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munson-blurbs · 7 months

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I would actually LOVE to read about the proposal! How did it go down? Was Harris there? I think a blurb about that would be really special :)

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: A lazy Sunday morning turns into something much more special, thanks to your two favorite guys.

Warnings: pretty much none, just proposal fluff and a smidge of suggestive language at the end

WC: 1.3k

A/N: The proposal/Harris calling Ms. Sweetheart "mommy" was also requested by @hippiefairy02, @cheesewritings, @enam3l, @peachysink, and a handful of anons!

March 1998

“Ms. Sweetheart?”

Harris’s soft voice doesn’t carry over the sounds of running water and the sponge squelching soap bubbles along the lip of a coffee mug, the remnants of a lazy Sunday morning breakfast. He clears his throat and tries again, tugging on the back of your bathrobe as he shouts.

“Ms. Sweetheart?!”

You jump, pulled from your own thoughts, nearly dropping the cup among the sea of dishes cluttering the sink. Eddie had made scrambled eggs and toast for the three of you; a gesture you’d thoroughly enjoyed until you realized that the clean-up fell on your shoulders.

“Jeez, Har. What’s the emergency?” You catch your breath, allowing your heart rate to settle back to a normal rhythm, and shut off the faucet.

Harris wrinkles his nose, the bridge creasing in confusion. “There’s no ‘mergency,” he says, releasing his grasp and motioning for you to follow him. “I gotta show you something.”

You oblige with a soft laugh, haphazardly grabbing a dish towel to wipe the suds from your hands and wrists, and let him lead you to the kitchen table. Crayons are strewn across it, blues and purples and reds intermingled around his artwork.

“Whatcha drawing?” you ask, hands bracing the back of the chair he’s plopped down on. You peer over his shoulder and smile. It’s a picture of you, Eddie, and him. A full-fledged kindergartener, he’s been adding more details to his stick-figure family portraits: a vase of wildflowers sits atop a sienna oval table, black squares and rectangles above it represent the various photo frames hanging on the kitchen wall. This picture looks different than Harris’s usual set-up; he typically draws himself in the middle of you and Eddie, each of his hands overlapping yours and his dad’s. Today, he’s drawn you, then Eddie, then him. And your hands aren’t linked; instead, he’s used a silver crayon to place something in Eddie’s cartoon palm.

You furrow your brows and gesture towards the mystery object. “What’s that, Har?” It’s better not to guess, lest you say the wrong thing and inadvertently offend him. Just last week, you’d asked him if a small blue object in the sky was a bird, and he was on the verge of tears trying to explain that it was a UFO.

“Can’t you see the alien?” he’d wailed, pointing to a little green dot you’d assumed was a rogue eye.

Now, Harris grins. “It’s a proposing ring!” he announces. “That’s why you’re smiling so big!” Sure enough, the curved line of sketch-you’s mouth extends to both cheeks.

Real-you can’t help but mimic the beaming expression. Just the idea of Eddie proposing to you has you feeling giddy. You’d marry him tomorrow if you could; all he has to do is ask. Though your pulse quickens at the thought, you don’t want to build up Harris’s hopes for something that may not happen for a while. Pressing a kiss to his scalp with a soft giggle, you remark, “A proposing ring? That’s so silly!”

“Is it?”

The unexpected sound of Eddie’s voice has you whirling around, startled for the second time this morning. He’s still wearing his pajamas, flannel pants perfectly complementing your own cozy attire. He bites the inside of his lip, and when he takes your hand in his, you can feel it tremble slightly.

“Sweetheart, I…” he starts, trying to remember the speech he had rehearsed an absurd amount of times. He clears his throat before speaking again. “Sweetheart, I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night grateful for you. Never in my life did I think I would find someone who loved me the way you do; someone who loves my son like he’s their own.” He chokes up at the last part, blinking back the tears so he can press on. “Sometimes, I still can’t believe I landed such an incredible, thoughtful, beautiful woman.”

You offer a small laugh, slightly easing his nerves, and he manages to smile. “You…you’re the love of my life, and my world is infinitely better with you in it,” he continues, pulling a small velvet-covered box from his pocket and sinking onto one knee. With shaky fingers, he opens the box to reveal a princess-cut diamond on a thin silver band. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, my god.” Elation and disbelief simultaneously surge through you, eyes going misty as the realization hits you. Eddie’s actually proposing. He wants you to be his wife, and he wants to be your husband. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” You’re laughing and crying, tears streaming down your cheeks; you sloppily wipe them away with the back of your hand.

Eddie stands up, the ring still in its case. You expect him to slide it onto your fourth finger; instead, he turns to Harris with a knowing expression. “Your turn, Har.”

Before you can question it further, Harris takes your hand in his, just like Eddie had. “Ms. Sweetheart,” he looks up at you with wide, exuberant eyes, “will you be my mommy?”

You scoop him up into your arms; he’s almost too tall for you to do it comfortably, and it pangs at your heart. “Yes, I will be your mommy, Harris!” You kiss his cheek with an exaggerated mwah, placing him back on the ground as he excitedly kicks his feet.

With that, Eddie puts the engagement ring on your finger triumphantly, pulling you in for a hug that squeezes the breath out of your lungs. His lips find yours without hesitation, kissing you as long as Harris will allow before the kid becomes impatient.

“Mommy?” The title rolls off of his tongue so easily, bringing with it fresh batches of tears for both you and Eddie. Mommy. You’re Harris’s mommy. The close bond you’ve already developed strengthens in that moment, and you vow to wear your badge of Chosen Mom with pride.

“Yeah, Har?”

“Can we celebrate with ice cream?”

“It’s, like, 9:30 in the morning,” Eddie laughs, scrunching his nose. “I don’t even think Scoops Ahoy is open yet.”

Harris pouts but ultimately relents, on one condition. “Then…can we go when it opens?”

You look at Eddie, who delivers his seal of approval with a quick nod. “I think that can be arranged.”

As Harris cheers, you sneak a glimpse of the new jewelry adorning your finger. It daintily sparkles even under the kitchen lighting, a perfect depiction of your love for one another.

Eddie’s hands snake around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “How’d I do?” he asks with a goofy, lopsided grin. “Is my future wife happy with her ring?”

You turn around, draping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his, desperate for a moment of intimacy. “I love it. And I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“And me?” pipes up a little voice.

“Both of you,” you amend with a giggle. Pleased with your answer, Harris returns to his crayons and construction paper.

Eddie’s voice is a melodic whisper in your ear. “After our family ice cream date, maybe you and I can celebrate a bit more privately?” You can practically hear his teasing smirk at the raunchy implication.

“We can pick up champagne on the way home,” you murmur back, heat blossoming in your belly. You’re no longer just a girlfriend, but a fiancée, a future wife, and there is nothing else you crave more than the touch of your future husband.

And while you and Eddie finish washing the dishes with a plethora of stolen kisses, Harris picks up a green crayon and titles his drawing, just like he’d learned in art class:

Mommy, Daddy, and Harris.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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sapphicromanoffxo · 2 months

Text

Rhiannon ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ who will be her lover

｡°✩ pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

｡°✩ wc: 4.2k

｡°✩ warnings: fluff, smut, enchanted strap on, humping, possessive and aggressive sex, a teeny bit of angst

｡°✩ summary: Natasha's spontaneous research on witches aimed to enlighten Wanda about her lineage, prompting Wanda, in turn, to delve into her own discoveries.

A/N: This fic is born out of whim and I love it. A very special thanks to the co-author of this story, @mikaila-m. Your writing prowess is beyond amazing. ILY 🫶💜

╰┈➤ Masterlist

Natasha stood on the other end of the training room, observing the intense engagement between two figures, Steve and Wanda, locked in a mesmerising display of hand-to-hand combat. Their movements were a flawless blend of offense and defense, a choreographed symphony of skill and synchronization.

Wanda's improvement in her training was noticeable as she seamlessly incorporated her magic with her combat, creating a deadly combination that would be an advantage on the battlefield. Natasha marveled at how effortlessly Wanda manipulated the mystical energies around her, weaving them into her strikes with precision and finesse.

The air crackled with the remnants of Wanda's magic, wisps of energy trailing behind her every movement before dissipating into the open space. With each strike, a renewed surge of power emanated from her slender hands, a testament to her growing mastery over her abilities. She moved with a confidence and grace that spoke of countless hours spent honing her ability.

As Steve countered Wanda's attacks with practised ease, a look of admiration crossed his features. "Impressive, Maximoff," he remarked between exchanges, his voice carrying a hint of genuine respect. "Your control over your magic has grown since then. You seem to be in control and confident of your magic. Well done to you!"

A gentle smile graced Wanda's lips as she soaked in Steve's words of praise for her physical progress. "Thanks, Steve," she murmured shyly, her gratitude evident in her tone. "I wouldn't have done it without Natasha."

It was undeniable. From the moment Wanda arrived at the compound, Natasha took her under her wing, guiding her not only in combat training but also in navigating through her grief. Natasha's empathetic nature and gentle encouragement helped Wanda with her raging emotions and find solace within Natasha's presence.

Natasha's support extended beyond the training room, she was a constant source of reassurance, nudging Wanda towards embracing her new life, and her potential to become an Avenger.

With Natasha's steady guidance, Wanda found the strength to confront her fears and insecurities, eventually blossoming into a confident and capable member of the Avengers family.

As their relationship deepened, Natasha and Wanda's mentor and mentee dynamic blossomed into something more. Over the following months, they discovered themselves enveloped in a cozy cocoon of warmth and affection, occupying their thoughts and dreams alike.

Lost in thoughts, Natasha found herself in deep contemplation until Wanda's approach broke her reverie. Wanda, with a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her heart still racing from the intense training session, and her muscles aching from exertion, stood before her.

"Hey there," Natasha greeted, her fingers reaching out to gently brush away stray hairs from Wanda's face, tucking them behind her ears. "You've truly outdone yourself today. I'm proud of you."

Blushing at Natasha's compliment, Wanda couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth spread through her cheeks. She ducked her face, trying to conceal her reddening cheeks, and bit her lip to contain the smile threatening to bloom across her lips. "You saw all that, huh."

"Of course," Natasha affirmed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I enjoy watching you train." With a gentle tug, she pulled Wanda closer and urged her to walk towards their shared room. "Your fighting style is impressive. I can't help but wonder where you learned it from."

"Oh. I learned all this from a super spy. You must know her." She gave a playful smile to Natasha. "She's this tall, redhead, with thick lips, and this cute nose that I like very much."

"Is that right? She must be pretty good then." Natasha played along since she will never tire of having playful conversations with her girlfriend.

Once they reached their room, while Wanda started shedding her work out clothes, Natasha seized the opportunity to share what she's been up to all morning while Wanda was training.

"I've done some research about your lineage." Natasha said as she slumped herself on their spacious king size bed.

"My lineage?" Wanda inquired, puzzled.

"Yes, your people. Witches," Natasha clarified while wiggling her fingers.

"And what have you discovered, pray tell?"

Wanda asked with genuine curiosity, unsure if Natasha was serious or just joking around.

"I've learned that many women accused of witchcraft were burned at the stake, which is barbaric," Natasha began. "What criteria did they use to determine if someone was truly a witch?"

"That's terrible," Wanda responded sympathetically. "Imagine, someone hated the way you behave then decided to gossip about you being a witch."

"I know, right? And some witches supposedly make potions out of herbs," Natasha said, giving Wanda a stinky eye. "You haven't concocted a love potion on me, have you? Made me fall for you?"

Wanda couldn't help but laugh at Natasha's absurdity and was surprised that the formidable assassin would say such a thing, but decided to play along. "Maybe I have, maybe I haven't. Who's to say?"

Natasha simply hummed before delving further into her findings. "I've also discovered that some witches used a cauldron to cast spells and recited incantations from a book with weird languages to curse someone," she explained earnestly, her passion evident in her words. "Honestly, I wouldn't want to provoke or cross a witch from centuries ago. Who knows, they might turn me into a frog or ugly duckling."

"Natasha!" she chuckled at her girlfriend. "I'm not sure what to tell you," she paused to stifle her laughter. "I'm not that kind of witch. I don't cast spells, or read incantations, nobody ever taught me that kind of witchcraft."

A sudden thought struck Natasha. "Perhaps we should seek out a coven for you. You could learn from them and discover yourself in the world of witches."

Wanda shook her head at Natasha's enthusiasm for the witchcraft idea, finding it both amusing and endearing. "I'm going to hop in the shower," she said, "then you can tell me more about your discoveries, alright?"

As Wanda scrubbed the dried sweat from her body, her mind wandered back to Natasha's words about witches. She pondered whether there were others like her, freely roaming and living mundane lives without the constant fear of being burned alive. Should she seek them out, learn from them, and discover the potential and extent of her magical abilities? Yet, her powers derived from the mind stone, raising questions about her identity beyond just being a mystical being.

These thoughts swirled around her mind, leaving her feeling frustrated and alone. She had nobody to turn to for answers, no one in her circle who understood the intricacies of magic like she did. With a deep sigh, she finished showering so she could hang out with her girlfriend and learn more about her discoveries from the internet, even if they are only myths. It is still nice to know some things to help her learn about her kind.

As she emerged from the bathroom, a gentle melody enveloped her, coaxing a smile onto her lips. The strains emanated from a wireless speaker, while Natasha, with her eyes closed, bobbing her head lightly to the rhythm.

Intrigued by the unfamiliar tune, Wanda inquired, "What music is that? I don't recognize it." She couldn't deny the infectiousness of the beat.

"You haven't heard this before? It's 'Rhiannon' by Fleetwood Mac," Natasha replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "You should give them a listen. Stevie Nicks, the lead singer, is often associated with mystical imagery and is dubbed a 'witch' by many."

Wanda took note of the band and will make sure to listen to their songs. Maybe she should also do her own research about her history, just like what Natasha did, as it might give her some insights with her abilities as well.

Both women settled in for their afternoon cuddle, Natasha teasingly remarked, "You're not planning to join those witches who dance naked under the full moon, are you?" She playfully motioned for Wanda to join her in bed. "Although it's a bit eerie, I must admit, I wouldn't mind witnessing you perform under the moonlight."

Wanda giggled at Natasha's remark. "Oh, Nat, you're so silly ," she replied affectionately. "But don't worry, my love, you're the only one who gets to see me naked. No moonlit parades for me."

Natasha grinned mischievously in response. "Good to know, princess," she said, pulling Wanda closer.

****

For the past week, Wanda has been fully engrossed in delving into every detail about her other witches and their capabilities. Since she's not very knowledgeable about technology, she sought help from FRIDAY for her research. However, during this time, she's been experiencing strange occurrences. She keeps hearing voices in her head, echoing in her mind, unsure if they're just her own thoughts or something more.

Sometimes, she even feels a faint whisper calling her name. Interestingly, these voices seem to intensify whenever she's near Vision, leaving her puzzled and unable to comprehend their meaning. Maybe the mind stone was trying to send her a valuable message or a foreboding warning.

However, the witch made a conscious decision not to dwell too deeply on these strange voices and instead carried on with her usual daily activities. Yet, despite her efforts to push them aside, it appeared that the more she tried to ignore them, the more persistently they haunted her. It was as if they were incessantly urging her to acknowledge them, to allow them entry into her conscious mind, and perhaps even to seize control of her thoughts. Each day, their presence seemed to grow stronger, their whispers becoming more insistent, leaving her increasingly unsettled and uncertain about how to confront this mysterious intrusion into her psyche.

It was during one particular night, where the lunar orb shines at its fullness, Wanda finds herself submerged in the depths of her dreams. It's not the typical terror-inducing nightmare, with frantic grasps at bed linens or anguished cries echoing into the void. Rather than the frantic thrashings and wails of a nightmare, she drifts through a surreal landscape where her own magic holds sway. Crimson tendrils of mystical energy swirl around her, painting the air with an otherworldly hue. Yet amidst this ethereal display, there's an unsettling intensity to the voices that resonate within her mind, louder, clearer, and more insistent than ever before.

Take her.

Mark her.

Claim her.

Make her mine.

Wanda surveyed the seemingly boundless space before her, she couldn't shake the oppressive darkness that hangs in the air. Her gaze fell upon a peculiar sight, a circle of candles meticulously arranged on the floor, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows. At the center of this arrangement lay a star, its lines seemingly etched into the ground with an unsettling crimson hue that resembled dried blood.

Intrigued yet apprehensive, Wanda couldn't ignore the magnetic pull drawing her towards the pentagon nestled within the star's core. A faint, almost imperceptible shadow hovered above it, its presence both mesmerizing and foreboding. Driven by an inexplicable instinct, Wanda found herself stepping closer, her heart pounding in her chest with each deliberate movement.

As she knelt within the circle, a sense of unease washed over her, intensifying with each passing moment. Suddenly, as if propelled by unseen forces, her clothing was violently ripped from her body, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Panic surged through her veins, her mind reeling with fear and confusion.

A sudden shift in the atmosphere jolted Natasha from her slumber. Startled, she instinctively reached out for the familiar figure beside her, only to find the space empty. Confusion knit her brow as she scanned the room bathed in an eerie yellow-to-red aura. Sitting up, she surveyed her surroundings, her gaze drawn to a haunting sight: Wanda, huddled on the floor, naked and trembling.

"Wanda!" Natasha's voice rang out, thick with fear and urgency, as she rushed to her side. "What's happening? Are you alright?" She knelt on the floor while searching for any injuries on Wanda's body

Wanda remained unresponsive, her long hair cascading over her chest as she sat in a trance-like state. Her eyes, aglow with a crimson hue and filled with tears, met Natasha's with an unsettling intensity.

"Natasha," Wanda's voice, though still recognizable, carried a different tone, thick with emotion and tinged with an accent more pronounced than usual. "I... I don't know what's happening to me."

The redhead's eyes widened as she took in the surreal scene before them – both she and Wanda ensnared within a large ring of flickering candles, their warm glow casting eerie shadows against the walls. At the heart of the circle, a pentagram etched into the floor seemed to pulse with a mystic energy that sent shivers down Natasha's spine.

Suppressing a surge of alarm, Natasha approached Wanda cautiously, her voice a gentle murmur.

"Sweetheart," she whispered, her tone tender yet laced with apprehension, not wishing to startle Wanda further. "Did you... do this?"

"Yes," Wanda's voice changed and gone was the initial shock in them. "I need you, Natasha."

There was a primal hunger in Wanda's eyes as she lunged at Natasha, her hands, chilled by the cold, cupped Natasha's face, and embraced her with a fervent and intense kiss. It was as though they both sensed the urgency of the moment, wanting to etch this memory into eternity, as if it could be their final time together.

Instinctively, Natasha responded to the kiss with a magnitude that matched Wanda's, her arms enveloping Wanda's waist with a fervent need, their bodies drawn and intertwined perfectly together. Every touch ignited a raging desire between them, elevating their connection to an electrifying sensation. Natasha held onto Wanda tightly, savoring the moment, unwilling to let it slip away.

A deep whimper escaped Wanda's throat from the passionate kiss, breaking away for a second to catch her breath. She can feel her skin heating up, slowly burning her senses but she wanted more. "Natalia," she uttered like a prayer and gently pushed the other woman and urged her to lay down on the floor.

With the use of her magic, Wanda removed Natasha's clothing without warning, wanting to have more skin to skin contact. Once Wanda positioned herself on top, Natasha shivered when she felt how wet Wanda was the moment her core made contact with her crotch. "Fuck, Wands. You're so wet already."

"I want you so bad, Natalia," Wanda breathed heavily as she continued kissing Natasha roughly. Her hands freely roaming on the redhead's exposed skin, groping her breasts, while simultaneously leaving a trail of hickeys on Natasha's chest. "I own you." Her mouth descended on each perky nipple, nipping, biting, and giving them the much needed attention then soothed them with her warm tongue after being roughly handled.

The spy closed her eyes, mouth slightly agape, upon hearing Wanda's possessive statement. She was rendered speechless with the level of power Wanda was proclaiming. Typically the one in control of their sex lives, she found herself surprised yet intrigued by Wanda's boldness, leaving her both aroused and alarmed at Wanda's sudden forwardness and aggression. In a feeble attempt to ground herself, she put her hands on each side of the witch's waist.

This only encouraged Wanda to take matters in her own hands as she started languidly rutting her lower half against the redhead's hips, effectively asserting her control on the pace. She then ripped her mouth and teeth from Natasha's abused nipples to grab her chin tightly, bringing their mouths inches apart. “Tell me who you belong to.” Her heavily accented voice resonated around them and into Natasha's mind.

Their breaths mingled as the redhead answered weakly, “You Wanda, no one else.” The witch grabbed her face even harder, her crescent nails digging into the skin, bringing them closer as their noses brushed together.

“Say it again.” Wanda prompted while grinding her hips harder, smearing her wetness on Natasha's warm skin.

A deep sound came out of the spy's throat, something between a growl and a whine while she tried to focus on forming a correct sentence rather than let herself be consumed by Wanda's presence and touch. “I'm yours Wanda, only yours.”

A raw hum of appreciation escaped the witch's lips as she attached them again to Natasha's neck, leaving purple marks on her smooth skin and never stopping her lower movements.

When Wanda leaned slightly back to admire her work, racking her eyes over the redhead's slightly glistening body. She grinned and performed a careless flick of her wrist, encasing their lower bodies in scarlet tendrils and conjured to reveal a blood-red cock securely harnessed to Natasha's hips.

The spy let out a gasp of surprise at the discovery which was muffled by Wanda's lips kissing her again fervently. Natasha tightened her hold on the witch’s hips which had stilled while she was gifted with her new acquisition.

The tight grip spurted Wanda to move again, lowering herself to rest her wet center on Natasha's thick shaft before starting a slow back and forth movement against it. As her folds gilded lazily up and down, Natasha saw stars appear behind her eyes as she was able to feel everything. She could sense the warm and wet feeling of Wanda's core sliding along her silicone dick.

She stuttered while trying stay conscious, “Ah–Fuck, детка! What did you do?” She shocked back a needy whimper as Wanda gave a harder thrust on the tip.

“Do you like it? I made it just for you, baby.” The witch answered in short breaths, concentrated on keeping her movements slow and not giving in to the urge to forcefully rut against Natasha.

“Oh, yes it feels amazing. Keep going.” The redhead struggled to keep her gaze focused on the ethereal sight displayed above her, her girlfriend wearing a pretty pink flush on her cheeks while her eyebrows were slightly frowned in pleasure.

Natasha used the leverage she had with her hands on Wanda's hips to buck her own up, matching the pace of their humping and increasing the pressure between them, changing the angle a little.

Wanda moaned lewdly when the base of the strap brushed her clit, making her skin burn and tingle from the added stimulation. She placed one hand on the spy's ribs and the other on her shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging into soft flesh.

Mere moments later, Wanda sensed she was already close so she stopped her movements. She didn't plan for them to finish so soon, not after waiting for so long to experience something like this. She reluctantly lifted her body up to position herself above the flushed and panting spy, putting all her weight on her arms and using the strong body under her for balance.

The witch looked down and bit her bottom lip as she lowered her hips to situate her dripping entrance above the tip of Natasha's cock. Once the end of the shaft was snuggled against her core, she lifted her head to stare directly into the redhead's tightly closed eyes, “Look at me while I fuck myself with your cock, Natalia.” Wanda demanded, half-growled in an effort to contain her need to just slam down and get herself off as rapidly as she could manage.

The redhead used all the discipline she possessed to reopen her eyes and bore them into Wanda's green ones. The exact moment their gaze met, the witch started sinking down slowly, forcing the strap to enter her inch by inch. A long moan ripped itself from Natasha's throat as she felt all the nerves of her body setting alight at the feeling of the hot embrace of Wanda's walls choking her enchanted strap.

Natasha buried her nails into the other woman's waist when Wanda's pussy swallowed the last of her shaft, bringing their hips flesh to flesh. The warm, wet and tight feeling of the witch's insides surrounding her whole cock was already too much and she couldn't prevent herself from closing her eyes in concentration to not cum right away.

“You feel so good inside of me, baby.” Wanda whispered, eyeing her girlfriend under her thick lashes, reveled in her evident struggle and pleasure. She stayed still for a moment to give herself a bit of time to adjust to the huge dick stretching her walls before starting to gyrate her hips slightly to test the waters.

Natasha's hips gave a jerky spasm in response as she felt herself getting squeezed from the base to the tip with the slight movement of the woman on top of her.

No longer able to contain herself, Wanda lifted herself up again all the way until only the tip of the cock remained inside of her before sinking down again. Natasha saw dark spots in her vision when the warm heat gripped her dick in a sucking motion as she travelled up. She moaned a series of you're mine you're you're mine while bouncing up in down on Natasha's dick.

As Wanda continued riding her, their chorus of moans and squelching wet sounds were the only noises surrounding them as their pleasure kept increasing and increasing as well as the pace of their thrusts.

“Wanda— I'm close, fuck!” Natasha panted through gritted teeth as her body was tensing more and more upon her impending release. She started giving short, hard lunges upward to drive her strap even deeper into Wanda's pussy.

“Mmmh, me too, come with me детка.” The witch almost whined, her eyes glowing even more darker, and her thrusts becoming messier and sloppier as she edged towards her own release.

Finally the coil in Natasha's stomach. enfolded as she cummed. She sensed her warm juices leaving the tip of her strap as she felt the primal urge to pump her dick harder and deeper into Wanda as she came. As she did so, she felt the witch's walls clenching sporadically around her, signalling she had triggered her own orgasm. The delicious squeezes prolonged Natasha's release until she stilled and flopped back, completely spent and head lulling backwards.

At the same time, Wanda came with a long moan when Natasha's juices warmed the inside of her womb. As she descended from her high, Wanda kept lazily riding Natasha in slow and short motions until she became too sensitive and finally unsheathed herself from the strap with a lewd and wet sound.

After regaining her breath, Wanda suddenly sat upright and found herself gasping for air, her body trembling with the effort to fill in her empty lungs. Then, a peculiar sensation washed over her—an intense detachment as though her very essence was being ripped apart from within, as if an invisible pair of hands were wrenching a fragment of her soul which was being torn away by an inexplicable force beyond comprehension.

An overwhelming tide of panic gripped her, fueled by the relentless force pulling at her. With each passing moment, she felt her very consciousness slipping away, aggressively and mercilessly tearing it from her body. Amidst it all, her eyes blazed with a furious crimson, reflecting the turmoil within and tendrils of her magic hung in the air.

"Wanda," Natasha's voice was fraught with urgency, "Baby! What's happening? Wanda!" she repeatedly called out her name, trying desperately to break through Wanda's trance and tether her back to the present moment. Finally, her persistent pleas got through Wanda's lucid state, her body slumped over hers, body pressing down like a dead weight.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Natasha said softly, gently cupping Wanda's face in her hands and drawing her closer. "Are you alright?"

Gasping for air, Wanda struggled to focus her gaze on Natasha, her heart racing with fear and confusion. "Natasha?" Her voice rasped with agitation. "What... what just happened?" Her mind reeled, wrestling with the disorienting aftermath of whatever had transpired.

"Good Lord, Wanda!" Natasha exclaimed, her relief palpable yet tinged with lingering anxiety. "You scared the life out of me. One moment you seemed fine, and then suddenly you were trembling, your magic flowing out all over the room." She decided to leave out the part where Wanda was clutching onto her shoulders, as if the witch was scared for her to slip away from her fingers.

Wanda's voice wavered with distress as she tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "I feel pain and at the same time feel empty," she confessed, her brow furrowed with confusion. "I can feel it within my heart but I don't know where it's coming."

Natasha enveloped the weeping witch in her arms offering a sense of security and solace. "Just let it all out, Wanda," she whispered soothingly. "I'm right here, baby."

"I'm so scared, Nat," Wanda hiccuped between sobs, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It felt like my soul was ripped from my body. I don't ever want to experience that again."

"You're safe with, Wanda," Natasha murmured, her tone laced with unwavering determination. "I promise you, I won't let anything harm you. Whatever it takes, I'll protect you." Her words were a steadfast vow, a pledge of her love and devotion for Wanda.

In the vast emptiness of space, her anguished cries and screams echoed chaoticly through the stretches of the universe once the projection severed. A real testament to her desperation as she struggled to cling to the faint hope of an alternate reality where she could reclaim the life she once knew, knowing all too well it could never be hers again.

She finds herself in a vulnerable position, with nothing remaining but the ethereal burden of her own chaos magic intertwined with the relentless ache of agony, a haunting symphony echoing through the chambers of her soul.

Once again, thank you very much for sharing your great mind with me. @mikaila-m 💜🫶

#wandanat #wandanat fanfiction #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #marvel #scarlet witch #black widow #wlw #Spotify

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muchosbesitos · 8 months

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(i decided to mix these two together so i hope the individual anons don’t mind 😓)

el cocinero

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

warnings: reader’s white (miguel calls her guera), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, smut 🥸

author’s note: honestly had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you all enjoy <3

word count: 4.3K

You had the pleasure of meeting your boss, Miguel O'Hara, two weeks after you had joined the Spider Society on the day before Christmas. You had gotten up in the middle of the night after watching a recipe to make flan on your phone, wanting to try it out as soon as possible since your mouth couldn't help but water the more you thought about making it. Your footsteps echoed through the empty halls, given that most of the other spiders had gone to their respective universes to spend time with their family, and you headed towards the kitchen. You put on a apron and gave yourself a little pep talk that you wouldn't end up burning the kitchen down as you started collecting the items from the recipe.

You propped your phone up against the microwave and turned on the volume, assured by the fact that the chances of someone walking in were close to zero. You washed your hands and preheated the oven, listening to the woman explaining the steps in spanish. As you opened up the bag of sugar, a huge cloud puffed up and coated your face white, giving you a bad start already. You wiped away some of the sugar and started mixing the custard, feeling pretty good about your chances. However, after a little while you started to lose track of what the woman was saying, and you started to get upset that you didn't have the same results she did.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the smoke alarm blaring in the kitchen, reminding you that you had left the oven on. You quickly rushed to turn it off, coughing as you waved off a huge cloud of smoke. You sat down in front of the sink, trying to think about where you went wrong in your recipe before you discarded away the custard. You let the video continue playing, almost like a form of punishing yourself for getting the recipe wrong as the woman continued to explain how to get the perfect texture. You put your head in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks as you thought about how stupid you were to think that you could do this.

Your head shot up when you heard the cafeteria door open, surprised to hear someone else up at this time. "Shock, it smells horrible in here," a male voice muttered and you quickly wiped away your tears to make out the figure criticizing your cooking. A tall man you didn't recognize walked in wearing a white tee and plaid sleeping pants, rubbing his eyes as he took the scene in front of him. "What were you trying to make?" he asked, looking over at your discarded custard in the sink as his nose scrunched from the remnants of the smoke. "Flan.."

"Ay, guera. ¿Porque haces esto si ni entiendes lo que esta diciendo?" He remarked, his eyes shifting over to the tutorial of the woman. (why do you do this if you don’t even know what she’s saying?) You wanted to tell him that you didn't fail because of your lack of understanding about the language, but rather because you just sucked in the kitchen. But you decided to keep your mouth quiet and nod along, not wanting to give away your cards just yet. "Alright, given the fact that it's Christmas, I'll help you out and whatnot. Only if you promise never to try this atrocity in my kitchen again," he offered, turning around to look at you. "Your kitchen?" You asked, a brow raised as you took in the man's appearance.

"Miguel O’Hara. Though I shouldn't need to tell you who I am since I'm the leader here. Nice to meet you though," he clarified, extending his hand out. Your eyes widened as you started piecing it together, but what you didn't understand why this 'cold' and 'unapproachable' man was offering to help you with something so stupid. You shook his hand and told him your name, his eyes lighting up in recognition. "Jessica recruited you, right? I meant to introduce myself earlier but I got busy, you know how it is. Is everything up to your liking so far?" He responds, though his tone sounded like he could care less if you were actually finding things okay here. "It's been good so far, everyone's really nice."

When he offered to help, you were expecting him to have a little more patience with teaching you. "That's not how you break the damn egg! You'll end up making a mess. A ver, let me do it," he grumbled after watching you struggle with an egg for the past two minutes. You scooted over and allowed for him to take the egg, the small thing almost disappearing in his hands. Despite all that, he seemed to handle the egg with some expert level of delicacy as he cracked it, pouring the yolk into the custard mix. Despite the woman talking in the background, the way he whispered to himself and mixed things made you believe that it was from memory.

The rest of the cooking session was spent in silence, though Miguel seemed to slow down his movements just so you'd see what was happening. You were a bit confused when you noticed him adding vanilla which wasn't in the recipe, your brows furrowing a bit as you leaned over the mixing bowl. "That wasn't in the recipe," you murmured, looking back over to the woman to confirm. "You're seriously gonna listen to the recipe over me? I mean, you don't even understand what she's saying," he responds, letting out an amused chuckle as he starts stirring the mix together. You felt yourself growing more and more annoyed at his assumption that you didn't understand anything that the woman was saying but you pursed your lips and simply watched him. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It just tastes better with the vanilla, trust me."

"Where'd you learn how to make this?" You asked curiously as his movements stopped and his shoulder tensed up. It was quiet for a moment, he looked like he was going through some stuff in his head before he cleared his throat. "It was my daughter's favorite pastry so I put my pride aside and asked my mom for the recipe," he responded hesitantly, like it pained him to talk about it. You figured he probably had some trauma stemming from his family issues so you decided to ask what you deemed safe. "Was? Did she move on to tres leches or something?" You pondered, his nose flaring as he started back up with his mixing. "I'm just here so you won't burn down the building, not here to be your friend."

You only spoke up once more after that and that was to thank him for the piece of flan as you sat down at one of the cafeteria tables. You'd expected it for it to be good with the way he dedicated himself into making it, but you weren't expecting for the flavors to melt in your tongue as soon as you took a bite. You'd had store bought flan before but they would never compare again to what Miguel had made, it wasn't too wet but it wasn't too dry either. Miguel finished up with cleaning up the kitchen and wiping away the surfaces before leaving, not bothering to give you a second glance. You were confused as to why he didn't bother having a slice of what he made but you didn't dwell too much on it and continued to eat the flan.

You were convinced that you'd ruined the possibility of developing a friendship with your boss, so you kept your head down and stuck beside Jessica in the missions during the following week. You were surprised to hear your watch buzz at the same time as last week, a message from Miguel calling you over to kitchen. You were reluctant to go since you felt like you'd touched on something painful to him, but you pushed those thoughts aside and headed to the cafeteria. You walked in to see that Miguel was preparing the kitchen and humming along to the cumbia playing on his phone. You tapped on his shoulder and he visibly startled, his shoulders tensing up before he turned around to look at you. "Sorry, I thought you would've sensed me coming in," you told him as his shoulders relax a bit at the realization that it was just you.

You were in the middle of putting on your apron when Miguel walked behind you, tying the strings together. How'd he managed to do that with his big ass hands baffled you, but you realized you couldn't say anything about since you weren't at the teasing point with him. "I’m sorry for the way I treated you last week, by the way. You touched on something I don't really like talking about but that's not an excuse," he told you, catching you off guard with his apology. "It's okay. I shouldn't have been so nosy about it," you reassured him, turning around to face him once he finished tying up your apron.

The two of you made arroz con leche that night and it was overall a pretty good cooking lesson given that things were less tense after he'd apologized. (rice pudding) He sat next to you in the cafeteria, talking to you about the anomaly he had to face today before he went quiet. You noticed that he seemed conflicted, but you didn't want to threaten your delicate friendship forming. "Gabriella wasn't my daughter, not technically. She's the daughter of a variant of myself and i took the role of being her father after hers died. She gave me a home when I really needed it but all I did was destroy hers," he spoke up, his voice coming out a bit shakier than he'd intended it to. You couldn't think of anything to really say to that, you felt like 'I'm sorry' was too cheap for what he was dealing with, so you pressed your hand on his shoulder and started rubbing small circles. "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you Miguel."

The following week, Miguel decided on teaching you how to make chocolate chip cookies, something simple but delicious. As he mixed the batter, you couldn't help but notice how his brows furrowed in concentration, clearly still stressed from how the mission today had gone. You decided to help him de-stress by flicking a bit of powder on his face, watching as he blinked away the flour. "Did you ju-" he started off but was quickly interrupted as you blew a bunch of powder onto his face. "Pinche guera, you're gonna get it," he warned you and you took it as a signal to run away from him before you ended up doused in flour as well.

You miscalculated just how fast he was, given that he had you pinned against the wall in a matter of seconds. Your eyes widened as you saw you the bag of flour he had in his hand and the devilish smirk on his face. "Please, please. I'm sorry, I won't do that again," you pleaded with him, his finger coming up to push a strand of hair away. "Aw, you look so pretty when you beg, guerita," he cooed and you couldn't help but feel your cheeks flush up. "You really think so, Mig?" You teased him back despite how flustered you were at his words. Your breathing quickened up when he knelt down a little, his mouth barely brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Yeah, but you'd look so much prettier covered in flour." His words didn't register in your brain until he raised the bag of flour, dumping it over your head despite your protests.

Even though it had taken you half an hour to wash off all the flour from your hair, you couldn't help but lay down in your bed with a huge smile on your face that night. Miguel had grown from someone that you feared even coming in contact with after all the rumors you'd heard to someone you longed to spend every weekend with. Your happiness was quickly diminished as you thought what he would think about you knowing Spanish, if he would think that you were purposefully misdirecting him. After a while of thinking about all the outcomes from the reveal and none of them being positive, you decided to fall asleep and try to forget about it.

The two of you continued with your cooking sessions weekly after that, making it a part of your daily routine. He'd started to engage in your jokes and even adding to them, even going so far as to being more flirty with you, a much more relaxed version of himself than that he portrayed with everyone else at HQ. The two of you had agreed on making pasta this weekend and it was going pretty good, given that nothing had burnt down yet and the smell of oregano filled the kitchen. You were busy monitoring the pasta on the stove that you didn't notice Miguel had moved up behind you to check on the progress as well. Your chest brushed up against his as you turned around, his head dipping down to look at you as you did. Your eyes traveled from his eyes down to his lips and you took notice of just how kissable they looked, how plump and inviting they seemed.

You leaned in slowly, giving Miguel the chance to back off if he wanted to but he simply put his hands on your hips to pull you closer as his lips collided against yours. The kiss was nothing short of sensual, it felt like all the pressure that'd been building up during these cooking sessions had finally been released into this. Your hands gripped onto his shirt as you pulled him closer, his tongue moving so perfectly against yours. You two were pulled out of your trance when the alarm behind you rang, alerting you that the pasta had finished cooking. You hesitantly pulled away, looking up to see that Miguel had a conflicted look on his face. "I shouldn't have done that, it was mistake. I'm sorry," was all that he told you before he shut down for the night and focused on the task in front of him.

Miguel avoided you like the plague after that, he didn't bother acknowledging you around HQ anymore and he always paired you with someone up for missions. You couldn't help but feel a combination of anger and hurt brewing up inside you the more time that he spent avoiding you. Hurt, that he'd dismissed one of the best kisses that you'd had as a 'mistake'. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Jessica walked up to you, talking to you in one of the few moments that she had free. "Girl, did you hear? Apparently Miguel got injured in his mission today," she confided in you, speaking in hushed whispers so the other spiders wouldn't overhear. "What happened?" You asked curiously, your heart aching a bit at the thought of him being hurt. "He's been acting off recently these past couple days, like something's troubling him."

You decided to try out the empanada recipe that Miguel had shared you in an earlier session to cheer him up since he'd confided in you that it was his favorite pastry. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride once you finished, given that they actually tasted pretty good and the kitchen was intact. You hesitated for a little bit once you got to his room, pacing in the hallway as you debated on leaving. You pushed those thoughts away and knocked on his door, biting down on your bottom lip as you waited for a response. Miguel came out with a bandaid over his nose and you couldn't help but let out a small giggle as you saw the Hello Kitty design. "Did you come here just of make fun of my bandaid?" His gruff voice interrupted you out of your thoughts and you pulled out the tupperware holding the empanadas. "I thought these might make you feel better."

"Wait, you actually made these?" He asked, clearly impressed as he took a bite out of one. "I did, yeah. Figured you might need them and I guess I also wanted to take the opportunity to tell you that we should stop our cooking sessions. They've been great and all, but seeing as how I can make stuff without burning the kitchen down, I don't need to bother you anymore," you told him and you had expected him to be more excited at the prospect of finally having the weekends to himself, but you were only met with him furrowing his brows. "Ay guerita. Nunca eras un molestia para mí. No tienes ni la menor idea de cuanto me atormentas durante el día. Cuánto pienso en poder besarte otra vez. Y lo peor es que ni me entiendes cuando te digo que estoy tan enamorado de ti," he told you, completely surprising you with this admission and you decided to take this opportunity to finally be open with him. (you were never a bother to me. you have no idea how much you torment me during the day. how much i think about kissing you again. and the worst thing is that you don’t even understand when i tell how you how much i love you)

"Si te entiendo, Miguel. Tu eres lo que traigo en el pensamiento todos los dias, hasta cuando duermo. Yo tambien estoy tan enamorada contigo," you responded, watching as his eyebrows flew to his hairline, clearly surprised at hearing you speak so fluently. (i do understand you miguel. you are what i carry in my thoughts every day, even when i sleep. i’m so in love with you too) "I thought you didn't understand me.." He muttered, clearly taken back by what you'd just said. "No, you assumed that I didn't understand you when we first met. Which makes sense based on my appearance, I guess," you replied with a small shrug, taking a bite from one of the empanadas. "But how?" he pondered, looking over at you as he tried to piece it all together. "I'm a hyperpolyglot, Spanish’s just one of the languages I know."

"Dime otra vez," Miguel asked of you as you two laid in his bed together, his hand playing with your hair. (tell me again) "Estoy tan enamorada de ti Miguel," you whispered, your hand on his cheek as you kissed him. (i am so in love with you miguel.) Miguel quickly moved down in between your legs, taking off your pants in a swift motion and started kissing up your calves. "What about your injury?" you asked him, looking down at him as he planted open-mouthed kisses up your leg. "I'll be fine," he assured you, going back to what he was doing before. You felt your slick dripping down to your panties as he kissed on your thighs, purposely avoiding where you needed him most. Miguel let out a small chuckle as he saw the wet patch on your underwear, hooking his fingers on the waistband before sliding them down tentatively.

"Such a pretty pussy," he whispered, looking directly at your eyes as he started kissing your bikini area. His mouth eventually moved to your folds, collecting all the slick that had gathered up and let out a small moan in response. Your hands gripped tightly onto his hair as he started eating you out with a vigor that you'd never faced before, tasting you like you were water in the desert. The noises that were filling up the room were downright filthy, his name coming out your mouth in broken moans and the way that he slurped at your pussy, unable to get enough. He held your hips down as you started to squirm, your legs shaking from how good his tongue was making you feel. "Look at me while I please you," he told you in a such a sharp tone that you couldn't help but look down at him as he continued to eat you out, your eyes locking straight onto his.

He held down your legs with one hand and slowly plunged two fingers inside of you, feeling your cunt tighten up around them. His mouth connected to your clit as he started to suck on the neglected nub, his tongue flicking at it. He let out a small groan as your juices dribbled down his lips, the vibrations from it making your back arch up from the bed. "Right there, Miguel. Yes, making me feel so good!" you moaned out, not paying any regard that any spider could pass by and hear you. He curled his fingers upward, finding your g-spot within seconds and made it a point to hit it every time he plunged inside of you once again. He could tell by the way that your clit throbbed against his tongue and by the way that you were gripping his hair that you were close, his movements now more determined towards getting you towards that peak. Your cunt squeezed against his fingers as the coil inside of you unraveled, coming undone on his face.

You'd think that he enjoyed this more than you did, frankly, with the way that he licked his lips and the huge tent in his sweatpants. You let out a small gulp as you saw the outline of it, looking back up to see Miguel giving you a small smirk. "It's okay, baby. I'll ease you through it," he assured you as he started to take off his clothes. He moved on top of you, restraining himself from actually putting any weight on you, and started to kiss your neck. He nipped at your neck, leaving you with reddened marks that would affirm to everybody at the Society that you were all his. At least for an hour or two before you healed. He brought his mouth down to your breasts, trapping one of them onto his mouth as he started sucking on it, his calloused hands massaging the other one.

"Que tetas tan perfectas," he whispered against you as he continued to suck on your tit, his tongue rolling on your areola. (what perfect tits) You felt yourself clench around nothing, growing even more aroused as he continued his assault on your nipples. He started doing the same to the other one, switching places between his hand and mouth. Once he felt satisfied enough, he pulled away from you and stood on his knees. He slowly started to push his cock inside of you, your walls struggling to adjust to his size as you clenched against him. "Relax, baby. I got you, okay?" He assured you, rubbing small circles on your thighs as you nodded. You tried to focus more on your breathing rather than the huge cock almost splitting you in half and he was able to push more inside.

You let out a loud moan as he finally bottomed out, a thin layer of sweat building up on your forehead. It wasn't your first time by any means, but Miguel was just so big and so girthy that you needed some time to adjust. "Looks like cooking's not the only thing I need to walk you through, right nena?" He asked you with a small smirk on his face as he waited for the okay from you to start moving. You nodded once you felt the sting transform into a form a pleasure, needing to feel more from him. He slowly took his cock out before plunging it into you causing all the air to come out your lungs. He started off slow with his thrusts, not wanting to overwhelm you too much for the first time.

He put your legs on his shoulders, the new angle allowing him to push into you deeper and he couldn't help but feel proud at himself as he saw the tip of his cock bulging in your stomach. You honestly looked like an angel to him at the moment with your hair all splayed out across the pillow, your pale cheeks tinted pink, and your mouth parted in a 'o' to let out the most beautiful moans of his name. He started speeding up his thrusts when he saw that you were more comfortable with having him inside, your pussy clenching around his cock perfectly. "Oh God," you moaned out, completely blissed out by the feeling of his cock as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You felt every coherent thought disappear as he fucked you, too drunk off the way he was making you feel to say anything apart from his name. "Not God, Miguel," he teased you, leaning into trap your lips in a kiss which you welcomed with pleasure.

His fingers went down to your clit, rubbing precise circles on the nub despite the stuttering of his hips. "Need you to cum for me, guerita," he moaned out, watching your face contort into one of pure bliss. your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, coating Miguel’s cock completely as a white ring built up around the base. You clawed at the sheets as you felt Miguel continue abusing your pussy, clenching against him tightly like you wanted to milk his cock. He released his load inside of you a couple seconds later, overtaken by the way that your walls were clamping up against him. He watched as the cum started dribbling out of your cunt and decided on plugging it with his cock. He pulled out with a small hiss, seeing how your greedy cunt clenched up against nothing.

After he'd cleaned you off, he wrapped you up in his arms and started stroking your hair, not wanting you to leave just yet. You felt how much he loved you with this embrace and it felt nice after how long you'd spent questioning how he felt about you. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked you softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just thinking what you must be like in bed when you're not injured," you reply with a cheeky grin, causing him to let out a small chuckle. "Lucky for you, you have plenty of time to find that out."

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rosedom · 1 month

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"in an open match, 【 🦢 】 has invited KAVEH to play . . . a swan's song: the rhythm of rebirth

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!gn!reader, sub!ftm!kaveh, mentions of alhaitham (you are a throuple), cunnilingus, subspace, semi-public (no getting caught), gentleness + praise + a lot of assurance .

A/N : no ask attached due to it being a thread over the course of multiple asks . . . dt my sweet swan anon <3

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Kaveh said goodbye to his mother, all those years ago. He stood beside the lighthouse—the very lighthouse he designed, all it’s petaled curves and swooping lines—, and he waves until the silhouette disappeared on the horizon. She, in all senses, became swallowed up in the fog of the winding river. He had half a mind to stroll with her, to run, to try and keep pace with the slim boat as it traveled the water, up ‘til it’d reach the falls, ‘til his dearest mother would need to take to land to reach the second harbor of Sumeru.

He wanted to chase her, but he did not. (She wishes she smiled to her boy, that first night she left.

Her boy, who she loves so, so dearly; but who chains her to a past full of only pain.

She loves her boy, and her boy loves her. It is in this love that he tells her to leave.)

Now, Kaveh visits his mother once a year—twice, on special occasions. He brings Alhaitham, on some; he brings you on others. Rarely does he bring the both of you. (He is scared that it would be asking too much.) And Fontaine is beautiful, really, and he loves seeing his mother’s designs dispersed in the streets of the court. And through it all, he tells himself that he does not miss her.

Telling—saying—, however, is easier than believing.

He visits that lighthouse every month, right down in Port Ormos. It’s tradition, seeing the beacon in the sky—the beacon that became the last tether he had of family in Sumeru, where he was born, raised, and where he will die.

It's sad, in a way, that the remnants Kaveh will leave in Sumeru are of a building: a cold, heartless building. He wishes he could leave himself.

(He misses his mother, but he says he does not. This lighthouse is a testament to that fact.)

Tonight is the fifth of May, and tonight Kaveh sits in the silence of a Port Ormos’ night. The lighthouse sits far into the bay, granting him true solitude, a loneliness to match that which seems to haunt him. Pharos’ beacon of light extends through the cold mist, and the bugs which it illuminates are his only companion, here.

Until you come along, that is. (Alhaitham is not here, tonight. You told him to stay home.

After all, if Kaveh is so hesitant to invite you both to Fontaine, perhaps he fears something of the two of you together. You don't want to risk that, here.)

“Thought I'd find you here,” you murmur, steps awfully loud in the quiet. The wooden boards creak beneath your feet before you step onto the stone that surrounds the lighthouse.

Kaveh’s face blends into the darkness, but his eyes do not; and you see them, wide and shimmering, the wet sclera catching on the errant rays from the beacon behind him. He does not say anything, but he lifts a hand for you to take.

His hand, calloused, slips easily into your own, your fingers lacing with his. Even the crooked jut to his pinkie fits perfectly against your own phalanges, the two of you cut from the same clay the archons molded either of you with. You stroke along the back of his hand, thumb gentle in its motions as you take a seat on the hard stone that lines the ground around the lighthouse. Like this, his and your back are pressed against the slate that builds the gate’s wall, the gentle eave blotting out parts of the sky when you gaze upwards towards the moon.

It’s silent, for a while.

Until it’s not. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kaveh asks, voice meak.

You don’t know what he’s referring to, but you say, “Yes,” anyway.

He shakily sighs. “I worked so hard,” he continues, empty hand dragging along the intricate patterns etched into the stone that makes up the grandiose arch, “and she still left.” (It’s a testament to how long he's been out here, alone, ruminating in his thoughts, the way he lets himself be vulnerable so easily.) Another sniffling sound escapes him, and he’s quick to let go of your hand to cover his mouth. Through his fingers, he says, tries so desperately to convince, “I mean, I—I’m glad she left, she deserves it; but why don’t I?

“Why don’t I get to start over, like she does?”

You pull him into your arms then. Even as he makes like he’s going to pull away—like he doesn’t want your comfort—, he turns into it all the same, burying himself into your shoulder as his arms come to clutch desperately at your back. Softly cooing, you hold him tight, hands making grand sweeping motions across the expanse of his back.

“Because you worked so hard,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to his hairline. “You have made a name for yourself, Kaveh: not many people can say that about themselves.”

“‘m only got some stupid moniker.”

At that, you laugh. “Yeah, ‘Light of Kshahrewar’ is pretty stupid; it hardly highlights your accomplishments.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know,” you say, curt, even as you keep your lips pressed softly to his forehead.

You only continue once he sniffs, a single time, loud and stark.

“You could leave at any time you wanted,” you say, “and you know that—but you stay anyway. You stay, and you persevere. You are the strongest man I know—” at this, Kaveh’s chest hiccups in a barely-contained sob. You only squeeze him harder. “I am so proud of you, y’know.”

“But—” he shakes his head vehemently against you, hands clutching, pulling, at the front of your shirt, “—but why? I’m nothing special.”

“Nothing special? Kaveh.” You pull him out from your neck, cupping his face in your broad palms. Even as tears slip down his cheeks, he nuzzles into you, eyes fluttering shut. “You are everything to me and Haitham.”

At the mention of the other boyfriend, Kaveh wetly laughs. “He told you to say that, didn't he?”

You only coo again. “Maybe,” you acquiesce, “but he only told me how to say it. What I’m saying is genuine, lion.” The nickname fits, when he blinks open those lion eyes of his, ruby irises managing to shine even in the pitch of night. But then, quietly, you ask, “Do you really want to start over?”

Kaveh is silent for a moment; and then he slowly, oh-so slowly, shakes his head, side to side, right there in the palms of your hands.

“You’re not your mother, Kaveh, and you're not chained down to her. You're your own man, and we are so, so proud of you for who you have become. In spite of everything bad that has happened to you, you have remained the sun in mine and Haitham’s sky.”

He reaches a hand up to wipe his own tears but you softly bat it away, using your own thumbs to catch the errant saltwater that drips. His eyes have gone hazy, far-off and far in thought.

(For Kaveh to be so—so silent, is jarring.)

Trying to reel him back in, you lean forward and gently kiss the swell of his right cheek. “Kaveh,” you murmur, “do you understand me?”

Slowly, he nods.

“Can you repeat what I said, then?”

His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head.

You shake your head right back at him. “Yes, you can, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

All it takes is one word.

It takes one word, and it’s easy, pulling Kaveh under. He admitted to you and Haitham, all those months ago, how, when he submits, his brain becomes cotton-filled, mind pleasantly quiet. It’s how he comes down from stress, and, well—he’s pretty damned stressed, here.

But, “We’re—we’re in public,” he mutters, shaky, even as you can see the reflection of the moon brightening in those growing pupils, even as his legs begin to spread.

“Nobody’s around, sweet thing, and nobody will come around ‘til tomorrow morning.”

His eyes, wide as a pup’s for all the lion that he is, jump across your face, searching for something; and then, suddenly, he falls backwards and catches himself, stands up ‘til he’s looking down at you. “I—I don’t have lube!”

He doesn't have lube, and he’s worried, he thinks he’s going to be pleasing you. (He should know, by now, that your own arousal is your least concern.

Sure: old habits die hard, but still.

Silly boy.)

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, hands coming to take hold of his hips. You move to your knees, lean forward until you can lay a soft kiss to his clothed navel. “We don't need lube for me to suck you off, now do we?” (You’ve learned your tease from Alhaitham. He rubs off on you, and you on him; the two of you a perfect push n’ pull, an edge to an overstimulation, a bad cop to a good cop. You and him make up the stars and the moon and Kaveh the sun.

Alhaitham is his mirror, and you are the frame around its glass all the same.)

The light of the moon falls on the bob of his throat as he swallows heavily. Eventually, he mutters a soft, choked-out “no” that’s more whine than word.

You hum, nosing at his hip, now, even as his legs begin to tremble beneath him.

“The—” his breath cuts into a sharp whimper when you take away the fabric that spills from beneath his belt—the long, hanging cloth covering between his thighs—in order to mouth over the swell of his mound.

It’s a rather ridiculous spectacle that you put on, but, while nobody is around, you're still in the open far too much for you to want to strip him down in, anyways. The bare sight is for your (and, had he been here, tonight, Alhaitham’s) eyes only—not even the moon is privy to the view.

You decide, then, that you need to move him; but you need to hear what he wants to say, first. “The what, sweet thing?” You encourage him with your lips, speaking against the seam of his pants, a whisper of the pleasure you can give him.

“The boxes,” he chokes out, hands coming to brace themselves on your shoulders. “There—there’s boxes just inside.”

You coo, “Smart boy,” sucking once, harsh, at where you know his cock lies, hard and swollen just beyond the thin fabric separating you. You’re quick to stand up, after, arms curling under Kaveh’s thighs to pick him up.

He yelps your name, body curving over your head. “Stop acting like Haitham!” he whines, voice still meak from crying, voice still airy from the headspace he’s fast sinking into. (He’s not in the mood for a tease, you see.)

He's dangerously light as you carry him inside the gate, under the awning, right on ‘til you set him down gentle on the boxes that surround the lighthouse. He squirms when he's sat, blinking up at you slow n’ soft, trusting like that pup, and you find yourself drawn in, leaning down enough for your lips to brush his, to settle warm hands on his hips instead and press him into the wooden lid of the box.

Though his tongue peaks out, anticipating your messy kisses, you merely chuckle against his lips, once, leaving a soft peck on his pout as you ask, “Can I suck you off now, sweetheart?”

He nods, this slow—almost lethargic—up n’ down that disrupts the flow of his hair, smears his bangs into the wet on the apples of his cheeks. Old tears and, now, fog, is already beginning to blur his eyes, cotton filling his brain, and it’s so, so beautiful—seeing the way Kaveh submits to you and finds bliss in it never fails to amaze you. “Please,” he adds, just for good measure, the good boy he is.

You say so, a gentle, “Good boy,” that forces a soft hitch of his breath.

The stone is cooler, here, without so much as a scrap of the moon’s light to illuminate it. It seeps into your skin as you kneel, even through the cloth of your pants, but you pay it no mind; the warmth of Kaveh’s thighs settling around your shoulders squanders any uncomfy feelings.

As you nose back into the apex of those thighs, the skin still radiating that same heat as it did earlier, the fabric still slick with your saliva. You’re grateful for these pants, far less formal than the ones he typically dons, simply because of the loose zipper at its seam. The zipper is loud when you pull it down—but quiet in comparison to Kaveh’s desperate whinin’, “C’mon...”

“I’m goin’,” you say, hot breath fanning over his slicked up boxers. You grin, coy, at the way the seat of them are sticky-wet. His hips lift into you, and you slide a hand beneath either leg, bottom-up... and tug.

“H-hey!” (Even in subspace, Kaveh finds the wherewithal to gripe.

How adorable, really.)

“I have a spare,” is all you say—and you’re not lying. You have another pair of boxers stuffed in your pocket, inconspicuous but revealing your motives entirely. Kaveh’s got hardly the time to mull over the idea, though, half-muddled up as he is, and especially-so when you put your mouth right on the hot jut of his cock. He positively yelps at that, hips jumping enough that you need to press him back down into the box, hold him tight by his hips to keep him there. “Stay,” you murmur, then: “You can put your hands in my hair, okay?”

Tentatively, his fingers come and wrap themselves in your hair. He treats you so gently, so adoringly, even as he’s slicking up your lips with nothing but a soft lick. “There you go,” you continue, leaning further down to tongue below his cock, between his puffy labia, “jus’ like that.” The vibrations from your voice make him arch, but his hands stay perfectly put; they neither pull nor twist, simply there, grounding himself as his mind seems to get lost in that delicate headspace of his, witnessed by nobody but you. (You meant it, earlier, when you said that not even the moon would gaze upon Kaveh’s unraveling; she lays hidden beneath a dusting of clouds, an approaching storm shielding her eyes from the absolute debauchery happening under her waning light.)

Now, you’re not a scholar: hardly such. You don’t have the eye for beauty that your sweet Kaveh has (apparent in the way Kaveh insists he be the one to decorate the home with.

It seems Haitham isn’t the only one with a bad eye in the relationship.)

However, you don’t need to be a scholar to know how absolutely enthralling Kaveh is. From the way he looks—the cute cunt you’ve got your face shoved in, the chubby cock you’re tonguing at—to his sounds, his actions... you may cum in your own pants, you realize, at nothing but the taste of him on your tongue.

“You—mm—” you try to speak, your sentence cut up in a moan, Kaveh’s cock pressed to your lips, “—you taste divine, sweet thing, the absolute sweetest...” For the scholar you claim not to be, you sure are well-versed in lathering him up in praise.

At the lack of response—that is, lack of a legible one—, you look up your eyelashes and are met with a sight that makes you throb: Kaveh, gazing down at you, watching you, looking at you suck him off, eat him out.

Subspace always makes him like this. He’s floaty, sure, but simultaneously honed in, in an odd juxtaposition that makes heat swirl in your belly and sends your tender heart aching in your chest. For all the cotton stuffed in his mind, all the fog covering his lion eyes—he’s watching you, aware only of you and the pleasure you give him.

Each new breathless plea makes you speed up, makes you slide your tongue under the hot jut of his cock and point it, drawing soft but hard circles on where he’s most sensitive. He whines, entirely nonverbal, now, wholly lost to that which threatens to swallow him up—you.

“Close?” you ask, muffled into his slick n’ spit slick cunt, the lewd mix of liquid absolutely slathered across your face, leaking down to his untouched ass. Teasing, you lick at his perineum before returning back to his cock, working fast and efficiently, just the way he likes, desperate to feel him unravel above you.

He nods, vehement, thighs threatening to close had you not held steadfast to them. He’s squirming up a storm—not so dissimilar to the storm you know is coming, the storm that shields you from the moon’s gaze—, sweet moans and whimpers alike falling from his lips unbidden. It’s beautiful—the taste, the sight, the everything, all that which screams, simply, Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh.

Something else screams, too.

“Cumm’n!” Kaveh cries, voice loud. His voice is entirely wrecked, but you pay it no mind; after all, why wouldn’t it be, after so long of nothing but whines tearing at his throat? You bask in his cry, the way his cock pulses heavily above your tongue. At the smear of slick you feel against your chin—which, you notice now, is nudging at his perineum, at his leaking hole, too—, you nuzzle down, giving his cock a welcome reprieve and allowing his cum to dribble into your open mouth.

It’s quiet, after that, save for the lap of harsher waves in the distance. The storm is rolling in as Kaveh sinks back, hands falling limply from your hair. You stand up slowly, massaging his thighs as you rise above him to kiss him gently, to lick into his mouth and spread the sweet taste of his cum between your lips.

He’s slow n’ sweet, now, silent but breathless as his eyes are still welled up wet. You thumb away the tears, his long eyelashes clumped together, noses pressed together. You bask in the gentle silence as you tend to Kaveh; first, using a torn piece of cloth to mop up the mess between his thighs, then getting him in that spare bare of boxers you have. It’s a tussle, getting a spacey (hah) Kaveh to step out of his torn underclothes and his pants only to force him right back in—with a new pair, of course, but the same ol’ pants—, but it’s worth it in the end, when you can get an arm beneath his knees and one supporting his back, carrying him like a bride.

(A bride, huh?

... What a thought.)

“Let’s get you home now, yeah?” You kiss at Kaveh’s temple, even as he buries his face into your throat and hums, still floating, still quiet. “Hayi’s waitin’ on us, and the rain’ll start soon.”

Kaveh nods softly at that, kissing your throat once before his breath evens out, and he’s out like a light. The light of Kshahrewar, snuffed out in a doze—the only way your light should ever be dimmed.

The next time he visits Fontaine, he brings you and Alhaitham, together.

when i said i can't imagine kaveh without haitham, i meant it. i hope that this lil' addition was okay . . . threesome with the two guys when? also, it would be a whole day's trip to get between sumeru city and port ormos, but this is video game logic, and i don't give a fuck. having your boyfriend in ur arms and ur other boyfriend waiting at home with a warm meal can make a guy defy the laws of physics smh. also, i went less heavy on the aftercare, but it's definitely there ! kaveh will be getting pampered when he gets home to you and haitham, where you can spoil him together<33

8 MAY 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#【 🦢 】#i'm so into boys who r so deep in pleasure that they go nonverbal !!#gn reader #gender neutral reader #dom reader #sub kaveh #kaveh smut #kaveh x reader #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #not gonna tag haitham but ! he's mentioned a lot .#sub character #sub male character #i wonder if these tags r any good . . .

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deliciousangelfestival · 19 days

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Café for Killers || 1- Lloyd Hansen

Summary: In this café, where people usually enjoy their coffee, after 12 a.m., the actual customers arrive, posing a risk to the temporary owner's life as she works here.

Character: Female Reader x Lloyd Hansen

Chp 1, Chp 2 .-

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

"Thank you for coming!"

You beamed a warm smile at the customers, your eyes crinkling at the corners. With practiced ease, you leaned down and began clearing the remnants of their meal, stacking the used dishes with a practiced clatter.

A few customers offered curt nods of appreciation, their faces etched with the weariness of late nights. They pushed open the heavy window door with a sigh, the clink of the bell announcing their departure.

"This place is a lifesaver," one woman remarked, her voice thick with exhaustion. "Only this cafe open till midnight, and the coffee's delicious on top of that. Easy on the wallet, too."

"Sure is," her friend replied. His gaze drifted towards the back of the house, a flicker of concern crossing your features. "Wonder if the owner's managing some sleep."

"You got a crush on the owner?"** His friend chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"N-no, not at all!" he stammered, a blush creeping up his neck. A nervous laugh escaped his lips, sounding a little too high-pitched.

He glanced back at the cafe one last time, the warm glow from your window cutting through the darkness. As he checked his phone, the illuminated screen revealed the time: 12:00 AM.

Twilight Café.

The name fits perfectly, known to students far and wide as a sanctuary for late-night studying sessions and caffeine-fueled study marathons.

But beneath its welcoming exterior lurked something darker that demanded the café stay open until the witching hour.

Behind the welcoming façade of Twilight Café, catering to the late-night needs of college students lies a perilous secret that necessitates its doors staying open until 12 a.m. each night.

This isn't merely about accommodating nocturnal study sessions; there's a far more sinister reason behind the extended hours.

As the temporary owner of Twilight Café, you find yourself grappling with a promise made in haste when your uncle unexpectedly left the business in your hands.

What was meant to be a temporary arrangement—a favor to help him during his recovery from surgery—has turned into a daunting obligation.

Your mother's insistence and your experience as a barista seemed like reason enough to step in and lend a hand. Initially, you didn't mind; there were no ill feelings as you took on the responsibility.

After all, it was family, and supporting your uncle during a difficult time felt like the right thing to do.

However, as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, you began to question the true nature of your uncle's request. The moment he handed you that nondisclosure agreement and insisted you sign away any possibility of backing out until he was fully recovered, a seed of doubt was planted in your mind.

Why the need for such secrecy? What was your uncle hiding behind the guise of a simple café?

Regret gnawed at you as you helped your uncle and he revealed the private room and second storage area.

'Cling.'

The ring from the back door opening echoed through the cafe, signaling that it was past 12:00 a.m.

You swiftly lowered the café's window curtains, dimming the lights to set the atmosphere.

With a mix of trepidation and resignation, you prepared the coffee for the mysterious guests in the private room. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as you carefully arranged the cups on the tray, each movement precise yet tinged with nervousness.

With the tray of coffees in hand, you approached the private room, noting the presence of two burly guards stationed at the door. One of them wordlessly opened the door, allowing you entry.

As you stepped into the room, the atmosphere shifted palpably. The customers here were unlike the students and employees.

They are killers, merchants, assassins.

The Twilight Café was made for these types of customers.

They gathered here under the cover of night, their presence starkly contrasted with the usual patrons. Most of the killers who come here want to enjoy coffee since most of them can't sleep, or they need a place to hide, or they want to buy a weapon. But since your uncle is still sick, the weapon store is closed.

Typically, bookings were required for their attendance, allowing you to anticipate the number of guests. Tonight, there were only four individuals, two of whom were regulars.

"Ah, my coffee has arrived. You're a lifesaver, sunshine," came a voice from the table.

It was Lloyd Hansen, a renowned merchant and assassin. The casualness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine.

With a forced smile, you nodded in acknowledgment, your body tense with discomfort. As you set down the tray, you couldn't shake the unease that washed over you, a silent reminder of the dangerous world you found yourself entangled in.

And the other one is Carmichael, his partner in crime, while the other two, you've never seen them before.

You gently placed the coffee cup down, eager to leave the room quickly. Making a small bow, you murmured, "Enjoy your coffee."

"She's really polite. I like her," Lloyd remarked while Carmichael nodded.

You offered a smile in response before swiftly exiting the room.

Returning to the front of the café, the atmosphere felt lighter and safer. You glanced at your watch, noting that you couldn't leave until 3 a.m., the designated time limit for the killers' stay.

To distract yourself, you turned to watching cooking videos, the only thing that seemed to ease your mind amidst the unsettling environment.

With noise-canceling headphones in place, you blocked out the eerie voices that had plagued you since starting work here.

On your first day, you fainted. There was a fight among the killers, and the private room, once a cozy haven for them, lay in ruins.

However, a cleaning team was swiftly dispatched to address the aftermath. They were hired specifically to handle the grisly task of cleaning up bloodstains—a chilling reminder of the dangerous world you had unwittingly become a part of.

Time passed until you felt a looming shadow behind you. It was Lloyd, standing before you. Your eyes widened, and you fought the urge to scream.

Blood was splattered across his face, his smile only adding to his menacing appearance.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I made a mess. Those two didn't agree with me. You know I don't like that," Lloyd explained.

You nodded, unable to find your voice.

Lloyd chuckled at your reaction, finding amusement in your fear, likening you to a cute puppy.

"No worries, I've called the cleaning team," he continued, handing you a white envelope. "Here's the money for the repairs."

Great, you didn't have to enter the private room and witness what had occurred inside.

"Oh," he added, retrieving his wallet and pulling out $100 bills. "Here's a tip for the delicious coffee." He put the money in front of you.

"I'll see you again soon." With a wink, Lloyd left through the backdoor, leaving you to contemplate the surreal encounter.

As soon as he closed the door, you collapsed, overwhelmed. "Oh my god," you muttered under your breath.

‘PING’

Then, a notification pinged from the system, interrupting your relieved moment. Another customer for tomorrow—a killer.

You sighed heavily, frustration building inside you. This is the life of a temporary owner of a café for killers.

Who's going to be the next killer coming to the cafe?

You could decide which character and skills each character possesses.

The character with the most replies and reblogs will be the next customer.

#lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen x you #dark!lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #soft!dark lloyd hansen x y/n #soft!dark lloyd hansen x reader #soft!dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen imagine

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nerdytyrantphantom · 2 years

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Murphy’s Law

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Summary: What happens when your truck breaks down at your best friend's house late one cold, rainy night? Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: smut / oral (both) / cock riding lol / 5.5k words sorry Notes: This has been sitting in my Google Docs for WEEKS and I just had to get it out finally. Constructive feedback welcome!

MURPHY’S LAW: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. This is what you’re thinking about as you sit in the chilly cab of your truck, watching the torrential downpour outside the windows. You take a deep breath and turn the key in the ignition one more time, but the same sound persists: click-click-click-click-click. You painfully accept the culprit: a dead battery.

What’s worse is that you’re not at home where you could easily abandon your truck and any ideas you had about driving it. Instead you’re outside your best friend Eddie Munson’s home and it’s a late October night. Just minutes ago, the two of you sat thigh-to-thigh in his living room watching The Thing – a movie you’d both seen too many times to count – as part of a Halloween marathon you’d been having all month in anticipation for the holiday. The whole thing had become routine: Eddie and you would peruse the horror aisle of Family Video, select a blockbuster for the night, and then nestle onto his couch back at his place.

It wasn’t always easy to focus on the films, however. Over the past couple of months, your feelings for Eddie had shifted; you grew to think of him as less than a friend and more of an unrequited love. Sure, you’d never admitted your feelings to Eddie. But you were positive that if you did, the feelings wouldn’t be returned. Why would Eddie want you? Regardless, that didn’t stop you from savoring every small moment your skin touched his. When the movie was over and it was time to go home, you’d cruise to every stoplight in a daze, replaying all of the times you both reached for a handful of popcorn at the same time and how his fingers felt so soft against your own.

But tonight you weren’t able to make that melodramatic drive home pining over your best friend. Tonight you had to do something you’d only fantasized about doing: ask if you could come back inside.

That’s how you find yourself running through puddles up the stairs to Eddie’s trailer. Your knuckles rap against the door as you shift your weight from one foot to the other, the cold from the rain sinking into your clothes and chilling you to the bone. The flimsy awning above the entrance to the trailer provides just enough shelter as fat raindrops bounce off the tin surface. Then, as another chill makes you tremble for the umpteenth time, the door swings open.

“Whoa, déjà vu!” Eddie yells over the sound of the downpour. He looks over your shoulder and squints at your truck through the rain. “Shit. Your old lady kick out on you?” he asks.

You quickly nod your head, still shaking. “Y-Yeah,” you yell back, the frigid weather sneaking its way into your speech as your teeth begin to chatter. Eddie’s eyes immediately dart back to you.

“Here, come back inside.” He extends his arm out to usher you back in, not moving from the doorframe so you’re forced to brush against him as you do. He gently places a guiding hand on the center of your back, before turning around and locking the door.

Once inside, you take inventory of the living room. It’s just how you left it: warm and cozy with the ambient glow of a lamp in the corner, the last remnants of marijuana smoke hovering in the air, and the muted credits of The Thing still rolling across the screen. The only change is the addition of a pint of ice cream on the coffee table, the lid tossed beside it, with a spoon standing erect in the sweet dessert’s center. You can’t help but smile.

“You sure you don’t mind if I…” you trail, turning back around to face Eddie. You’re not quite sure what you’re asking and hope for Eddie to fill in the blanks, like he so often does.

“Of course not,” Eddie replies, eyebrows stitched together like even thinking such a thing is ridiculous. “Don’t be silly.”

“Okay. Thanks, Eds – I really appreciate it. I’m pretty sure it’s the battery that’s dead,” you say, peeking through the window blinds. You watch the rain pummel your truck under the yellow glow of a lamppost.

Eddie picks up his pint of ice cream – Rocky Road – and takes a bite. “The good thing about that,” he says with a full mouth, pointing his spoon at you, “is that it’s an easy fix. Just gotta jump it once it stops raining.” He wipes his hand over his mouth.

Another chill trickles down your spine from the wet and the cold. You shift your weight from one foot to the next. “That’s the thing though, Eds,” you say, turning to face him. “I don’t know when this rain is supposed to let up.”

Eddie stabs his spoon into the ice cream and shrugs. “Well,” he says, tilting his head to the side, eyes studying the small mound of ice cream on the end of his spoon, “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.” After he takes the bite, he looks at you with a smile – a real smile that makes your stomach do somersaults. But then just as quickly as he’s smiling, his eyes are bulging out of his head and he’s nearly choking on his ice cream.

“Shit,” he says, wiping his hand over his mouth. “You’re freezing. Let me grab you some dry clothes.” And with that, he disappears down the hallway, leaving you alone in the living room.

You take this opportunity to unzip your hoodie, peeling the sopping wet fabric off of your arms. Next, you toe off your Converse, neatly placing them by the door. You’re left in your t-shirt, jeans, and socks, which are all soaked, sending more shivers down your back. And you know from experience that the rain has made your hair a wild mess, leaving it in desperate need of a good comb-through. All that to say, you feel your cheeks redden with embarrassment when Eddie returns with an amused smile on his face.

“What?” you ask sheepishly, afraid of what he might say.

Eddie just shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he promises, extending a small stack of clothes to you. “Here. You can go into the bedroom or the bathroom to change – doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks, Eds,” you say, graciously accepting the dry clothing. When you get into his bedroom to change, you can’t help but laugh at what he’s selected for you to wear: an old pair of Hawkins High sweatpants from freshman year P.E. class and his one and only Hellfire Club shirt. For a moment you debate whether or not to remove your bra and panties, but ultimately say fuck it and discard of the garments. Then you return to the living room, where you find Eddie sitting on the couch with his ice cream.

“Whoa,” he says, freezing mid-bite. “That shirt looks…” He swallows. “Great on you.”

Once again, that familiar feeling is back – the one Eddie gives you so many times, the one that feels like a fire igniting in your stomach and burning up your chest, your neck, to your cheeks, where it turns you a bright shade of red.

You can’t help but give in just a little. “You think so?” you ask, playfully giving him a twirl. Then you join him on the couch. “I must say, I feel pretty special getting to wear the shirt of the Dungeon Master himself.”

At this, Eddie blushes. To keep himself busy, he pops his spoon into his mouth, letting it hang, while he fumbles to put the lid back on his ice cream pint. “Well, to be clear,” he says, his words slightly garbled from the spoon, “you are pretty special.”

And just as the words leave Eddie’s mouth – muddled as they may be – he’s praying to God he hasn’t made things awkward. Because for the longest time, he’s wished he could tell you that: that you were special. After all, there weren’t many people who would patiently sit and listen to the progress he’d made learning new songs on his guitar. There weren’t many people who would listen to him passionately spew new ideas for his Dungeons and Dragons campaign and ask him clarifying questions to help solidify his ideas. And most importantly, there weren’t many people who calmed Eddie’s anxieties like you. Comfortable silences were an odditie in Eddie’s world, but they came natural with you, and for that, he was grateful.

But that was too hard – too scary – to say aloud. So, after he said what he said, he stood up from the couch to put his ice cream away, acting like it wasn’t a big deal. And it’s his confident casualness that convinces you this is just Eddie being typical, unfiltered Eddie. As he walks towards the kitchen with his back to you, you feel a pang in your chest, wishing so badly that his words ran deeper than he let on. But you force yourself to brush off the sorrowful ache in your heart and go back to playing “best friends.”

“So, what were you planning on doing after I left?” you ask as he reenters the living room. He plops on the couch beside you, extending his arms over the top, his left arm behind your head.

“Honestly?” he laughs, a contagious smile spread across his face. “Eat ice cream and crash.” He arches his back into the couch and stretches his arms out more, the bottom of his shirt rising to reveal a sliver of inked skin. “Yep,” he yawns, rubbing his face. “Had a looong day of being a badass, so this Dungeon Master is wiped.” He gives you a teasing smile, both of you very well knowing Eddie hadn’t done anything but watch movies with you all day.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” you say hurriedly. “If you want to go to bed, I can put on another movie to watch or something. Don’t worry about me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not tired, too?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. “I seem to recall a certain someone dozing off not that long ago.”

You bite your lip as your cheeks redden; he noticed you sleeping? You shake off the idea while you trace the big “H” embroidered on the thigh of your sweatpants. “I could probably fall asleep,” you admit. You glance around the room, spotting a blanket over the back of a recliner; you get up to retrieve it.

Eddie watches you, chewing on his lip as he tries to figure out how to say what’s on his mind. Before he’s had time to think it through, you return with the blanket and plop back down beside him. You hug the sofa pillow to your chest and give him a reassuring smile. “Got everything I need,” you say.

Eddie springs from his seat. “Oh! So, you’re gonna crash on the couch,” he realizes, speaking more to himself than to you. He quickly walks towards a small closet, removing a pile of thick blankets. He drops them on the couch beside you and then stands there staring at you with his hands on his hips, something eating away at him, but what, you’re not sure.

Finally, he mutters an awkward “goodnight” and starts to walk towards the hallway before he’s turning around and pacing, a torn expression on his face. “Okay, let me level with you,” he says with a sigh, looking everywhere but at you. “That couch is a bitch to sleep on. I’m talking back problems for days.” He plays with his hair and then stops pacing, finally looking at you. “So, I mean, if you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it, if you want to just like, use my bed.”

“Oh, no, Eddie,” you say blushing. “I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.” Your eyes stay focused on the “H” embroidery covering your thigh, afraid to look up.

Eddie’s got his tongue in his cheek before he decides to bite the bullet. “Who said anything about kicking me out of my bed?” he asks. A silence hangs in the air, anticipation filling the room.

You glance up at Eddie to see if he’s joking with you, but he’s looking at you with the most earnest expression, like he’s hanging on to your every next word.

“Okay,” you say, standing up from the couch.

“Yeah?” Eddie says. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he adds.

“Let’s go,” you say with a smile. And with that, you follow Eddie down the hall to his bedroom.

No matter how many times you’d been in it, you never got tired of having access to Eddie Munson’s private sanctuary. Band posters covered the walls and knick knacks scattered every surface, always providing something new to inspect when you stopped by to listen to Eddie practice his newly learned chords.

But this time something was off. You nearly ran into Eddie as he stopped in his tracks just a few steps into his room. Standing in front of you, heat rises to his cheeks as his eyes scan the floor of his room, spotting the black fabric of your abandoned bra and panties. “Oh…” is all he can say – and when you catch up with him and your eyes follow his, you’re blushing too, scrambling to pick up your articles of clothing.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just leave those out like that,” you say, sweeping up the garments in one swift motion. You laugh nervously and see that, despite his red-tinged cheeks, Eddie’s got that same smile from earlier on his face, the one that makes your stomach flip.

“Hey, I’m just glad you’re comfortable,” he says, raising his hands like a man trying to prove his innocence.

Relieved he’s not freaked out, you let out a soft sigh. “Well, of course I’m comfortable around you, Eds,” you say.

He smiles to himself. “That’s all I hope for,” he mumbles – again, like he’s talking to himself more than you.

You lift the covers and crawl into bed on the side closest to the window. The sheets are soft and downy, smelling faintly of Eddie and something else you can’t quite place. With your back to him, you listen to him go about his business: removing the belt from his pants, sliding into pajamas and a t-shirt, turning off the lamp in the corner of the room and the flick of the lighter as he lights a candle. To your surprise, you’re already beginning to drift off when the light switches off and you feel the sag of the mattress behind you.

There’s something about the room being swallowed in darkness save for the lightning outside and the dance at the tip of the candle wick in the corner of the room that triggers you awake. You realize you’ve never seen Eddie’s bedroom from this perspective – on your side, tucked away warmly in his clothes, in his bed – and you try to memorize each detail, knowing you’ll likely never experience it again.

Then Eddie’s voice cracks the silence.

“Hey, um…” he trails, and you feel him stir behind you. “Can I tell you something?”

You shake away your thoughts.

��Of course, Eds.” Your voice is hushed – sweet and innocent.

“I’ve, uh… actually thought about this a lot,” he admits. As he speaks, his brows furrow, realizing how much truth is in his words as his secret penetrates the air. Flashes of you play through his mind: how beautiful you look sitting on the edge of the bed studying his fingers plucking the strings of his guitar, how tenderly you listen to his problems and soothe him with your words, your voice always a lullaby to Eddie’s antics. He’s thought about having you here beside him, intimately, a lot.

Your body goes still, but only to disguise the quickening of your heartbeat. You know Eddie’s close and you feel like you can hear your own heart beating – can Eddie hear it too? – and you’re trying not to move, trying to keep still. You squeeze your arms against yourself.

“Thought about what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You.”

This should be the part where you roll over to face him, but you’re still in denial.

“What do you mean?” you ask, confused.

You feel Eddie roll over behind you. He’s fighting the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you close against his chest, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and feeling you giggle in his embrace. But instead he just asks, his voice a ghost on the back of your neck: “What part don’t you understand?”

“The part where you said… that you think about me,” you say, tears brimming your eyes. And fuck, you don’t know why you’re fucking crying, but the tears are hot, sliding down your cheek and onto the pillow. You just know in your heart of hearts that there’s not a world where Eddie could think about you like that – could love you the way you love him.

It’s just one sniffle, but instantly, Eddie picks up that something’s amiss.

“Hey,” he whispers, and then he’s putting his hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you onto your back, gently asking you to look at him so he can look at you. “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart,” he says, panic rising in his voice.

You laugh weakly and shake your head. “I’m just confused is all,” you say, wiping your nose.

His eyebrows stitch in concern. His hand caresses your cheek, thumb tenderly wiping away lone tears. A weak smile plays across his lips as he takes you all in, committing to memory how sweet you look with your head on his pillow, one side of your face illuminated in light, the other lost in the shadows. He studies your eyes to the tips of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose to the soft jut of your lips, and his body aches for you.

“What’s so confusing about a guy liking a girl?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “Especially one like you.” After the words leave his mouth, you search his face for a tinge of jest, but there’s none. He’s sincere.

“I just… I guess I never thought you’d like me,” you admit, sniffling – you laugh, realizing how pathetic you must look and sound right now.

“Are you kidding me?” Eddie says with disbelief. He begins moving your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ears. Without giving it a second thought, he blurts, “I’m fucking crazy about you.”

Your laughing stops. Your eyes stare into Eddie’s. In a whisper, you admit: “I’m fucking crazy about you, too, Eds.”

And that’s all it takes for Eddie’s hand to cup your cheek as he brings his lips down to yours. His kiss is soft and slow, lips dancing against lips, and both of yours and Eddie’s eyes are fluttering shut as you each savor the moment, the moment you’ve both only dreamed of.

“Eddie,” you murmur as he breaks away panting, parting away from you only to catch his breath. He presses his forehead against yours with a sloppy smile. You close your eyes for a moment, catching your own breath, savoring the taste of Eddie on your tongue. “I’ve wanted that for a long time,” you sigh.

“Me too,” Eddie says, and this time he’s kissing you harder and faster than before. His tongue is swiping against your lips, begging for entry and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, wanting to eliminate any space between the two of you.

“Silly girl,” he mumbles, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “Confused why I like you… why I think about you…” He starts planting desperate kisses on your forehead, over your eyelids. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, kissing your cheek. “So smart.” The other cheek. “So sweet to me.” Another.

Eddie’s lips combined with his words have you arching your back, turning your head to give him better access to your ear, the side of your neck, as he continues covering you in kisses. And it’s just as he’s leaning closer to you that you feel something taut and warm beneath his pajama pants. It’s pressing against your leg and, pretending you don’t notice it, you raise your leg just a bit, just enough so that it grinds against him. “Oh, fuck,” Eddie sighs, head falling slack on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m –” he tries to say, but you shush him by placing your hand over the crotch of his pants.

“Shhh,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile. “I am, too,” you whisper, and fuck, if that’s not enough to get going Eddie going.

“You are?” he pants, his forehead against your forehead as you palm the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms. He grinds his teeth and shoots his head back. You nod into the crook of his neck, a small whimper escaping your mouth. “Mmhmm,” you hum, feeling wetness pool between your legs.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie groans with a laugh. “We’re not – we’re not moving too fast, are we?” he asks, desperate to control his thoughts and movements. It’s taking everything in him not to rip both of your clothes off.

“N-no,” you say, bringing your hips up to his. “If I’m honest,” you say, kissing his neck, “I’ve thought about this so many times.” You trail kisses down his skin, then move to the other side. “When I drive home after we hang out,” you say, hormones overtaking you, “sometimes I can’t help but touch myself while thinking about you.”

Your words are like a drug to Eddie, injecting him with a sexual hunger he can barely control. He’s burying his face in your neck and putting his hands on your hips, holding you still so he can grind against you. “Keep going,” he begs.

“Then when I finally get to my room,” you continue, the filth of your description paired with the sweetness of your voice stirring something primal in Eddie, “I crawl into my bed. And I take my panties off.” You’re panting. “And I think about y-you–” Another moan escapes your lips as Eddie begins to lift the Hellfire Club shirt over your stomach, moving down your body and kissing over your belly, the fabric dangerously close to revealing your breasts. “And I think about your h-hands–” and then he’s lifting the shirt completely up, the cold air stirring your nipples erect, and he’s using one hand to grope your breast and pressing his face against it, taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, while his hand massages the other. “Keep going,” he says around your supple flesh.

“And I think about your mouth,” you say, voice high, as his tongue soaks your nipple and then blows air on it, making it firm in his mouth. Then he’s giving equal treatment to your other breast and you can’t help but dig your fingers through his hair, grinding hard against his cock through his pants.

“What do you think about me doing to you?” Eddie asks, pulling the shirt back over your chest, kissing his way back down your belly. He reaches your abdomen and kisses above the waistband of your sweatpants. Then he’s hugging your legs over his shoulders and resting his head right between your legs, looking up at you with those big, brown eyes.

You look down at him, desperately wishing there wasn’t a thick layer of cotton between the two of you, and brush your fingers through his hair, “I imagine what you’d look like going down on me,” you say, knowing that’s exactly what you’re looking at. You buck your hips, pressing against him, and a sinister smile spreads across his face as he pushes you back down into the sheets.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, untying the knot that was keeping the oversized sweatpants snug against your waist.

“I think about what your tongue would taste like on me,” you admit, lifting your hips so he can slide the pants off of you once untied. “In me,” you add, and Eddie’s standing up on his knees to pull his sweatpants off of you. Then he reaches over to the bedside table and opens a drawer, returning with a hair tie. He places it in his teeth as he pulls his hair back and ties it up in a loose ponytail. Next he lowers himself between your legs, gripping your thighs, fingers pressing so deep until there’s white spots forming under the pads of his fingertips. He looks up at you innocently and says, “You were saying?” before dragging his flattened tongue all along your wet opening up to the sensitive bundle of nerves that was your clit.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you sink into the pillow, the rain outside falling even harder. Lightning flashes, illuminating the room, and it’s the glow of Eddie’s white back – the muscles and movement of his shoulder blades in that blue glow – while his mouth continues working against you like a safecracker deciphering a code that knocks you out, that has you growling through your teeth.

“Eddie,” you plead, pulling his hair. You raise your hips and grind against him without shame.

Eddie just moans against you, content sounds purring from his throat as he eats and licks and slurps up your juices, him acting like a poor boy that’s been famished.

“Eds,” you warn him, feeling yourself getting close. The white hot heat is taking over, your vision blurring as you sink further into the pillow. “Eds, I’m so close,” you whimper, gripping and releasing his hair, hands flailing to the sheets where you grip them until your knuckles are white.

“Mmhmm,” Eddie says, refusing to remove his mouth. You dare to let yourself look down at him, and that’s what does it, seeing him with his nose pressed flat against you, his head tucked neatly between your bare thighs, his hair glued to his face in a sticky, sweaty mess, and his brown eyes blown out with lust, staring into yours.

“Fuck, Eddie,” you cry, squeezing his hair as you ride out your orgasm, Eddie still not moving. Just when you think it’s too much, you need a break, he’s coming back up, pulling your chin and planting a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips, and you’re tasting yourself on him.

“Holy shit, Eddie,” you pant, a tear shedding down your skin from the pleasure.

“That bad, huh?” he teases, wiping away the tear.

You laugh and then roll him over. “I want to return the favor.”

And Eddie has to resist from reaching inside of his pants and stroking his cock at you saying that in his Hellfire Club, sitting up on your knees like an innocent little bunny, staring up at him.

“Up,” you say, putting your hands on the waistband of his pants. They slide down with ease, and out springs his cock, already rock hard as it sits firm against his lower abdomen. Your mouth waters at the sight of the dark curls at the base, the soft hairs trailing up to his belly button.

You lift his cock up with one hand but first take his balls into your mouth, massaging them with your tongue, sucking softly. Eddie bucks his hips, laughing and squirming. “That tick – Oh,” he moans, looking up to watch you suck his balls. After playing with his balls, you slide your tongue up his shaft, before flicking your tongue over the slit. You suck on it gingerly and stare up at him through your eyelashes, loving the way he looks: eyebrows stitched together, mouth open, tongue licking his bottom lip, still tasting you on his skin.

You take him all the way in and Eddie hisses, biting his knuckle. “Fuuuck, baby,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know how much of this I can take,” he says, tossing and turning his head into the pillow. You smile and continue taking him in, gradually quickening your strokes.

“Baby, I –” Eddie tries to say, then he’s laughing at how he can’t get his words out, the pleasure too much for him. “Baby, come here,” he’s saying, and you’re not sure what he means, but then he’s holding your hair lovingly and guiding you on top of him until you’re straddling his hips.

“Is this okay?” he asks. You nod.

He reaches over to the side table and removes a small, thin gold tinted package. He rips it open with his teeth before expertly slipping the latex over his length. Then his hands are on your hips, and he’s guiding you over the tip, just letting the tip stroke up and down your pussy.

You try to sit down on him, but he holds you still, enjoying the tease. “You sure you’re ready?” he asks with a smirk, just wanting to hear you beg for it.

“Eddie,” you whine, holding his cock and aiming it over your hole. Finally, he softens his grip and you slide on, feeling him stretch you open. “Oh my,” you moan, falling forward and gripping his shoulders for stability. He’s not even in all the way and already your eyes are rolling back into your head. “Baby, you’re so big,” you mutter.

Eddie releases a satisfied growl. “Shhh,” he coos, massaging circles into your hips. “You can take it,” he assures you. He slides in deeper and then his cock is bottoming out and you’re releasing a strained groan – there’s pain, yes, but then electric pleasure is coursing through you just as lightning flashes in the room again. “Fuck me, Eddie,” you whine without thought.

And that’s all Eddie needs to take control and raise his hips back and forth, rocking you on his cock. His hands grip your waist, guiding you on him in smooth, fluid motions, and you’re not sure how much you can take, his cock hitting that special spot deep inside that has your eyes rolling into your head.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Eddie says looking up at you. His hands grip your waist, guiding you expertly. “Doing so good riding my cock,” he says, and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or admiring it himself, but either way his words do something to you.

You lean forward, hands falling onto Eddie’s neck, reaching behind his head and holding him still. “God, Eds,” you whine, swaying your hips back and forth on top of him. “Feels so fucking good,” you whimper.

Eddie’s hand is climbing up your chest to your neck and he’s holding you steady on top of him. “That’s it, baby, ride it out,” he coos.

Hearing his words, you can’t help but fall limp in his arms, sinking your face into his neck. He squeezes your hips and starts to get sloppy, his movements much less intentional the longer he goes. “Baby,” he whines, squeezing the back of your head against him as he continues to thrust. At this point you’re tired, only able to sit atop Eddie’s waist and let him drive himself inside you at his will. “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he says, and his voice is laced with a desperation that has you feeling close to cumming a second time.

A wrangled cry escapes Eddie’s throat as he squeezes you against him, his cock hammering into the deepest part of you. You sink your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your own cries of pleasure and then you’re both panting, holding each other in your arms.

“Holy shit,” Eddie sighs. His hair is clinging to his wet, red-tinged face. “That was… holy shit.”

You can’t help but laugh, enjoying the feeling of his cock still buried inside of you, as you nuzzle into Eddie’s neck. “I concur,” you say, your words muffled against Eddie’s skin.

And for a while the two of you lie just like that – Eddie’s arms wrapped around your torso while you lie atop him with your nose burrowed into him, comforted and safe in his arms. The rain continues to fall, the only other sound being the soft breathing from you and Eddie. And as you lie there, chest against chest, you can’t help but smile and think that you were wrong about Murphy’s Law tonight: anything that can go wrong, may go wrong – but there was Eddie to make it right.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

Despiértame mi Corazon

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,454

(Image Source: Actor: Alex Pettyfer + @fanaticsnail's dodgy photo editing skills)

Synopsis: You have been on the run from Donquixote Doflamingo, sheltering and caring for a young, sick child. Your emotions catch up with you as you process the change your life has led you to. You’ve left it all: family, career, friends - all to support Rosinante in his quest to cure the boy. Upon seeing you in this state, your Corazon will do anything to see you smile again.

Themes: mutual pining, sickness, love, Rosi is a daddy, Rosi is a sweetheart, idiots in love, friends to lovers, Trafalgar Law is a child, baby Law is an edge-lord, angst, crying, hurt/comfort, dancing, Rosi is a dork, sad ending (I’m sorry), Dance reference link here.

Notes: This is a gift for @writingmysanity. You get two Cora fics, because we both need it. The other, more happy one, is coming soon, sweety!!

Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @vespidphoenix @i-am-vita @sexc-snail I don't know if you guys like Corazon, but I hope this convinces you to love him.

Song Suggestion: “Wake Me Up” - Postmodern JukeBox

The air carrying the tide towards your feet felt as thick and heavy as the encumbering weight on your heart. Frozen remnants of falling snow stuck to your cheeks, your eyelashes collecting a small amount of dust to coat your follicles in the crisp breeze. Aside from the peace found in momentary stasis, your mind was racing and your soul screaming for release.

Trafalgar D Water-Law was dying. The boy you took under your wing, the child you cared for, the adolescent who held your heart in his hands was dying. He was not going to make it without consuming the Op-Op Fruit, a cruel reality that had finally caught up with you.

You were so close. So unbelievably close to getting his cure - his fate balancing on the edge of a knife in the steely grasp of Donquixote Doflamingo. A cure like this was not something that would be gifted freely, both you and Rosinante knew this for a fact. There was no amount of convincing, scheming, bribing, groveling, or begging you could do to gather this cure for the sickly child you both loved. It needed to be claimed by force, and claimed now.

Finding solace in the small moment you carved aside, you allowed yourself the luxury of hot tears rolling down your cheeks: consumed by the grief in the dire situation you found yourself within. You were simply unable to carry the weight of these harsh and raw emotions any longer. What began as a small sniff through your nose quickly and quietly escalated into soft sobs. As the sorrow was released, you felt the weight grow heavier in your heart and expand to encumber your chest.

Drawing up your knees and cradling them against you, you turned your head away from the shack as your shoulders shook with each whimpered sob. You desperately hoped to any deity that was listening that you were far enough away from your home for the night to hold your sobs in silence, not alerting or disturbing your two companions as they lay in slumber.

Stalking slowly towards you, aided in silence by his devil-fruit abilities, Donquixote Rosinante was approaching you in your sorrow. His hand stuttered forward, wanting desperately to place it down on your shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze in consoling your release of your emotions.

He, himself, knew this feeling, and he knew this feeling well. Giving into his feelings a few weeks earlier, while drinking a vast amount of sake straight from the bottle. He felt helpless in the overwhelming devastation that currently held the three of you hostage. Desperate to provide you comfort, although not desiring to give you a touch you were not expecting, he halted his movement from descending upon your shoulders.

Retracting his extended hand away from you, he stumbled backwards towards the shack to check in on the sleeping Trafalgar Law. Clambering up the steps, he looked over the peaceful form of the boy nestled up in his blankets to keep warm in the cool night. Noticing the fluttering rise and fall in his chest, the subtle wheeze extending and catching in his throat, he felt the return of helplessness overcome his body.

Turning away from the child, his fingers absentmindedly brushed against the surface of the steely frame of his radio, flicking on the valve to wake its static call. He began turning the knobs, seeking out a whisper of a song to drown out his circulating devastation and distract himself with.

The rustling static did nothing to wake Law from his rest, but did alert you of the fact Rosinante was awake and skulking around. Hastily drying your tears with the inner sleeve on your wrist, you ensured you were the very picture of positivity should the leader of your expedition join you in the cool air outside the shack.

Your relationship with the younger Donquixote brother was complicated.

Pledging your undying loyalty under pain or death to Doflamingo in your youth, your proximity to the younger brother had you develop the swell of infatuation with him. Through the years, your heart always had a soft simmer threatening to rapidly boil towards the surface. He was quiet, he was calm, his skills as a fighter were a privilege to behold in battle, and it was an honor to fight beside him.

Under the orders of the older Donquixote brother, you had done terrible things that required atonement to cleanse your hands of it. As you were both introduced to the young child who wished for death to claim him, you both became as hardened as the other to force the will to live upon him in repentance for your transgressions.

Watching Rosinante take the lead in Law’s care, your infatuation rose once again: a rise which prompted you to cast aside your loyalty to Doflamingo and aid ‘Corazon’ in the task of betraying him. You were in exile, hiding while searching for a cure for the boy that you only now learnt were in the clutches of the very hands you were attempting to flee from.

You loved him. You loved watching the lanky man fawning over the sickly boy. It had your heart soar and fly ever higher. The way he loved with his whole heart had a ripple effect, prompting you to open your own heart to love both of them even more. When Rosinante displayed his heart, it was worn on his sleeve and given unconditionally. And when you saw this love for others, it made you long to be a recipient of such devotion.

The rise in static volume prompted you to turn around, glancing at the looming figure exiting the door of the shack, a radio within his hands. He placed it on the wooden frame lining the porch and gestured for you to come over to him with a subtle sway of his hands. You offered him a soft, melancholy smile and rose to your feet from the cool sand beneath you.

No words were spoken as you approached him, keeping your head bowed from him as the static crackled and roared to life. A familiar tune from your youth rose in the speakers, your smile broadening as the lyrics shepherded you into a gentle sway.

Rosinante’s outstretched hand flitted fluidly down to you, a small bob in his head indicating for you to place your hand within his own. You returned this gesture with your eyes closed and shaking your head in disbelief at his invitation. He smiled, reaching forward his other hand down and claiming your unoccupied hand and began swaying you to the beat.

“What are you doing, Rosinante?” you slowly hummed your question up at him, brow twitching up in intrigue. His warm smile pulled you in, alongside the slow shimmied-shake of his arms with your own.

“We’re dancing,” he confessed with a rumbled chuckle, his toes accidentally colliding with your own: both flinching at the contact. He shook his head, adding to his answer, “I stand corrected: we’re trying.”

Although the mood was filled with sorrow, the sway of Rosinante’s awkward movements had your smile rising up your cheeks and eyes drying of their prior downpour. A small swell in your heart at his attempt to make you smile had your cheeks begin to pull upwards by the smallest smile you could muster.

Everything about the way he danced with you was stiff, awkward and rigid: a memory rising in both your minds of earlier in your youth springing forward.

“You remember when we first danced together?” Rosinante asked you, his painted lips attempting to hold back a toothy grin. You giggled at him, ushering his body to spin in your arms and gently twirled his body. The dark feathers tickled your skin, a sneeze rising in your nose in response to the subtle brush from the inky follicles.

“I remember it being about as ah-... ah-... ahh-...!” you sneezed, shaking your shoulders as you turned away from him to save him from the spray. He chuckled as you recovered from your sneeze, continuing, “-As awkward as this one. You didn’t have your feather coat then, either.”

“Oh, right!” Rosinante laughed, twirling his body away from yours and removing his feathered overcoat from its place on his shoulders, casting it over the wooden frame beside the speaker. “Alright now, where were we?” His pink shirt dipped in his chest, the subtle rise of his lungs and exposure of soft skin tempted a warm flush to rise in your cheeks. You shook your head to rid yourself of such thoughts about your friend, recovering enough to plaster a small smile on your face.

Swaying your hips and tapping your toes against the ground, you skillfully twirled your body to rejoin your hands within his. He gleefully laughed at your gesture, his own hips swaying to the beat and rocking his shoulders as the rhythm picked up. His knees were unpracticed and unskilled in this artform, but his enthusiasm overtook his inability to dance.

Twirling his body away from you, he clapped his hands and began stomping his feet lightly on the floorboards. He tapped twice more before kneeling himself down on one knee, his other leg arched into a deep lunge in front of him. He placed his right hand on his hip, rising his left above his head and brandished it with a playful flourish.

“Oh, we’re doing this one, are we?” your tone picked up, your brow arching on your forehead as you leant forward to claim his left hand within your right, “You remember how I tripped over your lanky legs when I did this last time,” you smiled, circling his body and hopping yourself over his calf lying flat behind him.

“I do,” he chuckled in return, following your movement with the lull of his head. His smile rose further as you playfully watched him from the corner of your eye. “You remember how we recovered, though? What we did to balance out the dance?”

“Yes, Corazon,” you half-laughed, half-sighed, as you recalled how the evening progressed, “We drowned ourselves in several bottles of sake and laughed at our own idiocy.” Rosinante shook his head, rising to his feet after releasing your hand from within his.

“No, mi amor,” he whispered, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from behind, “I meant this.” He turned you within his arms, raking his hands over your hips, hands circling over your waist and holding you firmly against his torso. You hooked your arms over his shoulders behind your head, shepherding him to embrace you further while swaying to the rhythm.

Rosinante pressed his cheek against your own, your eyes instinctively fluttering closed as you felt the rise in his grin on your skin. His breath tickled the nape of your neck, you breathing along to his rhythmic pattern with each passing moment.

You felt all of your worries cast themselves aside each moment he held you in his arms, all anguish and melancholy passing from your body and reigned within his embrace. The pressure of his own sorrows fled from him and onto you, the sharing of the emotional labor departed each of you in this moment to simmer and smother between you.

“Why were we dancing again?” you whispered to him, your lips almost making contact with the shell of his ear. You felt him shudder against your touch, instinctively pressing your back further against his chest and nuzzling into your neck.

Spinning in his arms, his hands tugging at your shifting shirt as you turned to face him, his eyes widened as he sought out his answer to you. Humming thoughtfully, he finally located his answer in his memory.

“I think it was Doffy’s birthday, or celebrating a raid on some unfortunate-,” Rosinante began, halted by you pulling away and glancing into his eyes.

“-I mean now, mi corazon,” you floated your eyes between his, looking for rhyme or reason within his steely orbs, “Why are we dancing now?” He stuttered in his sway, freezing like a fainting goat being startled by a loud sound.

“Y-You called me-...” his breath caught in his throat, lips parting as he floated his gaze between your own eyes, briefly caught in gazing longingly against your lips. “You called me ‘mi corazon’, mi amor.” He held you in silence, his heart swelling and adrenaline urging his body against his will to surge forward.

The air was tense, the deafening silence being broken only by the smooth rise in melody from the radio beside you. His eyes softened more, wordlessly asking you a question with his lips quivering and eyes frantically darting between your own.

A small nod from him, answered by a nod of your own was all the answer he needed to join his lips with yours, softly molding himself to your lips and breathing in your air.

The world came crashing down around you, the realms of unanswered questions from your youth were retorted by the soft lips of Donquixote Rosinante’s pressed against your own. You squeaked against his lips, eyes wide and watching as, his were closed with his brows furrowing in deepest concentration. He hissed in a breath through his nose, turning his head by the angle of his chin to deepen the embrace.

Raking his hands up from your hips, he claimed fistfuls of your shirt in his needy grasp. He whimpered against your lips, prompting you to reciprocate his passionate kiss. You felt his heart, his spirit and his worries pass from his body into yours further. This intimate and wordless confession had your heart racing at the impossibilities that brought you here.

Slowly pulling your hands from his shoulders, you slid them down his neck and grasped the embroidered pink collar of his shirt and pushed him back towards the railing. As his beck hit the hard, wooden pillar, he gasped into your mouth and desperately clawed at you to hold you firmer. Angling his head away, he pressed lengthy kiss after kiss against your lips, cheeks and chin: a trail marked by his pink lip-paint.

“I want you,” he whispered against your lips, hovering them above your own before pressing his own against yours twice more, “I want us. I want all of us-.” He peppered your cheeks with lengthy kisses, the smear of his lip paint rubbing against your skin and tinting your flesh. “-The three of us. I want to be our own family: go where we want to go, wherever our hearts take us. I want to forge a life with you and that kid.”

“What are you saying-?” you whimpered for him, your hands claiming his cheeks within them and ushering his face away from yours. He groaned, leaning forward and claiming your lips beneath his own before fully allowing you to push him away.

“I want to adopt Law,” he continued, his hand rising to your hair and caressing your scalp, “You already mother him, fawn over him and treat him like your own.” Your hand flew to his hair as he pressed a long kiss against your neck, “I want to do this, and I want to do this with you, mi amor. I want to marry you, to be yours and you to be mine.”

“I want us to be happy, mi amor,” he concluded, a melancholy smile finding his cheeks as he dipped his brow down to seek out your eyes, “I will have you smile again: a smile mirrored between the three of us.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your brow, adding a muffled, “Three against the world.”

The shock of it all happening at once held you in momentary silence. Feeling the pull to confess your own adoration and wants for the future onto him, your lips formed words before you could withhold them in your throat.

“When this nightmare is all over,” you gasped, tugging at his blond locks to subtly weave him away from your neck to look in your eyes. “When we wake up from the darkness,” you slowly caressed his cheek, your thumb finding his bottom lip and attempting to press the paint within the boundaries of his lip line, “I want all of that with you, mi corazon.”

At your confession, Donquixote Rosinante’s heart soared for you and his tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. He truly didn’t know those words were needed to grace his ears and soothe his mind, but so thankful you formed them.

He loved you from the moment he met you all those years ago. The urge to protect you from the evil his brother ushered into the world was so strong, he nearly broke the mask he made while infiltrating the crew. Seeing you hold your own against them, your skill in combat ushering a swift death to those who opposed you with mercy had him swooning at your kindness amongst the brutality.

“Te amo, mi corazon,” you whispered, your lips again hovering over his own, “I always have, and I should’ve acted on it sooner. I just got caught up with the mission, with loving our child. You are doing such a good job with him, I want you to know that.” You soothed over his blond hair, brushing your nose against his while confessing your admiration further, “I love you, and I love Law so, so much-.”

Surging forwards, the contact he made with your lips was wet: the stale aftertaste of his last cigarette was eclipsed by the salty tears falling over his lips. He didn’t know when his tears started to fall, nor did you grasp when your own intertwined with his against your lips. You laughed against his lips, feeling the lingering tingle of affection spark and ignite in your chest. He swooned for you, raking desperately at your body to hold you as close as he could without breaking through the material of your clothes.

You broke away from his lips, gazing into his eyes with nothing but pure adoration and love. His own unspoken confession lingered in the air, the atmosphere tense and swollen with the lust-stricken adrenaline. The spark of the adoration tinting your eyes surged his confession forward, his words clumsily jumbled over his lips.

“Mi tesoro, mi amor, mi familia,” he whimpered for you, his voice stuttering and stumbling over his words as he stooped down to you, “Te amo-... I-I love you. I love everything about you, and I should’ve told you sooner. I wanted to tell you from the day I first met you. I swooned for you when you danced with me all those years ago. My heart beats for you, and propels me to complete this task all the sooner to start this adventure with you and Law.”

He pressed his forehead against your own, the feeling of hot tears rolling down his cheeks at the confession had you both sobbing and laughing at yourselves. Sniffling and collecting your own tears on your wrist, and he with his, you both glanced up at each other and allowed your smiles to rise.

“We will get this done, Donquixote Rosinante,” you hardened your resolve, nodding through every word, “And when it’s all over, we will be una familia- a family, mi corazon. The three of us. Together.” You held each other close on the deck of the small shack: swaying between kisses as the darkness plaguing your journey was eclipsed by the light rising between you.

Hanging on your every word, a small sob hitched at the crack in the door, Trafalgar Law’s hand clasping over his lips to mask his presence. Law had never witnessed so much love pouring from one person to another. The fact that you both held such love for him too had him openly sobbing at the interaction.

He wanted this too.

He wanted to be a family with both of you: two absolute idiots that loved both him and each other unconditionally. Two complete idiots who were hardened fighters, pirates, and war criminals. His idiots.

He wanted this so desperately.

He wants his imperfect, perfect family.

But some things were not meant to be.

Law would call on this memory often. Each time that melody played over his personal radio, his heart would both consequently swell and shatter as tears threatened to pour down his face. He wanted to wake up, for it to all be some horrific nightmare and still be searching with you and Cora-san for a cure for his illness. Your love was real, and he was thankful to play his part in it.

However small a time it was, it was his. His perfect, imperfect family.

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arverst-aegnar · 14 days

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Day 30: Time Loop/Time Travel

heck yeah, i completed two days this year!!

the ending is a bit more abrupt than i wanted, but it just was not cooperating with me, and i was afraid that if i left it too long with my other incomplete Zutara Month ideas it might get infected with "takes too long to finish -itis". so here it is.

The word spreads quickly, covering the entire Earth Kingdom in a matter of days and reaching the Northern Water Tribe’s court within a week. Even the remnant of the Southern Water Tribe, all but forgotten at the bottom of the world, hears about it before the new moon.

Fire Lord Ozai is dead. His successor, Fire Lord Iroh, has declared his intentions to put an end to his nation’s war of domination. Petitions for peace and offers of reparations are being extended to all world leaders.

The Southern Water Tribe elders suspect a trap of some kind. Some think the proposed Peace Conference is actually an opportunity for him to kill the other nations’ leadership, leaving them vulnerable to his armies. Others suspect a subtler scheme to conquer the rest of the world through diplomacy, or perhaps a combination of culture and technology.

For Sokka and Katara, who only hear the news by listening intently outside the elders’ meeting tent, there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Dad’s going to need me with him at this Peace Conference,” Sokka declares. He pulls out his boomerang and takes aim at a snowman some of the little kids built last week. “Whatever the Fire Nation’s planning, it’s no match for Southern Water Tribe ingenuity!”

Katara worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “What happened to Fire Lord Ozai?”

Sokka scoffs. “Who cares? He was a big, fat jerkbender like all of them. Probably set his bed on fire ‘cause he was roasting the Earth King in his sleep.”

She says nothing as her brother goes to pull his boomerang out of the snowman’s head. Nor does she say anything when her father announces that he and his entire family will be attending the Peace Conference, along with several of his best warriors.

On the ship, she delights in opportunities to use her waterbending to speed it on its way, or to play pranks on Sokka, but often she is found deep in thought, wearing a pensive look much too old for her.

“You’re strangely quiet,” Kya observes as they prepare to disembark. The voyage is over, but the journey to Omashu will take at least another day. “Something eating you, sealpup?” She pokes her daughter in the side, which provokes a giggle that quickly fades. Face unusually solemn, Katara shakes her head. Kya frowns, but leaves the matter be.

The entry into Omashu is packed like salted fish in a barrel, people from all over drawn to the Peace Conference, but an envoy from the king gives their delegation precedence over the rest. Sokka cranes his head back to take in the architecture. Kya’s gaze flits around, trying to take in the variety of clothing worn by native and visitor alike. Hakoda’s attention is on his family, but he makes sure he knows where all his warriors are at the same time. Kanna, riding an ostrich horse graciously provided by the king, seems mostly interested in staying upright, but her head turns every now and then when a familiar scent wafts in from one of the market stalls. Katara, kept at the center of her family unit, has no interest to spare for any of it.

When they reach the palace, they are immediately brought to the main hall, where King Bumi, Chief Arnook, and three of the Earth Kingdom’s Council of Five await them, as well as Fire Lord Iroh. No sooner are the official introductions made than Katara turns to Fire Lord Iroh and, with a hasty bow, demands, “Did Zuko come with you?” A half-second later, flustered, she stutters, “I - I mean Prince Zuko.”

In the chaos of the sudden trip, some things were left to the last minute, and that includes the talk Hakoda and Kya intended to give their children about how to behave in front of foreign royalty. The blood drains from Kya’s face. Hakoda, his face a storm of anger stirred up by fear, takes a step toward Katara, prepared to pull her back to safety. But before he can, to their astonishment a broad smile spreads across the Fire Lord’s face. With a shallow bow, he waves a hand toward a door behind them. “Prince Zuko is in the garden, but I am sure he would not mind the company, if your parents think it acceptable.”

Katara is running towards the door before he finishes speaking.

*****

Katara knows she’s going to get in trouble for this later. It’s her own fault, putting off the explanation for so long, acting like the little girl they believe her to be -- as much as she can, at least. But whatever punishment they think up is nothing compared to what’s waiting for her in that garden.

If he doesn’t remember, if she’s still all alone in this, then no punishment could be worse. If he does …

She’s never seen the garden in the Omashu palace before. It’s more ornamental than the ones she’s used to, and the main features seem to be rocks and crystals more than trees and flowers. But she can sense water -- a fair amount of it, too, like a small pond -- and she doesn’t have to follow it far before she sees him.

Zuko is next to the pond, his back to her. He’s smaller than she’s ever seen him, and not just because he’s sitting down. His hair is long enough to brush his shoulders, even pulled up into the traditional topknot. Like his uncle, he is dressed in Fire Nation red and gold, but the cut of his robes looks different to her untrained eyes -- Earth Kingdom style, perhaps? Surrounding him are half-a-dozen turtleducklings, and the wave of affection that sweeps over her freezes her in place.

“Hey now.” She recognizes that mildly scolding tone, even if his voice is a little different than the one in her memory. “You have to share with your sister. You’re not getting more seeds just because you’re bigger.”

Katara tries to say something, but it seems all the words she wants to say are trying to come out at once, and have jammed up in her throat. She stumbles back half a step.

The crunch of the gravel under her feet gets his attention. His head turns slightly in her direction, then he’s leaping to his feet, turning towards her --

Oh.

He doesn't have the scar.

For one moment, Zuko stares at her with wide eyes. Then in the next, he’s closed the gap between them, pulling her into the tightest hug she’s ever had. Katara wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his shoulder. “Katara,” he breathes, and a little sob escapes her at the familiarity and warmth in that single word.

“Zuko,” she manages. Her voice wobbles but does not break on the name like she thought it might. “Oh, Zuko.”

He pulls back too soon, but he cups her cheek with one hand while the other brushes her hair out of her eyes. Katara tries to smile at him, but it’s hard when every emotion of the past three years wants to pour out at once. Instead, she reaches up and gently touches his left cheek. The skin is smooth and whole under her fingers.

Zuko closes his eyes, but not before she catches a flash of pain. Immediately, she knows what must have happened. Why he has no scar. How Ozai must have died.

“I thought I was dreaming at first,” he says hoarsely. “I told him off. Yelled at him for being a terrible father and a worse Fire Lord. Then -”

Katara shakes her head and pulls him back to her. This time he’s the one to bury his head in her shoulder. “I know,” she tells him, her throat still choked. “I know. I did too.”

Later, she thinks, she’ll tell him about Yon Rha. About how in her determination not to relive the worst day of her life, she had pulled on his blood with a ferocity she had only seen herself use in nightmares. What his corpse had looked like, afterwards, and the look on her mother’s face. How what had once been a fantasy of power and relief had, if only for a little while, become a horrifying reality. Maybe she’ll finally find the words to describe the contradictory emotions that have been warring in her ever since, but even if she doesn’t, it will be okay, because now she has someone who will understand.

For the moment, she holds him close as they both succumb to tears.

#zutara month #my writing #zutara #day 30: time loop/time travel #zuko x katara #zuko #katara #a:tla #s: eight #zutara month 2024

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rwby-encrusted-blog · 4 months

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Jaune's Extended Family

_NPR's Extended Family

Ozpin's Extended ... Family?

#remnant's extended families #rwby #rwby au #rwby crossover

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ally-writes-many-things · 7 months

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Home For The Holidays Part 2 (X. Riorson)

Summary: You return home for Christmas with Xaden who is pretending to be your date.

Words: 2.4K

Warnings or A/N: So I changed it from Garrick to Dain because I love Garrick and I didn't want to write Garrick like that. And yes I did incorporate some Fourth Wing characters. Part 3 should be when things start to pick up. I just wanted to do the family introductions first.

Tags: @daisydark @ablev92 @luxsky @graciereads @heyyitsnat21 @honeybee54321 @amazingdisneyfansblog @wallacewillow0773638

Art Credit here

Part 1

Xaden extended his hand for a handshake, by which your mom graciously accepted. "Hello, Mrs. Jess. How are you?" he greeted her politely.

You glanced back and forth between your mom and Xaden, a nervous excitement bubbling within you. "Mom, this is Xaden. He's my date tonight. Xaden, meet my mom, Jess," you introduced them.

She waved off his formal address. "No need for formalities. You can call me Mom, just like everyone else does," she insisted.

Xaden nodded respectfully. "Yes, ma'am," he replied.

Feeling the chill in the air, you looked at your mom with a playful smile. "Are you going to let us in? It's getting quite cold out here," you teased.

Your mom's attention shifted from Xaden to you, realizing that you were still standing outside. "Oh, goodness. I apologize. Please, come inside," she said, stepping aside to make way for both of you.

With a thoughtful gesture, Xaden effortlessly picked up his luggage with one hand and then grabbed yours with the other. "You'll be staying in your old bedroom. And, by the way, Xaden can sleep..." She began, but you interrupted.

"He can sleep in the same room as you," you nonchalantly finished your sentence. "We're both adults, after all."

A smile of understanding crossed your mom's face. "Oh, yes, of course. That's absolutely fine," she agreed, leading the way towards your room.

You paused, gazing at your mom with a determined expression. "Mom, I appreciate it, but I don't need any help. I know exactly where my room is," you assured her.

She seemed slightly taken aback but nodded understandingly. "Alright, then. I'll go and let your stepfather and your siblings know that you're here," she said, turning to head downstairs.

As soon as she disappeared down the hallway, you took a deep breath and began walking in the direction you knew so well. "It's this way," you whispered to Xaden, following the familiar path towards your room.

Xaden glanced at you with a hint of concern. "That seemed a bit harsh, sending your mom away like that," he commented.

You shrugged, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "Trust me, with my mom, you kind of need to be assertive or she won't stop," you explained, understanding the dynamics of your relationship with your mother.

Finally, you reached your room and noticed that the door was already open. Thankfully, during your last visit, you had taken down all the remnants of your teenage years on the walls and replaced them with the old bedding with new bedding. The bed itself was still in great condition, so there was no need to buy a new one. However, almost everything else in the room was new, except for your dressers. You still had your old teenage belongings like CDs, diaries, posters, and pictures buried in the closet. But everything displayed on the walls, except for a picture of you and your best friend taped on the mirror, reflected the adult you had become.

Xaden chuckled, his eyes scanning your room. "Damn, I was really hoping to catch a glimpse of teenage Buttercup," he teased, his tone filled with playful nostalgia.

You rolled your eyes, playfully exasperated, and closed the door behind you. Walking over to your dresser, you opened a drawer and swiftly moved your clothes to another one, making space for Xaden to place his belongings. You carefully selected a shirt and a pair of sleep pants, preparing them for your attire tonight. "You can use this one, if you want," You offered, gesturing to the now empty drawer. "The bathroom is through that door if you need to change,”

Unzipping your bag, you revealed a selection of holiday dresses, a few books, and a pair of man red and white pajamas. As you flung the pajamas in Xaden's direction, he skillfully caught them. "I must admit, I took a wild guess at your size, considering you're roughly the same size as my brother," You confessed with a playful grin.

Xaden, raising an eyebrow in a teasing manner, couldn't help but quip, "So, let me guess, you went ahead and got us matching pajamas, didn't you?”

"It's for the Christmas photos. Like most families, we all dress in matching pajamas and take pictures," you explained.

"Oh. Okay. Cool," He responded, heading towards your dresser to put away his belongings. "Do you have any extra blankets and pillows? I can make a pallet on the floor,”

You chuckled. "Xaden, I know we're pretending here, but I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor. You can sleep in the bed with me. There's plenty of space, and we're adults. I think we can handle it."

"I wasn't expecting that answer," Xaden mused.

"Why?" You asked.

"I don't know. You just seem like the kind of girl who wouldn't be like that," Xaden replied.

You rolled your eyes. "There's a lot about me that you don't know, Riorson."

"I guess so. When am I supposed to change into these?" he asked, holding up the pajamas.

"Christmas Day. We just sleep in them," you clarified.

You retrieved your chosen nightwear from the bed, holding them in your hands as you made your way towards the bathroom. "I'll go change now," you announced, intending to have some privacy.

"You can change in here, it's your bedroom after all," Xaden suggested, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You chuckled, playfully dismissing his suggestion. "You wish," you replied, heading into the bathroom.

Upon emerging from the bathroom, you noticed that Xaden was still dressed in his daytime clothes. You raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. "You could have changed while I was in there," you pointed out.

He shrugged, offering his reasoning. "I'd rather not meet your family in pajamas, even if they're okay with it. This is your family's house, after all."

You sighed, trying to reassure him. "Xaden, I've told you before, my family isn't judgmental. They won't mind. Trust me."

He nodded, acknowledging your words, but still seemed hesitant. "I know, but still…”

You nodded, acknowledging Xaden's response. "Your choice. Alright, even though I already gave you a rundown on the plane, let's go over it again," you suggested.

You listened attentively as he began to recap. "Your father is Issac. Your brothers are Brennan, Ridoc, and Sawyer. Your sisters are Mira and Quinn. Brennan is married to Imogen, and they have two kids named Lilith and Chris. Ridoc is married to Rhiannon, and they have one child named Lance. Mira and Sawyer are currently single. Lastly, Quinn is in a relationship with Lynn, and they are in the process of adoption," He explained.

You nodded, confirming his understanding. "Correct. Don't worry about aunts and uncles then. I can introduce you to them as they come. So, are you ready to meet my family?" You asked.

He smiled, "Absolutely. Let's go,"

With a deep breath, you braced yourself before turning the doorknob and venturing into the hallway. The living room awaited you at the bottom, a familiar space where you knew you would find your sisters. Your stepfather and brothers are in their man cave.

As you reached the final step, you instinctively reached out for Xaden's hand. A smile graced his lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, awakening every nerve in your body and heightening your senses. "I think my sisters are in the living room. Let's go meet them first," you suggested, your voice filled with anticipation.

Xaden nodded in agreement, allowing you to lead the way. Together, you walked past the kitchen where your mom was busy. Her voice called out, breaking the silence, "Are you two hungry?" You glanced back at Xaden, silently questioning him.

He shook his head, his eyes filled with contentment. "No, we're fine," he replied, his voice filled with assurance.

Dragging him into the living room, just as you had anticipated, your sisters sat there in their pajamas, their eyes shifting from the TV to you and Xaden, their jaws hitting the floor. "Damn. Mom was right," Rhannion blurted out.

"Rhi, you're married," you reminded her.

Rhannion had been a part of your family since she was a child, so regardless of Ridoc being married to her or not, she would always be considered family. "I know," she replied.

Your other sisters rose from the couch, embracing you tightly, causing you to let go of Xaden's hand. "It's so good to see you back home," they exclaimed.

"Yeah, you too," you responded, returning their warm hugs.

They refused to release their tight grip on you, holding on for a few minutes until you finally managed to extricate yourself from their embrace. Placing a hand on Xaden's shoulder, you introduced him to your sisters Quinn and Mira, as well as your sister-in-law Rhiannon. "This is my boyfriend Xaden," you announced.

"Hi," They all chimed in unison.

Just as you were about to continue the introductions, your brother Ridoc appeared, immediately grabbing hold of Xaden's arm and pulling him towards the man cave. "Hey girls, what- Oh, you must be Xaden. Dad is waiting to meet you," Ridoc informed, his urgency evident.

"Wait, Ridoc," you called out, trying to catch up with them.

Ridoc halted and turned to face you. "Sorry, sis. You know the rules. No women-"

"Allowed in the man cave, I know," You interrupted, finishing his sentence. "But I wanted to take him to dad first, so I know you guys won't-"

Xaden intervened, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "It's okay. I can go.”

You firmly grasped Xaden's arm as it slipped off your shoulder, shaking your head in defiance. "No. No one is going to dictate how you meet Xaden. It's my choice how you all meet him. If Dad or anyone else doesn't like it, tough luck, because I don't care," You declared, locking eyes with Ridoc.

"Alright, I'll go get them," Ridoc conceded, sensing your determination.

Xaden glanced at you, and you instinctively intertwined your fingers with his. Each touch of his skin against yours sent a surge of electricity through your body.

Footsteps approached, and you turned your head to see your stepfather, Ridoc, Brennan, and Sawyer walking towards you. "So you're the one who refused to come to us," Your stepfather remarked.

You turned fully towards him, meeting his gaze head-on. "Xaden didn't refuse anything. I did. Not him. And if you have a problem with it, well, that's on you. Not us," You asserted, standing your ground.

You and your stepfather locked eyes for a brief moment, a silent exchange of curiosity and uncertainty. His gaze then shifted towards Xaden, and he couldn't help but comment, "You do realize you could have changed into pajamas before joining us, right?"

Xaden blinked, a hint of confusion clouding his expression, but he chose to brush it off. "Yeah, (Name) mentioned that, but I didn't really feel at ease meeting you all for the first time in my sleepwear," he explained, shrugging off any discomfort.

As the silence lingered, your stepfather broke it by introducing himself, "Well, I'm Doug."

Each member of the family followed suit, with your middle brother chiming in, "Ridoc," and your oldest brother adding, "Brennan." The youngest brother, not one to be left out, piped up, "Sawyer." Finally, it was Xaden's turn to introduce himself, simply stating his name.

Your stepfather's eyebrows furrowed slightly as he continued, "To be honest, we weren't expecting (Name) to bring anyone home, or even that she was seeing someone."

Xaden chuckled, breaking the tension with a light-hearted tone. "Yeah, it's a bit of a whirlwind. I literally just returned from a work trip, and we officially became a couple a few days ago. With nowhere to go for the holidays, she kindly invited me to join your family. I hope that's alright with everyone."

Just as the words left Xaden's lips, your mom emerged from the kitchen, holding steaming mugs of hot cocoa. Her warm smile illuminated the room as she reassured, "Of course it is! We're thrilled to have you here."

Her welcoming gesture and comforting words instantly put everyone at ease, melting away any lingering doubts or reservations.

#fourth wing #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson x you #iron flame

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superiorsturgeon · 9 months

Note

Rookie-Angel!Pyrrha: wow. Theres so much to being a guardian angel.

Angel: yup. Dont worry, you have the heart and spirit. You'll get there in no time.

RA!Pyrrha: Thank- hey, what's that commotion?

Angel: oh, that? Well, some Valkyrie and Angels are having a free for all to see who gets to collect the soul of the Rusted Knight. He's apparenly about to fall off a tree mid-battle soon.

RA!Pyrrha: oh ny! The Rusted Knight is real? That's Grand! I remember my mother reading me that story.... w-wait. He didnt die when he drank the poison? A-and he's about to d-die? And they're all....

Angel: Fighting over his soul, yeah. The Valkyrie claim their "little sis" on Remnant called dibs already, but we Angels know the Knight, his family has fought our fight for generations and he's even fought at the side of the God of Light's champion.

RA!Pyrrha: ooo-oh, wow! The truth is stranger than any legend. Still, i hope someone who will be kind to him wins..... dying in the line of duty still hurts.....

Angel: oh, they'll be 'kind' alright. This group is mostly just thirsty thots looking to score with a new arrival. Bah, i say we should just send a reaper spirit for this Arc dude, plenty of time to make a pass on him later.

RA!Pyrrha: *twitch* what.

Angel: oh yeah, that wasn't in the legend, right? His real name is Jaune Arc or something. I read the file; some time travel bullshit and a stable time loop happened. It's kinda-

RA!Pyrrha: It's a free for all, correct? (Hard eyes)

Angel: uh

RA!Pyrrha: And the heavenly blacksmith is over there, right?!? (Flexing muscles, swords rattling in the distance)

Angel: uhhhhhhhhh

RA!Pyrrha: And im ALLOWED TO GUIDE SOULS AS WELL, CORRECT? (Wings extend, a circle of floating swords forming a halo)

Angel: y-es? (Sweating)

Angel-Of-War!Pyrrha: (sweetly) oh good!

(Her eyes narrow)

AoW!Pyrrha: word of advice. Don't get in my way-HEY, I HAVE A PRIOR CLAIM, THOTS. BACK OFF!!!!!!

Angel: *gulps*

Jaune: *blinking, lying on the ground where he fell* Oooohhhhhh…I don’t think my aura will save me this time…

????: It’s okay…I’ve got you…

Jaune: *blinks and squints* P…Pyrrha…? Is that you…?

Pyrrha: *cradling Jaune in her lap and tenting her red-feathered wings over him* Hello again, Jaune! You had quite a nasty fall!

Jaune: *looks around and sees piles of beaten/bruised angels and loose feathers everywhere* Wha…what happened…? Am I dead?

Pyrrha: *brushes Jaune’s long hair back* It was close, but I saved you just in time!

Jaune: What happened to all the other angels?

Pyrrha: Oh, well…it turns out sometimes there’s…competition…when it comes to being a guardian angel! 😡

Pyrrha: Luckily I was able to convince everyone else that I was the one for you! ☺️

Jaune: *looks back up into Pyrrha’s eyes and reaches up to touch her cheek* I can’t believe I get to see you again…! 🥹

Jaune: I like your horns and black wings!

Pyrrha: …my what…?

Pyrrha: *looks at her wings which have turned black* 😧

Pyrrha: *feels for her halo and finds two curving horns* 😨

Pyrrha: …Uh-oh…!

#rwby #jaune arc #Pyrrha Nikos #arkos #jaune x pyrrha #jaune arc X Pyrrha Nikos #Pyrrha had one job #sturgeon asks #fallen angel au

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leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld · 2 months

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CALM AFTER THE STORM |BTS OT7 X READER| HYBRID AU (M)

{Chapter Eight – Nothing Matters, Only You}

Pairing: OT7 BTS!HYBRID X FEM!HUMAN READER

Kim Namjoon: Black Mackenzie Valley Alpha wolf

Kim Soekjin: White Alpha Lion

Min Yoongi: White Alpha Jaguar

Jung Hosoek: Alpha Snow Leopard

Park Jimin: Alpha Albino Cobra

Kim Taehyung: Alpha White/ Bleached Tiger

Jeon Jungkook: Alpha Black Panther

Reader: Heaven Valentino Human

Status: Ongoing

RATED (M) FOR MATURE

words: 5.0k!

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT, BLOOD GORE, DETAILED GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION, ABUSE (ALL FORMS), PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CHARACTER DEATH(MINOR), SADOMASOCHISM ACTS, MENTIONS OF BDSM, ETC...

CHAPTER WARNING: just fluff and slight angst

Previous Next

MATERIALIST

Heaven's POV

It’s been a smooth ride for the past few days. Ever since the boys blended in with my other brothers and the staff, things have been going great. It's heartwarming to see everyone getting along so well.

Today was a significant day for us as it marked the start of our training sessions. I was bursting with excitement, eagerly anticipating the progress we'd make. The goal is for them to grow into the fierce yet compassionate predators they were born to be.

This morning, I decided to start our day early, much to the dismay of Yoongi. Anyone who knows him would understand how much he values his beauty sleep. I almost got scratched for daring to disturb his slumber. It's a known fact that he detests being woken up, except by me. There's something special about our bond that allows me to rouse him from his sleep or cuddle with him for extended periods.

However, today seemed to be a bit of a mix-up for Yoongi. Mistaking me for Jungkook, he was caught off guard when I accompanied the younger one to wake him up. Jungkook is known for his mischievous nature, especially when it comes to teasing his older brothers like Yoongi. The look on Yoongi’s face was priceless when he realized it was me and not Jungkook who was trying to wake him up.

The sight of Yoongi's confusion and Jungkook’s mischievous grin nearly drove me to laughter, despite the seriousness of the situation. It was a moment that perfectly encapsulated the unique dynamics within our little family. Yoongi glaring at me, Jungkook stifling his laughter, and me trying to maintain a serious facade while inwardly cracking up.

The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a soft golden hue over the backyard where my unsuspecting group of sleepy, pajama-clad boys stood. I couldn't help but smile as I looked at their disheveled appearances, the remnants of sleep still heavy in their eyes. It was going to be a challenge to get them up and moving, but I was determined to show them some tough love and kickstart their day with a bang.

I cleared my throat, trying to stifle a giggle as their groggy expressions turned into scowls at being awoken so early.

"Alright, listen up, boys," I announced, trying to sound authoritative despite the amusement bubbling inside me.

"You're probably wondering why I dragged you out here at the crack of dawn."

Their eyes widened slightly, the first signs of curiosity peeking through their exhaustion.

"Well, today marks the beginning of our training regimen. My brothers will be taking the lead as your instructors, with some additional experts joining us later on."

They stared at me as if I had completely lost my mind, but it wasn't long before the realization set in. Panic ensued as they scrambled to shake off their sleep-induced fog and mentally prepare for the day ahead.

I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of their frantic movements, a mix of amusement and fond exasperation washing over me.

As they finally began to gather, still half-asleep and disheveled, I couldn't resist a teasing remark.

"Come on, guys, let's try to look less like a pack of zombies and more like aspiring warriors, shall we? Get yourselves in formation now."

Their movements halted at my loud directive, freezing in place like guilty pups caught in the act. I couldn't help but shake my head at their antics, a mix of amusement and exasperation tugging at my lips.

"Hey, Taehyung, what do you think you're doing to poor Jungkook over there?" I called out, unable to contain my laughter at the sight of Taehyung playfully tugging on Jungkook's hair.

Jungkook shot me a mock pleading look, while Taehyung flashed a mischievous grin.

"Come on, noona, you know I'm innocent here. He started it by stepping on me!" Taehyung protested, feigning innocence with an exaggerated pout.

Jungkook rolled his eyes dramatically, trying to wriggle free from Taehyung's playful grasp.

"Don't listen to him, noona! He's just trying to save face. It was all Jin Hyung's fault; he pushed me first!" Jungkook interjected, pointing an accusing finger at Jin.

Jin raised his hands in defense, a mock look of innocence on his face.

"I only pushed him because Hoseok jabbed me in the ribs!" Jin protested, trying to shift the blame to the unsuspecting Hoseok.

And just like that, they were off, each boy pointing fingers and deflecting blame onto the next with playful banter and mock outrage.

I couldn't help but shake my head at the chaos unfolding before me, a mix of fond exasperation and amusement bubbling up inside me. It was going to be a long day indeed, but I wouldn't have it any other way with this crazy, lovable bunch of crackheads.

~Two Hours Later~

As the dust settled from the earlier chaos, my focus turned toward channeling the boys' newly found energy and determination. The moments of conflict and resistance had dissipated into the calm resolve that now emanated from their eyes.

With each of them fresh and cleansed, I could see a shift in their demeanor as they stood before me, listening intently to my instructions for the day. They seemed eager, yet unsure of what lay ahead, a mix of curiosity and determination etched onto their faces.

I took a few moments to outline our plan for the day, making sure to emphasize the importance of easing into our training session. The boys nodded in agreement, their expressions serious and focused.

"As we start off today, we'll take it easy with some warm-up exercises, theory lessons, guidelines, and practice rounds," I began, my voice firm but encouraging. "Remember, the key is to be prepared and observant in combat. Let your enemy make the first move, learn from their actions, and use it to your advantage. Their strengths could also reveal their weaknesses, just as yours could."

I paused occasionally to ensure that they were following along, gauging their understanding through their attentive expressions and occasional questions. It was important to me that they not only memorized the techniques but truly grasped the underlying principles that would guide them in their training.

As we waited for my brothers to join us, I continued to impart wisdom and strategies that I had learned over the years. I shared anecdotes from my own experiences, illustrating the importance of patience, strategy, and adaptability in combat.

The boys absorbed the information like sponges, eager to learn and improve their skills. It was clear that they were taking this training session seriously, eager to prove themselves and demonstrate their progress.

I could sense a camaraderie forming among them, a shared sense of purpose and determination that united them in their quest for mastery.

It was a satisfying sight, seeing them grow and evolve before my eyes. I knew that with dedication, perseverance, and a willingness to learn, they would continue to improve and excel in their training. And I was grateful to be a part of their journey, guiding them on the path to becoming skilled warriors in their own right.

It had been a long day waiting for my brothers to show up, and my impatience was growing by the minute. I mean, where were they? It was unlike them to be this late without a good reason. I was starting to stew in my own frustration, imagining all the things I would say to them when they finally arrived.

But just as I was about to unleash my anger, there they were, striding in as if they owned the place. Typical. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at their nonchalant attitude. I tried to keep my composure, putting on a fake smile to hide my irritation.

I couldn't resist a snarky remark, “Nice of you guys to finally join us.” I knew it would get under their skin, and sure enough, they smirked in response. My brothers always knew how to push my buttons, and they seemed to take great pleasure in it.

Dante, ever the instigator, didn't miss a beat, teasing me about my murderous thoughts. “I know you were plotting our deaths in your head,” he said with a chuckle. I couldn't help but give him a playful shove, my irritation momentarily forgotten.

Andre, the voice of reason as always, intervened before things could escalate further. “Enough, you two. Let's get started, shall we?” he said, and we all nodded in agreement.

As we began planning our training session, I couldn't help but feel grateful for my brothers. Sure, they had a knack for getting on my nerves, but deep down, I knew they always had my back. We worked well together, each of us bringing our own strengths to the table.

As we went through the training grounds, discussing strategies and giving each other pointers, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie. Despite our differences and occasional squabbles, we were a team, united by our shared goals and unwavering bond as siblings.

In the end, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I could always count on my brothers to be by my side, ready to support and push me to be the best version of myself. And for that, I was grateful.

The day goes on as we warm up and prepare ourselves for the practice rounds. It's a routine we're all familiar with by now, but there's always a sense of anticipation in the air. Every practice session is a chance to improve, to get a little bit better, and to bond as a team.

Marcus, the second eldest, comes up to me. Marcus is usually a subtle and reserved kind of guy. Yeah, he does make a few jokes here and there, but not as chatty as Dante and Andre. He's the kind of guy who listens more than he speaks, but when he does say something, it's usually worth hearing.

“Hey sis, you good?” He asks, a tinge of his Italian accent slipping in and out. I can tell there's something on his mind, probably something weighing heavy on his heart.

“Yeah, I'm alright, and how are you holding up, after….” I don't finish, knowing it's a very prickly topic for him. Marcus met this girl last fall, and he immediately fell in love with her. It was so sudden, so unexpected, and yet he was sure she was the one.

How that happened, I don't know. What surprised me is that he didn't even try to do a background check on her, despite us continuously telling him to. We were worried, we were concerned, but Marcus was adamant. He refused and said he trusted her and that she was just an ordinary girl.

We could have easily done it ourselves, but we couldn't disrespect Marcus. He was always happy, and whenever he would come back from meeting her, he always had this goofy smile on his face like a kid on Christmas day. It was infectious, his happiness, his joy, his faith in this girl he barely knew.

I still remember the day he introduced her to us. She was beautiful, no doubt about that, but there was something in her eyes, something in the way she smiled that didn't sit right with me. I couldn't put my finger on it then, but now looking back, I wish I had trusted my instincts.

But Marcus, oh Marcus, he was smitten. He was blind to any doubts, any suspicions, any warning signs. He was in love, head over heels, and nothing could shake that belief he had in her.

Marcus is like a fortress, Guarded, tough, and practically untouchable. He's not the type to let just anyone in, you’ve got to earn his trust.

But then along comes this woman, and suddenly, all his walls come crashing down. It's like he's under some kind of spell or something. He's completely head over heels for her. But that's until she betrayed him.

Even though Marcus tries to play it cool, you can see right through him,

“I'm alright,” he says in that calm, collected tone of his. That’s his way of saying, "back off, don't push it."

Trust me, you do not want to see Marcus when he's angry. It's like trying to calm a storm, impossible and dangerous.

As Andre swaggered into the room with his shorts and no shirt, I couldn't help but cringe a little. But then Namjoon sauntered in, following his lead, and suddenly my ovaries were in overdrive. Namjoon was a sight to behold - tall, muscular, and just a tad underfed due to malnutrition. Thankfully, he was now looking healthier than ever, unlike those first few days when he couldn't keep anything down.

His confidence exuded an air of nonchalance as he strode into the arena, commanding attention without even trying. I found myself staring, completely captivated by his presence, until Marcus nudged me out of my daze.

"Hey, if you keep ogling with your mouth wide open, you'll catch flies," Marcus teased, earning a playful swat on the shoulder from me in response.

Turning back to Namjoon, I watched as he engaged with Andre, going over the basics of the training regimen. Seeing him so focused and dedicated only added to his charm, making it hard for me to look away. His determination was palpable, and it stirred something within me.

As they continued their discussion, I couldn't help but admire the way Namjoon absorbed every detail, his eyes focused and his body language exuding confidence. It was clear that he was committed to mastering the skills we were teaching him, and it was inspiring to witness.

It was quite interesting watching the friendship between Namjoon and Andre grow closer. They seemed to have this natural connection, always engaging in deep conversations and sharing their thoughts on various topics.

Namjoon and Andre both possessed exceptional leadership qualities and high IQ levels, making them a formidable duo. Whenever Andre visited, he would often seek out Namjoon, eager to engage in what they called "intellectual talks". From discussions on philosophy to challenging each other's viewpoints, their conversations were always thought-provoking.

I decided to put Namjoon's intelligence to the test and had him take an IQ test. I was truly impressed by the high score he achieved, showcasing his sharp intellect and analytical skills. It was no wonder that he and Andre bonded over their shared intellectual curiosity and thirst for knowledge.

But despite their impressive qualities, both Namjoon and Andre had a quirky and playful side to them. They were both self-proclaimed "dorks" and had a knack for cracking jokes and lightening the mood whenever they were together. It was refreshing to see them embrace their silly side and not take themselves too seriously.

"Okay, listen up everybody," Andre began, commanding the attention of the group.

"You guys are going to learn what I like to call The Massive Bs: Block Before Bite. This technique will teach you how to protect yourself before combat. Block before bite, to put it simply, is to avoid getting hit whilst learning your opponent's fighting technique. It might seem simple, but it's quite challenging and for you to master this technique, it requires a significant amount of toleration and resistance."

As Andre continued to explain the intricacies of the technique, the boys nodded in understanding, eager to put his teachings into practice. It was moments like these that showcased the bond not only between Namjoon and Andre but the rest of the group. Their shared passion for learning and growth brought them together, creating a unique camaraderie that was truly special to witness.

So, Namjoon was the first to be called forward with Andre leading the training session and started demonstrating the techniques, physically showing Namjoon the ropes and tricks. It was impressive how quickly Namjoon and the others picked up the techniques. They took turns practicing, and I was amazed that they were able to grasp it within just a few hours. In contrast, it had taken me a couple of days to fully master the technique myself.

Witnessing their progress left me in awe. It was inspiring to see what they were capable of achieving in such a short amount of time. It made me excited for the training ahead. I realized that it might not be as daunting as I had initially thought.

As we wrapped up our first training session, I could see that the boys were exhausted. It was clear that the training had pushed them to their limits, but they persevered and gave it their all. I couldn't help but admire their determination and work ethic. It was evident that my brothers knew how to push someone to their physical limits and help them grow stronger.

Reflecting on the day, I felt a mix of emotions - pride in their progress, amazement at their abilities, and anticipation for what was to come in our training journey. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, I was confident that we were in good hands and that together, we would be able to conquer whatever obstacles came our way.

Looking ahead, I felt a sense of excitement and motivation. I knew that with hard work, dedication, and the support of my brothers, we would be able to achieve great things. This first training session had been eye-opening, and I was ready to tackle whatever challenges came our way in the future.

I took the elevator up to my floor, exhausted after a long day. All I could think of was a hot shower to wash away the grim of sweat and dirt. As I drew closer to my door a familiar voice calling out my name stopped me in my tracks.

"Heaven!"

I turned around to see Jin. He was standing a few feet away, looking hesitant but determined.

"Hey Jin, what's up?" I said, leaning against the wall in the hallway.

Jin shuffled his feet nervously before finally speaking up. "Is it okay if I could use the kitchen?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers twisting together.

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You want to use the kitchen?" I repeated, trying to understand his sudden request.

He took a deep breath before opening up to me, his words pouring out in a rush.

"Yes, I've never told you this, but I enjoy cooking. Before I was kidnapped by those men who put me in that auction where you saved us, my owner was an elderly woman. She treated me like her grandson and taught me everything I know about cooking and baking. She had a passion for trying new recipes and she passed that love on to me. But when she passed away, her grandsons threw me out of the house, and that's how I ended up in that horrible situation."

Honestly, I was surprised when Jin opened up to me about his past so quickly. It felt like a moment of genuine connection and trust between us.

I feel a mix of emotions knowing that he trusted me enough to share something so personal and troubling. But it also brought me happiness to think that he found some solace in confiding in me.

I made a silent promise to myself that I would always be there for him and the rest of the boys. I wanted them to feel safe and supported, to not have to relive any of their painful memories if they didn't want to.

As I listened to Jin speak, I couldn't help but admire his strength and resilience. It must have taken a lot for him to confront his past and share it with me. I wanted to make sure he knew how proud I was of him.

"I'm glad you told me about your past Jin," I said, my voice filled with sincerity. "You're incredibly strong for facing it head-on. I know there may be days when you feel the weight of your responsibilities as the oldest member of your pack, but please remember that you've already done so much for them. And I can confidently tell you, they all see and appreciate that."

I had noticed the moments when Jin's usual overly confident demeanor faltered, when his eyes betrayed a pain he tried to hide. It was clear that the burden of being the oldest weighed heavily on him.

I recalled how Andre once struggled with similar feelings of duty and responsibility. We had all sat down with him, reassured him that it was okay to show vulnerability, and reminded him that we were a family that supported each other no matter what.

I hoped my words had the same effect on Jin, that he felt a sense of belonging and understanding among us. I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone in his struggles and that we were here to lift him up when he needed it.

I was grateful for Jin's trust and vowed to always be there for him and the boys.

As I see Jin's face light up with relief at my words, I can't help but feel a surge of affection towards him. He's always been so caring and thoughtful towards everyone around him, it's only fair that he receives the same in return.

"Really?" He asks excitedly.

"Of course, and also you don't need my permission to use anything. Just go for it and knock yourself out," I say with a playful punch to his arm, eliciting a genuine laugh from him. His laughter is contagious, and soon enough, we're both chuckling like a couple of old friends reminiscing about good times.

I watch him as he nods in understanding, his expression softening with gratitude. Jin has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and it warms my own heart to know that he trusts me enough to confide in me.

"Okay Jin, I'm glad we had this talk. Let me go shower, and you go do you in the kitchen, also could you please tell the young ones to go shower," I say, already mentally preparing myself for the inevitable struggle of convincing Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook to clean up. It's always a challenge with those three, but their antics never fail to bring a smile to my face.

Speaking of Jimin, trying to get him to take a bath is like wrangling a cat - quite literally, considering he's a snake hybrid. But just like any creature of habit, he resists the idea of cleanliness with all his feline stubbornness.

Jin lets out a snort of amusement, fully aware of the impending battle ahead before heading off to the kitchen to prepare something for us.

With a sigh and a shake of my head, I turn back towards my room, ready to wash away the day's worries and thoughts with a nice, hot shower. The sound of water cascading down in the bathroom soothes my mind as I let the warmth seep into my bones, washing away any lingering tension.

As I step out of the shower, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, I know that no matter what challenges may come our way, as long as we have each other's backs, we can weather any storm that comes our way.

Jin's smile and laughter echo in my mind, a constant reminder of the strength and warmth of our growing bond.

3rd Person's POV

Everyone gathered in the cozy kitchen, their stomachs growling in anticipation as the mouthwatering aroma of Jin's cooking wafted through the air. The room was abuzz with chatter and excitement, the energy palpable as they eagerly awaited the feast that was about to be served.

Jin had outdone himself, with a spread that could rival even the fanciest of restaurants. From succulent stuffed chicken to gourmet delicacies that looked straight out of a magazine, the dishes lined the kitchen counter in a tempting display. And let's not forget about the desserts - they were a work of art in themselves, guaranteed to satisfy even the sweetest tooth.

But despite the impressive array of dishes before them, Heaven knew all too well that once her brothers and hybrids dug in, it would all disappear in a flash. They had a knack for devouring everything in sight, leaving no crumb behind. It was a wonder they had never entered a food-eating contest with their insatiable appetites.

As Jin put the finishing touches on the last dish, the boys eagerly gathered around, their eyes lighting up with anticipation. They were like a pack of hungry wolves, ready to pounce on their prey at any moment. But Jin had other plans.

"Before you beasts attack, let's show some manners, shall we?" Jin teased, a playful glint in his eye. "Heaven gets first dibs. We all know she's the only one who won't inhale her food in two seconds flat."

The boys grumbled half-heartedly, but they knew better than to argue with Jin. His cooking was non-negotiable, and they dared not risk missing out on his culinary creations. With a mock bow, Heaven stepped forward, her mouth watering at the thought of finally digging in.

She filled her plate with a reasonable portion, not wanting to overdo it and risk feeling like a beached whale afterward. It was a delicate balance - wanting to savor every bite while also trying to keep up with the bottomless pits that were her companions. But she was determined to enjoy every morsel, even if it meant fending off her brothers' attempts to steal a bite.

Just as Heaven is about to turn around and tell them to get their food, they all rush in like a pack of wolves getting as much food as they can.

"I'm surrounded by a bunch of amateurs," she says, shaking her head in disbelief. Dinner goes well as they all happily converse, telling embarrassing stories about each other.

When Jay walks in looking feverish. The once cheery mood vanishes in an instant as everyone's attention turns to him.

"Ms Valentino, we have a problem," he announces with a sense of urgency in his voice that immediately puts everyone on edge.

"What is it?" Heaven asks, her usually calm demeanor now replaced with a sense of seriousness that rarely graces her expression when her loved ones are around.

"Choi Woobin has gone rogue," Jay begins, his words hanging heavily in the air as everyone processes the gravity of the situation.

And just when things couldn't get any worse, Jay drops another bombshell that sends a chill down Heaven's spine.

"He managed to escape from prison and he's plotting revenge on you, but not just you. He somehow found out about the guys and is working with Jeong-sin, Min-Soo- or should I say Black Eagle's younger brother - to get revenge," he says, each word dripping with the weight of the impending threat.

Heaven feels her blood start to boil at the mention of her beloved hybrids being put in danger once again. The mere thought of anyone laying a finger on them ignites a fire within her that is unmatched.

"These guys just don't know when to quit, do they?" Heaven's tone drips with a mixture of frustration and determination as she makes it clear that she will not stand idly by while her loved ones are threatened.

With a steely gaze and a resolve as hard as steel, Heaven knows that she must act swiftly and decisively to protect those she holds dear. The safety of her hybrids, her family, is paramount, and she will stop at nothing to ensure that they remain unharmed.

The storm may be brewing on the horizon, but Heaven is ready to weather it with all the strength and courage she possesses.

She surveyed the room, her mixed emotions bubbling beneath the surface as she looked at the faces of her hybrids. Despite their stoic expressions, she could sense the fear lingering in their eyes, a subtle tremor betraying their unease. In that moment, she made a silent vow to herself and to them, a promise etched in her heart and soul.

"I won't let you be afraid. I'll always protect you," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a determination that seemed to resonate in the air around them.

With resolve etched on her face, she rose from her seat, exchanging a knowing glance with her brothers who understood the unspoken command. Jay, ever faithful, trailed behind her as she made her way out of the room, the weight of her mission heavy in the air.

As she prepared to confront the looming threat that had plagued their existence, she knew the risks involved. There was no certainty that she would return unscathed, but such thoughts were fleeting in the face of her unwavering dedication.

I have to put an end to this once and for all. She thought, her mind focused on the task ahead.

Her determination burned brightly, a fierce flame driving her forward as she pledged silently to herself.

I will fight for you with every ounce of my being, even if it means laying down my life. She affirmed, her conviction unwavering.

The love she held for her hybrids fueled her resolve, a fierce protectiveness surging within her veins.

With each step she took towards the impending confrontation, she carried with her the weight of her promise, a solemn oath to safeguard those who depended on her. The echoes of her whispered vow lingered in the air, a testament to the depth of her devotion to those she held dear.

As she embraced the uncertainty of the coming battle, her heart remained steadfast in its commitment to shield her boys from harm. In that pivotal moment, she found strength in her unwavering bond with her hybrids, a force that drove her forward into the unknown with unwavering resolve.

For her, there was no greater purpose than ensuring the safety and happiness of those she cherished above all else, even if it meant braving the darkest of paths. And with that unshakeable resolve guiding her, she stepped into the unknown, ready to face whatever lay ahead in the name of love and protection.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hey there!

I'm thrilled to share another chapter with you, filled with fluff and a tinge of angst. I really enjoyed writing this one, diving deeper into the private interactions Heaven is having with the boys. Those moments really add layers to the story, don't you think?

And let's talk about Jin - oh, what a character! I had so much fun exploring his personality a bit more in this chapter. He's definitely the quirkiest and funniest person around. I just want to tuck his cute confident ass in my pocket. He's just so precious!

I can't wait for him to return from the military. More Jin content is definitely needed.

Thank you so much for reading and being a part of this journey. Your support means the world to me. And hey, don't forget to vote and comment if you enjoyed this chapter. Your feedback keeps me going!

Sending you lots of love,

Your quirky AUTHOR-NIM 😆

Borahae Army 💜

TAGLIST OPEN!

TAGLIST: @strxwbloody , @strawblueberrys , @taetaeheart22 , @canarystwin , @drenix004, @ghostlyworld, @loumin908, @rinkud, @nikkiordonez12, @taekritimin123, @danielle143, @//mnguyeeen7(still can't seem to tag you)

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tare-anime · 9 months

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Inspired by this amazing art by @nallhir

Her husband never ceased to amaze her (AO3)

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

Attending a gala always unnerves Yor.

Too many people. Too many eyes on her.

Of course, she has many experiences in attending a gala, most often to do her assassination jobs.

So blending in, or to be more specific, being invisible in a gala has been one of her skills.

That’s not what her concern is.

This time, she has to attend a gala as Loid’s wife.

And the part where she has to do things perfectly so as not to embarrass her husband is actually the thing that makes her nervous.

Because Loid has asked for her help (like she has wanted him to do!). And then he bought her this amazing dress. He even helped her with her hair-do and make-up (she never knew Loid had such a skill. But of course, her husband is perfect in everything!)

At the very least, she has to perform well.

She tries her best to ignore the feeling of eyes following her every movement.

For Loid’s sake!

The music plays and Yor feels dread in her stomach.

This is it….

It is time to dance.

Yor takes a deep breath. When Loid extends his hand, she accepts it.

Just like practice…. Just like practice….

Her husband (thankfully) leads her to the margin of the dancing floor, and he gently guides her hand to rest on his shoulder. She can feel the warmth of his hand placed on the small of her back when they get ready to dance.

“Come closer.” She hears him whisper.

Yor gulps and steps closer, but his hand pulls her even closer until their body nearly flush one another.

Her heart starts to beat faster, but then she hears Loid whisper, “So tell me, what did Anya and Bond have been doing this morning?”

“Huh?”

“I saw the remnants of colorful papers, and the crafting tools weren’t in their places.”

Yor blinks. And she starts to smile. "Oh, Anya was trying to create a photo frame from unused utensils."

The music starts to play, and they start to move. But she hears him continue, "Oh really? Then why didn't I see it among our family photos?"

She chuckles, "That's because she insists on adding flowers and other ornaments on the frame."

"And…?"

Yor starts to let her own body move on pure muscle memory as she giggles recalling the antics of their daughter and dog earlier. "Unfortunately, the ornaments made from paper didn't come out as she envisioned. And despite my reassurance, Anya was upset."

She moves her body in sync with Loid's lead while continuing the story. "So I told her about pressed flowers."

She twirls and extends her arms before returning to Loid's side, and she hears him whisper, "And…?"

"And that's what Anya and Bond have been doing in their room, until you came home."

The first song ends and Yor grins widely, fully aware of what Loid's been doing.

The fact that such a simple tactic works wonders only adds to Yor's amazement toward her husband.

"Thank you, Loid. For always taking care of me."

"Anytime, Yor. It's the least I can do after asking you to accompany me. And I really enjoy your company, by the way." He grins in return.

Their conversation continues when they swing their bodies to follow the second song.

"So, tell me about how to make a beautiful pressed flower? I can't let my daughter and dog beat me in a skill, now can I?"

Yor laughs. "Well… you can start by…"

#spy x family #yor forger #loid forger #twiyor #fluff #sxf fic #sxf drabble #canon universe

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yoonavii · 10 months

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𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Regency era! Sanji x reader

Description: Lady Y/N, a gifted seamstress, is chosen to craft dresses for the daughter of the prestigious Vinsmoke Family. Amidst the world of nobles, she encounters Lord Sanji, the charming third son with culinary talents. As vibrant fabrics and bold flavors entwine, will their love be durable enough to preserve the trials and tribulations ahead? or will it have to be seared and served on a silver platter? Yes that is Taz Skyler lol

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

In the western expanse of London, a tempest raged, casting shadows across the cobbled streets as Lady Dilara dashed through the rain-soaked alleys. Her breath came in ragged gasps, matching the frantic rhythm of her heart as she clutched her precious baby daughter tightly against her chest. Months of defiance, secrecy, and stolen moments with her true love had led her to this desperate escape. Raindrops splattered against her face like tears of the heavens themselves, and Dilara stole a fearful glance over her shoulder, her heart racing as the echo of pursuing footsteps drew nearer. Her fiancé's relentless hounds were hot on her trail, their loyalty to him unwavering, their determination unyielding.

With a trembling hand, Dilara sought shelter beneath a timeworn archway, her chest heaving as she huddled protectively over her child. The baby girl nestled against her, oblivious to the storm of emotions that tore through her mother's heart. Dilara's grip tightened, torn between the life she had dreamed of with her true love and the impending threat that now loomed over them.

As raindrops cascaded like crystal tears from the sky, she pressed a fervent kiss onto her daughter's downy hair, her voice a whisper borne of both love and heartache. "Forgive me, my darling. This choice I make is born of love—a love that seeks to shield you from the storm that threatens to consume us."

With a determined exhale, Dilara squared her shoulders, resolve hardening in her gaze. She knew the choice she must make to ensure her daughter's safety. It was a choice forged in the fires of desperation, a last stand against a fate she refused to accept. The glistening streets led her to an enchanting boutique, its window adorned with ethereal lace and resplendent silks that seemed to dance in the soft glow within. And there, amid the needle and thread, the prominent Madame Lucille worked diligently, her hands weaving magic into every intricate stitch.

Dilara hesitated, her heart a symphony of conflicting emotions. But then, with a resolute breath, she stepped into the boutique, the chime of a bell announcing her arrival. Madame Lucille looked up, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the bedraggled noblewoman and the infant cradled in her arms. "Please," Dilara implored, her voice a tremor. "You must take and protect her. Keep her safe from those who would cause her harm." Madame Lucille regarded her with a mixture of compassion and understanding, as if she sensed the gravity of the situation. Wordlessly, she extended her arms, and Dilara gently relinquished her daughter, tears blurring her vision as she watched the child nestled in the arms of a stranger who might offer salvation.

With a silent promise in her heart, Dilara turned to flee, leaving behind a piece of her soul in that boutique—a fragment of her hope for a better future. Regret gnawed at her heart as she disappeared into the night. Yet, deep down, she knew that her daughter’s safety and the chance to live a life of her own choosing were worth the pain she felt. It was a sacrifice born of love, and Lady Dilara held onto the hope that one day, her daughter would understand the depth of her dire choice.

——

As sunlight filtered through the curtains of your room, you stirred in your bed, the sheets soft against your skin. With a determined spirit, you swung your legs over the side and stood, stretching your lithe form to chase away the remnants of sleep. Each movement was deliberate, a testament to the discipline that had become ingrained in your routine.

The room you occupied now was a far cry from the stormy night you were born into. Pure silk sheets cradled you, an embodiment of the comfort and privilege you now enjoyed. Inhaling deeply, you basked in the tranquility that had replaced the chaos of your past.

Your morning stretches served a purpose beyond merely waking your body. The rigorous routine was a prelude to the intense sewing sessions your mother, Madame Lucille, put you through. The skills she had honed and passed on were your birthright, a legacy that connected you to the artistry and craftsmanship that had sustained you both through the years.

As you moved through each stretch, your mind wandered to the day ahead. The boutique was a hive of activity, a testament to Madame Lucille’s reputation and the demand for her creations. You had grown into a skilled seamstress under her guidance, and together, you wove magic into every stitch, crafting garments that whispered tales of elegance and sophistication.

Descending the stairs with grace, you entered the bustling world of the boutique. Bolts of exquisite fabrics lined the shelves, and the air was filled with the soft rustling of fabric. Customers sought out Madame Lucille’s expertise, each visit an affirmation of her talent and dedication. Madame Lucille’s gaze met yours with a mixture of pride and determination. “Good morning, my dear,” she greeted warmly. “Another day of creating beauty awaits us.”

You nodded, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “Indeed, Mother. I’m ready.” The days were full, but they were filled with purpose. The boutique flourished, and your hard work yielded rewards beyond measure. The comfort you enjoyed was a testament to your shared dedication to the art you had perfected.

As you continue to sew, your nimble fingers dancing across the fabric, your ears catch snippets of hushed conversation from a group of ladies nearby. Their voices carry excitement as they discuss an upcoming luncheon hosted by Lady Sora of the Vinsmoke family. Their words pique your curiosity, and you find yourself listening intently.

“Lady Sora’s luncheon is simply the most anticipated event of the season,” one lady gushes.

“Indeed, the Vinsmoke family is known for their grand gatherings and exquisite taste,” another responds, her voice tinged with admiration.

Your heart skips a beat as you overhear their talk. Lady Sora’s luncheon—such events were common occurrences, and you often played a crucial role in their preparation, crafting elegant gowns that adorned the attendees. Your mother’s reputation and your own skill as a seamstress were highly regarded, evident in the meticulous designs you lovingly brought to life.

Yet, despite your contribution to these events, a pang of exclusion always accompanied your work. You were, after all, the daughter of a successful seamstress, a talented artist in your own right. Still, invitations to these lavish affairs remained elusive, like distant stars you could never quite reach.

With a careful stitch, you ponder the conversation you’ve overheard. The ladies’ excitement serves as a reminder of the world beyond the boutique’s walls, a world of opulent luncheons and elegant gatherings. A world that, despite your role in crafting its allure, you have never truly been a part of.

As the fabric passes through your hands, your thoughts drift to the possibility of this being the event that changes everything. A small spark of hope ignites within you—the hope that perhaps, this time, you will not only help create the beauty that graces the gathering but also have the chance to step into that world yourself.

Before you, lost in your thoughts, time can carry you too far, the entrance door of the boutique swings open with a burst of energy. Your best friend, a noble girl whose down-to-earth nature has made her a kindred spirit to you, steps in with a radiant smile. The familiarity of her presence warms your heart; after all, you've shared years of laughter and secrets together.

With a wave and a joyful expression, she excitedly approaches you, her eyes shining with a secret she can barely contain. "Y/n!" she exclaims, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. Turning your attention to her, you meet her gaze with a questioning smile. "What's got you so elated?" you ask, intrigued by her evident excitement.

Without missing a beat, she produces two delicate invitations from within her dress, her fingers clutching them with an almost triumphant air. "Look what I managed to secure," she announces, her voice a soft symphony of excitement.

As her words sink in, your heart skips a beat. The invitations bear the mark of Lady Sora's upcoming luncheon—the very event you'd been musing about just moments ago. Your eyes widen in disbelief, and your fingers brush the invitation as if to confirm its reality. "An invitation to the Vinsmoke luncheon," she says, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "And not just for me, but for you as well."

The enormity of her words settles over you, and a surge of emotions wells within. She, your steadfast friend, your connection to a world beyond your own, had used her influence to secure a place for you by her side. The gesture is as unexpected as it is heartwarming.

A shared moment of delight passes between you, and then both of you burst into squeals of excitement, your laughter mingling with joyous abandon. The boutique walls seem to shimmer with the shared thrill of this new possibility, and the shadow of exclusion that once loomed has been cast aside by the light of your friend's thoughtfulness.

As the joyous sound envelops you both, you can't help but marvel at the twists of fate and the bonds of friendship that have brought you to this point. Lady Sora's luncheon—a chance to step into a world you've admired from afar—suddenly feels within reach, a dream that's now more tangible than ever. And as the excitement continues to swirl around you, you know that this event will be more than just an elegant gathering; it will be a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the extraordinary journey that life can sometimes unfold.

———

Amidst the grandeur of a magnificent estate, Lady Sora occupies the tranquil confines of her tea room. The delicate aroma of herbal tea wafts through the air as she stirs the cup, her thoughts drifting like the tendrils of steam that rise from its surface. With an air of quiet anticipation, she awaits the arrival of her third eldest son, Sanji. The estate, though opulent, carries an air of serenity that mirrors the demeanor of its mistress. Lady Sora's husband, Judge, is away on business, and in his absence, a rare freedom has enveloped her. No longer subject to the constant watchful eye, she finds herself able to move with a sense of liberation that had been absent for so long.

Her gaze is steady, her thoughts focused on the conversation she plans to strike with Sanji. He, her son whose warm smile mirrors his blonde hair, possesses a connection with her that goes beyond mere familial bonds. Out of her six children, he's the one who resembles her the most, both in appearance and personality. Their connection is a bridge that has only grown stronger with time, a testament to the depth of their understanding.

And then, with the graceful entry of Sanji, Lady Sora's heart warms like the embrace they share. His smile, a reflection of hers, carries the same warmth that his hair does. Their eyes meet, and the exchange is unspoken, a silent language of shared moments and unbreakable connection. "Mother," he greets, his voice a soothing melody that resonates with familiarity. The hug they share is not just a physical gesture but a testament to the bond they've nurtured over the years.

"Sanji," Lady Sora responds, her voice a harmonious blend of affection and genuine joy. The tea room, their haven within the estate's grandeur, becomes a sanctuary for their unspoken conversations and shared memories. As they settle into the warmth of each other's company, the estate's walls seem to hold the echo of a mother's love and a son's devotion. Amidst the tranquil beauty of their surroundings, Lady Sora and Sanji's connection blooms, a testament to the intricate tapestry of family, understanding, and the unspoken words that tie their hearts together.

With a hint of excitement dancing in her eyes, Lady Sora leans in, her voice a gentle melody as she shares her plans with Sanji. "My dear, I have wonderful news. Tomorrow, I shall be hosting a luncheon right here at the estate."

Sanji's gaze meets hers, curiosity lighting his expression. "A luncheon, Mother? How splendid! This is your first time hosting such an event, is it not?" Lady Sora's smile widens, her enthusiasm palpable. "Indeed, Sanji. I'm absolutely thrilled. The opportunity to host and arrange an event is a rare privilege that I intend to embrace fully."

As the conversation flows, Lady Sora transitions to a topic that she knows holds a special place in Sanji's heart. "And speaking of the luncheon, dear son, I have a proposition for you. Your culinary skills are unparalleled, as I've been told by many who've had the honor of tasting your creations."

Sanji's expression shifts, a mixture of surprise and hesitation flitting across his features. The memory of his previous attempts at cooking for nobility resurfaces, a reminder of the severe punishment he faced for daring to defy convention. The idea that nobles should not engage in the preparation of food had been drilled into him, a lesson reinforced by his father's strict adherence to tradition.

Lady Sora watches his reaction carefully, knowing full well the apprehension that lingers. She chooses her words with care. "I understand that there are risks involved, my dear. But with your father away, the opportunity presents itself. Would you consider lending your expertise to help prepare the dishes for the luncheon?" Sanji's gaze meets hers, a mixture of emotions reflected in his eyes. The memory of his past transgression is countered by the realization that this might be a chance to pursue his passion without fear. His lips part, and he hesitates before finally giving a subtle nod. "I... I'll help, Mother."

Her smile brightens at his acceptance, and her eyes twinkle with maternal pride. "That warms my heart, Sanji. Thank you." But Lady Sora's plans do not stop there. "And once the preparations are complete, I hope you will join the luncheon as well," she continues, her tone inviting. Sanji's eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Me? Attend an event as a guest?"

Lady Sora's gaze softens, her words tender. "Yes, my dear. You've worked hard, and I believe you deserve to enjoy the fruits of your labor. Besides, who knows? The luncheon might bring unexpected delights." A playful glint enters her eyes, and she teases, "You might even find your true love amidst the festivities."

Sanji's response is a blend of humor and romanticism. "Ah, Mother, you have a way of turning even the simplest event into something magical." Their laughter rings in the tearoom, a melody of shared affection and a mother's belief in her son's potential. As Lady Sora and Sanji look ahead to the luncheon, they both know that this event holds more than just culinary delights—it's a step toward embracing passions, defying convention, and discovering the unexpected joys that life can offer.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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