#(& with so much love to give! it shines through even in her very last writings; 'i wish i could meet all of you again' / 'goodbye for now')

[letterful]

— CANDY DARLING, from a letter written shortly before her death from lymphoma at age 29.

[talesofesther]

first in my heart

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Astarion hasn't seen his own face in 200 years and this bothers you deeply. You find a solution to finally show him how you see him, yet it leads to much more than simply that.

A/N: Gotta thank my sweet @iamnicodemus for encouraging me to write this. Undoubtedly one of the sweetest things I've ever written.

Word count: 4,7k

Masterlist

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."

It was something that lurked in the corners of your mind, those words of his. No matter how many days passed, you couldn't shake them off. It saddened you deeply. Each new passing mention about the last two centuries of Astarion's life drove a knife into your heart and twisted bitterly.

To the naked eye, it was imperceptible, never there. Even now, as you sat around the warm bonfire, watching as the pale elf bickered halfheartedly with Gale, he seemed as ordinary as your group of misfits could be. His smile loose, adorning those sharp fangs you'd become quite familiar with; silver hair curling delicately around pointy ears; deep red eyes reflecting the fire embers with a unique shine whenever he'd steal glances at you. He was the embodiment of lightheartedness and witty remarks, eccentric, unbothered, and with a quick tongue for anything.

And yet, he wasn't, not always. You felt secretly privileged, in a way, to be able to see the real him—to be allowed to. To hold him close when he wakes up gasping for air he didn't quite need and with watery eyes in the dead of the night; to softly kiss each and every scar on his back, whispering promises of love where before he had only known pain; to remind him again and again of his worth.

Astarion had a side to him you were slowly uncovering; you think, that he himself is only now uncovering as well. Vulnerable and fragile, broken but not beyond repair, yearning to be cradled by gentle hands.

He deserves to be mended, you know it in your heart. To get back what was taken from him. And you wanted to help, if only a little.

Earlier today as you ventured through Baldur's Gate, you stumbled upon a discarded sketchbook. It was a little dirty and a little worn, but it was still very much usable. Amidst your—many—questionably valuable loot, you knew you had a few good pencils to spare too.

It's been long since you picked up some paper and let your mind run free—before your whole adventure, to be precise. Maybe you'd be a little rusty around the edges and it would take a few tries to get him close to perfect, but you had time; or, you'd make time. He deserved as much.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

The lines that made him him came almost like second nature to you, maybe because you'd traced those same features with your fingertips countless times before within these last weeks. Ever since he admitted he'd fallen for you beyond his plans of seducing you, things had been easier, lighter. He allowed himself to be cherished and you were more than happy to do so.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you created curly strands of his hair with your pencil. Delicate and precise, even for the mess that was his curls.

The sky bathed in shades of orange, pink, and baby blue as the sun lowered in the distance. The camp was as lively as it usually was during the evenings. Karlach was playing fetch with Scratch and the Owlbear cub, the latter who was mostly just running around aimlessly. Gale and Wyll were hunched over the fire doing something you could only hope wouldn't end in mild disaster. Lae'zel sharpened her blades, a scratching sound piercing your ears from afar. Shadowheart looked to be in deep conversation with Astarion, to which the vampire gestured wildly as he apparently tried to make a point.

You never expected that your unfortunate encounter with a mind flayer would give you a makeshift family, but you were thankful that it did. For better or worse, you were all in this together, and that was comfort and motivation enough.

With the strangely soothing sounds of laughter and bickering, you turned your attention back to your sketchbook. Going back one page, you had already finished a rough sketch of Astarion's profile, focused on the contrast of his sharp nose and soft curls. Now, on the next page, you were working on a more elaborate portrayal of his features, depicting a look he often wore when you sauntered over to him; the faint smile on his lips that had grown all the softer ever since you first met; the gentle tilt of his head as his eyebrows scrunched expectantly; the sharp and alluring eyes who could pierce into your soul.

"What are you up to, my sweet?"

The sudden honey-coated voice startled you, you jumped slightly on your seat and hastily covered the pages on your lap with your forearms.

The elf himself stood only a few feet in front of you, his lips pursed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity as he tried to peek past your arms.

You chuckled timidly, "Nothing, I was just- just resting a bit." Shrugging nonchalantly as you smiled.

Astarion narrowed his eyes at you but didn't push it, he never did. "Gale is trying to make us something to eat with what he got from the vendors today," he gestured behind himself and to the fire where Gale stood in front of, "I wouldn't be the first to try it out if I were you but I'm dying to know everyone's opinion on it." A sly smirk got his fangs poking out, "bonus points if someone vomits it out."

You shot him an amused look, biting back a laugh. You never quite got why he had this little rivalry with Gale—besides the fact he wasn't overly fond of Gale's flirting attempts with you in the beginning, but that had long since subsided. To be honest, you think it's more routine than anything else at this point, for show and amusement; a friendly rivalry.

Slightly cold fingertips caught hold of your chin when you didn't answer, his thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth as Astarion held you. "Do join me, will you?"

The smile you still wore shifted into something sweeter, reserved only for him. And you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes momentarily. "I will… in a moment."

Astarion blinked at your briefly evasive answer, but nodded anyway, "I'll… be waiting."

He walked away, slow steps taking him towards the commotion around the campfire. You felt a little bad for denying him company right away, but it was for a good cause, you had to follow your streak of inspiration if you wanted to finish the drawing to the best of your abilities.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

Dinner proved to be pleasant, tasty even, for Gale's culinary standards. This time of day had to be one of your favorites, with everyone sitting together around the fire at night and forgetting about life's misfortunes for a moment.

You sat by a rock, leaning your back against it as your shoulders shook with laughter at one of Halsin's stories. Astarion had plopped down by your side not long ago, the weight of his shoulder resting against yours as comforting as it always was. He took just a while longer to take your hand in his tonight, cold fingers hooking around yours and squeezing as he brought your joined hands to rest on his thigh.

Everything felt so new, you thought of yourself as a giddy teenager sometimes; heart fluttering with each lingering touch and stolen glance. For most of the time, you let Astarion set the pace of things, giving him the freedom to choose to be by your side. And there wasn't a time when he chose not to be.

He played with your fingers, palm to palm as if to compare sizes, alluring red eyes focused solely on where you touched. Innocent, boyish even. It was new for him too, you thought, perhaps much more than it would ever be to you.

And then your mind drifted back to the gift you had been steadily creating for him, excitement twirling in your stomach. You leaned closer, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt on his shoulder, "I'm gonna head to my tent for a bit, got a few things to organize. I'll find you later, yeah?"

A low hum fell past Astarion's lips, his eyes flicked to you, all big and vulnerable. "Oh, alright," his voice quiet and sweet.

You smiled, squeezed his hand, and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. His eyes never left you as you walked away.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

It had never been on his plans, falling for you. It wasn't even something he considered would happen when he first started to slip a few honeyed words your way. But then you threw his heart off course with your tender touches and whispers of comfort, leaving telltales of your warmth all over his cold body. And he was a goner.

The last time Astarion dared to care about someone, he endured a year of punishment locked away, alone, starving, and crying for help that wouldn't come. There had been a fear, clawing at the back of his mind as he watched himself crumble for you; a fear that this would end much the same.

When he finally bared his heart for you—shaking like a leaf with the proverbial organ stretched out in his hands—he expected you to deny him, scream at him, maybe even send him away.

You didn't.

You said you cared for him. You hugged him.

There was no one else in the world like you, he decided.

Three dangerous words lingered on Astarion's tongue each time he woke up to your sleeping form beside him. For the time being, he settled for kissing the shape of them into your skin, over and over, until maybe one day you figured it out.

He scoffed at himself, finally tearing his gaze away from where you sat on the other side of the camp. If his much younger self saw him now, he'd probably be laughing. Or he'd be very envious. No in-between.

Stars danced in the night sky, alongside a half-moon dusted with faint clouds. It was late, most of the group had already turned in for the night, with Karlach keeping watch, as much to her dismay, it was her turn.

Astarion ran his tongue over his fangs, grip tightening on the book he had in his hands. He'd been trying to read the same page for minutes now.

There was no one else in the world like you. He wondered when you'd realize that. When you'd realize that you were infinitely too good for the likes of him.

With a shiver running down his spine, Astarion worried that you might have started to.

It's been a few days now that you've been… distant; tucked away in your tent whenever you settled camp, not sparing him much time of day, at least not nearly as much as you used to.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, as he closed his book, Astarion realized he missed you, even with you sleeping side by side each night. How needy of him.

But he missed your mindless talks by the fire as everyone settled in for the night; he missed your walks through town just before sunset or sunrise; he missed the causality, the simplicity of calling you his. He'd gotten used to the sweet routine quite quickly.

The thought that you might already be growing tired of him made his dead heart clench agonizingly inside his chest. He glanced back at you, hunched over your makeshift desk as you scribbled something down in a book, Scratch lying by your feet. That is a kind of pain he wasn't sure he could endure.

Perhaps against his better judgment, his feet carried him to you anyway; yet he hesitated, words heavy on his tongue. Astarion stood awkwardly behind you, fidgeting with the edges of his shirt and praying that anyone who might still be awake wouldn't look this way. Scratch raised his head when the elf approached, a whine coming from him as his head tilted from side to side as if he wanted to ask what was wrong. Seems even the dog pities his predicament.

Old habits die hard and Astarion couldn't help but assume the worst, every time. He doesn't know how to be with someone, doesn't know the first thing about being in a relationship—was that what you two had? It's not like you ever labeled it. Maybe he did something wrong, and that's why you've been limiting your time with him.

"Astarion?"

With several blinks, his eyes focused again, only to see you regarding him with a frown, hand resting atop the closed book you had been writing in. Now your head was the one tilting inquisitively.

"Is everything okay?"

Still, your voice would always be sweetest to his ears.

Astarion shook his head softly to clear the fog his insecurities had brought and plastered a smile on his lips. "Of course, my darling," he approached, extending a hand to your sitting form and twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers, "I just think you should be getting your beauty sleep by now. Come warm up my bed, won't you?"

The faint blush that dusted your cheeks whenever he sweet-talked you would never cease to endear him. "We can read that book you're so fond of if you don't want to sleep, the cheesy romance one," Astarion purred, his pointer finger tracing the edges of your jaw.

You turned your head, planting a small kiss on his palm. "I'll be going soon, just want to finish something first. You can read without me, I don't mind."

But how could he ever tell you, that the words looked blurry and tangled without you by his side?

Longer than an hour had gone by when you finally decided to come to his tent. The night was mostly quiet, eery, with only the sounds of crickets, frogs, and the crackling of the dying fire. Astarion lay on his side, back turned towards the tent's opening. He didn't need sleep, not really, some meditation here and there would usually be enough to keep his energy up. But it was a habit he'd picked up when you started sleeping together through the night.

He wasn't asleep tonight, however. He heard your footsteps approaching him, quiet and cautious so as to not disturb him. He felt you lying down beside him, ever so slowly.

Astarion closed his eyes tightly, trying to hold himself back and failing miserably. One taste of your affection had been enough to get him hopelessly addicted.

He turned, shuffling closer and curling his body around you. His arm went over your stomach and tugged lightly, like a kitten asking for attention. You didn't say anything as you closed your arms around him, your lips finding the bridge of his nose and then his forehead. Words were futile when actions spoke the loudest.

Your gentle touches, the way you hold him without malice, he could hardly get enough of it. Your arms wrapped around him and your lips grazed his skin with lingering kisses, and it didn't hurt, it didn't burn or make him feel sick. You were the first one to ever do it, to hold him without hurting him.

Astarion nuzzled your neck, burying himself in the feeling, gladly drowning in it as he drank every last drop. Tears prickled his eyes, they usually did on nights like these and he's never quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the way your fingers gently tangled in his hair yet didn't tug or scrape; maybe it's the way you tighten your hold on him as if trying to mend his fragile heart; maybe it's because of how much he longed for someone like you to come and save him, on nights where all he knew were pain and unwelcomed caresses that scarred his skin more than any blade ever could.

And now, he wanted to lose himself in the comfort he found, that you so generously provided. His fingers closed forcefully on the fabric of your shirt, nearly ripping it, afraid you'd leave if he held you any looser. The fear of waking up alone and finding out that he'd lost you was all too consuming, tugging at his heartstrings.

He closed his eyes and rogue tears dampened the collar of your shirt. It was okay, it would be dry come morning, you wouldn't know. You were warm, you chased away everything that haunted him.

⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆

You stared at it intently. You have been staring at it for a while now, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek in nervousness and anticipation. You checked it once, twice, turning the pages with careful fingers. The sketchbook wasn't filled, it would take too long to do so, but at least half of the pages inside it held some kind of scribble. Art pieces of various styles and levels of progression, some much more detailed than others, some mere hasty lines put together to paint a dear image you wanted to keep for a while longer. All of them of him. A book filled with the pointy ears and pale hair you adored so much.

You could only hope he would adore it just as much.

It was early in the morning and the day had yet to properly start. Most of your companions were still tucked away in their tents, some huddled around the burned logs of the fire from last night, coffee mugs in their hands and a sleepy look on their faces. You were never much of an early bird yourself, but today you made a point of rising before Astarion—you were lucky he'd picked back up the habit of sleeping and wasn't much of an early bird himself.

Hugging the sketchbook to your chest, you padded back to the warmth of his tent. As you opened the flaps, you were greeted with the sight of soft slivers of sunlight coming through the thinner part of the tent's fabric, they glimmered over Astarion's laying form, kissing his pale skin and making it shine.

You could easily get used to it; waking up to him, watching as the early morning rays painted his features golden, small wisps of dust flying in the air only giving him that bit more magical touch.

Astarion had his back to you, so you quietly kneeled beside him, extending a hand to run through his mess of curls; oh how soft they were, molding in between your fingers like seafoam on the shore. You counted yourself remarkably privileged.

You placed the sketchbook behind you so you could lie down, only keeping yourself up on one elbow. Your lips found his temple and the elf lightly stirred in his sleep. You kissed the tip of his ear next, waking him up gently. Always gently. He deserves gentleness.

With a hoarse groan, Astarion turned around to face you. He blinked several times as his ruby eyes adjusted to the soft sunlight, his face adorably scrunched from sleep. An easy, small smile appeared on his lips as soon as his gaze landed on you.

You weren't an early bird, yet you came to love the mornings, if only for this sight alone.

"Good morning, my star," you said quietly so as to not disturb the peace of the moment, still twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers.

He chuckled, "Good morning, beautiful." His voice all husky and deep, one hand finding your waist and trailing all the way up to your neck to pull you closer.

You kissed the corner of his lips and then the apple of his cheek, and Astarion's hold on you only grew tighter, pulling you on top of him. A welp escaped you as you laughed, nuzzling his neck before baring your teeth and giving him a playful nibble.

"Ow, you menace!" The vampire gasped halfheartedly, holding back a grin.

You pulled back from him with the ghost of a smile, bracing yourself on his chest. "I've got something to tell you."

His expression shifted to something you couldn't quite decipher, but he quickly masked it with a teasing tilt of his brows; "Oh? Are you gonna confess your undying love for me?" Both his hands brushed along the sides of your waist, gingerly raising your shirt as his pinkie grazed your skin.

"I thought we'd gone over that part already?" You teased back with a glint in your eyes, pushing yourself back up to sit beside him.

A whimper of complaint escaped Astarion when you separated, but he sat up with you anyway; his hair askew and all over the place, cheeks with the faintest flush to them, eyes just a little droopy, and… a strange stiffness to his shoulders. "What is it, my love?" He wondered, scrunching his nose endearingly when a piece of lint grazed it.

You squirmed in your seat; heart burning hotter than Karlach's in your chest, valves working overtime as the connection you shared enveloped you whole. You haven't actually told him how much you loved him, the four-lettered word hadn't been brought up yet, mostly for fear of the weight it held. But you wanted to, you've been feeling it for a while now.

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense," Astarion chuckled, but the sound didn't feel quite right to your ears, his smile wasn't reaching his eyes. And as you looked at him—one of his hands gripping tightly onto the fabric of his bedroll while the other tapped his knee incessantly; the ruby of his eyes almost nonexistent, covered by shiny black pupils as he looked intently at you, gaze filled with sentiment and vulnerability—you could notice it there now, that lingering fear of solitude gripping at his chest.

For a moment, you berated yourself, for you knew you'd spent quite some time on your little project, and maybe it had affected your routine more than you cared to admit. You felt a nagging guilt and sorrow for making Astarion even consider the possibility of loneliness again.

You tried shrugging it off. It would be worth it—and you'd be showering him with love and affection in just a moment anyway.

"I made something for you." The words rolled off your tongue more easily than you thought they would. You reached behind you with unsteady hands, heart in your mouth as you held onto your breath.

Astarion stared intently at the black sketchbook that was now clasped between your hands. He looked up at you, and back down, lips pursed in confusion.

"Ever since you told me… you haven't seen yourself in so long," you started, voice gentle as your thumbs traced the leather cover of the book. "And asked me how I saw you. I- I kept thinking about it and… when I found this," you wiggled the sketchbook in the air, "I guess I found a way of showing you…"

You extended the book for him to take, lowering your voice to a near whisper; "how I see you."

A short, trembled gush of air went past Astarion's lips. It was a difficult task to get him speechless, yet you had done it. He said nothing as he ever so carefully took the book from your hands, holding it as if the smallest wrong move could break it.

You watched as his throat worked through a heavy gulp, his eyes shining bright under the faint sunlight, swimming in a pool of sentiment and he hadn't even opened the book yet. Or properly looked at it, for that matter; his eyes still trailed on your face, as if waiting for confirmation that you meant it. Only when you gave him a tiny nod, did he finally look down. It hit you hard that this was probably the first gesture of this kind that he had received in his long life.

Shaky, pale hands reached to turn the first page. He hesitated for only a moment, almost looking afraid. About to see himself after 200 years of living as a ghost.

The first drawing you had made in the book wasn't your best, now that you looked down at it again; a simple portrait of Astarion looking down at a book in his hands, a little rough around the edges, hardly detailed. It had been your first try after not drawing for quite some time.

A beat passed, and a drop of water landed on the bottom corner of the page. You whipped your head up, only to see rogue tears steadily dripping down Astarion's cheeks until they reached his chin and fell on his lap. He cried silently, barely moving; the only signs being the obvious tears and the quivering of his lower lip.

He turned each page as if they were made from the purest gold. Stopping at every single drawing of him, to take it all in. He traced his fingertips over the lines that formed the curves of his curls, the tips of his ears, and the slope of his nose and lips.

People had referred to him as many things already; sexy, alluring, charming, attractive. Never had any of them referred to him as something… precious, delicate, bewitching, more than just a pretty face. Yet that's exactly how he saw himself now, through your eyes.

Astarion took his time, never speaking once. You let him, making yourself comfortable beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, simply existing in each other's presence.

Several minutes had gone by when the elf finally spoke up again. He was finally on the last used page of the book, and when the next appeared in white he slowly closed the book, still grasping onto it reverently. "For a moment I- I thought you'd grown tired of me already," it was the first thing he told you, and he refused to meet your eyes. A humorless chuckle fell past his lips, trying to laugh off his feelings.

You raised your head from his shoulder, lifting a hand to tenderly brush long strands of silver hair behind his ear; as you did so, you allowed your fingers to travel further, burying in the mop of hair behind his head. "Never. Never in a million years," you whispered.

Astarion met your gaze at last, ruby eyes glimmering with unshed tears while dried tracks of the ones before still lingered on his cheeks. This was the real Astarion; fragile, vulnerable, pleading for a gentle love, yet so beautifully strong.

"I'm sorry, my star. For allowing that thought to plague you. I just wanted this to be a surprise." You leaned forward and touched your forehead with his for a brief moment, hoping to bend the rules and physically give him your love.

"You made this," Astarion's voice broke in the middle, yet his smile was the most sincere you'd ever witnessed, "For me."

Catching a single tear that rolled down his cheek, you nodded, with a smile of your own.

There was a beat, a moment of silence where you simply looked at each other, wondering if the other felt just as much. And you didn't need a tadpole connection to confirm it.

Astarion set the sketchbook aside before all but throwing himself at you. Both his arms encircled your waist with desperation as he buried his head in your neck. His lips drew sloppy patterns and raised goosebumps in your skin as he kissed you relentlessly, from shoulder, to neck, to jaw; until he finally reached your own lips.

You brought your arms around him, pulling him in until your very souls were intertwined. Giggles escaped your lips as he kissed you, the shape of both your smiles making it difficult and all the more delightful.

When you parted, Astarion had you pinned down on his bedroll, with him resting snuggly on top of you. He refused to let go, clingy as he'd never dreamt he'd be. Your hand buried in his hair, his nose brushed the skin of your collar bone. "I had asked the gods for salvation, for any kind of blessing, countless times before. I could never guess it would come in the shape of you." He breathed in. He didn't hesitate. "Thank you. I love you."

You felt his smile. Felt the shape of his words on your skin, your soul. You kissed his hairline. "And I love you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

[neiptune]

jjk characters x how to know they're in love

cw: mentions of alcohol, i wanted something quick and fun to write, as always this is nothing but my personal interpretation of characters i happen to love very much! i really hope these will warm you up on cold december nights :)

it's common knowledge that yuuji is affection & warmth incarnated therefore the question is, how can you tell that someone like him has fallen for you and is not simply being his usual self? well, he had to learn the hard way that extra efforts are needed to convey what he feels for that special someone. they aren't going to assume, they won't guess, so what's left to do if not being absolutely adamant about his feelings? you will know yuuji is in love because he will tell you. yuuji, in turn, will know he's in love because his heart will disclose the feeling to him immediately, as soon as he starts thinking that a good day is not so good if you're not around and certainly never good enough if he can't tell you about it. his love resides in his eyes and nestles between his eyelashes, it's the one thing he's jealous of and selfishly hopes no one else will ever look at you and see just how brightly you shine. he makes the process of falling for him exceptionally gentle, too: you never once have to brace yourself for the landing because he would never allow you to crash to the ground anyway.

megumi knows the second he starts noticing all the times you're not there, which means he will stop taking for granted the mornings when you utter soft greetings or show up with an extra coffee for him. he knows when the fact that you have his order memorized feels special enough to make him want to investigate & find out what your order is, an entire afternoon spent racking his brain & asking himself if you enjoy milk or cream or nothing at all, exasperation forcing him to sternly interrogate mutual friends until a conclusion is reached at last. you will know megumi is in love when he stops hiding away from your touch, pretty blush coating his cheeks as the pads of your fingers explore his features, travel along the bridge of his nose or run through his strands. his love is strong, explodes in a chest that feels exceptionally hollow when you're not pressed against it at night. megumi thinks being in love is scary and something he may not be entirely built for and yet he welcomes the feeling bravely, never shying away from a challenge with himself.

it would take nobara some time to get accustomed to the idea of having fallen for you: she doesn't let people in easily and the fact that you have managed to reserve such a unique seat for the messy spectacle that is her life takes her breath away for quite some time. she knows she's in love as she rejects the idea right away, to protect herself and to protect you. what does she have to offer, really? why would you want to take whatever she has to give? still, nobara can't help but constantly bring the thought of you with her. she's shopping, busy paying for a cute sweater and oh, would you look at that? you'd love that shirt, so she gets it. she's at the movies with yuuji and a particularly disgusting scene comes up: he's in awe and, with a grimace, she knows you'd find that splatter mess cool too. so she has to snap a picture and send it, heart nearly bursting at the little "seen" that blinks at her just a few seconds after the message is sent. nobara's love is on her lips, as they tremble when she's at her most vulnerable, when they trace your jaw and explore your throat. you know she is in love way before she stops resisting it, way before she even realizes herself.

oh man satoru will know he's in love the literal second he feels the urge to talk to you. i know the man never shuts the fuck up but he'll want to really talk to you: he can't bear the thought of his reputation, fame, or whatever you want to call it, shaping the idea you have of him. he knows he's in love because he cares about what you actually think, he worries that his smart mouth has annoyed you beyond repair, for once he is desperate to sculpt his true identity himself and engrave it in your mind. you know satoru is in love when he speaks of what he doesn't mention to anyone else: his walls are not particularly high but he calls the shots on who gets to climb over them and he wants to welcome you on the true side of his persona so badly it keeps him awake at night. satoru's love lives in his hands, pale, lithe fingers that always have to be on you somehow. he touches you to make sure you're listening, to check if you're actually in his kitchen putting breakfast together. he touches you to memorize the spaces between your ribs, to wonder if between all the muscular layers and the neurovascular bundle there is room for him to take root in the body of the very first person he truly wants to stay alive for.

suguru is already all too familiar with love and its many facets: affection, devotion, loyalty, obedience. he's received a great deal of what he recognizes as love but hasn't really ever been in the position of reciprocating the feeling in its most raw, helpless form. yet, that is exactly what you reduce him to. he'll know he's in love when all he wants is truly, actually listen to you. learn all there is to learn, explore all there is to discover. you know suguru is in love when he stares at you so intently as you speak, not even interrupting the string of sentences to warn you about the tea he has prepared going cold, his own cup turned icy long ago. you know suguru is in love because he makes no secret of how avidly he craves your presence in his life, of the way for the very first time he prays it doesn't come with any deal breakers: is it okay that he has two young daughters? will the blood on his hands scare you off? the feeling of being in love conquers his entire being, selfish tenderness blossoming in his lungs, flowing relentlessly in blood vessels and vertebral arteries. you take over. you soothe his mind. you're all he feels, you're everything he'll ever want to have. tell him, tell him, tell him and then tell him some more: he'll be there to take you in every chance he gets.

to me shoko's approach to love is very analytical, she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. she'll know she's in love because you prompt all the usual reactions: racing heart and occasional sweaty palms, happiness, the so-called butterflies in her tummy. but unfortunately she also knows the scientific details about what's really going on, which makes everything far less romantic. noradrenaline, dopamine, phenylethylamine. love isn't but a fairly complex chemical reaction, the feeling given by attraction doesn't differ much from what stems from indulging in a couple bottles of wine. and yet alcohol doesn't smile the way you do, the thought of it doesn't make her stop in the middle of a medical examination and it certainly doesn't make her want to go out of her way to change. shoko will know she's in love as the feeling plants itself in her altered brain chemistry and convinces her that her personality should follow suit. because you'd never want someone who seems so distant, always calm and rational and so... boring. right? you'll know shoko is in love because she makes the effort and she'll know you're the right match the moment you murmur that you'd never want her to change, to be anything but the powerful, familiar grounding force that makes her so graciously human.

nanami writes more when he's in love. he's always been a reader, never has enough time to explore all the books he keeps adding to his never ending list really, but he's also always been a writer: short stories, haikus, poems, single sentences that are nothing but timid attempts at encapsulating days, moments, feelings, nights spent thinking or reminiscing. you start to become part of those stories, of those messily scribbled poems and thoughts. this will sound very cheesy but i'm confident nanami's love settles over his heart like a warm blanket. he knows he's in love when everything he reads, writes, does, leads back to you. what good are his cooking skills if he can't make you your favorite dinner? why should he buy that book he's been waiting forever to start, if there's this other novel you can't stop excitedly telling him about? did his writings ever hold any value before he could go through the pages of one of his leather bound notebooks, you comfortably settled in his arms, back pressed to his chest on the couch he only bought because you jokingly said it could accommodate you both? you know he's in love because softness settles in the corners of his eyes whenever you utter his name, an elegant fountain pen frozen mid air at the sound of your voice, the simple word kento suddenly earning a whole new meaning, always pronounced with an inflection so special it's now more than just his name.

yuuta feels a lot and he feels it deeply: fear, courage, affection. his feelings clutch his stomach and make him feel as if his insides are being squeezed. he doesn't appreciate newness, he's perfectly content with the people who are part of his life and a routine that doesn't make him wonder what the new day will bring. but then you happen and the boy who thought he knew everything is left to learn something new about himself: how he navigates a love that is real, pulsing with life, threatening to overturn his carefully built balance. he welcomes it tentatively, willing to learn, accepting the chance that he might have to confront it. but love doesn't turn out to be a challenge for him. yuuta knows he's in love because it's the first thing that feels easy in his life, to love you is the one thing that comes naturally. you know he's in love because he doesn't attempt to hide it and, hell, he doesn't even care if love makes him weird. he wants you there always, wants to ask about your day and hopes you'll also going to be interested in his. yuuta wants to pose silly questions because you're the first real person he needs to learn everything about. have you ever slow danced? how often do you experience food poisoning? what's your favorite song to sing in the shower? it's okay if you don't love him back too (as if lmfao), you have already given him everything by allowing him to find out that he can feel this way.

as a heavily stubborn & independent person, maki would understand right away that you're dangerous. a threat, even. she'd interally panic about it lol too bad you're equally strong-willed and determined to break through that standoffish facade. you succeed earlier than expected but maki won't let you know until months later, the first christmas holidays spent together, yuuta's house warming party the perfect excuse to indulge in a little too much mulled wine. you find out that maki's love is all in her voice, sincere affection vibrates along the entire story of your first encounter recounted to a table filled with your mutual friends in great, borderline obsessive detail. she remembers your hair, the outfit you were wearing, that cute tote bag filled with groceries. her voice is warm and tender when no one else can hear it, on the frosty mornings she orders to forget about cooking breakfast to keep you in bed a few minutes more, in secret moments she gets to hold you close and murmur sweet nothings in the curve of your neck, pauses between words and stifled giggles sounding suspiciously similar to i love you, i love you, i love you.

inumaki's love lives in his throat, torments him day and night because there's nothing he would rather speak of. you, you, you. he was always worried he'd fail to express how he truly feels but you happen to get it just right. not just because he makes significant exceptions for you (sorry but the man will speak and his dumbass sense of humor will cause a sore throat endless times) (yes he has used his cursed technique to ask you to stand still while in compromising positions or to give him a kiss after a stupid argument -> you'll do so and then smack his arm as he sticks his tongue out) but most importantly because the limited communication inumaki has been used to ever since forever also forced him to learn how to get the message across differently. and so you know he's in love because he makes sure you have your cup of tea ready in the morning, because he texts you pictures of stray cats or memes he doesn't really understand with a demanding '???' underneath them. you know inumaki is in love because his friends seem to know a whole lot about you and it's only the first time you're meeting most of them. he knows he's in love when you fall asleep next to him and his pointer finger delicately traces the echo of those three words along your spine over and over and over again.

[lovely-p-issues]

Fic idea - Astyanax in Ithaca

for times when my English will become acceptable because writing this in Polish feels not right sample of the story under the summary c:

Of course, I was thinking about Penelope's reaction to Odysseus showing up with a new kid (10/11 years old, give or take, Astyanax) at their doors.

I imagined it as the Game of Thrones scene when Ned Stark comes home and shows Catelyn a baby who, he claims, is his bastard. If I were her, I would lose my mind.

But I think that Odysseus explained himself chaotically, yet truly and Penelope didn't fight with the idea of raising the little prince as their own.

But Telemachus? Well, that's a hell of a different story.

He spent his childhood without his father, missing his presence and hoping to meet him one day. He lived in his shadow, as the problematic son of the absent king that everyone wanted to kill, or as a painful reminder to his mother that Odysseus wasn't around anymore and that she needed to be there for the two of them.

Now his dad is back but with a new child.

A new child who knows his father so well. Odysseus was his only parent for ten years (if we forget about 600 uncles, but they died after like 3 years? if I get it right?) and they just get themselves on an impossible level.

Odysseus knows Astyanax's nightmares (they share them).

Astyanax knows his father's past and doesn't need to ask many questions, and Telemachus does. He hates to do it because he sees Odysseus's pain, he sees Astyanax's reproachful look, like he is going to fight Telemachus if he doesn't leave their father, and-

and he sees the sad, concerned eyes of his mom.

So he doesn't ask much about those 20 years. And somehow it's even worse.

Because Telemachus doesn't know Odysseus. Because it feels weird and not home, like they are forced to be close, but they are not. Because he knew his father from songs, stories and legends, and this man is not who he heard of and he doesn't know how can he fix it.

Telemachus doesn't like to think about it but feels like he gives up on Odysseus. He spent the last 20 years of his life trying to reach that man and- Telemachus is tired.

Besides, Odysseus has another son anyway, right?

The prince of Troy, cursed boy, son of Hector, Astyanax, who also turned out to be a pain in the ass.

He knows that he can't blame the kid for his existence or even for the fact that Odysseus took him to their home.

For that Odysseus often takes Astyanax for horse rides to show him the island. The thing that Telemachus did alone.

For that, Odysseus teaches the boy how to use a sword and they laugh a lot during that. The thing that Telemachus did with strangers, got dozens of bruises, always trying to do everything he could to impress the person that wasn't there.

He doesn't blame Astyanax.

He just can't stand him.

But the boy seems to love the idea of going after him whenever Odysseus manages to pull him off for a moment. It's okay when Astyanax watches him during the trainings with eyes shining with excitement. However, it's bad when Astyanax starts to talk.

Father said I'm getting better at parrying-

When I was with father on Calypso's island-

Father does this completely differently-

Telemachus is a patient man. He waited for his father for 20 years. But sometimes he asks himself if Astyanax knows that all this talking about Odysseus, the man he missed but can't actually get to know, is such a trigger for him.

Maybe Astyanax teases him to show how much more of a son Odysseus is?

With every day Telemachus is more and more irritated. He does his best to hide it, but he can't ignore this fire burning him from the inside.

The reason for this fragile peace collapse is, relatively, very stupid.

Telemachus was tired after all day when he met Odysseus.

"The situation in the city is now calmed down,’ he informed his father, combing through his wind-tangled hair."

Odysseus nodded and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Telemachus. Well done."

Telemachus froze, not knowing what to say. He couldn't even move. Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of his every interaction with his father.

"Of course, father."

Odysseus seemed equally perplexed. However, the whole situation changed when Astyanax appeared in the courtyard where they stood.

Or, he ran into it, almost toppling over, just to get to Odysseus faster and embrace him around the waist.

"Dad, you will never believe what I found with mother in the garden!"

Telemachus watched with unhealthy interest as his father's face lit up with a smile as he listened to Astyanax's excited chatter.

A sudden anger, though senseless and petty, flared his veins. He had to avert his gaze and drive it into the ground so that no one could see his anger. His jaw was clenched tightly.

Twenty years of life based on a vague memory. An entire journey to find his father. His faith, his efforts and his devotion. All this to not be able to have one real conversation with his father. All this to watch both his parents melt down over his new, little brother. All this to stand by and watch his dreams fade away.

He no longer watched.

He walked away before he could do something stupid. Something that would distance him even further from his father.

He holed up in one of the cool and dark corridors of their palace. He concentrated on his breathing and massaged his temples.

He was an adult and knew how to deal with his feelings. Not that anyone had ever taught him that.

"Telemachus, what's wrong? You don't even know what we found in the garden, you went too fast!"

He didn't know shit about how to deal with his feelings.

"Could you, for five minutes, let me live as I lived before you came along? Five minutes without your constant footsteps and shouting behind my back. Five minutes of peace and quiet! That's all I'm asking for!"

But Astyanax took a few steps back as if frightened by Telemachus' sudden outburst. A grimace twisted his face and he squinted as if Telemachus was an extremely difficult puzzle for his quick mind.

"Why are you so angry? I don't understand."

"At this point? I'm not sure anymore. All I know is that I wasn't this angry even once before you dragged yourself home with father and decided to act as if it had all been yours forever."

Telemachus had to calm down. For bloody hell, he had just shouted at the eleven-year-old as if he was guilty of anything.

‘Are you angry about your father bringing me with him?’

Damn it.

It wasn't true. To be fair, he did not want Astyanax to die that night in Troy or be lost in the depths of the burning city.

Still, did he want him here? He let his thoughts wander before he could finally admit it to himself.

Astyanax, essentially, was not the problem. Everything else was. Telemachus was as well.

"No. There are many other things I'm angry about, but not this."

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the cool wall. He hid his face in his hands and let the anger leave him with his next breaths.

"Forgive my shouting. You got me at the wrong time, brother."

And he heard the boy slowly slide down the wall and sit down a few steps away from him.

"You should be grateful, you know?" suddenly said Astyanax. "He travelled all the world to see you and Mom."

You won't scream, Telemachus said to himself. He took a breath.

"Yeah, he didn't really know me, so. I don't know if that counts."

"That's even better. I mean, he loved you anyway. All this time, he was thinking about you"

This logic was wrong, but Telemachus doesn't find enough strength to fight over it.

They stayed silent for a few minutes.

"He didn't want me, you know? He just didn't want me dead and I reminded him of you. He was also scared of what I would become if he just left me alone. And you are so awful but he wanted you from the beginning and he loves you and he was so proud and-" Astyanax put his arms around his knees, his voice breaking as he spoke his next words: "You're a terrible idiot, you know. But he still wants you."

Telemachus needed a few seconds to see that every now and then, Astyanax would rub his wet eyes with his little fists.

He wasn't ready for this, even after months of training he wouldn't be ready. He stays silent for a moment. Slowly, he puts his arms over the crying mess and draws him to his side.

"And you think that father carried you all over the world because he doesn't like you?"

"Because he's kind and he would be ashamed to tell uncle Polites what he did."

"As far I know he wasn't so nice all this time, right? But he never turned his back on you. If you don't trust me, trust that. Odysseus came with you to Ithaca, because he wants you."

Astyanax did not reply but rested his head on his side. Telemachus let him.

Later that night, Telemachus carried a tired Astyanax straight to his parents' bedroom and knocked. When confused Odysseus finally opened it, Telemachus threw the sleepy child at him without hesitation.

"Hug your bloody kid."

And he walked away. This was his moment to avoid uncomfortable questions.

Let me know what do you think. And yes, Telemachus and Odysseus have a proper conversation about being father and son, but later.

BTW sorry for all the errors, I'm so sleepy right now I barely see my screen

[ceesimz]

I'm a Star, How Could I Not Shine?

This is just a lil soft blurb I got the idea to write tonight, I still have my other story in the works and I'm loving creating it :)

Life was hardly fair, that much you knew. But it seemed like the last few months had been especially harsh on your girlfriend. And it was a hard watch, almost agonising to see her come home a shell of her true self everyday.

Today, though, it reached its peak.

Work was being a lot kinder to you; you typically had a lighter load than Alexia but the past few weeks had kind of been a breeze, you were promoted to a new branch and it was a dream to be there. So, as you watched on from the sidelines as the media tore Alexia apart, inventing new reasons to needlessly hate on her, you were doing your best to make life at home a safe haven for her.

Today was Friday, and your plan was to come home from work and get all the chores out of the way, before ordering food in so that there was as little as possible for Alexia to have to worry about. Maybe you'd run a bath for her, give her a massage, or let her have some alone time before falling asleep with your chest to her back as you ran a hand softly through her hair.

What you weren't expecting, however, was to find a familiar figure in a black tracksuit curled up on the sofa, soundly sleeping.

You froze in the doorway, unsure what to do next. The first thing you thought was just how much the sight concerned you. Alexia wasn't meant to be home for a number of hours yet, her day was filled with meetings after she'd had training in the morning. Tie that in with the fact that she was adamant in never taking naps, ever, as well as how she always followed her schedule to the second, and your body was wracked with worry from head to toe.

Long story short, this only alluded to unimaginable things consuming her right now. You didn't even want to think about it. If it hurt you this much, and you weren't even the one experiencing all she was, then god only knows how she's feeling. Hopefully you can coax it out of her.

Instead of disturbing her right now, you backed out of the room and headed towards the kitchen. Once in there, you off-loaded your bag and your jacket onto the dining table, before opening your phone and putting in the order for dinner. Then you took a moment to compose yourself, to come up with a way to approach the delicate situation currently festering in the lounge of the apartment.

Alexia could wake up and be in one of either two moods: she doesn't really want company as she needs time to process what's pacing through her mind, or, and you're not sure if you preferred this one or not, she'd be in such an utterly wrecked state of mind that she would just melt into your arms and unload weeks, if not months, worth of bottled up emotions. You knew the latter would happen at some point, but you definitely didn't think it would come about so soon.

Really, this wasn't how you expected the night to go, you just assumed that Alexia would complete her work day before coming home, speaking very few words for the rest of the evening. It wasn't out of displeasure, it was how she processed things. Until the pressure built up inside her and exploded, she would keep pretty schtum about how things were going for her, and no matter how much you tried to shake her out of these habits, it was just something about her you had to deal with.

But now, with somewhat of an idea built up in your head, you slip your shoes off and put them on the rack by the front door, and walk back towards your sleeping girlfriend. As you get closer to her, you spot the scowl to her brow and slight frown on her lips - even as she sleeps, she still can't catch a break. She looks perturbed and uncomfortable, like there's things she can't quite shake off, and it breaks your heart.

With a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sleeps on her side with her face slightly covered by her hood, you gently nudge her.

"Hey, Ale, wake up. It's me, wake up." You whisper, leaning down to place a kiss on her temple. At the affectionate touch, she jolts awake, breathing a little heavy. "Hey, it's only me."

"Oh." She muttered, rubbing her eyes and sighing. "Por qué estás aquí?"

"I just got home from work, it's half four." Wrong thing to say.

She sits up in shock, looking at you agasp, her stomach churning with dread. She never missed meetings, she never missed any kind of work, period.

"Mierda. Lo siento, tengo que irme, ahora." Alexia jumps up and rushes to grab her keys from the kitchen, but you grab her hand and stop her. "No, amor, I-"

"Ale, take a breath. Slow down." You say, standing up and taking her other hand. Her eyes are everywhere but you, her body language is tense and radiates anxiety. "Look at me. Hey, mírame, Ale."

"Amor, you do not understand, I am missing a meeting ri-"

"No, you are here with me, and you need to take a minute. Just a minute, if anything. Please." You plead, dropping her hands to cup her face and get her to look at you. "Sit down with me, relax for a moment. I won't hear otherwise."

A reluctant nod later, she sits down with you on the couch, though she perches on the edge like she could take off any second. You don't doubt that she won't.

"Sorry." She states a quiet moment after, her hands coming to cover her face as she sighs heavily yet again.

"For what, Ale?" You ask, shuffling closer to her side and draping an arm across her shoulders. She shrugs, making you frown, so with your free hand you delicately turn her head to face you. "Take the day off. Anyone can see you need it."

Her nod isn't so hesitant this time, and that's terrifying in itself. The ease in which she agreed to skiving the rest of her schedule is so unnerving that you're not entirely sure where to go from here. You were expecting more of a fight, expecting her to be hard work for the night, but here she was just giving up in front of you. Near enough relinquishing her role as if it wasn't such a mental battle for her.

At her agreement, you tug her into you and she follows easily, resting her forehead against your collarbone and breathing out shakily.

"Let me look after you tonight, Ale. You don't have to apologise, not for anything." You whisper, scattering light, caring kisses across her cheek.

You pull down the hood of her jumper and, finally, see the full effect of what the month's brazen nature has done to her. The bags under her eyes are more prominent than ever, there's a permanent frown line etched onto her forehead, and she's a worryingly grey colour. Her face gives off a perturbed look, and to be honest you didn't think it was possible to be able to visibly see the aftermath of a mentally degrading few weeks.

Right now, it seems like sleep is the best option for her. And fortunately for you, and for Alexia, the restaurant you ordered from won't deliver your dinner for another forty or so minutes. It's a small miracle you'll happily take at this time, and if Alexia was in the right mind she'd probably laugh, because the wait time normally drives you crazy. You've never been more grateful for it though.

"Why don't you sleep some more? I got us some food, it won't be here for a while yet and I really think you need the rest." You suggest, tucking a few wisps of hair behind her ear.

"You... you will stay here?" She questions in such a childlike manner that it splits your heart in two.

"Yes, I'll be right here, Ale, I promise. I'm not going anywhere, ever." You tell her, and that's when she meets your eye. The look she gives is devastating, it's filled with all sorts that would take you the rest of the night to unpack. And, quite frankly, Alexia isn't ready for that.

You urge her to lay down just like she was earlier, except this time you take the place by her head and let her rest it on your lap. It's now that you're carding your fingers through her hair, not in your bed. It's now that Alexia finally breaks, as sniffles sound through the room sporadically.

"Tan cansada." She uttered, almost unintelligibly, as she covers her eyes with her hand and buries her face in your stomach.

"It's okay. You can relax now. It's just us here, and you're safe. You're gonna be okay." You reasurre her, and you mean it with every ounce of your being. How could you not, when the light of your life has been dimmed by clouds of disdain from people who aren't even aware of the joy she brings you?

Alexia may come across as a force to be reckoned with, but after all, she's just your Ale, the one that cries at animal shelter adverts on TV and smiles like a fool at the little things like when you bring home her favourite snack as a surprise one day. She's a sensitive soul, but that's what you love about her. Everything she does, she does it with her whole heart, and you'd sooner be six feet under than to let your love for her go untold.

"I love you, Ale, and I'm really proud of everything you do. Everything."

"Even when I am not strong enough to go to one meeting?" She mumbles insecurely, stealing a glance up at you with one eye.

"Especially then. You are strongest in your weakest moments, when you're afraid to ask for help but you do it anyway. So, I'm always proud of you, and I always will be. I swear by that."

[b14augrana]

Hello , can I request barca x teen reader who loves to play prank and is the Clown of the team but is a very good player and Ballon d'or potential

The Fool

Beyond the jester of a girl that taunts her Barcelona teammates with endless pranks is a world class player that shines on the pitch

Barça Femení x teen!reader

masterlist

Warnings: ✖️

A/N: thank you anon for the request! this is kinda messy and a bit short but i think it does the job. im sorry this took so long for me to write, i hope you like it 💝💝

“(Y/N), hijo de puta!” Mapi screams, looking up to see your head sticking out over the top of the shower cubicle, pouring shampoo on her head. For the last 10 minutes, she’s furiously been trying to wash all the shampoo out of her hair, but it just isn’t coming out. Now she realises why.

Mapi grumbles and finally rinses the last of the shampoo out of her hair, cursing you under her breath with the slightest of smiles. You skid out of the locker room, abandoning the shampoo bottle and laughing to yourself in the halls. You can hear Patri’s laughter ringing from the showers as well, and it makes you smile.

Clowning around is your love language… in a way. It’s your form of putting time and energy into something special. To you, laughter is something special, and if you didn’t love your teammates, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to give them something to enjoy.

It’s your natural personality. You’re unserious, always joking around and having fun, and it is only normal for someone your age. As a teenager, all you want to do is have fun while doing what you love most; playing football.

You‘re damn good at both of those things.

El Clásicos are your favourite matchups. Every season, you look forward to it. Since you bleed blaugrana in every shape and form, you feel like it’s your duty to give the Real Madrid back line something to worry about. You want to be the one to sort them out… for the 16th time. Literally.

When you aren’t troubling your teammates with tricks, you’re troubling defenders.

It‘s kinda your thing.

One through ball from Aitana is all it takes. Your legs feel detached from your body, your strikes at the ground uprooting the grass wherever you step.

And the open space ahead is basically beckoning you in to occupy the green void, which you do.

The space beyond is as much of a blessing to you as it is a curse to the likes of Rocio and Andres.

Rocio and Andres should’ve learnt by now that their old school habit of holding you off will never work. You aren’t being stalled, you’re being invited in. The more you threaten them with small feints and sharp movements that make them twitch, the closer they draw you in to the goal until…

That satisfying swish of the net follows the sound of your foot making hard contact with the ball.

Rocio and Andres should’ve learnt by now that their old school habit of holding you off will never work.

You’re good at your position. You take your game seriously. That’s what surprises everyone the most.

Off the field, you’re regarded as ‘el embaucadora’, the trickster. You’re always pulling pranks, making jokes, finding fun in everything or making it yourself.

Even on the field, you’re no less of a trickster, but it’s less of the pranks and more of your deceptive play style and ability to make defenders dance.

When you play, you perform. To you, any pitch lit up by lights is a place in which your playing becomes poetry with the opportunity to engrave itself in the essence of the stadium, becoming your legacy.

The whistle blows, and you’re off again. The ball finds you again and it feels so right at your feet that every moment feels like you’re on autopilot.

And it finds the goal too fast for you to enjoy, because before you know it you’re walking off the pitch feeling uncomfortably sweaty beyond the swell of victory in your heart.

Alexia looks at you from a distance, the hints of a smile visible on her face, because she knows where hypnotising flair like yours gets you.

Somewhere in France, perhaps?

[andersonfilms]

❝ DO YOU FEEL ASHAMED? ❞ ✶ ELLIE WILLIAMS !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, ex!ellie, heavy angst, cheating, heartbreak, moving on, reader going through it, no happy ending y'all, this one has a little kick, ellie is a bit of a dirtbag in this, next time i write for her it'll be the most fluff.

RAYNE RAMBLES ★ wrote this last year after getting cheated on and it's just been sitting in my docs, forever. enjoy my pain?? idk, possible abby x reader sequel

ex!ellie who avoids you for a very long time after the breakup. she wishes it could be amicable between the two of you too, but it can't be. it never will be. ellie made sure of it. all of her belongings are still littered across your apartment, though her scent is gone, you still see her everywhere. you can't bring yourself to remove the framed photos of the two of you hanging across your home. she was happy, or so you thought, and you were. but today was the day. you were letting all of it go and her with it. your roommate had taken it all down for you, the strength to remove the past three years of your life just couldn't be found. 

ex!ellie who doesn't really want to think about the way you'll look at her. her emerald eyes were always your favorite, you used to go on about how much you love them. how soft they looked at you, the light shining beneath them whenever she said something stupid and ellie just waited for your giggle or a hint of it anyway. they used to be kind to you, careful, even calm but it didn't seam to be the case anymore. ellie knew you wouldn't be either — not after she’s hurt you. carelessly, abusing your kind-hearted spirit, turned you to something resembling unbridled rage with a large dosage of resentment. 

ex!ellie who is met with your roommate instead of you, before the door is slammed in her face. she expects to be met with sharp behavior. there wasn't a shadow of a doubt she did. ellie just wished it wasn't your best friend who she fucking hated. ellie never liked them. they never liked her and now she didn't have to hide it. what ellie couldn't stand was that they were right about her. three years in and instead of doing the decent thing, ellie chose to betray you. those closest to you were going to protect you from the enemy at all costs. the only you trust the most and cut you the deepest. as much as she despised it, it was all true. 

ex!ellie who eventually gets you, after you hear her voice carelessly arguing with your friend. you place a box at the entry in front of her feet, before you walk away. ellie peaks through one foot in the door, but then you're already back with the second box. ellie can see the tears in your eyes and you see the guilt in hers. almost shining brighter than the shame. she knows how much it hurts you, her being here, being so close but so unimaginably far away it makes you want to hurl. 

ex!ellie who watches you breathe deeply, your hands clenched into fists. before you're rubbing them at drained eyes, dark circles underneath them. she's to blame for everything you're going through. if she had just been honest from the beginning, maybe the two of you could've been friends and just left your love there. you were nothing but good to ellie, pure like white snow, and now the blood from her hands fell over you, staining you a violent red. you would never be pure again. no. not like before. you wouldn't ever blindly trust anyone just because you simply fell in love. putting yourself out like this again? no, you couldn't do it. 

ex!ellie who tries to speak with you, mouth open, but no words are able to come out. she tried her best to put off this moment, the confrontation of the aftermath, facing the fact she had treated you like an afterthought, but you were more than just a thought ellie had tried to push away. you were a person she had left abandoned. she had promised you the world and caved when the time came to give in. she become everything you feared she would be, tearing you in little shreds of yourself as you tried to piece back what she had broke. 

"you look like you haven't slept." ellie states, not really a question, but she almost phrases it as one. she doesn't have a right to ask. the two of you know she's forfeited knowing you, your life, how you're doing — she's the one whose damned it all. 

"i don't really. not right now at least." you look anywhere but her eyes, your eyes concentrating towards the freckles meticulously scattered along her shoulders, her cheeks, and along her button nose. “anyways, should be everything of yours. i’ll contact dina if anything else shows up.” your tone sharp, clearly cutting through. 

there’s no malice when you utter her girlfriend’s name, but ellie senses you’ll reserve the tone of betrayal just for her. she’s the one who abandoned her commitment to you. 

not dina. 

“can we talk? please?” ellie flashes her beautiful puppy eyes at you, once would make you melt, now you feel like throwing up.

“ellie.” there is it is, ellie thinks, betrayal and brutality laced in the voice who promised her a future. there once had been one, house, kids, a ring. it seems so silly now. it’s a warning the way you speak to her. don’t push your luck, williams. 

she’s with dina. why does she even care? 

she’d never seen you so upset, so vengeful, so tired of her. you weren’t lying when you never said you never wanted to see her again. every single beat of your heart meant it, the emotion cut off when you spoke to her, how you looked at her with this cold look in your eyes. arms crossed over your chest as if looking at her is the most taxing task in the world. 

ellie was supposed to not care. she couldn’t, yet it bothered her you clearly didn’t. 

“i have nothing i want to say, especially to you.” you bark, for the first time, ellie fears there might be a bite. 

“i-i know i fucked up, okay? i just can’t stand the thought of you fucking hating me.” ellie pleads, a longing look in her eyes. 

“well, i never thought i would, so i guess we’re all evolving and changing into horrible people.” you roll your eyes at her, watching as she struggles to pick up the boxes laid at her feet. 

you loath how much you want to help her, but don’t. 

you can’t. 

“you’re not horrible.” 

“well, you are.” your insult slapped her right across the face, the burning sensation stung but what hurt more was knowing you meant every word. 

“this isn’t fair, i know what i did was bad, but i told you the truth. i didn’t lie, i confessed. isn’t it worth for at least, i dont know, a little empathy? something?” ellie sighed deeply, shoulders tense from the altercation with you. “

“you didn’t tell me because you’re a honest person. it’s because i would have found out and you were scared.” you scoff. “fuck you. wanting brownie points for admitting you cheated? go to hell.” 

“what else could i have done? it was already too late.” ellie admits, shame laced in her eyes. you hope she feels every bit of shame for all the hell she’s put you through. 

“i wonder why it was too late?” your sarcasm slicing through the air. ellie finally managed to get a grasp on boxes in her shaky hands as she tried to not crumble under your death glare from hell. “i was the last one to show up at the party to your new fucking relationship. huh, guess i would be one not invited? some weird fucking placeholder until you found something better. right under my fucking nose.” 

she deserves every bit of it. 

painfully, you were met with silence. ellie couldn’t do anything, apologize in a way she hadn’t before, beg for forgiveness, grovel for your compassion. 

you were too angry, too heated, too fucking hurt. there’s only a split second of it, ellie almost missed it, but she saw it clearly. the gloomy blues hidden beneath your beautiful eyes, slowly becoming more evident. you’re trying your best to hide it beneath anger, mask it from her, but she sees it. 

tears building the more your voice escalates and ellie would truly hate herself if she made you cry in front of her, again. she’s can’t see you do it again. it’s the last thing she wants. she can’t keep hurting you. 

dina, fuck. she has to protect her. ellie’s unsure if you’ll lash out on here. you haven’t yet, but breakups pull the worst out of you and she’s fearful for the women she does love. 

“just…don’t take it out on dina, alright? if you wanna be mad, fine. as much as i wish i could fix it, i know nothing i can say or do will earn your trust back. okay?” 

your heart breaks at her instinct to protect dina, how she used to do the same for you. it nearly splits you into an abyss, cracking your soul just where she had nicked it. almost seemed intentional at this point. 

“i would never be mean to her. she didn’t promise me a future together, you did. hope you have lovely fucking life with her.” 

ex!ellie who is met with the wooden door being slammed in her face, nearly kissing her chin. she stayed there long enough to hear you cry, sitting on the concrete to hear the consequences of loving someone else who wasn’t her girlfriend, well now ex. she craved to punch something, someone. you whined, a name quietly dropped from your perfect lips, abby, your fucking best friend. she would be the one to comfort you, pick up the pieces of the wreckage ellie had left you with. it scorned her, letting a flame loose on her skin, with the thought of you with her. but she didn’t get to have feelings, she couldn’t be upset with how you chose to reassemble your sanity. not when she’s the one who broke you. even if it’s with the woman she always feared you love more than a friend.

DAILY CLICK + DONT BUY TLOU + DONATE

[thetriumphantpanda]

Baby Love | Joel Miller

A Trial & Error One Shot

Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.

Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.

With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.

It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.

“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”

But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.

So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.

Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.

“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.

The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.

“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”

She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.

Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.

But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.

“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”

And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.

“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”

Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?

“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”

You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.

“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”

He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.

“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.

“Did she do okay?”

“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”

Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”

He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.

“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.

“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”

“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”

Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.

He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.

“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”

It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.

He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.

Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.

“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.

He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.

Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.

He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.

“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”

There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.

He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.

The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.

Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.

“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”

You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”

So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.

“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”

Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.

He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.

“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.

He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”

He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”

“Still turns you on though.”

“Go on, get outta here.”

[talaok]

Heyy, first, I'd like to say that I really love your writing, keep it up!

And I'd like to make a request, I know we all went crazy over Pedro on SNL (he looked so handsome!!!), and I would love to read a Pedro x Reader behind the scenes of the show, her watching, supporting, and being proud of Pedro, and then the two of them going out together to the SNL after party, dancing, kissing, enjoying each other's company, very fluffy, and a bit of smut at the end?

Pairing: Pedro pascal x f!reader

warnings: very very faint allusion to smut

a/n: he did look handsome and thank you so much love <3 (and yes this ask skipped the line bc as always it wouldn't have made sense for me to post it in two weeks)

It was incredible how nervous he was. He'd done this already, and yet he was acting like a kid like at his first recital.

"you're gonna do amazing baby" you promised, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek "Now go out there and have fun"

His eyes anxiously danced around your face

"my heart's beating so fast" he huffed a laugh

"I know" you smiled, stoking his cheek "but remember, you have nothing to be scared of, you've done this already, and you were amazing at it, so just relax"

"ok" he took a breathy sigh "yeah, you're right. I can do this"

"that's it" you grinned, but before you could say anything more he was kissing you like it was the last time he ever could.

"Pedro?" his assistant's voice brought you back to reality "It's time"

You smiled as he leaned away.

"I love you" he promised, the honesty of that statement shining through his eyes

"I love you too baby" you murmured "Now go!" you said, giving him a playful push "Break a leg!"

__ __ __

As you already knew, everything went perfectly smoothly, he and Bad Bunny were an amazing duo, and you could just see how well they got on even with the cameras off.

The monologue was perfect, and you didn't miss any opportunity to cheer and laugh every time you could, but as much as you'd loved it... nothing could top the Ms. Flores sketch.

You loved it last time, and you loved it this time too.

Even just seeing him in the costume made you laugh (you had filled your camera roll with photos of him) but then combined with the actual sketch... it was just perfection.

You almost didn't want him to change, you kind of liked the constant teasing of calling him mama and telling him just how sexy he was, but unfortunately, he did change.

Imagine what a look that must have been for the afterparty instead of that old shirt he wore everywhere.

But then again, considering how much he was sweating from the dancing maybe it was a good call.

"thank you for tonight" he spoke over the music, as the song changed to a slower one "I couldn't have done it without you sweetheart"

"oh stop" you rolled your eyes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you swayed to the music "You would have been amazing regardless." you smiled "I'm surprised they haven't offered you a role as a permanent part of the cast yet"

"No I'm serious" he laughed softly "I don't know if I would have gotten on that stage without you"

"baby..." you cooed, touched by his words "I love you. I'm always gonna be there for you"

"and me for you" he murmured, before kissing you.

You could only vaguely feel everyone around you and hear the music, it was just you and him.

He always made you feel like that.

"I've just realized I was so anxious for tonight that I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet," he said, making you blush faintly.

"You look beautiful too" you murmured, a mischievous smirk pulling at your lips "Not as much as you did when you were dressed as Ms. Flores, but you're not so bad"

He couldn't help but laugh at that

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"nope" you chuckled, earning another kiss, this time deeper and much... hungrier.

You whimpered into his mouth as his hand on your back started traveling dangerously low.

"baby-"

"you're gorgeous sugar"

you bit down a grin at that

"I know that look"

"what look" he silenced you with another kiss "I'm not doing anything" he breathed, his lips now on your neck

And as much as you weren't completely conscious of everyone around you, a part of your brain still was.

"I think it's time we go home baby" you whispered

"yeah" he nodded, meeting his lips with yours again "Yeah I think it is"

[luveline]

Hi, I’ve never sent a request before so forgive me if this sounds weird I’m still learning how to use Tumblr lol but what if Eddie and reader go to Roan’s school for parent-teacher conference and her teacher shows them something Roan wrote or made expressing how much she loves her new mom and her new little family🩷 and reader cries from how happy and loved Roan and Eddie make her feel🥹

ty for ur request, it doesn't sound weird at all! eddie and roan —you and eddie attend roan's PT conference, stepmother!reader, 1.2k

You hide from the biting winter wind in Eddie's side. “Is it supposed to be this cold?” you ask. 

“You sound surprised. It's December,” he says, though he puts his arm over your shoulders to cover as much of you as he can. “I told you to wear a coat.” 

“The coat ruins my outfit,” you say. 

“You being cold ruins the outfit.” He nods towards the step up into the school building. “You could say the outfit ruins what's underneath–” 

“What's wrong with you?”  

“An appreciation for my wife?” 

“Stop saying that, you're confusing people. Steve asked me last night if we got married in private–” 

“You're always talking to Steve,” Eddie complains, “he doesn't even call me anymore, he just wants to talk to you.” 

He'd called to ask if he was still babysitting, actually, but Eddie wouldn't know that because he and Roan had been playing monsters at the time, speaking to each other in gruff tones while they made sandwiches for dinner. 

“You have a problem.” 

Eddie can't decide whether to bicker or dote, squeezing you tightly, a promise about new problems lost to the growing ruckus of the elementary school after hours. Some parents have brought their children, but the majority stand chatting in lines to see the teachers. You and Eddie have come through the main entrance of the building rather than the side door where Roan enters, and the walk to Mrs. Lundy's room is longer than usual, though far from unpleasant. Light shines through the windows where a rainbow of creatures have been painted, leaving glowing shapes of apricot, cerulean, and lilac on your skin as you pass. 

“You're like a Christmas tree,” Eddie says. 

“I just need some tinsel.” You point at the decorations hanging from Mrs. Lundy's doorway. “Like that.” 

“You want some tinsel? I'll get you some tinsel, baby, just give me a minute. And maybe distract her.” 

You refuse to help him steal from Mrs. Lundy, and spend your time in line waiting with his hands held firmly in yours to prohibit any theft. Eddie moans about being jailed but is otherwise content. He quite likes it, actually, rearranging your fingers to stroke your knuckles. 

Mrs. Lundy is smiling, happy to see you and brag about your girl. She starts with Roan's general education, her behaviour, her grades, though this young she doesn't have grades so much as milestones. Roan is smart but no wizz kid (not that you care), she's kind (but not always good at sharing), she's loud, and rambunctious, a great artist, and she's very, very happy. 

“She talks about your wedding all the time. Every day. She tells us she's going to be the flower girl, and the best man, and that she has a beautiful dress.” Mrs. Lundy beams. “She's walking on sunshine.” The teacher's smile turns soft, almost wistful. “Well, she's Roan. You know what she's like better than I do.” 

Your cheeks ache with pride. 

“She's a good kid,” Eddie says. 

“Yes!” Mrs. Lundy reaches across the desk for a turquoise-coloured folder. “There was actually something I wanted to share with you both… You know we have creative writing assignments, and obviously we help them with making real sentences, but what she has to say is very much of her own volition.” 

Mrs. Lundy pulls a sheet of paper from the folder and puts it down in front of your hands. “The prompt was what makes you happy,” she says. 

The first sentence is simple. 

My mommy. 

A drawing of you decorates the page above the lines, so clearly you, your smile wide and pink. 

My mommy is kind and I love her. Dad sayd the wedding is speshul becase he loves her, but she will be my mom. She makes me so happy. Mommy says she loves me all of the time, and she brushus my hair. My best part of the day is when Y/N comes home and hugs me. We are so happy, and Lucky gets dinner. I love my dad too, and Uncle Wayn. 

Her spelling errors have been corrected in green pen, and her backwards letters are written forwards for her to copy. You read the entire paragraph in a blur, thinking about how long it must've taken her to get it all down, nearly an entire page in her bubbly handwriting, big letters running off of the page. 

“Needless to say,” Mrs. Lundy says, “that most children write about their families, or their pets, or their toys. But Roan was extremely focused on the word love. She's clearly going home to a loving home every night.” Mrs. Lundy smiles at Eddie. You nearly miss it, reading the paragraph again, and then a third time. 

“Can I take this?” you ask, clearing your throat, tears brewed and bobbing on your waterline, desperate to be shed. “Is that okay?” 

Eddie laughs and elbows you in the arm. “Come on, it's hardly news.” 

You wipe your eyes before you can cry in front of them both. “I'm sorry, just– can I?” 

Mrs. Lundy beams again, emphasising the well-worn smile lines at the corners of her lips and creasing beside her eyes. 

You hold it together well for a little while. Eddie talks over your wobbly silence, a hand on your shoulder, assuring Mrs. Lundy that you're all, in fact, very happy, and he's just glad that Roan is being a good student and friend to her classmates. Mrs. Lundy's kindness and Roan's love letter to you has knocked you entirely off kilter, and you're crying before you've reached the car. They're happy tears. 

“Come on,” Eddie says, taking the paper you've folded carefully from your fingers as they clench. “She's said nicer to you in person.” 

And sure she has. Roan loves hitting you with the saccharine when you're not expecting it. Drying her hair after bath time, totally distracted, she'll kiss your cheek and say, “You're so pretty.” She sprinkles I love you's wherever they'll fit like her dad does, and she shows it with little gifts and cuddles and invitations. Y/N, do you want to have a fashion show with me? Y/N, can we have ice cream in bed? Can I do your hair, please, mommy? 

“It's different. It's different,” you insist, scrambling to find the words. “She's…” You rub your eyes. Your makeup is smudging, but you can't help it. “I don't even know what to say.” 

Eddie shrugs. Lean shoulders, a loving arm behind your back, the car in sight but getting no closer, he comforts you in the middle of the parking lot while the passing headlights kiss your shoes. “You know how much she loves you, babe. This is a good thing, right? You're not upset?” 

“Not upset,” you clarify. 

“Okay, good. Is this a bad time for me to say that I am profoundly jealous right now? I used to get all the drawings and cards, I used to get Mother's day gifts. I have a mother's day card up in the attic… might have to get it out,” —he kisses your cheek— “just to cope.” 

You laugh through a sniffle. “Let's go get it,” you say. 

He presses Roan's assignment back into your hand. “You can keep that one, but don't get it out around me. I'm serious.” 

[sundrop-writes]

would you be willing to do a follow up to the teen wolf pregnancy hcs? something with the characters interacting with their kid - can be as a baby or older - just them being parents and adjusting to being young parents.

i love your writing 💗💗💗

Fyi, I was not even planning on working on requests tonight, but this caught my attention so much and gave me such a good idea that I had to do it. I decided to do it with the same characters from the first part, but if you want to see this prompt with other characters, then I would do the 'how they react to finding out that you're pregnant' part first with different characters

My requests for Teen Wolf are OPEN, but please read my Rules before sending in a request.

Part One - How would they react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

How would the pack act as parents?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: fem reader - uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is the one who gave birth to the baby, as in the previous part); Stiles's part is extremely self indulgent and something I have been thinking about since I wrote the last part so bear with me; mentions of breastfeeding, giving birth, teething, and other parenting/baby topics; the baby is a different age and has a different name in each section just for funsies; mention of Lydia and reader's baby having red hair - but I did this to drive home the baby's genetic relation to Lydia and I don't think it has to specify the reader's race (someone with darker skin can still have naturally red hair); Lydia calls the reader 'Mama'; mention of the reader being a werewolf in Derek's part because there is a weird continuity in these reactions (and I should write a full fic about Derek and this reader character cause I am slowly becoming addicted to their story, ngl); I believe that's finally it.

Stiles was panicking. He was officially the worst parent ever - everything his dad said was right. He wasn't ready for this, nobody should be a teen parent, he was a failure. God, his whole life was crumbling around him...

You were out of town because your sister was getting married. You had been incredibly hesitant to leave the baby - sweet, adorable, nine-month-old Lila Stilinski - but Stiles had insisted that you go on a weekend getaway to your sister's bachelorette party. You deserved it. You had spent nine whole months growing his baby and then you had given birth to her (a bloody, messy affair that made him faint - to nobody's surprise), and you had spent the last nine months nursing her and getting your degree from home after you had fought through your pregnancy taking double courses to graduate high school early. You were a gem, a beautiful, shining gem of a woman and a mother, and somehow - while you were off getting your much needed rest and having fun - Stiles had lost your baby.

His baby - his baby that he loved very, very much.

He had woken up that morning, late, having forgotten to set the alarm, and rushed around the apartment like a chicken with his head cut off rushing to get Lila ready for day care and himself ready for school, and he dropped her off as usual, with a smile and kiss on her big beautiful forehead. And when he went to pick her up that afternoon - she was gone. The day care worker couldn't give him any other news than the fact that she had been 'signed out already', and it left Stiles panicking, thinking about that cult that sacrifices babies every single day.

In his rush that morning, he had forgotten to charge his phone, so he couldn't get his dad on the line - and he was currently running at top, lung-crushing speed toward the police station, running past the deputy on duty at the front desk, who simply shrugged and buzzed him in when she saw his bright red face and his clear desperation.

"Dad, D-dad, you have to-!" He was going to ask his father to put out an amber alert, to call every single one of his deputies back to get them looking, but when his father turned around - that sweet girl with the bright purple bow in her hair was in his arms.

Then, Stiles shifted on a dime from panic to anger.

"Dad, what the hell?" He barked out, struggling to sound as pissed off as he was while still trying to catch his breath.

"What?" The Sheriff shrugged, kissing his granddaughter on the forehead before cooing brightly at her, smiling at her with all the brightness in the world, paying Stiles absolutely no mind.

"You took her out of day care without telling me first?" Stiles gaped, absolutely angered that his father had let him believe for even a moment that his girl was missing.

He knew it was a cruel irony - a blunt kind of karma. All the times he had come home late, all the nights he had snuck out believing that his dad was simply being too hard on him for giving him such an early curfew. Now, in a single crashing moment, he instantly understood why his father had worried so much - why he was so angry every single time Stiles was out of his sight, especially when there was danger around.

"Your phone was off." Noah shrugged, rocking Lila back and forth in his arms, giving her another kiss on the forehead as he began to hum the tune of a lullaby under his breath. "I got bored on my lunch break, and I wanted to see my baby, so what?"

It was the usual for him - any time he was within ten feet of her, she didn't have a moment in your arms or Stiles's. On the day she had been born, he had brought a giant gift basket to the hospital, grumbling under his breath about how he still thought it was 'irresponsible' of Stiles, but demanding to see 'his baby'.

He had burst into tears upon seeing Lila for the first time, and was deeply aggressive about who was allowed to visit and for how long. When she came home, he stood watch over her crib with his gun in hand for multiple days before he finally gave up and went to sleep (and according to you, he admitted quietly that he had done the same thing for Stiles when he first came home from the hospital).

"My phone died." Stiles stressed. "You could have left a note for me at the school or something. You gave me a freakin' heart attack."

"Be more responsible and charge it next time." The Sheriff grinned at him.

"Just - don't kidnap my daughter again!" Stiles snapped. "She is my daughter-" He argued, taking a possessive, protective stance.

"Yeah, well I made you, so I have certain rights when it comes to this little sweet girl." His father said, trailing off into a cooing baby voice as he began fawning over Lila once again. Stiles rolled his eyes. "Besides, ever since the three of you moved out, I hardly get to see my babygirl anymore."

Stiles felt a twinge of guilt at this, but wanted to argue. The three of you needed your own space, and you had moved into an apartment that was less than twenty minutes away from his father's house. He still saw Lila at least once every single day of the week, unless he was busy working.

"Dad-"

"Besides, it's not kidnapping if I'm the Sheriff."

"It is so kidnapping! It's kidnapping if I report you."

"Is it still considered an abortion if I terminate you now?" His father glared at him.

Stiles let out a huff.

Isaac was tired. He knew that being a parent was going to be tiring, but in the six months since baby Leon had been born, this was his first full night alone with his son. His son who was teething, crying incredibly loudly, and in pain because of his little teeth coming in. He wasn't nearly as upset about the fact that he hadn't slept as he was about the fact that his son was in pain and he could do little about it.

He had considered calling you a few times throughout the night when Leon was letting out particularly harrowing cries and Isaac was on the verge of tears himself (especially considering with his heightened werewolf senses, the pain of those cries seemed to pierce through him even more) - but he had agreed to take care of Leon by himself to get him out of the house that you and your mother shared because you had been studying for the SATs and you needed sleep the night before your big exam. So as much as it pained him, he endured alone and ended up crying with his son while he sucked on a frozen teething toy with tears still running down his chubby cheeks.

The sun had come up a while ago and Leon had just fallen asleep, his portable crib set up in the middle of the loft so that Isaac could watch over him - his hair messy and his eyes bloodshot red as he stood at the counter, chugging down a cup of black coffee, trying his hardest to stay away until after your exam was over so that you could take Leon and he could have a nap.

He was not at all pleased when the door creaked open, seeming like the loudest thing ever - alerting him to the presence of Boyd entering the apartment.

"Hey, man-" Boyd greeted him in a usual bright tone, and Isaac cut him off with an abrupt hush. He put a finger to his lips and then motioned to the crib, and Boyd peeked over, nodding once he saw the baby. "You're on Daddy duty again?"

"It's not like it's a hobby or something," Isaac told him tiredly in a hushed tone. "I am a father now." Even with the tense whispering and the tired droop of his shoulders, there was a certain sense of pride in the way he said this.

"Well you-"

Isaac shushed him again, as Boyd speaking in his usual tone was far too loud for Isaac's liking.

"You know, he's gonna have to get adjusted to noise sooner or later." Derek piped up from his place on the couch, where Isaac had convinced him to sit and read a book until Leon had settled to sleep.

"Shh!" Isaac tried to hush Derek into silence, but he glared at Isaac and kept talking at his usual volume.

"Babies born into pack families are brought up co-sleeping, so they sleep through the noise of a dozen family members-"

Isaac crossed the room and put a hand against Derek's mouth, forcing him quiet this time.

"I don't care." Isaac insisted. "Nobody is going to wake up my son now that he is asleep."

"Stop touching me." Derek said, muffled against Isaac's hand.

Isaac backed off, and before Derek could speak up again, Leon woke with a high pitched wail.

"You guys have fun with that." Boyd said, taking this as his queue to leave.

Lydia was overjoyed. Telling her parents about everything had been nothing short of a confusing nightmare, and after a lot of convincing from Melissa and Noah and a lot of questions without a lot of answers, they had both still been sceptical right up until you had given birth.

The moment they had laid eyes on a sweet newborn baby girl with bright red hair - they were convinced that against all odds, you and Lydia had made a baby together.

That was an entire year ago - and now, Lydia was having the utter pleasure of planning her beautiful Luna Harmony Martin's first birthday party. She was so perfectly in her element - picking out decorations, designing an utterly epic and fabulous birthday cake (including a separate, smaller smash cake that only her daughter would get to touch, because it was only the best for Luna), planning entertainment - a professional princess performer and some magicians (no clowns - Luna didn't need those kind of memories implanted in her psyche this early on), and the best part: picking out cute little dresses for the birthday girl to wear.

Much like her mother, she was a fashion icon, and she would likely need multiple outfit changes for her party - not just with the fact that she would get covered in cake or her own spit-up, but because a proper birthday girl should always be photographed in more than one ensemble.

You weren't surprised when Lydia came home with two large armfuls of shopping bags. You wanted to protest, to tell her that a one-year-old didn't need that many clothes that she wasn't even going to wear, but you knew that Lydia's parents weren't going to take away her credit card anytime soon (and when it came to spoiling the baby, they were even worse) and you also knew that this was one of her ways of showing your daughter love.

So when she came to sit on the cushy foam playmat with you and Luna, dropping the many shopping bags on the cough behind the two of you, you simply let it happen.

"Hello my sweet girl," Lydia said, greeting your daughter in a sweet voice as she kissed her chubby cheeks and pulled her into her lap. "And hello to you, Mama."

Mama. The nickname still made your stomach churn with heat - something that Lydia had gotten into calling you more lately after some rant about how Luna's 'speech centre' was 'rapidly developing' and she wanted to influence what the baby would call you.

You couldn't help but to grin as you kissed her too.

"I see you've been shopping." You said, motioning toward the bags.

"A bit." Lydia shrugged. "After I booked the carousel-"

"A carousel?" You questioned. "Lydia, she's a year old. She can't even ride carnival rides - she's not even going to remember any of this."

"It's for the photos. Obviously." Lydia sighed in return, rolling her eyes at you. "The theme of the party is Cotton Candy Princess, what kind of idiot would I be if I didn't include at least one classic carnival ride in my photos?"

"At this rate, she's gonna want a golden pony by the time she's five."

"Then she'll get one." Lydia cooed at Luna, kissing her cheeks again, smearing pink lipstick on her.

You couldn't help but to smile - you knew that this was Lydia's way of showing your daughter that to her, she was the most important little girl in the world.

Derek was annoyed - not with his son, with you.

Since the moment he had found out that you were pregnant, Derek loved his son more than anything in the world. He loved you just as much, he had right from the moment he had slashed Peter's throat and then turned you where you were dying, bleeding out, and used his newfound Alpha powers to turn you in order to save your life. Because that was the moment he knew he would risk anything and everything in order to keep you alive.

He loved you very much, but he was still annoyed with you.

You were determined not to let Derek sleep with his son - a tradition as old as pack life itself, now being marred by you shoving articles in Derek's face about how co-sleeping was 'dangerous' and how the baby should have his own crib. A baby of only three months old should not be damned to isolation. It made Derek's heart ache just thinking about it. He was used to the comfort of your body - he was used to the sync of your heartbeat, the sound of his voice and Derek's constantly nearby. He shouldn't be off in the corner by himself. You had made Derek feel like some criminal, sneaking out of bed at one in the morning to pluck his son out of that damned crib in order to spend some time with him.

And now, Alexander was sleeping peacefully on his bare chest, skin to skin as nature intended, feeling the peace of his father's heartbeat as Derek dozed into a gentle sleep himself on the sofa himself. He was - until he heard the distinct squeak of the bed springs on your side, a distinct huff from you as you got out of bed.

"Derek," You sighed when you saw what he had done, crossing your arms over your chest - it was an entirely appealing sight; the incredibly small baby perched in the middle of his bare chest, so tiny against Derek's large, muscled frame. But it did make you worry - Alexander wasn't secured in any way - he could fall, he could roll off. Even though Derek was an incredibly capable, loving parent, even in the haze of sleep, he could roll over and crush the baby.

It scared you.

"What - are you gonna take him from me?" He glared at you, deep betrayal in his voice. It was clear that the only thing keeping him from raising his voice further was the restraint not to yell so close to the baby's ear. "Do you honestly think that I would hurt my son?"

You held back tears, hating how much the insinuation clearly pained Derek.

"Never." You told him, your own tears choking your throat. "Derek, I know that you would never hurt him intentionally. But-"

"Exactly." He replied, cutting you off. "And there is nothing that will harm him. I am not going to let it happen."

You sighed, putting a hand to your forehead in frustration.

Derek shook his head, sitting up, putting a hand against Alexander's diapered bum to support him - able to hold nearly the entirety of his tiny body with one hand.

"Didn't you notice that all of those articles you read are written by humans?" He pointed out. "This is something that my family has done for generations. Our senses are honed for stuff like this. The moment that a baby is born, we sleep differently. Haven't you noticed?"

You had noticed - you felt like you had been sleeping with only half your brain, like a shark. You thought it was something your mother had warned you about, how you would never get a full night's rest again after having a baby. But it felt different. You did wake up rested, but you didn't dream anymore. You felt conscious nearly the entire time you were asleep - hyper aware of everything, your body responsive to every single coo, every little noise the baby made. You became hyper aware of the rhythm of his heartbeat while you slept, often using it as a white noise machine while you laid there.

"Yeah." You admitted - Derek gave you a subtle smug grin, and nodded.

"I'm not going to hurt him, not even by accident - because I can't." Derek told you firmly. "I will wake up the minute he cries, and I won't shift in my sleep. And this is healthy for us. Our heartbeats will sync up and this will help him sleep better. Please, just trust me on this."

Derek rarely pleaded with you about things, rather than outright telling you - so you knew that this mattered to him greatly.

"Yes. I trust you." You told him. "Come back to bed?" You posed. "All of us in the same bed."

He smiled, and leaned in to kiss you before he got up off the couch, bringing your son with him.

(When you woke up the next morning, the crib was smashed to pieces, and Derek - who was in the kitchen making breakfast with Alexander still pressed to one shoulder - claimed that he had no idea how it happened.)

...

Teen Wolf Masterlist

[chelseypprimrose]

I Dare You / Negan X Reader / pre apocalypse

Summary: A game of drunken truth or dare turns into the best sex of your life.

Warnings ⚠️: daddy kink, unprotected sex/rough sex, choking, oral, spitting, slight voyerism, slight dumbification and use of degrading terms (slut ect) bfd!negan, age gap

As always, all respective parties are over age of consent ect. 🤍 *Not proof read yet*

A/N: whelp here we are again, i started rewatching the walking dead from season 7 and tell me why I had totally forgot that Negan cleans out Alexandria’s houses just to burn their mattresses right down the road from them, the more I watch the more I remember how evil he really was and it makes me giggle and kick my feet i can’t lie lol. Enjoy this little depraved story, I’m just loving writing stories where the reader is very fully aware of someone watching/walking in bc it’s just so dirty I can’t freaking cope 😂love ya’s and my requests are open as always 🤍🎀🧟‍♂️

Straightening out your dress, you walked through the wooden gate at the side of your friends house, the loud thumping beats of music and chatter blaring through your eardrums. You held a bottle of Smirnoff in your other hand, remembering the teaching from your mother about never showing up to a party empty handed, that was considered rude and insulting.

You’d left the party girl lifestyle behind, having your fun in your early twenties but mellowing out in the last year or so, finding more enjoyment in a cup of tea and a good book. Not to the extent of being anti-social, just cutting off bad habits and rethinking where you wanted to take your life. Coming fresh out college filled you with a sense of doubt and confusion, you studied heavy, dedicating your time to educating yourself but hadn’t yet found what you wanted to be in the world. No matter how much you were freaking out about your next step, you couldn’t miss your friend’s birthday party, so you’d decided to have some fun and let loose, deal with reality tomorrow instead.

Pushing those dreaded thoughts underneath the surface, plastering a smile on your face as you entered the already crowded back garden of your best friend, Natalie. You’d known Natalie for years now, exact number you couldn’t remember but through high school and many ups and downs, you’d always stayed close, spending nearly every weekend at her house. That was with her mother though, she’d recently moved in with her dad, due to domestic arguments with her mother getting too toxic. You’d only ever seen her dad twice in your life, normally when he’d pick her up after the various extra curricular activities you two enrolled in together. Negan.

Such a unique name, you’d thought when you first laid your eyes on him. How anyone could give him up would be a mystery to you, from your limited interactions he’d always been sweet to you. Offering to drop you home as well but always denying, not wanting him to drive out of his route just for you. Those polished, pearly teeth gleaming at you when he asked, practically making you melt right there on the spot. You’d cursed yourself for manifesting a little crush on the man, who was your best friends dad, the forbidden attraction. The way he’d sit lazily in the driver side, his large hands gripping the steering wheel, your mind wandering to thoughts of what they would be like gripped around your dainty neck. The black bikers jacket he’d always wear even in scorching temperatures, fitting his frame just right.

“Hey hey girl, how are you?” She wrapped you into a affectionate hug, her candy sweet scent hitting your nostrils, her birthday tiara shining in the sun’s beam. You reciprocated, giving a small squeeze as you released her, holding the bottle out to her. “Happy birthday, Nat. It’s been too long!” You replied as she took the bottle out of your hands, thanking you for the gift. “Come on let me get you a drink and we can catch up!” She lead you through the crowd of people, a mixed bag, some young and some old. You recognised some familiar faces from growing up, giving a small nod at those who recognised you, commenting small hellos.

Natalie motioned for you to take a seat at the rattan sofa lounger, near the side of the backyard porch, a small fire pit in the middle, keeping you toasty as your dress was a little shorter than you were used to. Negan entered through the same gate you’d come through minutes ago, returning with a crate of beer from the garage. He fought his way through the crowd, handing out the liquor to those he’d promised it too. Small ‘thank you’s in acceptance, placing the remaining bottles into a cooler with ice. Wiping his hands off with a small towel, fingers slightly numb from handling the ice, his eyes moved around the yard, silently cursing his daughter for inviting so many people to this place. His annoyance came to a halt when his eyes locked onto you, recognising your face in the sea of people. Watching you laugh with Natalie over old pictures she was showcasing to you, he’d know your laugh from a mile away.

He couldn’t help the heat that ran through his body, his jeans getting tighter as he watched your chest rising, your arms placed in front of you, making your breasts press together firmly, slight cleavage coming into show for him to memorise. You’d definitely grown up since the last time he’d seen you, taking a beer out for himself, he started sauntering over to you, discreetly adjusting himself on the way.

“Well if that isn’t who I think it is? It’s been ages doll!” He exclaimed, your head whipping around to meet his gaze. He looked similar to how he did when you’d last seen him, the only major difference being his beard being thicker and slight whiteness now peaking out of it. “Hey! Mr Smith, it’s nice to see you after all this time!” You almost purred, he loved the way that name sounded rolling off your pretty lips, that familiar heat rising to his cheeks slightly. While it sounded completely innocent to everyone around, he could tell the difference. “Oh why so formal? Call me Negan, we’re all friends here.” He grinned, those familiar pearly whites coming into view as he swiped his tongue along his lower lip lightly. “Are you ladies okay for drinks?” Natalie waved her dad off, claiming they were fine, he took his leave but not before taking one last gaze over your body, your curves almost putting him under some witchcraft spell.

It was later in the evening, the sun setting over the horizon, you’d been roped into playing a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ under the suggestion of Natalie, it being the game you played at all those sleepovers you’d had with her back in the day. You were sat with a few other girls, ones you’d recognised from high school. You weren’t best friends with any of them, not knowing them well like you did Natalie, just more so the fact they were the only girls left at the party.

You’d played it safe up to this point, only choosing truth, you decided to throw caution to the wind when your next turn came, proclaiming dare to the group.

Natalie’s eyes found yours, you could practically see the cogs turning inside her head, it got you wondering what her depraved mind was going to come up with. “I dare you to… seduce my dad.” You almost spat your drink out, eyes widening at the request, palms hot with embarrassment. “What? You actually want me to do that? Are you insane?!” You asked, a confused look sat on your face. “Not to be rude but… you aren’t his type at all, so it’s a guaranteed point for me! I’m just being strategic!” She claimed, her eyes meeting yours, goading you to back down. Your heart sank at the confession, you couldn’t understand why it stung so much, it was just a little silly crush but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit this new information made you feel a bit low. Your hurt feeling started slowly turning to slight rage, still watching Natalie as she challenged you with her eyes.

“Okay, how about we make this interesting though? $100 suit you?” You smirked, pulling a hundred dollar bill out of your purse, waving it in her face, mocking her. She returned your smirk, that goddamn egotistical smirk she got from her father, her manicured hand coming out in front of her to offer a handshake to seal the deal. “You are on, sister. You have to bring something back to the table that’s his, it’s the only way I’ll believe you.” You raised from the couch, slamming your empty cup down on the small table, taking your hair clip out, hair falling to the top of your back in loose, bouncy pin up curls. The girls watched you walk through the patio doors, sliding it to let you in before continuing on with the game.

You got into the kitchen, a few people standing around in conversations, you politely asked one of them if they had seen the man you were seeking out, answering that he’d gone up to his bedroom to change shirts, alcohol being split on him about five minutes ago. Making your way to the top floor of the house, you started trying doors, having absolutely no clue which one was his as you’d never been in the house before. You came to the last one at the end of the landing, being met with the very man you wanted to see.

There he was, shirtless in front of you, his room rather large. A four poster bed in the centre of it, black and red silk sheets with matching puffy pillows, a small door which lead into a en-suite, two bookshelves at the sides of the bed, small circle led lights above the headboard. He threw the wet t-shirt he’d taken off into the wicker laundry basket, not yet noticing that you’d entered the room. “Mr Smith? Sorry for not knocking, I need to speak to you about something.” You mumbled, the anxiety of what you were about to ask him gaining on you. He slightly jumped, a flirty grin on his face when he realised it was you who was there. You took a seat in the leather loveseat, matching the bed sheets, red and black were obviously his favourites. Your hands nervously played with the hem of your dress, his eyes wandering to your delicate fingers. “I’m all ears doll, ask away!” He says, turning his back to you as he found another t-shirt to change into, you opened your mouth to talk, nervousness managing to stop you in your tracks.

He turned back around, his face contorting into a confused look, wondering what you be needing to ask that would get you so worked up like this. “So Natalie dared me to… seduce you in our game of truth or dare. I had every intention to give it my best shot but she told me I’m not your type. W-which is fine, but I kind of bet $100 on it. Is there any chance you could give me something out of this room that I can take down to prove I did it, without actually doing it?” You awkwardly explained, your eyes not being able to meet his, if they had you would have seen the shimmer in his eyes as you cutely fumbled over your words out of embarrassment. He let out a large laugh, your face squirming, if his daughters confession made you feel bad, this was ten times worse. You felt a small tear gathering at the bottom of your eye, wanting the earth to swallow you in this moment.

It was the touch on your knee that made you look up, meeting his gaze as he knelt down to come to face level with you, Negan hadn’t bothered to put another shirt on, the low light of the room landing on his body just right, your core feeling slightly slick as his muscles tensed deep. You thought he was about to make fun of you for such a childish request, when he grabbed your chin firmly, making your head stay in position it was, looking into his eyes, not having the nerve to look away.

“Now doll, please tell me why you’d ever listen to such a fucking stupid thing like that?” He questioned, his thumb tracing your jawline slightly, still holding your chin in place. Your ears perked up, the total opposite of what you thought he was going to say coming out. “Uh, I’m not sure?” You replied, your voice not coming out as confident as you would have liked, that smirk still on his face. He was enjoying watching you squirm underneath him, his hand let go of your chin, hooking either hand around the underside of your thighs, pulling you slightly forward so your ass was half on the chair and half off. “How about I do you one better? Why don’t we actually complete the dare, huh doll? I don’t know why she’d say some crazy shit like that, probably hasn’t been paying attention to how I haven’t taken my goddamn eyes off you all night. You’ve really grown into a fine ass woman, you know that right?” You let out a slight moan, the feeling of his large hands keeping your legs spread open for him to see making your whole body electric. A vision of white panties peaking out under your dress, your new position on the seat making it rise up to your waist. “Thanks for the compliment Negan, but if… if you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.” You managed to make out, in broken breaths, your chest rising heavily up and down as you did, eyes wandering to his abdomen.

“Your wish is my command, pretty girl. Just relax and let daddy take care of you.” He whispered lustfully as his fingertips moved your panties to the side, showing your ever wetting slick pussy to him. He had to take a sharp breath in, nothing he’d seen was a prettier sight that this, hadn’t even imagined you looking this good, exceeding his wet dreams. He gathered saliva in his mouth, a powerful spit right on the centre of you, you whimpering in response at the degrading and dirty action. “Well, look at that! Someone likes a bit of domination doesn’t she?” He proclaimed to you, he couldn’t believe his fucking luck. You gasped as he finally took your clit into his mouth, sucking on it softly, teasing you with his devilish tongue.

He moves back to your pussy where he runs his tongue over your wet lips. You let out a deep guttural groan, as you grab large pieces of his slicked back hair, tugging him slightly, guiding him to all the places, you needed attention on. Negan continued to lick long strips down from your sensitive bud to your opening, listening to your moans and whimpers as he did. “Fu-fuck Negan! Yes, your making me feel so good.” He took his tongue of you, whining at the loss of contact. A darker look shifted on his face, more pressure as his hand dug further into your thighs. “Listen here, dollface. Tonight I’m not Negan, tonight I am daddy, you get that? Or has my tongue already made that pretty little head of yours blank?” He growled out, his tone completely like nothing you’d ever heard him sound like before, you’d truly woken the beast inside this man and you couldn’t wait for the journey. “Yes, yes, I’m sorry daddy, please put your tongue back on me, it makes me feel so fucking good!” He sinisterly grinned at you, parting your folds again and letting your juices flow down onto his tongue. He finds himself vigorously tongue fucking you as you begin gyrating on the chair, trying to push your hips into his face more, nothing mattering to you more than the pleasure he was providing, while pulling his hair with your fingers.

As he begins sucking your clit, he works a couple of fingers deep into your pussy, finding how tight you clamped around him, trying to intensify your pleasure. Negan begins to alternate between licking and sucking your clit, as you became more and more impassioned. It isn't long before you thrusted your pussy hard against his face, his beard scratching against you as your first climax washed over you, your hips bucking even more, back arched, your arms that were holding you up shaking.

“Fuck, daddy, I need you inside me now, please!” You whined, Negan hoisting you up off the now wet chair, the slick shining sun in the light of the room. He slammed your body on the bed, your head hanging off the edge of the bed, the blood rushing to your ears. “Goddamn doll, this pretty little pussy is going to be the death of me, pull that top down, I want to see those tits bounce as I fuck you dumb.” You obeyed, pulling your breasts out of your dress, the style of dress restricting you from wearing a bra, cupping them and rubbing your nipples as well. He could have bust right there and then, the image of you below him, looking like something out of a damn Playboy magazine.

He trails kisses up your body, tasting the thin layer of sweat on your skin until he reaches your mouth where he kisses your lips deeply, snaking his tongue into your mouth as he lined up at your entrance, rubbing his dick up and down your folds, setting your whole body on fire, nerves standing on edge. He releases your mouth, moving to your neck, nipping and biting at it as he finally stretched you out, filling you up nicely.

“That’s it doll, fuck. You feel goddamn heavenly, such a good slut for my dick right?” He grunts out, leaning away from your neck to hover over you as he put his hands around your throat, his pace getting more erratic, unable to control himself from his hard thrusts as your skin slapped together. Your head was starting to go dizzy, between being upside down and your oxygen being slowly cut by Negan’s large hand, it intensified your impending orgasm. Negan pulled out quickly, turning you over from your back to your stomach, forcing your back to arch as much as you could, slipping back into you. The new angle sent you nearly cock drunk, Negan too mesmerised watching his dick going in and out of you, not noticing the door slowly opening slightly.

You looked over to see Natalie looking on at you and her father, like time had stopped in place. You couldn’t see her whole face, just her eyes. Frozen, she made no move to say anything or close the door. You smirked at her, your eyes not breaking eye contact. “Oh daddy! You fuck me so good, my pussy belongs to you!” You moaned, a narcissistic grin sitting happily on your mouth. “Shit yeah doll, this pussy is all fucking mine you dumb whore.” His hand coming down in your hair, his other placed around your neck again. Hips snapping repeatedly against you at a now familiar pace, a moan leaving you every time he snapped. You raised yourself up on your elbows, repeatedly rubbing your thumb over the tips of your index finger and middle finger, the universal sign for Pay Me. Her eyes squinted in anger, closing the door again, not wanting to see anything else and now pissed she owed you money.

You quietly laughed to yourself as quietly as you could, feeling your walls clamp on Negan’s dick as you were ready to orgasm. “Fuck daddy, I’m going to cum again!” You whimpered, gripping the silk sheets below you both, Negan shallowly grunting above you. “Shit doll, me too. Let go for me baby, milk daddy’s dick doll.” You squeezed the bed sheet again, your whole body shaking as you closed your eyes, breathing irregular as you flopped forward on the bed, panting heavy. Negan pulled out at just the right moment, hot spurts of his cum hitting your lower back, cooling off after a couple seconds sat there. He carefully placed himself next to you, pulling you towards him so you rested in his arm. “I’ve been waiting for that for years, you know?” You told him, your fingers slowly drawing small circles on his forearm. “Could have told me sooner doll, that was fucking sen-sat-ional! You are perfect.” You laughed, kissing the side of his face, leaving a small nip at his ear lobe.

Two orgasms and $100 richer, it was worth leaving the house after all.

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go

Captain John Price x f!Reader

Part 2 here

Summary: You worked at a coffeehouse, your life is filled with mundanity and you wouldn't change it for anything else. That is, until one crisp autumn morning, you meet the handsome Captain John Price and there’s an immediate, undoubted connection between the two of you.

WC: 3,352

Warnings: fluff, smut in other chapters, cheesy coffee shop au, inaccuracies, soft!price, barista!reader, some reader descriptions, slow romance, pet names, meet-cute.

A/N: Remember that Price series I mentioned? Here ya go!!! Each chapter will be the title of a song I feel is related to it or that I was listening to while writing it hehe so make sure to check that out ;) I'm planning for 6 chapters but there might be more. Smut will happen eventually, of course!

The song for Chapter 1 is I'm On Fire by Bruce Springsteen, but also the covers of it by Awolnation and Gus Dapperton.

Happy reading!!

Dawn was breaking through the clouds. The waking sun broke through grey clouds that poured a steady, incessant shower of rain; the contrast of the glimmering rays against the somber clouds painted a watercolor sky. 

You walked down the cobblestone street, the heel of your shoes clinking with every stride as you walked into the coffeehouse at a speedy pace. It was the middle of autumn, the weather was tepid and chilly. You worked at Roasts & Poets, a hybrid of a cafe and a bookstore that your sweet aunt had left your favorite cousin, and she had been gracious enough to let you run it alongside her. 

Every morning was the same, and you wouldn't change a thing about it. You arrived at the crack of dawn to open the cafe, you were alone until your cousin arrived much later; you had always been more diligent and work-oriented than her when it came to running the cafe. You went through the whole process of the opening shift: setting the chairs and tables, stocking the sugars and napkins, picking up your cousin's slack from yesterday's closing shift, and setting out the freshly baked pastries. 

That's how you start your day every day. Your life was simple yet rewarding. Alone behind the counter, you took in the sight of the deserted shop, the smell of the books on their shelves collecting dust hitting your nostrils while sleep was still weighing down your eyes. The stillness and silence of the shop every morning made you content and warm. 

About half an hour later, your cousin arrived. The energy in her contrasted your mellowness. The minute she walked through the door, the sound of her cheery greeting and of the edge of the door's swing knocking the bell atop it sparked you awake. You gave her a wide smile as she stormed in, the rays of sun being her spotlight. 

"Morning, cuz," she beamed, you returned the greeting mid-yawn, followed by you letting out a loud sigh. She set her coat on the hooks next to the door beside yours -- you two had set those there as a cozy detail for your customers. 

"I had the best night last night," she started, walking towards you behind the counter and tying an apron around her waist the same as you. "Remember that guy I told you about?" 

"The Birmingham one?" you scoffed, remembering the drunken night when your cousin could not stop rambling about the bloke from Birmingham who stood her up.

"No," she rolled her eyes, "the hot one my friend set me up with!" 

You vaguely recalled, giving her an affirmative nod as your eyes drifted up, trying to remember the details of her extensive, messy love life. The two of you had been close and very similar since you were kids, but what stood out between you was how much of a hopeless romantic she was. You were more reserved about it; even though you knew it sounded cliche, you had decided long ago that the right man for you would come to you one day. Your knight in shining armor, your prince charming, perhaps. So you'd rather wait passively for that moment rather than how your cousin approached men head-on. 

You listened to her fawning over her most recent rendezvous with her new suitor, amused and enjoying her experience vicariously. 

As the day progressed, you welcomed and attended more patrons. You and your cousin took turns between taking orders and ringing up anyone who purchased books. There were a few regulars who came in every morning for a quiet space to work in, and others who just liked to lounge and read a book they had purchased along with a coffee in the comfy sofas you and your cousin had picked out when setting up the shop -- you had lost count of how many years ago that had been. 

When the shop was slowing down, you liked to prop your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your hand as you people-watched. You loved the tranquility of it, thinking about each one's stories, reading them like books. 

One of the regulars was a man who always came in a burgundy knitted sweater and sat down with his laptop and headphones. He was quiet and reserved but always left you gratuitous tips; you knew his order and routine like the back of your hand. Another one was an older lady who always wore something pink, no matter what the rest of her outfit consisted of or what the occasion was. She was kind as well, but when she was feeling chatty she would sit at the counter and talk your ear off; today was a quiet day for her as she sipped her chamomille and read her novellas.   

As much as you enjoyed the peace of the shop, today was not a great day for silence for you. You hadn't gotten the best sleep last night, you had opted for binging the show you had been obsessing over and downed an entire bottle of wine by yourself. So, between your early start to the day and the light thumping of the headache you had medicated was making your eyes heavy with sleep. You couldn't wait for your shift to be over, maybe you would ask your cousin to let you lie down in the back. 

The sound of the bell as the door swung open jolted you awake for the second time today. You stood upright, fixing your posture and glancing at the door to greet the incoming customer. Your eyes captured a man you hadn't seen before around the area. He was tall with a bearded face and had a burly physique, sporting a navy blue sweater and grey coat that matched the beanie he slid off his head. You gave him a welcoming smile, not paying him much mind because of the sleep that still crept into your eyes. He returned the gesture as he made his way across the store, disappearing from your vision. 

You let out a sigh as you rubbed your knuckles into your lids. You desperately need a coffee if you want to get through the day, you thought, turning on your heels to pull yourself two shots of espresso. You poured the shots into a cup of milk you had frothed, making yourself a latte to spark some energy into you. 

As you turned back around to face the counter you were caught off guard by-- 

" 'Scuse me, miss?" a smokey voice startled you, making your body jump in place with a gasp escaping your lips. The latte in your hands splashed in your grasp at the sudden response of your body, its contents lightly spilling over your apron. 

"Shit!" you hissed, setting the cup down on the work counter behind you and grabbing the nearest rag to wipe your hands clean from any coffee that got on them. You looked up to the man across the counter, laughing at yourself in a mix of embarrassment at your clumsiness and lighthearted amusement. 

At that moment, your eyes caught onto the face of the mystery man who had recently walked in. His expression was genuinely concerned and apologetic, truly not knowing what to do with himself as he stood across the counter. 

"I'm so sorry, love, didn't mean to startle you," he stumbled over his words, "you alright?" 

His voice was raspy and deep, sultry even. You noted the details of his face: blue eyes stared back at you, surrounded by long lashes and bushy eyebrows, his pink, velvety lips slightly parted as if having more apologies to let out, his nose pointed and narrow, and his beard neat and full. He was handsome, truly, and you couldn't look away. 

"No worries!" you finally let out, a large smile on your face. "That's what these things are for!" you let out an awkward laugh, too loud to not give away the fact that you were flustered by his looks. Your hands worked the knot of the apron that tied at your waist as you spoke. 

The man let out a nervous chuckle as he watched you, still dumbfounded and itching to help in some way like he was uncomfortable with himself for just standing by.

"What can I help you with, sir?" You asked, tossing the apron in a bin under the counter, where you and your cousin kept any kitchen cloths and rags that needed to be washed after your shift. You didn't break eye contact with the man as you did, you found it impossible to when his blue eyes sucked you like the depth of an ocean. 

The man cleared his throat and fixed his posture, a nervous smile pulling at his bearded cheeks, "I was just wonderin' if y'could help me pick out a book" he pointed his thumb over his shoulders to the shelves behind him, "Any recommendations? 'M not sure where to look."  

You responded with an eager 'of course' as you circled the counter, leading him to the array of shelves. "Are you looking for anything in particular?" 

"Erm, up to your suggestion, really," he stood behind you, letting you take the lead, his eyes weighted on you. You responded with a pensive hum as your eyes scanned the shelves, hand holding your chin. You mumbled something under your breath and moved on to a different shelf. You reached for one of the books and turned back to him, handing the selection over to him. He took it from your hands.

Large hands, you observed. You hadn't realized until now how much taller the man was compared to you. You weren't a petite girl, but, this man stood tall; the way he carried himself proudly made him look even larger. 

He eyed the book, taking a moment to read the cover. He chuckled lightly to himself and glanced over to you. 

"As You Like It," he read. 

"You read it?" you asked a bit flustered, afraid you had made the wrong choice, "I recommend it to everyone." 

"I haven't, actually," he looked over to it again, "Not very well versed in Shakespeare." 

You chuckled a bit, "Well, this is a good one to get you into it." 

"I trust you," he said, a smirk on his face that made your cheeks burn. 

"It can be a bit hard to read but..." you shrugged, "It's one of my favorites." 

"I'll come to you if I need help, then." 

Your stomach fluttered at his words. Was he flirting? Maybe he's just a charming guy, nothing special. 

"Would you like anything else?" you stuttered. His gaze made you shift and adjust yourself, making you feel vulnerable to have it on you. 

"I'd like a tea to keep you company while you finish your coffee if that's alright," he flirted, his husky voice made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

You simply nodded with a smile and he followed you back to the counter. He sat on one of the stools as you stood behind the bar, he had asked you for a black tea and you steeped it for him, setting down a creamer and cup of sugar for him to add to taste. You went back to the latte you had made yourself, pouring it into ice after having let it get cold, and observed the man as subtly as you could manage. You noted he liked his tea on the sweeter side, maybe you would use that information for the next time he came around. You hoped he would. 

You watched as he took a sip from the cup, humming to himself and licking his lips as he set the cup back down. 'Good tea', he said softly as if to himself. You couldn't help but let a smile tug at the corners of your lips; something about him enjoying it was pleasant to you. 

"I'm John, by the way," he spoke up, his arms crossed on the counter. His eyes were on you again, and they were amiable and warm as they held contact with yours. You responded by telling him your name. 

"Are you new around here, John?" you reclined on the counter behind you, your coffee in one hand. 

"I am, I just moved in nearby," he took another sip from his cup. 

"What made you pick this place, if I may ask?" 

"Well, military accommodations, mainly," he cleared his throat. 

Military, you thought. No wonder he was such a large and buff man. You noticed the flexed muscles that bulged under his sweater. That sweater did them no justice, you were sure. 

"So you're a soldier?" 

"Somethin' like that, yeah," he scoffed with a smirk. You gave him a small smile as well but chose not to press any further. 

"What about the shop, what made you come in here?" 

"Seemed like a cozy place to spend the day," he gave you a once over, not very conspicuously, "the pretty barista's a bonus." 

You rolled your eyes at his comment but couldn't help the reddening of your cheeks or the growth of your smile that you tried but failed to suppress. 

At that moment, your cousin walked through the door. John's eyes didn't budge to look at the door, though, they were glued on you. She passed behind him, giving you the most excited expression you had seen on her face thus far, and mouthed something along the lines of 'He is so fit!" as she made her way to the back of the store with bags of ingredients in her hands. You scoffed at her and returned to look at John. 

"You flirt with all the baristas you find pretty, John?" 

"Only the ones that look like you," the man quipped, chuckling lightly to himself as if acknowledging how cheesy he was being. His comment made you laugh wholeheartedly, shaking your head at it.  

John finished his tea and fished into his pocket for his wallet, "I hate to leave, but... how much do I owe you, love?" 

"It's on the house," you crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a cheeky look, "for being a first-time customer." 

John gave you a smile with lightly flushed cheeks himself along with a grateful nod. He left his wallet in his pocket as he stood up from his seat and dressed his head with the beanie he had come in with. 

"I'll come back 'round to tell you how the book's goin'," he signaled the book in his hand on the way out the door, "You make great company, love." 

"Likewise, John," you bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from gushing at his words. You were using every atom in your body to not let yourself completely overflow with glee. 

John gave you a final look and raised his hand goodbye before exiting the shop. You returned the gesture and watched him walk away down the street until he disappeared from your line of sight. 

Once he was gone, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding. You felt your heart skip a beat, maybe two, or even three beats as all the blood from your body surged to your face. Your cousin came skipping giddily from the back of the store, squealing like a schoolgirl as she embraced you. You couldn't help but join her in excitement. The two of you spoke in loud whispers behind the counter.

"That man is in love with you!" 

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, he was just flirting!" 

"Don't you be ridiculous! His eyes were devouring you, idiot! He might as well have fucked--" 

You shushed her loudly and cupped your hand over her mouth, the two of you giggling. You two realized you were still on the clock, with some of the patrons shooting glances at you. It made you both adjust and compose yourselves as best you could, but shot each other knowing looks as you returned to work, cleaning dirty dishes and whatnot. 

"So what's his name?" she asked. 

"John, he just moved around here-- says he's in the military." 

"Agh, hot!" she sang the last word. You rolled your eyes. 

"What book did you give him?" 

"As You Like It" 

"Should've given him Lady Chatterley's Lover, maybe he would've taken the hint," she laughed as you pushed her with a hand playfully. 

The rest of your shift went by uneventfully. You continued to serve more customers, tended to the regulars, and maintained the space. When it was closing time, the rays of the sun entered through the large windows, this time casting the golden glow of dusk. You mopped the floors of the shop and let yourself go deep into your thoughts. 

You thought about John, of course, studying all the details you had taken note of. The way his lashes fanned over his deep, crystal blue eyes; how much care was put into maintaining his facial hair and how soft it looked; how chiseled his nose was; how the sweetness of his smile complimented the sweetness he liked in his tea. He looked much older than you, but you didn't mind the slightest, it was a minor detail to you, if anything. You recalled how he called you pretty, and it made you blush and gave you butterflies. You really hoped he'd come back, but didn't want to disappoint yourself if he didn't.  

Once you two had finished closing, you stood outside the door with your cousin as she turned the key and locked the shop. She continued to tease you about John, making both of you laugh and making you blush with the innuendos and childish taunting she kept telling you. You bid each other farewells until tomorrow, walking your separate directions. 

You lived just a couple of blocks away from the cafe in one of the many apartments nearby. A flat you had all to yourself and you enjoyed the solitude, you had learned to be with yourself from having been your only company, besides your cousin, throughout your life. 

It made you think about the fact that it had been a while since you had liked someone. Did you like John?  The question stood out in your mind. It was definitely too early to tell, you had just met the man quite literally today, hours ago even. But you would be lying if you didn't say you felt some sort of attraction, chemistry between the two of you. Those hopes for seeing him again only grew the more you suppressed them.

But you kept telling yourself 'Don't get too excited,' because you might not see him again, after all. For now, let's simply call it a crush, it's all it was, really. Just a man you found attractive, a kind stranger you made you feel pretty and flattered momentarily, after so long of not hearing any men do so or having their attention.

John certainly gave you a lot of his attention, you thought. Those blue eyes of his. He entrapped you with them. An act as simple as being looked at by him made you feel undressed and vulnerable. 

You shook your head when you were in your flat, just standing there in a trance deep in thought. You sighed and cursed at yourself under your breath. 

You practiced your nightly routine of eating dinner by yourself, showering, dressing in your coziest pajamas, and sitting on your couch alone with either a book or a movie, and maybe a glass of something, maybe wine or a soothing tea.

And for once in your life, you hated being alone.

For once you wished there was someone to keep you company. A company as nice as John had kept you today even if it was brief. You sulked a bit on your sofa as you let that forlorn feeling take over just a little bit. 

And though as much as you loved mundanity, the feeling of having someone new and exciting disrupt your routine sparked a warmth in you. 

God, you hoped you'd see John again. 

[writingpastmybedtime]

You've Never Done This Before?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: You really want to go ice-skating with someone and when Bucky agrees to go with you, you feel ecstatic. What you don't know, however, is that Bucky has never gone skating before.

Word Count: 1.8k, short but sweet

Warnings: None

Request: Yes.

A/N: I just love skating and the idea of Bucky never having tried out ice-skating made me write this small one-shot.

The team had been completely ecstatic when Tony announced that he’d booked a cabin for the whole crew for a long weekend. And not just any cabin - a cabin in Alaska, in mid-January, which meant that everyone gathered their snow gear to take with them with enthusiastic grins. 

The cabin itself was beautiful with three floors, seven bedrooms with separate bathrooms, a huge living room, a smaller library, and a gorgeous kitchen conjoined to a dining room. The night of the arrival was spent celebrating the previous year and all of the accomplished missions. Some drinks were had, some laughs were shared and by the start of the new day, half of the team had semi-serious hangovers.

You walked into the kitchen in the morning, to grab a cup of coffee as you took a look outside. The sun was shining, which made the snow sparkle. And there was snow everywhere, in fact, you’d never seen so much snow before. Smiling to yourself, you took a sip of the hot beverage as you enjoyed the view outside.

“How in the hell are you looking so good?” Natasha asked, her hair all dishevelled and a grimace on her face. A headache probably. 

You just shrugged, before grinning at her. “A wise man once told me to remember to drink water while drinking alcohol.”

Natasha groaned at that, as she opened a drawer to search for painkillers. You looked back outside when you finally saw a sight that made your heart rate speed up in enthusiasm.

There was a pond a few metres away from the cabin, it wasn’t very huge, but it would be perfect for what you had planned.

“Did you remember to bring your ice-skates?” You asked Natasha, as she finally finished drinking her cup of water and looked at you as she furrowed her brows. “You want me to go skating with you?” She placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder before giving you a thoughtful smile. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m honestly just regretting every single drink I had last night. It wouldn't be wise.”

“But you should ask one of the Super Soldiers to come with you, you know, seeing as their tolerance to alcohol is much better than mine.” You laughed with her at the comment before you heard footsteps nearing the kitchen.

“Ask us what?” Steve asked as he headed straight for the coffee machine. Your eyes trailed from him to the doorway, on which Bucky was currently leaning, his arms crossed. He gave you a small smile, which you returned.

“Y/N wants someone to go skating with her,” Natasha said as she pointed at the ice-covered pond through the window. “I’d love to go, but my headache is killing me.”

Steve looked at you and was about to agree when Bucky spoke up. “I can go with you,” he spoke with a smile on his face. 

“Really?” You asked, a small blush gracing your cheeks at his offer. Going with Bucky would be a dream since you’d been harbouring a small crush on him for a few months. The grin on your face grew when you saw him nod and you squealed, clapping your hands together.

“Perfect, I’ll just go change into something warmer and find my skates.” You said before you left the kitchen with a skip in your step.

Steve looked at Bucky with an amused grin and a raised eyebrow. “What?” Bucky muttered as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“Since when do you know how to skate?” Steve asked the man in front of him, making Bucky shrug.

“How hard can it be?” Bucky smiled as Natasha snorted and wished him ‘good luck’. Steve finished his coffee before nodding his head at Bucky. “Come on, man, I’ll lend you my skates seeing as you probably don’t even own a pair.” Natasha just grinned at the two men, excited that there was a window overlooking the pond. 

She was about to be entertained.

You had walked silently to the ice-covered pond with Bucky, just enjoying each other's company. What you didn’t know, however, was that Bucky had never been ice-skating. It just seemed so obvious to you, that everyone had gotten a chance to try it out once in their life, not considering the fact that for most of Bucky’s life, he wasn’t in charge of his decisions.

“The ice looks so smooth,” You said eagerly as you looked at the frozen pond and began to put on your skates. Bucky nodded, trying to hide his nervousness as he watched you tie your skates and tried to do the same. Fortunately for him, he had great balance, so he hoped it would all work out in his favour.

Taking a first step on the ice, your legs shook, before balancing yourself. You laughed as you looked at Bucky. “Careful with the first step, it's always unusual at first.” Gaining your confidence, you started gliding on the ice, your face beaming with joy. 

Bucky just watched as you skated, mesmerised by your movements and skill. The sun made your eyes glisten and the blush on your nose and cheeks from the cold was making you look extremely adorable.

“Are you coming?” You had now stopped in front of him with a grin. He nodded and you watched him take the first step onto the ice. He was a bit shaky but tried to stand up straight and make the first glide. Suddenly, as he was trying to understand how to move, he lost his footing and fell on his butt. You looked at him in shock, before you started laughing.

Bucky just looked at himself on the ice, before looking at you and scratching the back of his head. A blush was starting to form on his cheeks, which you found very cute, and then the realisation dawned on you.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Bucky smiled at you sheepishly before he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I thought I could figure it out on the spot, but it seems to be just a tad bit harder than I imagined it would.” You grinned at him, before skating over to him and offering him your hands to pull him up.

He shook slightly when he stood again and you placed your hands on his arms, trying to keep him balanced. “Okay, it’s no big deal, honestly. I’ll teach you. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it.” 

Bucky just looked at you as if you were the most enticing thing in the whole world. He thought you’d be mad at him for not knowing how to skate, but you just smiled and offered to teach him, like it's the least you could do.

“Just place your hands on my arms and I’ll start gliding whilst pulling you with me, okay?” You asked him and gave him a reassuring smile. Bucky nodded, and he did as you said while keeping his eyes on his skate-covered feet. You began to move backward, pulling Bucky with you. Bucky wondered how you even knew how to skate backwards since moving forward was already complicated enough.

“Okay, you're doing wonderful. Now just start moving your feel like so,” You began to show him how to move his feet and Bucky tried his damn hardest to follow your lead. After a few unsuccessful tries, he finally started getting the hang of it and he gave you a wide grin.

“Just like this?” He asked and you reciprocated his smile and nodded. You moved like that for a few minutes before you began to let go of his arms. His eyes widened when he realised your intent and he grabbed onto you, making you laugh as he gave you a pout. Seeing a 106-year-old, 6” tall Super Soldier pout was a sight that not everyone would believe.

“Come on, big guy, you can do this.” You pushed yourself away from him, making him lose his grip on you. Bucky tried to keep his balance with his hands before he tried to make his first glide all on his own.

As a surprise to him, he didn’t fall this time. He was doing quite well, considering this was his first time. He grinned at you and you began to skate in front of him, still facing each other.

“Are you gonna teach me how to skate backwards next?” Bucky asked as you just shook your head with a laugh. “I’m afraid we have to leave that to our next lesson. We need to get you comfortable with skating the right way first.” 

“Oh, so there’ll be more lessons?” He quipped as he smirked and started skating faster. You realised that he was becoming more confident and you started adding speed as well. “Maybe,” you smirked before you turned around and began to skate away from him at a speed that left him stunned for a second.

He admired you for a while before a mischievous glint appeared in his gaze and he began to follow you. It was now a game of whether or not he could catch you. 

You skated in circles for a while, your laughter joyous and loud, before Bucky suddenly turned around and changed his path. Now instead of being behind you, he was in front of you and coming closer at a very fast pace. Before you could react, he stumbled into you, which made you both twirl as you gripped him. You closed your eyes, waiting for the impact.

He fell with a thud, with you on top of him. 

You both stayed quiet for a second before you broke the silence and began to laugh heartily. “I should’ve taught you how to stop before we began to chase each other.” He laughed alongside you and nodded. “Yeah, that probably should’ve been wise.” 

You grinned at each other before Bucky suddenly grew serious. He raised his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, that had fallen from your braid during the small accident. He didn’t remove his hand from your face, but let it linger on your cheek, caressing the skin underneath his thumb. You blushed at the contact, not being able to look away from his beautiful blue eyes.

“You’re absolutely stunning, doll.” He told you in a whisper and the nickname made your heart flutter. Bucky started to pull you closer to himself and you could already feel his breath on your face before a mischievous glint appeared in your eyes and you pushed yourself up to stand.

“You’re gonna have to catch me first,” you told him teasingly and began to skate away from him. He laughed before he sat up and looked at you, shaking his head but accepting the challenge.

He stood up and started to glide after you before he realised.

“You still didn’t teach me how to stop properly.”

Safe to say that the next time you collided, you weren’t able to leave his embrace.

[lanymme]

Falls to my knees , hiii so like... the requests.... would you be so kind as to consider Ushiwakamaru|Yoshitsune (and her wife Shizuka Gozen....) (she gets 1 dialogue in Heian-Kyo (Incredibly romantic line about wishing to follow Yoshitsune until the very end) and mentioned in Little Big Tengu)

Scenario... Ushi getting reminded of Shizuka and realizing how much she misses her...im basic i am starved

The idea of Ushi joining the "i miss my spouse" club and Tomoe being there is hilarious honestly. I am rambling

I am very sorry if this ask was too late </3

The monkey's paw curls.

Sure i can write that for you!

/\/\/\/\/\/\

It’s a quiet, clear night, the full moon shining brightly down on the trees, the courtyard, the roof of the mountaintop compound.

Sitting on that rooftop, one knee tucked up and the other dangling casually from the edge, foot swaying back and forth, a figure clad in a Japanese armor sits alone, drinking and looking out at the light of the city far below, long unbound hair fluttering slightly in a gentle breeze.

Behind them, a scattering of gold motes of light blows into shape and coalesce, as a woman dressed in similar armor stands behind them, posture straight and proper, sharing the same view.

“Ah, Lady Archer.” Her voice, normally energetic or cheerful, is subdued yet friendly. She turns, casual and unmannered, to smile thinly through the weight of emotion at her guest. “Please, come,” she says, offering the bottle and a small cup to her visitor. “Share a drink with me, and some familiar company in this foreign land.”

Archer ignores her offer, continuing to stare out into the city.

“…Lord Saber. I would kill you here, now, if our Masters were not allied.”

“Mm.” She nods, acknowledging the statement as true, if not important. “Such is the nature of the war we fight.”

Archer’s eyes narrow.

“…I will state the truth plainly, then. I would kill you if there were no war. Knowing you live, I would seek your death. Only duty now stays me from seeking vengeance for my Lord.”

Saber takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, staring out over the city.

“…Fair enough. I can’t apologize for anything I’ve done to serve my own Lord. But, if my Master permits, once our alliance is over, I will give you a proper fight to the death.”

The wind blows through the trees, rushing, cool. The tips of Saber’s hair blow in the breeze. She takes a sip, and studies the bottle of alcohol with casual interest.

Archer’s fists clench, the sound of friction audible like a creak of leather, before she lets her fair, callused hands relax.

“I am surprised to hear you’d take consideration for anyone other than the master you serve.”

Saber’s head bobs in positive appraisal. She continues to stare out into the night.

“My Master told me to convey to yours that he is to meet her in the shed tomorrow in the morning to discuss plans regarding Caster and Rider.”

Saber nods again. She stares into space for a moment, as she convey the message through the link.

Then, she takes another sip of alcohol, looking up at the moon.

Archer waits a few minutes longer.

Her eye twitches.

Just as she prepares to leave, Saber speaks again.

“It was a night like this, when I last saw my love.”

Archer regards her carefully.

Saber smiles, wistful, fond. “She liked to go for walks at night, and I would go with her, and stand close to keep her warm. Even on hot summer nights.”

For a moment longer, she looks out over the edge, features softened into a sad smile.

Then her face falls.

“But the last night I saw her… we didn’t have time for such happiness, such peace.”

She looks down, now, into the courtyard, at the earth.

“My retainers managed to convince me to run, when my brother decided to put me down. I gave it my best, really. But I knew he would catch up to me. And… I think she knew, as well.”

Archer stares at her, uncompromisingly.

“She wanted to stay with me, even so. I never… really understood people, or love. I don’t know what I did to deserve such loyalty. Or maybe that’s just how she was. But I appreciated it. I needed it. To know there was someone with me who would never move, never leave, even as I am… how I am. Who really cared.”

“If you really appreciated it,” Archer says, voice heavy, tinged with venom, “then why. Why did you send her away, before the end?”

Saber turns and looks at her. She smiles, faintly.

“Because I wanted her to live.”

Archer snaps.

“Selfish! You say you appreciated her loyalty, yet you would trample it for your own selfishness!”

“…Mm. It was selfish.”

Archer stalks toward Saber, where she sits balanced at the edge of the roof, “If her love, her loyalty truly meant so much to you, then why deny her the chance die alongside her Lord!” she demands, breathing hard, long-restrained anguish bleeding through into her fury.

Saber makes no move to respond, to back away or take a defensible position. She curls, hugging the knee tucked up against her chest, eyes cast down.

“Because… I always knew she would die for me, but I… I would always serve my liege, first. In the end, though, when my brother decided I should die… I thought, for once, I would like to return that devotion. To thank her, for always… for always supporting me. If I was to die… then I could still give her a life, to live on. I could do that for her, at the end.”

“I was never good at expressing my feelings. I knew enough, to know it would hurt her. But still… I wanted to do that for her.”

She takes a sip of alcohol, and smiles ruefully.

“I failed in the end, though. My brother captured her anyway. I was dead, by the time it happened, but…”

Archer stares at her, still breathing hard, glaring, body tense. But the earlier fire is gone from her eyes, and they instead search through old emotions.

“… We do not decide how fate will turn. It is the choices we make that speak for us.”

A moment later, she turns away.

She pauses.

“…Saber. The Master you serve…”

“Hmm?” Her face brightens visibly.

“…” Archer looks up, over the compound, fists balled at her sides. “…That person is not worthy of your devotion.”

She dissolves again into swirling gold motes of light, and they blow away in the gentle night breeze.

“… I wouldn’t know,” Saber says, to the empty rooftop. “I'm not the best judge of people. All I want… is the chance to faithfully serve, until the end.”

—

Cautiously, Tomoe Gozen enters the ruined compound, the remaining fires burning low. The building where she spoke with Saber on that night in the first days of the War is rubble, pulverized by the shock of Rider’s Noble Phantasm, and then cleaved in half.

Master— she begins, reporting out of habit.

Foolishness. Her gentle, composed Master is gone. She feels the loop of prayer beads at her side where they hang under her robes.

Rest easy. For my Master’s sake… I will see your wish granted. I will save them.

She is cursed, cursed to always be the survivor.

She’s too late to witness the conflict, but the state of the war has shifted dramatically. She picks her way through the buildings to see what she can still learn.

The night is darker, now, the moon waning. The courtyard is in ruins, stones broken and split, the lonely pear tree torn up from its roots. Great slashes are carved into the walls of the sturdy storage building that makes up its other side, and the wall has fallen over.

As she proceeds toward the center of the compound, she finds the headless body of Rider’s Master, lying flat on its back.

One of Caster’s siege defense machines has fallen from the rooftops, burnt almost completely, its bolt still loaded lying on the floor.

She tightens her grip on her self control as her oni blood flares, threatening to overtake her reason. She looks up to survey the surroundings

The other giant crossbows that line the remaining buildings are mostly intact. The one farthest back is split in half, jagged wooden remains stained by a heavy spray of blood.

But they are pointed into the heart of the compound, not at its surroundings.

A trail of blood leads her way deeper into the compound

A pit of dread fills her stomach. She worries at the prayer beads that keep her temporarily sustained with mana, her Master’s parting gift to her.

She materializes her sword with a lick of flames, and raises it in preparation before turning the highly defensible corner.

She finds the remains of the body Assassin was puppeting, leaking black ichor.

A few paces away, one of the giant crossbow bolts has buried itself into the earth. It’s stained red with blood.

The trail of blood thickens beyond it. There are bloody handprints, smears against the walls.

Tomoe Gozen narrows her eyes, and steels herself, and proceeds through the bounded field into the heart of the compound.

It’s burning. Ichor and bloodstains everywhere.

At the far side of the space, the largest crossbow is spattered with blood. Beneath it, the severed sleeve of Caster’s robe lies trampled on the ground. And beside that, a mangled figure.

Maintaining her alert, she makes her way quickly across the space.

Saber—Yoshitsune lies slumped against the building’s wall, still clutching her sword in her hands. Her skin is blistered, her long hair burnt away. Cuts and pierces litter her ruined armor. And a crossbow bolt the size of a wooden beam pins her against the building behind her.

So it’s true. Saber’s Master has taken Rider as his Servant.

The loyal general Minamoto no Yoshitsune has once again been betrayed and cut down by the lord she serves.

Tomoe Gozen feels no joy at the sight of her husband’s killer.

The lively, energetic Saber is almost inert, staring blankly up at the sky with dulled eyes. But as she approaches, she looks up at her in awe. Her sword falls from her fingers. Her bare, dry voice whispers.

“…Shizuka?” Tomoe’s heart drops.

She kneels by her foe, and takes her remaining hand in her own. Sightless, dull eyes cast toward her, feebly.

“… ah. My Shizuka. You’re safe. I’m glad… I’m glad.” She sighs, shuddering. “If you live… then all was not lost. I—“ she heaves a breath, and smiles. “can meet my death, without regret.”

Tomoe takes a ragged breath. Suddenly, her vision is full of tears.

—

“Lord Yoshinaka, I beg of you—“

“I have given you my command!” Her husband shouts, voice trembling with fervor. “Leave this battlefield! I will meet my death with Kanehira at my side!”

He looks at her, then, and feeling flashes over his face. Love. Sorrow. Pain. “I will not—“ his voice chokes, rough, raw. “—be shamed by dying together with a woman.”

She takes in a deep breath, trembling, spine straight, mastering her feelings. Then she bows stiffly.

“—As my Lord orders it.”

Before she turns away for the last time, filled to overflowing with mastered emotion, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes—

She sees something like peace come over her husband’s face.

—

She trembles, kneeling before Saber.

Her mortal foe takes in a slow, desperate breath.

“Ah, but Shizuka. Your Ushiwaka… has so rarely received an injury. It really… hurts, after all.” she laughs weakly, and then coughs, and trails off.

Tomoe draws in a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Lord Yoshitsune,” she says. “Allow me to ease your pain.”

“…thank you,” that haggard voice says, relieved. “Thank you.”

Saber slumps forward, presenting her bare neck.

Tomoe stands, and draws her sword.

“…forgive me!”

With one swing, she separates Yoshitsune’s head cleanly from her shoulders.

A moment later, in a shower of gold mana, the body of her great enemy, of her husband’s killer, dissolves and fades away into the smoke-filled night air.

Tomoe stands alone. She cleans, and sheathes her sword.

“Lord Yoshinaka,” she whispers. “Your wife has avenged you. And if it gave you peace, then I will proudly carry forever the shame and sorrow of surviving you.”

With one final lingering glance at the place where a crossbow bolt lies embedded in the wall, she leaves the place of death behind.

Her Master, still, remains to be avenged.

There are yet more ghosts for Tomoe Gozen to carry.

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

⋆ ₊☽˚𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼˚☾₊ ⋆ 

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 : you and coryo had gone through hell and back, you've been together and far apart yet you could never find the courage to say how you truly feel for him. so, you wrote them into letter form, but you never sent them. and so what happens when one mr. snow finds each and every letter only to realize that it's too late?

𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : written in letter form from the readers perspective, talks of jealousy and sad feelings, r is definitely from the capitol, self blame, kinda sorta depression, angst, deceit, suicide, coryo finally responds

𝓪/𝓷 : so here’s part three!! I’m ngl I cried writing this and I KNOW people were asking for a happy ending but I’m just gonna tell y’all now that this is angst NO/VERY LITTLE COMFORT! I just had to do it so here ya go! enjoy 😊!

𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 | 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽

⋆ ₊ ☽ ·˚𓍲⋆ 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮: 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 ⋆𓍲˚· ☾ ₊ ⋆ Dear Coriolanus,

Time ticks on and on as does life; but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt and it certainly doesn't mean that pain fades away with each passing day.

I heard from Mrs.Plinth that Sejanus was killed out in the districts. It must be so saddening knowing that your young son who had his whole life ahead of him died out in the districts all by himself. 

I wonder if you saw him die, what were his last words? 

Mrs.Plinth didn’t share much only saying that it was out in the districts and that she was very grateful that you were there for him. 

Yet it also hurts knowing that you upended the trajectory of your life all for Lucy Gray. 

What could she give you that I couldn’t?

People experience pain in such different ways. I remember when you got a cut when we were climbing trees in my backyard and you were stone faced acting like you were okay when I knew you weren’t. You hate blood and you especially hate pain and I know that. 

All of us do really, I too was only eight when the war ended. We all went through the pain of hunger every single day, some even committed heinous acts to survive that will haunt them forever. 

Some cower in terror and pain yet some rise above the pain. Some use that pain and anguish as a motivator to push forward and persevere. 

Like you. 

You know me, the runt of the litter. The forgotten one. Yet not by you, I know you would never forget me. 

Just like I’ll never forget you. 

Which is why it hurts so much to know that you still chose Lucy Gray over me. It still kills me when I think about my best friend, my first and forever love, who I’ve been through so much with choose a girl he’s just met over someone who's been on your side since day one. 

What did I do wrong? Was it something I said? What could she have that I don’t?

Life has quieted down I guess, school is the same old same old, just the same boring day one after another. The Capitol just seems so dreary and dull, there is constant gloom plaguing the sky.

I like to think it’s because you’re not here. My sun, my moon illuminating the dark dark sky, shining brightly amongst the stars that have long burned out.

I really do miss you Coryo,

Yours Truly

Coriolanus,

I heard from Tigiris you’re finally on your way home.

Is Lucy Gray with you?

I wonder if she’s holding your hand at the very second, comforting you about coming back to the home you call hell. Have you told her about your life in the Capitol, I wonder?

Is she truly your home now, Coriolanus?

It seems everyone around me is finding what their lives were missing. Money, power, glory. Yet there is this hole in my heart and my life in the shape of you. 

I will never find home.

Many people say that home is where the heart is or that home is a person or idea rather than a physical place and they’re right.

Because my home will forever be you, Coriolanus.

And it rips my chest apart to know that I will never be able to go home because a pretty little bird has decided to peck her way into my home and build a fragile little nest. It hurts even more to know that you protected that nest.

Are there little birdies tweeting in that nest now?

I wonder if you have Sejanus’ stuff. You really were that boy's best friend, you know that Coriolanus?

Just like how you were my best friend. Before the war, before Celmensia, before Sejanus, before Lucy Gray.

But hey, you’re finally on the way back to the Capitol, right?

You’re finally coming back home to me.

I truly do hope I am the first one you call.

Love,

Your Darling awaiting your call

To Coriolanus Snow,

My grave has been long set for I dug it. I have made my bed now, I must lie in it.

By the time you read this I will have already been long dead. The ache in my chest drove me to it, the numbing hole that consumed my being was no longer tolerable.

My head was drowning in anger, sadness, love. All for you my dearest Coriolanus. 

I find myself writing as if there is tomorrow yet I truly do know that there won’t be a future for me. 

I’ve reread every single unsent letter I have written for you and the gaping hole in my chest grows larger with every word I read for I know deep in my soul that I will never be able to go back in time and tell myself that it’s all worth it because I’m ow that it isn’t. 

It’s ruining my life, Coriolanus, please do not think less of me for it. 

My body has been battered and bruised all my by my hand, my mind plaguing my sanity, my memories, with fields of death and despair. I find now that I find solace and comfort in the thought.

I have dropped out of school, not that anyone would have noticed. I stopped sketching too, you know. It’s just that whenever my pencil touches the page all my hand seems to be able to draw is your face. My sketchbook has been filled with sketches of your face, your eyes, you at that reaping ceremony, you when you went to visit Lucy Gray in the Capitol zoo. All you.

I cant take it anymore Coryo, my heart can’t take it anymore. 

My mind is plagued with images of your beautiful face, your smug smiles, your laughs where you hide those gorgeous hydrangea blue eyes of yours, the look on your face when I hugged you for the last time. 

I replay that moment in my head, constantly. I seemingly can’t stop thinking back on that moment and think about what I could have said or could have given you to make you stay. 

I would have done anything to have you stay, to have you be mine. 

To have you love me back. 

It’s a fickle thing, love. Fragile, yet powerful. It can make one go mad yet it can also ground you. It can drive you to murder for someone yet it can also motivate you to step in front of a bullet for someone. 

It can also motivate you to live or cause you to die.

Some find love a nessecity to live while some find it the reason for their demise. 

My dearest Coriolanus, I’m so terribly sorry. Yet I cannot help but akin love to a hardship. A pain, a pain that no matter how many dates I go on or how many men I flirt with that this pain will not go away. 

I really tried, Coryo, I really did. I tried so hard to move on, to love someone else even when I know a hole is where my heart is and you and only you hold that missing piece. 

I love you Coriolanus Snow. 

I love you Coryo. 

I love you. 

I’ve loved you every minute of every single day of every single month of every single year ever since we were young. It may have been youthful play love but it shifted as the moons do. 

I love you in every memory, every letter, and every dream that we meet. I love you in every minute and my love will forever live on in the velvety petals of pure white roses and pillowy hydrangeas. 

I’ll love you, no matter what, every day, every hour, every minute, every year, for the rest of my life.

I’ll forever love you, even when I’m no longer here.

I forgive you my love, forever and always. 

My only hope that you’ll forgive me.

My last wish is that you finally receive all those letters I wrote to you as a naive and young girl and look back that even now, I’m still me.

I’ll love you forever,

Your Dearest Darling Dead

tagging! @lonely-dreamer

thanks so much for the support and love on this series, it really does mean a lot to me and I hope to see you on the epilogue!