amorchai

[amorchai]

mens hands🫠....thats it...thats the post

[amorchai]

need to sit in his lap while he yaps about his nerdy little interests and his hands wonder all over my body

[amorchai]

cryinggggggg

[amorchai]

𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 788 notes.

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x reader

words: 698

warnings/tags: friends to lovers, mentions of food, mentions of the future.

“we need a sickening amount of frosting, no?” peter asks with a small hum to the music from the tiny pale green radio by the windowsill. the small kitchen filled with the sound of that added with stirring whisks and the air fogged with flour from his mistake only moments before.

you roll your eyes endearingly, facing your spider-boy who grins wholeheartedly, splotches of white dust on his cheeks and the tips of his hair while stirring the now contained cake mixture. “no we don’t.”

like you’ve committed a crime, peter looks offended with his response following, “uh, why would we not?”. you had always wanted to bake with peter, him finding some spare time through the autumn. varied shifts for patrol to spend some more quality time with you, the person he was horrendously infatuated with. yet, you had no idea.

however, the utter mess his large hands and instinctive nature can cause, you’re nearly regretting your wishes. if only he wasn’t so cute with how he displayed himself.

“it���s just a cinnamon roll recipe, why would we put proper frosting on top?” you ask him while glazing the tray where the dough will soon be placed into, you hope delicately. peter huffs, only teasingly and glaring at you with a hidden amusement while he moves to stand beside you, hip nudging yours when he responds.

“because it’s our recipe! why can’t we? we can come up with our own version of cinnamon rolls and have everyone swooning over them—” peter turns to your expression when you watch him with knowing eyes, he’s on a tangent which he usually does.

“—no, listen, baby. everyone will be like ‘where did you get these amazing, life altering cinnamon rolls with frosting?’ and our friends and aunt may will say, ‘the parkers made them, the best in new york’ and it’ll be our own little recipe.”

however, while peter is focused on your idea of being renowned for your couple baking, you can’t help but blur over everything else and focus on the idea of what he had said during it. you take the pan you tilted on your hip to place on the counter, then taking the messy bowl from peter’s flour-covered hands before leaning against him.

peter cuts himself off when he was ready to go onto his next ramble, but as you look up at him so lovingly, with your hands atop his collarbones, he cuts himself off to await your explanation for your sudden physical affection.

you move an arm to slide your thumb across his cheeks, clearing some flour from his face while you smile, “the parkers?”. peter’s lips form a small ‘o’ shape while he tries his best to replay what he said, arms tugging your waist closer and you’re leaning on your toes ever so slightly while he does so.

“yeah? do you… like that idea?” peter asks cautiously, but you are only smiling so brightly at your goofy friend with whom you’ve loved, of course you liked the idea, how could you not? “you think about that stuff?” you just ask instead, nose bumping his as your lips ghost his briefly. peter leans further into you.

“course i do, no one else for me, baby.”

your heart skips, stomach flips, and you feel you may cry at how sweet your terrible-baker crush is. cinnamon roll enthusiast or not, you loved him for who he was and the thought of spending your life with him only filled you an overwhelming warmth.

yet, while overwhelming, increasingly irretrievably inviting. just like peter himself.

“me too.” you peck peter’s lips, so softly that before he can react, you’re pulling away to turn to the baking bowl again. he’s a little flustered, red showing through the prior pale-dusted cheeks and unable to move at first from the effect you have on him.

“we could open our own bakery, spider-man themed cinnamon rolls?” you enquire teasingly, and he wraps himself around you from behind, cosy and as warm as the cinnamon rolls will be later on. “webbed frosting on pumpkin flavoured cookies,” peter murmurs while kissing your neck.

“sounds perfect.” “we could name it ‘parker’s pastries’.”

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[amorchai]

got a kiss btw 👀

i swear to god if i don't get a kiss on my date on saturday i give up on romance...

[amorchai]

more hwang junho fics please. i love that man so much lol.

anyways I had an idea like a junho x reader like pre!relationship where the reader is in squid games to help her parents surgery or something. and junho sees her there.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

pairing(s): hwang junho x female!reader

words: 1015 – whoops!

warnings/tags: s1 junho, pre!relationship, r is in squid games, financial problems.

from the moment jun ho stepped into the guards suit and wore the dark mask, he was only focused on finding his brother with a slight edge of nerves, desperation, and loneliness.

he missed the first game, so he follows the crowd of guards onto the yard where all the players stood in line behind a shape awaiting on the second game closer to the jackpot of money. beneath the mask, jun ho’s eyes gaze over the crowd while tins containing dalgona are handed out to each person wearing green tracksuits.

he can see the older gentlemen which indirectly helped him get here upon him reporting it to jun ho’s station, he was holding the same card he found in his brother’s apartment. the gentleman takes a tin from the guard standing beyond the umbrella symbol before the next person joins.

when they turn, his heart stops. it’s you. also from the same station. he remembers walking towards the front of the station office, backpack loosely on his shoulder and tired eyes ready to retreat home. you were crying at the front, begging for the officers to find the person who injured your younger brother.

jun ho had lingered, listening in as you plead, saying there’s no money available for his surgery and that the attackers should be caught. the officers weren’t as sympathetic as jun ho would had liked and when he approached you were only crying harder than before.

with his arm appropriately around your shoulder he turns you around to guide you out the building and hopefully calm you down. he had assured you on the case, sat by you on the stairs while you tried to stop crying and brushed you off when you thanked him.

he would be lying if he said he didn’t think about you at least once a day since then, an underlying instinctive need to protect you being forced aside as he thought, you’re a stranger, why does he care this much?

but now you were here, rock bottom in the last resort to make money for your brother’s surgery and jun ho can’t help but keep his disguise up while watching you trail towards the line leading to the umbrella.

he was sure on the game, shapes with a small tin – he even saw them bulk baking dalgona in the kitchens the previous night so he glances at all four shapes before realising that you were very clearly steering towards the worst shape.

junho glances around, the guards all preoccupied by either handing out the tins in each line or observing the contestants, so with treading footsteps, his grip on his gun tightens as he walks towards the table displaying the tins containing the triangle dalgona and picks one from the edge and slips it effortlessly into his pocket.

it was risky, there were cameras everywhere but while junho’s heart pounded to his chest he still found himself walking towards the guard handing out the umbrella dalgona, you were next in line.

twisting his gun, junho knocks himself into the guard right as they extend their hand holding the tin towards your awaiting palm. the guard trips, the tin falling to the floor and junho is quick to bend down, grab the tin and swaps it with the one in his pocket.

the guard is regaining footing by the time junho is handing you the dalgona and you glance between both guards. by the time you take it, his expression remains unreadable beneath the mask—but his shoulders relax ever so slightly when you walk away, unaware of the fate you just avoided.

while the intercom announces the second game, a guard with his mask adorning a square walks towards the pair. “what are you doing?” they ask but before junho can reply with his excuse the same guard speaks harshly, “you’re not assigned to distribution, go observe the players. don’t let me catch you make a mistake like that again.”

junho nods before stepping away, glancing back as the higher-ranking guard says something to the guard he toppled over. he tries to not make it too obvious he’s rooting for your pass, standing a couple of players away and watching as your terror-filled eyes fall in confusion when your expected umbrella shape is in fact, a triangle.

your shaking fingers land on the small needle encased within the tin and you fearfully look up, eyes landing on junho’s frame. he wished he could somehow show he wasn’t a threat but you so clearly had no idea the policeman who consoled you that day upon the steps was behind the mask.

you take a few moments to start, deep breaths to try and calm your overbearing anxiety before a shaky hand begins to prod the sugar cookie gently and hesitantly. junho pretends to pace around, really circling around your area to keep a firm eye on you.

every-time a gunshot is heard your body jumps like most in the room, but his eyes are steadily following your every move until he is standing directly in front of you. you freeze upon the presence, glancing up briefly before turning back to the dalgona, you’re on the last side.

his heart bleeds at the sight, your tears are falling down your cheeks and junho thinks of how the system failed you into having to turn here to earn money to save your brother. clearly no other options available.

inho. he was here for his brother, not for helping someone win the games. but when he watches your expression change to relief as the final crack indicates your finish and your trembling fingers gently lift the perfect triangle-shaped dalgona and raise it to junho’s gaze.

he nods, the intercom announcing, “player 222, passed.” junho watches as you scramble to your feet to rush out the door leading back to the main room, a sense of pride filling his chest from you surpassing another round.

and while he is here for his brother, junho believes he can focus on that while ensuring you stay alive as long as possible.

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[amorchai]

hey, please can i request a ron x fem!reader fic where you and ron are asked to babysit one of his older brothers kids. like you both get so invested it makes you wanna have kids with him so bad in the future. and you both take his niece/nephew to the park and people think it's your kid. i can imagine him being so good with kids and so adorable 😫

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃.

pairing(s): ron weasley x female!reader

words: 689

warnings/tags: ron wants kids, inclusive as even though talking about future with children – can be in any way! think of it as pregnancy, adoption, ivf, surrogacy, whatever way works!

a/n: just so you know, i’m trying so hard to inclusive as i plan on adopting in the future rather than having my own.

“babe! guess who i have with me?” is the first thing you hear when you walk through the door, a bag of takeout for your dinner accompanying your side, tired from a day full of writing. when you walk through the threshold of your shared house, your met with ron sitting on the floor facing the muggle tv, victoire perched on his raised knees. 

she giggles and raises her hands at the sight of her aunt, ron pulling her against him as he stands, “what a traitor, she’s been loving my attention all afternoon.” her hands continue to reach for you, trying to wriggle out of ron’s grasp and you laugh softly, taking her from your boyfriend’s arms.

your voice goes higher and softer in a baby-accommodating voice, “hello, baby. auntie missed your gorgeous face.” ron smiles warmly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple, ignoring the mess left upon the floor as he picks the discarded bag for dinner. 

“did bill and fleur get to france okay?” you ask when you follow ron into the kitchen, stepping over an array of toys. you were at work by the time they dropped their daughter off in the early morning. ron’s unpacking the food on the counter, gathering plates in a desperate need to eat. 

ron nods before replying, “just sent an owl back, they were asking how victoire is.” you bump her on your hip, keeping her amused while she watches her uncle curiously. “how has it been with her today?” you ask.

it’s the first time you’re both babysitting her, the last time molly desperate to have some time with her granddaughter. this time arthur had a fall and was currently being attended to, therefore ron was immediately volunteering in place. 

you look from victoire and to ron when he doesn’t reply, a soft smile covering his expression as he instead replies, "you’d be a good mother.” you feel your face getting heated, trying hard not to smile when you state, “it took you less than five minutes.”

ron moves away from the food and to where you stand to watch, leaning in to press another chaste kiss to your cheek, “can’t help it.” you knew this would happen, you’ve had discussions of this in the past where ron’s desperate to start a family – marriage second on his priority list because he already knows he’s spending the rest of his life with you. 

“go sit i’ll be right through,” he ushers, turning back to getting the food set up, “has victoire had her dinner?” you ask, already knowing the answer and ron nods, “spoiled, she is.”

ron’s heart swells once he walks through, plates full of takeout as he watches you hold victoire with a fond smile. he can hardly take his eyes off you as you both eat dinner, you attempting while keeping bill’s daughter on your lap. 

you’re adamant to take her upstairs when it’s time for bed, ron washes the dishes as you do so. he can hear you coming downstairs before familiar arms wrap around his waist from behind. 

he turns off the sink’s tap, drying off his hands when your chin rests on his back, “you still thinking about it?” you ask and he smiles. with a chuckle he turns around to face you, hands finding purchase at the nape of your neck, “i really want a kid with you.”

“god, you babysit your niece for one day, now you want your own,” your fingers fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt while his thumbs trace your skin. you were joking because since you both graduated hogwarts, you spoke about it several times. he had tons of siblings and was in a loving household, of course he wanted to raise his own family. 

“you’d be a great mum,” he murmurs, lips pressing below your ear before continuing down your jaw to neck and your hands grip his shirt with a low giggle, “you said that.” his fingers are nudging your skin while his lips are gentle against your neck, body slightly looming over yours, “and i will continue to say it.”

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[amorchai]

i swear to god if i don't get a kiss on my date on saturday i give up on romance...

[amorchai]

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒.

return to ─ masterlist.

𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊'𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒.

coming soon!

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[amorchai]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐌!𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 6,989 notes.

pairing(s): tasm!peter parker x female!reader

words: 660

warnings/tags: established relationship, mentions of r fitting into tasm!peter’s shirt ( tried to make it inclusive as i’m plus size. )

peter was in a grumpy mood. it wasn’t usual that he was these days. not when he was practically renowned across the school for the mood change the second you showed up.

your poor boyfriend known for being so sappily in-love with you.

but he wasn’t able to see you this weekend. he caught a glimpse at your window after patrol both days, lightly knocking the glass while you slept in bed before giving up, not wanting to wake you.

plus his favourite t-shirt was missing. a simple band-tee that he likes to wear occasionally and thought he had left it out to wear for school, only to realise it’s missing, aunt may assuring him it’s not in the laundry basket.

his head is glued to the floor when he walks to his locker, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose while he holds his skateboard under one arm. no glances in anyone’s directions, just wanting to collect his things for first period and go to the class.

yet, peter’s plans are ruined when two hands slide over the expanse of his back, squeezing his shoulders and a small but immediate happy smile tugs upon peter’s lips knowingly. “hey, baby. missed you so much—” he cuts himself off, after turning around to press his lips to yours does he immediately notice the outfit you adorn.

your smile is so bright, enough to make peter’s knees buckle, and there’s a shine in your eye when you greet your boyfriend. your arms instinctively move around his neck while his encircle your waist to pull you close, skateboard hitting the floor, uncaring of the people walking past the hall.

peter’s smile widens, a small noise escaping him as he gapes, “are you wearing my shirt?” it’s the very shirt that he had been looking for, over a long-sleeved top to almost match his own style. and god, you looked so much better in it.

“… is that okay? i thought you wouldn’t mind.” you look down at your attire, smile falling briefly. to which your boyfriend immediately perks up, squeezing your frame before his instincts stop him from pressing too hard, “no! don’t mind, don’t mind at all, baby, no.”

you can’t help giggling at his nature, rambled and flustered as he leans closer to you. warm, wanting more of you, closer. “in fact, you should keep it. looks so much better on you,” with this he kisses you, prolonged and sweet in a wordless i-missed-you way.

your breath wavers after you both pull away, leaning further into his side as peter turns to grab more of his things out the locker. you stare up at him admiringly, “you didn’t drop by after patrol, pete?”.

he glances back down at you, another quipped smile while his lips catch yours briefly, your teeth tearing from your lower lip while you respond. “you were sleeping, baby. i tried,” peter whispers after pulling away, hand caressing your stolen-shirt covered back affectionately while nudging his locker closed and bending down to pick up his skate.

“you watched me sleep? creep.” you tease, smile never faltering as you talk to peter. “sure did, cute thing. you cuddle your pillow when i’m not beside you, y’know?” you just hum as he guides you away, your shoulder bag bumping his hip but peter refuses to remove himself from your side.

“you should really leave your window unlocked, by the way,” peter continues, glancing at one another while you fiddle with the hem of his navy-blue top, “what if someone climbs in?” you ask. “you live twenty stories up, honey, no one but me can sneak in. and if they did, they have a crime-fighting spider who loves his girlfriend to deal with.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you giggle endearingly at your precious peter while leaning up to kiss his cheek, noting that tonight you won’t lock your window in hopes spider-man drops by and replaces your pillow for cuddles.

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[amorchai]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 718 notes.

pairing(s): steve harrington x reader

words: 749

warnings/tags: established relationship, mentions of r fitting into steve’s sweater ( tried to make it inclusive as i’m plus size. )

steve never wears knitted sweaters, more of a sweatshirt wearing man or just a plain jacket if he’s cold. he has a nice style, tons of polo shirts or pretty coloured sweatshirts you usually find yourself coddled against.

so, you’re shocked to say in the least when you’re eyes land on a forest green sweater in his wardrobe, among a few others hidden beside it. you had been looking for your favourite yellow sweatshirt of his, knowing he didn’t put it in his laundry last night. yet, once your fingers gently grip the sleeve, your eyes see the cable knit design pushed to the very edge of the closet, a knitted material intriguing you.

steve is asleep in the bed metres away, heavy breaths indicating how tired and in dire need he is for a long lie, extra shifts meaning on his days off he really wants to do nothing at all. only if nothing at all is spent with you.

he forgot to close the window last night, the early november chill waking you up despite the warm embrace of steve against your back. therefore, leading you to his wardrobe for extra warmth, knitwear you assumed wasn’t an option so seeing it made your heart swell while your hand tugs it off the hanger and into your awaiting palms.

despite steve never wearing it, among all his other clothing items it still smelt irretrievably steve. you slipped it on, feeling like your drowning in steve’s warmth.

immediately you felt comforted in your boyfriends knitted sweater, his cologne swam across the material as you inhaled it with need, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turn to a voice. steve lay on his back, arm sprawled where you were only moments before.

the duvet was splayed across his waist, left with his shirtless self to freeze in the cold while his matted hair covered his tired eyes, heavy but watching you fondly, “you suit that.” you smile at your boyfriend, looking at his top half bare before turning to grip one of the extra ones beside, a lone burnt orange sweater that he could wear to battle the cold weather of steve’s large, cold house.

“i didn’t know you had any sweaters, you never wear them,” you walk back towards the bed, kneeling on your side of the bed while ushering for steve to sit up. he groans at you, begrudgingly sitting his palms on either side of his hips before pushing himself to sit straight.

instinctively, steve raises his arms while you ruffle the material to pull over his head, desperate to keep your boyfriend warm all-the-while seeing him in such cosy attire so early in a cold-morning.

once it’s fitting over his head, he pecks your lips sweetly, “never thought i suited them,” steve shrugs. that’s complete rubbish, you think, looking to your boyfriend now looking as warm as ever. “you look so handsome, baby,” you assure, leaning forward to kiss him again, steve reaching a hand to hold your jaw before slowly laying back in bed, you laying atop him in the process.

“you look prettier in this, honey,” steve assures, pinching the material at your shoulder with a tired smile, drinking in the sight of you dressed in his stuff, murmuring to himself, “so so pretty.”

you don’t respond, finger scratching the stubble across his lower face, ready to be shaved in the hours later when you both decide to leave bed. steve chuckles, leaning into your touch and using one arm to wrap around your back and pull you further against him, free hand reaching the duvet to pull back over both your frames.

pressing a kiss to your forehead, steve smiles at you so softly you felt you might melt away, “love you in my clothes, jesus. love you, i love you so much.” his tired eyes fail to fight against the rising sun as he closes them, tilting his palm to peck the pads of your fingers barely escaping his sweatshirt sleeve and you giggle at the tickled contact.

“can we stay in here all day?” you ask him, nose nudging the space under his jaw as you cosy into him, ready to fall back asleep and steve hums approvingly at the thought. “seeing you dressed like that drives me crazy, i might never let you go.”

neither of you thought to close the window, soaking up in wearing sweatshirts and lounging in bed against each other the rest of the day.

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[amorchai]

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄.

return to ─ masterlist.

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒.

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𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒.

coming soon!

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[amorchai]

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐄 𝐇𝐎.

return to ─ masterlist.

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐄 𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒.

coming soon!

𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒.

coming soon!

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[amorchai]

also just finished uni last week so now i have time off - apart from upcoming exams - i've been colouring in so much so i need to go back to writing.

my main priorities are my wattpad glenn series, ttpd collection, and reuploading and finishing the draco nice to me series!

[amorchai]

i know no one cares but meeting this guy again on saturday after a bunch of falling asleep on call and we're going out for food and he's gonna take me back to his and make matcha ... :')) tehe

[amorchai]

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 1,650 notes.

pairing(s): tangerine x reader

words: 1024

warnings/tags: established relationship, angst, mentions of violence and injuries.

working in the same field of work was nerve-wracking enough for tangerine. he tried to not allow his infatuation over you to get the better of him, even tried to ignore you when you were both in the same location, jobs interlinking. however, his sweet spot for you took over and it ended with you together.

he learned to live with the nerves, his job felt as easy as the alphabet compared to his own thoughts knowing you were maybe fighting for your life somewhere else. he knew you were capable, having done it for years, but his anxiety still sat at the pit of his stomach until you returned to his side.

so, walking into his room to get ready for bed, his shirt and trousers the only pieces of clothing to remove into something more comfortable, tangerine’s eyes settled on your frame and the anxieties all came back.

your back was to him, bare as you changed at the dresser. soft pyjama bottoms covered your legs but your top was off as you hunted his drawer for a plain t-shirt to steal, his broad frame enough for his shirts to feel comfortable.

tangerine’s eyes scanned your back, over the marks littering your skin. scars. you had told him about multiple jobs gone wrong, ending up in dangerous situations that nearly cost your life but tangerine had been yet to see the scars properly.

the bedroom light flitted over your skin and the scars became more noticeable. how any person could look at you and think to lay a finger in such a manner was unbelievable to him, preposterous and disgusting.

an angel to him, with marks showing struggle and pain.

sure, tangerine had scars from his own, shot wounds among varied others and he even had a dodgy thumb from a particular job but they didn’t hurt compared how empty he felt looking at your own.

tangerine walks over to you, unbeknownst to you that your boyfriend has been close to tears in the midst of a crisis all from just taking a look at your back. so you jump slightly when hands settle across your bare waist, sliding across to your front, but immediately relax at tangerine’s scent engulfing you warmly.

he pulls you back into his front, no words or greetings as he would usually do, instead tucks his face into the curve of your neck, moustache twitching against your skin as he kisses where his lips sit.

you place both your palms against his larger hands, his thumbs swiping your skin as he slowly continues to squeeze you against him, somehow getting closer and closer. you worry, you can feel tangerine’s tension, his shoulder looming over yours, breath uneven and his heartbeat pressed against yours more scarce.

you don’t say anything, allowing tangerine time as he finds comfort against your body, hands squeezing your flesh gently while his face nestles underneath your jaw. tangerine was only like this with you, usually brave-faced and cold, so you knew you should keep from pressuring him into talking until he was ready to.

which only lasted a few more moments, for he pulled away, only slightly so he could look down at your back once again. the scars up closer cause the corners of his eyes to well with tears quickly, unannounced. why did they affect him like they do?

one hand still holds your waist tightly while his other pry’s from yours to run his fingers over the scars gently, his lips gracefully following to place ghostly kisses across them, as if they were to still hurt.

you can feel each touch, gentle and as warm as his hand felt against your bare stomach.

finally you speak up, not daring to move but feeling you need to enquire tangerine’s extra affection, “what’s wrong, honey? what are you doing?”. tangerine hums against your skin, lips pausing as he finds the words to reply, arm squeezing you against him.

“i’m mad.” is all the words he can find himself responding with, deep breath following as he yearns to continue his kisses to each scar, edge to edge, the slightly-damaged canvas still ethereal in his eyes but upsetting his soul to think of.

“mad? why are you mad?” you’re confused, and tangerine closes his eyes when he responds, “my love, your scars. makes me want to kill someone knowing you were hurt.” your giggle is light, wary, tangerine knowing your trying to show him you’re not laughing at him.

“honey,” you start, your own thumb lovingly rubbing across the back of his permanently damaged one, showing just as much appreciation for his scars as he is with your own, “everyone in this job has been hurt at some point—.”

“shh,” tangerine cuts you off, lips falling back against your skin and gently kissing your skin, smallest bumps against his mouth as he feels your scars. you listen, shutting up as the man you love shows you how much he loves you back.

he stops briefly, forehead falling against you when he continues, “i know what this job entails, and i remember every dreadful thing you’ve told me you’ve been through. but you’re my life, y’know? seeing these don’t make me happy, darling.”

you nod, head tilting backwards slightly when his lips feel so soft in every spot against your back. “i know.”

“has anyone ever appreciated these before?” he refers to your marks, standing tall to gently pull you back against his front while his nose nudges below your ear and you feel entirely taken over by tangerine.

not that you minded.

“of course not, you know it’s only been you around, tan.” he sighs deeply, hugging your frame close to yours as if he can��t get enough and you think he may never pull away from your body again.

“i want you safe, i need you safe with me.”

your fingers nudge underneath his, holding his hand across your waist to pull it up to your mouth, placing your own gentle kisses against the tight scar across the bottom of his thumb and his bruised knuckles.

“i’m always safe when i’m around you, tan.”

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[amorchai]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒.

this is a repost from my old blog. original post was 150 notes.

pairing(s): walter ‘keys’ mckey x reader

words: 824

warnings/tags: friends to lovers.

walter mckey was caring to say in the least. from before you were dating him, he still did little things that would make your heart swish and beat rapidly. whenever you went somewhere, he held the chair out for you. if your leg was bouncing he would rest a reassuring hand on your knee to tell you it’s okay. if you were off sick he would be at your door with numerous items to help.

it only got more affectionate when you started going out, the entire first date went even better than you had expected. you could feel your heart hammering in your chest the entire night and you were overwhelming warm by how flustered you were.

his cute smile and the softness beneath his eyes that hid behind the reflect of his glasses, you could simply get lost in him for the rest of your life and not mind. every time there was an opportunity for a gesture, walter was rushing to do so.

the moment you answered the door you were met with a nervous walter holding flowers and through the entire night he held every door open for you, held your hand, and kept the conversation going, light and fun.

you never knew you could have this much fun on a date until tonight, and it only meant you wished it would last. he was such boyfriend material, and after your crush on him for months at work dealing with your aching heart and butterflies whenever he spoke to you or did something nice, it was overwhelming that he felt the same way.

after a nice dinner at a japanese restaurant, he held your hand the entire way out the restaurant, holding the door open for you once again and asking if you’d like to take a walk. you never wanted the night to end, and it seemed like he didn’t either, so you agreed.

the streets were busy and walter’s hand never faltered from yours the entire time, fingers squeezed together while his thumb delicately grazes over the back of your hand. you felt tingly and dizzy at the thought that bystanders will merely think you’re a couple, something you’d been pining for a while now.

you got to know each other better, learning about his music taste and in-depth opinions on movies, his other hobbies apart from video game creating and you felt like you could easily get used to this. you and him together.

you were so flustered within every compliment walter paid you, fuzzy mind almost making you miss the fact you didn’t wear a jacket tonight, and it was a chilly fall evening around the city. goosebumps were invading the edge of your skin and your teeth fought the urge to chitter.

“would you like an ice cream?” you’re both stopped in front of a small desserts place and walter cuts into your thoughts, you turn to him and break your reverie with a small nod and smile, “that would be nice.”

he stares at you for a moment, really stares, as if he’s taking in every detail across your face with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. using the hand that isn’t holding yours, his pointer finger gently drags over your cheek and he hisses at the temperature before moving laying his palm flat.

“you’re freezing! are you cold?” walter asks and you giggle airly while leaning into the warm touch of his hand, squeezing his hold on yours, “a little.”

“a little? your cheek feels like ice, you could get sick- here!” he rushes his words, frantic while moving away from you — much to your disappointment — only to tug his jacket off. you can feel your knees grow weak but you hold your hand up, “no, it’s okay! i have a cardigan on, i’ll be fine i don’t want you to get cold.”

walter only shrugs your comment off while swinging the jacket around so it sits across your shoulders and he adjusts it at the front so your covered by it, entirely engulfed by the warmth it brings and the scent of him across the collar.

instantly you feel better.

“how does a hot chocolate sound instead?” walter offers, one hand resting on your lower back to push you into his body while your gaze follows his other, pointing towards a little café across the road. you’re surprised it’s even opened.

you turn to face him, looking up at his curious face before leaning up to gently settle a kiss to his cheek, and then briefly by the corner of his mouth. a small ‘thank you’ for how caring he has been tonight, and he settles kisses against your palm while you cross the road to get hot drinks instead.

you’re already warm from the feeling of his jacket and scent around you, and his palm in yours. but you don’t say anything, the moment too pure and walter too adorating.

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amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.