#'an image so heavy and warm at the same time that you forget its about death'...!!!

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @i-doutt-it @beth-isnt-home @darylandbethfanforever9 @brianna-merlim @pumpkinkpieandtomato @smashleywow @imadisneyprincessiswear @clementineslawyer @pandaofsilentdeath @dixonsbridexx @imadisneyprincessiswear @staley83 @death-in-a-tar0t-card @straw--b3rry

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TW: cussing, Merle is well ... Merle, angst, walkers (Zombies), gaslighting, manipulation, boxing match, bleeding, vomit, alcohol consumption, violence, Woodbury, the Governor.

Part 10

Between Brothers - Part 11

The winter had settled over Woodbury like a heavy blanket, thick and unforgiving. The frost crunched under Merle's boots as he made his way to the pits, his breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. The cold bit through his jacket, but it was nothing compared to the bite of survival you'd known before Woodbury.

Damn glad the she's warm inside, he thought, adjusting his grip on the metal pole he used for walker wrangling. Curled up under them blankets in those thick winter pajamas, probably still sleepin' like an angel. Wonder if she's dreamin' about me... bet she is, deep down. Bet she's got her legs all tangled up in them sheets, that thick flannel riding up just enough to show off them pretty thighs.

The thought made him grin despite the cold, his body responding to the mental images. Living in the same apartment, sharing the same space - it was torture and paradise all rolled into one. You trusted him completely, padding around in those winter pajamas like he wasn't a man with needs.

But he was patient. Had to be. You were the kind of girlie who deserved better than a one-handed redneck with more scars than sense. Still didn't stop him from wanting to spread you out on that kitchen table and eat you like his last meal, make you come so hard you'd forget every other man who ever existed.

"Ah, Merle! Right on time," Milton called out from beside the walker pits, his breath visible in the cold air. He was bundled up in layers, looking like a scarecrow wrapped in blankets. "We've got quite the selection today. Three fresh specimens, minimal decay."

"Morning to you too, Milty," Merle drawled, eyeing the walkers shuffling around in the pit below. "You sure are cheerful for a man about to poke at dead folks."

Milton adjusted his glasses, seemingly immune to Merle's sarcasm. "Science waits for no one, not even winter. These cold temperatures are actually quite beneficial - slows decomposition, gives us better data on motor function in sub-zero conditions."

Merle lowered the noose-pole into the pit, expertly snaring the first walker around the neck. The thing snarled and clawed at the air, its movements sluggish from the cold. "You know what your problem is, Milty? You think too damn much. Sometimes a dead bastard is just a dead bastard."

"Perhaps, but understanding their behavioral patterns could be crucial for long-term survival strategies." Milton made notes on his clipboard as Merle hauled the walker up. "Speaking of behavioral patterns, how is your ... roommate?"

Merle's grip tightened on the pole, his jaw clenching. Last time Milton had gotten too friendly was at that community dinner, filling your head with theories about biters retaining consciousness. Merle had found you later, crying your eyes out over the possibility that every walker they'd killed might have been aware, might have been screaming inside their own heads. Took him the better part of two hours to calm you down, and even then you'd been shaky for days.

"Say what now?" Merle's voice carried a warning edge.

"Your friend Merle. I was simply wondering how is cohabitation with someone who isn't actually your romantic partner going for you ?." Milton said it so matter-of-factly, like he was discussing the weather. "It must create certain... moral issues."

The walker Merle was restraining suddenly seemed less important than the skinny scientist standing too close to subjects that weren't his business. "What the hell you getting at, Milty?"

"Nothing untoward, I assure you. It's just that from an anthropological standpoint, the dynamic is fascinating. Two unrelated adults sharing intimate living space, one clearly harboring romantic inclinations while the other remains unaw—"

"You finish that sentence and I'm gonna feed you to these biters piece by piece," Merle snarled, his voice dropping to something dangerous. The walker in his grip thrashed harder, as if sensing the tension. "And let me make something real clear to you, you piece of shit - I take care of that girl. Make sure she's safe, make sure nothing bad happens to her. She trusts me, and I damn well earned that trust."

His eyes blazed with fury at the implication. "You think I'd hurt her? You think I'd take something she didn't want to give? Boy, you don't know shit about me or what kind of man I am when it comes to her."

Milton shrank back further, realizing he'd stepped over a line he didn't even know existed.

"I protect my own," Merle continued, his voice low and deadly. "Don't you dare stand there and act like I'm some kind of animal who can't control himself around the girlie's."

Milton took a step back, his face pale. "I didn't mean to overstep—"

"Remember what happened last time you got a little too friendly with my girl?" Merle's eyes were cold as the winter air. "When you filled her head with all that bullshit about biters being conscious, made her cry thinking about all the people we might've killed? You remember how that ended for you?"

"Yes," Milton whispered, unconsciously touching his jaw where Merle had connected with his fist after finding you sobbing in the apartment.

"Good. 'Cause next time I catch you upsetting her with your sick theories or sniffing around, there won't be enough left of you for your precious experiments." Merle secured the walker to the restraining table with practiced efficiency. "She's got enough nightmares without you adding to 'em."

Milton nodded frantically, scurrying to the truck. The rest of their interaction was purely professional, the scientist having learned his lesson about boundaries.

Little doe don't need some four-eyed freak putting ideas in her head, Merle thought as he worked, his mind drifting back to filthier thoughts. She's confused enough as it is, bless her heart. Always asking me if I'm alright, if I need anything, bending over in those damn pajamas like she don't know what she does to me just by breathing.

The cold air did nothing to cool the heat building in his gut. Months of living with you, months of wanting what he couldn't have.

After delivering three walkers to Milton's makeshift laboratory, Merle was heading back through town when the Governor intercepted him.

"Merle! Just the man I wanted to see." The Governor's smile was warm despite the cold, like he had some secret that pleased him. "Walk with me. I have a proposition that might interest you."

They strolled through the quiet streets, past windows glowing with warm light and the promise of domestic tranquility. Merle found himself thinking about you again, probably awake by now, maybe making that coffee that always smelled better when you made it. Girl's got magic hands, he thought, remembering how you'd fixed his stump so gently, never once looking at him like he was broken.

"You know, Merle," the Governor said, his voice thoughtful, "I've been watching you these past few weeks. Impressive work on the supply runs, excellent instincts on patrol. But I can't help feeling like we're not utilizing your full potential."

Here we go, Merle thought, his radar pinging. Man wants something. Question is what.

"I need you to do something for me," the Governor said, breaking into his thoughts. "Something that requires your particular skill set."

"What kind of something?" Merle kept his voice neutral, but his eyes were already scanning for exits. Old habits.

The Governor led him to a secured building Merle had never been inside. When they entered, the smell hit him first - death and decay, but controlled, contained. There were several walkers chained to the walls, their movements restricted but not entirely eliminated. The setup was too organized, too deliberate to be just storage.

"I need you to remove their teeth and fingernails," the Governor said casually, like he was asking Merle to fix a leaky faucet.

Merle stared at the walkers, then at the Governor. "You want me to what now?"

"Teeth and fingernails. All of them. Make them safe but keep them... functional."

Safe but functional. What the hell does that mean? Merle's survival instincts were pinging like crazy. Nothing about this felt right. "Safe for what?"

The Governor smiled that politician's smile of his, the one that made promises without saying anything concrete. "Entertainment."

"Come again?"

"Picture this, Merle." The Governor gestured grandly, like he was painting a vision in the air. "An arena. Crowds cheering. Skilled fighters facing off against each other surrounded by defanged opponents in controlled combat. Give people something to cheer for, something to take their minds off the harshness of our reality."

An arena. With walkers. Merle's first instinct was to call the man crazy, but something in the Governor's tone made him pause. The man wasn't crazy - he was calculating. This wasn't some random idea, this was a plan.

"You want people fighting walkers for fun?" Merle asked slowly.

"Not just any people. Heroes. Men like you, Merle." The Governor's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm, or maybe something darker. "You've got the skills, the presence, the natural charisma that commands attention. People would see what I see - a warrior, a protector, someone willing to risk everything for their community."

Damn, when he puts it like that... Despite his better judgment, Merle found himself considering it. He'd done worse things for worse people, back when he was breaking legs for money. At least this had a purpose, gave him a chance to show off what he could do. Lord knows I got skills worth showin' off.

"Think about it," the Governor continued, his voice taking on that persuasive quality that had convinced Merle to stay in Woodbury in the first place. "Controlled environment. Declawed opponents. You'd be in complete control, showing off decades of survival experience to an appreciative audience."

The Governor began pacing, his hands animated as he painted the picture. "People are getting soft, Merle. Comfortable. They're forgetting what it takes to survive out there, forgetting to appreciate the men who keep them safe. This would remind them. This would make them remember that they need warriors like you."

Warriors like me. Usually, people called him a lot of things - redneck, asshole, liability - but never warrior. Never hero.

"You'd be the star of Woodbury," the Governor pressed, reading Merle's expression perfectly. "The man everyone looks up to. The champion they cheer for. And your girl..." He paused meaningfully. "She'd see you as the hero you really are. Women love a champion, Merle. Love a man who can provide not just safety, but excitement."

Hell, maybe he's right, Merle thought, his imagination running wild. He could picture it clearly - you in the crowd, watching him take down opponents with skill and showmanship. Your eyes wide with admiration instead of that careful wariness you sometimes got when you thought he wasn't looking. Lil doe's been cooped up all winter, probably bored out of her pretty little mind. Could use some excitement in her life.

"People need this," the Governor continued, his voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "They need to remember what it feels like to cheer for something, to feel alive. Winter's been hard on everyone. Morale is low. But give them a spectacle, give them a reason to feel proud of their community, their protectors..."

The Governor moved closer, his voice taking on that intimate quality that made you feel like you were sharing secrets. "You're exactly the kind of man who can give that to them, Merle. You've got that natural swagger, that confidence that makes people pay attention. And after everything you've survived, everything you've overcome..."

"You really think I could do this?" Merle asked, trying to sound casual even as his chest swelled with pride. Christ, when did I start needin' validation like some kind of puppy?

"I don't think, Merle. I know." The Governor's voice was full of conviction. "You're brutal when you need to be, smart when it counts, and you've got that natural charisma that makes people remember you. Plus, you've survived this long with that disability of yours. That's not just impressive - that's inspiring. That's the kind of story people need to hear."

Most people tiptoed around his missing hand like it was something shameful, something to be whispered about behind his back. The Governor made it sound like a badge of honor, proof of his toughness rather than evidence of his failures.

"Think about the message it sends," the Governor continued, warming to his theme. "Here's a man who lost his hand and kept fighting. Who adapted, who overcame, who didn't let anything stop him from protecting what matters. That's heroic, Merle. That's legendary."

The word hit Merle right in his ego. He'd spent his whole life being the redneck, the loose canon, the one who couldn't be trusted with anything important. Daryl was the tracker, the sensitive one, the only one capable of kindness ... Hell, thats why Daddy had spent years beating the breath out of them. Merle was just the muscle, the wild card who caused more problems than he solved.

But here was the Governor, looking at him like he saw something worth respecting. Like he saw potential that went beyond just being good at hurting people.

"Ain't like I got much else goin' for me. Might as well put on a show if people want to see one."

"Don't sell yourself short," the Governor said smoothly. "You've got more going for you than you realize. Your girl certainly seems to think so."

My girl. The possessive warmth that spread through Merle's chest at those words was stronger than whiskey. You weren't his girl, not really, but the way the Governor said it made it sound like a fact rather than wishful thinking.

"She's been through a lot," Merle found himself saying. "Deserves to feel safe, to have something good to look forward to. Maybe even feel proud of the man who's been lookin' out for her."

"Exactly." The Governor's smile was triumphant, like Merle had just proved his point. "She'll get to see you for what you really are - not just a survivor, but a champion. The kind of man who doesn't just endure, but conquers."

The praise settled into Merle's chest like warm whiskey, filling up spaces he hadn't even realized were empty. When was the last time someone had called him a champion? When had anyone ever seen potential in a Dixon beyond there capacity for violence?

"'Course," Merle said, his voice carefully casual, "if I'm gonna do this, I want guarantees about safety protocols. And I want to make sure my girl's taken care of if something goes wrong."

"Of course," the Governor said immediately, like he'd been expecting this concern. "Your girl will have the best seat in the house, right beside me in the where she'll be completely safe."

The image was seductive - you dressed up nice, sitting in a place of honor, watching him perform like the warrior he'd always known he could be.

"She'll get to watch her man become a legend," the Governor continued, his voice full of certainty. "Watch him become the hero this town needs. And trust me, Merle - there's nothing more attractive to a woman than watching her man succeed."

Her man. There it was again, that possessive warmth. The Governor kept saying it like it was true, like you belonged to him in some way.

"Alright," Merle said finally, his decision crystallizing. "I'll do it."

"Wonderful" The Governor extended his hand, and Merle shook it with his good one.

As they walked back through town, Merle found himself standing a little straighter, his chest a little more puffed out. For the first time in longer than he could remember, someone was counting on him for something other than just raw violence. Someone saw him as more than just a useful psychopath.

The first night of the arena fights, the cold seemed less biting somehow, warmed by the excitement of sixty-eight people gathered around a makeshift ring. They'd constructed it out the back of the old warehouse, with bleacher seating and flood lights that made everything seem theatrical, larger than life.

You sat beside the Governor, bundled up in every warm piece of clothing you owned, your breath visible in small puffs despite the heaters they'd brought in. He pressed a warm mug into your hands - mulled wine that smelled of cinnamon and cloves, a luxury you hadn't tasted since before the world ended.

"Drink up," he said with a paternal smile. "It'll help with the cold."

The wine was sweet and warming, spreading heat through your chest as you sipped it. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation, voices raised in excited chatter and bets being placed, but you felt sick to your stomach despite the alcohol's mellowing effect.

"Magnificent turnout," the Governor said, his voice warm with satisfaction. "Look at their faces - they're alive again. This is what community looks like."

You nodded absently, your eyes searching the crowd for familiar faces, trying to gauge how many people were actually excited versus how many were just going along with it. The energy was infectious, you had to admit, but something about it felt wrong.

"I'm not sure about this," you said quietly, your accent making the words sound smaller somehow. The wine was making you feel floaty, less sharp around the edges. "What if someone gets hurt? What if—"

"That's exactly the point," the Governor interrupted gently, refilling your mug before his hand found yours and squeezed reassuringly. "The possibility of danger, the thrill of survival - it reminds us what we're living for. What we're fighting to protect."

You took another sip of the mulled wine, the warmth spreading through your limbs and making the harsh lights seem softer, more forgiving.

The crowd suddenly roared, and you looked up to see Merle strutting into the ring like he owned it, his knife-hand gone leaving only the metal prosthetic glinting under the lights, his grin wide and confident. He was shirtless despite the cold, his chest puffed out with masculine bravado, scars and tattoos telling the story of a life lived hard.

"WOODBURY!" he bellowed, raising his arms to the crowd. "Y'all ready to see some real entertainment?"

The response was deafening. People were on their feet, screaming his name, and you could see him feeding off their energy, puffing up with pride and showmanship like he was born for this moment.

He looks so... happy, you thought, confused by the mixture of pride and terror warring in your chest. You'd never seen him like this - completely in his element, beloved by a crowd, the center of attention in the best possible way.

A younger man entered the ring, lean and wiry with the compact build of someone who'd learned to fight out of necessity rather than choice. He looked nervous but determined, his eyes finding someone in the crowd - a woman with worry etched across her face.

"Oh God," you whispered, realizing this wasn't just entertainment. These were real people with real relationships, real stakes. "His girlfriend's watching."

"Wife, actually," the Governor said conversationally. "Just married last month. Sweet ceremony. She's worried, of course, but Crowley insisted. Pride, you know how it is."

Your stomach dropped. This wasn't just a show - it was two men risking everything for the approval of people they barely knew. You took a larger gulp of wine, trying to steady your nerves, but it only made the lights seem brighter, the crowd's energy more intoxicating.

Then they released the walkers - three of them, stumbling and reaching but somehow less threatening than usual. It took you a moment to realize why, no teeth, no fingernails, just grasping hands and empty mouths that couldn't tear flesh.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" the Governor said, leaning closer so you could hear him over the crowd. "All the excitement, none of the real danger. Though don't tell the audience that - they need to believe there's genuine risk. The fear has to feel real, even if it isn't."

You watched in horrified fascination as both men began to move, circling each other while keeping one eye on the declawed walkers. Merle was in his element, trash-talking and showboating, but Crowley was all business - focused, methodical, treating this like the life-or-death struggle it appeared to be.

"Come on, boy!" Merle called out, his voice carrying that familiar mix of condescension and amusement. "You gonna dance with me or you gonna let them dead bastards do all the work?"

Crowley didn't respond, just kept moving, and you realized he was smart - letting Merle wear himself out with the theatrics while conserving his own energy. But the crowd was eating up Merle's performance, cheering every taunt, every swagger.

The first real exchange came when one of the walkers got too close to Crowley. Merle used the distraction to rush in, throwing a wild haymaker that Crowley barely ducked. The younger man came up with an uppercut that caught Merle in the jaw, drawing a grunt and an approving roar from the crowd.

"Now we're talkin'!" Merle laughed, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Got some fight in you after all!"

They circled each other again, both men breathing hard now, sweat gleaming under the harsh lights despite the cold. You found yourself leaning forward, caught up despite yourself in the brutal ballet playing out before you. The wine had loosened something in your chest, made you feel more present and yet somehow detached from the violence.

"Another?" the Governor asked quietly, already refilling your mug. The gesture seemed so normal, so civilized, that it made the brutality in the ring feel almost surreal.

Merle threw a combination - left hook, right cross - but Crowley slipped both punches and countered with a body shot that doubled Merle over. The crowd's roar shifted, some cheering for the underdog now, others yelling for Merle to get up and fight back.

"This is what they need," the Governor said in your ear, his voice almost reverent. "Look at them - they're unified, focused on something other than their fears. This brings them together."

But you were focused on Merle, who was straightening up with that familiar stubborn set to his jaw that meant someone was about to pay dearly for underestimating him. His eyes had gone cold, calculating, and you recognized the shift from showman to predator. The wine made everything seem slightly dreamlike, softening the edges of your worry into something more manageable.

"Alright, college boy," he growled, his prosthetic catching the light as he raised his hands. "Playtime's over."

What followed was a masterclass in brutal efficiency. Merle might be older, might be missing a hand, but he'd been fighting longer than Crowley had been alive. He used every dirty trick in the book - an elbow to the temple, a knee to the solar plexus, even using one of the chained walkers as a shield when Crowley tried to tackle him.

The crowd was going wild, on their feet screaming, but you found yourself gripping the Governor's arm without realizing it, your movements slightly unsteady from the wine. This was too real, too visceral. You could see the fear in Crowley's eyes as he realized he was outmatched, could hear his wife screaming from the stands.

"Stop it," you whispered, but your voice was lost in the roar of the crowd. The alcohol made your tongue feel thick, your protests less sharp than they should have been.

Merle had Crowley backed against the chain-link now, landing punch after punch while the younger man tried desperately to cover up. Blood was streaming from Crowley's nose, his left eye already swelling shut.

"That's enough!" you found yourself on your feet, shouting. "Stop the fight!"

But no one could hear you over the crowd, or if they could, they weren't listening. This was what they'd come to see - raw, primal combat that reminded them they were still alive.

Merle stepped back suddenly, his chest heaving, and for a moment you thought he was going to show mercy. Instead, he turned to the crowd, arms raised, drinking in their adoration.

"Y'all want more?" he bellowed, and the answering roar shook the walls.

That moment of showboating nearly cost him. Crowley, summoning reserves he didn't know he had, launched himself off the fence in a desperate tackle that sent both men crashing to the ground. They rolled, grappling, each trying to gain the dominant position while the walkers strained against their chains just feet away.

Crowley ended up on top, raining down punches, but Merle's experience showed. He bucked his hips, rolled, and suddenly Crowley was on his back with Merle's prosthetic pressed against his throat.

"Give up pretty boy," Merle snarled, not loud enough for the crowd to hear but clear enough for you to read his lips.

Crowley's face was turning red, his hands clawing at the metal cutting off his air supply. His wife was screaming from the stands, and you found yourself half-standing again, torn between horror and fascination.

Finally, desperately, Crowley tapped out.

Merle held the position for just a moment longer - before releasing his hold and standing up. Crowley gasped and rolled onto his side, alive but thoroughly beaten.

Merle basked in it, arms raised, bloody and victorious, looking like some ancient gladiator who'd just conquered Rome. His eyes found yours in the crowd, and the grin he gave you was pure predatory satisfaction.

When it was over, when the crowd had finally dispersed and the fighters had been helped away, you sat in the sudden quiet feeling hollowed out and strangely exhilarated. The wine had left you with more then a pleasant buzz that made everything seem slightly unreal, like you'd watched a particularly vivid dream rather than actual violence.

Through the haze of alcohol, you could see Merle making his way through the dispersing crowd, sweat still gleaming on his chest, blood spattered across his knuckles, the metal cap catching the flickering light like a blade.

"Is Crowley... will he be alright?, " you said, your accent thick with drink and emotion. The brutality you'd witnessed had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

The Governor's smile didn't waver, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "Crowley knew what he was getting into. Sometimes a man has to pay the price for challenging his betters."

Before you could ask what he meant, Merle was there, still breathing hard from the fight, his good hand reaching for you.

"Hey sugar" Merle said, his voice rough with adrenaline. His eyes were still bright with the violence he'd just unleashed, and when he looked at you, there was something predatory in his gaze that you'd never seen before.

"Well, Merle, she's all yours now," the Governor said, his words carrying weight that made your skin crawl even through your intoxicated state. "Been asking for you all evening, haven't you, sweetheart? Couldn't take her eyes off you during the fight."

The dismissal was clear, as you were being guided away from the arena, Merle's hand firm on your back as he steered you through the cooling night air toward your shared apartment.

Everything felt strange, like you were floating slightly outside your own body. "The way you fought... your strong... but Merle, you didn't have to be so rough with Crowley. He's just—"

"Crowley's fine," Merle cut you off, his voice sharp with leftover aggression. "Man wanted to test himself against me, he got what he asked for. That's how it works in the real world, lil-doe. Strong survive, weak learn their place."

His casual dismissal of the other man's pain echoed the Governor's words in a way that made your stomach churn. This wasn't like Merle - or maybe it was exactly like him, and you'd just never seen this side before.

It wasn't until he got you inside your apartment, closing the door behind you both with a finality that seemed to echo in the small space, that Merle really looked at you. His expression shifted from satisfied to concerned as he took in your flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and the way you swayed slightly even standing still.

"Sugar... how much hooch did you have ?"

"Not much," you protested, though the words came out slightly slurred. "The Governor kept... he said it would help with the cold, and I didn't want to be rude... kept bringing me more..."

Understanding dawned in Merle's eyes, followed quickly by anger. "Aw, hell. That son of a bitch." His jaw clenched as pieces clicked into place. "You ain't used to drinkin', are you, lil' doe?"

Before you could answer, your stomach lurched violently. You clapped a hand over your mouth and rushed toward the bathroom, barely making it before the evening's wine came back up. The retching was violent and embarrassing, your body rejecting the alcohol with prejudice as your system tried to purge itself of the unfamiliar poison.

Merle was there immediately, his good hand holding your hair back, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the rage you could feel radiating from him. "Easy now, darlin'. Get it all out."

When the worst of it passed, you slumped against the bathroom wall. Your head was spinning, and the brutality of the fight kept flashing behind your eyelids - the sound of fists hitting flesh, the crowd's bloodthirsty cheers, the way Merle had looked standing over Crowley's fallen form.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean to... I'm not used to... and the fight, it was so violent, I—"

"Ain't nothing to apologize for." There was anger in his voice, but not directed at you. "Governor should've known better than to keep pourin' drinks into a little thing like you. Should've been lookin' out for you, not..." He trailed off, his expression darkening as he processed what had really happened.

He helped you to your feet, sitting you on the edge of the bed and knelt to untie your boots, his movements efficient but charged with an energy that made your skin prickle.

"Arms up, darlin'," he said softly, reaching for the hem of your sweater.

The rational part of his mind - the part that wasn't clouded by adrenaline and months of the Governor's carefully planted suggestions - knew this was dangerous territory. You were vulnerable, trusting, barely conscious, and the way you'd looked at him after the fight... made him feel like he was some kind of hero instead of the violent man he really was.

The devil on his shoulder however was working overtime, fueled by months of the Governor's poison about what women really wanted, what men were entitled to after proving their strength.

She's yours for the taking. All soft and doopey, she won't even remember it clearly ... go on, she'd probably thank you after.

These weren't thoughts he'd ever had before Woodbury, before the Governor's subtle comments about conquest.

Merle might've been a bastard, but he'd never been the kind to take advantage of a helpless girl. That was a line he'd never crossed. Not when she can't really choose. Not when she trusts you this much and you'd be betraying every bit of that trust.

You'd seen what he really was in that ring, seen the violence he was capable of, and it had scared you. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"There we go, sugar," he said, his voice rougher than he intended as he fought his own demons. "Let's get you tucked in."

He guided you under the covers of your own bed - your bed, not his - and pulled the blanket up to your chin. You stirred slightly, and when he moved to gently sweep the hair from your forehead, you flinched. The reaction was small but unmistakable, and it hit him like a slap.

"Jesus," he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. He caught your chin gently, turning your face so you could see him clearly despite your unfocused gaze. "Look at me, I would never put hands on you. Never. You hear me, lil' doe ?"

Your eyes searched his face, some of the fear fading as you saw the sincerity there. He waited until you nodded, until some of the tension left your shoulders, before he stood.

"Get some rest, sugar. I'll be right next door if you need anything."

Merle made his way to his own bedroom, closing the door behind him with barely controlled restraint. Once alone, he scrubbed his hand down his face, the weight of what had almost happened - what he'd almost let the Governor manipulate him into doing - crashing over him like a wave.

With a frustrated growl, he grabbed the empty whiskey bottle from his nightstand and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crash, but it did nothing to quiet the storm of self-loathing and anger churning in his gut.

[mihii-i]

If I was born again.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, reader’s fvcking dead, angst obviously there’s not enough angst and yeah I’m thirsty for mizu too but can we get some sad stuff cause I feel like some ppl ignore her character just cause she’s hot, wlw, depressed mizu, I mean she’s already depressed but it’s worse here, shame on u for dying reader, actually I came up with this myself why am I shaming the reader, spoilers for episode 8, the ending of the episode takes a different turn so no london, violence, blood, ptsd, mizu my love i feel bad for writing this now I don’t want her to be any worseee, ill post an apology later, not proofread.

A/N: wanted to do my own request that I came up with in the shower this time, and I saw a mizu x reader but in another life and I thought that the reincarnation concept was so cute so I wanted to write about it. But not before I make everyone sad u will be posting an apology later tho.🕯️

Slivers of faint light peeked through the heap of clouds masking the warm tinted sunset, illuminating the thick blankets of snow along the ground a soft pink. Mizu remained knelt outside the rugged wood walling of Master Eiji’s forge, her lips remaining sealed together as she blankly remained in the chilling ambience.

1658. Or was it 1660 already? She couldn’t keep track of the years anymore, the wash of helplessness nearly shutting her mind down altogether ever since the incident stripping you away from her. Everything was a blur throbbing in the back of her head as she stared off without aim, eyes heavy lidded as they bore into the gleaming distance shrouded by a blinding brightness of the sun’s rays. A low sigh pushed past her lips in a slow stream of air, fogging up before her in a cloud of her breath visible from the cold.

The silence was only broken by the howls of chilling wind assaulting the tense atmosphere, ripping through the gold of the horizon in quick rushes. Has it been one year? Or two? Mizu felt awful for being unable to count it. She didn’t want your spirit to presume the notion of your death being nothing of importance. Rather, the sight of your lifeless corpse only spirlaled her into a sensation worse than being cut open, one that drove her into a deep hole of hatred and despair.

Mizu felt every drop of blood in her body tensing in anguish at the memory alone, her throat running dry from the horrible memory. Everything in hindsight seemed unintelligible to her, frequenting the habit of forgetting the most basic of things on occasions as her mind was constantly astray. You were fine moments before—everything was fine before the sight of Edo charred to the ground, erupted in flames that engulfed the city in its scorching heat.

Worst of all, the sight of your lifeless body limp against the floorboards, damp in a pool of crimson as Fowler held the opening of his rifle pressed against the bullet buried into your chest. It remained ingrained in her skull like a tormenting disease, eating away at the remaining sanity of her soul, searing along the ends of her temples as the image stuck with her. It was all her fault wasn’t it? Perhaps if she wasn’t a monster, things could’ve been different.

She could’ve saved you.

It was all her fault.

Mizu couldn’t help but suffer at the cusp of her regret’s palms, the thought that her wrathful desire to seek revenge had finally bestowed its consequences upon her, by ripping away the woman she had loved most right out of her grasp. Her hands always seemed to jitter occasionally after your death, thumb idly tracing the fabric of her clothing, or any object in her grasp in the same delicate gesture she’d caress your face.

The cold sting continued to bat against her bare cheek as Mizu remained knelt, legs tucked behind her as she sank in the heaping snow below her. Eyes fluttering shut, her knee bumped against the rim of her kasa for a brief moment, a momentary disturbance she paid no mind to. Mizu squeezed her eyes shut, brows knitting together with the tension creasing along her face as her hands remained planted on her lap firmly. Almost as if she sought to hide her eyes from the view of this cruel world, masking the part of her that lapped at her as the source of her hatred, and ultimately the goal behind those devilish eyes driving you to your death. 

An eerie creak, followed by the soft crunch of something digging into the crystalline snow sharply caught Mizu’s attention, raising an eyebrow in her disassociated state as she kept herself dug into the snow, unmoving. Eiji’s familiar voice rang within the flushed shell of her ear, his hoarse tone beholding a tinge of sympathy for the child he took in at a point.

“How long has it been since she passed?”

Mizu shrugged, blinking her eyes open to stare down at her hands. The gleaming cerulean was drained of even a slight glint of emotion but sorrow, her eyes practically dead in a wavering blue gradient.

“She’d hate me for even forgetting that. It was my fault. If I hadn’t-“

“Blaming yourself will not bring (Name) back, nor will it alleviate the pain of not having her with us.”

She only shook her head, tips of her fingers curling around the snow until the numbness spread through her hands as she breathed out a bitter scoff.

“(Name) didn’t even have to come with me to Edo, but she wanted to make sure I was safe. Because she was involved with me the consequences of my revenge caught up and Fowler fucking shot her. I couldn’t even protect her how is it not my fault?”

Eiji shook his head in response. Despite his lack of sight leaving him running his hand along objects and relying upon his hearing, he could sense the raw hatred scorching within Mizu. Yet it wasn’t toward anyone in particular. Not towards her targets like it usually was, but rather toward herself.

Mizu’s teeth grit together once more, recalling one painful memory after the other.

“She was covered in ash and burns when I retrieved her body. I couldn’t even bury her clean.” She thought back, a faint quiver racking her already shaky voice as if she was trying not to cry on the spot.

“Perhaps you’ll see her again in the next life. Rather than sulking, go pay respect to her and live on as she’d wish for you.”

With that reply, Eiji simply turned his back to Mizu, creaking the door open once more before shutting it behind him. Left alone with her thoughts in the cold, Mizu eyed the sun setting behind the distant horizon, taking note of the fact that it was getting quite late from the darkening sky in an enchanting scatter of purple—along with a star or two glowing in the distance.

You had been buried in the soil before Eiji’s forge when Mizu returned with your corpse hugged in her arms, held firmly against her chest with a deathly grip. She simply couldn’t risk your body being found by anybody else, atleast hoping to grant your physical form peace after death as a sort of compensation from the gnawing guilt of being unable to protect you in your final moments. In short, Mizu couldn’t bear the thought of even your body being in the presence of someone else. You would always be under her watch, even if you were no longer there.

Even if she could no longer hear your sweet laugh, your kindness in how you treated her, your warmth when you held her close to yourself..

Mizu shook off those thoughts hesitantly as she lowered her head, a pained expression flashing across her face. Pulling her quivering lower lip between the pressured bite of her teeth, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to prick at the corner of her eyes once more, she rose to her feet weakly as her feet dragged along the bundles of snow crowding her body. Even moons after you passed, she should’ve gotten used to this. But she just couldn’t.

Dragging herself lazily along the back of Eiji’s forge, her steps lacking the usual will to move forward reflected the weakness blistered within Mizu’s shattered heart. She could barely bring herself to even perform simple tasks in these recent years, often forcing herself to function normally for the sake of being alive.

Yet she always wondered the question what for? Certainly not for you, as you were deceased. Perhaps to crave the warmth of yours she missed? Pretend you were alive? She didn’t know anymore. Maybe she was just living for the hell of it, going through the motions like a mindless soldier working their ass off day and night.

…

Mizu stood at the foot of your grave, her eyes beholding a somber hint dimmed within as her gaze tiredly traced the kanji scratched onto the stone upright where you had been buried. Her expression seemed to soften at the sentiment of being with you in a way which your soul resided rather than your physical form. As excruciating as it felt for her to not have you by her side knowing you were dead, it was oddly poetic in a way.

Swallowing back the sob crawling up her throat, Mizu knelt before the stone coated in a thick white layer of crystals, carefully extending her arm to run her fingertips along the dusty rock whilst feeling the bumps of the carvings engraved into your tomb. Your voice echoed within her ear in an unending melody, plunging her into the more pleasant memories of you two, like an eternity of sunshine overtaken by an abrupt storm.

She breathed out a contented hum, still trying to control the maelstrom of emotions raging within her threatening to spill out at any given moment. There was only a small flower beginning to wilt beside the corner of your grave, along with a burnt out incense stick buried deep into the snow. Mizu took a mental note to replenish the items near your grave, along with potentially brewing you some tea to share. Perhaps you’d still want to drink with her in the afterlife?

However, Mizu couldn’t help but dwell upon the swordfather’s words that he spoke regarding the next time she’d be with you again. The confines of her mind could only ponder the scenario so far, yet a shred of hope continued to race within her as she smiled to herself at the thought.

Truly being together in another life in the future…maybe you could actually be happy with her.

Maybe she could take care of you. Perhaps even a family if the two of you wanted.

Just maybe in another life, she could protect you. Unlike how she failed in this one, she swears to protect you in the next.

Glancing around, she rasped out a quiet string of words after making sure nobody was around her. Words that she would only say to you even as she spoke to a discolored, lifeless corpse buried deep into the earth. But despite being dead, she knew you would hear them.

“You’re probably sick of me saying sorry for failing to protect you. But if we end up together in another life…I promise I’ll love you forever, (Name). I’ll protect you and cherish you like I couldn’t in this life.”

Her now downturned eyes raked along the sight of your grave, tracing the writing on it once more as her irises fixated on each character carved into the stone. Another soft whisper left her lips, quieter than the last one as a vague shake ingrained itself in her voice.

“I love you, (Name).”

—

Crackles of burning flames cried in the distance in angry orange sparks emanating from the waves of fire tearing down building after building, hovering dangerously close to your wounded body as trickles of blood seeped from the spot where the bullet was dug into your chest. You only caught Mizu’s worried form in the corner of your blurred vision as her palm rested along your crimson soaked chest, the warm blood only streaking along her hand as she attempted to ease your strained coughs.

“Stay with me, I- I’ll find Fowler soon and avenge you, just-“

A loud clank bruising against the back of her neck cut her words short, the broad Irish man towering over your twitching body as Mizu dragged her fingers against the bruised skin of her nape where Fowler had struck her with the stock of his rifle. His tall figure loomed over you as you lay helpless, soaked in your own blood spilled from where he had already fired a bullet into you.

All you could do was lay weakly in the pool of warm blood sticking to your clothes, the tint of red spreading up the fabric of your attire as that murderous emerald stare wrenched into your mind in a surge of fear. You desperately took in rapid, shallow breaths of air in an apprehensive, panicked state as Fowler drew closer to you, hyperventilating as the head of the rifle angled itself directly toward your chest once more.

Instead of firing another bullet to clash against the one already embedded into your flesh, he harshly jabbed the muzzle against your wound, earning a piercing yell from you at the excruciating pain.

Your agonizing screams twisted like a spear cranking deeper into Mizu’s chest, filling her with an aching wave of helplessness as her own wounds limited her to only being able to crawl toward you against her stomach slowly. The grotesque sight of Fowler taking pleasure in spilling more of your blood stung at her, mind nearly breaking in half as she drained her lungs dry with calls of your name in her incapacitated state.

Clawing her way against the floorboards, her fingers dug into the crevices of each plank of wood as leverage to hoist herself forward in your direction, reaching out. The sudden drive of adrenaline coursing through every vein in her body, dipping itself in her blood as it overtook her with nothing but desperation and anger was able to propel her forward, causing her to stagger to her wobbly feet as Fowler continued to torment you with that wicked grin.

Abruptly, the air fogged heavily with a tense atmosphere lingering in the area as the screams came to a sudden halt. Only the indistinct drip of damp flesh dragging against fresh blood bounced off the burning walls, ceasing as Fowler withdrew his rifle from your chest.

Once Mizu finally looked up, her heart nearly stopped in disbelief, dropping to the pits of her stomach as she felt her skin run cold, goosebumps blooming along it in contrast to the flames around her. Met with the sight of your lifeless body, still against the ground as your eyes lost any light that presided in them, while spread out against the ground unmoving.

…

“I’m sorry.”

…

…

…

————

“Hey, wake up.”

You groggily blinked open your eyes at the abrupt voice startling you awake, lashes sticking your eyes together as you struggled to wake back up. Back pressed to the bench, you took in the bright sights of the crowd moving forth in the complex, not paying any mind to your phone buzzing in your pocket and vibrating against your skin. Letting out a deep yawn, you pressed a hand to your eyelid, rubbing yourself awake in confusion.

Huh. You could’ve sworn you just had a strange dream, yet you couldn’t remember much from it—if anything at all in fact. It was hard to even piece together the blur of whether it was a happy or unpleasant dream. It felt like a mix of both, to be frank. Remembering the voice that woke you up, you swiftly darted your head in both directions, finding a stranger staring at you in confusion against your right shoulder.

Something about her seemed oddly familiar. You’re sure you’ve never met this person before, yet that dark hair let down as the front was neatly combed to the side…maybe her lowered expression accentuated by her thick eyebrows? Maybe those gorgeous blue eyes must have caught your attention, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

The stranger looked equally as bewildered as you, her mouth slightly parted as she stared intently with the same expression, as if she’d seen you before as well. You cleared your throat, breaking the awkward tension fostered between the two of you as you spoke.

“Ah. Sorry. Did you wake me up?”

She nodded bashfully, attempting to turn her fixated gaze away from you, but failing.

“Yeah. You were kind of leaning on my shoulder, and I wanted to walk around a bit.”

“Was I-? Shit, sorry that’s embarrassing-“

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s not everyday you have a stranger sleeping on your shoulder.” She responded with a small laugh, flicking her pointer finger along the orange tinted glasses folded and tucked in the front hem of her shirt.

Still sensing you were embarrassed, she nudged your shoulder, offering you up as she rose to her feet.

“Come walk with me. It would be nice to have some company that I didn’t wanna depart with just yet.”

She urges you, to which you nod, moving side by side to catch up with her as you strolled around campus.

Right. You were currently in your college campus. How the hell did you even forget where you were?

“I never caught your name?”

“Mizu.” She replied firmly, following up almost in an instant. “Yours?”

“(Name).”

She nodded, eyes transfixed on you for a heartbeat as if she recalled your name somewhere.

Strangely enough, you felt at ease by this woman’s side, a peculiar twinge of comfort breathing like an aromatic oil diffused within you. Midway, you caught sight of a small stand constructed by a student paired with a line of others with cash bunched up in a fist, a thick stack of vermillion-orange covered books piled up as the student slid them towards others in exchange for cash.

Mizu clicked her tongue observantly, catching sight of the banner displayed. “Oh. They’re selling a book about Edo Japan. The Great Fire of 1657 specifically.” She blurted out, catching your attention to spin in her direction as she walked. You let out a small breath of laughter, spilling out that bizarre feeling building in you in the form of a joke.

“For some weird reason whenever someone mentions the great fire in Edo I get a weird sense of déjà vu.” You chuckle, hoping to not seem too weird in her eyes.

“Same here.”

…well that certainly caught your attention.

“Are- you being serious? Cause I was.”

She only nods, smiling faintly as you huffed in surprise. The two of you continued walking along the pavement in comfortable silence, the smile remaining on your face as you treaded along the stone shoulder to shoulder with Mizu, along with drags of your shoes against the ground grating in a satisfying noise. After a few eternities of silence, your voice cut through the quiet air.

“You know. I get reminded of this one poem when I think about it.”

“Enlighten me.”

“If I was born again, by Tsurayuki.”

“…I’ll have to check it out. Probably can’t find it online considering how old it may be.” She replies, amused. You found yourself once again growing attached to her upon hearing her charming laugh, taking in every aspect of her with that clouding sense of familiarity.

Maybe you have met this stranger before. In another life perhaps?

Whatever it is, you’ll probably find out what that random wave of affection is soon enough. Maybe it could be some supernatural stuff like the poem?

You recalled the poem’s lines within your head, putting the remaining energy you had left on your spent brain to remember the words strung out.

If I was born again,

I would have loved you longer.

If you’re reborn, wait for me.

Subconsciously reaching over, you took Mizu’s hand in your grasp, not uttering a word in hopes she wouldn’t pull away. Once more, it was an odd feeling. It felt almost natural to hold her hand like this, her skin soft, yet slight callouses defined along her palm ringing that puzzling familiarity again.

Her hand pressed into your touch further, lacing her fingers between yours casually in response.

Perhaps that feeling stems from something you may have shared with her in the past.

A/N: last fic before I go back to school now no more fics for a while because of fucking midterms anyway sorry for making yall cry im feeling evil (I sobbed like a baby making this ngl)

I TOOK SO LONG ITS 12 IN THE MORNING AND I HAVE SCHOOL WHAT also this was so hard to write towards the end so it got lazy because i couldn’t find a GOOD FUCKNG POEM ABOUT REINCARNATION we needed more mizu angst btw it’s necessary

Anyway goodnight me and Mizu are getting married after my midterm exams bring a fruit basket and flowers everyone 🕯️

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Sunset Bedroom (18+)

FastForward!Leonardo x reader

A/N: Just me wanting to make a smut in the Fast Forward setting, heh💙

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Sex with Leo in your shared penthouse guest room💙

All characters are aged up.

Warning: Spelling, oral, female receiving, dirty talk, light choking, unprotected sex, Leo being a tease.

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The future wasn’t as bad as one could fear it would be. It was much nicer and much brighter than you had imagined. But that could very well be because of the many windows in Cody’s penthouse. The food was good, if not a little strange, but you liked it nonetheless. The entertainment was also pretty good. Way different than what you were used to, but still good. But if there was one thing that stayed the same, no matter the time, being it the past, present or future, was Leonardo.

Your sweet terrapin boyfriend stayed the same, even after an accidental time travel into the future, and that was just the way you wanted it. Even after the sudden chance from sewer to penthouse, he stayed humble and caring. He still looked out for you in small ways, like placing a hand over the corner of the table when you were walking by, or always making sure there was a full glass of water by your side. He still cuddled you close at night and kissed you at every opportunity he got.

Even 99 years into the future, Leo still insisted on spending his planned time with you, just as much as he insisted on his training. The big difference being that Leo now had the opportunity to take you out, instead of planning dates in the lair, in your apartment or on your roof. But even in futuristic restaurants Leo would still hold your hand and keep his famous eye contact with you, while listening to you speaking.

But there was one thing that had changed between you and Leo; your sex life. Never before had you and Leo been able to get intimate so often, without interruptions. Though 2105 wasn’t without its dangers and villains, it was generally much more peaceful, which gave Leo and his brothers extra time to kill. And luckily for you, that meant getting fucked your brains out on a pretty much daily basis.

Tonight was no different. You and Leo had retreated into the big spacious bedroom Cody had given the two of you. Located on the western corner of the penthouse, with big open windows, you and Leo had one of the best sceneries in New York City. And of course the two of you have had sex several times with the city and the sunset as your background. There was just something about watching your face covered with the warm glow of the setting sun, as you begged Leo to make you cum with your sweet taste on his tongue, that made his mind spin ecstasy.

You were laying across the big soft Alaskan king sized bed, your hair cascading behind you on the mattress. Your pants and underwear had been discarded long ago, laying somewhere on the floor and out of your side. Your bra was on the edge of the bed, having been taken off by Leo the moment you got onto the soft sheets, and your shirt pushed up over your chest, revealing your breast to Leo and the air in the room. Your cheeks were flushed, your breathing was heavy and moans were escaping your lips. Thank God that a luxury penthouse in the future meant that the bedrooms were soundproof, because otherwise you would be getting in big trouble.

The sight between your legs was enough to make you roll your head back in pleasure. Leonardo, naked without any of his high tech gear or bandana, had his face buried between your thighs, with the tip of his skillful tongue rolling against your clit. Your legs hung over his shoulders so your calves were laying against his shell, with his strong arms wrapped around your thighs pulling them apart, giving him more space to devour your dripping core. His blue eyes held your gaze, making you shutter in excitement. All of this, bathed in the orange and yellow glow of the sunset, was an image you would never forget.

“Oh, fuck, Leo”, you moaned, your hands finding their way to the top of Leo’s head, pushing him further against you. He hummed against you, his hands gripping tighter onto your thighs, no doubt leaving a new pair of marks. His tongue started to do slow flat licks up your folds, running all the way from the bottom to the top, before giving your clit a flick with the tip, causing you to jolt underneath him. Leo chuckled against you before doing it one more time.

Leo took in the sight of you wiggling against his lips and the sounds escaping your beautiful plump lips, and started to grind his already dropped penis against the sheet underneath him, causing him to moan lightly against your center. The vibration shot through you, making your back to arch slightly.

“Please, Leo”, you continued, trying to push your hips closer to his face with the help of your legs on his shell. Leo however pulled back slightly, a small grin appearing in his face, as he watched you wriggle in frustration underneath him, without his tongue connected to your folds.

“Please what?”, he asked smugly, using his thumb to spread you open for him, enjoying the sight of your cunt glistering with a mixture of your own juices and his spit. It was a lovely sight, especially in the sunshine. It made it almost look like honey. You sighed in pleasure as he moved the thumb up towards your clit, pushing down you ever so slightly. Leo knew exactly what you wanted, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just like that. No, he wanted to work you up for it, have you beg for it. Have you beg for him. And you knew exactly that’s what he wanted. That had never changed and will never change, not that you were complaining. It was incredibly hot to be in this position under him.

“Please just fuck me, Leo!”, you cried out, your toes curling against his shell as he started to rub slow circles against you.

“You have to be more specific, sweetheart”, Leo said, his breath fanning over your wet opening. “How do you want me to fuck you? With my fingers? With my tongue? With my cock? Whatever you want, you just have to tell me, darling” He punctuated every option with a small flick of his thumb, making you jolt each and every time. God, you loved this man so much, but sometime you wished he would just fuck the life out of you.

“Your cock, Leo!”, you cried out once more, your hips chasing his thumb as he moved it around. “Please! Fuck me with your cock!”

Leo chuckled as he did one last circle over your clit, before sitting up with his erection showing off proudly with a slight bit of precum leaking out at the tip. “Your wish is my command”, he said, grabbing a hold of your legs to pull you closer across the bed. You yelped as he pulled you in one hard tuck, before giggling as he leaned down over you, feeling his penis just ghosting over your entrance. Leo’s lips found yours, his tongue quickly gaining access to the inside of your mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself on Leo’s lips, lifting your hips in hopes of gaining some frictions against his rode. Leo’s right hand went to your hips, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. His left hand made quick work, catching both of your wrist and pinned them on top of your head.

“What happened to ‘your wish is my command’?”, you wailed frustrated, trying to push against his hand. Damn him being so fucking well trained, all though it looked good and proved amazing in bed.

Leo smiled. He really had no reason for doing it, other than to hear you wailing a little but. Nothing new there. He had always been a tease in bed, enjoying your whimpering and squirming. “I never said I would do it straight away”, he smiled, his lips finding their way to your jawline, slowly kissing their way up to your earlobe.

“Your fucking tease”, you breathed, tilting your head to the side, giving him space to work on.

“And you like it”, he murmured against your ear, smugness dripping from his every word, sending shivers down your spine.

He was right; you did like it. Scratch that, you loved it. He would build you up over and over again, until finally giving you that earth shattering orgasm you had been waiting for. Begging for, even.

But you couldn’t ignore the burning need building between your legs, as Leo continued his slow assault on your jaw and neck, feeling his cock touch you folds every once in a while, almost making you go mad.

“Please, Leo!”, you begged, struggling against his hand. “Please just do it! Fuck me, Leo!”

You could feel his breath against your skin as he huffed out a chuckle. “Have you been teased enough?”

“Yes!”, you exclaimed, your head nodding wildly in agreement.

“Really?”, Leo asked, letting go of your hip to take a hold of his aching cock, slowly sliding it through your folds, yet another idea popping into his head. “How badly do you want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

“So badly, Leo! Please!” Fuck this man and how easily he made you beg as if it was about your life.

“Good girl”, Leo praised you, before slowly pushing into your entrance. By reflex you curled your legs up around Leo, closing your eyes as you felt the stretch of him slowly filling you up. “Fuck”, Leo breathed into your ear, feeling his length being absorbed into you. “Always so tight”.

“Please move, Leo”, you whimpered, nudging him with your foot against his shell.

“As you wish”, he smiled, giving your cheek a kiss before he slowly started moving his hips against you. He pulled until he was almost out of you, before pushing back in. Both of you moaned at his movements, enjoying the pleasure it brought the both of you.

Leo’s thrusting started picking up, making you turn your face against your restrained arm, closing your eyes as you took in the pleasure he brought you.

“No”, Leo mumbled, using his free hand to turn your face towards him. His face contorted in focus, his gaze burning into yours and his mouth agape. “Look at me. I want to see you”. This always did something to you. It did not matter how many times Leo told you to look at him during sex, with him buried deep inside of you, it always did something to you. Made your stomach tighten and tingle in excitement, feeling the climax he had been building inside of you being brought closer to the edge.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful”, Leo mumbled, moving his hand from your face to your throat, holding you still as he stared into your eyes, his hips getting faster at the sound of your moans and whimpering. The way you said his name, begging him to bring you closer to the edge. At this point the sun had just dipped below the horizon, replacing the orange glow outside with the dark sky and the shining starts, the neon glow of the city casting colors throughout the dark room, lighting up you face, letting Leo see your reactions as he fucked you harder with every thurst.

Leo let go of your wrists, using his left arm to bring your leg up, so it rested against his arm, giving him space to curl his leg up and making it easier for him to thrust into you at a rapid speed. Your hands flew to him, on around his neck, the other holding on to the arm of the hand that was increasing its grip slightly, forcing your airway open and making your moans louder.

Leo groaned at the feeling of your tightening around him, pushing your leg up onto his shoulder, so he could use his arm to support himself.

“Leo! Baby! I’m close!”, you cried out, feeling that familiar feeling build up inside of you.

“Let it go, babe”, he groaned, tilting your head slightly forward so he could look directly at you. “Cum for me, (Y/N). Be a good girl and cum around my cock. Show me how good I’ve fucked you”.

That was all you needed to be pushed over the edge. With a scream like moan you came, the leg over Leo’s shoulder tightening up and your nails digging into his skin, in a way that made him moan in pleasure. Yet Leo’s speed didn’t falter. He fucked you through your high, egging you on as he watched your face. He would never stop loving the sight of your face whenever you came. Your beautiful face contorted in pleasure - pleasure he had given you.

Once through your high, Leo pulled out of you, leaving you heaving for your breath on the big bed. But you weren’t done. You knew that. Leo had never stopped after drawing one orgasm, and he never would. So you weren’t surprised when he shoved you onto your side, pulling you close with one of your legs up against his plastron. He stared at you with a mischievous yet yearning look in his eyes, covered in the neon blue light from the city outside. You would be lying if you said the sight didn’t get your heart going like crazy, holding your breath in anticipation.

“That was one”, he said, tugging himself a few times before lining up against your still pulsating entrance. “Let’s see how many we can do before sunrise”.

[seraphicsentences]

wrote this when i was drunk, about being drunk. not proofread whatsoever but i thought it’d be funny to share

ugh but imagine making out with ellie while drunk. rushing out of the tipsy bison to her place, forgetting your jackets even in the dead of winter but being warm anyways because of the alcohol and blood rushing and shit. your hearts’ racing half because of anticipating what’s to come and half because of your quick pace. imagine finally getting to ellie’s and her immediately pressing you up against the door, slapping messy open-mouthed kisses to your lips. tasting the alcohol in her saliva, getting drunk off her addicting taste. her half missing your lips and just getting the corner of them because, well, she’s just so knackered. imagine her lips wet and glistening with you and hers saliva, and her leaning back for just a moment to take in your image. ellie’s lips parted, pretty green eyes heavy lidded, auburn hair falling out of its low bun. her tongue darting out to wipe the corner of her mouth, as if it cleans up much, then moving to press inside her cheek as her mind runs through the hundreds of things she wants to do to you. imagine how caught off guard she’d be when you move quicker than she does, walking her backwards until the back of her knees hit the edge of her bed- sending her down to the mattress. you straddling her on top and climbing to press her to lay down. crashing your lips onto hers, groaning into it, teeth bumping a bit from the aggression. your tongue immediately slipping into her open mouth, twirling around hers, teasing, showing her what’s to come if she only just cooperates. drawing desperate little nghhs from the back of her throat with every filthy movement of your tongue. ellie’s hands scrambling to touch every part of you, to take all of you in, strongly squeezing and massaging in all the right places. knowing that if you turned your head to look you’d get a delicious glimpse of the veins in her hands popping with every strain of movement, knowing that your eyes would roll back at the very view. feeling ellie’s hands drift under your shirt and tread up your thigh, fingers brushing closer to your burning center, but never quite where you need them. placing sloppy kisses across her face and trailing them down her neck around her collarbone, sucking and nipping and biting there to mark her up. wetly licking that same spot to soothe the inflicted pain. tbh just saliva everywhere, making each others skin a bit sticky but not minding it because how could you? when the other is right there panting heavily for your attention? lips meeting together once more to share breaths between them. ellie telling you she loves you for the first time, because it’s just that much easier to slip off the tongue when inebriated. (it doesn’t make it any less true.)

[irfacilities]

Remember that feeling of light, energetic legs? Maybe it’s been a while. If you’re noticing those twisted, rope-like blue or purple veins on your legs, or feeling that familiar ache, heaviness, or restless nights, you’re not alone. Varicose veins are incredibly common, but here’s the good news: they don’t have to be your norm. Modern treatments are surprisingly simple, effective, and let you get back to life quickly. Right here in India, IRfacilities has earned its reputation as the best hospital for varicose vein treatment in india. Let’s walk through why so many people trust them to find relief and reclaim their comfort.

Understanding Varicose Veins: More Than Skin Deep

Think of your veins as little roads bringing blood back to your heart. Tiny valves along these roads act like one-way gates, keeping the blood flowing upwards. When these valves get weak or damaged, blood starts pooling. This extra pressure makes the veins stretch, twist, and bulge near the surface – hello, varicose veins.

While family history plays a role, everyday things can trigger them: standing or sitting for long hours (like many jobs require), pregnancy, carrying extra weight, or simply getting older. And it’s not just about looks:

A dull ache, throbbing, or muscle cramps in your legs

Swollen ankles and feet, especially after standing

Skin feeling itchy or dry right over the veins

Legs feeling like lead weights by evening

That annoying, restless feeling keeps you up at night

In serious cases, skin might darken or even develop sores

Putting it off isn’t a great plan. Getting help early stops things from getting worse, like painful inflammation or skin ulcers.

Modern Treatments: Simple Solutions for Lasting Relief

Forget the scary old surgeries. Today’s fixes are gentle, use tiny entry points, and often have you walking out the door the same day. At IRfacilities, they offer the full range:

Endovenous Laser Therapy (EVLT): A super-thin laser fiber goes into the problem vein through a needle prick. Gentle laser heat seals the vein shut. Your blood naturally reroutes to healthy veins nearby. Done with local numbing, takes about an hour. You walk out afterwards!

Radiofrequency Ablation (RFA): Similar to EVLT, but uses radio waves to generate heat and close the vein. Another quick, walk-in-walk-out option.

Sclerotherapy: Perfect for smaller spider veins or smaller varicosities. A special solution is injected, making the vein gently collapse and fade over time. Often feels like a quick pinch – no numbing needed.

Clarivein® (MOCA): Combines a tiny rotating wire to gently treat the vein wall with a sealing solution. Comfortable and effective.

VenaSeal™: Uses a safe medical adhesive to glue the vein shut. No heat is involved, so it’s often very comfortable.

The IR Facilities team knows everyone’s veins are unique. They start with a detailed look using ultrasound mapping – like getting a personal road map of your veins – to figure out exactly what’s happening. Then, they chat with you about the best and simplest option for your situation.

Why Choose India? Why IR Facilities Make Sense

Picking India for your vein care is a smart move:

Exceptional Value: You get world-standard care using the latest tech, often at a much lower cost than in many other countries. Quality isn’t compromised.

Cutting-Edge Tech: Places like IR Facilities invest in the newest generation equipment – the lasers, radiofrequency machines, and imaging tech – ensuring precise and safe treatment.

Top-Tier Specialists: India has a huge pool of highly skilled vascular doctors and vein experts. Many at IR Facilities are trained internationally and have years of focused experience just on veins.

Easy Communication & Warm Care: English is widely spoken, making everything clear. You’ll also experience India’s famous warmth and hospitality, making your visit smoother.

So, why do people consistently call IRfacilities the best hospital for varicose vein treatment in India?

They Live and Breathe Veins: This isn’t a general hospital doing a bit of everything. Veins are their main focus. Their team does these procedures day in, day out. That deep, specific experience means they know their stuff, leading to better results and safer care for you.

Seeing What’s Underneath: Getting it right starts with seeing everything. IR Facilities uses top-notch Duplex Ultrasound. This painless scan creates a detailed picture of your veins, showing every faulty valve and where blood is pooling. No guessing, just precise treatment.

Everything You Need, Right Here: Whether EVLT, RFA, Sclerotherapy, VenaSeal, or a mix is best for you, IR Facilities has the technology and the expert hands to do it. Your whole journey – diagnosis, treatment, follow-up – happens seamlessly in one place.

Care That Feels Like Care: From your very first call, you’ll notice the difference. They understand how uncomfortable and sometimes embarrassing varicose veins can be. They take time to listen, explain things clearly in simple terms, and answer every question. The atmosphere is calm and genuinely supportive.

Gentle is Best: IRfacilities champions the least invasive, most effective methods. They focus on procedures where you walk in and walk out using just local numbing. This means you can often get back to light work or your daily routine within a day or two.

Real People, Real Results: Success tells the real story. IR Facilities have helped countless people move past pain and self-consciousness. Patients often share how getting treatment brought back their comfort and confidence, solidifying its spot as the best hospital for varicose vein treatment in India.

What Happens at IR Facilities: Your Simple Path to Relief

Worried about the process? It’s usually much easier than people imagine:

Start the Conversation: Give them a call, send an email, or fill out a form online. A friendly coordinator will answer your questions and book your first visit.

Your First Visit & Vein Mapping: Meet their vein specialist. They’ll listen to what’s bothering you, check your legs, and do that important ultrasound mapping. Then, together, you’ll talk about the best treatment options for you. No pressure, just clear information.

Treatment Day: Arrive at their clean, modern clinic. The procedure itself (like EVLT or RFA) often takes about an hour. You’re awake but comfortable – just the area being treated is numbed. Some folks chat or listen to music!

Up and Walking: Right after treatment, they’ll help you into a special compression stocking. Then comes the best part – they’ll encourage you to get up and walk around! This helps your circulation and healing. Most people head home within a couple of hours.

Staying Connected: IR Facilities doesn’t just say goodbye. You’ll get clear instructions and have follow-up visits to check how you’re healing and make sure you get the best outcome. Their team is always reachable if you have questions.

Life After Treatment: Feeling Like Yourself Again

Imagine pulling on your favorite pair of shorts or a knee-length dress without a second thought. Think about taking a long walk, maybe even playing with the kids or grandkids, without that dragging ache or heaviness. Picture getting through a full day without needing to prop your legs up as soon as you get home. This is what successful treatment offers.

Beyond seeing those veins fade away, people often tell us:

The Pain Stops: That constant ache, the throbbing, the cramps? Gone.

Energy Returns: Legs feel light and easy to move again.

Sleep Improves: Restless legs settle down, leading to deeper, more restful nights.

Confidence Comes Back: Feeling comfortable in your skin, ready to wear what you like.

Preventing Problems: Stopping potential issues like skin sores or clotting down the line.

Ready for Lighter Legs?

Living with varicose vein discomfort doesn’t have to be your story. Simple, effective solutions exist, and you deserve the best care available. IR Facilities has earned its title as India’s best hospital for varicose vein treatment in india by bringing together unmatched expertise, the latest technology, genuine care, and a track record of helping people feel better.

Don’t put off feeling good another day. Reach out to IR Facilities. Have that first chat. Let their experts take a look and explain the straightforward path to relief that’s right for you. It might be the easiest and most rewarding step you take for your comfort, your mobility, and your well-being. Your journey back to happy, healthy legs could start today. Contact IR Facilities and see why so many trust them with their care.

[hbmaye]

Eldrvaen: Beginnings

The long branches of the Barion tree swayed gently in the warm breeze, its soft, green leaves creating their own melody as they moved. Maeryllis sat quietly, her long dark curls seemingly in sync with the tree’s own tendrils, as she waited for Vaerrik to join her, possibly for the last time. They both sensed that their time in Eldrvaen was coming to an end. Their light had become dull, their connection felt distant, their power weak and slow.

The Veiling for a Nóthraen did not take long, and each First Flame knew it would happen at some point, though knowing when was a privilege left to the High Counsel. It was a Nóthraen’s entire purpose, and they prepared for it with intention and honor. Once their assignment was completed, they returned to Eldrvaen as High Flames, to spend their remaining days amongst the others who made it back.

Maeryllis seemed to be making the transition before Vaerrik, and as he appeared beside her in the grass, he felt his breath catch at the sight of her. Her sapphire eyes had become dull, the constant shining speckles of light he had loved all these years had all but disappeared. The Glow of the First Flames reduced to near nothing in the shade of their favorite tree. Her presence there, all but a whisper in his ear. The shadow that passed briefly through her eyes as she looked at him said she saw it too.

His own transition had only just begun. She would be sent first, and he would remain in Eldrvaen until his time. They had never expected to be sent together, but they had dared to hope in the timing, that the High Counsel would allow them to move through the veil the same night. Vaerrik did not feel so hopeful now.

He did not speak as he sat next to her, handing her the roses he had brought from his courtyard - her favorite red blooms with deep scarlet centers and vining stems. He always offered to remove the thorns before he brought them to her, but she never wanted him to. They helped keep the stems tight when she wove them together. She buried her face in the flowers, lingered there and inhaled slowly, savoring their fragrance. Vaerrik placed his arm around her thinning shoulders, and she laid her head in his lap, holding the roses close. Even her breathing was different, he noticed - shallow, empty, less. There was another moment of quiet as they sat in their own thoughts.

As long as they could remember, they had met under the Barion tree. Playing as children, and then to escape for time alone as they grew. The tendrils of leaves hung nearly to the ground now, providing a crown of shade and warmth. Maeryllis had never truly noticed the warmth, until now. She inhaled deeply again, this time taking in Vaerrik’s scent like it was oxygen, like somehow taking him in would keep him with her forever.

It was not the separating that frightened her, it was the forgetting. How would she exist without something so engrained into every aspect of her being?

She knew the moment the Counsel sent her, her life in Eldrvaen was gone, even from memory. He would be gone. She turned in his lap to look up at him, to memorize him. She was not sure there was anything left to study… she had cemented everything about him into her mind, but with her power diminishing so quickly, she knew the images would not stay. They were already fading. She had no idea how she could ever forget those eyes, but it would happen. It was a part of the process. She was well-prepared, but that did not make the heaviness in her chest any lighter.

Vaerrik ran his fingers through her hair, slowly, gently twirling each curl between his fingers. She knew he was doing exactly what she had been doing for months… studying… memorizing… trying desperately to do whatever he could to remember, even if it was in vain. She finally broke the silence, as she watched his deep brown eyes darken with emotion she could not quite recognize. “Promise me. Promise you will find me,” she whispered, pleading with him, holding his gaze.

His fingers tightened in her hair, his brown eyes narrowed and she could see his chest shift as he forced a shaky breath.

“Yes, Maer. I promise.”

The sound of his voice and the way he used his name for her pulled on the part of her heart she could not believe would ever be able to leave him. She nodded in response, words eluding her entirely.

“You are mine,” he rasped, his voice thick and quieter than her own whisper. “Here or there. Then, now, and always, you are mine and I will find you.”

---

Eldrvaen was especially beautiful at night, the moon reflecting off the countless staircases and mountain-carved homes. The realm had been built amongst the mountainsides, the dwellings and staircases carved into the Eldrstone outcroppings, the valley floors rich with soft grasses and trees that had grown for millennia, fed by the river that meandered its way through the range. The reflection of the fiery Eldrstone in the crystal-clear water during the day was outdone only by the way the stone reflected the moonlight after dark, giving the mountain homes a haunting, fiery glow. The city came alive under the night sky. Music echoed across the vast open canyon. The eateries and markets were full of laughter. Families strolled along the river, while children played amongst the flower-filled fields.

Vaerrik and Maeryllis walked arm in arm through the streets, occasionally greeting another couple with a smile, neither in a rush to end the evening. Vaerrik had glimmered them back from the Banion tree just as the sun had set behind the mountaintops. Maeryllis was quiet, watching the children and other couples as they moved through the town with a shadow in her eyes. Vaerrik knew she was taking it all in, etching it into her heart. The small squeeze on his arm every few minutes told him all he needed to know, and he was too busy watching her to pay any attention to the rest.

He had loved her for centuries. When they were young he had run with her in these streets, along the same river, under the same tree. Through the years, they had dreamed and planned and hoped for their life here and beyond. They had decided long ago that they would wait until their return to Eldrvaen to build the rest of their lives together, but most Nóthraen had more time in the realm before the Veiling occurred. Maeryllis was shifting early, and his hope of going at the same time had diminished to a sliver of what it had been. He had promised to find her and he intended to keep that promise, no matter the cost.

Tonight, her eyes were distant as she walked alongside him. The lightweight silk of her ivory dress no longer clung to her frame, but seemed to flow over her, moving effortlessly with each breeze and step. Every so often, a passerby would meet his gaze after watching her, and nod just subtly in understanding.

As the last colors of dusk faded to indigo, and the mountains began to glow under the light of the moon, Maeryllis’ hold on Vaerrik’s arm grew tighter. Their pace slowed as they started over the bridge, and then stopped in the center, standing in solemn silence, staring out over the water and the realm beyond. Vaerrik stood behind her, arms wrapped around her shoulders, his face resting softly atop her head.

“Here or there,” she finally spoke, the words not even a whisper, edged with more sadness than he ever should have allowed.

“Then, now and always,” he whispered back, as he turned her gently to face him.

Tears were silently trailing down her paling cheeks, giving a sharp sparkle to her eyes again. He brushed his lips across them, kissing her face, holding the back of her head and wrapping his fingers into her curls. With his other hand, he pulled her closer. The feeling of her once powerful body sinking into his tore at his chest. She inclined her face to his just enough to kiss him slowly in return. He refused to pull away, knowing once he did, they would make their way out of the moonlit magic and step after step, come closer to their last moments together. They felt different tonight. Her time had come, and she knew it too.

“Vaerrik,” she whispered between his affections.

“I am tired.”

The quiet words sent daggers deep through his gut. He tightened his grip on her hair for a moment, then pulled back just enough to look into her eyes again. He could not find his voice enough to reply, so he nodded ever so slightly, and took her arm in his again.

With every step, his feet felt heavier. Maeryllis had already made him promise he would not stay with her that night. But the idea of closing her door tonight, leaving her alone and walking away was unbearable. She could feel the ache coming off of him as they approached her home, as heavy as winter storm clouds that gather for hours and hours before releasing blizzarding snows upon the mountaintops. The tension in his jaw grew tighter, his shoulders hunched into his chest, his breathing so very slow and labored as if it took every bit of will to continue. His eyes had darkened nearly black, shining like onyx in the night. She knew he kept a strong presence for her, but every ragged breath and forced step betrayed the deep, broken darkness fighting within him tonight. Even in her weakened state, she could feel him. She did not think that would ever change, no matter how far their paths took them from each other. He had been a part of her as long as her memory allowed.

Something about that thought stilled the raging chaos happening within her, as if even though everything else seemed to be preparing to disappear, that one memory would not uproot itself. Her mind went quiet, and her heart no longer felt like it was erupting in flames. As they reached her door, she felt Vaerrik hesitate.

He had not been happy with her request, but he had agreed nonetheless. She did not want to spend tonight alone, but she could not let him wake up in an empty bed. It would break his heart even more.

She turned to him and looked up to meet the dark brown eyes begging her to change her mind. Without breaking his stare, she reached up and took his face in her hands. The chill in them startled him. He wrapped his arms around her waist as tightly as he could. Maeryllis took a deep breath, willing herself to remember how his body felt next to her.

“You are mine, and I love you,” she promised.

“I love you, Maer. And I will find you.”

She pulled his face to hers, and kissed him fiercely, then forced herself to pull away. This time without looking back to him, she stepped aside and walked in her door, feeling his hands linger around her waist until she was out of reach.

The door shut behind her.

Vaerrik stood unmoving, forehead pressed against the door, his palm hovering above the handle. He could still feel her presence on the other side, fighting every instinct to follow her in. Her insistence on staying alone tonight he knew was her attempt at saving him from the aftermath, and he would not take that peace from her. But as much as he tried to turn from that door, his legs would not carry him. Eyes closed, tears finally came, images from their endless decades flooding his memory. He let them replay, one after the other, sending them through the door, desperate for one last shared bond. He would not leave her alone tonight.

Hours seemed to pass, as the stars above Eldrvaen shifted and the moon began to drift. Vaerrik’s tears had slowed, but the agony in his chest grew, until suddenly he no longer felt her presence through the door, and it was replaced by something hollow, empty and deep within him. He knew she was gone, and that whatever part of him she had been had left with her.

And he swore he would stop at nothing to find her again.

[chacha-diaries]

To my dearest Steffi,

June 8, 2025

**I hope you will read this in a place of growth & openness, not with avoidance, guilt, or defensiveness. They say people will only meet you as deeply as they’ve met themselves. Regardless of where you are in your self-discovery journey, I will leave you no words unsaid. However you may take this, that is yours to sit with. This is not easy for me, Darling. But I know I’ll never lose something that’s real. This is my truth. I tried to write it with so much grace and compassion. There is peace in honesty, in clarity, and in not hiding. Take this as my gift for you. **

I’ve rewritten this letter many times in my head. Maybe because I wanted to get it just right, or maybe because some truths are just hard to write, especially when they carry so much weight, and yet so much love. But one thing stayed the same: you mattered to me.

There was a time you were the brightest part of my days.

You came into my life in a season when I was fragile, yet somehow, your presence gave me warmth, and wonder. I wrote you letters not for the sake of being remembered, but to honor what it felt like to know you. I thought, if this world forgets you, at least one person won’t.

You came into my life at a time when things were heavy, and your presence made it all feel bearable. Not because you did anything grand—but because you were there. And so I wanted to be that for you too. I wanted to be someone who helped you remember that life was still good, still soft, still worth stepping into. So I gave.

I’ve written paragraphs about you, from the most honest parts of my soul, not for recognition, but so you’d never have to question your worth. I have loved you in a way that is bold, open, and visible. Just like every person in my life. I was proud of you. I honored your existence in a way every person should be celebrated. I recognized your essence before knowing your story. And I understand that sometimes people mistake that intensity for romantic feelings because society struggles to understand platonic love in its full glory. What I’ve given you was purely a soul-level, emotional, and existential admiration. Just because I am fond of you doesn’t mean I will bend my sexuality for you. That’s just exactly what it was — fondness, that magical, inexplicable draw toward someone who simply felt like a safe place, a joy to know, a light to keep around. You are my emotional sunlight. I want to go near your light, not to consume it, but to be warm. Not romantic — just special. Yours, in a way that didn’t need labels. The world doesn’t know how to hold space for that sometimes, especially when it’s between two women. They look for boxes to put it in: Are you sure you’re not in love with her? Are you gay? As if love must always follow a script.

But fondness is just a quiet kind of miracle. It doesn’t ask to be justified — just honored. Real fondness doesn’t need permission to exist.

I loved you freely. I saw you and made you my favorite, not because I had to, but because something in my soul said: “this one.” That’s why I was never bothered about how they will judge me, because I am firm with who I am and my truth and I didn’t let their projection shrink the way I will show up for you. You do not deserve half-loves, half-truths & half promises. No one deserves that.

And I understand that this kind of depth makes people mislabel it for something romantic and sometimes uncomfortably overwhelming, because it’s different and it’s not something you normally see especially in your circle or environment. But it does exist in mine. I see you for your entirety, not just for what you show, but for what you’re trying to hide too. I can see you, Steffi. You do not have to be someone else for me. Or live up to the image you think I have in my mind, or the persona you try to build up to me. I see you for who you are Steffi. That's why I understand. I really do. I offered myself as a refuge, a home, as your family, because I knew what it felt like to need one. I am here to carry, to hold, and not to compete.

Everything touches me deeply and I do not minimize the importance of small things. I don’t just befriend people, I cherish people, Steffi. I made sure that the way I cared about you came from a genuine place. That’s why even after everything I’m not out here to hurt you. I want you to understand, to learn and to reflect. I have loved you honestly, that I am hoping you will read this from a place of love too.

Those bucket-list moments–the photo booth, painting sessions, hikes, runs, or walk–they weren’t about making memories for show. They were about making room for you to exist. Not for me, but for yourself.

When you told me you barely went outside, I didn’t try to change you. I just invited you to walk with me. To run. To try. Because I wanted you to experience more than four walls. I wanted you to exist fully—not for me, but for yourself.

I invited you outside, because I believed life shouldn’t pass you by from behind a window. I wanted you to feel the wind, the sweat, the sunrises, not just for your body, but for your soul. I cheered the loudest for you when you didn’t believe in yourself. I slowed down so you wouldn’t feel behind. I stayed so you’d know what it felt like to be accompanied in a world that so often leaves us alone. I want to become a reminder that you don’t have to carry it all alone.

But love in any form, friendship included cannot survive on one person's effort. And that's where we began to fall apart. I never asked for much in return—just presence. Just a kind of showing up that meant, “I value this too.” And I guess that’s where we began to drift. Because friendship, especially isn’t just how you feel about someone. It’s how you care for them, even when it’s inconvenient.

I don’t regret any of it, not the gifts, the time, the letters, the way I fought for this. But I’ve learned something now: love that doesn’t flow both ways will eventually dry up, even the kindest kind. I gave you so much because you meant so much to me. But no matter how much someone means to you, you can’t build a friendship alone.

Over time, I realized I was slowly becoming someone who begged for scraps of presence and honesty—when what I was offering was a home. And when I tried to speak up about what hurt, I gave you a chance to prove me wrong, but still it repeats from the start. Your words were kind, but your actions told a different story. And in the end, behavior is the most honest communication we give.

You say I’m a good person. But do you think this is how you treat someone good?

This isn’t about blame. It’s about accountability.

You’ve said many times that you’re “broken,” and I get that pain. But healing doesn’t happen when we use our wounds as shields. I am a broken person too, but I would never do that to you. We all carry our wounds. But healing doesn’t happen when those wounds become walls. I have shown up for you in the most soul-crushing time of my life and yet I’m willing to drop whatever is in front of me so I can be there for you. Because you matter enough to be part of my priority. Friendship isn’t just about being present when everything feels light and happy, but especially when everything is falling apart. It’s saying, “Something hurts too, but I know you are too, let’s do this together anyway.”

The mountains had me understand that being present doesn't mean you disregard the pain inside, but realizing that everyone carries a weight, and that hurt, only holds a part in your heart, but never defines your life. It's just a part of the trail, but never the point of the journey. It's being affixed not just with how you will put your foot after another, but also learning the value of the footsteps walking in front of you and the one that follows behind you. It's learning from where the person in front of you stumbled, so you will intentionally dodge it and the next person behind you won’t get hurt either.

The same with life, sometimes we get hurt from the people we love (we follow), but do we stop where they made a mistake? Of course not. Do we circle back to that spot where they slipped? Of course not! But rather we take full responsibility to find another way so you won’t get hurt again and the person who will love you next (who follows you/walks beside you) will never get hurt either. When we climb mountains, we are connected not just with ourselves but with the people around us. It’s understanding that we are all connected, and whatever we do creates a ripple effect on the people that surround us.

But I guess it's not the same case for you. It’s not how friendship is for you, and I hope you meet your people, ‘cause maybe I am not your person after all and that's okay.

Because again, love is not just about being understood in our pain, it’s also about taking responsibility for the way that pain spills onto others. That is something only you can do. People are not disposable just because your heart is tired. The truth is, I accepted too little for too long because I hoped one day you would choose to show up—not with apologies, but with consistency. And I truly hope, from the bottom of my heart, that you do. Not for me, but for every next person who will care for you deeply.

Because what I needed wasn’t a perfect friend. What I needed was presence, not promises. I didn’t need grand gestures, just effort. I didn’t need a pedestal, just a place in your reality. But I couldn’t keep offering a safe space to someone who only visited it when it was convenient. That’s not friendship. That’s imbalance.

I have questioned myself thousands of times, if I was asking for too much, but I know demands are different from communicating your needs. Demand operates from wanting. I never wanted anything from you other than being here. “Here” in the sense that I wouldn’t have to ask or beg for you to be here. I wish you were here not out of obligation, but because you are sensitive enough to notice, to learn, to listen, that this is how I needed you to show up. The same way I showed up to you in the manner you wanted me to, because I listened to how you wanted to be kept. I loved you the way you wish to feel it, not the way I wanted to receive it. I believe I cared enough last November, to communicate it to you, because I want you to stay in my life. I’m not a leaver, but I cannot stay in a space where I am not loved & valued either. I don’t want a love that I have to drag out of you. Because it negates the whole point of giving it in the first place.

It’s just basic emotional equity, a bare minimum for a healthy friendship, Steffi. And I am not built for martyrdom. That’s not friendship. I ain’t a saint. There is a difference between, mutuality and availability, and I hope you decipher the gap between.

Still, I want you to know: I have no hatred in my heart.

It hurt. Not because I expected you to give back everything I gave. But because it felt like the friendship we had was mine to carry, mine to initiate, mine to hold together. I feel like I’m the only one existing in this delusion that there is a friendship that existed in the first place. And love that only flows one way, no matter how pure, becomes a quiet heartbreak.

But I also won’t pretend that everything is okay just to keep the peace and pretend as if nothing happened.

Real love is uncomfortable. Not in a way that puts you in danger, but the one that challenges the unhealed parts of you to resurface. Isolating yourself where no one is there to move you, where everything always feels safe and comfortable will never heal you. If you keep going back to your “shell” and stay there you will just keep stepping away instead of stepping up. Here I am for the last time telling you, I dare you to try, not for me, but for yourself. Because if you believe that this is all that there is for you, then maybe you will stop right there, darling. But I pray that will never happen. I want you to soar the highest of rainbows as far as I could. I want to see you up there, doing every single thing you say you wanted to be, and trust that you will hear me clapping for you the loudest.

If you think you’re mundane existence does not make any sense, if you think you never matter, that you have nothing else to offer, then why am I writing this?

Why do you think I was brought into your life?

You affect people more than you can imagine. No matter how small or huge your actions, your words, and even your thoughts, they create frequencies, Steffi. We will always have an impact to the people we meet in life. Be it positive or negative, and I pray you will always be the positive one. I hope you live intentionally.

Real love tells the truth.

And here’s the truth: your pattern of retreating, of soft words without matching actions, the contradiction, hurts people who love you. It hurt me. And if no one tells you that, this cycle will keep repeating in your life. Excuses are limitless, but your time is not. I know you don’t mean to hurt anyone. But intention and impact are two different things. And the impact remains here. And when apologies become habits, they stop being healing, they just become delays in accountability. And if the people around you are okay with it, well good for you, but not for me. If you stay with me, I will only keep pushing you to your discomfort, because these things are not my values. And I refuse to have this on my table. I do not deserve to be met with undelivered promises and a sprinkle of hope to keep me around. Hindi ako tanga. I do not deserve to ask whether this person values me too.

I do not tolerate such actions that trample upon my worth. I didn't come this far to be treated like a joke, darling. Someone you can keep on your terms.

Let me give you two cents from this,

I know you know your patterns. You know your problem, but patterns need action to change. Yes, whatever you do people will continuously judge and criticize you and yes you were never born to please them. But pleasing people and treating a person right are different.

Your apologies often sounded like,

“This is just the way I am, take it or leave it.”

That is not how it works. If you just stay with the things that only favor you. If we just keep accepting it for what it is, then where will we go?

Awareness does not equal healing. It’s just the first step. And if you stop right there, you will miss a lot of beautiful things in life. But if this is the life you are okay with, that’s fine too. I will let you be and I wish not to stay, but I will wish you well, Steffi. This is your life, you own up to it, and the inevitability of the consequences of your choices. Again, I am coming from a place of experience. I am not here to judge you, but to help you understand where you stumbled, so you will know better. Wrong choices reveal the right ones. Without faults, how can one grow? Take this as a guide and listen.

You know that I never speak with baseless judgment and irrational self projections. Try to reread every single word you have said to me, right from the start. You’ll understand where I am coming from.

I’ve always known you as a hypersensitive person Steffi. I understand that sometimes things feel a hundred times worse or so much better that it could make you cry. I can see how much you care, especially with how you are being perceived, and treated, but I hope you are as sensitive to yourself as you are to the people around you. Watch out for how people experience you. Because the very people you intersect in life are there to walk beside you not to orbit around you.

I guess it should be our living purpose to think about how much value we can add to every person we meet. You start asking yourself, how can I be a good experience for this person? How can I make the time given to us worthwhile? Everything is temporary, Steffi. People always come, and eventually they will go. And I hope when the time is up, you can look back with so much love knowing that you lived your purpose there, that you added something beautiful to their tables. Not everyone who comes to you is there to get you.

As they say, leave everyone a little better than when you found them, not the other way around. I hope that when you leave a person’s life, they won’t question their sanity, and they will not need to rebuild what once stood so strong in their hearts. I hope you won’t leave them in pieces wondering how they will put them back together again. I hope you won’t leave a person with one percent when they had a hundred when you found each other. Always be an example of what love should be and not the way love isn’t. I hope you move intentionally, darling. This isn’t a responsibility or a burden, but rather a living purpose. I mean if there’s one thing you can do to make the world a little better, why not start it with yourself? We can never change people but we can be an invitation of change. Be the experience you wished to experience. I hope you always become a living proof that goodness and genuine love exist in this world. I am not saying this for you to change so you can please me, but because I care enough to tell you where you can improve and do better. Being a beautiful person is not about having a pretty face, or a socially defined perfect life, it's consciously doing the hard inner work, so you can beautifully experience your life and the lives of the people you will encounter. And I want you to be that beautiful Steffi.

I’ve known you also as a closed-door person Steffi. But sometimes closing yourself off to the world does more harm than protecting. I hope you’ll be wise about whom to close your doors with and to whom you will open them widely.

Because who are you actually protecting?

Are you isolating yourself to protect them from you, or do you pull away to protect yourself emotionally? I think what’s happening here is the latter. From your messages, you distance yourself so you won’t hurt the people around you—but I guess that’s not the root of it. It’s not about protecting me from your damage. It’s about protecting yourself from the discomfort of change. Because being around me might stir things in you. You have to break unhealthy habits so you can keep this bond healthy. And I understand that it is hard. Changing isn’t always easy. It will tear you apart from the roots. It’s unlearning what is deeply embedded in your core so you can be the right person for someone—be it a friend or a lover. I believe it is our sole responsibility to work on ourselves so we can show up better for the people we value. No matter how uncomfortable that is. But with what happened here, you just proved to me where I stand in your life, regardless of what you keep telling me, sad to say this is not how you keep someone you actually value.

It broke my heart that the moment I stopped initiating, you just let the friendship die. You let me slip away from your hands. It never mattered enough for you to make an effort to meet me where I am the same way I ran towards you to meet you where you are. I am not here to judge you, but that moment you revealed to me who you truly are Steffi today, and what I truly meant for you.

Because I never wanted perfection from you—just presence. Not a polished version of yourself, but an honest one. You don’t need to fix everything to be here. You do not have to be perfect to be present. You just need to stop running away from what being here asks you to grow into.

There is a difference between protecting your peace from harmful toxic people and protecting yourself from accountability when it calls you to be. I hope you can differentiate it all the time.

I do not blame you for hurting me. What hurts more is watching you run from yourself in my presence. You don’t have to disappear every time you’re confronted by the truth of who you are. The real growth is staying. It's facing where you went wrong. To sit with that discomfort. Even when you feel inadequate. Even when you fear you’ve disappointed someone. Especially then. Not to punish yourself, but to embrace it when it falls short of being the person you hoped you could be. This is me loving you enough to not let you confuse guilt with growth, and silence or shame with responsibility.

I know you do not want to hurt me. You might probably think I’m way better off without you. That you might mess things up again, so your solution is to keep a distance, feel regretful, sorry, and avoid. But I don't think you are protecting me here. You are protecting yourself from the discomfort of conflict and the responsibility of change. That's why you keep apologizing, instead of taking action. But that discomfort? That is EXACTLY, where growth happens. So thank you for coming today for having the courage to face and sit with me regardless.

True peace comes from facing what’s uncomfortable, not escaping it. It’s not hiding behind ‘protecting my peace’ or this is just an ‘act of self-love’. It’s when your actions match your values. It’s when you take responsibility for your impact, even when it is painful. Peace is not found in retreating or silence. It is built in hard, uncomfortable spaces where accountability lives. Real peace isn’t quiet because it avoids, it is quiet because it faces the truth and makes room for growth. It’s always the hardest things that bring real healing, Steffi. And I know it’s scary and fear is valid. But to let it run on your relationships will stunt you and hurt others. I hope you always do the hard work.

One thing I learned from what happened here is the difference between having genuine intentions and lasting impact. Your impact should always be louder than your intentions. Because it doesn't matter how much you say is GOOD, but how much of that good is experienced. Let me scrutinize your messages for you. Everything is centered on your intentions, not my experience. It told more about you than me. There is no clear recognition of how your behavior made me feel. How your absence affected my self-worth. There was never a sign that you were willing to do things differently to go forward. Words like “I won’t let this happen again” are hope–but never a plan. I cannot keep up with the contradictions of your words and actions. That is exhausting. You keep saying things and doing something else. It's a cycle.

Please try to read it again. I hope one day, this will help you be more emotionally mature, self-secure, accountable, and somehow heal you. This is not an attack or to harm you, and I know it might trigger something in your heart, your ego, whatever you are protecting inside you, but again I encourage you to step up, instead of stepping away. Stop running away from the very things that will make you better. It takes time and effort. But one thing is for sure, you will get there. It will break you first before it builds you, remember?

I am not writing this to prove a point, and I hope you will not take this as if I’m placing myself as emotionally dominant over you, I am just speaking from my experience, not from superiority. I’m giving you this truth in the most gracious way, not judgment. I am not perfect either, tao lang din ako. I hope this becomes a space for growth for both of us. I did not write this to win. I wrote to free myself from the things I do not like to keep feeling, and hopefully to gift you something true. This is me being in integrity with myself.

I hope one day you sit with that or you can be stuck on the same cycle and continue to just feel sorry for it, but never actually step up for a change. I know it’s uncomfortable, and it’s easier to say sorry and it’s truly harder to change, but you will keep bleeding the people you do not mean to cut.

As your friend, in the most gentle way I ask you, is this the person you actually want to become?

Because Steffi you are not incapable. You are not broken beyond repair. I’ve seen the strength in you—the kind that comes through in your voice at 2 AM, or when you smile after being moved by the smallest things. I don’t believe you’re doomed to let people down. I believe you can grow. I believe you can stay, not just appear.

Because growth begins when we stop escaping the mirror. Keep this not as a wound, but as a mirror.

I’m not asking you to change for me, or to prove anything to me. I’m writing this because I want you to remember: someone loved you fully. Someone gave their best to make life brighter and a little bearable for you. And it’s okay if you couldn’t receive it then or if you’re not capable of holding such depths yet—but please, do not forget what it looked like.

Because that is what love does. It’s not always happy. It doesn't just tolerate but it should move you. Growth is messy. But so is love. Again, the goal isn’t to be perfect, it’s to be present and to take full responsibility for who you are becoming.

You once taught me to be kind. Now, I’m teaching myself to be kind to myself, too.

If we ever meet again, may it be with clarity, wholeness, and truth, not just nostalgia. But for now, I release you with grace, with gratitude, and with the hope that one day, you’ll see that love isn't just a feeling. It’s a choice, an effort, a presence.

Please understand, this letter is not bitterness.

It’s a gift. A way of saying: This mattered. You mattered. But so did I. I’m telling you this because I cared enough to tell you what keeps you from growing into the person you say you want to be. I hope this experience wakes you up to the importance of presence, not just with words, but with consistent action.

If this is the last letter I’ll ever write you, I want you to keep it not for guilt, but for remembering. That once, someone saw you fully and chose to give all of themselves anyway, not to possess you, but to witness you on a soul-level, humanly and fully.

And if you ever feel small again, may this letter remind you of how deeply you were once loved. Loved with clarity. With joy. With effort. With everything I had in my human hands. All that you deserve, darling.

I’ll always be grateful you existed in my life, Steffi. But this time, I’ll adjust our roles in each other’s lives, not because I stopped caring, but because I started caring for myself too. I can’t keep fixing something that is barely held with care, because this should heal more than it cuts.

I don’t want to ask to be loved anymore. I wish not to ask to please value me too, Steffi. I guess this letter comes with grief, but also a proof that I can return that love to myself.

So here’s to what could’ve been for both of us. It made me incredibly sad, but it happened already.

This space is not a punishment or a door slammed shut—it’s an act of self-respect and healing. I hope you find your peace, and I hope one day you can show up for the people who need you as much as I did.

I pray that I am a different story for you.

I hope I was a good friend to you.

With so much love,

Cha.

[burning-fcols]

hcppyhotel: 

it was a quiet drive through to the lust ring. after all the rush of emotions died down, it just felt... awkward. there was a lot the assassin wanted to tell the jester, but what could would it do ? they both had moved on and there still a lot that lingered to really try and move forward. but blitz found that talking things through really did mean something. and it felt... great, he would admit. after a pause that went on for so long, the horned imp spoke, ❝ despite it all, you know... at least you got some cool ass appendages, ❞ he says with a slight smile. there's an small laugh that leaves him, ❝  i mean, really, you... you look great, fizz. ya know, when you're not fire.  ❞ / @burning-fcols

「 ☆ 」 Now that he's GENUINELY safe— so long as no other earth-shattering plot twists happen; Fizz has experienced enough of them to last a lifetime —Fizz finally has a moment to breathe and contemplate today's events. Air that had felt cleared only a moment ago is now suffocating, heavy in the jester's lungs. Crushing anything he might want to say. Enveloped in an uncertain fog, answers to questions he hadn't even been asking only make the ones that HAD been plaguing him ring louder.

Blitzo— Blitz hadn't intended to hurt him. What should be nothing but a relief sits strangely in Fizzarolli's stomach as he stares out the car window. Not truly seeing the changing scenery, mind races with far clearer images. Blitz's face, contorted in what he could SWEAR was jealousy. Disgust. Twisted into hatred by the passing years; but even without that exaggeration, Fizz knows there had been something. Festering through their youth, tainting their relationship until it finally came to fruition on his birthday. Blitz might not have wanted him dead, but it still FELT like it.

And Fizz hadn't pulled that feeling out of thin air.

But how does one ask about past pains when wounds are finally given the chance to scab over? After over a decade of bleeding— however much Fizz hid it —he's desperate to heal. Rushed as it feels, now that adrenaline has made room for exhaustion... Incomplete, it may be. Brows knit, nose scrunching as Fizz reluctantly admits to himself that as long as he doesn't KNOW, he can't fully move on.

❝ Huh? ❞ Jolted from his stupid self-reflection— why can't he just disillusion himself into believing he's better? —head snaps in Blitz's direction, wide eyes flitting down to his robotic limbs. An awkward but grateful smile hints his features, conversation ironically distracting him from the one he can't bring himself to have, ❝ O-Oh, heh— Yeah. They are pretty great~ Soooooo much more useful than the boring-old ones I used to have. ❞ Meeting Blitz's joking approach, Fizz lightly runs his fingers over his sparking limb. Touch more genuine than his tone, he notes the slight pressure, Ozzie doing his best to ensure Fizz could experience even the smallest of change.

His robotic limbs can't feel in the same way his old ones did... Hot, cold, pleasure, pain— Those mean nothing in the traditional sense. PRESSURE, touch in its rawest form, has become so important to the jester. Helping him interact with the world, grabbing and navigating with even more ease than before. Offering intimacy that's new but no-less sincere, with each touch of his partner. Each time Ozzie presses his lips to a limb and Fizz FEELS it with a clarity unmatched. He might have no skin there to warm, no sensations other than Ozzie's presence... but it's enough.

Something he reminds himself of every day.

❝ But let's not forget about you, Mr. Fancy-Ass Suit. ❞ Fizz quips, openly studying the others attired with a playful raise of his brow, ❝ You're looking pretty SNAZZY. Did any hot plans get interrupted, or is this just how you dress now? Because not gonna lie, it's a bit much... ❞ Snickering at his jest, Fizz knows damn-well he's the last person to have any say in what's considered ❛ too much ❜. 「 ☆ 」

[hephaestuscrew]

I just read this poem by Rick Barot and I want to make Wooden Overcoats fans read these lines:

I know the difference doesn’t matter, except in poetry, where a coffin is just another coffin until someone at a funeral calls it a wooden overcoat, an image so heavy and warm at the same time that you forget it’s about death.

[neobubz]

Tension Release (M) Chapter 2 - Mixed Feelings

i'm so sorry for the extremely late update. i can't tell you how many times i have written and scrapped this chapter. enjoy!

Prologue || Chapter 1

Word Count: approx. 8.7k

Pairings: fem reader x husband x jeno

Warning(s): mature audiences only, 18+, explicit language, slow-paced, storytelling, cheating, infidelity, some sexual situations

Preview: “Feel good, baby?” He kisses up your jaw driving his pelvis into yours — bulge pressing firmly against your soaking pajama shorts. “So good,” you purr. “But I need you inside me!” Growling against your throat he bites down leaving behind a mark. Claiming you as his now, Jeno raises himself up to place soft kisses onto your cheeks. “You sure about that? Once we do it there’s no going back,” he reaches a hand down between your bodies to rub over your waiting core. "I know, please," you beg. "I need to feel you inside me now!"

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮ ＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

“Because I can’t take money from a man of God when I just imagined fucking the shit out of his wife!”

Staring blankly at Jeno you process the words that just flew out of his mouth — but nothing came from it. Your mind is nothing but a black abyss. It was as if the little workers in your brain posted a sign that said ‘out to lunch,’ and have left you there to figure things out without their assistance. 

He was imagining fucking you? When the hell was this?! When he was rubbing your back? When he turned you over and crawled on top of you? When?!!!

“Y-You…want to do what?” You gulp loudly after asking. You knew what he said. It was as clear as day, but still, you needed to be sure. 

“Just forget it.” Jeno turns to leave but you grab hold of his wrist.

Speaking slowly you ask him again. “Jeno...what…did you…just say?”

He doesn’t look back. “You heard me.”

“I need to hear it ag—”

Without a moment’s notice he spins around grabbing your face in his hands. Dipping down he smashes his lips against yours. Once again your mind goes blank and darkness creeps its way to obstruct your vision.  This can’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. Jeno can’t be kissing you right now. It’s all in your head. A mere image you’ve concocted to deal with the stress you’ve been having with Matthew. Yes. That’s what it is. 

But the moment the bed dips down and Jeno moves closer to you — the darkness dissipates and you realize that this is not an image you’ve made up. This is happening. His hands shake against your cheeks. His lips tightly move across yours as if he’s battling with himself on the inside. A battle of whether what he’s doing is right or wrong – honestly you’re going through the same battle, because despite the fact that Jeno is still a stranger to you, his lips feel far too good on yours.

Moving from your lips down to your chin, and to your jaw, he showers you in affection. A message that lies deep inside of him that he’s trying to relay to you little by little. Your breathing becomes heavy the moment his teeth graze a sensitive spot on your neck. Hearing your escalated breathes he moves over the same spot, this time nipping gently at the skin. Not enough to leave a mark, thank heavens, but rough enough to cause a whimper to pass your lips.  

Jeno’s grip tightens. Pulling away just far enough to gaze upon you, his chest rises and falls quickly, his breathing mirroring your own. Eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips your mind starts spiraling into a dangerous place, lust. Your body starts to grow warm. From your toes you feel heat coursing through you – heading straight to your face, clouding your mind in fog. Jeno’s hands start to fall from your face when suddenly you grab him by his neck, yanking him down and this time crashing your lips onto his. 

Your lips slide across each other’s seamlessly. The kiss start soft and sweet but quickly picking up the pace as pure primal desire jets through your veins. You need to feel more of him. You need to know what’ll happen if the kiss continues. How it’ll feel to have him on top of you, pressing his body on yours. His hands roaming over you’re his scorching touch removing the months of neglect you’ve felt.

You need to know what he sounds like when he’s come over with passion. You need to know what he’ll feel like buried so deep in your soaking wet heat. And you need to know what his face looks like when he comes inside of you.

After marrying Matthew you couldn’t picture yourself wanting, lusting, desiring, let alone kissing anyone else. He was the only man who made your heart beat fast. He was the only man that you wanted to wrap your arms and snuggle into their embrace. Yet, the feeling of Jeno’s lips on yours has you questioning everything you thought was true. The way he looks at you is soft and sweet, but deep in his gaze there is an inner fire – a fire that you have no problem being burned by.

Gasping for air, Jeno uses the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. Moaning into the opened mouthed kiss you do your best to keep up with his rougher pace as your tongues battle for dominance. A deep grunt rumbles in his throat when you lightly nip the muscle darting in and out of your mouth. Pulling away from you he cups the sides of your face in his palms.

“Did just bite me?” He peers down incredulously. 

Leaning forward you give his lips a little kitten lick. “I think I did.”

“You’re not making this easy for me.” He pulls you to him, lips connecting to yours for a brief second.

“And like you’re making it easy for me?” You quip but find yourself wrapping your arms around as much of him as you can. 

Jeno’s lips find purchase on your neck his lips seeming to slide down gently against your pulse. Closing your eyes you relish in the feeling of his lips traveling down your neck and to your collar bone. As he gingerly kisses along your décolletage he ends up flying back, stumbling to the ground.

“Shit! Are you okay?” You whisper.

It wasn’t your intention to push him away that hard. In fact, it wasn’t your intention to push him away period.

Hearing Matthew’s voice, Jeno realizes why you sent him flying back and quickly scrambles to his feet, rushing over to take his place where he stood a few minutes ago.

“Okay,” Matthew walks around the corner. “I made you a sandwich in case you were hungry,” he walks right past Jeno as if he wasn’t standing there with his face red as a tomato. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed in front of you he hands you the sandwich. “And here is your water and Tylenol. Hopefully this’ll help.”

“Th-Thank you,” you say, still dazed from the passionate lip lock. Popping the Tylenol into your mouth you chug down some water, the chilliness of it already helping you to cool off. 

“Is there anything I can do to keep her comfortable tonight?” Matthew turns to Jeno. 

Across the room with his fingers pressed gently against his lips, Jeno stares towards you with widened eyes. Trying your best not to call attention to yourself you give him a look of ‘snap out of it,’ hoping that he’ll get the message. Matthew, the trusting man he is, still doesn’t trust anyone around you but your immediate family. With the way Jeno’s acting he’ll surely know something happened while he was gone. Finally, after what felt like a millennia Jeno shakes his head as if coming out of the Twilight Zone. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Are you okay?” Matthew stands. His brows knitted together. “You look a little red in the face.” 

“I’m sorry sir, what did you say?” He asks your husband.

Glancing at your husband you see the same look he gives every man that has ever been in your presence, a look of distrust. His lips pressing together, his brows start to knit together – his body shifting to block more of you from Jeno’s gaze. “Is everything alright? You seem out of sorts.”

“I-It must be the heat,” you place a gentle hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Jeno did have to drag me back here. He must be exhausted. Right, Jeno?”

“U-Uh…what?” Jeno asks.

Face palming yourself internally, Matthew keeps a watchful eye on him. “They did say this is our hottest week so far.” Matthew goes along with your lie. “Do you need to sit down? A glass of water to cool you off?” He asks.

“N-No. I’m sorry. I seemed to have zoned out for a second. My apologies.”

FINALLY! You scream inside. If Jeno didn’t start acting normal Matthew would for sure have realized something happened between the two of you. Seeming satisfied, Matthew’s body starts to relax under your touch.

“That’s quite alright. I can’t imagine how crazy this day has been for you. I asked if there is anything I can do to keep my wife comfortable?”

Biting down on your tongue you hold back a scoff that is dying to be heard. The way he deliberately emphasized ‘wife’ making your blood boil. The wife he hasn’t tried to persuade to come back to the master bedroom to lie next to him. The wife that he has been pushing away for over a week, no matter how hard she tries to be close to him. The wife he purposefully ignored because she tried to show him how much she wanted him. Yeah, you’re his wife alright.

“Oh, yes, ummm, I would suggest not sleeping in the same bed for the time being.” His response gains your attention. “She may or may not get a lot of rest. There’s no point in two people being exhausted.” 

Matthew turns back to you looking at you with actual worry. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take care of you,” he holds your hands in his. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

A gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach makes you want to hurl at his words. None of this would have happened if he wasn’t being such a pain in the ass. All you ever wanted was to please him and be pleased by him. That was it. Now, he wants to act like the doting husband?

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at around 10?” You hear Matthew talking. “I have to head to the church early to set everything up. I hope that won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you.”

“No. It’s perfectly fine. When will you return?”

“Well I can skip the picnic —”

“NO!” You shout scaring both of them. “You can’t! Mother will be upset.”

“I think she would be livid if she knew I left you here alone to go to the picnic. I’m coming home early. The picnic isn’t important.”

“First and foremost… I’m not alone. Jeno will be here to help me if I need it. So, there’s nothing to worry about. Second, the picnic is a tradition. Everyone in town will be there. It’s also the only time when you talk to the other men in town outside of the church. Plus,” you pull his hand urging him to come close to you. “I want you to bring me back something extra special,” you purr seductively. 

“Special?” He gulps, his pupils dilating when your hand goes to rest around his neck.

Noticing his reaction, you pull him in closer to you. Lips brushing against his you give his lips a little lick before kissing the corner of his mouth.  “Yes, my love.”

“A-And what is that?” He whispers falling under your spell. 

Smiling against his lips you give him the tiniest peck — if it can even be called a peck. “Some of my mom’s apple pie!” You give his back a slap. “Oh and if we’re going by what we’ve already eaten — there should be some fried chicken tomorrow! And pick some stuff up for Jeno. We can’t have the person who can help me get back into fighting shape starved!”

Staring at you shocked, Matthew’s eyes flicker across your face. Desperately trying to figure out what just happened. How one second it seemed like it was just the two of you and the next — he looks back at Jeno, his blood boiling. “Yes sweetheart, whatever you wish.” He urges himself not to roll his eyes upon your request. 

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” Jeno chimes in.

“You need to try my mom’s apple pie! It’s to die for! Right, Matthew?”

Paying Jeno no mind, Matthew strokes your hair giving you his fully attention. “It is quite good. I’ll bring you both some food. So, with the picnic that means I’ll be gone for an extra two hours. I don’t like leaving you here in the state that you’re in.”

You shrug innocently. “Where am I going to go?” 

Leaning down he presses a kiss near your ear and whispers. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

And here he goes again… the overprotective husband act. Well, actually, in this case he should be worried. He should feel like the floor is about to break from under him because that’s how it feels for you. The moments before Matthew showed up had you questioning everything in your marriage and yourself. And the kiss you just shared with Jeno is giving you the biggest urge to delve into a world of adultery. To wrap your arms, legs, and soul around a man that is not your husband. To give him anything he wanted and then some.

Matthew needs to be worried.

“Well, I think we should let you get some rest for now.” He strokes the back of your head placing a gentle kiss on your nose. “I’ll walk you out Jeno.”

“O-Okay,” Jeno clears his throat his eyes landing on you. “Rest well.”

“Tell Roz I’ll call her later.”

“Mmm…” 

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮ ＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

Jogging down the steps Jeno quickly disappears in front of a giant overgrown tree in your front yard. His hands run through his hair, gripping the ends. His heart and mind both racing from the events that just occurred inside your home. 

“Fuck!” He growls. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“How about one more for good measure,” Roz chuckles. She leans her body up against your neighbors white picket fence. “Oh, and a little louder if you will. Let’s give this town something to talk about.” She wiggles her brows.

Jumping at the sound of her voice Jeno stares wide eyed. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on my bestie! So, how is she?”

“She really did a number on her back. She’ll be stuck in bed for a couple of days.”

Smirking, Roz leans into Jeno. “Gave her a little massage, huh?”

He pushes past her, “yes. And before you say anything else she couldn’t even make it upstairs on her own. She needed it.”

“You just get here and already have your hands all over her. You dog!!” She teases.

“What are you talking about? She needed a massage to loosen up her back. It was to benefit her…not me…”

Humming she nods. “So is that why you’re sporting a boner?” She points down.

Frantic Jeno glances down to see the impression his cock makes in his jeans. Completely forgetting about it when Matthew had entered the room — the rush of adrenaline still prevalent covering and trying to ascertain the situation going over his head.

“Shit…” he growls.

“I thought men knew when this stuff happens.”

“We do! I just…fuck…”

“What happened while you were in there?”

“Nothing happened!” Jeno tugs down his shirt. “Look, I swear nothing happened. I was giving her a back massage and then we heard Matthew rush upstairs. I freaked and…” he runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Okay, I didn’t intend for this to happen and she did it too!”

“Jeno…” Roz starts to grow worried. “What did you do to her?!”

“We made out, okay?!” He groans. “I couldn’t help it! One second she’s just venting about how much of a cockblock her own husband is and the next moment all I can think about is being buried balls deep inside her…” He lets out a pathetic laugh. “What the hell is going on with me? I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” 

Blinking at him as if he’s grown a second head, she just shrugs letting out a huge sigh. “You’re into her. She’s gorgeous so it’s understandable. However, please, for goodness sake next time keep the whole I want to plow your bestie a secret, okay? That’s information I didn’t need to know.”

“Understandable?!” He shouts. “How is this understandable? She’s a married woman! To a fucking pastor of all people! A man of God! This is terrible!”

“Why is it terrible? You can’t help who you fall for. Whether that person is single or taken it doesn’t matter. You like who you like. What you do with this information is up to you. I’m not going to judge the two of you and say you’re going to hell for x, y, z reason. 

“Both of you are wonderful people and I know that. I also know that my friend has been sad for a long time. The light that brightened my darkest days is barely a flicker at this point. I’m not saying have an affair with her but if you being here makes her the tiniest bit happy for however long until her dumbass husband wakes the fuck up, so be it.”

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Jeno walks away from her.  “How can you say that?”

Shaking his head in disbelief Jeno walks away from her. “How can you say that? Have an affair, fuck a pastor’s wife. That’s unthinkable!”

“Why is it unthinkinable? She’s a person just like the rest of us. Plus, you’re not exactly super religious dear cousin – why do you care about this kind of stuff?”

“I’m thinking about her!” He shouts. “What if it does happen? I’m not saying I would ever, but what if at some point it does? What will she think of me? Of herself? I don’t want her to think she’s going to hell because we fucked.”

“One, you think of her far too highly,” Roz snorts. “If you only knew the shit she’s done you’d think otherwise. Two, you’ve already made out and if I know my friend, which I do, she was already thinking about kissing you long before you kissed her. Especially with the droughts she’s been in. I’m sure the thought of you being inside her has already popped into that pretty little head of hers.”

“For her best friend you’re really talking about her like she’s a whore.”

“No I’m not. I’m talking about her as if I know her and I do. Look Jeno, she’s a woman and she has needs. That’s all I’m saying. As stated before I’m not telling you or suggesting or even trying to put the idea of an affair in your head – simply putting that if the two of you did do something I wouldn’t judge. Plus, Matthew’s a pain in the ass…never card for him,” she rolls her eyes.

“Why don’t you like him?”

“He’s always had a major stick up his ass. Ever since we were kids he walked around with this air of superiority around him. It got on my nerves.”

“I heard he’s not that big of a fan of yours.”

“Yeah, well he can suck my nonexistent dick. Now, are we going to get to the root of the problem or not?”

“Root of the problem?”

“When our girl was talking to you about her issues with her husband, how did it make you feel?”

“Bad, I guess.” He shrugs.

“Why?”

Jeno rolls his eyes and starts walking away. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do!” Roz jogs ahead of him and holds out her arms. “Stop avoiding what is right in front of you.”

“What my nosey ass cousin?”

“No! Your feelings for her! You like her. You’re infatuated, allured, bewitched by her beauty, just admit it!”

“Bewitched by her beauty?” He cracks up. “Really?”

“Or you just want to get your dick wet,” she smirks. “Either way you’ve chosen her. There are plenty of women in this town that I know have flirted with you. Gayle at the salon told me all about it. How Kimmy, Julia, and Beth have approached you while you were working and you paid them no mind at all.”

“Are you serious? Me trying not to saw my fingers off is proof that I’m into your friend?”

“No. The fact that all three women are downright beautiful is enough proof. All the men in this town would give their left nut to have them talk to them. Yet here you are pining over a woman that you know you can’t have. “Face the facts, you like her!”

“And what if I do?

“That my dear cousin,” Roz wraps her arm around Jeno’s shoulder pulling him down to her height. “Is something you’re going to have to figure out on your own. In the meantime, how about I treat you to some lunch?”

“You’ve been treating me to every meal,” Jeno chuckles then gives her a small smile. “Thanks, Roz.”

“Mmhmm.”

✞ＴＥＮＳＩＯＮ ＲＥＬＥＡＳＥ✞

Warm hands caress your breasts. Giving your nipples a little pinch they move down to your stomach. Inhaling sharply, your body becomes covered in goosebumps. Squirming underneath their touch, your hips rise when their fingers tease at your panty line. 

Chuckling they nip your bottom lip. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum enjoying the feeling of their hands on you.

“Are you sure about this?” They ask for the millionth time. 

“Yes, please!”

Planting their lips firmly on yours you get lost in the feeling. Wrapping your arms around their neck you pull them lower to you. Wanting to feel every inch of their body pressed against you; burying you into the mattress. 

“I want you so bad,” they confess. “Ever since I saw you I’ve wanted you.”

“Fuck!” You cry out when they thrust their hips into yours. “I’ve wanted you too, so bad!”

Pressed against each other you enjoy the friction created by the smooth rhythmic motions of their hips. 

“Mmmm,” you wrap your legs around them. “Harder…harder!”

Smirking he grinds his hips into yours with more force than you ever thought he would. Feeling like he’s already deep inside you messing up your organs your neck cranes back — enjoying every second. 

“Feel good, baby?” He kisses up your jaw driving his pelvis into yours — bulge pressing firmly against your soaking pajama shorts.

“So good,” you purr. “But I need you inside me!”

Growling against your throat he bites down leaving behind a mark, claiming you as his. Lifting himself up, he peers down at your new mark.

“Are you sure? Once we do this there’s no going back,” he reaches a hand down between your bodies to rub over your soaking core.

"I know, please," you beg. "I need to feel you inside me!" 

Smirking he crashes his lips to yours, “as you wish.”

Gasping you moan out feeling soft kisses trailing from your lips to your cheek. 

“Baby,” a voice calls to you. “Come on, open your eyes.”

Their lips land on yours stirring you awake. “Don’t want to,” you whine.

“It’s time to wake up. I’ll be leaving in a bit.”

Wake up…? Leaving…?

“Come on, Jeno will be here shortly.”

“Jeno…” you whisper.

Eyes springing open you see Matthew staring down at you lovingly. Hand cupping your cheek, already showered and dressed in a nice suit — just like every Sunday. Kissing the top of your head he strokes your hair gently.

“There’s my princess,” he chuckles. “You must have had some dream. You were tossing and turning like crazy.”

“Dream?” You ask as he pours you a glass of water.

“Yeah, at first I thought it was a nightmare.” He hands you the glass to which you take eagerly. “But as soon as I kissed you, you settled down.”

“I-It was a nightmare,” you lie. 

“I hope nothing too bad.” Shaking your head no you pull back the covers. “B-Baby!” Matthew rushes to your side as you crawl out of bed groaning in pain. “What are you doing? Be careful!”

“I need to pee,” you hiss from all his fussing.

“You should have told me.” Wrapping a secure arm around your waist, he pulls you close to him so you can lean against him for support. “I mean really…would it be so hard for you to ask for help?” He nags.

“I did ask for help but you turned me down time and time again.”

It was wrong to take your frustrations out on Matthew after just waking up. It wasn’t his fault that in your dream world you had found yourself in the arms of another man, only wake up to his face looking back at you. The disappointment washing over you had you wanting to get away from him even for just a moment to relive the dream. To remember what that persons hands felt on you. How their lips molded with yours perfectly and how their thrusts felt while they buried themselves deep inside of you. Even if it was just for five minutes you wanted peace to see that persons face again.

When Matthew started to fuss over you, wrapping his arms around you, the persons touch started to slip away – their voice fading off into the farthest recesses of your mind. So, you became a crabby mess.

“How many times do you want me to apologize for that before you let it go?” He snaps.

“As many times as you avoid talking to me about what is truly going on.”

“What if I don’t know what’s truly going on? How can I talk to you if I can’t even figure it out myself?”

“Then seek help to find out. Talk to a therapist or to a doctor. Hoping and praying that the problem will somehow vanish isn’t the way to solve it. If you don’t wish to talk to me about it, find someone who will listen.”

“I have someone who listens to me.”

“I’m not talking about some omnipotent presence in the sky. I’m talking about someone who will answer you back when you speak.”

Groaning he opens the bathroom door for you, walking you up to the sink where you can handle things from here. “I’ll be outside. Call me when you’re finished.” He turns to leave.

“Matthew,” you whisper.

Not turning to face you his shoulders that are tense around his ears drop at the sound of your voice. “Yes?”

“I’m just frustrated okay? Sexually, emotionally, and now with my back…I’m just upset. I know I shouldn’t be. I know I should let whatever is going on run its course but I feel like I’m going crazy right now. I want to feel your hands on me again. I want to feel you inside of me again but because of whatever is going on with you isn’t being dealt with properly…neither are my needs.

“I’m being selfish I know. You’re going through something right now but I need to be honest with you. I’m two seconds from going to the next town and finding instruments to use on myself to find some form of release. If there is anything I can do, please, I beg of you…tell me.”

Turning his head to the side, giving you just a peek at his face you can tell that what you just said rubbed him the wrong way. The mere thought of you needing to use toys of pleasure to find a release is ridiculous! Your pleasure should come from him, not from something that needs to be charged before the next use!

“I will not allow such things in my home.”

And with that he slams the bathroom door shut leaving you alone…the true issue not being dealt with…again.

“Matthew!!” You shout as you finish washing your hands. “Matthew?” You call again. “Seriously?” Growling lowly you reach for the handle, feeling your back tense on the spot. “Ignoring me just because I said I wanted to –”

Opening the door you’re shocked to see not Matthew, but Jeno walking to the bathroom door. His eyes wide like he’s seen a ghost, you know that you’re mirroring his expression. Looking around you see no sign of your husband at all.

“He’s already gone,” Jeno whispers.

Jaw clenching tightly you nod. “I see.”

Coming to your side Jeno wraps his arm around your waist. “How’s your back this morning?”

“It’s really stiff. It feels worse than yesterday.” You answer quickly not in the best of moods to talk.

How could Matthew leave you without saying that he loved you? How could he leave without telling you that he was actually leaving and Jeno was here? Was what you said so offensive to deserve this? You were being open and honest how you should be in a relationship. Expressing what is making you unhappy and hoping that there is a solution somewhere! No. Not with Matthew. It’s his way or no way.

Taking you back into the spare bedroom, Jeno helps you clamber back into bed. Sighing the moment your back hits the soft pillows the slight aggravation you felt from being ditched by your husband slowly leaving you.

“He didn’t tell you he left and I was here, did he?” Jeno raises a brow looking at you.

“No he didn’t. Which is why I was calling for him to help me instead of you.”

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” He asks taking a seat at the bottom of your bed.

“No. I expressed a feeling and he didn’t like it.”

“I see…”

Staring down at the man sitting at the edge of your bed, his butt barely making contact with the edge itself you curse yourself. What’s going on between Matthew and yourself has nothing to do with Jeno. Taking any bit of anger that you have for Matthew out on him isn’t right. He’s done nothing to you to warrant such short cold responses. Hell, he’s being kind enough to take care of you while your husband is away.

Closing your eyes you inhale deeply before slowly exhaling. “So, why didn’t you go after the girl?” You ask him bringing up his confession yesterday.

Not looking up he shows the tiniest smirk before his eyes drop to his hands in his lap. “Her heart wasn’t open to me at all. Kind of shocking since she was in a shitty marriage.”

“Shitty marriage, huh? What happened with her?”

“Husband wasn’t doing what he was supposed to be doing. Pissed me off to see someone as beautiful as her being used more as a trophy wife for him to flaunt around then treating her like she deserved to be treated.”

“And how did she deserve to be treated?”

“Like the queen she truly is. He should have fucked her good and proper.”

Laughing internally you knew exactly who he was talking about yesterday. After a long conversation with Roz before you went to sleep last night, you found out that Jeno never had a long standing relationship. Short flings here and there – according to her aunt, that is, but no one that lasted – his main focus being on his athletics.

Then there was the mere fact of the kiss yesterday. A kiss that transcended into your dreams to create a whole scene of debauchery. The woman Jeno describing, the woman Jeno wanting, is you. 

“So you decided to leave her?”

Leaning back on his hands he finally looks your way. A soft gaze on his face as he scans over you. “I couldn’t leave her even if I wanted to. But, I’m not exactly the person she should be looking for anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“I spoke to her as if I knew her. All I heard about her was hearsay. I never truly got to know her and when I finally met her I realized I knew absolutely nothing about her. And yet,” he smiles coyly. “I found myself becoming more attracted to her as the moments with her passed. I wanted to know more about her. Then when she called me cute, well I knew I was fucked. So, I ran away before I messed things up. Not exactly the kind of guy she needs right now. She’s already dealing with one who avoids problems.”

Gulping, you slide down in bed unsure of how you’re feeling. A confession towards you in the third person is not what you were expecting when you opened this can of worms. Wanting to find some levity and let him know you weren’t mad at him, but merely mad about Matthew leaving – you’re finding it increasingly hard not to rush over and press your lips to his. Whether the action is right or wrong doesn’t matter to you right now.

“A-And now?”

“Honestly?” He asks you to which you nod. “I’m finding it hard to not kiss her. You see,” he laughs. “I somehow ended up getting wrapped into working for her and her husband. So now there’s a conflict of interest. Well, there was already one, but now…I might as well call myself a fool for even thinking about kissing her.” 

“Wow…that sucks…”

Your eyes roam over his form. His hair styled like it was the first day you met. Gelled and brushed back to reveal how good looking he is, but still some tendrils of hair falling over his forehead. The shaved sides making him look dangerous and inviting. Though he doesn’t sport the loose skull sleeveless shirt his white t-shirt clings to him perfectly. His arms bulging as he continues to put his weight on them. Veins on full display you follow them as they travel up his arm. Everything about him is so tempting. From the way he smelled as he helped you get into bed – a fresh out of the shower scent, with just a hint of cologne. To the curl of his lips when he’s trying to hold back a smile. Everything is pulling you in and this is bad.

“Just so we’re clear,” he starts again. “I would never do anything that you weren’t comfortable with. What happened yesterday,” he sighs. “I need to apologize. I shouldn’t have done that without your consent.”

“Jeno,” you hold out your hand. Seeing your open gesture he moves from the bottom of the bed to next to you, taking your hand in his. “I’m happy that you’re able to be open with me about how you feel. You seriously have no idea how refreshing that is.”

“I just don’t want to say anything to ruin our friendship…”

Debating your next move over in your head you decide that a little fun is needed. Smirking, you pull your hand from his alarming him. “Friendship?” You ask him. “What friendship?”

“E-Eh?” His eyes scan your face quickly. “I-I thought we were friends…” he whispers.

Taking a second to think your brow raises, “a friend is someone you know very well, are they not? We’ve just met. I’d hardly call us friends. More like acquaintances.” With a cheeky gaze you lean into him. “I know nothing about you.”

“What do you want to know?” He asks.

Licking your lips you pull him close to you so you don’t further injure yourself. Pressing your lips against his ear you ask him something that you’re sure as hell he wouldn’t expect.

“How long did it take for you to notice the tent in your pants yesterday?”

“J-Jeno!” You shout as he gets up heading out the door. “Jeno!! Come on!!!” You whine. “It was a joke!”

Just like Matthew he doesn’t spare you a second glance as he disappears. Crossing your arms you settle further into the bed pouting. It was just a joke, well…not really, but still. Waiting for him to quickly turn around the corner to give you a look that says ‘try that again and see what happens!’ you’re left baffled when sounds come from underneath you, in the kitchen.

And that’s when it hits you like a ton of bricks. A loud growl erupts in your stomach. The jackass never left you anything to eat! Salivating you wiggle with glee at the prospect of what Jeno will bring up for you!

Ten minutes pass when you hear him climbing up the stairs. A small clanking ringing out into the hall as he turns the corner. In his hands a tray of food fit for a queen with a glass of orange juice appears before you. Licking your lips you watch him like a hawk as he takes a seat next to you. Eggs, bacon, and toast oh my! Already drooling your mouth opens as he picks up a piece of toast, but instantly closes when he chomps down.

‘EHHHHHHHHH?????!!!!!!!!’

“Something wrong?” He asks taking another bite of the toast.

Turning away from him a deep pout on your face you scoff. “Nope, nothing.”

“Then why do you look upset?”

“Who’s upset?”

“You are obviously. Oh, wait…” he starts laughing gaining your attention. “Did you think this was for you?”

Turning away from him again, heat floods your cheeks. “N-NO!!!!”

Of course you thought the food was for you. It’s your house, your kitchen, your food! Surely he had eaten before he came over…

Feeling something poking at the corner of your mouth you turn slightly to see a spoonful of eggs pressing against your lips. Giving Jeno a quick once over he smiles and nods. Cautiously, you take a bite and he scoops up some more holding up the spoon to your lips again.

“I was just kidding,” he snickers. “Matthew told me he didn’t have time to make you breakfast and you’d probably be hungry.”

Taking another bite you hum happily. “Thank heavens. I was worried that I screwed things up between us.”

“There’s an us now? Geez when did that happen?” Shoving him he laughs and holds up another spoonful of eggs to you. “Say ahhh!”

“I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“I was paid to take care of you.”

“I can feed myself.” You repeat.

“Just do it,” he gives you a cute pout.

“I hate you.” You mumble taking another bite.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s why you kissed me yesterday because you hate me so much,” he takes a spoonful of eggs and this time takes a bite for himself. “Want some toast?”

“Yes, please!” Without protesting this time you allow Jeno to feed you. “So, what’s on the schedule today, doc?”

“Not a doctor.”

“You’re here to heal me aren’t you?”

“Heal you? All I did yesterday was give you a back massage and then got roped into this gig.”

“Still, you’re the professional. What do you advice I do?”

“First, I’d like to know why the hell you were working yourself to the bone. Ever since Tuesday you’ve been keeping yourself extremely busy. Even working when everyone else was eating and only when people started to go back to work did you take a break.”

“I was wondering why I felt like someone was watching me! Stalker!!!”

“I was worried,” he confesses. “I thought…I wanted to talk…but…”

“I was pissed at you so you staying away was a good thing.”

“You were mad?! Wh-What did I do?”

“I don’t know maybe it was when you just ran off!” You snatch the piece of toast he was about to eat and shoved it into your mouth. 

“Well you’re the one who made me run off! What the hell was up with calling me cute?! I’m not cute!”

“Yeb uw arb!” You say still chewing your food.

“Was I supposed to understand that?” He chuckles. “I’ve never been called cute. Well, not since I was a kid. It was weird.”

Swallowing you grab the orange juice taking a swig. “But you are cute.”

“I don’t see it. I’ve been trying to show off a manlier side since I started getting into sports.”

“And athletes can’t be cute? Look, you can simultaneously be manly and cute at the same time and at individual times. When you smile you’re cute. You remind me of a puppy with its tail wagging and ears perked up. It just makes a person want to reach out and pat you on the head.” You give his hair a good ruffle. “When you’re focused on a task that is when you give off a manlier appeal.”

“And when you were kissing me?” Quickly you shove a spoonful of eggs into your mouth and take a huge bite from the other piece of toast lying next to your plate of eggs. “Really?!” He laughs.

Stretching out onto the bed you wince when a particular wiggle sends a sharp pain down your spine. Fixing the blankets that you scrunched up, Jeno climbs on top of you. Having lifted up your shirt a soft gasp comes from you when his chilly fingers start to rub over your lower back.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

“Trust me you’ll know if you’re hurting me.”

“And how will I know?” He teases.

“I’ll scream murderer at the top of my lungs,” you relax into his soothing touch.

“You really are tense. Were you tossing in your sleep?”

“Apparently I was. Granted I don’t usually sleep on my back. I’m more of a side sleeper so it took a while to get comfortable.”

“Make sure to tell Matthew how to position your pillows so you’re as comfortable as possible. If you keep sleeping like you did last night you’re going to be stuck in this bed for a little longer.”

“Ugh, please don’t mention him right now. I still can’t believe he left without tell me goodbye or that he loved me.”

“What happened before I showed up?”

“I know what I said was a little mean but I was trying to be honest with him. I just don’t understand why he can’t perform, you know? He says he thinks he’s stressed but I don’t understand the difference between now and before. Yes, this project we’re all working on has been more laborious than usual but we’ve dealt with this stuff in the past. So, I basically said I was two seconds from getting a vibrator to at least use for the in between moments.”

Jeno’s hands pause on your back making you glance over your shoulder. Clenching his lips tightly together you see him trying to hold back his laughter. “I mean…” he snickers. “I’d be pissed too but it’s kind of funny since it’s not me in the situation.”

“I guess it’s the equivalent to a guy wanting a flesh light instead of using your pussy…” you mumble planting your face into the covers.

“What brought this conversation on? You’re literally in so much pain right now. As your doctor I don’t recommend any sexual activity. Well, at least not without a professional on standby.”

“You’re not a doctor!”

Pressing down on your lower back harder you cry out in pain but it quickly switches to relief. “Don’t disrespect the person working the kinks in your back out. I could do some serious damage if I wanted to.”

“It was a dream I had.”

You feel him leaning forward, his presence hovering over you like a predator about to land the final blow to its prey. “A wet dream, huh?”

“It was more like a fevered dream.” You correct him.

“Fevered dream?” Jeno asks sliding his palms up your back. “Do I even want to ask?”

“Well I’m not exactly getting it while I’m awake so I guess my brain was like ‘let’s torture this bitch some more.’ Then I wake up to the person who’s responsible for me not getting anything being super sweet and caring, like his jackass self didn’t ignore me for like four days because I wanted to blow him!” You growl lowly.

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” Jeno stops massaging your back the moment your back starts to feel better. “What the hell is going on between the two of you?”

“Ask him!”

Suddenly an idea pops into your head. Turning back you glance over your shoulder a mischievous smirk coming to your face.

“Whatever you’re thinking stop!” Jeno warns. “No good ever comes from a face like that.”

“You’re both guys. Bros, homies…dudes… you can ask him what his deal is and maybe he’ll talk to you. Maybe it’s man problem.”

With the most unamused face Jeno rolls off of you and onto his back next to you. “I don’t want to know about your husbands performance issues.”

“Please Jeno!! I’m desperate here!” Doing your best not to hurt yourself more you roll onto your side wincing the whole time. “Why won’t you talk to him for me?”

“One, I don’t know him and he doesn’t know me. Exactly how am I supposed to bring up the topic of your sex life into normal conversation? Two, I really don’t care what his problem is. Like I said yesterday if you’re not happy leave.”

Dreading to hear the third reason you close your eyes ready to be dealt the final blow. “And three?”

Jeno doesn’t respond at all. The room becoming eerily quiet. Instead of saying what you only assumed was going to be the third reason — the bed moves under you, a hand wrapping around your waist. Your eyes spring open and the moment you open your mouth to speak Jeno leans into you placing a gentle kiss to your lips. He doesn’t hover for long but the look in his eyes says it all. You are the third reason.

“I feel like a shitty person for kissing you yesterday.” He confesses. “It was impulsive and not something I do often. I don’t know what I’m becoming being around you. I barely know you and yet I want to touch you,” he slides his hand from your waist to your back pulling you forward to lean on him. “I want to kiss you,” his lips press a single kiss to your nose making you crack a smile.

“There’s just something about you that keeps pulling me in. When Roz showed me your picture years ago I thought you were beautiful. Even back then you had this air about you that made me wish to come here and meet you. Then all the stories she told me about the two of you made it clear that before I died I needed to see you in person at least once.”

“Jeno…”

No one has expressed such longing for you ever! Not even Matthew has expressed how much he longs for your touch, your kiss, for you. To hear this from a stranger, well…to hear this from Jeno — your heart skips a beat as his words swirl around your head…it makes you feel special.

That you’re someone worthy of love. To be seen as someone who in their eyes is perfect. This feeling you haven’t felt in such a long time.

“And what did you think after you met me?”

“I still can’t believe we had one of those romance movie run-ins. I mean how cliché is it that we literally bumped into each?” He rubs his hand up and down your back. “It felt surreal. There you were standing in front of me and you welcomed me into your life, into your world so easily. It was amazing.”

“A friend or family member of Roz’s is a friend or family member to me.”

Leaning in, you hover over Jeno’s lips before deterring to his cheek. Giving him a small kiss you hide your face shyly in the crook of his neck. Normally you aren’t like this. It’s you who makes men act like this. You who has them stumbling over their feet with your advances, but with Jeno — with the way he confessed to you just now…it makes you warm and tingly inside. It’s different.

“I want to help you, I really do, but I don’t want to ask your husband why he isn’t satisfying you. Honestly,” he strokes your hair making you glance at him. Your face burning from the tension building between the two of you. “I’d rather be the person helping you while he figures things out on his own.”

“Wh-What?!” You sit up to look at him properly.

“What I said yesterday is true. When you told me everything that’s been going on about you and Matthew and when you asked me about how I would feel about someone who cheats, it occurred to me that the reason I wouldn’t care or I would have sympathy is because it’s you. Because I want to be the person you’re relying on. Who you’re depending on.

“Even if that means I can only kiss you,” he lifts himself up planting a kiss on your lips. “Or touch you,” he pushes lightly on your shoulder and you find yourself moving onto your back. “I’ll take whatever you give me.”

“But why?”

This is wrong. Jeno shouldn’t put himself in this position at all. No matter how annoyed you are with Matthew. No matter how much you want to strangle him until he tells you exactly what is going on with him, in your heart of hearts you will never leave him. At the end of the day the person who will be in pain is Jeno.

Giving a slight shrug of his shoulders he climbs on top of you straddling your legs. “I’ve never felt this way before so I’m not quite sure myself.”

“I’ll never leave him,” you quickly state as Jeno lowers himself to you.

“Figured that much when you said you wouldn’t leave this town despite how unhappy you are living here.”

“And you’re willing to put your heart on the line for what? Getting off a housewife?”

Smirking, Jeno licks his lips ever so slowly. His eyes not leaving yours for a second before he gnaws at his bottom lip. “Sounds kind of fun when you put it that way.”

“Jeno be serious!”

“I am.” The smirk he just wore quickly disappears. “Even if the only purpose I have in your life is to and I use your words, ‘fuck you into the mattress.’ I’ll be happy with that.”

Cursing on the inside you try to stop your core from clenching around absolutely nothing! Just the thought of this man being inside you is making you react. The idea of him wanting to please you, and be of service to you is far more appealing than you care to admit. A man whose sole purpose is devoted to fucking your brains out. A man that wants to bring you as much pleasure as you and your body deserves and craves.

But this isn’t right. Having someone act as your personal friend with benefits while you’re a married woman is wrong on so many levels. Matthew is a loving husband, when he’s not being a dick. And Jeno, he’s far too sweet and kind; hurting him is the last thing you want to do. No! This can’t happen! You won’t let it happen! Even if that means being celibate for the rest of your life! Hurting people is not what you want your life to entail.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me too, but if I’m being honest,” he lowers his hips to yours. Your eyes widen quickly as your body engulfs in fiery tornado of desire. “I would really like to give you a proper fucking before your husband comes home.”

TO BE CONTINUED

✞ tag list ✞ if i forgot you or if you want to be added just let me know right here and i'll add you. thanks and see you in the next part!

@raquelvsblog @sfsrm-blog @matchahyuck @kikiisda1 @cheyehc 

[me-uglypretty]

Kiss me before you go

Pairing: Peggy Carter x F!Reader

Summary: During her final days, Peggy recounts the remaining memories residing in her mind and in her heart of her first true love.

Warning: 18+ (General), mention of smut, death, angst and fluff

Word count: 2940

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In pity and trembling of old age—Peggy Carter waits for the cold of which promised to engulf her flesh of winter’s crisp and colours fade into its grey shade, body to waste beneath dirt and soul to keep away from the earth’s core. Time was slowly approaching for years, falling so carefully above her heavy head as she clutches the baby blue blanket around her frail body. It’s coming at a slow pace that she forgets from time to time of life as it wasn’t the same as before.

The chasing feeling wakes like floating at the rims of her scalding hot coffee and vapours of cloudy white puffing at her face. A bitter taste equips on her tongue and the walls of her mouth. Surely, a reflection surfaces on the dark liquid. Sweet smile dissolving what bitter that tried invading her mouth, heart and soul.

Said of something known as stories told in books and films that barely reach some, and still selling to thousands as nothing else—but a fairy tale. The throbbing pain nestles in her chest. Almost vanishing by seconds when she lies on her bed as the remaining of her douse her clean.

“If you stare any longer, you might scare them away,” she jested with a pointed look towards the men lost in layers of work and nervously picking at their ties as their eyes sneaking glances at the director’s office.

Peggy shakes her head with an avoidable smile on her face, “I’ll have you know that I am not staring.”

“Oh right, you’re daydreaming about me.”

The response met with Peggy nodding her head, mindlessly agreeing—then her eyebrows furrowed, frowning lightly and meeting the gaze of someone so bold with their words. A young woman like she was, climbing the ladders created for men and fighting the battle for a country barely sparing a confident glance her way. What they see as an image of weakness, Peggy saw a reflection of herself when she was in her twenties. A woman in a field made for men.

“Y/n, you can’t— you can’t say things like that here,” she countered back, eyes dating from the wide windows of her office then the woman standing by the door with her arms crossed and a teasing smile plastered on her face.

Peggy calmly stands from her chair, taking steady steps towards the windows and carefully turned the blinds over, shielding her office from prying eyes. A snort was heard from her side and with it, the glint of mischief in those eyes that made her lips curves of a broad smile and warm invading her insides.

Y/n takes a step closer, not paying regards to professional distance, “So…what can I say Agent Carter?” she husked as hands firmly rest on Peggy’s waist and carefully pulling her closer. “Tell me what to say,” she whispered and leans her face closer.

“Agent…” Peggy warned while her voice wavers, betraying her attempt of superiority.

It takes seconds for the softest lips to meets her cheek, trailing down to her jaw and eagerness were her hands that swiftly clutches the younger woman’s arms. There’s a longing feeling awakening its sound in her chest, corrupting her mind by the burning touch and pleasurable sounds that leaves one mouth—it’s her.

The young woman grasping her soul by her own bare hand, confident and delicate. Falling apart in her hold for nights unknown, caressing her skin like painting art that she forgets of those outside their world and their obvious presence in the small office.

Just as her eyes shut closed, deliriously caving into the sleek touch of—

“Sorry, my boss says I gotta get back to work!” Y/n immediately jumped back, coyly pointing her thumb towards the door.

Peggy’s face dropped of shock as the warmth inside were now replaced by chills running down her spin. Her irritation blooms by laughter meeting her ears, and soon, she slaps the woman’s arm from finding the exchange funny.

“You are such a tease!” she exclaimed, her accent thicker by sudden snatched of pleasure.

“Me? A tease? Never.”

Nevertheless, they smiled at the epiphany like moment shared. Their eyes fazing into each other, glazing of something pure and innocence as when their hands intertwine. Mumbles of conversations, the rustling sound of papers, scratches of pen and pencils against paper, men trudging around the office and all which cease to exist. Not when they were too immerse in their own world.

“Kiss me before you go?” Peggy requested, puckering her lips and with that, all form of authority falls gracefully by the giddy expression on her face.

Y/n playfully rolled her eyes before wrapping her arms around broad shoulder, “I don’t know…my boss might not like it.”

Peggy huffed, and makes a move to push the body flushed against her away, but abruptly gasped when soft lips meets hers and her eyes shut closed, relishing the touch of their lips. Flashes of colours explodes behind her eyelids. Sweet and gentle, soothing her head of worry, and easing her chest into their reckless endeavours.

Instantly, she felt coldness on her lips that once basked in warmth. Peggy’s eyes flutter open, catching soft eyes staring adoringly into hers—and there’s a loud beat in her chest that rings it’s echoes in her ears. Breathless for the mere seconds, almost dropping on her knees when she realises the reasons behind the heavy throbbing in her chest.

“Still taking me out for dinner?” Y/n questioned, the slight insecurity in her tone deceives the boldness presented before.

Her response follows by firmly grasping Y/n’s face in her hands, “Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she promised as her heart settles with its own promise, because you come first always, my love.

Peggy was chasing after her career, floating by its steely success and bruising her knees by the sheer glance of a young woman sauntering into the office. Y/n wasn’t from her rank or held the similar years of experience—but she swore to protect her by the trance of eyes swirling in each other’s colours, when limps were tangled in bed, and whispers of sweet words made her feel lighter than ever before. Bright smiles and even lighter eyes that she promised to never allow it’s light to fade. A promise sealed with a shy kiss on her cheek then another press on her lips and eventually, tugging the younger woman into her arms.

To her at least, Y/n was an image of perfection. Her own dedication and efforts sharing its reminder of her friend, Steve Rogers. But a vast different from the two. She admitted the thrilling moments spend with Steve and sheer the mention of him sends waves of emotions threatening to erupt from her chest, leaving her a crying mess.

But the hike of her beating heart by the seconds of images flashing in her head, consuming her mind and falling by the name of one person, Y/n. The drowsy feeling when fingers clasps around her own, the sweet words that left her teeth aching for more, whispers of words that left her mouth gape and sounds escaping so easily, so sinfully too.

When the whispers of her first love falls to her ears—god, they were sweet as flowers blooming in the summer. Where the sun blaze it’s light across the sky of day, sea crashing against shore of blue and foamy white, the birds singing it’s tune beneath leaves of green, the beauty of life breathe into her lungs of laughter and easing her chest of sounds from the younger woman’s mouth.

The noise of little groans and moans, what sounds were forgotten as sneeze and hums, it resides deep in her heart and alive as wild as it sounds. It wasn’t a passing infatuation. But the throbbing does ease by the seconds if her mind allows her the fleeting moment to remember her, Y/n.

“I hear you singing, you know?” Peggy causally mentioned, her back leaning against the bed’s headboard while her hand held the multi coloured quilt against her bare chest.

Across the room, Y/n ‘s body free and the process of pouring their tea stopped. There’s a soft sound of deep breaths before her body turns around to meet Peggy’s harmless gaze, seemingly unable to focus on her eyes as brown eyes trails discreetly on the violet coloured rope hanging loosely around Y/n’s frame. Untied and unbothered, glimpse of skin peers cheekily beneath the silk rope.

“My eyes are here,” Y/n nonchalantly lifted her hand then pointing towards her face and a bashful smile flushed on Peggy’s face from her shameless gawking.

There’s a hum of response between Y/n padding across the wooden floor towards the bed while pulling the slippery silk from falling and Peggy’s eyes focused on the younger woman’s alluring steps. She stands at the end of the bed with her knees touching the mattress. Peggy’s lips curves into a smirk, her hand drops its attempt of covering her chest.

Seconds pass of eyes drinking the risky display of bodies, then the creaking from the bed when Y/n finally climbs into temptation—and the squishy sound of wet mouth meeting in a sloppy kiss, the scratches of sharp nails at the hollow of her throat where a moan escapes, and Y/n hungrily submitting her body into Peggy’s hold.

The touch proceeds without caution, whiff of arouse thickening in the air, their skins glistering of sweat—and Peggy stopped, her hands wrapped firmly on Y/n arms as the sound of disapproval leaves the woman straddling her.

“Sing for me?” Peggy requested, and her eyes shut closed immediately when teeth sinks deep into the crook of her neck. “Please,” she moaned, fingers tangling in Y/n hairs and pushing her head deeper as she allows herself to sink into the pulsing in her core before pulling her head away for their gaze to align.

A sigh leaves Y/n mouth as her eyes falls into the depth of brown pools, “Only for you, Peggy.”

The younger woman was absolutely smitten, requests from Peggy were accepted without hesitation. And she knows of the compelling smiles that makes her own wider.

Y/n retrieves the instrument from beneath her bed, hidden at the far end and sacred to her heart—Peggy remembered how her heart fluttered by the mention of her favourite songs, the instrument that never met her parents gaze, stories unfold of both sweet and bitter—and instrument was similar to a guitar, but much smaller in size. An exhausted ukulele from it’s years of use.

“I’m not that good,” she mumbled, eyeing the instrument in her hand as the other glides across the strings of her rope. Seemingly pulling the material closer to her body and legs crossing together at the edge of the bed.

A hand halted the timid movement of hers and she lifted her head, peering from her eyelashes as Peggy flashes a toothy grin. Vulnerability surfaces in her eyes—their eyes fuelling of an extreme life pulling at every end of good and bad, the little precious moments and interest kept so close to their heart to preserve its innocence—while equally sharing the most intimate parts of them with each other.

“Leave it,” Peggy assured lowly, her hand moving to press softly on Y/n cheek, “Sing to me before you go?”  she requested lovingly.

Y/n was doubting her intentions for the few seconds of silence before fluttering her eyelashes and pushing Peggy down on the bed, carefully climbing on the older woman and she instantly felt the firm hands on her waist.

It’s new—came out as a whisper for the name of the song as she sings, but Peggy knew beneath the plucks of strings and words sounding so calm, Y/n was singing of her own feelings than of someone else. Her words resonating of love, the wisps of hair tickling Peggy’s face, something of sweet fruits and innocent eyes fuelling of love. How eyes daringly gaze from across the herd of people, never understanding a love so bold or ever experience a love as such.

“You are stunning,” Peggy confessed. I love you so much, dripping from her tongue as she witnesses the shyness that creeps on the cheeks of a woman always so confident.  Her own eyes lingering on the smile that wakes her life, then slowly falling to the valley of her breast made known by the silk rope barely shielding Y/n’s body.

Wandering eyes and wandering touch, fingers so skilfully pulls the rope down to the half of her arm. Embroidery of violets touches the pad of her fingers and she reflects on its symbol; the faithfulness of her, the delicate love that made her smile unknowingly, and modesty—the meaning loss between sleek fingers traveling between her thighs, the heaving of her chest and staring with open mouth at the sight of breast pouring out from the damn silk rope—Y/n slips her fingers into her core with such ease, forgotten songs and forgotten neighbours as sinful sounds scratches her throat.

When her eyes meet the teasing glint in Y/n’s dilated ones, she could only lunge forward and collide their lips in a needy kiss. Hands moving so briskly as they do, everything else forgotten and wasting away behind them, but their love—blooms so vividly underneath warm light, blue of sky above, stars in the sky, and all that made Peggy’s chest ache for more.

Peggy doesn’t wonder of life after death anymore. The life she had was enough, but the ones mostly basking in the moments with her—

“Y/n?” she gasped, sensing a warmth blanketing on her body and her eyes darting in the spaces of her room.

The sunlight slips between the slits of the curtain. Light casting a ray through the room and meeting at the end of her bed. She bathes in the warmth of sun invading the cold room. A smile ghosts on her lips as the creases of wrinkles from years of life widens by the growing smile.

Something pulls at her chest, throbbing by the beats of her heart and her lungs seemingly easing as she breathes the air of something—fresh and alive, far different from minutes ago. Her weakening body wakes, hands twitching as she reaches for the sun’s flare. There a serve ache in her chest that made her wince and she watch ahead of a white glow flutters by the edge of her bed.

It appears as such—a blooming flower, the colours of violet seem to blink its way into her vision, the dull room wakening by its vibrant, and there—radiant and young as ever, her true love. A smile widening on her face, eyes glint of joy she had missed for the years filled of sorrow.

“I heard you learned to cook.”

Peggy laughed, coughing as she does and the drops of tears escaping from her eyes. It’s the sound of Y/n’s voice like how she remembered, sweet and gentle, easing the throbbing in her chest that made its mark in her chest. Peggy was rendered speechless as she watches the young woman’s careful steps, the memories of their times spend together flickering before her eyes.

Y/n stands beside her bed. A frame caught her wide eyes, a family of three and the joyful smile on Peggy’s face that made hers wider while Peggy’s eyes never leaves her. Almost afraid that looking away might make her first love disappear as before, leaving her with crisps of life she didn’t understand anymore.

“They’re beautiful,” Y/n admitted, thoughtfully staring at the picture before meeting brown eyes growing duller by the second. “And you are still just as beautiful.”

Her voice shakes as she speaks, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m old, I have always been, and you— god, you deserved so much more.”

The haunting feeling engulfs her heart, sound of cries invading her mind and the blood that tainted her hand so red—she couldn’t breathe, why did it hurt so badly when she wasn’t the one bleeding to death’s tune?

“We were young, reckless, and in love. I think it was perfect, my love,” Y/n comforted her as she carefully rests her hand on the older woman’s pale face and the warmth that spreads, widens Peggy’s eyes as her own hand eagerly grasp the warm hand she missed so much.

“Kiss me before you go?” Peggy requested, almost pleading as her lips quivers and she takes a deep breath.

Y/n doesn’t hesitate.

And their lips meet.

The soaring kiss flourishes her heart of life she missed, the smiles that wakes her lips and cheeks aching as they meet, the stolen moments beneath stairwells and behind office doors, the kiss good luck before a mission, and everything—

“Take me out for dinner?” Y/n breathlessly requested.

Peggy shakily nodded her head, cheeks stained of tears and body chasing the warmth that follows her. They were meant to meet again. She knew it. Perhaps, longer than what was snatched from them. The chance to consume their love so greedily and selfishly as she takes a heavy breath, eyes boring into the ones that left her dreaming for days and nights. The same woman still young and vibrant as when she first met her, and the blinding light that never felt so good.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[selenityshiroi]

FFXVI 13 hours in:

My answer to Clive having an angst attack is to make him pet the dog after because he obviously needs the free serotonin

I also get free serotonin from petting the dog so win win

Lady Hanna MVP. She gave me new drip.

I'm assuming (as I have done since awkward teenage 'not sure if I should hug her to warm her' moment) that Clive and Jill are intended. They aren't being TOO subtle about it but it's got that typical 'chaste but yearning' thing FF tends to do in their main pairings.

Which is hilarious because this game has also given us three scenes where people had extremely unchaste intentions and also naked Clive scene so the whole typical FF romance seems both wildly out of sync with the rest of the games tone but also quite charming BECAUSE it's against the rest of the game's tone.

Margrace=Joshua seems confirmed with the hood of the cloak coming down so called it (unless it's a deliberate red herring but doubtful...which I am very grateful for because one less guilt on Clive's shoulders eventually)

I am loving this game but SE level design is still prominently their weakness

And on that note: EVERYONE PRAISING THIS GAME WHO BLASTS FFXIII FOR BEING A CORRIDOR SIMULATOR OWES FFXIII AN APOLOGY. The only difference is a) you can actually go back to the corridors in this game and b) XIII at least had actual items at the end of their corridors and not just crafting materials and 5 gil

Combat is still surprising possible for someone like me who doesn't play many action RPGs. I've died and few times but the single reset with full potions has gotten me through each bit of content I struggled with (three times, I think?)

The only 'assist' accessory I'm using is pet assist. Because otherwise I will 100% forget to tell Torgal what to do. Otherwise I'm on action mode still

The times when I've managed parrys and precision dodge/counters make me think I'm actually good at video games lol but mostly it's probably luck as I spam combos and dodges

But it's getting me through

But, seriously, this game is the baby of FFXIII Trilogy and FFXIV so it's hilarious to me that this is getting so much love when XIII trilogy gets so much hate

The combat is basically LR combat. Right down to Eikons being paradigm shifts. The level design is pretty much the same as XIII but with the freedom to go back on yourself (so...like XIII-2). The UI and quest system is all FFXIV. The Active Lore is the XIII data log but presented easier. Staggering obviously started with XIII and had been a staple since.

And the plot...oh boy is there a nice sprinkling of XIII plot dressed up in XIV medieval fantasy dressing. It's still its own thing but this is clearly CLEARLY more XIII/XIV spiritual successor than anything else in the series

Again...as a FFXIII fan I'm super amused by this because, again, XIII is hated so much but there is so much praise for this and its not actually all that different! It's just tidier and adjusted to fix a few errors of the past which is pretty typical from a progression point.

The beginning was super cutscene heavy and then everything up until getting Jill to join us was very 'story/cutscene heavy broken up by minor fetch quests and take down a small batch of monsters'. It's only really opened up now Jill is here and we actually are out in the world on a mission.

Since I AM only 13 hours in I assume I'm still quite early in the game, though. So I'm assuming this sort of exploration is going to be more the standard going forward.

So, yeah, for all my 'I'm not sure if I'll enjoy the gameplay or the grimdark 'appeal to Western Audiences' bullshit that doesn't actually appeal to me in general' concerns, I'm enjoying the gameplay and the grimdark story is not as grimdark as I expected

Clive, in particular, pleasantly surprised me because he isn't a typical gruff angst machine as some of the promotional images implied

He's still kind and polite and careful with people and has a lot of compassion (which is also why he's hurt by what happened and is dwelling on it) but he's also letting himself be driven forward into looking for answers instead of JUST dwelling on it

Him taking plates around the Inn for people doesn't feel out of place because he does indeed seem like the good sort of boy who will just help out because he's been asked

So, yeah, much more my sort of character!

(Also if anyone wants to tell me 'but XIII was actually just a bad game' then don't. Because it isn't. It had a bad start (where you weren't even introduced to the actual battle system until like 3 hours in) and it required you to actually pay attention to the people around you and the things you heard and read in order to understand the plot fully. Which was novel at the time and is now kind of expected. THIS GAME even does it (no way would you understand half the background of the nations without the datalog active time lore). There is a reason a lot of people replay XIII nowadays and go 'wait...it's actually a pretty good game'...seriously, there are a crapload of people who replayed during the pandemic or when it went on sale on steam who are like 'why is this so hated???'.)

[dreamerstreamer]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: god!Dream / DreamXD x gn!reader

Summary: [Reincarnation!AU & Dream SMP!AU] Being a god can be especially lonely—Dream knows that better than anyone. Yet somehow, you always manage to find your way back to him in every life you live. If only it didn’t hurt so much to love you.

Warnings: tw// mention of death

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🤡 anon, who asked for a piece based on keane’s somewhere only we know! i got rather carried away when writing this, and it’s certainly quite sad, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

Dream blinks lazily up at the fluffy clouds drifting across the cerulean sky, his emerald eyes tracing over their soft edges. He hums to himself as one of them drifts in front of the sun, the warm light suddenly leaving his face. Frowning, he sits up a little straighter, raising his arm above his head. He snaps his fingers once, and in an instant, the clouds vanish. Warmth floods his cheeks as the sun’s brilliant rays crash over him once more. He smiles, but it’s melancholic, a forlorn look passing over his face.

Just how long has he been alone like this?

Sighing, he rises to his feet, kicking at the soft dirt beneath the soles of his boots. His viridian cloak is light atop his shoulders, his wings neatly folded underneath the soft fabric. Above his head, his halos glow with a dazzling golden hue, sending beams of amber light flashing across the nearby tree trunks. Rolling his neck, he snaps his fingers again, and his wings and halos vanish in a flash. Just like that, the weight on his back dissipates, and his lips twitch. There—that’s much lighter.

His gaze flickers over to the waterfall lying just a yard away, rushing ripples of water streaming down the short cliff face and into the pool lying at its base. He crouches down next to the small pond, brushing his hand over the soft soil beneath his feet. Sparks shoot up his arm and into his fingertips, the earth suddenly bursting to life underneath his touch.

All of a sudden, a blossom sprouts from the ground, soft and pink as it unfurls its petals and soaks up the warm sunshine. Dream grins as row after row of flowers shoot up from the ground, circling around the pond and lining the trees around the clearing until suddenly, the whole space is surrounded by breathtaking blossoms. He stands back with a satisfied hum, glancing around himself with an almost nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

It’s been ages since he last returned to this little alcove in his favourite forest. He could tell no one else had stepped foot here except for him, too. After all, there was only one other person who knew about this place—the only other person in the world he knew would be able to find it in the first place.

Had it been decades or centuries since he last visited? He’s not sure anymore, but really, he’s not sure if he cares, either. There’s a reason why he doesn’t come back here very often—one that he hesitates to even think about.

It’s far too painful of a memory to relive.

“Hello?”

Dream freezes, his eyes going wide at the sound of a new voice—a familiar voice. Slowly, he turns, his lips parting in awe as he sees a figure stepping into the clearing, a mix of caution and curiosity flitting across your cheeks.

He knows that face—knows you.

His heart aches at the thought.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment, swallowing ever so slightly.

You flash him a sheepish smile, lowering your gaze to the ground almost bashfully as you brush a stray leaf off your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, or anything. I was just passing by when I saw the flowers, and thought they looked really pretty, and...”

You trail off, your voice growing smaller and smaller until it fades off into silence. Dream stares at you, unmoving as his heart races a mile a minute in his chest, battering against his rib cage as your timid gaze flickers to his.

“I, um,” you squeak out, feeling the intensity of his eyes on yours. “I can go if you wa—”

“No,” Dream suddenly blurts, the word flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He can already feel the heat flooding his chest at the way you startle in front of him, and he sucks in a breath.

“Wait,” he says, calmer this time. “Please, I—you’re not intruding at all. You can stay.” He takes a shaky step forward, offering you a crooked yet earnest smile. “I’d love it if you stayed.”

In an instant, your face lights up, and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight. “O-Oh, thank you! It’s nice to meet you. My name’s [Y/N].”

In that moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped and would never beat, again. “What’s yours?” you ask, your eyes shining like freshly cut gemstones.

His eyes scan your face for a moment, taking in the soft panes of your cheeks and the delicate curve of your lips as your smile leaves tiny cuts in his lungs.

“Dream,” he breathes at last. “Call me Dream.”

Suddenly, your eyes curve into tiny crescent moons as you grin at him, and he feels the loneliness flowing through his veins subside the tiniest bit.

Even after all this time, he still can’t bring himself to forget your smile.

Dream hums to himself as he tosses a pebble into the pond from his spot on the fallen tree log. The stream laps at the stone once before swallowing it whole, letting it sink to the murky bottom without so much as a splash. A rustle comes from behind him, and he immediately whirls, his lips curling up into an eager smile.

“[Y/N],” he chirps, bright and keen, “welcome back.”

Your glowing face greets him in return, and he nearly combusts on the spot. He still remembers the way you had promised him you would return to see him again a week ago, when you had first stumbled upon his clearing. His head still spins at the thought, and it almost makes him forget the longing ache that sinks into his bones when his gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long.

Almost.

You wave at him as you jump over a protruding tree root, crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. “Good morning, Dream! What are you doing here so early? The market only just opened.”

He shuffles over on the log to give you room, raising an eyebrow at you. “I could ask the same of you.”

Crouching over, you settle down onto the space next to him, not at all noticing the way he stiffens when your thigh brushes against his. “I woke up early to watch the sunrise,” you say with a half-drowsy smile.

There is a beat of silence, then Dream tilts his head at you. “The sunrise?”

You bob your head, turning to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur wistfully, raising your arm to wave your hand up at the sky above. “I love watching all the pretty colours fill the horizon. It only lasts a few minutes, but it’s so magnificent, and I always try to watch them if I can.”

His eyes flash as he takes in your gentle expression. Then, he opens his mouth, thoughtful and slow. “Sunrises, hm? What other things do you like?”

You pause for a moment. “Other things I like?” When he nods, you hum, averting your gaze from his until you find yourself staring over at the bubbling waterfall.

“I like... I like flowers,” you begin, “but you already knew that.” He chuckles at the hint of a smile that dusts your face before you continue. “I like exploring the market every Saturday, too. They always have something new to find.”

Suddenly, your eyes flicker to life, glittering with excitement. “Oh, I also like stargazing! It’s like watching the universe paint a picture with little crystals every night, and something about looking up at the sky makes me feel so small, and I... I...” You gesture vaguely, a frustrated noise escaping your throat. “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Dream cannot help the way his heart melts in his chest at the sound you make, a certain fondness seeping into his soul. You were always so endearing—always, always, always.

“What about you, Dream?” you say suddenly, looking at him curiously. “What things do you like?”

Dream blinks at you—once, twice. Suddenly, his mind is flooded with image after image, memory after memory.

He thinks of the millennia he has lived through, the cities he has watched rise and fall. He thinks of the countless distances he has wandered, travelling far and wide with a heavy loneliness hanging in his barren heart. He thinks of soft kisses pressed to calloused fingertips and fluttering eyelids.

Then, he looks at you, with your enraptured eyes and your glorious grin.

“You,” he says, sincerity gracing his every word. “I like spending time with you.”

He watches as you stammer in reply, your eyes going wide as you gape at him in a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. He laughs at you, and his heart swells in his chest.

He’s missed you—more than you would ever know.

“Say, Dream, have you ever seen the ocean?”

The sun glares harshly into your eyes from where you lie on the earth, staring up at the cobalt sky, but Dream hardly notices—his eyes are too focused on you. “I have,” he murmurs as his gaze traces over the bridge of your nose in wonder. He’s seen more of the world than he would like to admit. After all, he was the one who created it in the first place. But to you, he’s just a simple traveler with a penchant for waterfalls.

Before he can even register it, you’ve bolted upright, bending over him with an excited shout. “Really?! What’s it like?”

He jolts at the sudden movement, all too keenly aware of how close your face is to his before his shuffles into a sitting position, resting his chin on his hand. “Well,” he begins, “it’s really big. So big that you can’t see the shore on the other side no matter how hard you try. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, and the breeze kind of tastes salty if you open your mouth.”

He catches a flash of your awed expression as he waves his arm in front of him to illustrate the vast size of the ocean. “The water,” he continues, envisioning the waves as they crash onto the sand, “is nice and cold, and if you swim deep enough, you might find fish and coral. It’s relaxing to watch the tide come up into the beach. Sometimes, shells wash up onto the shore, too. You can keep those as little souvenirs.”

For a moment, you are silent as you simply stare at him, something swirling deep within your gaze. “Wow,” you say at last, sounding completely breathless. “That sounds beautiful.” You stretch your legs out in front of you, your fingers curling into the grass spread beneath your palms. “My best friend says there’s mermaids in the ocean.” You scrunch your nose. “I don’t know if I believe him, though.”

Something dark ripples through Dream, and the tiniest of frowns passes over his face. “Your best friend?” he parrots.

You nod. “Yeah—his name’s Karl. He’s really nice and likes to goof off a lot. He’s also a really good storyteller!” You look at him then, fondly and with such a kind look it almost knocks Dream right over. “I think you might like his stories.”

His lips quirk up into a coy smile, and he leans ever so slightly forward. “Would I, now?” he croons, a teasing lilt tinting his tone. “What kind of stories does he like to tell?”

You clasp your hands together, excitement brimming in your face. “Oh, wonderful ones! There’s the one about the sleepy fox, the one about the pig who could not be killed, and the one about how we all face reincarnation after death, but my favourite,” you murmur, “is about the creation of the world.”

Dream goes still at that, his smile faltering for a split second. “How does that one go?” he asks softly.

You scoot the tiniest bit closer to his side, your gaze lowering ever so slightly. “Once upon a time,” you start, your voice as smooth as velvet, “a god descended from the heavens and carved the world into the shape it is today.” You traced your finger along the soft dirt. “He made valleys and hills, oceans and rivers, decorating the land with flowers and trees. The world he made was beautiful, but it was lonely, so he filled it with people to keep him company. He was so full of joy to have friends, until one day, he fell in love.”

Your demeanour, which had been cheerful up until this point, suddenly shifted, darkening as you let out a sigh. “He fell in love so quickly and so deeply that he was blind to the nature of his own creations, as they had a mortal lifespan, unlike him. When his lover died, a part of his soul died with them. He vanished after that, never to be seen again.” You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head upon them. “Some people say he wanders the world, mourning for all of eternity. Others say he died of heartbreak. Even fewer believe that his lover lives on and he loves them still, although they’re not entirely sure. Either way, he has yet to appear, and humanity quietly awaits for his return.”

Dream is silent beside you, his lips pressed into a thin line as his chest rises and falls with the timing of his breaths. “Why is that story your favourite?” he finally asks.

You lift your head, surprise shooting across your face. “I’m not sure,” you say softly, pondering for a moment. “I just think he sounds so... sad. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him. He only wanted to not be alone anymore.” Your voice drops even lower. “He only ever wanted to love someone.”

An ache suddenly expands within his gut, digging into his sides of his skull with such ferocity he fears he may never escape it. That same, fleeting sense of solitude slinks around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing until your eyes lock into his, and they halt.

“Do you think that he lives on?” you whisper, your gaze searching his. “That he might have found someone else to keep him company, despite his sadness?”

You pause, something like hope sparking within your eyes. “Do you think... he ever loved again?”

Dream stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. Your lips are right there, are so dreadfully close to him as he looks at you, feeling the blood pound through his ears as the pain in his heart begins to lift. It rises higher and higher within him before sliding off his shoulders entirely, leaving nothing behind but tender affection and warmth—a warmth he had been yearning for for so, so long.

He smiles at you then, and for once, this one is real.

“Something tells me he did.”

Dream stretches his wings out behind him with a quiet groan, feeling the cool air ruffle his ivory white feathers. His cloak sits on the ground next to him while his golden halos spin rapidly atop his head from where they float, glowing faintly in the fading evening light. After a moment, he lets his wings fold back up against his back, lowering his arms with a sharp exhale. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of the setting sun just before it dips below the horizon, shrouding the world in darkness. With a bored look, he picks at his nail, curling his toes in his shoes.

He’s already waved you off and watched as you wove your way out of the clearing and between the forest’s tangled trees back to your village. Now, he has nothing left to do but wait for your return the next day, his throat aching for your arrival with every passing second.

How far I have fallen, he thinks distantly to himself, to be reduced to nothing more than a helpless admirer for a human.

A moment passes, and his heart sighs.

A lovely human, at that.

All of a sudden, he hears a stick snap behind him, and Dream immediately snaps his fingers, his wings and halos disappearing in a flash, almost as if they had never existed to begin with. Whipping around on his heel, he narrows his eyes at the clearing entrance, jaw clenched in preparation. His shoulders are raised at his side, tense with anticipation when just then...

...you stumble out of the forest, tears streaking down your face.

Dream’s shoulders fall in an instant.

“Dream,” you choke out, your voice cracking sharply.

You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth again before he’s standing in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as gently as he can manage. His eyes scan your face as his stomach churns with agony at the despair painted onto your features. “[Y/N],” he murmurs softly, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle, lifting your head to look at him through watery eyes as you open your mouth. “Karl—he’s sick. Really sick,” you babble like a winding stream. “The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he’s been coughing so badly that you can just tell he’s in pain. At this rate, I—I’m scared he’s not going to get any better. He... I’ve known him since forever, and I—”

The words die in your mouth as you cut yourself off with a broken sob, and Dream almost feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. He never wants to see you in pain, to see you as sad as this, and the fact that you are sobbing at all makes him want to wail himself.

Softly, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to your chest as he rocks you gently back and forth with your head resting on his shoulder. Your tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t mind one bit. “Shh, [Y/N],” he coos quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back with a wary gaze, fear etched into your features. “How do you know that?” you whisper. “What if he doesn’t get better? What then?”

Dropping one arm from behind you, Dream slips a hand into his pocket, quickly rubbing his fingers together. Just like that, cool glass that wasn’t there a moment earlier presses against the warmth of his palm, and he pulls out a vial filled with a pale, rosy liquid.

“Here,” he says, pressing the vial into your hand. “This is an antidote I’ve been...” He pauses for a split second, then fibs. “...holding onto for a while. For emergencies.” Slowly, he clasps your fingers until they’re closed around the glass top, sending you a reassuring smile. “Give this to Karl, and I promise you he’ll recover.”

You blink at him, your eyes glimmering underneath the light of the swirling stars overhead. “You swear?” you ask meekly, hope dancing along the edge of your lashes.

Dream swallows thickly and nods. “On my life.”

You inhale a deep, shuddering breath, then raise your hand to wipe at your eyes before smiling at him, warm and full of affection. “Okay,” you murmur as you step back from him. “I trust you, Dream.”

The next morning, you come tumbling into Dream’s arms with a gleeful cry, tears flowing freely down your face as you knock him to the ground. This time, they’re there for an entirely different reason as you ramble about Karl’s cleared airways when the doctor came to check on him after you fed him the antidote.

Beneath you, Dream relishes in the warmth of your body against his, praying you cannot feel the way his heart hammers against his chest.

There were not enough words in the world that he could use to describe how deep his devotion to you ran.

He fears there may never be enough.

Months pass in a blur, and Dream watches with knowing eyes as summer turns to autumn. Soon enough, snow coats the clearing although the waterfall continues to flow. No matter how harsh the weather, you stumble your way back to the forest to him, and each day, Dream feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the very essence that is you.

To think that there was once a time he never wanted to return here at all.

“Dream,” you say abruptly one day, “you know, I think you might be my favourite person in the world.”

He cocks a brow at you, his lips twitching up into a small smirk. “In the world?” he repeats. “I think Karl would be offended.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t stop the smile from stretching across your face. “Maybe, but it’s the truth!” You lift a hand and begin counting off on your fingers. “You’re—you’re so nice, and passionate, and bold, and bright, and...” You pause, then chuckle almost shyly. “I could go on and on, but that’s embarrassing.”

He chuckles at your words, only growing more and more enamoured with each word that falls from your lips. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says gently. “It’s cute.”

Your shoulders suddenly stiffen, and you slowly turn your head to glance up at him. “Cute? You think I’m cute?”

He doesn’t have to think twice about his response. “Very much so. I would dare say that you are even more beautiful than you are cute.”

You whine with a pout, heat crawling up the side of your neck as you dig your thumbs into your palms. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He stares at you for a second, then he flashes you a grin that is both parts wicked and affectionate. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

Your mouth drops open at the way he fires your own words back at you, and you gape at him a moment before you groan, reaching over to playfully bat at his arm. “Why, you!”

He laughs at you and loves the way he can tell your heart races in your chest. He loves the way you smile despite your small shouts of frustration. He loves the way you are just so endearing to him in every which way.

He laughs at you and he loves you, hopelessly and wholly.

Dream gazes up at the orange sky with a slight frown and furrowed brows, watching as the clouds coast by overhead on a distant, northern gale. The waterfall babbles restlessly at his side, and he taps his foot against the smooth stones lining the pond with abandonment. The flowers he had once grown rake this petals over the soles of his shoes as he lets out a long sigh, anxiety slowly beginning to paw at his backside.

Are you going to show up at all today? he wonders. There are some days you don’t appear at all, typically because you had to run some errands or something of the sort, but those days are few and far between. He won’t chastise you for not seeing him, of course, but he cannot simply ignore the pang of his heart when he misses you so.

His fingers drum against the cool material clutched in his hands, and a melancholic look flits over his features. It would be a shame if you didn’t appear though, especially given what he had in mind for the day.

Right then, he hears your lovely voice call out for him. “Dream!”

His frown is immediately replaced by a smile as he whirls around to see you, his hands carefully tucked behind his back. “[Y/N],” he greets, striding up to you. “It’s good to see you.”

You’ve only just made it in front of him when he opens his mouth again, excitement filling his words to the absolute brim. “I brought you a gift.”

You blink wildly at him, pointing to yourself in surprise. “For me?”

His grin only grows wider, his heart leaping into his throat. “Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else?”

You squint for a second, then smile. “Karl?”

Dream deadpans at you, and you laugh in return, not noticing the way his eyes melt fondly at your expression. “I’m kidding,” you chide, shuffling a step closer to him. “So, what is it?”

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he finally brings his hands out from behind him, pushing them towards you. “Ta-da! Here.”

Your breath catches at the sight of his palms, and with trembling hands, you reach up to pull the curved item from his hand. “Is this... a shell?” you whisper, your eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. “A conch shell,” he says. “From the ocean.”

You sputter as you gently turn the shell over in your hands, your fingers tracing over the solid edges with nothing short of pure shock. “H-How did you even get this? The nearest ocean is at least a week’s travel on horse away!”

Dream thinks of the wings he typically had tucked on his back and how they carried him to the ocean and back in less than a few minutes, but to you, he only smiles and shrugs. “I have my ways.”

You don’t respond for a moment, then two. All of a sudden, you sniffle, and Dream is bending before you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching for yours before just stopping short. “[Y/N]?” he asks in a soothing tone. “Is something wrong?”

Your gaze is watery, but only slightly as you raise your chin to look at him, your lower lip set with determination. “Dream,” you say with a shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” You gulp. “It’s serious.”

Immediately, Dream’s mind runs through a million and five possibilities of what you could possibly say to him, each one increasingly worse than the last. Your family is in need of funds, or you’re about to leave on a life-threatening journey. Or maybe Karl is just sick, again.

But before he can run himself into the ground with his own worries, Dream lets out a breath and tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

Your gaze falls down to your feet, and you stare at the earth for an excruciatingly long minute. Dream simply stands in front of you, patiently and earnestly waiting for your response when you suddenly open your mouth.

“I—I love you.”

Dream’s lungs feel as though they are about to collapse in his chest. “You do?”

You bite your lip, but raise your head, your shoulders trembling at your sides. “Yes,” you whisper, the syllable steeped with emotion. With one hand clasped around the conch shell, the other reaches up to rest over your chest, palm pressed flats against your left side. “My heart is yours, all of it.”

The world is a blur of colours and sounds around him, and he can feel his head spin faster and faster as a wave of memories come crashing down over him, drowning him whole. He wants to tear his hair out and scream to the heavens above until his throat is raw and he can scream no more.

You love him. You love him back, and as much as he wants to burn your words into the back of his eyelids, something else sinks its claws into his heart and tears a hole right into the flesh.

This is not the first time you have spoken these words to him. No, not at all.

He had done his best to forget them over all those years, had tried his best to outrun the anguish with every century he lived through. After all, when you live as long as he has, it is only natural for him to forget some things. Through wandering across every land he had lovingly sculpted by hand, he had hoped to erase his suffering by engulfing himself in other worldly affairs, isolating himself entirely from others.

But no amount of time could ever truly erase the memories he had of you—the first incarnation of you, from all those years ago.

He remembers how the two of you had shared your first kiss under the light of the full moon, giggling to one another as he wrapped you up in his soft feathers. He remembers the way you would hold his hand and tell him about all the things you could not wait to do with him in the very same clearing he stood in now. He remembers the way your body went limp in his own arms, coughing until your lungs could cough no more. He remembers the agony and the torment as he wasted away, too caught up in the imprint of your skin against his before you turned to dust before his very eyes.

He remembers it all, and he cannot not let himself be shattered like that, again.

“I have to go,” he whispers, jerking his arm back from yours.

You whip your head up, pain shooting across your face. “Y-You’re leaving? What?”

He takes another step back and swallows down the lump in his throat, but it tastes like acid burning his stomach. “I—I can’t stay here.”

Before he can move back again, your hand shoots out to grab at the hem of his shirt, desperation soaking into your face: “P-Please,” you plead, “you can just say you don’t love me back. My feelings for you won’t change.”

He wants to cry. No, he thinks, it’s not that. It could never be that. Not with you.

You clutch at the cloth, hoping your feelings somehow reach him through your anguished touch. “I love you, Dream,” you begin, “I really do. I love how attentive you are, how much you always seem to care. You’re always so patient with me, so kind, so generous, and it makes me melt inside. I love the way your eyes shine so brightly, and I love your little freckles. I want to count them all, and I don’t mind if that takes the rest of eternity.”

You’re almost entirely out of breath by now, and Dream’s jaw has gone slack. He can only stare at you with a look of pure conflicting despair as your eyes search his for answers he knows he cannot possibly give. “An eternity with you would be nothing,” you breathe, your voice cracking. Your grip on his shirt suddenly goes limp, and your arm falls back to your side. “Please. Stay.”

The knife in his gut only seems to twist deeper as he takes yet another step back, his cloak feeling like a boulder upon his back. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I really can’t.”

Tears line your eyes like tiny jewels, and he wishes he could wipe them away. “Why?” you beg. “Why do you have to go?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

In front of him, a look of absolute defeat sinks into your expression, and your voice grows smaller than ever. “At least—at least tell me if I’ll ever see you again.”

Dream’s feels the back of his eyes sting, and he clenched his hands beside him. “Not in this lifetime,” he wants to say. “And hopefully not in the next, either.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he says instead.

Just like that, he watches as the light fades from your eyes, vanishing from sight as the setting sun watches on with a sad gaze. Your lower lip trembles, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crumpling to the ground in a heap and watering the earth with your tears. You clutch the conch shell to your chest and let it dig into your chest from how tightly you press it against yourself, your vision completely blurred. In front of you, Dream holds back tears of his own, forcing himself to look away from your broken figure as he walks toward the forest away from you.

Your wails follow after him even after he unfurls his wings deep in the forest and soars up into the sky, flying high above the world below as he dries his tears with the harsh wind that bites at his face.

He will not return here for a long, long time.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to bring himself to if he tried.

Dream brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder as he steps over a root, his eyes focused on the bushes before him. A bird chirps as he strolls past a tree, nestling further into its nest as he ducks under the branch. He smiles at the sight, a deep fondness seeping into his heart as he lets his hand run over the tree’s hard bark.

He recognizes this forest—these trees. He knows this sky, has leapt over these rocks. He’s walked this path before.

It’s a shame he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last came here.

He hums a quiet melody to himself as he weaves a path between the trees, drawing nearer and nearer to the place he had been searching for with every passing second. He’s only a few steps away when a sound calls out to him—a sound that isn’t a part of the forest.

“Hello?”

Dream goes stock still, his heart coming to a screeching halt in his chest.

He knows that voice, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly steps forward, out into the entrance of the clearing. In front of the waterfall stands a silhouette he is absolutely positive he’s seen before—countless times before. Something tells him that he should leave, that he should run far, far away and disappear from view. But as he watches the silhouette take a tentative step toward him, his inhibitions fall away.

Warmth blossoms in the space between his lungs, all encompassing and full of grief as he opens his mouth.

“Hi.”

[javier-pena]

Astrid hello!! I've heard tell that you want people to talk to you about Javi G and uh ... I just can't get the image of him driving the two of you somewhere and having to pull over to fuck you in the car because he's so worked up out of my headdd 😌 (feel free to delete if you don't want to/can't answer!! I totally understand!)

- @javisjeanjacket

Hi! Okay, anyway, writing this nearly was the end of me, but I hope it's what you were looking for!

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Rating: it's so explicit that I'm thinking about getting a new identity actually

Summary: the ask says it all, but car s*x

Warnings: fingering | multiple orgasms | spanking | a bit of butt stuff | public sex | masturbation (male) | cum eating

Notes: "i am simply ready to lose my mind. you warned me about this but was i prepared? no." - Dani @javierpcna

***

The leather of the backseat scrapes uncomfortably against your knees, you feel your skin stick to the warm surface. Sweat is forming on your brow, your arms, your legs. Everything is hot and sticky and heavy. Your pants fog up the window in front of you, and the landscape behind it appears murky, despite the late afternoon sun, despite the light dancing over the glistening waves below. If you raise your head slightly, you can even see the next bend in the road.

But you don’t lift your head – you can’t. You press your forehead against the glass, your nails scraping against the rough, leathery surface of the door, while you’re being pushed forward over and over again by precise, well-timed thrusts, by three fingers focused on one spot, three fingers that are your entire world.

I just wanna show you the view.

Javi wasn’t lying when he said that, when he pulled the car over. You are looking at the view, but you aren’t seeing it, not really, not in a way you were meant to be seeing it. Because the minute he stopped the car, his hands were all over you, under your skirt, on your chest – squeezing, holding, teasing. You couldn’t blame him because you had been feeling much the same, had felt an ever-growing itch during his week-long absence, one phone calls and expensive toys hadn’t been able to scratch. And when he had suggested taking you out to dinner after getting back from the airport, you’d been slightly disappointed. Yes, you enjoy the build-up, the tension, the teasing, but tonight you need it hard and fast and dirty.

You hadn’t made it to the restaurant.

Javi was impatient in the car, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his foot like lead on the gas pedal. The second your hand found his thigh, the muscles tense like steel, he pulled over.

I just wanna show you the view.

The words were slightly slurred, and the next thing you heard was a ripping sound when he tore your panties, tore them right off you, like impatiently unwrapping a gift. He found you hot and wet and wanting, he all but lifted you onto the backseat and here you are now, your skirt pushed up, your backside exposed, your slick dripping down your thighs.

“Baby,” you moan after a particularly rough thrust. You bite your lip when he does it again. “Fuck!” It’s breathless, it’s quiet, it barely scratches the surface of how good he makes you feel.

His other hand lands on the soft flesh of your backside with a crack and you gasp, your forehead knocking against the glass. Your legs tremble as you push yourself back towards him.

“Again,” you groan. “Do it again.”

He does, and the pain turns into searing hot pleasure so intense that when he thrusts his fingers into you next, you come all over them, coating them with your slick, with wet, hot release, trembling, spilling, screaming his name. Through the haze you hear a new sound, you hear how he pulls down his zipper, you even hear his hand pushing aside the fabric of his expensive dress pants, the dark green ones, the ones you love the most, followed by a sigh of relief.

You clench around his fingers at the prospect of his next move, anticipating how he will fill you up, first with his cock, then with his release, and it feels as if you didn’t just come, and maybe you haven’t because when he starts moving his fingers again, you tumble towards another edge at alarming speed.

“Need you--,” you groan through gritted teeth, “--inside, please, God, please, please, Javi, I’ve missed you so much, I’ve missed your …,” you swallow hard, “your cock, please …”

He huffs, and suddenly he’s hovering above you, his fingers on your chin, pulling so your head disconnects from the cooling support of the glass. His palm hovers in front of your face, and without hesitation you lick it, tasting leather and sweat and him. He allows you to suck two fingers into your mouth, to feel their heavy weight on your tongue before he pushes them slightly deeper, making you gag, making you feel full on both ends, before pulling them out. His hand disappears and the wet sounds that follow, mixed with his low grunts are like a heady soundtrack to your own pleasure.

You listen, and imagine his face, his hooded eyes, his reddened cheeks, his curls sticking up in odd places, and suddenly you find yourself yearning for how he looks when he’s fucked out and glowing and sated. You cannot wait to give that to him, so you try to pull yourself off his fingers to turn around, but he stops you with a harsh command.

“Stay!”

You follow his orders and listen to him fucking into his own fist, thinking about how it could be your cunt instead, and he knows you’re thinking it, too, that’s why he teases you like that, that’s why he makes you listen to his pleasure, why he keeps you on the tip of his fingers where he can feel you clench in time with his hand moving over himself.

“Did you think of me?” you ask with the last bit of strength you have left.

A grunt is all you receive as confirmation. But he does pull out his fingers and you tense because you know what’s about to happen.

His hand is so wet, covered in your slick like this that when he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, he leaves cooling imprints against your hot skin. He slaps you again, does it two times more – grab, slap, grab, slap. You whimper, a pitiful little sound that makes him snarl.

“Harder,” you demand.

This time, your wish remains unheard. Instead, he buries his index finger between your wet folds, then moves it up, leaving a wet trail in its wake, until he reaches a destination you both have only talked about visiting without making the actual trip. But when his wet digit probes it carefully, you want it, want him so much it makes you light-headed, makes you feel fuzzy and high.

His deep voice cuts through the blanket of lust surrounding you. “You’re so tight”, the tip of his finger slips past the firm ring of muscle, “… tight little hole for me to fill.”

He holds you hooked on his finger, like a fish caught, while he continues to stroke himself frantically. You hold your breath, listening to the obscene sounds his hand is making, listening to his pants and moans, and you wish you knew where his eyes are, but you think you can guess. Then something shifts, he shifts, and he’s closer now, also deeper inside of you, while his thumb is buried between your folds again, and your entire body clenches with need.

His thumb finds your clit and it’s over, you come with a scream that echoes around the stuffy car – it might be his name, it might be a curse – but you pull his index finger deeper inside of you as your orgasm rips through you, and he gasps in surprise, deep and desperate. He tries to wait until you’re done, but you won’t stop shaking, your cunt won’t stop fluttering like a butterfly caught in a storm, so he pulls his finger out of you while you’re still coming, making you mewl at the loss.

You feel it, hot and heavy and hard, as he drags his cock through your drenched folds, up until it brushes against where you want him inside of you, but his hot release is already coating your back, your thighs, your over-sensitive center.

You both need to come back down to reality and you need to do it now before someone finds you like this. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Late for what?”

God, his voice! Hearing it after he’s just come makes your legs feel like jelly.

You swallow. “Dinner.”

“Oh, did I forget to specify what kind of dinner?” he teases.

Both of his hands hold you in place as he leans down over your back and drags his tongue over your skin covered in sweat and his own release. When your high giggle turns into a deep moan, he whispers against you.

“I have all I need right here.”

Javi G tag: @badbatches | @darksber | @doin-stuff | @filthybookworm | @for-my-satisfaction | @frannyzooey | @javigutierrez | @karkii | @maziken | @pann-malii | @pedrostories | @raspberrymama | @silksaddle | @skeletonstwins

[quaranmine]

The Babysitting Game

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Grian doesn't have a child but he does have an egg and a village. That’s basically the same thing, right?

Grian acquires an egg. His friends help him.

No romantic relationships or content warnings. Mainly fluff! Hermits: Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Scar. My first publish fanfic since 2016 and my first hermitcraft fanfic :D ao3 link and some inspirations to be linked in a reblog

Words: 2862

•·················•·················•

"What if I touched it really quick?" Scar asked.

"No, don’t-don’t touch the egg," Grian said seriously. "Look, I even made a sign! It specifically says ‘Do not touch.’" He gestured to the sign in question, but Scar ignored him.

"Can I rub it?" he said. The man leaned over it, studying the object carefully. Grian hadn’t known where to place the egg when he got it, and it was just sitting on an anvil for the time being. He didn’t even have a starter house yet, but clearly he was going to need something soon if he was going to protect the egg from some of the more . . . mischievous residents of their Boatem village.

“No, don’t touch the egg! Scar-” Grian walked closer, hands outstretched, just in time to see Scar reach out with his hand and pat the egg.

Vworp!

The egg disappeared into thin air.

Dragon eggs had a tendency to do that. It was a survival tactic--Grian didn't really know how it worked, but just as endermen could teleport away from danger, so could the egg if it were touched. Now whether or not Scar was dangerous remained up for debate…

Scar giggled. "Oh, where did you go?" he sang, hunting around the area.

Well, he COULD be pretty scary sometimes.

"Scarrrr," Grian whined, helping him look. "I told you not to touch it!"

"It's over here!" Scar shouted, finding the egg at the bottom of a small slope nearby. "Just one more time…." He reached out again.

"No!" Grian said, slapping his hand away. "Look, you've got to pick it up the right way." He demonstrated, carefully lifting the egg and placing it in a pouch slung over his back. He had hurriedly stitched it together not too long ago, worried that transporting the egg normally might break it. “If you do it roughly, you’ll scare it and it’ll teleport away again.”

"I see!" said Scar.

"Now, please, don't touch the egg.”

"Oh," Scar said. He straightened. "You're really serious about this."

Grian glared. "I am."

"I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny!"

Grian sighed. "It's okay, Scar. It's just--this thing is a baby, it needs to be handled gently! You can't just go around scaring it! What if it falls into a hole or something?" he hissed.

"Oh my god," Scar laughed, "you're its mother now!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"You are!" Scar cried. He suddenly stopped. "Oh no, didn't you kill its mother?"

"Well it doesn't know that!" Grian snapped. "Truthfully I didn't realize there would be an egg! And I couldn't just leave it, you know! Here, look at this." Grian gently withdrew the egg from its pack, and Scar moved closer. He held it up to the sun. "Look at that."

The sun shined dark red through the deep purple shell of the egg, making it glow within. In the middle, the silhouette of a curled up creature was illuminated. Blood vessels radiated outward, and at the bottom there was a blank space that Grian assumed was air. The egg’s shell was too thick for any detail to be made out, but the processes happening within were clear. Grian was enchanted with it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"Wow," Scar breathed. "There's actually a dragon in there! What're you gonna do with it after it hatches?"

"Well, I haven't exactly thought that far--I just want to worry about keeping it safe first. I mean, what do you even do with this thing?" Grian put the egg back in its satchel, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I suppose you keep it warm and safe but, like, I don't know what else-"

"I could help!" Scar said.

"You were just playing with it!"

"Hey," Scar said defensively, "that was before I knew more about it!"

Grian rolled his eyes.

“What are you guys doing over here?” said Mumbo, wandering over. Grian just knew he’d been up to something, and sure enough, there was a new tree next to his little collection of chests. Grian wasn’t very bothered by it, because he already had a plan to get Mumbo back for it.

“Grian is just showing me his new baby!” Scar teased. “He’s a mom now.”

“I am NOT its mother,” replied Grian tiredly, but he smiled at the sight of the other man.

“A baby?” Mumbo asked, choosing to ignore the rest of Scar’s statement.

“A dragon egg,” Grian answered. “I found it in the End.” He paused for a moment, feeling almost bad. “After I killed the dragon.”

“Grian! You’ve orphaned it!” Mumbo sounded scandalized.

“Why do you all keep bringing that up!?” he defended, glancing between Mumbo and Scar, who both gave him disapproving, albeit playful, looks. “I know you’re Mr. Peace, Love and Plants this time, but we’ve always killed the dragon in every new world!”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but it is a little sad isn’t it? You’re taking care of it but only because you killed its mum.”

“Yeah,” was all Grian said. The dragon always needed to be taken care of in each new world they visited, and while it was always a bit of a shame, he’d never really contemplated it that much. After all, he normally wasn’t the one who fought it--that last time in Evo aside. He didn’t really know what he had gotten into but he felt deeply like he needed to protect this egg. It was like a tug in his chest, drawing him into the egg and telling him not to let go.

“Show him the egg!” Scar said.

“You just want to see it again,” Grian replied, but pulled the egg out of the satchel again anyway for Mumbo to see. The surface of the egg wasn’t smooth, like a chicken’s egg, but bumpy. The purple spots almost seemed to glow, and occasionally little violet particles drifted off of it. Grian felt like he could stare at it in awe all day, and apparently his friends felt the same.

“How’re you going to keep it warm?” asked Mumbo after a moment of admiring it. “That satchel isn’t going to be enough, and to be frank, I don’t see you spending any time sitting on it, even if the mental image is pretty funny.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the comment, but thought about it. How would he incubate it? He may have had wings, but he didn’t know anything about eggs, other than that it was a safe bet to assume it needed to be kept warm. “I'm not sure, actually.”

“Hey, let me design something for you!” Mumbo said excitedly. “I could probably use some redstone and make an incubator of some sort for you.”

Grian smiled. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Asking Mumbo to create a contraption for him--what could go wrong?

•·················•·················•

“I’m not wearing this thing, you know.” Grian said, holding the contraption while Mumbo wheezed with laughter in the background. The design that Mumbo had come up with was essentially a backpack with heating elements strung through it, except for one thing . . .

“You-you wear it in the front,” Mumbo choked out, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Yes, I see that,” Grian replied, unamused.

“Like a swaddle!”

“Yes, I see that.”

Mumbo laughed harder. Grian had to begrudgingly admit that it was well designed, however. It would fit the egg perfectly, keep it warm, and most important it was mobile to ensure that he could take the egg with him. It was thoughtful, especially since Mumbo knew Grian was quite protective of it.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” Grian repeated. “I’m not going to let you all laugh at me while I walk around the server with an egg swaddled to me!”

“I thought you’d say that,” Mumbo chuckled. “Here, you can switch the straps around and turn it into a backpack.” He unclipped the straps and moved them into the new configuration.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he said gratefully. “This will certainly do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it mate,” Mumbo replied. “Now, while you’re here, may I ask why there is an incredibly tall tree on top of my camper?”

“Sorry, got to go!” blurted Grian, snatching the backpack from Mumbo’s arms and flying off in a burst of feathers.

“That’s unfair, I don’t even have an elytra yet to go chase him down with,” muttered the man as he watched Grian disappear.

•·················•·················•

Grian sat in the grass in front of his starter home and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was exhausted. Is this how all parents feel? he wondered. Was he just uniquely unqualified to be one? After all, this was only an egg! It hadn’t even hatched yet and he was already tired of keeping up with it.

Carrying it in the backpack was heavy, and Grian tired out quickly. It was hot on his back, and Grian found himself having to take breaks to avoid overheating. It was also cumbersome, and he found it difficult to build with as it shifted his weight. He almost fell off the roof once while building it! Of course, having wings meant that Grian could catch himself easily, but it had still given him quite the scare. Dragon eggs were pretty sturdy, and would teleport themselves out of danger if possible, but he was still so paranoid about breaking it. And now there was the Boatem Hole to worry about--what if it teleported itself into the void? These things kept Grian awake at night.

But if he left it...well, just like Grian had a tendency to lose items in his chest monsters, he also had a tendency to forget where he placed things. He had been forced to go back and rescue the egg from some place he’d left it more than once, which he wasn’t exactly proud of. What sort of parent forgot their child?

. . . He was definitely not admitting to being its parent.

Oh God, what did I get myself into?

“Hey Grian, what’re you up to?” came a voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up and saw Pearl standing over him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hands were in her hoodie pockets. She took a seat on the ground next to him, and followed his gaze overlooking the Boatem village. “What’s on your mind?”

“This--this egg,” said Grian. It sat next to him in its backpack, still radiating heat. “I don’t know what to do with it. I’m just so tired of carrying it around!”

“I have to admit,” Pearl said, “I didn’t expect you to immediately adopt a baby dragon the very next time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, it was an accident.” Grian groaned. “I don’t know what to do with it now, let alone when it hatches!”

Pearl thought for a moment. “You know, the rest of us are all here for you. The other hermits would be happy to help out, I’m sure.”

The other hermits . . . well of course they would. If it was one thing they were all good at, it was supporting each other. Scar had already taken a particular interest in the egg, although Grian was still a little suspicious of him scaring it again. Mumbo had specially designed an incubator for it. Pearl was visiting him to check up on him and offer help.

All Grian had to do was convince himself to let it go. To let them help.

“I know that but . . .”

“But what? Have you had any reason to believe they wouldn’t?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no.” He thought for a while. He thought of how his friends would lend materials when needed, or how they’d help replace someone’s armor and items if they were lost. He thought about the days where they all teamed up and chose one hermit to help out, and he thought about all the things they did for the good of the entire community without even being asked.

His desire to protect the egg was strong, and putting it into the hands of another person almost felt like simultaneously a betrayal of the egg itself and the biggest leap of faith he could take. But the hermits were good at leaps of faith, because someone was always there to catch you.

“You think it’d be okay?”

“I know it’ll be okay,” Pearl replied. “I haven’t been here very long but from what I’ve seen, I know they’d all help. They wouldn’t hurt it. They might be a little mischievous sometimes,” she said, glancing at Scar’s house, “but they know how important it is and would be happy to help. They helped you before, didn’t they?”

Pearl was right, of course. Nobody on the server had any desire to hurt the egg. He trusted that. If there was anyone that he could trust, it was them.

But how would he get them all to essentially sign up for babysitting?

An idea struck him, and Grian scrambled to his feet. “Pearl, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She blinked, a little startled. “Always happy to help.”

•·················•·················•

Grian stood back, admiring his work. A near perfect duplicate of the egg that was currently sitting in the backpack slung around his shoulder, but at a much larger scale. It was built out of obsidian blocks and crying obsidian for the spots, and if Grian was pretty proud of how it looked.

If Grian knew anything, it was that his friends loved minigames. And Grian was not above gently exploiting that fact to get a little help--just like barge game from the last world, where he managed to get his friends to help mine out the stone from next to his mansion. Just slap the title of “game” on something and you could get a hermit to sign up for anything.

“Now . . . I just have to write the signs on the inside.”

The game Grian had come up with was officially called Tegg--he needed to stay on brand with his tag games in every world--but he’d mentally been calling it “The Babysitting Game” for a while now. Because that’s what it really was--each hermit who signed up would also sign up to watch the egg and keep it safe. He set to work outlining the rules.

RULE ONE: Protect the egg and keep it safe.

RULE TWO: Keep the egg incubated or it’ll die.

RULE THREE: Keep a close eye on the egg.

RULE FOUR: Call Grian if it starts to hatch.

Satisfied, he wrote out the rest of the instructions. Because it was a game, he wanted to make it fun for the hermits too, so he’d decided to make it like a scavenger hunt. People were allowed to take the egg, provided they adhered to the rules, and were encouraged to hide it and keep it safe. Otherwise, someone else who wanted to have it could get it. The safer the egg was, the less likely for someone else to find it. The winner was whoever had the egg the longest when it finally hatched. Grian didn’t know how long that would take, but he didn’t want to miss it either, hence rule four.

Yep, totally outsourcing his babysitting onto his friends.

Grian squinted at his wall of signs, before placing one final sign at the bottom: Grian will track the game and has final say on points and rules!

“That should do it,” he mumbled. He still wanted to keep an eye on the egg, to make sure that he knew who had it and how many people’s hands it had gone through. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for it.

Grian pulled the egg out of the backpack and carefully placed it on the ground. He’d somehow made a habit of just speaking to it every now and then--he had no idea if the little dragon could hear anything in there, but he liked to think that it could. “Hey there,” he whispered, and stroked the top of the egg. “Some new people are going to start taking you pretty soon, but it’s okay. They’re going to give me some help and make sure you’re safe.”

He paused, taking in the little room he’d made and the wall of signs he’d written with meticulous instructions for the egg’s care. It may have been the first thing he’d built for this egg, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last. A baby dragon was a commitment and for the first time Grian really let himself think about what that meant, beyond just an egg that he had to carry around. Would he house it? Train it? Let it stay by his side? Would he love it?

I think I already do, he thought.

He thought of the hermits--their mischievousness, their pranks, their hard work, their friendship, and their goodness at heart. They were his family, now. What was one more addition?

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the egg. “I trust them all with my life, but more importantly, I trust them with yours.”

[selinakidreams]

hello!! this is my first ever collab and man o man am I happy to be participating in @buttershouse ‘s Magic March with so many talented people!! Please go check out everyone’s work, there’s so many delicious pieces to choose from.

without further a-due, please enjoy this 7k word mash of a magic coffee shop/witch/ college au that I have goin here

pairing: Sero Hanta (with a FUCKIN UNDERCUT !) x gn!reader (afab)

warnings: she’s WHOLESOME, implied sexual themes throughout and then actual smut at the end !! , sex on aphrodisiacs

a/n: thank you so so so so so so so much to @keishinslove @hiddenbluee @spikesbimbo @scorpiomoonslutt and @dymphnasprose for reading and beta-ing this big boi- you guys helped me so much and 🥺🥺 you guys seriously mean the world to me.

tag list: @hiddenbluee​ @undersero @sawam0chi

“Double double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble,” you hum as you steep black tea before shifting to the other part of your station so you could add the guise of vanilla to the milk you were about to steam. 

You hear a snort come from your coworker as she looks over to you before smirking, “You think you’re so funny,” she teases while heating up a chocolate muffin for the current order. 

“I do, I really do,” you muse, holding the metal pitcher up to the espresso machine’s steam wand. The distinct smell of the liquid luck wafts around as you begin blending it in with the milk; it makes you smile, a comfortingly warm feeling washing over you. 

You always hoped people stepped into the shop hearing about the rumors and whole-heartedly believed them; believing in the magic that went into each drink when they ordered something off of the special menus- and that it wasn’t just for the unique taste. 

When you first started out, you often heard that with each new employee, the magical feeling tends to die out sooner or later; the happiness of creating spells and potions for others fleeting with the ever-growing pessimism towards all things unexplainable. After working at the shop for three years, one would think the feeling would have caught up to you, instead you felt anything but. With each new regular whose eyes sparkled with excitement as you handed them their unique concoction of a drink, your smile grew wider. Sometimes the familiar faces would come back and whisper about how each drink gave them the right energy to deal with each individual situation… almost like magic. You could do nothing but smile, sometimes a coy little wink was added, exciting the customer more and more. They'd leave with a newfound pep in their step. That's what has kept you going for so long. All anyone ever has to do was keep an open mind and believe that true magic does exist, and when you do, it's almost as though a door opens up, full of delightful possibilities.

As you called out the finished order and thanked the satisfied customer, the shop’s entrance bell chimed, welcoming in the newest one. 

You look up and made eye contact with someone who seemed oddly familiar; you tend to remember almost every person that has shown up more than twice at the cafe, so the fact that you can't fully recognize him only shows that the cafe couldn't have been where you’ve known him from... You couldn't quite put your finger on where you've seen him before but you definitely couldn't forget the welcoming aura he radiated. With his black hair pulled into a ponytail, exposing his undercut, and his extra large t-shirt hanging off of his lean frame, he flashed a bright smile, heading up to the counter to order.

Accustomed to ‘hey’s, ‘hi’s, or even an immediate order, the first thing out of his mouth somewhat surprised you. With a tilt of the head and a squint of the eyes, he mumbled out, “.. You look really familiar.” as he tried to place the face.  

“You know, I was thinking the same thing...” you trailed off. 

After a few seconds of analysis with no conclusion, he seemed to shrug and let out a little chuckle with a passive “it'll probably come to me in the middle of my next class…” before his eyes caught sight of the menus off to the side. Not wanting to make it too obvious that you were tempted to stare, you aimed your gaze elsewhere, only occasionally sneaking a glance at him while he was preoccupied with the menu.

“Ahh… can I get…” he kept his sights on all the options he could, as if it was going to make him any more decisive. Part of you hoped to hear something special, something magical, only to hear, “uhh a… hot latte please?”

While a very solid drink, you subconsciously waited to hear a flavor come after it; staring at him, almost in a daze. 

“Did I forget something...?” Your eyes grew wide, mind blank, trying to come up with an excuse for the elongated silence but before you could spout something out, his smile grew as he rolled his eyes, “Oh, duh, I forgot the size!” A breathy laugh came after his revelation and your chest  felt lighter once the sound hit your ears. “Could I get a large please?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” you chime as you grab a large paper cup and mark down his order with a sharpie.“Will that be all for you today?” looking back up at him, your customer service smile makes its awaited appearance like clockwork as it did when wrapping up every order. His eyes darted to the full pastry case before he could conclude, causing an actual smile to grace your lips, “Tempted?”

“One way or another, yea,” he said with an undertone of something else being implied, causing your cheeks to heat up. The smile that he threw in there further caused a little flutter of your heart.  

“Well luckily for you, we just restocked, so you've got a wide range of goodies to choose from.”

He licked his bottom lip and smoothly responded with, “Well which is your favorite?”

“My favorite? Hmm… Well, I always love a good chocolate croissant whenever I'm drinking regular lattes. The chocolate adds in that kick of sweetness that compliments the lack thereof with the coffee and bonus, it's not too heavy where it will make you feel bloated.`` 

“You really know how to sell a guy… That sounds amazing. Could I have that, please?” the tone in his voice was playful, fun, possibly flirty- and that was something that you were not going to think about. He’s a customer; he might not come back when he wants his next cup of coffee.

“You want me to warm it up for you?”

“Sure!”

Picking up the prongs, you took the freshest croissant from the batch and placed it in the microwave oven, turning back around. 

You voiced his total with a soft smile, “Cash or card?”

“Card. uh .. Can I leave a tip on here?” 

Cue the airy sigh that left your chest. A man who knows to leave a tip: you were in love with him already.

“Yea!” you squeak before clearing your throat, “Yea, once you remove your card, the option should pop up on the screen!”

You throw one more smile back at him before turning around to start his drink, not missing the incredibly hard stare your coworker was giving you. You try not to look at them throughout the duration of making his drink.

Handing the handsome man his order, your hands lightly brushed against his and you fought hard to ignore the hefty thump in your chest. You looked back up at him and swore that there was a tint of rose dusted across his cheeks. 

You saw the beginning of his outburst before you could hear it. 

“Sero!” he said quickly, “Sero Hanta. That’s my name.” 

You smiled, sticking out your hand and saying your name, “I’ll be sure to remember it… Sero.” 

The rest of the shift went by pretty quick after that. Your coworker couldn't keep their mouth shut about how he was flirting with you and how you just so happened to be flirting back. You two were giggling so much that the rest of the shift just seemed to slip away and before you know it, it was time to clock out.

“Is there anything you want me to do before I head out?” you shout, asking the newly present night shift as you’re halfway out the door. 

“No no, we got it,” both your coworkers chime, “just hurry up and get to class!” one of them adds. 

Rolling your eyes, you wave goodbye, double checking that everything needed for class was in your bag before fully lugging one of the straps onto your shoulder and heading off.

The walk wasn't that far from the shop, luckily- taking your time and enjoying the world around you was such a cooldown from the hustle and bustle of your work shifts. 

The college town was quaint, warm, homely; It felt like everywhere was a short walk away- which it was. There was an ample amount of time for you to stroll to class after one of your shifts.

As you peruse down the street, you took note of how bright it felt this time of day and how soft the glow emanating from the sunlight hitting the trees was; the kiss of the sun heated your skin, allowing you to bask in the warmth of everything: the environment, the vibe, the mood. What a great feeling. 

Random thoughts passed in and out of your brain as you got to the entrance of campus- but the continuous train of thought halted at the station when the image of that man who came into the shop, the one with the undercut- Sero Hanta, popped up.

He was really attractive… where had you seen him before?

You mindlessly head towards the lecture hall, with the image of Sero’s face ever present behind your eyelids. The approaching building was a beautiful brick with ivy climbing up the side, a framed golden plaque near the large double doors announced that people were about to enter the Mirai Sasaki building- something you would normally stop to admire but today, you headed straight inside and towards your seat, still mentally preoccupied. 

Plopping down, you situate yourself, getting everything out; your textbook, notebook, pens, pencils and even a highlighter. You take a deep breath before slightly shaking your mind to wake up and concentrate on the human sexuality lecture that was about to start. Sero Hanta can wait.

Is what you told yourself and yet, the thought of him wouldn't leave you alone. It went so far as even hearing the professor call out his name. 

“So, I just wanted to clarify,” your ears perk up at the voice, “The article you gave us was about how unequal the orgasm ratio- the orgasm gap- is for women… but I feel like there is a new wave of um… feminine orgasm appreciation. Not to get too personal, but I know between my friends and I, we make sure that our partners always come… first.” He trailed off at the last part, probably coming to terms with the awkward phrasing he had ended with. 

You had to take a second to get a grip; too many things were happening at once and the one that held most of your attention was the fact that Sero Hanta blatantly admitted to wanting the girl to orgasm first. 

What a gentleman.

“Thank you for your… input … mister Sero- but with what you pointed out, it’s actually a perfect segway into the first project of the semester! If you notice in your syllabus, I typed a very vague title for the next class’s date. We're going to talk about it more next class but until then, please read the assigned articles by the next class and have a good rest of your day!”

While the majority of the class was packed and headed to the door, your eyes stayed glued on Sero as you mindlessly put things away. It seemed as though he was taking his time as well. Maybe he needed to talk to the professor? 

Seeing that your desk was now cleared, you slowly began descending down the stairs to get to the floor level, eyes glued to each step in front of you, mind somewhere completely different until your head is met with a firm back. With wide eyes, you step back and begin a stream of apologies, head bowed and eyes still on the floor as if you didn’t learn your lesson the first time. A warm chuckle hushes you accompanied with a light, “It’s alright, it’s alright!”

You look back up and are met with the mind-dizzying smile of the man who failed to leave your thoughts alone. 

Before your eyes could get any bigger, he murmurs your name. “So this is where I know you from!” He slightly cheered, lopsided grin growing comfortable. 

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚ 12 oz Time Flies with soy milk, hot; cinnamon orange black tea latte brewed with charmed orange peel to bring back the most nostalgic feelings (add a shot of our very own vanilla -liquid luck- to help Luck stay on your side!)˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

“Hey! Hey- you guys aren't closing are you?” You hear a panting voice rush through the door- the complete opposite of the energy the cafe currently held. You and your coworker were just winding down from your shift, cleaning and making sure everything was restocked for the next shift, soft music aiding the mood. 

Sero was attempting to collect himself when he realized the two pairs of stunned eyes staring at him. 

“I just- I wanted to walk with you to class. If that’s cool,” he said to you, flattening his shirt down, “and maybe get a coffee.”

Warmth fills your face as you try to suppress a smirk, “in that order?”

The already flustered college student blushed just a bit harder. Before he could come up with a response, your smirk eased into a soft smile, “okay Sero, what could I get you to drink?”

He steps further inside and orders the same thing he got the first time: a large hot latte. It doesn't take long until the drink is in his hand and you're shooing him off to a table, “I’ll be done in like 10 minutes, is that alright?” you ask, hints of your customer service mannerisms kicking in. He nods and you get back to cleaning, unaware that your movements became a bit swifter. 

After clocking out, you’re met with an eager grin and a glint of something unnameable in sero’s eyes. 

“The coffee was excellent, by the way. Both times I had it. Do you do something to it? I feel like it’s so much more than just a simple latte.” 

You smile at two things, him opening the door for you, and the fact that he was absolutely oblivious to the fact that his drink is one of the few drinks you don’t add any magical properties to. 

“I make it with kindness.” You say as you two start your walk, intertwining your hands behind you.

“So mister Hanta… have you been stalking me?” 

His eyes grow wide as his cheeks taint red, “N-no! I just thought that maybe you work every shift that’s before our class.”

“Hmmm… So were you going to come by every day to test out your theory if i wasn't there today?”

“Well, luckily you were there, so I guess we’ll never know the answer.”

After you hummed out a response, the walk turned into a comfortable type of silent.

The both of you had several things passing through your mind, but outwardly, one was caught up basking in the fresh spring air while the other was admiring how the wind would slightly shift your hair.

Deciding to break the silence, you turned to face him, “Hey, so, why did you choose to take human sexuality?”

He didn't seem surprised to hear the question but he took a moment; it didn't seem like he was scrambling to find the perfect answer, it was almost like he just couldn't properly find the words. 

“Honestly, I love intimacy. I think its really cool that not one person’s views on sex and sexuality and the miniscule details within it, are the same.”

While the words you were hearing made sense, it must have shown that you weren't prepared for such an insightful answer because he let out a hearty laugh that seemed to go on and on, even after he took a deep inhale. 

“I’m sorry-” he choked out as he grabbed his chest, “your face just-” he gulped another breath of air, trying to regain composure.

Throughout his fit of laughter, you almost joined in a few times if it weren’t for you biting your cheek in attempts to keep the annoyed facade up. 

As soon as it seemed like he got it all out, you try to pull a convincing pout. 

“So what's the real answer, then?”

He cocks his head at your question, a smile still playing on his lips, “whaddya mean?”

“You're telling me that what you said wasn't just to catch me off guard?”

“Oh! No no, that's really why I'm taking the class. But i bet you thought i was going to say something asshole-y like ‘i just wanna learn more about sex so i could be better’, hm?” he said the last part in a dopey voice before smirking back at you.

You rolled your eyes in return, “not necessarily, that was just a really… refreshing… answer.”

By the time you got to class, it seemed pretty full, which was a bit odd seeing as though there was still some time before the lecture started. Part of you was hoping that you could snag a seat next to Sero or he could snag a seat next to you- but both of your usual seats were surrounded by others already. There was also always the possibility that maybe he didn't want to sit next to you; you didn't want to get your hopes up so you turned to him, waved goodbye, and headed to your normal seat. Unbenounced to you, he physically slouched in disappointment before heading to his spot.

The lesson went on, and while he wasn't crowding your mind today, you subconsciously kept stealing glances at him throughout the lecture in hopes that one of the times you'll find him glancing back at you. The only time you did catch him staring at you was with wide eyes when the professor announced that you two were going to be partners for the upcoming project.

“So I guess this means it's an appropriate time to ask for your number… I wanted to ask you for it but I didn't want to move too fast…?” he said as you two approached eachother after class, cracking a shy smile while he absentmindedly scratched the back of his neck, a subltle flex of his muscles on display. It was a bit hard to concentrate with a combo move like that attacking you, as if he was going in for the kill. 

“I wouldn't have thought it was too fast.” you softly counter, flashing him a tender smile.

It was one thing to feel the heat go to your face, it's another to visibly see it appear on his.

You both traded phones at the same time with the promise to text each other later that night; you put a little coffee emoji by his name while he put the sun next to yours.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚20 oz The Charismatic ! with hemp milk, iced; freshly brewed jasmine tea with a shot of our very own vanilla (liquid luck) to help your attitude and chances toward  any situation˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

Sitting at the furthest table away from the register, you start to unpack your laptop and make yourself comfortable- you're gonna be here a while. Powering up the device, Hanta pulls at the seat across from you and begins to mimic your movements. 

“So you want our first project meeting… at a coffee shop?” you start, trying to keep the smile from coming onto your face. Looking up at him would mean automatic defeat seeing as it's getting harder and harder for you to look at him without your lips twitching upward.

“I thought it would be very symbolic.”

A snort greeted both of your guy’s ears as your eyes went wide and your hands shot up to cover your mouth. “Anyway, so the project.”  Blushing around him was starting to become a regular occurrence, as well.

“Right,” he says clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

“So the project is to point out common sexual misconceptions and back it up with statistics and research articles. The fact that we got dibs on the misconception of the orgasm gap all because you had bragged about your personal sex life…” the thought alone shot a wave of warmth down your spine and right to your lower region. A flash of a Sero you hadn’t faced yet appeared in your imagination; him looking up at you, hungry and eager to please. It made your breath hitch. 

“Well, yea! I had to voice it. I mean, I feel like it’s common sense! When you have sex by yourself, then you can focus on what makes you feel good and what makes you cum. But when you’re with a partner…” he trailed off and your gaze snapped to him, “you should make sure they cum at least once before doing… whatever you two.. had.. planned on… doing.” Sero finished, his eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. 

Oh fuck. 

You felt yourself throb. 

“Y-yea! Uh I completely a-agree.” 

It’s almost as though he could tell that you were flustered so just to top it off, he smirked, “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” before deciding to drop it and move on.

He took a sip of his drink and sighed, “You guys really do make the best coffee. I got the same thing as I did with your place and yet… I'm here longing for your coffee.” you snort once again.

After that, the conversation eased into the project and what exactly needed to be done; the assignment was very simple but sorting out what dates you guys were going to meet up and how exactly you were going to go about gathering the information was all crucial. The project was due in a month and needed to be submitted in powerpoint format- which the both of you were relieved about.

It was really cute seeing Hanta’s eyes all lit up when it came to the part of how you two were going to go about getting all the information needed. He even suggested to conduct a little side research if you guys were ahead of schedule. It was something that made your heart patter. It was almost like you had smelt some of the charmed rose petals from work because every time you looked at him, you couldn't stop the warmth that flooded in your chest.

With that thought, there was the fact that he was more than likely going to be spending large amounts of time at the cafe- would he notice? Should you just come straight out and explain it? Explain that you were considered a witch, someone who was open-minded and was in tune with their intuition and can work with certain herbs, charms, and spells to create wonderful things? It didn't seem that big of a deal to you, it was something you had grown up with; simple spells and practices that just made day to day life more simple. Not every witch has been through the same childhood you had, there’s no special school- not that you were aware of, anyway. Your parents kept their grimoire out in the open and let you frolic about as they eased basic wholesome rituals into your life, and when you got old enough, they let you take in chapter by chapter each spell they casted, each potion they brewed. 

When you applied at the cafe, your first interview was full of normal questions worded in a way that almost sounded like it had a double meaning, thankfully you caught it and later was asked for a second interview- conducted by the boss himself. He had asked you to perform a basic potion/drink you grew up with, something that made you feel like you were walking on air. It was simple; a butterfly pea tea with a breath of life, with just a little bit of lemon activated the spell in the brew. When the well made drink hit his tongue, he offered you the job not a second later.

No. You wouldn't tell Sero yet. It never came up; It’d be odd to tell him straight off the bat- there's really no need. If he ever asks… then you’ll tell him.

But he hadn't so far.

Each meeting so far felt incredibly productive. It seemed like getting work done came naturally, with the topic being easy to discuss between the two of you and getting the articles to support your claim was fairly simple- apparently a lot of studies have been done about people’s orgasms. 

Since drafting up a skeleton outline the first time meeting, the bits and pieces really started coming together, but the get-togethers sometimes didn't go as planned- however, what was a constant was that no matter what the meet-up consisted of, there would always be a paper cup from your work, filled with a hot latte.

Some of the days, rather than working on the project, the two of you would use the allotted time to sit in your cafe and goof off, or sometimes you would host “tea time” in your apartment and talk about anything and everything- and it was okay because very early on, you both gathered all the adequate articles that involved your topic and sifted through them to get the statistics you needed. Collecting the data was simple enough and putting it together just came easy to you. 

Looking up from your laptop, finally done with sorting all the cited sources in each slide, you wave your hand at Sero to get his attention. Hanta was working on phrasing the facts and statistics from each work, so when he tilted his head up, gaze still on the screen until he finished typing the last sentence, he took his headphones out and hummed as he looked at you. 

“You get the same thing everytime we’re together… why?” 

He glanced at his almost empty cup before fully taking out his headphones, “I get it all the time because it really is the best latte I've ever gotten from a cafe before. I tell you this all the time.” 

“You never… wanna try anything new?”

“Is there something in particular you want me to try?” he asks, quirking his eyebrow upwards.

“Well no, not necessarily…”

“Well then how about you give me a recommendation? What’s a drink you think I would love?” 

This one stumped you for a minute. Though the thought had crossed your mind quite often, you couldn't quite pinpoint which special drink he’d appreciate the most. Something warm… something reflecting how you feel about him.

“I think that you should get the Time Flies; it's this black tea latte with orange zest and it's really… cozy.”

“Okay, I'll try it the next time I go.” 

And he did. The first sip he took felt like smooth gold hitting his tongue. So warm and rich that it had apparently induced the vivid image of the sunset from his grandmother’s porch. He was remembering the orange glow of everything the light touched. The whole day, he was feeling incredibly nostalgic, he even did some of the things he used to do when he was a kid, like watch old black and white movies and make dinner with his mom (even if it was through a phone call).

He told you all of this with one of the most handsome smiles you've ever seen, and that's saying a lot.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚16 oz Love Me or Love Me Not with oat milk, hot; our very own pink rose syrup (enchanted candied petals inside and dried petals on top) steamed in the milk meets a double shot of espresso for a deep, sweet, cozy drink˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

 “So,” you start once everything is situated on your living room table, the two floor pillows that play hosts to your guy’s lower halves sit diagonal from each other.

“So.”

“Everything is practically done, I just wanted to… call this meeting so we could just quickly skim over it and see if there was anything in the powerpoint that needed fixing and or adjusting.”

“Very reasonable reason to call this meeting but both of us have been looking at this practically nonstop… so I’m pretty sure it's good.”

“Well it’s due next class and I know we finished it up a few a couple of days ago but… there is absolutely nothing wrong with striving for perfection. And if anything, I’m trying to save your reputation.” he choked at the accusation you were attempting to make, “Oh yea! How are you going to get away with making that bold statement in front of the class, do a whole project on it, and then just… have it not be anything short of jaw dropping?” you didn't even wait for him to speak, “exactly. Your rep is on the line, I'm just the sorry person who got stuck with you.” You smirk, driving your ludacris point home while crossing your arms over your chest. 

Scoffing, he leaned over and lightly shoved you, “we got to choose are partners for this project! You chose to be with me!” his cry caused a chuckle to fall from your mouth as you readjusted yourself onto your pillow, “that's neither here nor there.” you try your best snotty act as you stick your nose up in the air.

“Okay okay then, your grace, let us go over the powerpoint,” he jested along and gave you a slight bow.

After a quick runthrough, everything seemed spick and span, so the two of you became more relaxed and sunk into the larger floor pillows once again. 

“So… I noticed that you finally got something from your shop.” Sero gestured over to the other paper cup on the table. “I have never seen you with your own coffee before, why today?”

Your cheeks involuntarily began to heat up; the drink he was referring to was none other than the Love Me or Love Me Not. Usually, you never went out of your way to make it, but for the occasion, it was necessary. It was the last time you guys were going to meet up for the project and you just… had to know. 

Let it be known, messing with love potions wasn’t your forte, you preferred for everything romantic to be consensual and untampered with- that's why this brew in particular was one that you preferred out of all the ones that are out there. When made correctly, the person drinking it should be able to look at their crush (in person) and if the crush liked them back, then the drinker would get a fierce wave of goosebumps; if the person did not like them romantically, their head world ache for just a few minutes before going back to normal. Simple and effective, plus no one gets roughed up or drugged.

Not a single sip had been taken yet, you were on edge about the situation. This was the first time you had ever made it for yourself, and it was pretty nerve wracking to see if this man who you began harboring feelings for liked you the same. 

It’s surely gone cold by now but that wasn’t going to stop you. “Oh! Uh- I was just really craving this drink today.” You say lamely before bringing the cup to your lips and taking a gulp. 

The smell of rose hit your nose before you could register the taste. The evenly sweet syrup paired with the strong espresso danced on your tongue before you swallowed it. You softly sighed, it tasted delicious. Another sip slipped past your lips. 

A roll of relief cascaded through you when an intense wave of goosebumps rose on your poked at your skin, causing you to cough and sputter. Eyes going wide and squeezing shut as the coughs wracked through your body. 

He likes you.

While coming down from your fit, you semi glance at Hanta who had almost instantly appeared by your side, patting and gently rubbing your back. 

“Is there liquor in that?” He joked as he handed you your drink so you could have more liquid to ease your throat.

You shook your head after drinking some more and cracking a grin. It might’ve been too big of a smile for someone who just choked but you didn’t care. Sero Hanta… likes you. 

Unable to help it, you glance down at his lips only to realize how close he is. Your grin slowly drops, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Can I uh.. can I try your drink?” He says, face red with blush. 

As you go to hand him your drink, he leans in and cups your jaw- causing your whole body to still, even your heart stopped to join the languor.

 He peaks his tongue out to softly lap up a drop that must have been on your lip, before capturing your lips with his. 

It felt like your mind shut down, and all you can feel is how soft his lips are and how sweetly he’s kissing you. Almost hesitantly. 

He pulls away in attempts to find your gaze to decipher how you felt about it. 

Your breath is ragged as you look back at him- everything and nothing is going on in your head in that moment, unable to speak, until you see the goosebumps that coat his body. 

Your heart thumps impossibly faster as you realize that not only does he like you… but he truly believes. He believes in the two of you, he believes in love, and he believes in magic. 

Without another second to waste, you tackle him in a hug and find your lips on his in a way that you know you’ll never get enough of. 

special extra ! : you and Hanta in the fall- Season of the Witch with almond milk, hot; dirty chai latte with a bewitched cinnamon stick to help keep you warm ;) , even on the coldest of days ˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚

The cold nips at your nose just as big hands nip at your waist, causing you to let out a noise between a squeak and a gasp. A flash of soft black hair blurred your vision before cold lips meet yours. “Hanta,” you sigh into the kiss before pulling away and giggling. 

You were heading back to your apartment after a day shift at work, the sky already becoming darker because of the autumnal equinox. 

“What are you doing? I thought I was gonna meet you at my place.” You say as your fingers intertwined and your step fell into pace with his. He pulled you closer so that you were basically leaning into him as you walked.

“You know those chocolate and pumpkin scones you baked for me? The special ones?” He quietly moaned. 

Your eyes go wide as he purposely guided your intertwined hands over his blatant bulge.

“Hanta you weren’t supposed to eat those until later, the spell usually kicks in within the next 30 minutes!” You giggle again. 

A few weeks after you two started officially dating, you formally sat him down and explained everything you didn't when talking about your guys’ past- the memories of frolicking through tall grass and talking to your mother’s familiar, to getting your job at the cafe. He told you that it was a lot to take in, but never did he push you away. When he went to the cafe, he was more observant. Somewhere in the months between June and July, he slowly became more and more interested in the rituals you would do and the potions you would make. He wanted to start joining in. Now in October, he loves seeing your crystals around your house and all the different herbs you grow in the sills of your window. When he found out that you could bake magical pastries with certain herbs, he almost immediately asked you to bake him some. At first, it started as something simple like a sage and rosemary savory loaf that helped cleanse your pallet of any negative energy. Then it started becoming more and more intricate, and that's how the two of you ended up here.

 “I know but fuck-- I was hungry and they looked so good, and now I’m hard and I need you.” he spoke lowly. 

This was going to be fun. 

The rest of the way, you were casually asking him things that shouldn't be heard in a public setting, “What is it you want to taste first, Hanta?”

“How badly do you want to fuck me into the mattress? Hm? Have your big cock stretch me out?”

“Wanna fill me up?”

By the time you both got to your apartment, there was no fumbling with the keys to get your door to open, you already had them out; getting through the door took three seconds tops. Next thing you know, your back was against the closest wall, your hands pulling at his tied up hair and scraping your nails against his scalp when the soft locks fell. One of his big hands lifted up a leg of yours and he groaned as he thrust upward against your heat.

“Fuck-” he panted into the kiss before trailing down your neck, still holding up one leg while the other hand finds itself under your shirt, his fingers hot to the touch. 

Releasing your leg and dropping to his knees, he looked up at you as he fumbled with the button of your pants. You lace your fingers in his hair, feeling him yank the material down your legs, tossing the one leg over your less dominant leg over your shoulder, and when a warm muscle hits your sopping clothed core, you pull his hair harder to apply more pressure.

“Look at me when I have you in my mouth, I wanna see how much you enjoy this.” 

You felt yourself clench, and apparently so did he, because a smirk grew on his lips. “Oh, you like when I say things like that?”

“H-hanta, please.. '' your voice wavered before you sucked in a sharp gasp. He had a finger, then two inside of you in no time, the other hand keeping the underwear out of the way so his lips could wrap around your clit.

He was pumping in and out of you faster and faster, occasionally switching the pace to unbearably slow and when you would whine, he’d tilt his head up, mid lick, to throw you a teasing glance before picking up the pace. He bagan curling his fingers, hitting a spot that had your eyes rolling and with the pressure building up, it had you panting out a breathy repetitive stream of his name. 

“‘M gonna cum Hanta, hh-” you moaned out before clenching your eyes shut, your body involuntarily shaking above him. And right below you, he was ready to lick up everything you had to offer.

Holding you steady as he came up to kiss you, your juices still on his lips, “you ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked when he pulled away. The short sobering moment hit as soon as he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom, but after he tossed you onto the bed, the look he gave you as he was unbuttoning his pants drew your mind hazy again.

“Can't wait to pump you full of my cum, to have you a drooling mess because of my cock.” he huskily whispered, giving you so many delicious previews of how the night will go. “You want that, pretty? Use your words.” he said as he crawled over to you and caged you in. The scent of cedar wood and citrus clouded your senses.

“Yes please Hanta!” you whine, “wanna feel stuffed b’cause of your cum. Please fill me up--” you whimper out, cutting yourself off when you felt his leaky tip at your wet entrance. 

Just like each time you two have been intimate, he guides himself slowly until he's in to the hilt of his pelvis, “shit, squeezing me so hard- c-an i move?” he moans out. 

Unable to form coherent sentences, you frantically nod and squeak out, “yes!”

With your permission granted, he eases in a thrust before he starts snapping his hips into you.

“Fuck, look at you, milking my cock so good-” he moaned, as he leaned in and kissed you. Each sharp thrust jolted you upwards, proving just how powerful his thrusts were. You threw your arms around his neck for the slight stability.

You began to let out little moans into the kiss that spurr him further; everything was beginning to get to him. How tight you felt around him, the feel of your tongue against his, the sloppy wet noises of your cunt.

“I’m gonna cum-- i'm gonna cum!” he choked out. 

You clawed at his back while whimpering pleas for him to fill you up, “fill me up with your cum, your cock fills me so good, please Hanta, more- more!”

You were clenching around him hard, and to bring you right to his level, he found your puffy clit and began a quick circular motion that made your jaw go slack, causing more frequent clenches.

His mind blurred as he pushed himself the deepest he could, moaning out your name and a gruff curse before emptying himself into you. 

You felt him twitch inside of you right before hot seed coated your already warm walls, and that’s what pushed you into a convulsion of ecstasy. 

He lazily humped his hips into you as you rode out your high before pulling out and rolling next to you.

Calling out your name to bring your attention to him, he pulls you into his chest where you could feel his racing heart, “what if… I started singing that song from hocus pocus? You know the one..” 

What a goof, you thought to yourself, playfully smacking his chest as you roll your eyes, looking up at him. 

“I put a spell on you… and now you're mine…” you begin to whisper, earning a hearty laugh from you boyfriend.

Maybe it was mutual, but quite possibly he had put a spell on you. And you were more than okay with it.