice was breathless, “that I missed your dick, not so sure about the rest of you- ahh” your quip was cut off my John nipping his teeth on the thin skin of your jugular.

“Cheeky bugger..” he murmured before pressing a kiss to the spot he bit.

His thrusts had begun increasing their pace, the sound of his hips hitting yours began to fill the room - as well as both of your moans upping in volume.

He felt so good, the fire in your belly burned fiercely as his cock repeatedly pushed and dragged over every point inside of you that you didn’t even know was there, feeling light headed and hot.

“Fucking-“ you moaned, holding into him tighter when he dipped his head down to lick at one of your pebbled nipples. “-shit! I’m so close, Johnny…” At your words, his mouth was quick to reach back up and capture your lips in another searing kiss, his hand clumsily dragging down your conjoined bodies, and you let out a cry louder than intended when the rough skin on his thumb began swirling over your pulsing bundle of nerves.

“Wan’cha to come on m’cock, Bonnie… need to feel ya.” He stammered, his accent getting heavier as his thrusts got sloppier - feeling himself nearing his own edge with your fluttering walls strangling his cock in a vice. “Ya look so pretty when ya come.” He grunted, his mouth near yours as he panted into your skin.

His words spurred you on, your chest rising as falling rapidly as you tumbled over the edge, your moans being muffled my his lips covering your own.

His hips began sputtering slightly, feeling even more warmth gushing around him while your walls spasmed around his pulsing cock. He felt his balls tighten as his release shot up inside of you, warmth filling you as you both panted into each others open mouths. John all but collapsed on top of you , your sweat slick skin sticking to each other like glue, his cock going lax inside of you.

“Fuck me…” you caught your breath, your hand trailing to glide your fingers through the short, damp hair of his Mohawk.

“Yeah…” he agreed, his breathing ragged against your skin.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder before rolling off of you with a groan, laying on his back beside you. Immediately, his hand sought you out, sliding under you to rest on your back - effortlessly pulling you the short distance across the mattress to press you against his chest, one of your bent thighs lifting to rest over his hips, feeling your lids get heavier. Johnny brought his hands to your hair, letting in deep breathes as he studied your face - fuck, he really did miss you.

“M’so glad your back..” you whispered into his skin, your arm draping over his torso.

“Me too, hen.”

#john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish smut #soap mctavish #soap smut #cod mw2 #mw2 x reader

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madwomansapologist · 6 months

Text

Moonlight Meets Sunlight | Chapter 1 - Shoot for the moon

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: A lot changed for Steven Grant after meeting Marc Spector. He lost his job, travelled the world, became a hero. And now back in London he's going to change one more thing: Steven will give love a chance. He can only hope that you accept him. And Marc, and Konshu, and what he hasn't discovered yet about himself.

first chapter synopsis: Steven Grant wasn't the same. Not after he met Marc Spector and ending up saving the world (he isn't bragging). Steven understood that he was braver than he ever thought he was. But not around you. And i's not like he wants to change that. [3.7K]

warnings: fluff. falling in love. steven "i can treat you better" grant. first date? bit by bit we fall in love. canon level of violence. moon boys x reader. female!reader. latina!reader.

Steven Grant had been waiting for over two hours, but he was some sort of expert on keeping himself entertained. He wandered through the National Art Gallery’s exit, listed all different strategies to solve a Rubik’s cube, chattered to an uninterested Marc about the documentary he watched that same morning.

And still, a few times Steven thought about going home. Maybe you weren’t working that day. You could be on vacation. Or you could’ve went home before he got there. For all he knows, you could not even work here anymore.

“That’s her car, dumbass,” a pair of furrowed brows and concerned eyes oscillated in a storefront on the other side of the street. Everytime Steven stands, thinking that this time he really should go, Marc Spector shuts him down. “Just sit down and wait, for god's sake.”

Steven knew he was right. The black sedan was right there, the only car parked close to the hidden service door. Steven noticed it, and he knew for sure that it was yours because of the huge risk on the passenger’s door. And still, his nervousness made him forget.

It's not that he doesn't want to be there. Steven spent the last few weeks constantly thinking about you. About seeing you again. Talking to you. Laughing with you. Just existing, being there, but with you. With his first real friend. All Steven wanted was to see you again, to hear your voice.

And it was you whom he feared the most.

It has been weeks. For Steven it was the most bizarre and marvelous time of his life. But for you he just vanished. Got fired for destroying a bathroom and then… nothing. Nothing for weeks. Steven was gone in the same way he's back: without a good, reasonable explanation.

Steven Grant has been waiting for two hours and that would make anyone upset, but he's sure you waited longer.

He feared you wouldn't ever look again into his eyes again. That you would hear his voice and turn your back on him, as if he's a ghost you need to believe don’t exist. Steven feared your grudge and rage, but he also feared the possibility that you haven’t even notice his absence. That maybe all you felt towards him was indifference, and his delicate heart mistoke it for a real human conection.

"She don’t. And she wouldn’t do any of that to you," Marc crooned. Even away from him, Steven could see those crossed arms and tense eyes. Browns so used to look like a straight line. Once again, here comes Marc to end his doubts.

"And how can you be so sure of that, mate?"

"She isn't mean," Marc replied, looking away.

Marc didn’t want to here, and Steven knows that. He made clear it was a Steven’s problem. He was only there because Steven begged for it. Steven knew that if he needed to be alone with his thoughts about you, their organs could get really near a spontaneous combustion.

When they finally decided to cooperate with one another, Steven understood that most of Marc’s choices were done to protect him. To keep him safe and sound, unaware of anything that could maim him. Is not that Steven is weak, but that he’s gentle. He’s kind. And Marc needs to keep that as it is. Marc needs to keep Steven pure, because no one did that for him.

The only problem is that he’s used to leave people clueless about his decisions.

Like leaving London. Steven didn’t have a say on that. He didn’t chose to travel. To fight Harrow. To leave you behind just as clueless as he was. To vanish without a word. Without a goodbye. Without saying what he really wanted to say since he understood your soul.

For some time he thought Marc hated you. He could’ve at least send you a message. A good lie or a bad one, it didn’t matter. He could’ve at least texted you. Knowing about Steven’s feelings towards you, Marc could’ve done anything expect leaving the way he did. If Marc was indifferent about you, he could’ve think that Steven wasn’t and just done something.

But if he’s here, if he’s even helping, that means Marc doesn’t actually hates you. Or that he at least don’t see you as a threat to Steven’s heart.

Hearts are made to be broken, he said to Marc once they finally got back to London. Marc got used to see him as the naive, but Steven is more than people think. More than himself thinks. It’s a hard pill for you to swallow, but you will. You have no other option.

A gentle breeze made Steven breath in, relaxing against the cold concrete wall. He don’t remember closing his eyes, but he opened them after the thump of a closing door. And when his eyes started working again, Steven saw you.

Steven couldn’t see your face, but he was absolutely sure that the person running down stairs with a cardboard box in hands was you. He could recognize you anywhere. Your lingering scent, the way you walk like you’re alway running out of time. The fact you were arguing through the phone wedge between your shoulder and your face helped just a bit.

“That’s bullshit. I didn’t said that, and you know it,” you yelled. In your defense, you were supossed to be alone. It was too for someone else to be Around the staff’s exit. “There’s nothing you can say that would make up for the fact that you can’t do a simple thing for me. All you had to do was to show up.”

It was already difficult to walk with that immense box in your hands, but to do it while you were boiling with rage? That’s a whole other thing. You managed to not fall, and that was a hell of a accomplishment.

“You’re always telling me I should let you in my life, but if I can’t count on you it’s all your fault,” you replied searching for your keys. You chocked on your words, so fucking mad you felt tears forming in your eyelids. “Go on. Blame me for your mistakes.”

By the time you managed to open the passenger seat’s door and settle the box there, your left arm ache because of the weight. You touched the collar that muzzled you. The sun pendant dangled from your neck, so heavy. When you were about to take it off, you heard the audacity on his voice.

You closed the door so hard that it startled Steven.

“Damn man,” Marc hissed. “Your timing is awful.”

“You really gonna do this to me? Isso só pode ser brincadeira.” You walked towards the driver seat, squeezing your purse so hard it could explode. “Do as you wish, but then don’t get surprised to find out that you’re single.”

Without hearing what he had to say, you ended the call. He don’t want to argue? That’s fine. Now he won’t hear about you at all. Fuck him, fuck his bad habits and fuck you for falling for his sweet lies.

Jeff is always saying that he’s the one, that you need to trust him with your bad days and worst sides, that he wanted to meet your parents, your friends, your colleagues. That he’s more than just a guy, that he’s your future.

When the greek department decided to celebrate the new acquisitions, you thought it would be a perfect way to let him in. It was an important event. You even made a speech. A Whole speech, one that people actually wanted to hear. It was an important night for you, one that you wanted to share with him.

Here you are. With a dress too expensive, a blurred makeup and a mouth tired of repeating there was a change of plans, he won’t be able to get here in time.

How can you keep on being the foolish one? The one that knows what people want. The one who acts as sweet and kind and fun even when no one gives you a reason to. The one that fake smiles for the pictures with burning eyes.

What a night. What a fucking night. And now you need to drive, which is something you hate, and at home your company will be that box filled with documents and receipts. And wine. A lot of wine.

“Is everything alright?”

You jumped at the sudden revelation that you weren’t alone, your hands instintictively rising to your chest. Even before you saw him, at the end of the stairs you just ran down, you knew who was talking to you. How couldn’t you?

Steven Grant is memorable, and so is his accent.

The man who was supposed to be there for you vanished without a care, and the one you had given up on waiting stands right in front of you.

It was like seeing a ghost. You were all startled. All you could do was to look at him, to check every inch of his skin in search of… you don’t really know. Maybe in search of a proof that he’s real. Maybe in search of a proof that those past few weeks were nothing but a realistic nightmare.

You thought about not answering. To just turn your back on him, get on your car and drive home trying to make yourself believe that it was all a hallucination. You also did imagined you screaming at him, and then getting on you car.

Every option ended with you running away. And maybe you would, maybe you could, but you made the mistake of looking into Steven’s brown eyes. Damn his eyes. Without your permission, your soul dive into them.

“Not really,” you whispered. Only then you noticed how close you were from crying. “Far from that, really.”

Your gentle eyes, forever marked on his mind, reflected the moon. Your hair, framing your face with a sense of liberation, lured him. Not even your tense, scared posture could hide your lightness. You seemed to have this natural glow, this magnetic pulsar that makes the world orbit around you.

A light that could put the sun on shame.

“Stop staring at her,” he saw Marc’s reflection on one of your car’s windows. His arms were still crossed, just as his brows were still a straight line. But his eyes were fixed on you. Maybe he too couldn’t look away. “Just apologize already.”

Steven stepped further, unable to say anything. All the memories of you, every second he spend beside you talking shit about your bosses or just wandering through the museum with the other dumping random knowledges, it just blossom. All he could do was to let your light in.

“And do you always get home this late at night?”

“We received five vases today. Homeric period,” while Steven was moving closer, all you did was to stand where you were. You heartbeat was so loud it could deafen you. “So for the next weeks, yes.”

“Oh,” Steven licked his lips. “Did you knew that…”

“What the hell happened to you?” Suddenly your brain finally connect itself with you mouth. That rage he saw you aiming at your phone came back, and now it was all focused on him. And Steven knew he deserved it. “You disappeared.”

“I swear than I can explain.”

“Then do it,” when Steven hesitated, you threw your purse at him. Marc choked. “Say something, Steven! You disappeared! I thought you… Fuck, I don’t even know what I thought. What happened? No hesitation, no lies, no half-truths. What happened?”

“No, Steven, don’t fucking do it,” scolded Marc. “She’ll think you’re mocking her, or that you’re crazy and…”

Normally Steven is the clueless one. Normally you don’t yell or throw purses at him. Normally Marc is the one deciding for them both without asking first. But what about his life was normal?

So he just did it as you said. He told you about waking up on a different country, being chased by a jackal, Arthur Harrow’s plan of releasing Ammit, his battles in Egypt. His death. Steven is Konshu’s Avatar, his Moon Knight, and he saved the world.

No hesitation, no lies, no half-truths.

You walked towards him, and for endless seconds Steven couldn’t breath. “Liar,” you grabbed your purse. Turning your back on him, you fitted they key the car door and opened it. He thinks you’re foolish, but running away was your initial plain.

But the pearly glow made you look back.

You put your purse chain on your arm and locked your car, walking towards the hero in front of you. Steven faced appeared, the white material sliding away. His brow eyes were back, and if he only knew the effect they have on you he would never cover them again.

“I’m too sober for this,” you sighed. “C’mon. Don’t make me regret this, Steven Grant.”

“I won’t,” Steven promised. Once again you were wrong about someone. At least this time it wasn’t a bad thing. “I would never.”

Marc followed throught the storefronts on the other side of the street, speecheless.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Marc is,” you hesitated. Too many questions lingered your mind, and your ability to verbalize them were messed by the empty bottles lying on the balcony. “Like a brother or something?”

Compared to you, Steven drank nothing. But for him, it was way more than enough. He never drank that much before, maybe because he never had someone to drink with.

Steven nodded, his face supported on his right hand. He couldn’t feel his legs. “Like a brother.”

“And do you have other brothers?”

Reflect on the mirror bellow the the bottle’s shelf on the bar, Marc chortle. You were worried about how to handle his DID, unsure of what to say or to think, but he liked the way you worded your doubt. It was naive, but not in a bad way. Naive just as Steven is naive.

“Just the two of us,” murmured Steven. “Althought two is more than enough, innit?”

You giggled. All that tension from before just disappeared. Steven told you the truth, exactly what you asked him for. And the truth was enough. Forgave and forgotten, as you told him earlier. Steven being safe and sound in front of you was more than enough. “Sure it is.”

“Do you have brothers?” Steven grabbed his beer, and only noticed it was empty when it was on his mouth. Just when thought he should change for water, the barman quickly came with two more open bottles. “Cheers,” said Steven.

His accent really was something.

“Cheers,” you took a sip of yours. “One. He’s a complete knobhead. More than enough, I assure you.”

Perhaps due to the heat emanating from your body, thanks to the beer and the closed environment, the necklace bothered you again. You felt like a chained dog. It was difficult to breathe. You opened it, the heavy pendant falling into your lap. When you put it in your bag, Steven gasped.

“You’re bruised,” he told you. Steven reach out for you. He didn’t even thought about it, he just brushed his fingers through the warm skin of your collarbone.

The weight of his fingers, the careful pressure he put on your skin, was welcome. His warmth didn’t bother you. Not at all. “I shouldn’t have ran down stairs,” you said. “It’s just a heavy necklace, Steven. I’m fine.”

Steven caressed your skin one last time before realizing what he have done. He pulled away from you, worried that he may have crossed a line he shouldn’t. Steven didn’t even notice how for a second you followed his hand, already missing his gentle touch.

It’s been three, maybe four hours since you both entered the first open bar you could find. So it’s been three or four hours since you both didn’t shut up for a second. “So…” Steven licked his lips, looking at his hands. “New vases?”

“I’m responsible for finding out if they are what the sellers say they are,” you started. “They are respect on the market, but there is only one way to know if you’re dealing with a Glarifa Rosales. And it’s by doing your fucking job.”

You told him about it before. The biggest case of fraud in the art world. Glarifa Rosales selled Rothko’s and Pollock’s for millions of dollars to the Knoedler Gallery, which then selled them for even more. In the end, everything was done by a chinese imigrant that always dreamed of being a successful painter. In a sense, he really was.

“Tomorrow I will go the lab and get the results about the ceramic footprint. If it’s true, than maybe you’ll have the honor of hear me talking no stop about their history.” You laugh at your own words. “The only problem is that it will get ready so late at night, which means…”

“Driving,” completed Steven, with a smile so sweet Marc worried about having toothache. So down bad for you, Marc thought. “And I would love to hear about them. Are they about The Odissey?”

Here’s the thing: Steven don’t just listens to you, he devours every word you say.

“One is a Apolo’s prophecy, the others tell the story of him and Cassandra. You know, the girl who knew the future but couldn’t make anyone believe her.”

“Tell me more about it,” Steven asked.

And of course you would.

“Only if you tell me more about Konshu,” you replied.

And of course he would.

In his absence, you almost forgot about how easy it was to be with Steven. Almost. It was like he could just see when you wanted to speak or when you needed to listen. Since the moment you both meet, with him dropping cold tea on your heels and his manager almost begging for your pardon, Steven just knew you.

It was so easy to be with him that you only remembered that you needed to go home when they started closing the bar. You didn’t even noticed the time passing. You both wandered through the streets, surrounded by a fog of inebriation. The world felt so light, so young and careless.

This time talking about Konshu, you barely looked forward the street. You just glared as Steven, listening with as much attention as when he listened to you. You really did, until your phone rang, disturbing your peace.

You tone it down immediately after seeing who was calling, but Steven noticed the change on your humor. “I asked you before and I gonna ask you again,” warned Steven. “Is everything alright?”

“Far from it,” you repeated yourself. “Far from it.”

Steven isn’t selfish. He don’t do things without thinking about other’s feelings first. There are a lot of people who don’t give a damn about who they hurt on their path to get what they want, but Steven isn’t like that. So when he told you that you deserved better, he really meant it. Even if it wasn’t him, he meant it.

“It’s not that bad,” you said. You didn’t knew if you were defending him or diminishing yourself. “He... how do I say that? Deu uma bola fora. Made a mistake, for lack of better words.”

“It was a important night, wasn’t it?” You nodded. “If I were him, I wouldn’t forget it. I wouldn’t forget anything about you.”

“You only say that because you would love to spend the rest of your life inside a museum,” you giggled.

“But I mean it,” Steven reassured you. “You deserve someone that remembers. Someone that cares. And if he can’t see the treasure he holds, than he don’t deserve you.”

“It isn’t so simple, Steven.”

“Indulge me.”

“I’m alone,” your words took Steven by surprise. “In this city, in this country. My family is an ocean of distance, and most of the time I feel like I can’t relate to anyone because I barely understand what people are saying. Without him, I’m alone. And being alone sucks.”

When you saw the look on his, you lightly pushed him by the shoulder. “What’s with that face of yours?” You chuckled. “It’s not that deep, don’t need to get all emotional over that. Don’t worry about me.”

“I think I should,” Steven whispered. It just didn’t make sense. How could you think, feel that way? “And I think you’re a bit stupid.”

“Repeat that,” it sounded like a warning.

“You’re a bit stupid,” Steven repeated. You blinked, just staring at him. “Look at you. You’re bloody amazing. You’re smart, and funny, and beautiful. If Jeff don’t see that, he’s a idiot. If you don’t, then you’re one too.”

“Damn,” you murmured. You pointed at him, a playful smile on your face. “You know, you’re so lucky for being cute. I wouldn’t put up with any of your shit if you didn’t look like a lost puppy.”

She thinks I’m cute, was all Steven heard from what you said.

Of course she does, Steven.

Looking towards the street, you found what you were looking for. You made a sign for the cab, and soon it was speeding up. “Where are you heading to? Maybe we’re going to the direction.”

“DID YOU FORGOT ABOUT YOUR OATH?”, Konshu appeared at the end of the street, just as the cab passed by it. That fucker thinks he’s in a horror movie, always chosing to act like a jump scare instead of just acting normal.

But again, there was something normal about his life? About their life?

“Is it Marc?” You gave a step back when the cab stopped. A crack, a sound that went unnoticed by Steven’s ears, made you look at were you stepped. A ceramic sun, now broken, stand where you stepped. Weird, you thought to yourself. “Konshu?”

“The second,” he said.

“And what did the lying pigeon said?”

Steven don’t think he ever heard Marc laughing so hard. With Konshu saying something about INSOLENT VERMS, Steven opened the cab’s door for you. “That I have work to do.”

“You won’t disappear again, will you?”

Steven shook his head, a light smile on his face. “Never again, I swear,” he said. You took it as an oath, one that you would made sure that he would never forget about it. “Have a good night. No, a good morning. Bom dia.”

“Bye, Steven,” you rolled your eyes. “Bye, Marc.”

When the cab disappeared, Steven took a deep breath. So did Marc.

MOONLIGHT MEETS SUNLIGHT TAGLIST: @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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vampireimiko · 9 months

Note

HI HOW ARE YOU??! I saw that you were allowing requests so how about a fluffy scenario with Neuvillette and fem!reader if possible. I FINISHED BOTH QUEST AND HE SUCH A SWEETHEART💖💖💖💖 that’s all have a nice day/night

Ribbons and Bows

warnings, none !! just spending time with neuvillette and doing his hair 🙈

note, I WANT NEUVILLETTE SO BADDD ☹️

"Though I am not sure why you would want to do this, go ahead," Neuvillette says, his mesmerizing purple eyes with slit pupils fixed on you. With a hairbrush in your hand, your heart races in anticipation, excited and giggly at the prospect of styling his unique hair.

"Yes! Okay okay, come sit down right here for me," you say, leading him to a luxurious chair placed by the window. Sunlight filters through the delicate curtains, casting a gentle glow upon Neuvillette's long white hair, which shimmers like a cascade of moonlight. As he settles into the chair, his elegant demeanor exudes an air of mystery and allure.

You take a moment to appreciate his beauty before focusing on the task at hand. Running your fingers through his silken strands, you feel a slight shiver run down your spine as his hair tickles your skin. Neuvillette's presence is captivating, and you can't help but become completely engrossed in the moment.

"Have you ever done something like this before?" he asks, his voice soft and soothing, like a velvet whisper.

You shake your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "No, but I've always wanted to try. Your hair is so unique, and I think I have just the idea to make it even more stunning."

He chuckles, a sound that sends a delightful tingle through the air. "I trust your judgment. Surprise me."

With newfound determination, you begin your task. The hairbrush glides effortlessly through Neuvillette's hair, untangling any knots with a gentle touch. As you work, you can't help but notice how his features soften, his guard lowering with each stroke. It's as if this simple act has created an unspoken bond between you, a connection that transcends words.

During this process of you doing his hair, you and Neuvillette talk about many things. The latest gossip within your friend group, Neuvillette's patience with Furina running thin, and just about anything else really. You two even managed to sneak a few kisses and touches throughout the process.

Hours slip by unnoticed as you carefully weave in delicate blue and purple ribbons, accentuating the natural beauty of his hair. Neuvillette watches you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, his lips curving into a genuine smile that warms your heart.

"Done," you announce, stepping back to admire your handiwork. Neuvillette rises from the chair and gazes at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes widening in astonishment. The ribbons blend seamlessly with his hair, adding a touch of ethereal elegance that enhances his otherworldly charm.

"You look so pretty! Do you like it?" You questioned watching Neuvillette admire your work.

"You've turned me into a work of art," he remarks, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude.

"You were already a masterpiece," you reply softly, meeting his gaze in the mirror. In that moment, the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in a realm of shared intimacy.

As the sun sets outside the window, casting a warm glow over the room, Neuvillette turns to face you. Without a word, he reaches out and takes your hand, his touch sending a spark of electricity through your veins.

"Thank you," he whispers, his eyes locked onto yours, an unspoken promise of more shared moments to come.

"No, thank you baby! I never would've expected you to let me do this." You smiled and stood on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭 😞 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐘 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐢𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥) 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 !!

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

#spirits works 🤍#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin imagines #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x fem!reader #fem!reader #fem reader #genshin x female reader #x black reader #genshin fontaine #neuvillette x you #neuvillette genshin #genshin impact fluff #genshin

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mrs-lockley · 5 months

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Once Upon a December

Pairing: Hades & Persephone AU, Miguel O’Hara x WOC!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Arranged marriage, implied age gap (reader is a couple centuries old and of age), mention of death and a child death/funeral (no actual death graphically described or specified), dark imagery of the Underworld, use and mentions of Greek mythology, conflicted feelings, magical realism, no time period specified Summary: In the early decades of your marriage to the god of the Underworld, you resented him for abruptly ending your maidenhood. As the decades go by, you learn that there is more to the man who rules the dead than you realize. One day, your husband takes you to Tartarus, the depths of the Underworld, to suggest a proposition.

Author's Note: Hi my little doves, I'm semi-back with a new fic! To be honest, this fic has been in my draft for 3 years (date of origin: 12/30/2020) with First Order!Poe originally, but I thought Miguel suited Hades much better. I have a few fics in my wips and it's honestly like Russian Roulette because i did not expect to complete a Miguel fic before a Jake fic, lol. Special thanks to @soft-girl-musings and @v4mpires0ap for supporting me in completing this and giving me feedback! This fic was also deeply inspired by this comic illustrated by @katadesmoi, another take on the Hades & Persephone myth. If you like to listen to music while reading, I highly suggest listening to this Once Upon a December playlist on Youtube. Happy reading! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs make my heart go warm 🤍

Tagging: @soft-girl-musings @v4mpires0ap @venting402 @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub but only if you would like to read it!

You have seen this place before. The place where the stars fall to the earth, where the roots meet the soil, where the ocean meets the shore.

Where the dead meet the living, where the living meet the dead.

Your reflection mirrors you in the sky as you look up to the clouds with the whispering images of Earth shining down on you. On Earth, the clouds weep at the loss of the sun, but other clouds have gone soft with crystals catching the last kiss of sunlight before nightfall. Other places show the yellow sun shining over glistening forests and beaches, and some a starlight projection over snowfall.

A snowflake flutters from the sky, and you stretch your palm to watch it melt on your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

Underneath the moonlight, the trace of a smile tugs at your husband’s lips. He moves to stand beside you and the two of you gaze at the glassy sky above.

Miguel keeps his distance, a shadow’s length between the two of you.

For a brief moment, a sparkling ember is reflected in those brown eyes, only to quickly disappear within a blink and a slight shake of his head.

Your husband was not malevolent, nor was he benevolent. Miguel was a man whose moral conviction strongly aligned with the laws of nature, life, and death. He takes no sides, but only stands in the middle, seeing nothing but carnage to his right and hearing the wailing of tears to his left.

You met him once before your arranged marriage. You and your mother were at a banquet one evening, your first banquet after the war when he caught your eye. Standing at the side of the hall with a glass of red wine in his hands, everyone fell into a hushed whisper. It was rare to see the god of the dead at a gathering like this, especially since the collapse of a universe.

As your mother mingled with one of her sisters, your curious eyes drifted into his orbit. It was as if the darkness of the Underworld followed him into the light, but you were entranced by the shadows that caressed the contours of his face. Centuries of carnage and war clouded his eyes a deep brown, but in the dim candlelight, you could see that in spite of witnessing the heaviness of humanity, there were traces of his youth in smile.

A pair of older women passed you, whispering quietly about him.

The wine looks too much like blood in his hands, one of them remarked with disdain.

But not to you.

It was difficult to not notice him with his imposing height and stature. Even as he stood to the side and in the shadows of the banquet hall, the wine in his hands reminded you of the deep crimson of a pomegranate, waiting for you to cut it open so you could taste its juices.

Smoothing your hair, you quickly averted your gaze and distracted yourself by listening to your mother discuss the upcoming spring harvest. You smiled at your aunt as she pitched in, acknowledging how the winter rain would help water the crops and contribute to a bountiful spring for the mortal universe.

But as the conversation continued, your skin prickled. It was as if something was burning you, a small flame lit on your skin and was rapidly growing into a thunderous wildfire that consumed everything in its wake.

You tried to ignore the sensation as you listened to your mother and your aunt's plan for the harvest, but the longer you ignored it, the hotter the fire burned your skin. It was as if you were thrown into a wildfire with the smoke filling your lungs, traveling to your throat, and threatening to spill from your mouth. Their voices began to fade into the distance as the roar of your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

Unable to ignore the feeling any longer, you began to look around to find the cause of your discomfort.

Your innocent eyes met his, and you could barely breathe.

His brown eyes darkened into what you would believe to be the darkness of the Underworld. It was as if he was pulling you into its depths– not seducing you into temptation– but revealing all of your secrets into the light.

All you could feel was the blood rushing to your face as he looked at you. You could not read the expression on his face as his eyes drank you in, but you could not tear yourself away. You were caught in his snare.

But as your eyes met, you saw something else. As he was reading you, you were reading him, trying to translate the pages of a book that was presented to you in an ancient language you discovered for the first time. The introduction was breathtaking, but the first chapter was consuming and inviting.

His eyes only left yours when you saw your father call and approach him. As he looked away, you too turned your eyes back to your mother and her sister. You could not hear what your father and Miguel were discussing behind you and your mother’s back, but you would soon learn that the god of the dead was blessed by your father for your hand in marriage.

There was no warning. One day, you were laying under the sun in the springfields with flowers in your hair, singing a love song from days of old. The next day, you were escorted to the world below you, climbing your way through its webs to become queen of the dark kingdom to your betrothed.

“I know you have assumptions about me.” Miguel’s voice is quiet as he speaks, barely above a whisper in the snowfall. “I cannot change them or how you feel, nor do I intend on changing your mind, but …”

His words trail off, his voice fading into the distant sound of the winter winds howling in the cavern.

Looking back up at the dome above you, you catch his reflection. A shadow crosses his stern face, its fingers stretching across his tan skin. In the dim moonlight, you could almost catch streaks of silver in his dark waves. The centuries have taken a toll on him, and while you were a couple hundred years younger than him, you, too, felt the heaviness in your chest.

“I’ve heard stories,” you tell him quietly.

His eyes remain on the sky above with an unreadable expression. The only sound between you is the silent snowfall and the white clouds that puff around your lips with each breath you take.

“Do you believe them?”

His question catches you by surprise. Your eyes widen, your breath stuttering in your throat as you think about how to answer him.

Your husband turns to you then, a stormy look on his face as he looks at you.

You remembered the stories and cautionary tales your mother told you about him. While you were tending the rose garden one day, your mother shared with you the stories she heard from the other gods after attending a banquet.

He was the reason one of the universes collapsed. He meddled into the mortal realm when he should have stayed where he belonged- in the depths and shadows of the dead.

He chased a young boy to the edges of the Underworld, all because the poor boy wanted to save his father from dying. Imagine how cruel a man could be to stop a boy from saving his father.

That man shows no mercy or remorse for the dearly departed. He only sits on his throne as he listens to their tears of sadness and cries of anguish. He would not even show mercy to a mortal man who ventured into the Underworld to bring his lover back to life– instead, granting an impossible task that doomed the poor man from the start.

Decades ago, you might have believed the whispers of the gods, goddesses, and other celestial beings as they spoke about him behind his back. For the first few decades of your marriage, you resented him for taking you away from your mother and the mortal realm. He stole you away from the sun with just a simple blessing from your father, and he had not even spoken a single word to you before making you his bride and queen.

What he did not know was that once, you ran away.

As Miguel was in the heart of the Underworld, you briefly escaped its darkness. It was winter in the land of the living, and somehow, you managed to sneak past the hounds, the souls, and the suspecting ferryman who stood at the crossroads between realms.

(Whether he knew your plan of escape or not, he did not say. The ferryman merely watched with unknowing eyes as you slipped past him.)

Your lungs ached as you climbed your way out from underground. Soil crusted beneath your fingernails, your skin covered in earth when the light of the winter sun nearly burned your eyes upon your ascent.

You did not know how long you wandered, but you walked until the soles of your feet burned crimson. The skies darkened into icy shades of gray and white before weeping for the loss of the sun and your fingertips mirrored the color of your feet.

Day turned to night, and before long, you stumbled upon an evening wake.

Outside the church, the deceased’s family mingled in the winter night. Their eyes burned with tears as their voices trembled with each word spoken. Loved ones gathered around them to offer their condolences while the children sat outside on the steps, playing with makeshift paper dolls and animals to pass the time.

You wondered if anyone saw you, but the thought of someone recognizing you never crossed your mind. While your mother advised you to stay out of mortal affairs, there was something pulling you towards the coffin, urging you to stay.

It did not take long for your heart to break.

Tears pricked your eyes as you gazed at the little girl laying inside the wooden box. You remembered her youthful spirit and jovial smile as she would sit under your favorite tree, weaving flower crowns and sharing fruit with some of the wildlife that dwelled in the forest. The nymphs and dryads spoke fondly of her whenever she visited the lake, and a few times, you remembered picking up the blooming flowers that she left behind as an offering.

Overcome with grief, you placed your hand over hers, whispering words of assurance and comfort to her. Her skin was cold to touch, but you did not shy away as you left behind a small white lily in her embrace.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, you immediately stepped aside. You assumed the man who approached the coffin to be her father as you watched him place the coins over her eyes, whispering to his daughter in their native tongue with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your heart ached for the girl and her family as you watched them gather around her coffin. No one noticed you while you walked away, following the fallen petals of dried flowers to guide you back to the world below.

It was as if nothing changed since your brief departure. The ferryman merely watched you with apathetic eyes when you returned, his boat filled with souls as he carried them over the Styx.

You did not meet with Miguel that day, but as you wandered the Isles of the Blessed, you heard a familiar voice ring in the air.

Not wanting to be seen or scolded for wandering off, you quickly hid behind a tree. Peeking from behind the trunk, your heart warmed to see that same little girl playing in the field with a man holding her hand.

Miguel.

You watched as he knelt down to her height, a gentle look on his face as he held her hands. You could not hear what they were saying, but from the smile on her face, you knew that he was nothing but kind and gentle with her as she adjusted to her new life in Elysium.

“What is your name, little one?”

“Gabriella.”

“Gabriella,” your husband repeated as he brushed her hair out of her eyes. His fingers paused over the lily tucked behind her ear. “This is a beautiful flower you have in your hair.”

She smiled as she removed it from her ear and offered it to him.

“I had it with me when the ferryman took me here. I don’t remember how I got it, but he told me to keep it.”

You held your breath as Miguel held the lily in his hand. It was not unusual for flowers to spring wherever you went, and you wondered if he knew that you snuck into the mortal realm under his watch.

To your surprise, he smiled at her as he tucked the lily back in her hair.

“He was right. You should keep it.”

You have not seen Gabriella since that day, but you never forgot her. Whenever you walked near the Isles of the Blessed, you could hear her laugh in the wind with the river twinkling in the shape of her smile.

His question hangs frozen mid-air as the snow crystallizes around you.

Did you believe the horrid tales, after what you have seen?

His eyes search yours as the two of you stand under the shadow of the earth, its roots tangling around you.

Of all the myths and legends you heard about Miguel, it would be easy to sway you into believing he was an apathetic man who ruled the land of the dead. He stole you away from spring, but in the decades that followed since your marriage, you realized that not once did he ever try to hold you back. There were countless times you snuck away into the mortal realm, and every time he could have held you back or ordered the hounds to follow you. Yet, he never did.

Perhaps you have judged him too harshly before learning about the man beneath the mask. While a part of you still resented him for the marriage, you could not bring yourself to truly hate him.

“I would have,” you answer him quietly, “once upon a December.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, amusement briefly flickering across his eyes as the ghost of a smile tickles his lips.

In the mirror above, snow continues to fall like kisses from the earth. Its kisses leave droplets on your skin, but as you turn to your husband, you could count the snowflakes like stars in the night sky as they melt into his dark hair and brown skin.

It was one of those rare moments where there was nothing and no one else in the world but the two of you. While Miguel was known to mortals under a different name and had a duty to follow in his realm, he gave you freedom to roam his world as you pleased without fear. You were his queen, and he treated you as such in his own quiet way.

While he kept you at arm’s length, you were no fool.

“Why did you bring me here?”

The cavern almost seemed to engulf him as the moonlight shined upon him. Whispers of snow glistened in his hair, and the perpetual scowl on his lips appeared to soften the longer he gazed at the sky.

He pauses, calculating his words.

“Long before the mortals named me, I stumbled upon this place by chance. It is safe to presume that the deepest depths of the Underworld to be a frightening place of terror and grief, but it is more than what the legends say.”

Miguel takes a step forward until he is directly underneath the center of the mirror. Behind him, the outlines of a tree stretched its branches around him with its root tangling your shadow with his.

The wind continues to howl like a wounded wolf in the dead of night. While the mortals would call this place Tartarus, it was not what you imagined.

A deep ache settles in your chest, its roots ensnaring the heart in your ribs as the winter breeze fills your lungs with sharp knives of ice.

“Only once in a blue moon could I walk into the world above, but here … it is the only way I could see the mortal realm without leaving mine behind.”

His eyes seem to mist in the moonlight, and your heart softens. The fortress of the castle he built around him begins to crumble, and for the first time, you see the lone king that resides within the darkness of its walls.

The longing of the sun, the yearning for something warm, for someone to hold.

As you look up at the mirror, you remember a time when you wandered the meadow in your youth and stumbled upon a stream where the carrion birds often flocked to. The nymphs, dryads, and your overbearing mother advised you to never venture near the river, but your youthful curiosity overcame you against their best wishes.

The birds followed your movements as you stepped towards the river. Dark clouds gathered in the sky above with thunder rumbling in the distance, but you remained steadfast. White peace lilies and roses bloomed underneath your feet as you fell to your knees to peer into the murky waters beneath.

Darkness swirled around your reflection as you gazed at the water below. The longer you looked, the more confused you were as you tried to decipher what lurked underneath the surface. What could cause the dryads and nymphs to urge you to stay away from this place? What worried your mother that you found a secret beneath?

You never told them about the river, nor did you ever return since that day, but as you look up at the familiar mirror above you, you wonder if the forbidden river drifted into the Styx. Perhaps the carrion birds were the ones who guarded the river in the mortal realm.

Perhaps as you wondered and peered into the dark waters, another face watched you from below.

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts, urging you to look at him.

“I know a part of you must resent me for taking you away from your mother — and I do not blame you for it — but this…” He gestures to the mirror above, a soft expression relaxing the curves of his face, “is the only way we could see into the mortal universe. If I could bring a piece of the mortal world to you, it is the least I can do.”

Snow continues to fall with the winter winds howling around the two of you, causing a small flurry of snow to surround your two bodies. Frost begins to crystallize at your feet, indicating the official arrival of winter in the world above.

Your husband illuminates in the moonlight, a serene glow casted across his frame as he keeps his gaze on the sky. The corners of his lips curve into a lazy smile, and you could not help but think back to all the legends and myths you were taught about him, and the river that your mother warned you to stay away from.

If this was the face that watched you from below, how could you despise him for bringing a piece of your world back to you, especially when he was not welcome in the light?

“It is the winter solstice in the mortal world,” you tell him softly. The sky darkens above you, but you do not feel the cold as much anymore, not with the snowdrops beginning to surface from the frost. “The shortest day and the longest night of the year.”

You wonder what flowers would bloom in the spheres of the universe, what sky and stars the mortals see as they bask in the moonlight. While your marriage to the god of the Underworld dictated the seasons above, you lived long enough to know that the worlds above adjusted to your absence or presence in their own ways.

The first winter you spent in the Underworld, you were inconsolable. While Miguel tried to comfort you, you were distraught, crying tears of anguish into your pillow as the darkness surrounded you. For the first time, no flowers bloomed where you stepped or where you lay. Instead, only roseless thorns and weeds gathered where you walked, and in the world above, it was the worst harvest the mortals have seen in decades.

While your parents argued with your husband about the conditions and length of your stay, you blocked out their voices. The only sounds you heard were your cracks splintering through your heart as you mourned the warmth of the sun and the endless blue sky. As much as Miguel tried to coax you out of your chambers and into the dark gardens of his kingdom, you planted your roots into the ground, refusing to be anywhere near him.

Only for the winter, your father proposed. Your mother wept by his side, but your husband nodded in agreement, sealing your fate as swiftly as the seasons changed.

It took some time, but throughout the first few years of your marriage, you began to be civil with Miguel. Much like him, you kept him at arm’s length, watching him and trying to understand what kind of king he was to his subjects in the world below. While you heard the whispering lore and legends of him in your ears, you soon learned that he was not everything that the people believed him to be.

A cloud storms in his brown irises as he looks over at you, his brow slightly furrowed. “If I may ask, are you happy here?”

A bitter laugh threatens to spill from your lips, but you quickly bite your tongue.

It has been decades since you were taken to rule the world below. While you may not have lived long enough to control your godly emotions, you still felt an aching pain and loss as you grieved leaving your home.

“I did not have a choice in becoming your bride,” you answer, your voice laden with sadness and despair. “What say do I have as your wife?”

You were a younger goddess who lived only a couple centuries, but you had yet to learn the complexities of the universe. You still needed to experience the worlds around you, both above and below, but your maidenhood was cut short by the man your father arranged to be your husband.

Even with the decades behind you, time had yet to fully heal the part of your heart that grieved for your maidenhood. You were conflicted in your grief and loss when Miguel had been cordial and respectful, in his own sentimental way. A part of you may resent him, but you still did not completely understand the feelings you held towards him.

His brown eyes soften at your words, his lips slightly parted as white cotton clouds flutter in the air from his breath.

“You are not a prisoner here,” he assures you gently, approaching you as if you were a skittish deer in the woods. “I am truly sorry for the pain I brought upon you.”

You look up at him slowly, seeing nothing but remorse in his gaze. You wonder if he would ask for your forgiveness, but it was too late for that. It has been half a century since your marriage, and the world already recorded the event in the stars and the sky.

Miguel was a man of many things, but you know in his eyes, he is lawful. With the living and the dead, he merely rules over the departed to balance the universes. He only follows the rules of nature, but in godly matters, he follows the customs and traditions. A marriage only needs a father’s blessing for his daughter to be wedded without the husband needing to court or ask the bride. He broke no laws, but he did not fully understand the depths of your grief.

His voice is gentle as the winds quiet around him.

“I know it will take time for you to fully accept me as your husband, but I am a patient man. All I ask and plead is for you to give me a chance.”

The winter winds pull the air out of your lungs as Miguel turns with his hand outstretched towards you.

As you grieved the sudden end of your maidenhood, you reflect on everything you have seen. The gods and goddesses may indulge in heresy and scandals whenever they pleased, but from what you learned from their whispers, some of their stories did not reflect what you have seen.

The god of the dead was not cruel, nor was he kind. He often deals in absolutes and ultimatums, with the universes remaining in balance as he ruled over his domain.

Even so, you remember Gabriella’s smile as he held her hand in Elysium. A child taken too soon, but found comfort in the man who guided her to the Isles of the Blessed.

Perhaps he was kinder than you believed.

Snow gathers in his palm as he holds his hand towards you. It would be easier for you to turn away and loathe him for the rest of your days, but something stirs in your heart.

Darkness may have taken its hold over the mortal realm, but it has not fully consumed yours.

Your fate is already written in the stars, your marriage bound in a godly affair. While you are still a younger goddess in a single web of the universe, perhaps it would do you no harm to trim the thorns that protected you and allow a rose to bloom.

Slowly, you take his hand, his skin oddly warm against yours.

Your husband smiles gently at you and raises your hand to his lips.

“I promise to love and care for you,” he whispers, “as long as you are by my side.”

Snowdrops and hydrangeas begin to bloom from the frost that dusted the ground beneath you, tangling with the roots of the tree as you walk beside him, allowing him to guide you away from the moonlight and towards the river from where you came.

A comfortable silence falls upon you as Miguel rows the boat along the Styx, the water calm and quiet on the journey away from the darkness. The winter winds begin to fade into a distant echo, and as much as you wish to turn back to gaze at the world above one more time, you keep your eyes forward.

The winter solstice may have begun in the mortal realm, but the spring solstice has begun to blossom in the world below.

And in the depths of the Underworld, the tree that holds the mirror above sprouts a single crimson fruit, a small pomegranate in the start of spring.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x woc!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman-2099 x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #spiderman 2099 imagine

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dolliestfairy · 11 months

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і𝖿 thᥱrᥱ𝘴 ⍺ whі𝘴k, thᥱrᥱ𝘴 ⍺ w⍺Ⴘ╰🎀 . ִ ۫ ⁎ .

Geto, Mahito & Choso with Chubby!fem!reader who is a baker 🧁(୨୧ᵕ̤ᴗᵕ̤)

ʚ ₊˚ ᥀ Warning : Pet names (my little baker, chubby bunny), mentions of killing, mentions of eating flesh, mentions of pinch & blood, a little bit of overprotectiveness & possessiveness, and maybe some misspelled word. lmk if i miss anything. reader skin color is not announced. overall fluff.

ʚ ₊˚ ᥀ A/N : this is a continuation of the part 1 and part 2 jujutsu kaisen character with chubby!fem!reader who is a baker. lmk what you think, and also if you want another part just tell in the comment with what character :). also pls give me feedbacks and reblogs, tysm!

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 3

Enjoy reading my fairies╰🧚🏻‍♀️ . ִ ۫ ⁎ .

✧ Geto

• sunshine & sunshine protector friendship dynamic ୧₊˚

• love the smell of your bakery like the bread, the chocolate and the pastry smells like yum yummmm

• though he would never admit it anyway...

• always squeezing his time just so he can go and visit your bakery (also to meet you too, but again, he would never admit this)

• love the softness of your body, they.. well um.. they somehow match what you were doing like you were making soft bread and pastry and your body is soft and round too so yk

• and this guy is also a little bit of overprotective over you and also a little bit possesive.

• he just doesnt want you to get hurt or anything & also he wants you to be completely his

• he would rather die than admitting this, but he sometimes think that he doesnt deserve you, and you deserve someone better.

• but as soon as he sees some guy flirting with you, it'll be all kicked out of the window, and he quickly shused whoever that person is (💀)

• but back again, he really loves you and he also love whatever you can do, such as making him feel good in bed.

✧ Mahito

• prey. thats what he think of you FIRST.

• i mean you look like a chubby bunny who works in a bakery for him

• he also like to tease you about whatever you do, meaningly or even affectionately, but mostly meaningly teasing 💀

• but if someone other than him do the same to you, you have to quickly prevent him from taking their life or else he really does gonna take their life.

• its as same when someone mock you or bully you, they're gonna be dead also.

• love to call you a pet names like 'chubby bunny' or 'my little baker' <3

• he also sometimes observe your bakery from the sewers under your bakery building (💀)

• he... well um, since he's also like a curse or something, he sometimes let the curse to in to your bakery with one rules = do not annoy or endangering you.

• and if they does? well, that day is gonna be the last day they can see the sunlight & moonlight.

• but he does freaking loves you, and one of his fav things to do with you is that he loves to affectionately biting your flesh or just gently pinch the extra flesh you had.

• what I mean by "affectionately biting you flesh" is that biting your body in the most gentle way you could possible imagine, and not like a brutal one until your skin and flesh are torn apart, that would be something else.

• but Mahito is still Mahito, so sometimes he cant help but let one of his sharp teeth drawing blood in your body.

• but if you get hurt, he immediately stop and looking at you with a worry yet confused expression.

• because overall, he's still freaking loves you, and he doesnt want to lose his chubby bunny who works in a bakery bussiness.

✧ Choso

• thinks he doesnt deserve you.

• this is like the dynamic friendship of the 'no energy friend' with 'calm friend' dynamic

• love your smell, the vanilla, flour, and just the smell of the sugary sweetness bread that patch in your body.

• making him feel cozy and safe.

• he doesnt really admit this out loud, but you somehow, manage to making him feel like a 'normal person' again.

• a normal person who is falling in love with someone, with you.

• thats why he always try to be with you, be at your side, just so he can feel the feelings of it again.

• he also love a gentle and kindhearted person, such as you.

• you're the girl he always dream of.

• i'm not joking while i'm saying this, the first time he confess to you and you accept him, he can feel his whole body and heart and soul is melting.

• he can feel his brain is like being mobbed by butterflies.

• he feel peace and all he feels is just that, he feel joy and happiness.

• he would do anything to protect you. yes we all know he sometimes befriended with curse and some shit, but the one thing is that, he would never let any one of his curse friend getting too close to you or your bakery.

• thats just how he shows himself that he loves you and care for you so much he even doesnt let his friend endangering you.

• he's a broken man inside, but you managed to strengthen him, and he thanked you for all of it.

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sunvmars · 4 months

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a quiet hue || s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | masterlist | latest fic

word count: 5.1k summary: desperate for a cure for your blocked creative flow, you take a trip to the roof of your apartment to overlook the city for inspiration. that's where you meet Steve, discovering he's your new neighbor. needless to say, meeting him aids your motivation, and opens up the possibility of something more. warnings: brief almost sexual encounter, swearing, four uses of 'y/n.'

Dull moonlight streams through the open window of your apartment, coating your studio room in a soft white tinge. The faint bustling of the city outside and the hum of your favorite vinyl record provide a constant, soothing backdrop. However, the familiar sounds do nothing to aid your frustration as you stand in front of your easel with a blank canvas on it.

Your brush hovers mid-air, desperate to pick up any color to put down on the clean slate. Yet, when you try to come up with anything to paint, you end up coming up with nothing at all. All inspiration and creativity have been slipping through your fingers like water for the last few weeks. You spent many hours of those last few weeks in your studio alone, and it's starting to feel pointless to even try anymore.

"Come on," you huff in irritation. "Give me something, anything."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking you out of your concentration. A groan escapes you as you pluck the phone out of the pocket of your painting apron. You crack a smile upon reading the notification, a text you'd gotten from your best friend, Elizabeth. She's urging you, yet again, to introduce yourself to the "hot guy," who just moved in across from you.

Elizabeth lives four doors down from you and has always taken it upon herself to tell you every time someone new moves in. The guy had only moved in last week, but she already insists that you two would be perfect together. How she knew that after only meeting him once, you weren't sure.

You respond with, "Liz, I've been in a creative crisis for three weeks. No time for 'hot guys' right now," before slipping your phone back into your apron. Your attention returns to your pitifully plain canvas as you mentally curse your idea-void brain.

After a few more minutes of nothing but frustration, you finally give up. You step away from your easel and sigh, deciding to go to the rooftop to relax. On most occasions, you would keep trying, but maybe some fresh air and raw sunlight could help you, you figure.

When you step out onto the rooftop, you can't help but be amazed by the view of the city. The skyline stretches out before you in muted blue and black hues, and the moon bathes everything in a cold, white glow. The city's constant motion, the people and cars below, are a stark contrast to the stillness that has enveloped your artistic abilities.

You plant yourself in a chair that overlooks the city in the corner of the rooftop. Over the last two years that you've lived here, said corner has managed to accumulate quite a bit of furniture. Now it's decorated perfectly with an outdoor couch, two chairs, a small table, a few potted plants, and globe string lights that stretch across the railing. The quiet oasis has often provided you with solace, and you hope for it to do just that tonight as well.

Leaning back in the chair, you close your eyes and allow the gentle breeze to caress your face. The cool air seeps into your skin, and for a moment, you feel a sense of peace. Distant noises and the bright lights of the surrounding buildings have become a familiar comfort for you. In fact, it's so soothing that you've gotten lost in thought, not hearing the door creak open or the footsteps approaching you.

"Mind if I join you?" a deep, but kind, voice asks, effectively startling you out of your tranquil thoughts.

Your eyes open immediately and land on the man standing beside you. He's fairly tall with blonde hair that almost looks like honey, and he has crystalline blue eyes that make your heart skip when your gaze meets his.

Instantly, you realize that you've never seen him around the building before. So, at first, you don't recognize him, but he seems familiar. Then it suddenly connects; he's Steve Rogers, meaning that Captain America himself is your new neighbor. And Elizabeth had definitely left out that tiny detail on purpose. She knows you don't care for titles or status, but it's still a little jarring.

"Oh, no, not at all," you respond meekly.

He offers a warm smile as he sits in the chair beside you. "I'm Steve," he says, his eyes lingering on you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself. "You must be the hot new guy."

Heat makes its way to your face as soon as the words leave your mouth. Your gaze drops to your lap, suddenly feeling nervous under his friendly stare. Steve chuckles heartily, and it puts you at ease a little, a smile growing on your face.

"I'm so sorry, those were not my words," you explain.

When you look back up at him, he has an eyebrow cocked up and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. Embarrassment crawls back into you as you realize, yet again, you'd said something that was easily misinterpreted.

"I did not mean it like that. I meant that my friend, Elizabeth, said you were hot, not that I did- not that you're not attractive, but-" You cut yourself off with a groan, briefly covering your face with your hands out of mortification. "She has been trying to get me to meet you, in her words, "the new hot guy," since you moved in. She's convinced that we're soulmates or something. Now, please say something before I embarrass myself again."

Steve laughs a soft, genuine laugh, finding your rambling nothing short of adorable and endearing. "No worries, I'm flattered by your friend's enthusiasm," he reassures you, "But for the record, I don't think that I'm the attractive neighbor here."

Picking up on what he's insinuating, you shift in your chair slightly as you speak. "I- I...uhm... Thank you," you stammer nervously.

He hums to acknowledge your appreciation before leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped together on his chest. "So, what're you doing up here by yourself? Just enjoying the view?" he inquires, his attention switching to the city overlook in front of you.

"I guess you could say that. Really just having a creative block, and this is the only place that distracts me from the frustration."

"I get that, it is beautiful out here," he says in agreement. "What kind of art do you make?"

"Out of all the creative hobbies, how'd you know I make art?"

"I just had a feeling. You've got a certain...energy, I guess, that seeps from you."

"The stereotypical miserable and struggling artist energy?" you joke, chuckling momentarily. "I usually just do paintings, mainly on canvas or paper, but sometimes I do little sketches."

Steve's interest piques as he listens to you talk. He sits up some, his head turned to you, giving you his full attention. "That sounds fascinating. I used to dabble in drawing myself, so I'd love to see your work sometime."

A small smile forms on your face. "I'd be more than happy to show you. Once I get out of this little rut, that is," you respond. "Why did you stop drawing? Do you not enjoy it anymore?"

His gaze shifts away briefly, his expression turning more contemplative as he speaks, "I guess life just got in the way at some point. When you're caught up in a world that's moving so fast, sometimes you lose touch with things that used to bring you joy."

You listen intently as he speaks, his words resonating deeper than you can explain. Even though you've clearly led and lived two different lives, you feel a sense of instant connection based on the few words he just spoke. More than anything, though, you both admire and appreciate his vulnerability with you- a total stranger to him. His openness makes you all the more comfortable around him.

"I understand what you mean," you reply empathetically, "sometimes you just need a little spark, something that reminds you how much you love your passion, y'know? Maybe you'll find that soon."

"I hope so," Steve says with an appreciative smile, his eyes locking with yours once again. "Or maybe I've already found it."

"Already? Please do share the secret as to how you did that so fast."

"Well," he starts, "she's sitting right next to me."

His words linger in the air and a warmth spreads through your chest, igniting something that had been dormant for a long time. You chuckle for a moment in an attempt to brush off the nerves pooling in your stomach. After a second or two, you build up the courage to speak again.

"You're quite the charmer there, aren't you? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me, Steve," you tease with a playful glint in your eyes.

He responds to your teasing with a chuckle of his own. "I suppose I am being a tad forward, but I just couldn't resist. Is it working?"

Your cheeks feel just as warm as your chest, and you find yourself caught in his magnetic gaze. "I would say it is, but you are my first real conversation in weeks, so take that as you will," you admit, a shy smile spreading across your face.

"I'll take that as a win, then," he replies with an endearing grin.

Time seems to go by quickly as you two continue to talk. Sometimes you both go off on random little tangents, straying off-topic before finding your way back. You talk about what got you into art in the first place, your time in school, and how you ended up in the city. Typically you're more reserved than most, but his genuine curiosity about you makes you feel chatty. It feels like you've known him for years rather than a short hour and a half.

He's more of a listener than a talker, you observe. He mostly sympathizes with you, occasionally sharing related moments from his past, and sometimes he'll briefly mention his job. Nevertheless, you don't mind him hardly speaking of his work, because even though it's interesting, it's not what you care about most. And luckily for you, the simple human under the heroic title is much more interesting, and has more in common with you in terms of interests, beliefs, and hobbies.

Steve sits straight up in his chair and breaks the comfortable silence that had settled, "I think this might be the most intriguing and honest conversation I've had in a while. So, thank you."

"It's no problem, Steve. And thank you for helping me get some of my inspiration back, and for listening to me ramble," you reply softly.

He turns his gaze to you, his eyes twinkling under the lights and his expression warm. "I'm glad I could be of some help. I must say, your company has been the highlight of my day- my month, really. Maybe your friend was right, but I think I was the one meant to meet you and not the other way around," he muses truthfully.

"And I think you may be that spark I needed," you smile, inspiration now running freely through you, "I suppose I'll go try my hand at that canvas again now."

You rise to your feet, eager to see what comes from your newfound muse. "It's been nice meeting you, and I'd love to talk longer, but if I lose this ounce of motivation then I just might so crazy."

Steve also gets up from his seat, a genuine fondness in his eyes as he says, "No worries. It's been a pleasure, but I've got an early morning tomorrow anyway. Would you like me to walk you back?"

"Seeing as you're across the hall from me, it'd probably be an awkward walk back if I said no," you joke.

Steve lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've got a good point there. Let's go, then."

You nod in agreement, your smile matching his. Together, you walk back to your respective apartments, grateful for each other's company. As you unlock your door, you turn to face him with a thankful smile.

"Again, thank you. I look forward to seeing you again sometime," you say, pondering on your thoughts for a short second before adding, "I'm usually out there around the same time every evening; if you'd like to come out again tomorrow, I'd love the company."

"It's no problem, truly," he replies, offering you a reassuring smile. "And I'd love to. I'll be up tomorrow to visit you, but you know where to find me if you need me before then."

You hum in approval, stepping inside your apartment. Before you can close the door behind you, his voice speaks up again.

"Oh, and y/n?"

Opening the door fully, you look at him from across the hall, his figure standing facing you in his doorway. "Yes?"

"Thank you for treating me like I'm just Steve and not like, well, a 'hero.' It's a nice change of pace."

A welcoming smile graces your lips as your head tilts slightly to the side, your voice soft-spoken, "Well, that is who you are, isn't it? To me, you are just Steve."

The corners of his lips tug up, and his eyes hold a mixture of gratitude and sincerity. "That means more to me than you know. Have a good night, okay?"

"You too, Steve."

With that, you both close your doors. You return to your studio and throw your apron back on. This time, it's easy to come up with an idea and let your brush ghost over the canvas. Strictly from memory, you paint the skyline from the view of the rooftop tonight. You paint all the stars, the dark clouds, and the moon before stopping for the night.

It all comes naturally until that point because, unexpectedly and ironically, you had taken your own advice.

You found your spark.

The very next night, Steve meets you on the rooftop again, just as he promised. And every night since then for the last three weeks, he'd met you on the rooftop to catch up and share your progress. There wasn't but one day when he didn't show up, and meeting to chat had become like a routine. Because of that, the two of you hardly messaged each other throughout the day even though you had exchanged numbers. Some days, however, he'd text you simply to check in on you.

The man has had an irreversible effect on you that you can't deny; he keeps you level-headed, and he's almost like a muse to you.

After you finished the skyline painting of the night you met, you kept up with the theme. You did other random sketches during the daytime, along with commissions to make money, but always painted some semblance of the night sky when you got home from talking with Steve. You'd decided to turn the paintings into a collection, and last was the piece that completed said collection.

You also decided that you would finally take Steve up on his interest in seeing what you've painted. So, you told him before you parted the previous night to come over around the time you'd usually meet.

Now, it's the night he's supposed to come over, and you invited Elizabeth over after her shift to watch a movie to pass the time. That's how you ended up on your couch, Liz sitting opposite of you with your legs across her lap. You're holding your fourth glass of wine, your hair is messy from laying down, and you've got a blanket slung lazily over your legs.

The fact that Steve is coming over had slipped your mind as soon as Liz put that third glass of wine in your hand. Had you remembered, you would been wearing more than you are. But thanks to the alcohol, you got distracted and forgot to change into more...conservative clothing. Now you're left only wearing skimpy shorts paired with your favorite painting shirt from earlier; a thin, black button-up that's now unbuttoned almost halfway, and your red bra visible underneath.

Contributing to your distraction is none other than Liz. She's currently talking your ear off about her new situationship. And you don't mind at all, taking more interest in her life than the movie.

"Wait, wait, wait," you interrupt her, giggling as you try to piece together your words. "He took you on one 'date' to a car meet in his fancy car, and that's all it took to have you wrapped around his finger?"

Liz chuckles and takes a sip of her wine. "I mean, it's not just the cool cars, or the fact that he drives a Corvette. He's sweet, really, amongst other things," she says with a sly grin.

"Are any of these "other things," including being good in bed?" you question, an eyebrow raised expectantly at her.

She bursts into laughter, her cheeks flushed from the wine and her confession. "You know I'm a sucker for that," she admits as she tucks a strand of her dark red hair behind her ear.

You join in on her laughter while bringing your glass to your lips. "You're shameless, Lizzie," you tease playfully, shaking your head in faux disapproval at her.

Unfazed by your sarcastic teasing, she grins mischievously. "Shameless and proud, my friend."

"And that's why I love you," you smile.

"I know, I love you too," she replies with a yawn, "But as much as I love you, I think I better get going."

You lift your legs, grumbling dramatically at having to move, and swing your legs off the couch. She chuckles at your exaggeration, placing her glass on the coffee table before walking to the shoe rack near your front door. She slips her shoes on and then walks over to the counter to grab her purse. As she prepares to leave, you stretch out your tired limbs, sighing at the feeling.

You stand up straight, walking towards her to offer a hug, your arms outstretched. "Thanks for coming over, Liz. Be careful out there," you say, embracing her tightly.

"I live four doors down, honey."

"Oh, right," you respond with a smile as you pull away from the hug.

"Get some sleep, bug," she chuckles. "I'll talk to you-"

A knock sounds on the door, cutting her sentence short. Her brows raise at you before she looks at the door and then back at you.

"You expecting company?" she questions.

"I guess so," you mumble, hurrying to the door.

When you open it, you're met with the sight of Steve, dressed in his usual casual attire. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes trace over you quickly before his expression becomes slightly flustered.

"Hey there," he says, giving you a meek smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You're not. Come on in," you reply, your cheeks warming as you realize how little you have on. Steve steps in, and you glance back at Liz, who's trying to stifle her laughter with her hand over her mouth, "Elizabeth was just leaving," you say with eyes narrowed in her direction.

Liz clears her throat, still trying to contain her laughter. "Oh, we're doing legal names now, l/n?"

When your eyes narrow at her once more, she finally lets out a laugh. "Alright, alright. I'll get back to 'just leaving' now," she says, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and slipping out of the door between the two of you.

She turns to give him a brief nod, but offers you a smirk, and then makes her way out. She sings, "Have fun," teasingly when she's just out of the door. You can't help but roll your eyes at her, and Steve chuckles.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," you remark sarcastically, closing the door behind her.

Steve speaks as you turn to face him, "She certainly gives quite the introduction."

"That she does," you sigh deeply, "I'm sorry for my underdressed state, Liz brought wine and I completely forgot you were coming tonight."

His gaze rakes back over you. "It is quite the surprise, but I don't mind," he starts, his eyes twinkling with something unknown as he takes in your flustered state, "Besides, you look fine- well, more than fine honestly, so I'm not complaining."

A shiver runs down your spine under his gaze, and you try to suppress a nervous laugh. You definitely hadn't expected that reaction, or that compliment, and it only adds to your nerves. It wasn't him you're nervous about, it's the attention that's unusual for you.

"Thank you," you say with a sheepish smile. "Uhm, I actually wanted to show you something. Follow me."

Steve hums, a smile crossing over his features, and he tries to force his eyes to stay off your figure while he follows you to your studio. He fails, though, and he catches a glimpse of your lower half when you walk. A deep blush tints his cheeks, and he's glad that you can't see it, but an obvious tent grows in his pants.

Upon entering your studio, you catch his flustered expression out of the corner of your eye. "You sure I don't need to change? Seems like I'm distracting you," you tease.

He clears his throat, stammering as he tries to regain his composure, "No, no, you're not... I mean, I just get distracted easily, but that's not me saying you look easy, or that you don't look great, 'cause you do, really, but I- uh, I'm so sorry."

A chuckle falls from your lips at his adorable, but not very common, nervous state. "I was just teasing. It's okay, Steve. Never thought I'd see you all shy and stuttering instead of me, though."

"You just have a way of making me feel... off balance, per-say," he says with a bashful grin.

Again, Steve's embarrassment is a definite contrast to the confident demeanor he usually carries, so you can't help but find the reaction endearing.

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual," you reply truthfully. "Now, back to the matter at hand. I wanted to show you these."

You gesture up at the collection of paintings that litter your longest wall, and Steve's eyes follow your direction. His gaze sweeps over the paintings, which he had missed initially due to his focus being primarily on you.

He takes a few steps closer to get a better look at the art in front of him. Each one displays a different variation of the sky and city lights, the canvases vary in size and tone, and every piece reflects a different emotion. Although they're all of the same sky, some are from different perspectives, and all of the cityscapes have a few differences.

You speak up after a few seconds and break the silence, "So? What do you think?"

He lingers on the paintings out of admiration, taking in every single one of the details of each painting. "They're stunning, I love all of them," he finally says. His voice filled with genuine awe as he adds, "You're incredible, truthfully, and I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Steve, but they wouldn't exist without you."

"Without me? What do you mean?" he questions, an eyebrow raised as he turns to look at you.

You smile and walk over to stand in front of him. Your eyes lock with his blue ones. "You're the inspiration for them- all of our conversations, the last few weeks we've met up there. Honestly, you've become my source of inspiration, and I can't thank you enough."

He lets your words soak in with softened eyes. Then his hand reaches out to delicately cup your cheek, and his thumb brushes your skin tenderly. Goosebumps litter your skin the second his hand meets your skin, and you feel your cheeks heat up, his touch making your heart pound in anticipation.

"I'm more than honored," he says, his voice warm and affectionate. "I'm glad I could be of help to you. You're truly talented, honey."

With each passing moment, you can feel your connection deepening, and so can he. The air in the room seems to have become charged with an unspoken understanding of yours and his feelings. His hand on your cheek, the feeling of his slightly hot skin on yours, has nerves pooling in your stomach. After a second, you find yourself leaning into his touch. You even allow your eyes to close for a brief second to savor the moment.

When you open your eyes, you find Steve's gaze locked onto your lips. His expression is one filled with a foreign longing and desire, along with traces of hesitation.

"Y/n," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, "can I..."

Before he can finish, you close the remaining gap between the two of you. Your lips press onto his with your hands on resting on his chest and his hands cupping your face. His response is immediate; he kisses you back softly as a simple exploration of the connection that's been growing for weeks. It's a gentle, tender action, and it's almost like he's testing the waters to see if the newfound attraction is mutual. And luckily for him, it is, and you can feel it in every shared breath.

Steve pulls away to give you time to catch your breath, leaving your heart racing. His forehead rests on yours as he smiles at you. The nervousness you felt has since dissipated, and now it's all been replaced with admiration.

"I've wanted to do that for longer than I'd like to admit," he confesses in a whisper.

"Me too. Is it bad that I'm tempted to ask you to do it again?" you ask, meeting his smile with one of your own.

His eyes sparkle with delight, a light chuckle falling from his mouth while his hand still cradles your cheek. "I was hoping you'd say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

Once more, he leans down and captures your lips in another kiss. This time, the kiss is deeper, and...hungrier. One of your hands slides up his chest and behind his neck so your fingers can tangle in his hair. In response, his hands drop, his arms encircling your waist to pull you flush against him.

The need that's been simmering for weeks comes to the forefront as your lips move in sync with his. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them willingly. Feverishly, his tongue slides into your mouth, the taste of him becoming nearly intoxicating. His hands trail from your waist to your lower back, and he attempts to pull you closer, but there's no more distance between you two to close. Your fingers tug at his hair gently in response, the feeling of his body on yours making your heart beat out of your chest.

Steve's lips move from your mouth down to your neck to leave a trail of fleeting kisses. Your breath hitches, a small whimper tumbles from your lips, and it only pushes him to keep going. His hands roam over your body and caress every curve as he occasionally grabs at your waist or hips. Delicately, his teeth nip at your neck just under your jawline. You whine when he pulls away, your eyes meeting his, your chest rising and falling faster.

"I know. I want you too, honey, but you deserve more," he says softly. "Let me take you out tomorrow, on a real date, and we'll see where it goes- does that sound okay?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect," you reply with a smile.

He grins, returning your warm energy. "I'll be looking forward to it, but I should probably get going for the night. I'll pick you up at, say, six-thirty?"

You nod in agreement, your fingers twirling strands of his hair around them. "That works for me," you concur. "Let me walk you to the door?"

He hums softly, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips. When he, reluctantly, pulls away, you miss the heat of his body immediately. Your fingers intertwine with his as you walk him out of your studio and to the front door. He unlocks the door before turning around to face you. Just as he's about to kiss you goodbye, you jump slightly, pulling your hand out of his.

"I almost forgot- just wait here," you speak in a hurried tone, heading back into your studio.

You pull out your desk drawer and take out the painting you had sitting in there. Steve's expression turns joyful when you return, the medium-sized canvas in your hands, and his eyebrow quirks up out of curiosity.

"What's this?" he asks.

With a bashful smile, you hand it over to him. "Just a gift for you, a little thank you for helping me."

He carefully takes the painting from you, his eyes lighting up as he gazes at the canvas. It's the painting you did on the first night you met; a beautiful depiction of the night sky from above with a cityscape beneath it, and two figures in the chairs on the roof. To anybody else, it would look like just that, two figures, but he knows it's the two of you. He recognizes that because, well, he has remembered every night since he met you.

His fingers glide gingerly over the brushstrokes, tracing the image admirably. "Oh, honey, this is beautiful. I'll cherish it, honestly, and I have just the place for it in my apartment," he says, his tone appreciative and endearing.

You beam at his reaction, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," he promises, his cheeks tinted a soft pink from your kiss. He leans down and places a quick, but still lingering, kiss to your lips before saying, "Goodnight, y/n, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Steve," you respond, watching him open the door and give you a small smile before leaving.

Once the door is closed, you lean against it for a moment, your heart fluttering with anticipation. After locking the door, you make your way to your bedroom, and your smile doesn't waver even once. All too eager for your date, you don't bother to change out of your clothes. You climb into bed, and it only takes you a few minutes to knock out, drifting off to sleep with a now content mind and full heart.

And unbeknownst to you, Steve falls asleep with the same level of contentment and joy in his own bed.

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