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poisonf0rest · 7 months ago

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Overc*mming Writer's Block

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 9.3K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #zayne smut #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #li shen #lads

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maybefae · 2 months ago

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Your First Impression of Your Person

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

I was leaning more towards a romantic partner that you are going to end up with that will have a significant place in your life but take it as it resonates for you.

Tips!

|Pile 1

Tarot: Eight of Swords (horizontal), Death, The High Priestess, Seven of Pentacles, Ten of Cups (horizontal), Page of Cups, Four of Pentacles, The Star (reversed), The Fool

Oracle: The Ladybug and Sweet Pea (happiness), The Chipmunk and Laurel (success), The Otter and Cattail (peace)

This person is someone that your soul has been letting you know was coming with certain signs or messages. And this could be someone you wished for, but there is a strong sense that this person was just meant to come into your life. It’s like you wished for this person and didn’t know that they were gonna come in whether you wished for them or not. I believe fate and freewill coincide together and this is one of those grey areas.

Your person comes in either when a new chapter starts for you or this person comes in and triggers it. Whichever this new chapter is happening, there is a feeling of uncertainty and pessimistic caution - as if trust had been bruised. You almost feel like a wolf backed into a corner and someone is encroaching on your space and you’re trying to decide if they are safe or if you need to bite your way out of a situation. I don’t know if the new chapter has left you feeling a little vulnerable or if you did your little spells (writing down your persons characteristics, a letter from their POV of you, or moodboards), but it took longer than you expected so you developed a resentment of some kind. You’re skeptical of them. It’s like a “oh, now you decide to show up when I don’t want you anymore.” But you know that you still do but your own expectations have hurt you. Your person has done nothing to you.

In fact, you decide to give them a singular cup with caution to see if they can fill it because you still want them. You’re treading lightly and they realize this. They genuinely want to offer you ten full cups and you realize that quickly with how much they bring to the table. They do bring you a lot of happiness and peace, which their entrance into your life probably wasn’t anything grand. Their peaceful stroll into your life probably made you skeptical as well as angry. “But they are what you need(ed).” You probably expected something dramatic because of past people or situations and when you didn’t get that from your person, it felt unsafe. You may have some doubts and think “this wasn’t what I wished for.” But it was, deep down it was. And your wishes were a success.

I think you will be very emotional after dropping the wall finally. I think they will do something that will show you that they love you early on and it will make your walls instantly fall. There’s a feeling of guilt for being so resentful and angry towards your person and you may not know how to forgive yourself. But just know, your person says that you have nothing to be sorry for. There could be a moment when you decide to tell them this and your tears will be dried by them.

|Pile 2

Tarot: The Hierophant, The Hanged Man, Nine of Pentacles, Nine of Swords, The Empress, Ace of Wands, The Lovers, Four of Wands, The Star

Oracle: The Eel and Iris (safety), The Boar and Pumpkin (confidence), The Snake and Fern (starting over), The Skunk and Magnolia (protection)

Before I pull the cards, I ended up shuffling face up for a moment. Your person may show you all their cards upfront so you know what they want, their boundaries, and their feelings towards you. There isn’t any pussy-footing around feelings and playing games. They are too grown for that and they take love and relationships very seriously. I had to go back and pull an oracle card I say while resetting the deck and it was The Eel and Iris card which represents safety in this deck. There are two messages here. They will leave if they don’t think you are safe. They are slimy in the way of being able to get away if you start to play with their heart, not that they are a player and wiggle in and out of your life. Absolutely not. And they offer you and your heart a lot of safety by presenting all their cards to you right away. They don’t play games. If it’s important, Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls could hold significance. - Just from getting all these messages without pulling any cards, or just from this one oracle card, I have a very strong feeling about this message. They get to business in a very determined and sure-footed way. They are dependable.

Now that I pulled the cards, my top messages are correct. You will find their confidence very attractive because it doesn’t come off in a cocky way. Their confidence comes off just in a sure and stable way. They made it very clear to you that they find you “absolutely breathtaking” as soon as they got to talk to you (and in the same moment, they ask you on a date and your NUMBER, not your social media.) I think they will also be very attractive and not someone you expect to be attracted to you. They are very successful - everything else in their life is in line but they don’t have a lover. They are very picky so you should feel lucky they chose you. They are looking for commitment, something serious. For some this could be marriage but if you don’t like that idea, make that clear right away because they will like how you’re sure of your wants. They will respect it, especially if you make it abundantly clear that you want something committed and long term outside of legal bindings.

There is a lot of sexual tension in this pile. And there is a very wealthy energy coming off the both of you, especially with how formal I felt writing this. It was like I was writing a contract.

I think that they will also let you know pretty early on that this could be a start over for them and they are giving love one more try before giving up. Maybe they could’ve given up before hand but you two got sexually involved and it led to them giving the both of you a shot. With them laying their cards on the table and you laying down yours, it creates a very stable foundation for the both of you to grow off of. This feels like a very mature energy, maybe 30s? There is a feeling of creating some sort of foundation for yourself, even it you could just be starting your foundation then.

|Pile 3

Tarot: Three of Swords, The Hierophant, Ace of Wands, Judgement, Knight of Wands, Queen of Cups, The Hermit, Nine of Cups, Temperance, Strength

Oracle: The Wolf and Rose Hip (guardianship), The Vulture and Asphodel (upheaval), The Sheep and Blackberry (devotion)

The Three of Swords instantly jumped out when I started shuffling. And before I started, the knight of cups was at the bottom…I believe your person wanted to bring your own heartbreak to light first and foremost. I don’t believe this card is part of your impression of them. This feels like a combination of their opinion of you combined with what you think of them. There’s a deep feeling of heartbreak from you but I don’t think you’ve given up on love, you really just want to finally meet the person you’ll spend your life with. The love of your life. This pile isn’t for someone seeking something temporary.

Pile 3, your person is the love of your life. They truly love you and I think that is why they wanted me to talk about you first. They come in very protectively, a wolf guarding their sheep. It’s not that you’re fragile but they have a good understanding that you are sensitive and a soft soul, which brings out their protective side. I think you welcome it because there is a feeling of instant safety you get from this person, like finally finding shelter to stand under while the rain clouds clear up. They instantly light up the passion you had for love again because they come in with the same passion, which isn’t inherently sexual either. This passion comes from a place of safety and comfort from each other, it’s like finally experiencing a love that isn’t so intense. Puppy love…maybe love that is usually experienced when you’re younger. There is a sense of them bringing back light-hearted fun, that love doesn’t have to be so taxing on your soul (and it shouldn’t be).

There is a message of, “your patience will be rewarded.”

They see you as an angel, pile 3. And they are merely your knight and they offer you so much devotion. I know this should be your first impression of them but I think you see this practically right away. “Light dawns on marble head.” They bring you out of the hermit phase and show you that they have all nine cups and you only need to bring your one cup so you can have the Ten of Cups together. They don’t expect anything other than your presence, you just have to show up and give them love. That’s all they expect from you and I think that comes as a surprise to you because people had expected so much of you and stripped you of it all so you were left empty. It probably took you a long time to fill your own cup again. They bring new and wanted change even though it may come with some uncomfortability from your end.

Dividers: @inklore

#pick a card #tarot #pac #pick a pile #maybefae tarot #tarot reading

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thegracefullion · 9 months ago

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10 Generations. 10 Different Heroines. 1 Legacy. Welcome to the Literary Heroine Legacy Challenge! I’ve been itching for a good legacy to revive my love for the Sims 4, and I haven’t found one so I wrote one myself. I was inspired after reading Emma— the family dynamics, drama, and romance were everything I ever wanted in a Sims challenge. So I modernized the stories and adapted them to fit this game. Special shoutout to Designergirl81, who I met through MissLollypopSims’ Discord! The generations of Anne of Avonlea and Dorothy were their brainchildren. 💗 I designed each generation to reference a famous literary heroine. This is a very story-oriented challenge but feel free to bend, tweak, and change as much as you can! Sims Challenges aren’t meant to limit your fun. 😉 TL;DR: Play your own way while letting these rules guide your storytelling! The official tag of the challenge is #TheLiteraryHeroineChallengeTS4. Have fun! Check out the rules here or keep reading!

Basic Rules

Play on any life span you want but I recommend playing on Normal life span.

You are encouraged to play with female heirs. Of course, this is optional!

You are discouraged from using money cheats. Some generations have stories that are related to their social class— so try to stay true to the story as much as you can.

You can live wherever you want unless the generation states otherwise.

Feel free to customize each generation’s race and sexual orientation

Unless specifically stated, each generation has to finish their aspiration and career.

Even if most of these books are classics, I wrote this with a more modern take on it. You don’t need any mods or CC to fit the eras’ aesthetics— but if you want to, you totally can!

⭐ means there’s a recommended mod for this!

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 1: Elizabeth Bennett 📚 Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to play you, but as a rational creature, speaking the truth from her heart. 📚

It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that all Sims 4 challenges must start with an heir. In this case, that’s you, which is surprising because everyone else in your life has decided that you are plain, especially when compared to your other two sisters. Lately though, you start to sense that you’ve been getting more attention from your neighbors. One particular Sim hasn’t been able to leave you and your family alone… and you don’t like them at all, not one bit. Well… maybe just a bit.

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Traits: Family Oriented, Hot-Headed, Bookworm OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Journalist

→ Master the Writing skill. → Live in a rundown family home passed down by your parents with two sisters until you are married. → Have a negative relationship with a neighbor. → Reject a proposal from your work boyfriend. → Build a relationship with your neighbor after you reject the proposal of your ex. → Have a scandal involving one of your sisters that your neighbor supports you through. → Fall in love and marry this neighbor then move in with him. → Have two children.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 2: Emma Woodhouse 💗 It is very difficult for the prosperous to be humble. 💗

Growing up, you were always the sheltered one. Your father was very protective of you, and therefore never let you out of his sight. Of course, that didn’t stop you from becoming well-loved by the entire town. You were known for throwing the best dinner parties and befriending everyone your father and mother knew. Needless to say, this got to your head a bit. You weren’t arrogant, you were confident. In everyone’s eyes, you could do no wrong. Well, everyone except your childhood best friend— who was never afraid to call you out for being a bit clueless at times.

Aspiration: Neighborhood Confidante OR Party Animal

Traits: Self-Assured, High Maintenance, Music-Lover OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Romance Consultant or Lawyer

→ Master the Charisma and Piano skills. → Host at least 5 gold-star dinners. → Have a childhood best friend who’s a bit older than you. For example: When you’re 17 (end of teenage years), they’re already 20 (start of young adult years). * → You can’t have good friends who are your age until your childhood best friend ages up into a young adult. → Make a new friend that you treat like a “project” until you two fall out. Choose if you two will reconcile in the future. → Profess your love to your childhood best friend during a heated argument. → Marry your best friend and live with your mother and father in your childhood home until your parents die. Have one child. *It goes without saying to only get with your childhood best friend when the two sims are both young adults 🙂 No super uncomfortable age gaps, please.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 3: Scarlett O’Hara ✨ “Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get him back.” ✨ All your life, you grew up spoiled. Your mother and father were so in love, and you almost expected to have a story as romantic and easy as theirs. However, when your high school flame elopes quickly with someone else right after graduation, you start to spiral. No longer able to get things your way, you begin to self-sabotage and jump from relationship to relationship. Deep down you know you should stop and smarten up but frankly, my dear, you don’t give a damn.

Aspiration: Soulmate— you fail this

Traits: Materialistic, Genius, Jealous OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: None until your divorce then become a Manual Laborer + Barista

⭐ Recommended Mods: Healthcare Redux Mod, Extreme Violence Mod

→ Don’t master any skill. → Have a high school flame who elopes with someone else. → Elope immediately with someone else. Have them die tragically.* → Marry another person quickly who you have bad compatibility with. Get negative romance with them right before they pass.* → Marry a third time. Have them catch you in a compromising moment with your high school flame, which leads to a divorce that leaves you with nothing. → End up working two part time jobs to keep your household running. → Have 4 kids with your 3 husbands (you can cheat for twins, if you want). *You decide how they die. I recommended having mods like the Healthcare Redux and Extreme Violence in your game for realistic roleplay reasons— but if he gets tragically eaten by a Cowplant that works too! 🙂

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 4: Jo March 🧾 “When the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.” 🧾 Growing up was not easy for you. Your childhood was incredibly unpredictable with your mother jumping from relationship-to-relationship. And when things started to stabilize emotionally, you ended up in poverty. Luckily, you had your siblings to cling to, and a passion for writing that’s unmatched. You wrote a ton of things across different genres, except for romance which you didn’t quite understand. In fact, everyone always expected you to be a little woman, not rough or wild, but you knew in your heart that’s not what you were destined to become.

Aspiration: Best-Selling Author

Traits: Creative, Unflirty, and Ambitious OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Author

⭐ Recommended Mods: Writing Career Overhaul, SNB Banking

→ Master the Writing and Logic skills. → Be best friends with all of your siblings. → Start selling short stories as a teenager to help pay the bills. → Get a best friend in high school who professes their love to you during graduation. Turn them down. Optional: Have them marry one of your other siblings. → Move away to the city to focus on your writing. Always send 30% of your income to your mother until she dies. → Due to a tragedy in the family, adopt a child of one of your siblings.* → Win a Starlight Accolade for one of your novels. → Never marry but live a fulfilling life. *They are to be the next heir to preserve the bloodline. You can adopt more if you want.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 5: Anne Shirley 📖 “I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.” 📖 You were adopted by your aunt and lived a happy childhood. Despite being surrounded by family drama, you never let it dampen your spirit. You struggled with social cues and caused mayhem wherever you went— of course, that never stopped you from making your voice heard. You were, afterall, raised by someone who was never afraid to make a point. However, unlike your aunt, you always longed for romance. You always imagined big declarations of passion— but perhaps it’s time to learn that love creeps to one's side like an old friend through quiet ways.

Aspiration: Academic OR Soulmate

Traits: Romantic, Socially Awkward, and Loyal OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Education Career

⭐ Recommended Mod: Education Overhaul

→ Master the Research and Debate skill. → Have a childhood enemy that you become best friends with in high school. → Go to University and study Language and Literature. → Fall out with your best friend while in University. → Start dating someone you meet in University but break up right after graduation. → Get a job in the Education Career and write on the side. → Reconnect with your former best friend and realize you love them. → Get married to your best friend. → Retire from the Education career and become a freelance writer in your twilight years.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 6: Nancy Drew 🔍 “I don't promise to forget the mystery, but I know I'll have a marvelous time.” 🔍 Every bedtime, your mother read you stories that she and your grandmother wrote. Among all of those, it’s your grandmother’s mysteries that impacted you the most. There was something so thrilling about being a heroic, fearless woman who helped others out. Because of this, you gained a bunch of friends who loved you very deeply. With their support, you grew up as a well-known detective who can solve any case. It was a fun life, but you eventually settled down in Henford-On-Bagley to have a family of your own.

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Traits: Generous, Nosy, and Outgoing OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Detective OR ⭐ Zerbu’s Simvestigations Mod

→ Master the fitness skill. → Be close friends with both your parents. → Have 2 best friends who are either your roommates (Discover University) or live in the same apartment complex as you (For Rent) for your entire YA life. → Get engaged to someone you meet on-the-job. → Before marrying your fiance, go on a trip to Selvadorada with your 2 best friends and explore the Jungle Temples. → Settle down in Henford-On-Bagley and have a farm life of your own. → Never move away once you settle in Henford-On-Bagley.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 7: Dorothy Gale 🐶 “If we walk far enough, we shall sometime come to someplace.” 🐶 Growing up you knew that there was more to the world than what was outside your own backdoor. Afterall, your mother was a famous detective— if she went on her own adventures, why can’t you?

With her and your father’s support, you spend your young adult life traveling. You made some great friends along the way (and even some loves), but eventually you start to wonder if there is no place like home.

Aspiration: Local Aspirations— complete at least two

Beach Life

Mt. Komorebi Sightseer

Fount of Tomarani Knowledge

Traits: Adventurous, Dog Lover, and Loves Outdoors OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Any Freelance Career

⭐ Recommended Mods: SimNation Travel, Home Region

→ Have a dog that goes everywhere with you. → Live in 3 or more worlds during your Young Adult life. → Make 3 best friends that each teach you a valuable life lesson. → After making your three best friends, use reward points to add the following traits: Brave, Savant, and Incredibly Friendly. → As an adult, realize you miss your family and return home. → Have a long distance relationship with the father of your children.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 8: Wendy Darling 🌟 “She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet mocking mouth. ” 🌟 You grew up waiting. First, for your father’s seasonal visits… which eventually stops when you become a teenager. Next, for the opportunity to leave Henford-on-Bagley to pursue your dreams of becoming an actress. And finally, for your first love, a man who refused to propose to you, no matter how long you waited for him to. Eventually you grew tired waiting and decided to grow up. You married a sensible man, had a child, and gave up your dreams of becoming an actress. Still, you held on to the dreams of your first love and end up reconnecting in a night of passion that leaves you pregnant with his child. Realizing that he’ll never grow up, you decide to dedicate your life to your family and husband.

Aspiration: Master Actor/Actress - you fail this or the⭐ Housewife Aspiration (after you marry)

Traits: Perfectionist, Proper, and Cheerful OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Actor/Actress

→ Master the Parenting skill. → Have a distant family dynamic with your father who never lives with you. → Join the drama club and meet your first love. Optional: He has the childish trait. → Give your first love all of your major romantic milestones. → Lose touch with your first love when you move to Del Sol Valley. → Marry a man you’d consider as sensible. Have one child with him. → Have a one time secret affair that results in another child. → Dedicate your life to your children afterwards.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 9: Alice Liddell 🐰 “It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.” 🐰

There were times you felt like you never truly belonged anywhere. While everyone at home lived and abided by your parents’ rules, your head was always in the clouds. Sensibilities and propriety were never in your vocabulary, much to the disdain of your father and the rest of your siblings. Still, you were a free spirit that could never be controlled. After moving out as a young adult, you fell in love with cooking and mixology. You also met a group of misfits who were as different as you. Every Sunday, you’d host special “tea” parties with them, that broadened your worldview and made you realize that the world gets curiouser and curiouser with each passing day.

Aspiration: Master Mixologist or Master Chef

Traits: Clumsy, Foodie, and Childish OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Culinary Career

⭐ Recommended Mods: Basemental, Grannies Cookbook, Open Love Life

→ Master the Cooking and Mixology Skills. → Have a juice/nectar hobby on the side. → Have a club with people who have weird or eccentric traits.* → Fall in love with someone with the Erratic Trait. → Host “tea” parties every Sunday in your own home. ⭐ Optional: Use the Basemental Mods and have your Sims get high on dope/drunk on alcohol during the tea parties. → Dye your hair a different, brighter color. → Live in a quirky and colorful house. → Befriend a rabbit who you talk to constantly. Name them The Mad Hatter. → ⭐ Optional: Be in a polyamorous relationship with Romantic Boundaries OR the Open Love Life Mod → Have two children. *You decide what weird and eccentric means.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Generation 10: Countess Ellen Olenska 🎨 “The real loneliness is living among all these people who only ask one to pretend.” 🎨

You appreciated your mother’s lifestyle. You saw the world for what it could become, and not what everyone wanted it to be. However, you worried about your younger sister. You saw her innocence and wanted to protect it. When you turned into a young adult, you moved away and took your sister with you to start anew. However, life was not always easy. Straight out of teenhood, you married someone from a different city and had a tumultuous relationship with him. You separate with him and continue to care for your sister. You’re able to provide for her through your paintings, which also brought you a lot of fame. When she grew up into a Young Adult, she formed an attachment with a man that… intrigued you. She married him. This kept him in your life, but made it difficult for you to ignore your feelings. One night, you find yourself alone together, and you must make a choice: stay with him and break your sister's heart, or leave forever to give them peace. You have a price to pay either way— we can't behave like people in novels without consequence, can we?

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire

Traits: Gloomy, Art Lover, and Family Oriented OR choose/roll for the last trait

Career: Critic

⭐ Recommended Mods: RPO, Wonderful Whims, Custom Relationship Bits, Soulmates

→ Master the Painting Skill. → Become a Level 3 Celebrity with your paintings. → Marry someone who isn’t your soulmate straight out of high school. Have a negative relationship with him before separating. ⭐ Optional: Only temporarily separate with him using the RPO Mod. → Be best friends with your sister. → Become soulmates with the partner of your sister without consummating the relationship. → When you’re an adult, invite your sister’s partner over, and make a choice— woohoo together and break your sister's heart, or end the emotional affair. → If you woohoo together - Tell your sister the next day and become enemies. Name your child after them. → If you end the emotional affair - Move away from your love and get back together with your ex-husband. Die without having your own children.

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jihyoruri · 27 days ago

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❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 LOVE SONG (youtube series)sophia laforteza x reader

💌★ ͘ ⴰ ever since dream academy the general public took notice of the tension between sophia and yn and not the good kind, it was obvious the two weren’t the biggest fans of each other and even more obvious when people watched pop star academy, so it leaves people wondering how they went from not even hiding their dislike for each other to being the most shipped in the group?

a series that shows youtube videos made by the very eyekon that made yn and sophia the ship they are today.

PARING — sophia laforteza x 7th member!reader

★ ͘ ⴰ genre + warnings : smau, various youtube videos, fluff, slight angst

last | masterlist | next

★ ͘ ⴰ VIDEO#1 yn and sophia being the ultimate enemies to lovers 80k views

— BEFORE DEBUT

➩ INTRO… 📼(when almost everyone in dream academy had sophia in their lineup… and then there’s yn)

yn tilted her head in thought, tapping her fingers against her chin as if solving a world shattering puzzle. “okay, definitely lara,” she began confidently, nodding as if solidifying her decision. “then daniela... megan... lexie…” she paused, a sheepish laugh escaping her lips. “wait, am I just naming all the powerhouses right now?” (the audacity bffr yn.)

“nayoung, for sure… uh…” she trailed off, her brow furrowing before she suddenly snapped her fingers, her face lighting up. “oh! and manon. my girl, obviously.”

➩ INTRO… 2 📼(the infamous “maybe you’re just early every time”)

sophia and yn are standing side by side during practice, reviewing choreography. Sophia’s expression is calm but clearly exasperated. “yn, you’re late on the turn every time,” she says, her voice cutting but controlled.

yn nodded her head and turned around to get back in position before muttering “maybe you’re just early every time,” as quietly as possible but camera still picked up on it.

➩ INTRO… 3 📼(yn leaving sophia on read)

[screenshot of a group chat shared during a pop star academy episode ]

lara: hey guys, can we finalize vocals by tonight?

yn: yup!

sophia: sure, I just sent the arrangement notes to yn. yn let me know if it works.

lara: yn?

➩ INTRO… 3 📼(when they both showed up late…)

everyone was warming up when sophia walked in first, looking frazzled. moments later, yn strolled in casually, earning a sharp glare from Sophia.

“you’re late,” sophia pointed out.

“so are you,” yn countered, raising an eyebrow.

— AFTER DEBUT

➩ CLIP #1 PLAYING… 📼 (sophia and yn during rehearsal 🤭)

the camera zooms in as the members are stretching and warming up for their upcoming choreography session.

in the background, yn and sophia are standing close by, both practicing their formations.

yn reaches up to adjust her hair, and in that moment, her hand brushes against sophia’s. at first, sophia pulls back sharply, her gaze flicking towards yn with a flicker of surprise. but yn doesn’t make a big deal of it, instead casually continuing to adjust her position.

sophia hesitates for a moment, then subtly places her hand back on yn’s lower back to guide her into position.

➩ CLIP #2 PLAYING… 📼 (when sophia looked for yn after their first show)

the clip cuts to backstage where the members are all celebrating their first successful performance. Sophia walks past the members of the group, clearly scanning the area.

“has anyone seen yn?” she asks, her tone just a little softer than usual.

lara and daniela exchange a glance before lara shrugs. “she was just with megan, I think. why?”

sophia shrugs before she walks off in the direction they pointed. the camera follows her for a moment, and as she turns the corner, she finds yn sitting quietly, already taking off her stage makeup.

“hey,” Sophia says, her voice softer now. yn looks up, surprised but not annoyed.

“you okay?” Sophia asks again, sitting down beside her.

yn nods slowly, her eyes meeting sophia’s “yeah I’m just tired.” she mumbled before looking at the camera, “I can’t wait to nap in the car.” she says to it.

sophia watches her for a moment, “okay well, hurry up so you can sleep.”

➩ CLIP #3 PLAYING… 📼 (when yn got sophia extremely flustered)

the camera stilled on katseye as the girls stood together at a festival, watching the performance unfolding in front of them. the energy was electric, but yn’s attention shifted slightly to sophia, who was sitting beside her, intently watching the stage.

yn leaned in, her lips dangerously close to sophia ear as she whispered something. sophia barely registered at first, distracted by the booming music around them. she turned her head slightly, her face now directly in line with yn’s, and was startled at how close yn’s face had gotten.

sophia flinched back, her cheeks instantly flushing, and covered her face with her hand, the camera couldn’t pick up on what sophia was saying but they could tell she definitely said something along the lines of “what the hell, yn?”

yn, laughing softly, leaned her head onto sophia’s shoulder, her cheek brushing against it as she continued to chuckle at the flustered girl beside her.

➩ CLIP #4 PLAYING… 📼 (no words just this moment)

after a performance, the girls were walking out of the venue, chatting and laughing as they made their way to the van. sophia casually draped her arm around yn’s shoulder, she looked at yn and whispered something.

before yn could respond, megan suddenly pulled her away, waving enthusiastically at a fan and dragged her towards the van.

💌★ ͘ ⴰ TAGLIST @jaythegirlkisser @gtfoiydlyj @goofymickeyr @mandumandy @falling-intoo-deep @cassiespoiler @arihiu @fruityg0rl @sunshinez4 @kristalag

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye sophia #katseye sophia laforteza #katseye sophia x reader #katseye sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #katseye smau

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rosiehrs · 1 month ago

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TWO STEPS BEHIND ✧ sophia laforteza

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

SUMMARY ⤻ in which sophia laforteza, praised for her all-round skills and leadership, is tasked with guiding the new trainee to catch up with the others. but as y/n l/n struggles to keep up, sophia can't help but see the girl as a burden holding her back from her own success – and with each misstep, her resentment grows.

CONTENTS ⤻ smau, set before dream academy, wlw, enemies to lovers (?), angst, crack, fluff, one-sided hate, sophia is a perfectionist, yn likes messing around

WARNINGS ⤻ strong language, dark jokes, suggestive themes, will add more!

FEATURING ⤻ katseye, trainees from dream academy (mainly marquise, emily and adéla), staff from popstar academy, keeho (p1harmony), le sserafim, more to come!

STATUS ⤻ planning NOTES – this will be very out of character for some idols in this smau, but it's fiction! please remember that! this is also based off of their time on dream academy and i switched some things around, so it's not accurate. i also mention manon's behaviour in the show, so plz do not hurt me bcs its all for shits and giggles and i <3 manon. enjoy! also this is the weirdest header ive made i APOLOGISE, i js got excited.

divider by @ anitalenia

PROFILES # rizing stars | gng4lyf CHAPTERS

01. jet lagged

02. soul healing

03. assigned

04. daily reminder

05. miracle worker

06. first eval

07. take over

08. smoke grass

9. they might sell

10. make out

11. moving out

12. moving in

13. cutest girl ever

14. no defense

15. kang hyewon

TAGLIST CLOSED! @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @meganskiendielsbtc @falling-intoo-deep @arihiu @nyssalvr @1luvkarina @ssryv @vrtualstar @hazel-tanthamore22 @lafortezalover @yeetaberry127 @leeseulss @saysirhc @gtfoiydlyj @bbanghanni @c-yerim @chaesitonmyface @en-chantedtomeetyou @jellaaa @artrizzler19 @soobnotfound @yukianism @perfectsunlight @meizinisnumberone @linnnsworld @thepurin @goofymickeyr @kristalag @cassiespoiler @blushmimi @meiphobic @taikabui @cceanvvaves

#sophia laforteza x reader #katseye x reader #sophia laforteza #katseye #sophia katseye #katseye smau #tsb!smau

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rose-maidenn · 2 months ago

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⋆✿˖°Pick a Pile : What do People dream of you ⋆✿˖

Hey guys here in this reading I dive into various kinds of dreams people have about you some can be very clear and other can be eerie , select any Pile using your intuition and all of it might not reasonate as it is a collective reading

Masterlist | old masterlist

Want a longer reading or another reading book at

Paid readings

Pile 1 :

Symbolisms and confirmers: (not all of them have to resonate if anyone does go ahead and read).

Manhattan, 444 , deli , delhi, psychedelic rock , chappal roan , Manu, sweet 16 , Anna karenina , Malcom and Marie, Mr and Mrs Smith, sweet blond jesus , sundays , 1970s , breakfast , clear cut diamonds , heist , monetairy affair, mole on the left side of cheek , glittery dress , you're wearing pink or yellow or black as you read , you have birthday on 5,21,8,5,12 of the month , you're born on Wednesday.

The first dream about you is dreamt by a young girl or a female friend you admire a lot , it's about shopping and spending time together in a cafe and having doughnuts and chatting about how so many changes have befall you yet how close the both of you feel to each other . I see the symbolism of the fan maybe this conversation is carried out as you guys look at the ceiling .

The next dream about you is dreamt by your mother about you being successful, maybe in a business industry or the singing industry , you might be an alto , I see peonies being represented (wealth and prosperity) , she also might have received a task to do to ensure that something involving writing a small chit and placing it somewhere maybe in the altar, money bowl etc .

The third dream I tap in is dreamt by an online friend , blond or red hairs , they dream of you in a garden harvesting fruit with them I see a lot of red around, this could be sunset time or the colour of the realm is red . I see that they relate to you a lot and want to spend time with you . They keep you in their prayers a lot and hence they dream of you so vividly.

Pile 2 :

Symbolisms and confirmers: (not all of them have to resonate if anyone does go ahead and read):

Cobra Kai , 555, Birth of venus , a purple car , crown , eatery , devilish sweet , idiocracy , self made star , faraway land , willow , apples , yule ball , Saraswati, Athena, yellow , Azul, attar , dogs , bed bugs, blond hair , Birth mark on bosum or scalp , you're burning a candle as you read , you're wearing white , blue or green as you read . Born on 31 , 3 , 7 , 6 , 17 of the month . Born on Tuesday or Friday

The first dream about you is dreamt about you is a weird competitive and erotic dream , it's dreamt by a colleague who has been dreaming to overthrow you , they're so obsessed with you it has turned psychosexual , I'm not getting into details but you might need to do a cord cutting , I feel you're also experiencing dreams about them , honey go ahead and cleanse yourself.

The next dream about you is from an admirer I see them taking you on a helicopter or a private jet to an island and talking with you all day long , they play with your hairs make you food mainly pasta and give you a head massage. They get continuous dreams about you , in other dates they visit museums and sit by rivers talking to you about classics , their childhood and your wishes and wants , sweet so sweet .

The third dream about you is dreamt by a teacher or a guru or a superior, it's related to your academic or spiritual journey , you're on your way to unlock new horizons and the teacher is being asked to prepare themselves to guide you properly . They also see that you place them in your success story and make them famous much like they becoming famous because their student made it big in life .

Pile 3 :

Symbolisms and confirmers: (not all of them have to resonate if anyone does go ahead and read):

Sylvia plath , danger , conceit , burrow , red alert , sapphires, skin , the substance , weaving , crocheting , barbie in the 12 dancing princesses , Trans, bi , blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb , lack of communication, berries , rainbows , horses, manifesting generator , wedding bells , piercings and snake or quote tattoos , you're wearing pyjamas as you read . You're wearing red , sheer , beige , pink as you read . You are Born on 1, 18 , 19 , 25 , 13 , you are Born on Thursday, Monday .

The very first dream is by a friend you are cut off from or just fell apart from , they're dreaming of you near a fountain or a water body giving them advice or consoling them about something this person is having a bad time actually they sleep really less , maybe you should talk if they aren't bad or toxic . They also dream of you both being In a concert maybe guns and roses

The next dream is by someone who is actively manifesting you , it's crazy and eerie , they don't see your face , could be a soul mate or someone from your soul tribe, they see you spending their time with them and talking about various subjects , also going on a travelling journey also see some arguments and casino is also seen . Guys it's 1:11 am hehe a confirmation

The third dream is an absolute action packed banger of a dream could call it a batman coded superhero dream , it is being dreamt by a past admirer or a childhood friend who still likes you, you're being upheld by a monster who keeps eating your skin and then he /she comes along and protects you and heals you through some dna regeneration technology and then yall kiss and call it a night.

Thanks for reading hope it helped 🌸✨️

#tarot community #tarot blog #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #pac tarot #pac reading #witchblr #diviniation #intuitive tarot reader #intuitive messages #intuitive guidance #intuitive readings

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wearysparrows · 5 days ago

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Twice the Sun Rises

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb stands you up for dinner for unknown reasons. You make your way to a club in Skyhaven, and he intercepts your time with a stranger. Back at his apartment, you tell him the truth of your feelings.

cw (18+): female reader, reader is mc, Cock Warming, pnv sex, Creampie, Jealousy, Alcohol usage, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pseudo-Incest, mentions of eating disorders, Mentions of Suicide, Pet Names, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read 6.5K\

Caleb was late.

You had agreed to meet at a restaurant in Skyhaven. He was pulling another late night, and planned to come straight from his duties as the Colonel to meet with you. Your relationship had remained tumultuous at best, but he had been making every effort to reconcile with you in the only ways he knew how. The same ways he had reconciled with you as a child. You checked your phone for the umpteenth time that night. No new texts from Caleb. It was nearly forty-five minutes past the time you had agreed to meet. Even with the ways he had changed, and in some sense, the things you were unable to recognize – you knew this wasn’t like him. He was always cordial. Usually, replies to your texts came almost instantly, and your phone calls were answered within two rings. Still, doubt dug dirty little claws into the corners of your mind. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. Maybe he was hung up with someone else. Even as the Colonel, he was still handsome, successful. It wasn’t impossible. You knew very little of Caleb’s private life, despite his assertion that he was an open book. The past was certainly open – but the state of the future remained continually uncertain.

You had picked somewhere mid-scale, hidden away in a corner of Skyhaven that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Despite Caleb’s insistence that all would be well, the idea of being seen with him while he was the Colonel seemed, in your mind, to bode poorly for both of you. You tapped your finger anxiously on the table. The unused silverware reflected your frowning face back at you. You cast your gaze from it. You had yet to order, and the waiter was flitting about nervously in your periphery – clearly wanting to clear the section of you to make room for patrons who were actually paying. Considering Caleb had chosen tonight to be otherwise occupied, who were you to deny the waiter his paycheck? With a barely constrained sigh, you lifted yourself from the booth and quietly slipped from the dark warmth of the restaurant back into the street, the door finalizing your leave with a soft bell behind you.

Now what?

You were in Skyhaven, and it was late. The air had taken on a new lightness of chill that it hadn’t had when you had first arrived. You should have brought a jacket. It wasn’t as if you could just take the next train back to Linkon and disappear quietly in your sheets to accept the truth of your abandonment. You could go to Caleb’s apartment, (he had given you the master key, after all) but that idea seemed even less enticing, considering the logistics of your current situation. You needed a middle ground to wait it out, until Caleb deigned to grace you with his presence. You looked up at the night sky. Not a star was visible for the density of the light pollution, blocked out even further by the towering black skyscrapers. Without the permanent residents of the sky to guide your way, you suddenly felt lonely. Afraid.

Perhaps Caleb’s return from the other side of death was all just a fantasy you had dreamed in your delirium, and you had brought yourself here to meet the illusion of your brother for a date. How could you have laid a body down when you hadn’t even been able to hold his ghost in your arms one final time? The world outside seemed to reflect your uncertainty. Lights around you blurred, and your body, ever the machine that you had pushed to its utmost limits, picked a direction that seemed productive to head in. You let your legs carry you past all manner of buildings, seeing nothing, brushing against other goers of the night, who looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion clear on their faces. The attention did nothing to help your state. You needed to hide. From them, from yourself. From your brother’s ghost.

You picked an establishment at random, one that seemed like you could disappear into a crowd, in the back of the bar, and let the pulse of sounds drown the spectre of Caleb back into the world of infinite shadow where it belonged. A sign outside glowed faintly yellow. The Golden Fleece, it read.

There was virtually no line. The bouncer let you in wordlessly after you produced your ID. You slipped inside, and were immediately integrated into a throng of pulsating bodies in various degrees of undress. The smell was that of the sweat of the night, permeated by the heat of alcohol. Music with a deep, rhythmic bass welcomed you with a fervent undercurrent of antagonism, and you felt as if it met your heartbeat in time. Your blood coursed with the melody, and you were accepted further and further into the writhing mass of limbs. Your breath still hadn’t found you completely, and you searched for somewhere to lean – to rest. A wall. You pushed your way through until you found it, and leaned your back against it, blessedly. It was cold through the back of your dress. How long had it been since you had worn something besides your uniform? You regretted leaving its comfort behind in the name of trying to look nice for Caleb.

Caleb.

You studied the floor, focusing on the rhythm of the music instead of the impossible race your own thoughts were attempting to conduct. Something out of time, disjointed. Strange and staccato around the forbidden shape of your brother’s name.

Your brother. The one you had come here to escape the thought of.

Providentially, a distraction in the form of a man appeared. Your first impression of him was a pair of monk-strap shoes that seemed a little too nice for this fine establishment, even if the club was, to your eye, upscale. Your eyes drifted up and up. He was tall – not Caleb tall, but enough. He had a bright face, with pretty golden curls, like Apollo, and blue eyes full of white light. Nothing like the dark hair and deep lilacs of your brother, but enough. He had straight teeth, too. He didn’t have a crooked tooth. Not like Caleb.

It would have to be enough.

He was leaning down to talk into your ear, over the sounds of the music, asking you if you wanted a drink in a deep voice with an accent you couldn’t place. Not the fond, boyish sound your brother had retained, despite growing up into such a big man. You agreed, and let him order you one – no, two drinks from the bar. Somehow, he had led you by the hand to the stools and sat you next to him. You sipped the drinks interchangeably. Both were too sweet. Not the sour tastes Caleb liked. Hawthorn, lemon. You could almost taste them on his breath when his face would come close.

Your new companion was surprisingly pleasant – a strangely stark contrast to the dark of the club, with his halo of curls and pale skin. You found yourself warming to him unexpectedly, despite the dullness of his conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the shade that nipped at your heels, the one that left footprints in the shape of your brother’s behind it. The man’s hand covered yours on the bar, and you let it. His right hand was warm. Not like Caleb’s. Not like the one he had lost. When you resonated with him, you could feel the undercurrent of its cold, persistent ache. The pain was always there. A constant reminder of how he perceived himself. No longer whole. A tool. A body to be used. Not your brother. Not a man. A weapon.

Your right arm throbbed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

The deep, concerned drawl of the man whose hand you were holding snapped you out of the vestiges of Caleb’s feelings, the lingering webs of him. You shook your head apologetically.

“Sorry, yeah. Got a lot on my mind.”

The man nodded empathetically, as if he could understand what you were going through. He tapped the top of your hand.

“Dancing with me might help you forget about it. At least for a while.”

In any other moment, your first instinct would have been to deny him. But your brother was dead. You were a few drinks in. No one was coming for you. You wouldn’t forget. Ever.

What was one little dance in the grand scheme of fuck-all?

So you nodded your assent, and let the man with the pretty curls lead you by the hand onto the dance floor. They bounced as he walked, like a cherub. You still didn’t even know his name, though he had probably told you. It didn’t matter. He made his way behind you, and his hands were warm on your hips as you leaned back against him. When you weren’t looking, you could imagine it was Caleb. Almost.

Even if one hand was too warm. Even if he smelled wrong. You danced for a time, leaning back into the wrong body. Trying to be one with the music. The man’s face was by your ear, and he started to say the beginning of a word, but he stopped short, and stilled. You looked up from where you had been watching the moving feet of the people around you. Some had begun to stop, to part. There was a tittering of proverbial feathers, an undercurrent of fear. People parted as a dark sea. A tall pair of boots came into your vision, then the large body of man in a black uniform, heavily decorated. A cap with a golden crest sat atop his head. Dark hair framed his brow, and amethyst eyes burned from within his skull. He came towards you with rhythmic footsteps, in time with the music that pounded in your ears, those of a trained soldier, the same hypnotic rhythm as he had counted for you as a child as you jumped rope.

One, two, three, four…

The echo of the beat of your heart.

The man's hands were still on your hips. You no longer wanted them to be. Looking at Caleb, you weren’t sure you ever had. The man spoke, concern palpable in his tone. His hands left your sides, then. He stepped back from behind you, anxiety leaking into his tone. He rubbed a hand up your arm, probably hoping to be reassuring.

“Do you know this guy? Why is he..?”

You heard the unspoken words in his ask. Caleb was an impossible figure, one that rose from the dead and imposed his presence. Returned to the clouds without you. Even if other people didn’t know him, they sensed him. Something different. Something powerful. Words slipped out of your mouth. The only ones you had. A dead man walking was standing before you. A man who had died as your brother, and come back as someone you didn’t recognize.

“Don’t worry. He’s my big brother.”

You heard the strange relief in your own tone, and it surprised even you.

“Your brother? Not your boyfriend?”

You shook your head. How could you even begin to define Caleb? You couldn’t grasp him any more than you could tug his phantom from your memories of sunshine.

The man seemed to dissolve back into the crowd, compelled by some force. Perhaps Caleb’s energy – perhaps his evol. Perhaps he could sense it was best to leave. It was impossible to say. His removal was wordless, calculated, painless. Caleb’s face was completely still. He was frightening, like this. A man who had once leaked liquid sunshine from all of his cracks, now the tall blackness of an obelisk. But even in all his terror, he was alive. Standing before you. Except there was something there, in the face of death. Walking with a little smile, hopeless, fond. A touch of an upturned lip. The surroundings seem to wash away. Caleb was stepping towards you, closer, closer, until he was leaning down to speak into your ear. His tone was strangely forlorn. Almost fond. It didn’t match that dead face.

“It’s been a while since you called me your big brother.”

I’m not your brother.

An echo of his own words. Of course it had been a while. He was dead. And then he wasn’t. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t dead. He left you behind. When he went to college. When he died. When he was no longer your brother. When he stood you up. You were always looking at his back.

Except now, when he was looking down into your face. He wrapped his fingers around your wrists, and used his back to part the people around you – leading you, walking backwards while looking at you. His face betrayed no anxiety, but his grip was so tight that it bordered on pain. He was wearing those leather gloves, so you couldn’t feel his skin. He guided you back to the wall you had been leaning on when this all began, and swiftly pressed you against it, rotating you with a grip on your hips to do so. He took up all of your vision, leaving you unable to see anything save for his face and chest. The other patrons of the club disappeared, leaving just you and him. Looking into the flint of his lilac eyes reminded you of just why you had ended up here in the first place, in the arms of someone who felt just vaguely Caleb shaped when he was holding you from behind. Your anger rose like black bile in your throat. You had been avoiding meeting him in person, despite his willingness to text and call. You always had an excuse. Another mission. You needed to protect Rafayel. Sylus commandeered your expertise for some clandestine event in the N109. Finally, though, you had relented. Agreed to meet up. Used a day off where you could have been in the sheets of your own bed to meet up with Caleb. Overcome your fear of touching someone who still had grave dirt on his back.

And he had blown you off.

Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he had realized you weren’t the same person you were growing up. Figured out you weren’t willing to be his little shadow anymore. Not a creature he could clip the wings of and keep in a cage. You had a gravitational pull of your own. New orbiters. A different life.

It was better that he didn’t care. It really, really was.

So he didn’t need to see your anger. It wasn’t a privilege that was afforded to him anymore. Even with the blood alcohol level you were sporting, your thoughts stayed comparatively level. You looked up into his handsome face. He looked down into yours. You spoke first, over the pulse of the music. You almost had to yell into his face to be heard.

“Why are you here, Caleb? Just let me go.”

Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction. His dark brow furrowed. He made no move to let you off of the wall. You pushed on one of his arms that caged you in. Once, then again with more force. He didn’t budge.

“You’re asking me why I’m here? I’m here to pick you up. To take you home. I was–”

You pushed on his elbow again, interrupting him. He only leaned into you further. His scent was so strong. Honey, amber. Wheatgrass. Apple peel.

You raised your voice, just a touch.

“My home is in Linkon. You made it clear you didn’t want to see me. So just let me go.”

His hand held the back of your neck, trying to guide you to look into his face.

“Baby, look at me. Please hear me out. Please.”

Hearing him plead so earnestly, so sweetly, did make you look at him, despite yourself. You saw the tension of his body. The sweat that beaded along his hairline. There was a dark spot on his collar, on his otherwise crisp uniform. Suspiciously red. Your anger was forgotten, if only for a moment.

“Is that blood?”

Your hands spread on his chest, underneath his uniform jacket, almost of their own accord. He was slightly damp from his sweat. He leaned into your touch.

“Not mine,” he breathed into your ear. His voice barely concealed his want.

You wanted to push him away. To pull him closer.

You swallowed. He continued.

“I was on my way to see you, but I got a call from the fleet. There was…an incident. One the Colonel couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t use my phone, princess. Not in all that commotion. All I could think about was gettin’ back to you. I came straight here, as soon as I could. As soon as it was over. I’m really sorry.”

A few things became clear to you, at that moment. The first was that whatever incident had occurred, Caleb was under order not to discuss it with anyone. Secondly, Caleb had likely ended multiple lives before stepping into the club. Thirdly, he had referred to himself as the Colonel, like it was a skin suit he put on and wore. A third person. Not himself. The Colonel killed. Caleb – your brother– came to pick you up, still wearing that skin. Lastly, Caleb somehow knew your location, despite you long since having removed the bracelet he had put on you to keep track of your whereabouts. His hands had moved from caging you against the wall to running up your stomach, your sides, your arms. Before you could respond, he was nosing your neck again, speaking. His voice, sweet with his apology not moments before, had taken on a harder edge.

“You smell like someone else. You were with someone else when I came.”

It wasn’t a question. He hadn’t even given you a chance to get a word in edgewise to accept or deny his explanation, his apology, before moving on to what you had been doing while he was enacting whatever nonsensical violence the fleet required of him. Your anger had begun to dull into flat resignation.

“Yeah, well, while you were taking care of your incident, someone else was taking care of me. So there’s no need to worry. Apology accepted. Now let me go, so I can fuck off back home and you won’t have to deal with me again.”

You saw real hurt flash in Caleb’s eyes, just as a strobe light illuminated his face. Then, it cooled into a smile with warmth that didn’t reach elsewhere.

“Takin’ care of you? There’s no one else that could take care of you like I do. Even if there was,”

Caleb made a motion next to his head, miming a gun with two fingers. His thumb pulled the trigger, and his head recoiled in a mock suicide. His smile had a sort of frenzied panic to it. It reminded you of when he had offered to build you a garden, to rebuild your little house in Linkon. A maze.

“I’d just make them go away. And it’ll only be us. Just like always.”

His voice, though he almost had to yell, was chipper. Your eyes drifted to the blood on Caleb’s shirt.

Your right arm ached.

“Caleb–”

But he wasn’t listening. Caleb hoisted you into his arms effortlessly, and any struggle you could put up was subdued by the force of his evol pinning you close to his chest. Your face was just next to his collar, next to that blood stain. You smelled the iron of it. Of someone else's blood on him. The hand that was hooked under your knees made a motion, and an eerie slowness fell over the club. People still moved, but it was as if someone had taken frames from them – like they were photographs spliced together to create the illusion of movement. The music slowed strangely, too, a low hum instead of a pumping bass, like a sound out of Hell. Caleb carried you, stalking through the mass of slowed bodies. He looked down into your face. You saw the fondness of your big brother in his eyes as he spoke, and you were as a child again in his arms.

“I’m going to take you home. You’re going to wash up, and I’m going to cook you dinner. You’re going to eat, and then I’ll put you to bed. Okay, princess?”

What could you do but nod when he was like this? Your body felt exhausted from the weight of his evol, from the weight of his possession. You leaned your head against his chest, and inhaled his lovely scent, clutching at his uniform. He took you from the club and into the cool of the night, where his car was parked in the street. You squirmed upon seeing it, and Caleb chuckled, his evol opening the passenger side door.

“I hate this fucking car,” you complained.

As if he could do anything about it right now.

He deposited you in the passenger’s seat. His big hands took their time putting your seatbelt on. He lingered over your hip, just barely brushing your ass, and adjusted the strap over your breasts. A touch that was barely there. Your body was too warm. The alcohol. His touch. You wanted him to take the softest parts of you into his hands. Instead, he pulled away, and answered your complaint with soft placation.

“I know, baby. Be a good girl and bear with it for now.”

He pulled away, and offered you a little smile before shutting you in. He came around the driver’s side, and got in next to you. The vehicle roared to life under his touch. You turned towards him, adjusting your body. You put your elbow on the console, resting your weight on it. Even now, you found yourself falling into the familiar rapport of your banter.

“And what if I wasn’t good? Are you going to punish me?”

You echoed his own words back at him. Caleb’s expression was unreadable, but his gloved fingers brushed delicately over your forearm as he guided the car onto the darkness of the street.

“Do you want me to punish you?”

Caleb’s fingers retracted back to the wheel. His voice was so soft compared to the tone he had used in the nightclub. More delicate than even his touch.

“Or do you feel like you need to be punished? Like you deserve it? The way you punish yourself?”

You stared at him, agog. His eyes, face, hands – all were quiet. You snorted, indignant. Heated words tumbled out of your mouth.

“That’s rich, coming from you. As if you don’t punish yourself in every aspect – even your meals are punishments, Caleb. I’ve seen the way you eat, the way you push your body. I know you. Maybe I’m your punishment, too.”

Caleb chuckled, a little exhale of breath. He shook his head. The fingers of his gloved right hand slipped into yours. A passing streetlight illuminated his face brilliantly, just for the briefest moment.

“What sin did I commit to earn such a perfect little punishment like you? If that’s what you are, I was born to be punished.”

Caleb had insisted on carrying you from the car into his apartment. You no longer had the energy to deny his insistence, so you let him. You clung to his front, one of his hands securely under your ass, the other around your back. You buried your face in his shoulder. The decorations on his uniform dug into the places where your skin was bare, like proof of violences committed, embedded into your skin. You pressed closer to him as he walked, and heard him inhale, almost imperceptibly, as you tightened your hold. Rather than let you go, Caleb’s evol retrieved his key, and unlocked his door. He carried you in, and shut the door behind him with a kick of his boot. You clung to him tighter.

He was going to put you down, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to crawl inside that stupid uniform, to be the Colonel. To be Caleb. To be your brother. To be him.

He smelled so, so good.

But he didn’t put you down. He carried you into the living room, and deposited your combined bodies onto the couch. You naturally came to straddle him. You felt his chest move with a laugh. The ornaments that hung from his ribbons clinked with the movement.

“You’re like a little vine, clingin’ to me. We can stay like this, but you’d feel better if you changed out of your shoes ‘n dress, angel. You need to eat, too.”

You peeled yourself from his chest to look into his face. His hat cast a dark shadow over his eyes. You removed it for him, wanting him to be in the light. His face became a little more familiar. A little more Caleb. You set the cap aside on the couch. Caleb made no move to stop you. He merely tilted his head with a smile. His hair was a little damp with sweat.

“And what about you? You’re still in full uniform. Aren’t you hot? Uncomfortable? You’re still wearing your boots. You need to eat, too. Shower. Rest.”

Caleb twirled some of your hair between his fingers thoughtfully. He was still wearing those damnable gloves, like an intentional barrier between you. The longer you sat on top of him, the harder you felt him grow underneath you.

“What happened to the little girl who demanded I help her dress and undress? To feed her? I feel a little spoiled, havin’ you ask me to take care of myself. I might get the wrong idea if you keep it up.”

You took yourself from his arms, and he squeezed you for a moment, as if reluctant to let you go. But he did release you. You stood in front of him, and bent up your knee, so that your foot was on his knee as he sat, against the white pants of his uniform. If helping you would compel him to take care of yourself, you would indulge him.

“Take off my shoes.”

Caleb’s eyes came alight as you spoke. They roved over your leg, down to your foot on his knee. He could have looked directly up your dress, had he wanted. You wanted. But he didn’t. Instead, he trained his eye on your foot, and his hands began working the straps open, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. He slid the shoe from your foot, lifting it by your heel.

“Even your feet are pretty,” he murmured, seemingly talking to himself more than to you. He lifted your foot further, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your ankle, before letting it down delicately. He held his hands out expectantly for your other foot, and you put it in them. He repeated the same routine. Your shoes were set aside. His compliance and the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream had put you into a playful mood. Any thoughts of eating or resting left you. You knew Caleb.

I’ll always play with you. Always.

You stalked away from him, out of the living room and into the kitchen. He stood and followed after you obediently, the smile still on his face. You heard the sound of his dog tags clink as he got up, even underneath his uniform. His footsteps were assured, confident.

“Playin’ tag with me, pretty girl?”

You leaned your stomach and face against the counter of his kitchen island. It was pleasantly cool on your too-hot skin.

“Not tag. Just wanted a change of scenery.”

Caleb hummed thoughtfully. He came to stand behind you. Hovering. You had a bizarre sensation, like for a fleeting moment, you were him. Seeing yourself through his eyes. Feeling his want. Your arm ached. The same feeling echoed between your legs.

Pain as a result of desire. Desire as a result of pain.

You blinked, slowly, and it was gone.

“I like this scene.”

You peeked back at him. He rolled his right shoulder. You wondered if it was hurting him. You stayed leaning over the counter.

“Help me unzip, Caleb.”

Caleb said nothing. His hips slotted against yours. You felt his dick hard on your ass, his gloved hands making contact with the zipper of your dress. He took his time, the sound of the teeth coming apart loud in the otherwise silent apartment. The seams of his leather gloves ghosted over the skin of your back, making goosebumps crawl all the way up to your neck. You lifted your torso as he made his way to the bottom of the zipper, and the dress fell in a pool around your feet, like the shed skin of a snake. You hadn’t worn a bra under the dress, so you were left in just your panties. You leaned back down against the counter. It was too-cold on your bare stomach and breasts. You melted into it. Your body felt like a heavy liquid. Caleb leaned over you, enveloping you with the heat of his torso on your back. He supported himself with one hand by your head.

“I should undress you, too,” You said, nearly speaking into the countertop.

“Not should. I want to.”

Caleb was quiet. The leather of his gloved fingers trailed down your sides, as if mapping them. You moved your hips back against him, and drank in the sound he made with an eagerness that surprised even yourself. You wished he would crush you up with those hands, peel off your skin, look at your insides – anything besides touching you like you would fall apart.

Why did he insist on staying clothed? The barrier began to frustrate you more and more. You pushed your hips against him again. He gripped your hips, grunting. His touch forced you to be still. He whispered, close to your ear.

“Should I let you? Earlier, you said someone else was takin’ care of you. Now, I want to take care of you. Only me. Do you want it to only be me? Is it only me?”

You knew what he was asking.

Is there someone else?

Caleb slid the last of your remaining garments from your body. They joined the corpse of your dress on the floor. You were naked, bent over the counter. You shivered. He hadn’t even removed his boots. Caleb leaned up, away from your back. You heard the sound of his zipper.

“Caleb,” you pleaded. The words he wanted to hear – you weren’t sure you had them. What did it mean for you to accept his care? To let go of being alone? To let go of the fact that he was dead?

To let go of your brother?

“Please,” you tried. You heard a shuffling of fabric, a quiet exhale.

“It’s so hard for me to say no to you. You know it, too.”

He sounded relaxed, like had sounded when he was certain he would win a game for you as kids. You pushed your thighs together, anticipating his touch.

“But I won’t say yes, either. Not until you tell me that it’s only me, pip.”

The nickname sent an inexplicable wave of sadness washing over you. Instead of giving you what you hoped for, Caleb’s gloves caressed your thighs, your ass. You felt no shyness about being exposed to him; only that it was right. Only that you wanted more from him, like you had for a long time. His hands squeezed with less delicacy than before, spreading you open. Gripping your muscles with big, strong hands.

“I’ve wanted to see you open for me like this for so long,”

His thumbs kept you spread apart. You looked back over his shoulder. He was looking at your sex with such intensity that it made your heart want to come out of your throat.

“So perfect. My pretty girl.”

“Caleb,” you tried. You were used to making demands of him. Maybe he would give in to you. Like always.

“I want you inside of me. Please.”

You lifted your hips, stood on your tiptoes. Caleb made a frustrated sound in his throat.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. Don’t worry. But I won’t do anythin’ more than that until you tell me what I need to hear.”

A gasp left you as you felt the head of Caleb’s cock press against you. You were so wet that you were certain he wouldn’t struggle. Even with his size. You heard him spit into his glove, then wrap it around his cock, stroking himself with the wet leather.

Caleb was sliding himself inside you, then. Stretching you apart with himself, filling you in ways that you had imagined so, so many times. He was impossibly warm, perfectly big. It was like your body already knew his shape and size. It accepted him with only the smallest of difficulties. You overflowed with him perfectly. You scrabbled at the countertop, and Caleb trapped your wrists between one of his hands.

You both breathed silently, for a time. You, through your open mouth, he through his nose. His weight was reassuring on top of you.

“Caleb,” you breathed,

“You feel so – so good inside of me.”

Caleb’s cock twitched inside of you at your words.

“I know, baby. It’s ‘cause I was made for you. To make you feel good.”

As if to prove his point, he shifted his hips against you harder. Not fucking you, just trying to reach deeper inside. You lifted your hips into him. He gripped you, holding you in place. You still couldn’t feel any of his skin – just his uniform and leather. You hated it. Even while he was inside you, he punished himself. He punished you.

“Touch me. Without the gloves – just..”

His hands caressed your sides, your ribs. Your shoulder blades.

“Tell me the truth, then. Go on. I know you can do that for me, right?”

He fisted a hand in your hair, and pulled your head up by your neck. His teeth grazed the newly exposed skin there. You swallowed with difficulty. The angle made it harder to speak. Your voice came out cracked, but assured.

“You’re the only one. My only brother. My only man. Caleb, please. It’s – it’s just you. It could only ever be you.”

A sound of pure aggression, arousal, ripped out of Caleb’s throat.

“That’s my good girl.”

His gloves came off, then. They landed with ferocity on the counter next to you, thrown down. Caleb’s hands – one metal, one flesh, caressed your skin. You were still full of him, his hands stroking every inch he could reach, cold and warm at the same time. He lifted you so that your back was against his chest, cock still inside of you. One hand, the metal one, went gently around your neck. Squeezed. The other went between your legs.

“You’re gonna’ cum on my cock, okay? I’m not going to fuck you, and you’re going to cum.”

You arched into him, wanting more than just his hand. More than just his stillness inside of you. More than a punishment.

“But–”

Your hands tugged at his mechanical arm, looking for purchase. Hoping to spur him on.

“Do as you’re told.”

His command came at the same time that his fingers started to move against you. As he touched you, quicker and with more urgency, you felt him grow impossibly larger inside of you, twitching with every sound and movement you made. You barely had time to whisper his name before you felt yourself tighten around him, your pleasure reaching its peak with just his fingers and his closeness, after being teased for so long. Your body stiffened, and he lifted you as you came, your feet dangling just above the floor. He held you tight, so tight you could no longer breathe, if only for a moment. His hips made one singular movement – only fucking into you once, the sound wet.

“Fuck, baby girl, I’m gonna’ come inside of you –”

You felt the heat of his spill inside of you just moments after, his dick pulsing. You fell limply back into him, and he stayed inside of you, riding it out as he held your full weight. He slipped out of you as he began to soften, and you were lifted into his arms by his evol, into a princess carry. You hardly had the energy to cling to him, your body melting into his. He pressed soft kisses to your forehead as he walked. His gait, the heavy sound of his boots – they lulled you into a state of relaxation. Neither of you seemed to have words, for that time. Nothing was needed.

He brought you into his – your – bedroom, and laid you gently on the bed. You stretched sore limbs. He was still in that fucking uniform. He turned from you, and you caught him by the sleeve.

“Don’t go.”

Caleb smiled, stroking his hand through your damp hair.

“I’m just gettin’ something to clean you up. Two seconds.”

“One,” you counted.

Caleb grinned, and hurried to retrieve a towel. He returned with it shortly, and wiped you down, lifting your weary arms, between your legs. You watched him through your lashes as he did so. He had tucked himself back into his boxers, but he was clearly hard again.

“Caleb,” you threatened,

“If you don’t let me take off that uniform, I’m going to throttle you in your sleep.”

Caleb’s brows shot up, and a cheeky grin erupted over his features. He pinched your cheek between his thumb and index finger.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, pip-squeak.”

This was your Caleb. Not the Colonel. You rolled your eyes at him, and threw your legs over the edge of the bed. You stood, naked, yet somehow invulnerable near him. He stood, too. His hands hovered around you, like he expected you to fall at any moment. Instead of falling, you went for his tie. You made quick work of the knot, and discarded it on the carpet. Then came his jacket. It fell heavily to the floor. Then his dress shirt. Then his undershirt, until was left in just his pants and boots. You knelt.

“Pip–” he protested. He sounded strained.

You hushed him, and unzipped his boots, tugging them off of his feet. He helped you lift them off. Then came his socks. Even over the sounds of fabric and leather, you could hear the intensity of his breathing pick up. You righted yourself, and slid both his pants and boxers off in one go. He stepped out of them, not sparing them a second glance. He hugged you to him, as soon as he was naked. His cock was hard against your naked stomach. His big arms crushed you against him, like he was trying to meld you to him. His body was so warm that it was like basking in the heat of the summer sun.

“Caleb,” you said, nearly imperceptibly, into his chest.

He stroked your hair with his big palm, rough from handling a yoke.

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry. I’m home.”

#love and deepspace #caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x mc #lads x reader #my fic #i know this prob has hella typos lol

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qbopublishing · 1 year ago

Text

How Kids can be Safe Online

Ensuring the online safety of kids is crucial in today's digital age. Here are some tips for parents and caregivers to help children stay safe online: 👀

Open Communication: Establish open communication with your child about their online activities. Encourage them to talk to you if they come across anything that makes them uncomfortable.

Educate About Online Risks: Teach your child about potential online risks, such as cyberbullying, inappropriate content, scams, and the importance of protecting personal information.

Set Age-Appropriate Boundaries: Determine age-appropriate limits on the types of websites, apps, and games your child can access. Use parental controls to restrict access to inappropriate content.

Supervise Online Activities: Monitor your child's online activities regularly. Be aware of the websites they visit, the people they interact with, and the content they consume.

Teach Privacy Protection: Instruct your child not to share personal information online, such as their full name, address, school name, phone number, or any other sensitive details.

Encourage Strong Passwords: Teach your child the importance of using strong, unique passwords for each online account. Ensure they understand not to share passwords with anyone, even friends.

Be Wary of Strangers: Emphasize the importance of not communicating with strangers online. Teach your child not to accept friend requests or engage in conversations with people they don't know in real life.

Check Privacy Settings: Adjust the privacy settings on social media accounts and other online platforms to limit the sharing of personal information. Regularly review and update these settings.

Use Parental Control Software: Consider using parental control software to help manage and monitor your child's online activities. These tools can assist in blocking inappropriate content and managing screen time.

Teach Critical Thinking: Help your child develop critical thinking skills to evaluate the credibility of online information. Teach them to question and verify information before accepting it as true.

Promote Healthy Screen Time: Set reasonable limits on screen time and encourage a balance between online and offline activities. Encourage physical activities, hobbies, and face-to-face interactions.

Model Good Behavior: Be a positive role model for your child by demonstrating responsible online behavior. Show them how to use technology responsibly and respectfully.

By combining these strategies, you can create a safer online environment for your child and empower them to make informed decisions when navigating the digital world. Keep the lines of communication open, stay involved, and adapt your approach as your child grows and gains more independence, for more information visit https://book.chainzd360.com/ or buy Click, Post, Succeed Social Media and Digital Marketing for Kids on Amazon. 👀

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aemondwhoresworld · 6 months ago

Text

“MY DAUGHTER HATED ME!”

pairing: dad!ewan mitchell x mom!reader ; ewan mitchell x actress!reader

part of series: y/n, ewan and elowen mitchell

part 2

summary: following the success of House of The Dragon, you and Ewan were invited to appear on Jimmy Fallon’s The Tonight Show. However, it seems that the story about your only daughter, elowen captured the majority of the audience's attention after that interview.

word count: 1,3k

warning: english is not my first language, use of y/n, ewan and reader are actor and both are in hotd cast, fluff (?), etc

masterlist | ADD YOUSELF INTO MY TAGLIST HERE

That evening, you and Ewan stepped onto the stage of The Tonight Show, greeted by enthusiastic applause and cheers from the audience. Jimmy Fallon, with his familiar smile, guided you and Ewan to your seats and then thanked both of you for coming on the show.

"Let me introduce tonight's guests, the actors from House of The Dragon, please welcome Ewan Mitchell and Y/n Mitchell, playing Prince Aemond Targaryen and Princess Visenya Targaryen," Jimmy announced

"Thank you both for being here," Jimmy expressed his gratitude to you and Ewan for accepting the invitation to be interviewed.

Ewan, with his usual calm and slightly shy demeanor, responded modestly, "No, no, thank you for having us." You also smiled warmly and added, "Yes, thank you, Jimmy, for inviting us here; it's an honor."

Jimmy chuckled and continued his introduction to the audience.

Jimmy then began, "First, I want to congratulate both of you on the success of House of The Dragon!" His congratulations were met with enthusiastic applause from the audience, accompanied by loud clapping. Jimmy joked, "Well—they're already too fond of you guys."

"Thank you, Jimmy," you and Ewan said in unison, both of you still smiling brightly.

"So, Ewan, can you tell us about your life after the explosion of House of The Dragon?" Jimmy asked, but before letting Ewan answer, he quickly added a clarification, "I mean, it was already a hit after Season 2 aired, but now with Season 3 out, how has it changed?"

Ewan clicked his tongue lightly and said, "Well… I think it has, a bit. People still seem like they want to run away from me whenever I step out of the airport or when they see me on the street." After saying that, Ewan couldn't help but laugh, and you, having witnessed those moments, couldn't stop laughing either.

Jimmy laughed along, then turned to you and asked, "Is that really true, Y/n?" All you could do was nod in agreement, confirming it was indeed true. After laughing too much at your husband's story, you caught your breath and shared, "Once, on a flight to the set, a little girl came up and asked me to get his autograph because she was too scared." You burst out laughing at the memory, and so did Ewan, Jimmy, and the audience.

"But I want to affirm to everyone that my husband, Ewan Mitchell, is a good man, a good husband, and a good father!" you said, looking at Ewan with pride. The pride and love in his eyes for you were unmistakable, making the atmosphere in the room even warmer.

Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh again, sharing in the pride and joy you both displayed.

“Speaking of Ewan as a father, does your daughter know that both of you are famous?” Jimmy asked the two of you.

Ewan responded, “She does… but she only found out recently.” He chuckled softly, explaining that for a long time, their daughter had been a fan of Harry Collett without realizing that her own parents were co-stars with him, and perhaps even more famous.

“On her 3rd birthday, after she blew out the candles, I asked her what she wished for,” Ewan continued, his face glowing with pride as he spoke of your daughter.

“She told me, ‘I wish that one day, mommy and daddy will be as famous as Harry Collett,’” Ewan recounted, causing the audience to erupt in laughter once more.

“At that moment, I briefly wondered if my wife and I were just amateur actors,” Ewan said with a laugh, taking a quick sip of water before continuing. “That’s when we decided to take her to the set of House of The Dragon to show her.”

“But even then, she wasn’t fully convinced by us,” you added, clearly enjoying the audience’s amusement at the story involving your daughter, Elowen.

“Seeing how much the audience here is enjoying your stories about your daughter, can you explain the video that’s being shown on the screen?” Jimmy asked, pointing to the screen in front of you.

The screen displayed a video of you and your daughter, Elowen, sitting at the kitchen counter coloring together. You had set up your phone to capture what you thought was a hilarious moment, intending to send it to Ewan, but it was so adorable that you decided to post it on your social media.

“So, El, can you tell mommy again why you said that to mommy?” you asked your daughter in the video. Elowen paused her coloring, sighed, and responded, “Because I saw daddy putting a ring on another woman hand, so now I don’t like daddy at all,” she said before immediately dropping her head to cry. The audience burst into laughter some with a soft ‘aww’

“Okay, okay, can you explain why that happened, Y/n? Why did she say that?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, as you saw, Elowen and I were coloring together when she suddenly turned to me and said, ‘Mommy, I don’t like daddy,’ so I thought she must have had a reason for saying that,” you explained, shifting in your seat position before continuing, “So I set up my phone to record, but it wasn’t until I showed the video to Ewan that we realized she was talking about the scene where Aemond gets married, you know in the House of The Dragon episode 2 scene” You couldn’t help but laugh as you finished the story.

"I only showed her that one scene, not the whole episode, so don’t worry," you continued, wanting to make sure everyone knew you hadn't exposed a 3-year-old girl to a series that wasn't suitable for viewers under 17.

The audience roared with laughter, and Jimmy shook his head in amusement. "That's adorable! She really thought her daddy was betraying her mommy on screen."

Ewan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, she’s still at that age where she doesn’t fully understand the difference between fiction and reality. But I think it’s sweet how protective she is of our relationship."

Jimmy nodded, grinning. "It’s amazing how kids see the world. So, what did you do to make it up to her, Ewan?"

Ewan smiled fondly, glancing at you before answering. "Well, after we explained that it was all just pretend and that daddy only loves mommy, we took her out for ice cream. I think the double scoop of chocolate chip really helped clear things up."

You laughed, adding, "And, of course, we had a long talk with her about what acting really means. But I think it was the ice cream that sealed the deal."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Well, it sounds like you two have it all figured out—balancing stardom with parenthood. And I have to say, it's refreshing to see how grounded and loving your family is, despite the craziness of Hollywood."

"Thank you, Jimmy," you said sincerely, reaching over to give Ewan's hand a squeeze. "We just try to keep things as normal as possible for her, no matter how crazy things get on set."

Jimmy nodded, smiling warmly. "And it’s clear that you’re doing an amazing job. I mean, the way you both light up when you talk about her—it’s obvious that your family comes first."

The audience clapped in agreement, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the life you and Ewan had built together, both on and off the screen.

"Well," Jimmy said, wrapping things up, "I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re looking forward to seeing more of you both—whether it’s on screen or in more adorable videos with your daughter!"

"Thank you, Jimmy," Ewan said with a grateful smile, and you echoed his sentiments.

As the interview came to a close, you and Ewan exchanged a loving glance, knowing that no matter how big your careers became, nothing would ever compare to the joy of sharing your lives with each other and your daughter.

…pt.2 ? a whole series of ewan being a dad?? or any ideas for dad!ewan?

mae.

let me know what you think about this and thank you for reading 🌟 also a like or reblog/comments are my motivation

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keyotos · 2 months ago

Note

“please stay” after a nightmare from aventurine pls!!! i 🫶 how u write him hehe <3

the way that i am

summary ↯

aventurine's nightmare has him spiraling left and right. and also into you.

apart of the niche microtropes event!

word count ⎯ 3.5k

tana's thoughts ⎯ i am so sorry i got to this so late! i started working at a hospital this summer (working, not volunteering—BIG SHIFT YAY) so i've been a bit occupied!

aventurine doesn't even bother to look at the clock when he jolts up. his back is utterly slick with sweat—a feeling he detests. the room feels as though it's spinning slowly, then quickly, and slowly again. the cavity where his heart lies is pounding.

his fingers grip into the hotel sheets as a way to tether himself back to reality. but the attempt proves to be futile. his breaths have gotten even shallower before; aventurine begins to think that he may pass out from hyperventilation.

this is not the first time something like this has happened. aventurine knows what the protocol usually is. he'll be awake for a few more hours, and then eventually fall asleep for an hour before he has to wake up again.

however, this time it's different. swarmed by not only his childhood, but also red splotches covering his hands, rough metal, and thousands of eyes glowering down at him. everything overtook him—multiple topics all at one time, crashing down into his mind.

the hotel room was pitch black and frigid. the thin covers that the "5-stars" establishment provided did not render any heat whatsoever. not that it mattered to aventurine at the moment. his body felt like it was running a fever: how a nightmare could make him sweat, ache, and scalding was beyond him.

his sweat began seeping through his shirt, causing the material to stick to his skin. he needs it off.

aventurine didn't bother to turn on any lights (or use his phone light, even)—he doesn't think he could bare look at himself if he did. when dealing with nightmares, most people usually shake it off, distract themselves, and fall back asleep. but for aventurine, the waves of shame that wash over him are strong. dismay, embarrassment, and regret are some of the few emotions that crash into him left and right.

the mirror is hard to stare at after a nightmare. aventurine recalls one night—when he was a bit younger—where he turned on the bathroom light to wash his face. upon seeing himself in the fluorescent glint; a lethargic, sullen, and heavy reflection looked back at him. sunken eyes and cheeks that sink down to the floor—both paired with a sickeningly pale face.

he retched in the toilet shortly after.

aventurine put on some slippers as he stumbled on the way to the closet. luckily for him, it was right across from the bed, giving him easy access to change. however, the trip to the closet was still full of its' challenges: aventurine ran into the bed-frame multiple times, and almost tripped on his own feet.

yet, he managed to be successful as he hastily unbuttoned his previous shirt to slide on a new one. he would call it luck that he didn't run into the corner of the bed-frame.

aventurine didn't bother to finish buttoning up his shirt. his mind reeled to the next thing his body needed: a cold glass of water.

though the new shirt alleviated some of his discomfort, he was still running hot. sweat still beaded down his head, and he ran a hand through his damp, blond hair to straighten up.

with a bit more shuffling, his hands guided him to the door to leave his room. aventurine considered sleeping on the couch for the rest of the trip—not wanting to be back in that room for the next week—however he was worried you'd begin to question his antics.

you're smart. you catch on instantaneously and you're too quick-witted for your own good. sometimes, your big mouth gets you in trouble, but that's why aventurine is your partner: he's damage control. but your biggest flaw would have to be your nosiness. and aventurine—though he harbors no negative feelings towards you (except the minor annoyance)—is not ready to detail the specifics of why he planned to sleep on the uncomfortable couch for the remainder of the trip.

aventurine opens the door and tries his best to not slam it, just so he doesn't wake you. he rubs his eyes and yawns as he traverses down the corridor. his hands are scattered throughout the walls, and aventurine tries his best to not hit any corners as he walks.

there's a slight murmuring noise as he gets closer to the kitchen, and he pauses. there's a bright light being emitted, but it's not from the overhead light. aventurine slows down his breathing (which—is quite hard in his predicament) to better hear the sound.

aventurine's feet creep closer and closer, until he hears the noise suddenly stop. now would be a good time to go back to your room, he internally voices. but aventurine doesn't move. he's planted on the ground, anxiously anticipating what would come next. he doesn't know if it's due to shock from his nightmare, or because he was too exhausted to move any more.

"hey. what are you doing up?" you turn the corner, shining the light from your phone to see.

aventurine moves his hand up to cover his face from the light, "aeons, that thing is bright." you lower the brightness while aventurine puts his hand down. he continues, "you're going to go blind looking at that thing in the dark like this."

this is how it always goes. pretend nothing ever happened. no nightmares, no terrors, no deep-seated fears. aventurine was just tired, which wasn't exactly a lie.

he just hopes that you won't be able to see through it like everyone else does.

"i'm pretty sure that's a myth," you put your phone in the pocket of your shorts. the dark setting makes things a lot more intimate, aventurine thinks. he gulps—thankful for the darkness concealing it—and tries not to dwell on the topic for much longer.

"pretty sure that it's science," aventurine responds, leaning on the wall.

you mock him, repeating his words in a distorted voice that makes aventurine question what he is still doing here. yet, he doesn't leave. not even when you say, "since when do you know anything about science? aren't you a glorified tax collector? shouldn't you be worried about... tax evasion?"

the blond rolls his eyes, even when you couldn't see it. "it's basic knowledge, first of all. and i worry. how are you supposed to complete our mission if you can't see?" he lets out a yawn afterwards.

"yeah, yeah," you say, voice drawing out, "whatever. i know you just secretly care for me!" you tease, attempting to poke him in the shoulder, yet missing due to the lack of light.

funny, aventurine thinks. real funny.

"you also never answered my question by the way. what are you doing up?" you ask.

internally, aventurine sighs. he should've known that you would've circled back to that. he thought that exhaustion would cloud your judgement too (considering that it was 2:30 in the morning), but alas, it has not.

sometimes, he thinks that nothing could cloud your judgement, even if it was the strongest effort in the world. aventurine has always found it admirable, though he would never admit it.

"no reason. i'm just not feeling tired," he lies, standing straight up. it makes no difference really, because it wasn't like you could see him anyway.

"you lying liar who lies!" you laugh, "you just yawned like... thirty seconds ago."

aventurine brushes you off, "that doesn't mean anything."

"if you yawn that literally means you're tired," you exaggerate, "pretty sure that's science."

"do you really have to mock me at two in the morning?"

"um, is there ever a time to not mock you?"

aventurine groans. this time, not out of exhaustion. "how are you not tired yet?"

"i haven't gone to bed yet," you shrug, "like, at all." in the darkness, aventurine can see you fiddle with the string of your pajama shorts. "i've always been that way—abnormal. but i'm usually not tired in the morning, so i guess i'm fine."

aventurine hums in response. you talk quite often, but it's not usually about yourself. he leans back on the wall again, letting his head rest as you continue to tell him anecdotes about your chaotic sleeping schedule. this is your normal.

it's certainly not his. aventurine made sure to get eight hours (or more) of sleep each night. he had a routine—a perfectly constructed one, in fact—that would ensure he'd be rejuvenated in the morning. and it was good. it helped him forget; the focus on the ritual would subside any memories of his past that would haunt him.

like tonight.

although, it seems as though his nightmares are an abnormality as well, but he doesn't accept it like you do.

"i'm not gonna pry if you don't wanna tell me," he hears footsteps pattering closer to him. he still can't see you, but he knows you're close. his breath slightly hitches, just in case.

you continue, "but, i can invite you to what i was doing. you know, if you can't sleep either."

before aventurine could reject the idea, you open up your phone, the bright light blinding the both of you. you squeak a quick apology and turn the brightness down, just to where the both of you could see each other.

from his point of view, aventurine nearly has you pinned against him. his body is leaning against the wall, while his arm is propped up on it. you're below his arm, leaning against the wall as well; except, your head is underneath his arm.

you don't seem to notice the position the two of you are in, seeing as you are glued to your phone. in other circumstances, aventurine would've made a snarky comment about it, but the ability to speak was stolen away from him. there you are, right in front of him, obliviously scrolling through your social media. you haven't looked up, not even a glance.

part of him thinks that he should be grateful. tonight has been a rough night, and he's sure that he doesn't look particularly pleasant right now. his hair is tousled, blond strands mangled due to the earlier rustling. his eyes must be drooping, since he's not used to waking up during these hours.

but you don't notice whatsoever. you're here, aimlessly scrolling on your phone—searching up whatever (probably some kind of niche reference)—and not even looking up. and that's when the other part of aventurine comes in. why aren't you peering up at him? do you not feel his eyes boring into your body? can you not feel the rigidity of his stare?

aventurine would do anything to see you glance up: to see your breath hitch when noticing the position the two of you are in, or to finally see you be rendered speechless. he wants to see you hide away from his gaze, looking at anything except for him. then, he might able to come up with a remark as good as yours. only then.

he's torn between two halves of himself. you're his greatest relief tonight (shocking, as aventurine would usually refer to you as his greatest nuisance), but also his greatest fear. when he talks to you, aventurine feels like he's feverous: his heart rate increases when thinking of a retort to your wits, and he shivers with chills whenever you make wondrous and logical reasonings. but he's terrified of what would happen if you saw him—truly saw him. would you be able to come up with a witty response, or would you look at him with pity? would you pull back your punches, replacing your ardent jabs for dull responses?

aventurine didn't want to lose that.

"found it!" your excited voice knocks him out of his head. you click on a video of a wooden bowl filled with water and some blocks. or cubes. or spheres?

"um," aventurine peers down, "what is that?"

"wood soup!" you enthuse, scrolling through your social media to find more.

aventurine decides that he is lost. "wood... soup..."

"i don't see why you're so baffled by this," you shake your head, "it's not edible if that's what you're wondering. it's water and wood, ergo the name is: wood soup."

you pull the blond down a rabbit hole of wood soup videos, and aventurine becomes glued to your device with you. the two of you were definitely standing there for more than five minutes. you glance at him a couple times—just out of the corner of your eye—and aventurine has to suppress the urge to swallow every time.

"oh, oh," you pull up another video, "this one is my favorite!"

you've said that about ten times now. you definitely have not been keeping track, but aventurine has. sometimes, his gaze switches from your phone to you. you're distracted enough that you didn't notice him staring. aventurine silently thanked the aeons for "wood soup" being a distraction.

"this one is pretty good," aventurine murmured down to your neck. he occasionally felt his eyes sag, but blinked a few times to get rid of the fatigue. he rubbed his hand against his eyes to wake himself up.

"works like a charm, doesn't it?" you voice is soft when you give aventurine a slight smile. "these videos always put me to sleep."

you look up at him—actually making eye contact—and place your head on the spot on the wall directly under his arm. your arms are crossed over your chest, and you're biting down on your lip in an effort to not smirk or become smug.

aventurine knows this expression. it's your, "i was right from the whole time" expression.

and for a second, aventurine is scared. he should've walked back to his room earlier, instead of getting swooped up in your presence. judging by the expression you're donning at the moment, aventurine can tell you have him figured out. you were right about his lying earlier, and now you were gonna question him. and what was he going to say? what excuse was he going to come up with now?

would he tell the truth and reveal his most vulnerable bits of himself? what would you even think of that? what would you even say to that? aventurine admits, he's always wanted you to be rendered speechless, but not like this.

and what would you two be afterwards? not just coworkers, as aventurine wanted it to be originally. but you two are far away from becoming close friends. you are the person he needs by his side right now; you are one of the most important assets in the game he is playing. he can't lose you now.

and there's one more reason for aventurine's fears. though he will never admit it: he enjoys spending time with you. from a mission standpoint, you are one of his perfect partners. you balance him with your wit and observation, while he balances you with calculation and persuasiveness. but it's not just that. you're funny (annoyingly so) and you distract him. you make it easy to forget everything else when you're standing in front of him. sometimes, his heart races and all he can think about is you, you, you; every beat of his heart is a syllable of your name.

you make him feel normal. aventurine always knew he was abnormal, whether it was due to his eyes or status, he always knew. and then you waltz in, making sure that you are the weirdest person in the room. it makes him feel okay. safe, even.

safe. aventurine's heart is pounding out of his chest, waiting for you to say something. you make him feel safe, he realizes.

he can't lose you now. not like this.

you tilt your head, glancing up at his face. he watches as your eyes move from the furrow of his eyebrows, to his drooping eyelids, to his pursed lips, and to his slightly clenched jaw. you bite the inside of your lip—a sign that you want to say something, aventurine notes—and let a light sigh slip.

"rest up," you nod, placing your hand on his shoulder. your thumb brushes the fabric of his shirt, barely covering his shoulder. you're nearly touching skin. "you look like you need it," you quietly chuckle. if aventurine heard correctly, you muttered a soft, "yeesh," as well.

aventurine let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. you didn't say a thing. and that may be for the better.

you didn't pry, like you normally would. there were no additional questions. no follow-ups, no interrogations. your fingers brushed his shoulder and he had to make sure he wasn't going delirious from lack of sleep.

nothing was ruined. everything is okay. he is safe. it is a mantra he repeats in his head over and over. he had to make sure it was real. aventurine thought about pinching himself, but feeling your hand on his shoulder was enough evidence for him. your hand hasn't moved. neither has he.

aventurine's eyes are wide when he looks at you. you give him another small smile, "goodnight, okay? i don't wanna see you when i'm awake at 3 in the morning," you joke. "i have a feeling you get real cranky if you don't get your 12 hours of sleep."

first of all, it's 8. aventurine fought off the urge to correct you. this moment was too good to be true.

he couldn't go back to sleep after this. not when he'd be thinking about you and your hand all night. not when he knows that he'd be putting his own hand on his shoulder, recreating how you brushed it with your delicate ones. most of all, he felt like he couldn't fall asleep without you there with him. a chilling realization, he notes.

this is definitely one of the most craziest things he was about to do. insane, actually. when you're about to pull your hand off of aventurine's shoulder, he places his hand on top of yours, trapping it there.

"please, stay," he breathes. it's a shaky plead, and you can feel his hand tighten on top of yours.

"um," he looks around the hallway the two of you were in, "in my room."

you blink, "what?"

aventurine begins to chastise himself. this was a dumb idea. you shouldn't do this. run. but he continues, "could you stay with me in my room tonight?"

is this selfish? possibly. aventurine knows that you and him aren't close enough to share a bed. you guys haven't even shared a drink yet. but he needed you tonight. you help him feel safe. secure. okay. normal.

just for one night, could he indulge? he trusts you.

you blink a few more times. your chest has an unsteady rhythm of rise and fall. has he done it? are you speechless?

"uh. um," you pause. aventurine can tell that you're debating between yes and no. he waits, staring back at you. you bite back down on your lip, turning away.

"you know what. sure."

you and aventurine stumble over to his room in the dark. your footsteps are the only audible noise in the hotel room, and it invites an air of close intimacy between the two of you. he falls into bed first, with you awkwardly clambering in after him.

aventurine lies down like a stick at first. you are not much difference. your back is facing him, and you realize that the two of you cannot fall asleep like this.

you sigh and turn around, facing the blond next to you. it's awkward, for sure. anyone would probably be able to tell that neither of you has gotten into bed with another party before. but you've seen your fair share of movies, so you come up with an idea.

"turn around," you mumble. aventurine listens with no retort on his tongue. you gulp.

"let me know if you don't like this, okay?" you inch closer and closer to the man beside you, until your chest touches his back. you feel him tense, and you inch away a little. you bring your arms out in front of you and wrap them around aventurine.

aventurine's body is taut at first. he's stiff as a board, and you let go a bit to get him to relax. his hand slowly comes up and brushes over where your hand is. he grasps onto it—not as tightly as before—but a light touch, as if he was curious if you were still here or not.

"is this okay?" you whisper. your body is so close to his. you feel insane.

"yes," he responds. he isn't sure if he's capable of saying any more words. aventurine is already worrying that you can hear the way his heart his clamoring. he doesn't want to worry about nonsense spewing from his mouth as well.

your chest is pressed directly against is back. his instincts tell him to squirm away, but is body is telling him to stay right where he is.

later, when he feels your chest synchronize with his, he sighs. your head digs into his shoulder, and he's nearly about to fall asleep. his past nightmare has been forgotten. a topic for another time, he thinks.

you speak up again, your voice no louder than a whisper, "did you know that cuddling leads to an easier time falling asleep?"

aventurine lets out a light chuckle, "really? and how did you know that?"

"oh, i don't know. science?"

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #keyotos 1k event

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