#I don’t do full body pictures very often - hardly ever really

[highwaydiamonds]

Living my 80s childhood outfit fantasy

[wallflowerimagines]

Hello! Um... I don’t really know how to start this but say I love your hc! I think you do a fantastic job on them, there all very sweet but being the s.o.b I am I’m here to ask for some angst. How would you think the lords act if their S/O died?

...I'm feeling mean. 😈

Warnings: Angst, Death, Horror Game villains making bad decisions/not coping with tragedy, suicide.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Denial, Denial, Denial

You can't be dead. There has to be something, anything that she can do to save you. Alcina scrambles for a solution, attacking the problem from all sides, despite the reality of the situation staring her in the face.

Immediately injects your body with Cadou in a desperate hope to save you. Any possible chance that he has to save you she's going to take it.

It's not likely that your corpse reanimates, but it does mutate. At the end of the process, what's left of your body hardly even looks like you anymore, and she can't bring herself to look at it.

She builds a gilded crypt for your body-- it's stunning. It's inspired by you, all your favorite colors, styles and hobbies are incorporate to make the room feel full of your spirit. Alcina is an artistic woman, and she throws herself into the project like she's possessed.

It might take years, even decades to complete. It has to be perfect. When it's done she feels accomplished, but twice as empty. It might be one of the most beautiful dedications she's ever made, but it can't replace you. She has the room sealed off with no way to get to it, so she can't be tempted to visit. She just needs a piece of of you still in her home, or she can't get through the day.

...If your corpse does reanimate, it's actually worse for Alcina. Whatever she brought back was a shambling, horrifying mess of mold wearing your face. It couldn't think for itself, or even follow commands--it just wanders in circles and attacks anything that gets too close.

She keeps your reanimated corpse in a cell, unable to bring herself to destroy it completely. Sometimes, she'll go down to the basement and talk to the thing like it is you, telling it about her day, having one-sided conversations and thinking of all the wonderful memories the two of you shared.

When its dead eyes meet hers, her lungs seize in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. Alcina doesn't cry often, but when your corpse meets her gaze she starts to sob. Those eyes used to look at her with life and love and now...

Still, she can't stop herself from visiting it. It's a compulsion she can't stop, and it tears open the wound every time, but some irrational part of her deep, deep down thinks that one day, she'll descend those steps and you'll be there to greet her with a warm smile.

In either scenario, she will never have another partner. You're impossible to replace, and she feels truly, genuinely empty without you. Rest well, Darling. You'll never be forgotten.

Donna Beneviento

There is such a thing as a last straw, and this is it for Donna.

Please remember: this is a woman who has lost everything. Mother Miranda might have given her a new "family", but Donna is not nearly as attached to these new members as she is to her original family. And the loss of her original family has shaped her in such a way that if you died? She would be absolutely devastated.

It's not fair to put this kind of pressure on you, but in a very real way you were her last hope for normalcy. She had all these plans to fix her family with you. You were so instrumental to her hopes for the future that now that you're gone, it feels like she has no hope at all. You were her missing link, her one true love, and now that you're dead...

Donna screams until her throat is raw when she finds out you're gone. Angie can't help her, nothing can. She just can't cope with reality anymore.

She'll build a life sized Doll of you to try to help herself cope, but the minute she tries to implant of piece of her Cadou in it, she is filled with such a vehement hatred of the thing that she starts scream-crying before she takes an axe to it's face and hacks it to pieces. How dare it pretend to be you?!! It's not even close to the real thing, she shouldn't even have tried--

She might try to induce a hallucination of you to help her get through the day to day, but it's not the same. She can't perfectly mimic your laugh, or your smile, or the way you tuck her hair away from her face. It's so obviously not you, and Donna is... alone.

I do hate to say it, but she will absolutely try to kill herself if you died. You were the one person who understood her, empathized with her, and you were her best friend. You were her support system, the one person who could carry her through the worst times in her life, but you're gone. Donna can't believe that anyone else could be there for her like you were.

Salvatore Moreau

Absolutely, irreparably broken.

When the two of you were in a relationship, you busied yourself not only with smothering Salvatore in all of the love and affection that you could, but you also did a lot to help his self-esteem and mental health.

You made sure he knew that he was loved, that you could never hate him, and even on your death bed you make him promise never to forget how wonderful he is.

Once you're gone, though, Salvatore cracks.

He clings to every bit of you felt behind. All of your jewelry, clothing, pictures and sentimental items are preserved to the best of his ability. Your living space is transformed into a shrine dedicated to you.

It's not healthy, but he also deifies you in his memory. Mother Miranda is no longer the only person that he worships-- the memory of you is now sacred to him. You become something holy and perfect in his mind's eye. It doesn't matter how many flaws you had in reality, your death has turned even your worst flaws into traits to be admired and praised. His perception of you is totally twisted.

Speaking of Mother Miranda, he regresses a lot. His adoration of Mother Miranda was something you were helping him work through, but now he's right back at square one, and even worse off than before.

Moreau can't make a decision on his own anymore--from what to say, to what to do, and sometimes even what to eat. After all, it's his fault that you died, isn't it? You were his partner and he used to be is a doctor. How could he possibly trust himself with anything when he couldn't manage to save the most important thing in his life?

To the rest of his family, he's more pathetic than before. His obsession with his Mother was usually limited to when she was in the room, but now it's constant.

If he ever hears the quote "It's better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all," he gets supremely, violently angry. No. No, that's not true, it's bullshit, how dare you even say that to his face.

If he hadn't loved you, you would be alive. He would be alone, but you would be safe. You would be happy.

Now he's alone, and all you are is dead. He can't ever come back from it.

Karl Heisenberg

Rage. Unending, earth shattering Rage.

Whatever killed you better start to fucking pray, because Karl Heisenberg will not quit until it's suffering.

He doesn't kill who or whatever it was. He let's it sit there, mangled beyond belief, and uses his knowledge of mechanics and biology to keep it alive in constant, unending pain.

It's cathartic for him, but not in a healthy way. The more he hurts it, the better he feels, but at the end of the day, you're still gone, and he's still alone.

He's... lost.

Heisenberg should be angry, fuck he wants to be angry more than anything, but the longer he keeps the thing alive... emotions seem like they're too far away anymore. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants... you.

He keeps something of yours in his pocket at all times, just to run his fingers over it and remember you. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile... It's almost like a stress ball, and these days sticking his hand into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the thing is the only way he can calm down.

Sometimes he turns to ask your opinion on something, or tell you a joke with a big smile on his face because this one is going to make you laugh for sure-- and then he freezes when the reality sets in once again. You're not here.

Remember, Heisenberg has idealized the two of you as this perfect partnership. You were the first person who looked at him and loved everything that you saw. You weren't just his first real relationship, the first person that he implicitly trusted, but you were also his very first real friend.

He wasn't the most friendly person to begin with, but he did get better because of you. He was still spoiled, a little socially awkward, and maybe his dark sense of humor would slip and get a little too much, but he grew as a person.

Now that you're gone, he can't even remember what it's like not being a cruel, empty shell of rage. All he has left is his hatred of Mother Miranda.

After a while, it doesn't matter if he's ready to take her on or not. He's going to face that bitch head on and kill her, or die trying.

If he wins, he's finally free. If he doesn't... that's not so bad either. Karl doesn't really believe in an afterlife, but there's something appealing about joining you wherever you might be.

[keilemlucent]

mean to me

( r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~3.5k

daddy’s a bit mean

warnings: daddy kink, light bdsm in terms of dynamics, use of a safeword, spanking, light degradation, choking, a smidge of age play, subspace, aftercare 

...

oh, more daddy kink brain rot? nice. have a little snack, loves 💕enjoy!!

...

Keigo owned you, passively and completely. 

His hands settled on your hips far too easily, like they were made to lay along the curves of flesh. There might as well have been imprints of his slender fingers with the way they squeezed and held you as often as they did. You weren’t made in your shape for him, but rather he worked you into whatever form he wished. 

You loved every moment of it, love him.

Sat up in his lap with Keigo was upright as well, his wings remained tense and flattened against the headboard. They twitched every so often as your cunt fluttered around his cock, but his resolve remained firm and he remained largely still. 

“K-Keigo, please—“ Your voice wobbled as your fingernails dug into his shoulder.

He quieted you with a slap to your thigh.

“You can’t expect me to give in if you don’t even speak to me proper, right, little bird?” Keigo was obviously being harsh, this was a ‘punishment’ after all. Though, in many ways, it was more of a test of will for the both of you.

Keigo showed his own exertion and restraint on every facet of him. 

His muscles were bunched, poised and more than ready to pound you into oblivion (If only you’d been good that evening, but you hadn’t, hence why you were in the situation that you were).

His expression was desperate, but still so fucking smug. The quirk in his swear-coated brow spoke volumes about how smitten he was to keep you wanting and warm around his cock.

“You’re mean,” You tried to spit, but it left you as more of a whine. 

“Am I?” Keigo raised an eyebrow, tapping your cheek with a single finger, “I think you’ve earned this treatment.”

You definitely did, but you wouldn’t admit that to him.

Your thoughts had wandered all throughout the day to him, and it was only natural that you sent him at least a dozen very whorish photos of yourself in the new, big mirror Keigo had purchased for the two of you.

(Specifically for ‘fucking’ reason, but once again, besides the point.)

You sort of did deserve to be teased. The pictures were meant to work him up, but you hardly expected the treatment you were receiving. 

There was a wordless, nagging ledge in the back of your skull that kept you from finding a more comfortable, softened headspace, leading to any number of slipups.

Namely, referring to Keigo by his name and not the title he loved to brandish. 

“I’m sorry—“You started to say before Keigo moved his slender finger to your lips, slipping the digit into your mouth and pressing down on the flat of your tongue.

He went far enough back to gag you, tears welling at the corners of your eyes.

“‘I’m sorry’,” He mimicked, rolling his eyes before giving your cheek a few forceful pats. “Not gonna cut it. Apologies need to be genuine.”

He rubbed just below your eyes, smearing away any wetness and giving you a sinful grin, “You can’t just be a crybaby and expect me to give in. That’s not how this works.”

Sometimes, it did, notably. Keigo would crack on plenty of days if you got weepy, the reason didn’t matter too much. He only liked seeing you hurt if he had full control of the situation and could drag you back easily.

Your tears only egging on his insults. You tried to ignore the burning in your nose, sucking down any potential cries welling up in your throat.

You must’ve looked pitiful.

And Keigo must’ve loved it.

He was clearly in a particularly nasty mood, a bit more vindictive than a normal night.  Less softened and crueler.

A normal punishment would’ve been pulling you over his knee for a tender lesson that involved turning your ass hot and red. Maybe a bit of writing lines, a dash of extra chores (in that sinfully short and ruffled apron Keigo purchased for you) while he supervised and directed you as needed.

He’d never simply sat you on his cock and refused to move or let you move.

It felt a bit odd in your gut. 

If your mind had fallen deeper, you would’ve enjoyed this more. If your psyche had been floating as you both liked, his cruel words would’ve felt so fucking good, but at this point, you felt nothing but burning shame as you tried to hold yourself together beneath his words. 

Keigo noticed to some degree. He was so tuned to you and your body and expression, he could write a damn novel on the way each angle of your lips and crinkle of your eyes meant a different complex emotion.

And you had no doubt he could see you struggling with this punishment more than normal. 

You shifted your knees, trying to ease the ache of your burning thighs. It earned you a hard slap to your ass, one with enough force that Keigo had to brace your waist to keep you upright. 

“Behave,“ He warned, pulling his fingers from your lips to smear spit on your inner thighs, close enough to your pussy to make your breath hitch. 

You should’ve known not to try and defend yourself, “I wasn’t gonna—” 

“Nope, stop whining,” Keigo gave your thighs a series of sharp pinches and twists. “None of that, you aren’t getting shit.”

Keigo was being mean. 

So mean, it made your chest hurt.

Maybe you were slipping deeper, maybe not to the right place, as your head fell forward to his shoulder, a little weak attempt at hiding your budding, fatter tears. 

“P-please be nice,” Your whispered, hardly audible. “Please.”

Keigo clicked his tongue, slapping your already reddened ass, “Do you think you deserve me being ‘nice’?”

“I—“

You didn’t get a chance to answer as Keigo delivered a quick succession of spanks, all of which had you tensing around his cock and clutching at him and the headboard. Little cries and wails slipped from your slip-slicked lips, all falling on what you assumed were unhearing ears.

“You don’t deserve anything but this, little bird,” Keigo hummed. He punctuated his words with another stroke. “You just love being a little cocktease, isn’t this what you wanted? Sitting on my dick and having your fill?”

No, this wasn’t. You thought the handful of pictures you sent him, draped in one of his own shirts, would get you ponded into the mattress, not held on his cock without a hint of agency or kindness. 

Tears leaked from your eyes, even as you tried to wipe them away as fast as you could manage. 

His hand reared back, poised for another spank—

And you hurriedly gave him two firm and clear taps to his shoulder, “S-sunset, sunset.”

He froze mid-motion. 

“D-daddy, I’m s-sorry,“ You clung to his shoulder and rocked yourself. “It doesn’t f-feel good.”

You felt him take a few measured breaths, hand returning to your hips to press into any knots he could find. The deep inhales were surely meant to calm him from his own high. 

His entire mood shifted nearly instantly. Keigo jolted to rub at your lower back, up and down your spine. 

“No need to be sorry, dove,” He whispered, pressing a few kisses to the side of your head. “I’ve got you. Do you want to lay down?”

You shook your head, laying your hands over his, pressing them into your hips more firmly.

Keigo sweetened, even more, expression creasing with concern, “Can you tell me what doesn’t feel good?” 

“U-um,” You swallowed, withdrawing from the safety of his neck to meet his gaze. His pretty ambers were sharp, watchful, and immediately tender as they met your own. You licked your lips nervously, trying to find proper words, “Doesn’t feel... normal.”

“Does something hurt?” Keigo inquired, tucking some sweat-matted hair behind your ears. He dropped a few kisses around your face, stilling your both as was needed. 

You shook your head. 

“Not the right headspace?” Keigo asked, catching on quickly and speaking softly. 

You nodded, pressing your nose to his cheek, “Uh-huh.”

Keigo knew you better than you knew yourself in moments like this.

“I see why you didn’t appreciate me being so mean,” Keigo clicked his tongue, smoothing a hand over your naked waist.  “I’m sorry, little bird. Do you want to stop, or do you want me to help you?”

You thought for a moment, worrying your bottom lip.

“Can you h-help, daddy?” You kept your words as soft as you could. “I-I’ll be good this time, promise.” 

Keigo practically purred, content either way, but happy to help you settle. This was as much for you as it was for him. 

“You’re already good,” He shifted beneath you, some of his own bound up tension releasing, “Of course, little bird. I’ve got you now.”

There was an unspoken apology in words, one that was felt a moment later, as he pressed his lips to your, cupping your jaw with tender hands.

His thumbs wiped away any residual tears as you pressed closer, burying your hands in his hair. His feathers shifted and rippled nearby, his cock twitching inside you. 

“You hold on good to me, okay?” He murmured against your lips, holding you close as you massaged through his blonde waves. “Nice and tight, perfect.”

You nodded as if you’d ever let go.

Carefully, he repositioned the two of you. Your shaking thighs were given rest as he tipped you onto your back, helping you flatten atop the sheets. His cock remained buried, still hard, and somehow, Keigo’s will to not rail you remained intact.

It was surprising, given how impulsive he was so often was.

Then again, Keigo liked doing this, liked holding you close and tender while stroking the part of your mind that needed to feel smaller, weaker, and taken care of well and thoroughly. In turn, you held the part of his mind that desperately couldn’t stop taking care of others, that self-sacrificial nature that needed an outlet that was healthier than throwing himself at the evils of the world without pause. 

In the cultivated home you two had made, you cared for each other how the other needed.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Keigo hummed, hovering over you, splaying your legs out with wide palms. “You’re gonna listen really well, and I’ll let you have my cock like I’m sure you want, understand?”

You nodded, trying to muster up some self-confidence.

Keigo looked smitten with himself once more, though his features and poise were slack and gentle. Any of his earlier meanness had dissolved, tucked away for another night where you both could handle it.  

He nosed against your cheek, dragging his lips across your jaw to the shell of your ear. His hand drifted over your navel, higher to tease your yummy and then to your tits, twisting a nipple before he delicately laid his fingers, one by one, around your throat.

He gave a preliminary squeeze, watching your reaction. 

You swallowed around his hold, taking a shaking breath at the pressure.

“Does this feel nice, little bird?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nodded, his hold tightening a moment later. 

“Good, perfect,” Keigo grinned against your skin and nipped at your ear. “You’re doing so well.”

The simple praise made you shudder.

Keigo pressed his lips to your own, holding around your throat firmly and unwavering, throat, applying pressure just right to make your head spin.

The moment he pulled away, eyes shining, he let up.

You took sucked in a quick inhale, just before he kissed you again, repeating the pattern. Mounting, delicious pressure on your throat with each kiss, with just a moment or two or reprieve that he gave you.

It sank you perfectly. 

He kept at it, dragging you to arch underneath him with just kisses and tongue, pulling your breath from you with his hands and his own quiet groans.

If you tried to chase his lips, he easily pushed you back into the sheets, bearing down on you with the weight of his chest, wings fluffing up and fluttering. A quick nip or two had you lax into the mattress within moments.  

It was all so perfectly enough, your head spinning with each of his touches. 

And finally, he pulled away, both of your lips kiss-bitten and pupils wide and black.

“There we go,” He stroked the side of your face, kissing down your neck to your collarbones. “A little bit mean, a little bit nice. You did so well— such a good girl.“

The praise made your cunt tense, fingers curling at the base of his wings. 

Keigo looked equally as content as you. He wanted to see you slip and puddle beneath him. As much as he still had a mean streak for the day, he could channel it elsewhere, pepper it in as needed. Not teasing you at all would be sin. 

“C-can I have your cock now?” You asked, voice high and sweet. Your gaze was reverence itself, all for him.

Keigo chuckled, rolling his hips just the /slightest/ bit, “You’ve got it already, greedy girl.”

Your frowned, eyes already growing wet, “That’s not w-what I mean.”

“That’s too bad,” Keigo sighed, rubbing little circles along your hips. “Guess this is all you’re getting.”

“N-no!” Your voice almost broke as you tried to tug him closer. “I want you to be fuck me, p-please, I’ll do whatever you ask!” 

“You should already be doing that,” Keigo snorted, stilling any movement. “I don’t know if you really want it.”

Of course, he knew how much you craved him, he could see it in every twitch and desperate whimper that got caught in the back on the back of your tongue. 

“I do!“ You tried to move your hips against his own, but he held them flat and steady.  “Please, please, please—“

Keigo paused, tilting his head slowly and regarding you with pensive eyes. 

You reached out for his wrist, pulling it to your lips to lay gentle kiss after kiss over the skin. The touch, no matter the setting, always had him shuddering. Keigo was a whore for many things, but genuine, heartfelt affection was reliably near the top of the list.

Still— 

“Bribery?” He snorted. “Cute.” 

You were getting desperate. Tears started to leak from you once more, sobs held themselves in the back of your throat. The stretch of your cunt had started to burn. The lack of touch anywhere near your sex made you so needy, it hurt.

“D-daddy, please—!”

And you started babbling. 

It was Keigo’s favorite thing to see you so desperate and wanting that you lost the ability to have coherent thought beyond wanting him in the rawest and unbridled way.

Your words were dribble. Pleads and begging that your floating little mind drew up without pause. Details and filth that he’d coaxed from you so well, he couldn’t help but be burningly proud. Each word was so shameless, it made Keigo’s his split into a cocky smile. 

Losing yourself beneath him, good and proper. And you hadn’t even been fucked yet. 

“There we go,” Keigo hummed, groaning as he fucked into you once, hard and deep to where the top of his cock brushed against your deepest parts. “Let go for me, little bird. Daddy’s got you.”

And he did—

And you knew it. 

And so with the next slam of his cock into your cunt, you let your eyes roll back into your head and be enveloped by sensation. Heat buried in your yummy, slick dripping from his cock, sticky the skin that was shared between the two of you.

You both dissolved into the other.

Keigo didn’t hold back, all of that pent up stress and anger projected into the cant of his hips, the grip that bruised your hips, and the way his wings arched and stretched to the ceiling. 

He muttered to you and himself, cursing with each thrust about how much he ‘deserved to have your tight little cunt—his tight cunt however he wanted’. About how your body and all its curves and features were ‘his, only his’ and he could fuck you in and fuck you up in whatever way he pleased.

Each dripped word pushed you hotter and hotter. 

You drowned so pleasantly in his words as your peak snuck to hit you hard and fast.

You were so pleasantly high on him and his words and body, you didn’t notice his hand slipping between your bodies, hiking your legs over his shoulder in one motion, and circling and tugging on your clit the next.

Keigo might have commanded you to come, you couldn’t tell. The moment he gave your clit the slightest cruel twist, sweet pain igniting, your vision went white and you wailed.

Your nails dug into the base of Keigo’s wings, pushing him over the edge in the same breath as you. He cursed, loud and breaking as his arms collapsed on either side of your head.

He didn’t fuck you through his own orgasm, just pressed the tip of his cock to your womb and circled your clit as you twitched and cried, all for him.

And things stilled.

Your legs were lowered, your gooey mind understood. You pawed at the wetness on your face, a mix of tears and dripped sweat between the two of you.

As Keigo slipped out of you, after so long, you hissed, cunt sore and thighs aching.

“H-hurts,” You murmured, tugging Keigo closer, though he’d hardly gone ar. 

Keigo hushed you, stealing a kiss or two before rolling sideways onto the sticky sheets, tugging you to his chest.

His hand slipped between your legs, pushing a bit of leaking cum back into your sore cunt, as he so often did after stuffing you so full. Kindly, he rubbed at your thighs, any of his earlier snark gone.

“Does this feel better?” He smiled into your hair, you could feel it. 

You made a noise of affirmation, all you could muster, and leaned into Keigo, properly sated. 

Your eyes went half-lidded, exhaustion and euphoria holding you equally. After the teasing and torture you’d endured on Keigo’s cock, you imagined you’d be walking oddly for at least a day, and sore for a few more. 

You frowned, Keigo beaming you a smug smile and tugging you closer, “Something wrong, little bird.”

“D-daddy,” You huffed, patting his chest weakly. “You were so mean!”

“And you,” Keigo tapped the tip of your nose, “did a perfect job at telling me it was too much and didn’t feel good. I’m so proud, you do so good for me.”

Part of you wanted to be a brat with him, puff and sulk a bit more, but you couldn’t muster up the will. Keigo knew that praise made you the sweetest and happiest you could be and consider how he had struck a few nerves, enough to make you light-safeword, you deserved it all.

You grumbled in the back of your throat and buried your face in his chest.

“Will a nice massage and a warm shower make it up to you?” Keigo asked, the pads of his fingers flitting down your spine, less for comfort and more for looking for any visible bruises or scratches. 

“Almost,” You sniffled. “Can we watch a m-movie too? I can make tea.”

“That’s a given, we can snuggle all night, little bird, I’d like that very much,” Keigo sighed with his own contentment. “And I’ll make tea too.”

You let out your own trail of high laughter as Keigo peppered kisses wherever he could, heaping you with sweetness as his wings, still trembling from orgasm, fluttered with his happiness. 

“I can pick you out a nice, comfy outfit—  maybe those cute, toasty stockings you like so much,” Keigo knew how to stroke the most melted and small parts of your mind, so well. You fell into his offer and kisses with a smile.

“Your favorite stockings? The knit ones?” You teased, nipping at his jaw, and letting your own touch drift and linger around the tender flesh where the base of his wings met the muscles around his spine.

(Keigo wouldn’t admit it to many, but they ached most days. His body, though trained immaculately, wasn’t truly meant to bear the weight it did.)

(But, you were happy to lift some his own burdens.”

You massaged the flesh, touch firm even through Keigo’s initial arch and startled jolt. 

“Can I rub some of that oil on these too?” You murmured, tangling your sweaty legs together. “You’ve been working too hard lately, daddy. They’ve gotta hurt.”

“Hm,” Keigo cupped your jaw, drawing your face away to nuzzle your noses together, something warm and so precious, you only saw it in his most comfortable moments. “Aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help,” You wanted to, you liked to, and you liked seeing daddy— Keigo, relax after scenes, sessions, and long days. “Please?”

“Of course, dove,” Keigo’s eyes crinkled at the corners, with a smile all for the two of you. “Let’s lay for a little longer, alright?”

His touch, honeyed and kind without a hint of teasing, drifted to the lowest part of your back, finding the roots of your tension and tending to them, as you tended to his. 

You were happy to tangle with him, content and intertwined. 

 ||||||||||

thank you for reading!! 💕

ko-fi 

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek 6 (6-18): Baby Damian | Family bonding | First crush

Warnings: none

Notes: Short, sweet, barely edited cuz it's 1am. Please enjoy some de-aged Damian and frazzled Dick. Yes I'm back on my Damian and Dick bullshit. I just love them so much.

-o-o-o-o-

Three days, according to Zatanna. The magic that hit Damian isn't permanent, and should wear off on its own within three days.

Dick already doesn't know what to do with himself. He was hardly prepared to take over and raise a ten year old, let alone a toddler.

But here he is, sitting in the manor living room watching as a small version of his already little brother toddles around on chubby baby legs. He can't be more than two. He can walk around on his own well enough—though Alfred did block off all of the stairs in the manor anyways—and every so often he'll point at something and say... Something that sounds like a demand.

Dick wasn't really ever good with understanding baby gibberish. It doesn't help that Damian seems to have reverted in memories as well... so the things he's demanding probably aren't in English as it's not his first language.

Damian wobbles up to Dick, holding out a toy train that Alfred dug out from the attic that used to belong to Bruce. Dick takes it and thanks him, but Damian pays him no mind and returns to his toys, babbling about something only he understands.

It's so weird seeing him like this. All small, chubby, soft, and bright eyed. Dick doesn't know everything Damian has gone through... growing up in the League... and as much as Dick dislikes Talia, he knows she was the best mom she could be to him. She's raised him to be a smart, strong young man, and taught him to be able to protect himself in his dangerous surroundings... and of course Dick has known Damian long enough to have gotten through his walls and see the wonderful boy underneath, but as he watches this toddler squeal as another toy train turns on and runs on its own...

He cannot help but mourn the child Damian could have been. Should have been if every child in the world had the privilege of growing up in a safe home and no worries besides homework.

He shakes his head. He cannot think like that. Whatever child Damian could have grown into if he hadn't been raised by the League is still in there. Just a bit harder to bring out. Dick can feel himself getting closer every day.

Damian notices him shaking his head and makes a curious ah sound. He walks over to Dick, lifting his arms, and Dick assumes he wants to be lifted. He smiles at the kid and grabs him under the armpits and lifts him into the air perhaps a bit quicker than what he was expecting. The kid screeches as Dick lifts him over head and let's go for just a moment to catch him and bring him back down to his face.

Damian scowls a familiar scowl and hits Dick on the nose with his stubby little fingers.

"Bah," he scolds, and a laugh bursts from Dick's throat.

Yup, Damian is still in there.

-o-o-o-o-

"I'm beginning to understand why B adopted all of us when we were already in elementary," Dick complains as baby Damian screams in his wooden high chair—yet another thing dug up from the attic that probably belonged to Bruce.

Alfred hands Dick a rag with a smirk. The thrown bowl of mac-and-cheese is all over Dick's shirt.

"Master Bruce always had a tenderness for infants," Alfred replies as he uses another rag to wipe off the still screaming and complaining Damian. "He always found joy in finding whatever excuse he could to hold and play with a baby. We used to go to a church when he was still a child himself, and there was a woman there without a husband who would always bring her infant. He would always offer to hold the child for her during the sessions to give her a break."

There's a twinkle in his eye when he looks over at Dick. "I imagine that if this had happened to you, or your other siblings, when he was still around, he would have loved every second of it. Food throwing, tantrums, and all."

Dick can't help but smile. He looks over at Damian who's now kicking his legs and waving his now clean hands in a fit. "Still, I wonder what's making him so mad."

"He might not like the taste," Alfred says, "or the texture. Perhaps some experimentation is due."

After some expiration and a lot of screaming through baby lungs that couldn't possibly hold that much air, they find that Damian really likes tomato soup, apple sauce, and broccoli.

-o-o-o-o-

"Master Dick," Alfred speaks up on the first evening while they were showing Damian Pooh's Heffalump Movie. Dick was relaxing and watching the movie, trying to remember if he's seen this one or not, while Damian was on the floor playing with an old kitten stuffed animal.

"Yeah?" Dick asks. He looks over at Alfred, only to see Alfred raise an eyebrow down at Damian. Dick follows his look, then his stomach drops when he finds that under the recently shopped for infant clothes, is a full looking diaper.

Dick looks back up at Alfred.

"Please, god, no."

Alfred drops a diaper, a bag of wipes, and a cloth into Dick's hands. "Good luck, sir."

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's about to lose his mind. He did everything Alfred told him to. He read a bedtime story—Where the Wild Things Are, as it was Dick's personal favorite as a child. He made sure his diaper was clean. He turned on some white noise. He even gave him Zitka. Yet, everything he did, Damian would scream and sob in his borrowed crib until Dick picked him up and started to sing the lullabies sung to him as a child. He sings the ones from his own native language, and even though there's no way Damian understands Romani, the kid calms down and reduces to exhausted little hiccups and almost seems to fall asleep with his little fingers curled in Dick's shirt.

And the second Dick puts him down, the crying rekindles.

Dick doesn't know what to do. Damian cries and cries until he's held and sung to, but Dick can't hold and sing to him all night. He paces Damian's room, bouncing the aforementioned kid-turned-infant in his arms, mumbling tunes to whatever lullaby decides to leave his lips.

Alfred told him he has permission to wake him up if he needed anything with Damian through the night, but Dick can't bring himself to. Alfred already works so hard during the day and night, keeping the manor in shape and making sure Dick doesn't get himself killed during patrol... He shouldn't have to be relied on to take care of a grumpy baby that won't go to sleep.

No, no Dick can handle this. Damian is calm when he's held and sung to, so that's what Dick will do. He walks to the cradle and pulls out Zitka, then goes to his own bedroom to sit on his bed and holds Damian close to his chest, singing and bouncing him gently.

Eventually, Damian goes completely still against his chest, snoring slightly, but Dick's too fearful to risk anything now. He stops singing though, resorting to simply holding Damian and trying to keep his own eyes open.

He fails, but he wakes up in the morning with Damian laying on his chest, still fast asleep and drooling all over his shirt.

Dick doesn't look a gift-horse in the mouth. He shifts into a better position, then allows them both to sleep in a little longer.

-o-o-o-o-

Alfred discovers the problem quickly when Dick tells him how hard it was to get Damian to sleep. Turns out, Damian's teething. By noon, Alfred had returned from the closest grocery store with a few tools to help with that. He puts a few water filled plastics into the fridge, then gives Damian one to chew on in the meantime. And chew on it, Damian does. He gets slobber everywhere, but at least he's no longer so upset, especially once a cold one is exchanged into his grubby little hands.

-o-o-o-o-

"That's absolutely adorable," Barbara says over the phone. Dick's just finished sending her a massive amount of pictures he's taken of Damian after taking him outside to play in the backyard with the dogs. He's sent her the pictures mostly because he needs people to see how cute Damian is while trying to tackle a dog twice the size of him... but also partly because he gets the feeling once Damian's back to his normal age, he will make sure all evidence of this is destroyed.

Barbara is someone Dick's sure can keep pictures hidden in a safe place... just in case Dick wants to see them again after lying to Damian he deleted them.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's beginning to understand why people like babies. Like, they're cute, yes. The sounds they make are cute sometimes too. The things they find funny are usually very goofy and enjoyable to watch. Their laughs are contagious, and their babbles are enjoyable to try and decipher...

But nothing beats watching them sleep, curled up against your chest. Full trust in you that you'll keep them safe. It's nap time, and instead of trying to peel Damian off from him and put him in the crib, he's decided to just let the kid pass out in his arms and use the opportunity to take a nap himself.

Apparently it's bad to always let babies sleep with you, but Damian's not going to be this small forever. Might as well enjoy holding him like this in pure peace while he can.

-o-o-o-o-

It seems Zatanna was generous with her prediction, as he wakes up with his breath being knocked out of him. Damian, his rightful age and dressed in his full Robin uniform, scrambles off of Dick's chest. It's all knees and elbows, and Dick's left rubbing his ribs as Damian pats his body, as if making sure he's really a 10 year old boy and not an infant.

"Good to have you back," Dick grunts, rubbing his eyes and holding back a grin.

Damian whirls on him and points an accusing finger. "I don't remember what all happened," he hisses, "but you will delete any photos immediately."

Dick bursts into laughter, grabbing Damians pointed hand and tugging him into a proper hug. Damian squawks just a little, but relents when Dick squeezes him tighter than what he would to an infant. Yes. This feels right. Baby Damian was cute and cuddly, but he really missed the prickly attitude of this rascal.

"Okay," he says, releasing his charge. "I'll delete the photos, after we tell Alfred you're back and you've changed out of the suit."

Damian huffs and nods. "That was horrible."

"I don't know, I thought it was fun," Dick teases. Damian glares at him and Dick grins back.

Yeah, he missed his kid.

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

for your eyes only || h. styles

warnings: swearing, references to drugs

word count: 2.5k

summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...

You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home. 

The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth. 

All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon. 

Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine. 

You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this. 

You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.

“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled. 

“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”

“What? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”

He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out. 

The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.

Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom. 

He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close. 

You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this. 

You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep. 

Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness. 

However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left? 

There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier. 

The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten. 

The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.

That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.

He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”

You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked. 

“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”

He nodded slowly, “Right.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong. 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”

Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred. 

But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing. 

It was like he was leading two lives. 

“You are okay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”

You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly. 

It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”

Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out. 

“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”

“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said. 

“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.

“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said. 

It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.

You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”

“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly. 

“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you. 

You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”

He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”

“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked. 

It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks. 

The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry. 

You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 4: Jealousy

Draco had a jealous streak a mile wide. He always had, for as long as he could remember. His jealous streak had given him plenty of things; jealousy was an excellent motivator.

But his jealousy had never felt quite like this.

In the past, he'd been jealous of tangible things: attention, possessions, grades, etc. Lately, though, Draco had found himself becoming jealous over increasingly inexplicable things. Most (all) of those things having to do with Potter. He was jealous of the normal things, too, like people who casually touched him, or the way Weasley could make him laugh, or the attention he bestowed on Granger when she was talking about her latest campaign. In all honesty, there was nothing new about those things.

But one day, while they were in training together, Draco found himself jealous of the rain.

(More below the cut)

Jealous of the rain as he watched Potter tip his head back and spread his arms to accept it. Jealous of the way the rain was allowed to touch his skin, of the way Potter opened himself up to it and allowed himself to relax under its ministrations.

On the day they received their auror uniforms he found himself jealous of the clothes that the other man put on his body. Jealous of the way the trousers hugged his strong thighs, jealous of the way his robes stretched across his broad shoulders. Jealous of the closeness that Draco had never been afforded.

He found himself quite preoccupied one afternoon as they sat filling out paperwork, jealous of the pen that Potter kept sticking in his mouth. He was jealous of the absentminded caress of lips and tongue, of the sharp nip of his teeth.

At night he found himself jealous of not only the people whom Potter could, theoretically, be spending the night with but also of the thought of his pillows and sheets. Jealous of the way that Potter must allow himself to be completely vulnerable to them; glasses removed, face lax as he slept. Something in Draco surged with a fierce longing at imagining seeing Potter with all of his walls torn down.

He found himself jealous of the work they did. Jealous of the way it consumed Potter's attention, of the way that Potter poured everything he had, everything he was, into solving the crimes set before them.

Draco was jealous of the wind. Jealous of the way it tousled Potter's already messy hair, tugging the curls back from his face.

He'd even been jealous of Potter's own hand earlier that day. Jealous of the way Potter had folded his hands, fingers slotting between each other, as they sat across from their perpetrator. He'd ached to feel the incongruity of the tender skin between his fingers and the callouses on his fingertips and palms.

Most of all, though, Draco was jealous of the way that Potter seemed to be happy. Not because he didn't want Potter to be happy; he did want him to be happy, he deserved to be happy. But because Potter seemed to be happy without Draco and Draco wasn't sure that he would ever be happy without knowing the way that Potter tasted, knowing the way he smelled, knowing the way his muscles felt as they shifted under his palms. He didn't know if he could ever be happy without knowing what Potter looked like when his guard was down, or knowing how his voice sounded when he was completely relaxed.

"You're staring again," Weasley said, snapping Draco's attention back from where he'd been watching Potter as he fetched a round for the team of aurors who'd just wrapped up a very challenging case.

"I'm not," he protested. It was a lie and they both knew it.

Weasley narrowed his eyes at him, "You could just ask him out, you know."

"Why would I do that?"

He rolled his eyes, "So the rest of us can stop watching you pine after one another. It's distracting."

His heart clenched painfully, the way it always did when someone (usually Weasley, damn him) suggested that perhaps this wasn't as one sided as it felt like it was. Shaking his head, he replied, "He's not interested."

"How would you know?" Weasley asked. "I've been his best mate for almost our entire lives. I think I'd know better than you."

"Well, then maybe he should use a bit of the famous Gryffindor courage and ask me," he said with a haughty sniff as he took a sip of his firewhiskey.

Weasley rolled his eyes and was about to reply when Potter came over, levitating a dozen drinks in his wake.

After setting down the drinks on the table with an impressive display of control, Potter plopped down in the seat between Draco and Weasley. Draco watch jealously as Potter leaned against Weasley, pressing their shoulders together for a long moment as though he was drawing strength from the other man.

The table was loud and rowdy, nearly full of Gryffindors, and Draco wondered (not for the first time) how he'd managed to find himself almost constantly surrounded by their brash, obnoxious selves.

Potter was quiet next to him, as Draco had noticed he often was, listening to the others, laughing and sharing in their joy; quietly supporting and encouraging them to be their most authentic selves.

It always made Draco want to tell them all to shut up. To just be quiet for a minute and let Potter talk, let him be himself, because if he was being honest he wanted to know everything about Potter. He wanted to know what made him tick, what brought him joy, what made him weep, what made him laugh. He wanted to know why he chose to be an auror when he could have done anything. He wanted to know his favorite song, his favorite book, his favorite meal. He wanted to know everything.

When the desire to grasp Potter by the hand and make him tell him everything became too strong, Draco stood up (rather abruptly) and made his way out of the bar, muttering "cigarette" to the table as an excuse.

Outside, he leaned against the wall and lit up his cigarette, exhaling shakily as it caught. The warm summer breeze did him good, helped to settle his racing mind. He took a long, slow drag and held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, relishing the way it burned a bit and the way his slow inhale helped him to calm further.

Fuck Potter, fuck this, he thought sullenly. This was all getting out of hand, it was too much, even for him.

"Terrible habit."

Draco's head snapped around to see Potter leaning his shoulder against the wall a few feet from Draco, watching him intently. "You should get louder shoes," Draco commented, blowing a stream of smoke from his lips, "or a bell," he added, picturing the kind you tie around a cat's neck.

Potter laughed, free and unfettered, and Draco basked in it like sunlight. "Can I join you?" Potter asked.

Draco forced himself to take another drag of his cigarette before answering, it wouldn't do to sound too eager. "I suppose," he finally said.

"Can I bum a cigarette off you?" Potter asked next.

His eyebrows rose, "You smoke?"

The other man smiled, the soft, secret one that exposed his dimples. "Occasionally. When the company is right."

Draco handed him a cigarette but he couldn't even fully appreciate the comment when the company is right because Potter leaned in close to light his off of the tip of Draco's. He hardly dared to move, he tried not to inhale deeply enough to be noticed, but he could smell the other man. He could smell his cologne; earthy and woody, he could smell Potter's shampoo; faintly like apples, and the hint of something underneath that he couldn't quite place but made his mouth water just the same.

After a moment, Potter drew back and Draco watched as he inhaled the smoke and held it in his lungs for a moment. He had so many questions, so many things he was dying to know, instead he said, "You're always quiet."

"Sorry?" Potter asked, turning his head to look at Draco as he rested his back against the wall.

"Your friends-"

"They're your friends, too," Potter interrupted.

And oh, he was trying to be kind, trying to tell Draco that they counted him as one of them, his heart fluttered uselessly. "Fine, our friends," he conceded, "They're always so loud. And you listen to them, you know everything about them. You've kept every detail stored away in that funny little brain of yours."

"I wouldn't say every detail," Potter protested before putting his cigarette between his lips once more. It shouldn't be attractive, Draco thought to himself.

"But you're always quiet," Draco pushed. "You listen to everyone, know things about everyone, but you never talk about yourself."

Potter looked away, staring up at a lamp post for a long moment. He took another drag of his cigarette and Draco thought for a moment that he wasn't going to answer. "Who really wants to listen to me?" he murmured on an exhale.

I do! Draco wanted to scream. Instead he huffed, "Everyone does."

Potter's lips tipped up in what was supposed to be an approximation of a grin but there was no joy in it, "No they don't. They'd want to listen if I wanted to tell them about a date I'd gone on, or if I had a family to talk about, or if I'd just gotten a new crup, or if I'd done something good or brave, if I'd updated my kitchen, or taken up painting." He brought his cigarette to his mouth once more and didn't look back at Draco.

Draco waited. He was good at this, good at waiting for people to talk. Silence didn't bother him. It made him a very good interrogator.

After a moment, Potter continued, "No one wants to hear about how I can't always sleep at night. No one wants to hear about the memories, and the flashbacks, and the nightmares. No one wants to listen to me talk about all of the ways that everything that happened in the war feels meaningless when we're just dealing with the same bullshit day in and day out at the ministry. No one wants to hear me talk about how when I look at Teddy all I can think about is how he looks just like Tonks and has a mischievous streak as wide as Remus'. Everyone's moved on," he said. "Everyone has gotten on with their lives and no one wants to hear about how I am just..." he trailed off searching for a word, "trapped. In my grief, in all of the ways that I failed. No one wants to know that it feels like I'll never be able to atone for all of the hurt, for all of the death and suffering-" he broke off, his voice choked, and Draco watched as a tear tracked silently down his cheek.

"I do," Draco whispered because he had to. Because Harry had been brave and vulnerable, and Draco owed him this much. "I do," he repeated.

Harry looked over at him, and his forest green eyes laid Draco bare. "Why?"

He lifted one shoulder, "because," he paused and swallowed, "because you're not alone in feeling so many of those things," he started. "Because you deserve to feel heard, to feel seen, to feel known. Because what you have to say matters."

"To who?"

And Draco recognized this question for what it was. He understood that Harry was not really asking who but why. He was asking if what he had to say mattered because he was "the Savior" or "the Chosen One" or did what he had to say matter because he was Harry, just Harry.

"To me," Draco said finally, knowing it was tipping his hand. "What you have to say matters to me. I want to know you, Potter. Harry."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, looking at Draco, searching him and Draco very much hoped he would find whatever he was looking for.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry said, "I want to know you, too, Draco."

Draco couldn't have stopped the grin that spread across his face if he'd tried, and he did try, so he settled for looking down at the ground to hide it.

"I like your smile," Harry said softly.

"Oh?" Draco replied.

Harry nodded, "I like a lot of things about you," he said, soft like a confession.

"I like a lot of things about you, too," Draco admitted.

"Would you maybe want to go and get some coffee?" Harry asked. "Or go somewhere quieter than here so we could talk?"

"I would like that very much," Draco replied. "There's a little muggle coffee shop a few blocks from my flat that stays open until 3:00am?" he offered.

Harry dropped the stub of his cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with his boot, "Lead the way," he said, gesturing to the sidewalk.

Draco nodded once, his stomach tumbling and bubbling like a cauldron set too hot, and he set off toward his flat.

He'd only taken a few steps when he felt Harry's fingers slide through his.

"Alright?" Harry asked softly.

Draco squeezed his fingers, "Better than," he replied, giving Harry a little smile. Grinning because he supposed, with Harry's hand in his, he had one less irrational thing to feel jealous of.

Day 3: Agility | Day 5:Possessiveness

[kyuuppi]

vegetable stew

Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)

Contents: hurt/comfort; angst and fluff; body dysmorphia; eating disorder (negative thoughts, fat shaming, insecurity, mentions of starvation)

Word Count: 2.1k

Kenma has always been observant.

It was a large part of his success as a setter and even now his keen observational skills contribute to his career as a professional gamer. He tends to notice things others don’t and lately that means noticing how you’ve changed.

The more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to pinpoint the exact starting point of your behavior. Haven’t you always preferred baggy clothing?

He remembers the pretty blue sweater you used to treasure back in high school, wearing it every chance you got as soon as the weather report hinted at anything lower than 10°C. He loved that sweater too—not just because of the cute sweater paws it gave you or how it almost completely covered the shorts you wore beneath, offering an unobstructed view of your shapely thighs—but instead he relished in the way it seemed to make you feel. The confidence and joy in your expression was clear as day when you wore your favorite outfits and early on in your relationship he had quickly learned that somehow your happiness was synonymous to his own.

Hence Kenma’s current frustrations in seeing that spark of joy and self-confidence gradually diminishing in the past several weeks.

Although that particular sweater had long since left your wardrobe within the first few years of university, as well-loved and worn out as it was, the more recent favorites of yours have also seemed to have gone lately. It had been a while since you had worn the short yellow polka dot dress you had been so eager to show Kenma the first day you got back from the mall with your roommates. Every pair of shorts and colorful tennis skirts had also left your weekly rotation, leaving behind only dull sweatshirts with childhood cartoon characters and baggy joggers.

Objectively, Kenma hardly cared about what you wore. If fastening a potato sack around your form made you happy, Kenma wouldn’t bat an eye—the problem stemmed from the fact these clothes didn’t make you happy. Moreover, the bland clothing brought with them their own slew of behavioral changes.

You no longer wished to go out and you avoided taking pictures of yourself, your social media suffering from an obvious lack of cheeky selfies or “outfit of the day” posts as of late. However, the most concerning change of all was your refusal to eat.

Kenma had a habit of forgetting to eat himself. He rarely felt the mild twinges of hunger, his attention generally hyper-focused on something else whether it was a game, a video needing editing, or a class project he had pushed off for far too long. It was only when his own stomach growling would startle him or the hunger pains got unbearable that he would acknowledge the human requirement of sustenance (not that the instant ramen in his cabinets provided much nutrients anyhow).

You were much more in tune with your body and, unlike him, you looked forward to eating; scheduled your days around it, even.

Your mornings began with a balanced breakfast—a meal Kenma was rarely even awake in time for—followed by a generous lunch break in which you would intentionally put everything on pause. Regardless of how much work you had to do you always made time to put everything down and have a decent lunch. It was good for your soul, you would say. A time to live in the moment and relieve yourself of stress.

For dinner you often made it a point to eat with others, whether it was going to a rowdy Korean BBQ with some friends or a dinner date at home with just him, you enjoyed sharing a meal surrounded by the people you love. On top of it all, you frequently had snacks: small bags of crackers, slices of fruit, or a few cookies you made yourself.

You loved cooking almost as much as you loved eating; most of the times he invited you over you brought a large bag with you filled to the brim with ingredients he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. You would chastise him about his awful eating habits, grimacing at the ramen and chip wrappers overflowing in the kitchen trash can before you diligently prepare a meal for you both, healthy and flavorful, full of the vegetables he hadn’t had since the last time he went home to visit his mom.

You made him look forward to meal times too, if only to see the way you light up when he compliments your cooking or the pure bliss when you take the first bite of your favorite side dish. Eating with you became one of his favorite parts of the day.

And so that last time you made him dinner—a steaming plate of curry with shrimp tempura—the normally delicious food suddenly turned sour on his tongue when he realized you had only made him dinner.

“I’m just not very hungry today,” you had assured him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Foolishly, he hadn’t said anything at the time.

Maybe you had a large lunch, maybe you had a stomach ache, maybe you just didn’t want curry today—at that point in time he had no reason to think there was something seriously wrong. He had no reason to think you were starving yourself.

It wasn’t until weeks later when all the evidence stacked up, the many different signs piecing themselves together like a puzzle until it was impossible not to see the picture, even if a few were still missing.

Your baggy clothing, your refusal to eat anything, your off-handed comments about how the female characters in whatever fighting game he was playing had such nice figures—it became crystal clear what you were doing and it made him feel sick.

Kenma doesn’t generally care about others’ looks; he tends to worry more on how he is perceived than how he perceives others but he is confident that he rather likes your body as it is. He would rather die than admit how often he finds his gaze wandering when your legs are bare or how his eyes naturally trace the curve of your waist down to the width of your hips his fingers twitch to touch—he has had many thoughts about your body, none of which have ever been negative.

Even so, he doesn’t mind if you want to change yourself. He isn’t foolish enough to think he has the right to dictate how you decide to present yourself to this world, but he refuses to allow the reason for your change to be one that stems from low self-esteem or insecurity.

When you step into Kenma’s apartment, weary from a long day of classes and the extra hours spent at the gym, the last thing you expect is to be greeted by the scent of some type of stew, warm and hearty. Your stomach clenches longingly but you quickly reprimand yourself—you already reached your tiny caloric limit for the day.

You have hardly made it into the living room when Kenma comes out from the kitchen, dyed hair tied in a low bun but messy, several strands poking out and sticking across his sweaty forehead. A dark blue apron is tied around his waist and his right hand holds a ladle, the perfect image of a frazzled housewife. If you weren’t so shocked by the scene you would have laughed.

“Welcome back,” he greets softly.

“Are you...cooking something?”

Kenma looks slightly embarrassed by your incredulous tone but not offended. In all the years you have known Kenma you have never seen him in the kitchen for longer than the three minutes required to heat up a bowl of noodles. Him slaving away in front of the stove for a bowl of homemade soup is nearly unfathomable to you.

“Vegetable stew...it’s my mom’s recipe,” your boyfriend explains sheepishly.

The mental image of Kenma shyly FaceTiming his mother as she patiently walks him through chopping up carrots and mixing spices makes your lips twitch upwards and you make your way past him to curiously survey his work.

“You didn’t have to go through the effort, I could have cooked you something, y’know,” you comment as you lean over the large pot on the stove.

The contents are a rich brown color with hints of potatoes, carrots, and onions peaking out. You’re gifted another pang of hunger and you quickly step back as if it would prevent you from falling into temptation.

Kenma quietly slips into the kitchen directly behind you, his chest nearly brushing your arm as he speaks.

“It's okay, I wanted to cook for us this time.”

You freeze.

Immediately, you break into a cold sweat, the prospect of eating sending you into a state of anxiety. You can’t eat—you don’t deserve to eat. Not when your arms are so flabby, your waist so undefined, your inner thighs so close to each other—

“I appreciate it,” you start.

Your voice sounds unnaturally high even to your own ears.

“But I’m not hungry—I had a really big lunch.”

Turning, you try to offer him an apologetic smile but his face looks off. His lips are pulled into a slight frown and his eyes seem to be looking through you, as if he knows you’re lying.

“Y/n...I don’t like what you’re doing.”

You attempt to laugh but it comes out hollow.

“I’m not doing anything bad, just dieting a bit.”

“I think you’re being a little extreme.”

You huff, starting to feel defensive. You don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever.

“Kenma, I’m totally fine, I promise.”

“I’m worried about you,” he insists.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing to worry about, I’m being safe.”

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“Kenma, being this fat isn’t healthy!”

The words escape before you can think to stop them and you can already feel the shame pricking at your eyes as you turn away. You don’t want to see your boyfriend’s look of disgust once he realizes you’re right, once he realizes how fat and unattractive his girlfriend is. Kenma is skinny, he deserves a petite girlfriend who is just as tiny, a girl with slender legs that look cute in shorts and a stomach that lays flat regardless of the time of day. He deserves the sexy girls in his video games, in shape from years of training and perfected suited for tight leather bikini tops.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until Kenma wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into the side of your neck. He lets out a shuttered sigh and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s crying as well.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, “and I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. If you want to lose weight, I’ll help you. We can make healthy foods together and eat them together and exercise together—just please stop skipping meals.”

Your throat feels like it's stuffed with cotton so you can only nod in agreement, raising one hand to weakly wipe at the hot tears staining your cheeks.

The two of you stand like that, huddled in the middle of the kitchen, for several long minutes until the last of your tears have gone before Kenma gently pushes you to sit down at the coffee table. He prepares two steaming bowls full of vegetable stew for you both and you silently eat as Kenma tells you how low calorie the broth is and how many nutrients his mom said were in the vegetables he used. He tells you about a new fitness game on the Nintendo Switch that you two can play together. By the time you finish your meals, Kenma has already promised to wake up early to go jogging around the neighborhood together even though you know he absolutely hates waking up early and exercising when he doesn’t have to.

Your chest aches with how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go just if he thinks it will help you and make you happy.

A small part of your mind begs you not to listen. It insists you’ll be fat forever if you don’t starve yourself; no pain, no gain. But the more rational part of you gazes into those soft golden eyes, filled with concern and love as he rambles on about the best sources of protein—all stuff he had learned from his professional volleyball player friend Hinata—and you know your answer.

Kenma loves you, he would do anything to see you happy and healthy and you would do anything to please him.

You love him more than you hate yourself.

[fuckthesworld]

POLAROID [ STILES STILINSKI x ISSAC LAHEY x READER ]

Warnings: smut, pure filth and smut, threesome, fem receiving oral, anal, double penetration

“Hey Issac,” you say one day, sitting down on the couch next to him, you have a proposition for him after Stiles mentioned his reaction to seeing the pictures he takes of you.

“Oh, hey, hi,” he stutters, his cheeks red, knowing you and Stiles were just spending time in the bedroom with his present. Issac is a great gift-giver, and you and Stiles have gone through way too many Polaroid films already.

“I was just wondering, and feel free to say no, but Sti and I were wondering if you wanted to see some of the photos we took with your gift?”

Issac thinks for a moment, but only because he doesn’t want to look insanely desperate and eager if he says yes right away, and just in case this is some trick from both of you, a way of seeing if he really did enjoy the pictures from Stiles phone so Stiles can kick his ass.

“Sure, yeah, only you know, if you want to,” Issac says, trying his hardest to keep his voice level and not sound too excited.

Stiles watching the interaction from the doorway, finding it incredibly endearing that Issac has such a crush on you.

Issac leans forward on the couch, adjusting his shirt to cover his crotch. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you reveal the Polaroids, five of them that Stiles picked, knowing they would get Issac riled up.  Issac loves your breasts, both you and Stiles know this because when all of you work out and you wear a sports bra, and only a sports bra, Issac’s eyes are transfixed on them in the mirror as you jog on the treadmill.

Issac takes the polaroids in shaky hands, eyes widening as his jeans tighten.

The first picture is a rather tame picture on most accounts. You’re on your knees with Stiles cock in your hand, staring up at him with innocent eyes.

The next is a little more out there, you’re wearing those pink nipple clamps and a ring gag.

The third is when Issac ’s heart rate really picks up and his breathing comes out in shorter pants. You’re laying on your back, rope intricately wrapped around your breasts, with two of your fingers in your mouth.

“You like that one?” You ask, smirking as you scoot closer to him and all Issac can do is nod while he licks his lips.

The fourth is of your fingers buried in your pussy, a full body shot, your breasts still wrapped in rope, your mouth wide open in a moan.

“You know, there’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” you say as he turns to the fifth and final picture.

“And what, what was that?”  Issac asks, his face bright red as he struggles to keep his composure, setting the polaroids on the coffee table.

“I’ve always wanted to be fucked by two guys at once precisely a brunette and blondie” you thrum your fingers against your thigh, waiting for Issac’s response.

“And Stiles is uh-,”

“I want to make my girl happy,” Stiles says, making  Issac nearly jump into the air. Stiles makes his way out of the door, around the back of the couch to sit by your side, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Sti and I have talked about this a bunch, and we would love for you to join us,” you practically pur, moving your hand to rest of Issac’s thigh. The warmth from your hand spreads all the way to his crotch and he nods, gulping as he tries to find the most appropriate way to say he’s wanted to fuck you since you and Stiles got together, probably before.

“Now?” His voice cracks and he wrings his hands before running them through his hair, finally, finally meeting your eyes with his grayish blue ones.

“If you want,” you say, your hand running farther up his thigh.

“Can I touch you?”  Issac asks, eyes flicking between your own and Stiles.

“Please,” you whisper. And your permission was all  Issac needed, his hands are on you in an instant, pulling you into his lap.

Yours find his hair as he kisses you, it’s hungrier than Stiles normally kisses you. All of the nerves he previously showed gone now.

Stiles watches, getting hard as you start to grind down against Issac , his hands gripping your ass.

Your tongue is eagerly exploring his mouth, the first new territory since you and Sti got together what felt like ages ago.

You can tell Stiles is jealous because he hardly gives  Issac any time with you by himself before he’s standing behind you, brushing your hair away from your neck and kissing along it, marking you as much as he can. You’re positively soaked through your leggings and you can’t wait much longer.

Ever since you and Stiles talked about inviting Issac to join you a week ago, Stiles would constantly talk about him while fucking you.

“How’d you feel with both of us stuffing you full?”

“So filthy, can’t get enough of my cock now you want a second? Want  Issac and I to fill you up?”

“Want  Issac to eat your pretty pussy until you come over and over again?”

“Boys, I, ah, as much as I’m enjoying myself, can we take this someplace a little more comfortable?” You ask as you brush your lips along Issac ’s jaw.

“Course princess, whatever you want,” Stiles says, stepping back to give you a chance to stand up.

Issac however takes you both by surprise by picking you up, following Stiles into your room as you kiss and suck along his skin.

“Fuck, you’ve got a mouth on ya babe,”  Issac grunts as he sets you down on the bed.

Stiles kneels down in front of you, kissing your hand gently as you watch Issac strip.

You’re both eager but Stiles wants to take his time, make sure you’re on board with everything and completely comfortable.

“Baby girl, I asked how you want us,” Stiles says, pushing your thighs apart and helping you pull off your leggings, your underwear going right with it.

“I want, fuck,” you groan as  Issac finally takes his boxers off and you get your eyes on what you’ve been thinking about for a while. His cock is hard and he wraps a fist around it, slowly jerking himself off. You realize that he’s staring at your pussy, now bare and wet for him to see as Stiles tries to keep your attention.

He lightly smacks your thigh, sending a painful shiver down your spine so you focus on him.

“Need to answer me before we can do anything.”

“I want  Issac to fuck me, want you to fuck my ass, please,” you beg, the plug inside of you shining and catching Issac ’s eye as you start to buck your hips up off the bed.

“Why don’t you let  Issac eat that pretty pussy? Make you feel good while I get some stuff ready?” Stiles asks, standing up and gripping the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

“I’ll be right back, going to get a few things together,” Stiles says, kissing you sweetly before turning to Issac , “don’t let her come, got it?”

You whine low in your throat as you lay back on the bed, your feet dangling off the side.

“Why not?”  Issac asks, slightly confused by the question as Stiles just laughs.

“Because, her orgasms are so much better when she’s being fucked, and especially after getting edged a few times.”

Issac  nods understandingly before Stiles leaves the room.

“Now, what was this about eating your pussy?”  Issac smirks, kneeling down on the bed in front of you and gripping your thighs.

“Please, wanna, wanna know how you use that tongue Issac,” you beg, hips bucking up as he pulls you flush with his face.

Issac  only groans his response, his eyes watching your breasts as he laps through your folds, kissing your clit sweetly before fucking into you with his tongue.

You let out a groan when his hand easily finds the plug in your ass, gently pulling it in and out, making your thighs tighten around his head.

“Fuck, issac, god,” you struggle for words as he continues to eat you out, his lips finding your clit again and sucking on it as he works you open with two fingers, his other hand constantly teasing the plug inside of you.

You’re close, much too close and you consider not saying anything, he could let you come and  Stiles would be none the wiser. But even though he’s only touched you for not very long, Issac can tell by your body’s reaction to his movement that you’re close. He lets up on your clit, opting to kiss along your thighs and stomach instead, letting you come back down from your edge before teasing you again.

“Do you wear this plug often?”  Issac wonders as his fingers rub against your g-spot.

You’re gasping when his tongue laps at your clit again, a third finger fitting snugly against the other two.

“She wears it when she wants to be a slut, feel full while we’re out in public or at pack meetings, likes to sit on my lap and feel it inside of her, knowing only the two of us know about it,” Stiles says as he reenters the room with water and a granola bar for after. He sets them down on the bedside table and grabs the lube, sitting on the bed next to you.

“How’d you want us?” Stiles asks as  Issac stands up.

“Mhm, wanna feel you Sti, please,” you whine as Stiles sits back against the headboard.

”Then that’s what you’ll get, all fours for a moment, let me work on that perfect tight ass of yours.

Issac  groans as you eagerly maneuver yourself on all fours so Stiles can slowly pull the plug out and work his fingers into you.

He uses a generous amount of lube as he fucks you open with his fingers. Issac kneels on the bed and kisses you through it, his hands groping and playing with your breasts and nipples as you moan into the kiss. Once you start to fuck yourself back onto Stiles fingers, he knows you’re ready for more.

“Want to lean back, sit on my cock, baby girl?” Stiles asks, lightly spanking you as you moan.

“Please,” you whine as Stiles pulls his fingers out of you and suddenly you feel all too empty so you hurry backward, Stiles arm wrapping around your middle as he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pushing past the rim with a slight burn. Issac’s concerned for a moment, moving to cup your cheeks and kiss you softly, asking if you’re alright.

“All good, man, she likes the pain,” Stiles winks at  Issac as you whimper, slowly lowering yourself fully on Tom’s cock.

Issac  groans when he sees how your pussy is already dripping.

“Going to get you nice and ready for my cock, alright baby girl?” Issac says, his thumb finding your clit.

“Oh god, Issac, fuck me, please,” you beg as he begins to slide a finger into you.

You let Stiles and  Issac work you over, Stiles lips on your neck, Issac’s suckling on the skin of your breasts as he opens you up.

They both know you’re close when you clench around three of Issac’s fingers and Stiles swears as you get even tighter around him.

“Please let me come, need it so bad,” you whine, starting to grind back and forth against Stiles cock and Issac’s fingers.

“You going to be a good girl for us? Let us fuck you nice and good?”  Stiles asks, your legs shaking on either side of his as you grope for Issac’s neck, desperately needing to kiss him again.

You grip the back of his hair as you speak, Issac’s eyes darting from your wide ones to the way you keep licking your lips, “promise I’ll be so good for you.”

Issac  continues to fuck his fingers into you, gliding them right up against your g-spot while you bite back a moan, trying not to come without permission.

“Why don’t you come all over Issac’s fingers? Show him all the pretty sounds you make when you come?”  Stiles says, hands gripping your hips as he starts to fuck up into you.

Issac ! Fuck, fucking fuck, fuck,” you cry out as you come, feeling all too empty the moment he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Who knew you were such a sailor mouth?” Issac chuckles as he uses his fingers to cover his cock in your wetness.

“Mhm, as if you don’t love it,” you tease, feeling  Stiles bite into your shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Issac groans, taking a little bit to find the right position to fuck into you, but once he does, you’re so full you feel tears in your eyes, way more than  Stiles and a plug could fill you.

Issac ” you sigh, his lips meeting yours, like he couldn’t get enough of them, like this is the last time he would get the chance to kiss you.

You’re so caught up in the push and pull between  Stiles and Issac , how each time  Stiles would bounce you on his lap, Issac would pull out slightly, only to fuck you even harder when Stiles pulled out slightly, that you almost completely miss your next orgasm. Issac’s thumb finds your clit as Stiles hand tightens around your waist as he whispers in your ear, “come for us, princess.”

You scream both  Stiles and Issac’s names as you come again,  Stiles cock throbbing inside of you as  Issac continues to fuck you. You’re getting completely overstimulated from the marks all over your neck and chest to your pussy, throbbing as you try to come down from your high as Issac makes you come once again.

“Fuck, you feel so good when you come, baby girl, so tight around me,” Issac praises you as his thumb leaves your clit for a moment, giving you a small break while Stiles gets close, whispering absolute filth in your ear.

“Sound so fucking pretty moaning like a slut for us, can’t get enough huh? Want to come again? Come while I fill you up, princess?”  Stiles asks as you begin to fuck yourself down onto him again and Issac starts playing with your clit again.

“Please Sti, please come in me,” you whine and although usually you’re the one taking orders from  Stiles in the bedroom, Stiles comes when you tell him to, his hands leaving a bruising grip on your hips.

You can feel him leaking out of you around his cock as Issac gets close, lips firmly attached onto one of your nipples as he rubs your clit.

“ Issac fill me up, need you,” you beg, your voice barely a whisper as you come, his thumb finally letting up on your clit to come inside of you.

When Issac finally pulls out of you, watching his come dripping down your thighs, he’s mesmerized, this thumb rubbing your clit, sending more jolts of pleasure through your body.

“ Issac,” you whine, legs shaking as he pulls yet another orgasm from your body, Tom’s hands steady on your hips.

“How was that?”  Stiles asks as Issac’s fingers trail down your trembling thighs, gathering his come on his fingers.

You groan low in your throat as he holds his fingers up and you look at the white substance dripping down them. You’re overcome with the urge to suck on his fingers, so that’s exactly what you do. Both  Stiles and Issac watch with wide eyes as you grab Issac’s wrist and pull his fingers toward your face.  

“Fuck, y/n,”  Issac grunts as you begin to suck on his fingers, your tongue trailing along the skin, continuing to suck on them even after you got them clean.

“Filthy little thing huh,” Stiles teases and you swear he’s already getting hard again as you grind against him.

You finally release Issac’s fingers with a pop, lips wet and panting as you let go of his hand.

The room is silent as Issac continues to swipe through your folds, down your thighs, picking up a mix of his come and your orgasm as he goes.

By the time you’ve finally cleaned his fingers off completely and there wasn’t much of a mess between your thighs, Issac sits back, just staring at the way your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Hey man ?” Stiles says, patting your hip.

“Huh?”  Issac asks, getting pulled out of whatever hypnotic state he seemed to find himself in.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

MASTERLIST

[blushnote]

↳ requested | 1.6k words

↳ dom!wonwoo smut

a/n: HELLO. i’m sure everyone is wondering what’s going on and WHY i’ve been absent for a few months. put simply: things got hectic and i needed a break! i’m not saying i’ll jump back into being completely active again, but that i’m going to come on as often as i can! (which might be every few days or so! i apologize!!)

as a treat for everyone - this features rich girl wonwoo! <3 

wonwoo stands at the street pole, conversing with his friends. the bar is unusually crowded. mostly likely because it’s a friday and there isn’t much else the townspeople would rather do than get plastered, forgetting the atrocities of work. his friend extends a box of cigarettes to wonwoo, offers him one, but he shakes his head.

since getting involved with you, wonwoo has attempted to forfeit smoking. it has always been something he’s done to pass the time at the street corner. plus, he likes the idea of blowing a big, stinging cloud right into someone’s face when they give him attitude. 

instead wonwoo suckles on a lollipop that tastes like an artificially sweet strawberry, pushes up the bridge of his glasses, and folds some silvery hair under his beanie. he knows it’s about the right time for you to be returning from that dinner party your parents forced you into attending.

as wonwoo’s friend exaggerates a tale about getting into a fist-driven confrontation at a bus stop last week, someone strutting by on the packed street bumps wonwoo’s shoulder.

“choose a better place to stand.” the stranger rumbles, agitated.

wonwoo flicks up his middle finger indifferently. “fuck off.” he grunts, the fog of his breath appearing in the night air.

he’s feeling sort of agitated himself. your parents have tethered you to a leash lately, forcing you to all these fancy gatherings and opening ceremonies and dinners. to put it frankly – wonwoo misses you. your laugh, your eyes, the texture of your skin, your voice in his ear. he’s been wanting an excuse to get his hands all over you. every single inch.

that’s when he hears the ding in his jacket pocket. looking away from the dramatic enactment involving his friend driving a fist into his palm, wonwoo checks his phone to see a text from you. a series of images.

23:28 // JPEG.1034

23:28 // JPEG.1035

23:28 // JPEG. 1036

the three pictures load. he chokes on his breath.

23:28 // i know u don’t like when i spoil my lingerie but.

23:28 // don’t i look so cute :( so fuckable?? im srry but I had to :(

his teeth crack the strawberry lollipop into sugary shards in his mouth. that lace is squeezing your flesh in all the right places. the picture with your fingers splayed teasingly over your underwear, hiding your core, it’s enough to make him shudder, salivate even. he’s officially ignoring his friend’s story by tapping a reply, fiddling with the thin stick in his mouth.

(ww) 23:30 // u free now? head to my place.

he receives an answer immediately.

23:30 // hmmm why?

(ww) 23:30 // u know why. don’t act like such a brat.

already, wonwoo can sense the desire form inside him. pounding almost. like a second heartbeat. you’re usually compliant and bending to his carnal whims. maybe all this time away from each other has you forgetting just how well wonwoo can fuck that stubbornness out.

23:30 // it’s new. i don’t want u ripping anything!!

(ww) 23:30 // idc.

23:30 // so mean!! not even gonna let u touch me now :-)

(ww) 23:30 // yeah. ok. we’ll see about it then.

after sliding his phone back in his pocket, wonwoo glances briefly in through the bar window. he sees a bartender pour a glass full of ice cubes before sloshing in a surge of alcohol. at that, wonwoo gets an idea. when his friends question about why he’s leaving so suddenly, he smirks.

“need to teach someone how to behave.” wonwoo shrugs before jogging quickly across the street.

“i’m not gonna tell you again. keep your fuckin’ thighs spread nice and wide for me or else i won’t let you cum – not even once. you understand?”

a harsh dip in your stomach suggests the breath you just inhaled. after a moment of silence, he hears you comply, and watches with his hungry, intent gaze as your legs part open for him. wonwoo has been teasing you with a bowl of ice cubes. at first, he held them to your nipples, had you whimpering into his mouth while he simultaneously rubbed his tongue against yours. but the real fun began when he introduced the ice cubes to your lower region. it was a very different punishment compared to his past endeavours, a tantalizing one.

wonwoo returns the cube to the nook of your inner thigh, then creeps it slowly toward your core. you’re beginning to tremble with the restraint required to not snap your legs shut. the ice cube ghosts transiently up your slit, a contact you had yet to experience, and a beautiful gasp tears from your lungs. he swears that you leak even more onto the sheets.

he takes the cube away, then drags his warm tongue from the bottom of your pussy right to the top, delivering a slow, flat lick which tastes sweet and cold and makes him so unbelievably dizzy with how much he loves it.

“w-wonwoo, please, pl-please keep going.” you stutter, opening your thighs even wider to invite his tongue.

he shakes his head. “what else did i tell you? don’t ask me to do anything. you’ll lie there and you’ll fuckin’ take it.” smiling, wonwoo issues a tight grip on the ice cube and presses it right into your clit. you whine sharp and loud, your hands traveling all over your body in confusion, not sure if it’s more pleasure than pain, or a hot mix of both.

“or are you still interested in acting like such a brat, hm?” wonwoo utters in his deep voice. “ like a smug little princess who thinks she can tease me whenever she wants and she’ll still get my cock all the way inside her? nice and full, just how she likes it. is that it, babygirl?”

he feels the ice melt under his fingers. you can hardly piece together a response, just a very incoherent, “no wonwoo” as tears start slipping down your cheeks. wonwoo takes the cube away, then massages your clit with his thumb, warming you up slowly. a few jolts pass through your body. he can tell you’re falling apart inside with how badly you want to cum, though wonwoo had strictly told you to hold it. he rubs and rubs and rubs, barking at you to control yourself, your pussy so slippery with arousal that it’s running all down your skin and wetting the bed.

right when he feels you’re about to snap, wonwoo completely removes his touch. you wail at that, suckle in a shaky breath and cry his name.

“please, wonwoo! i-i’m sorry, m’soso sorry! i’m sorry for acting so bratty and sending those pictures, t-teasing you like that! but i just c-ccan’t take this anymore. treat me however you want, but please let me cum!”

he’s truly missed the sound of you begging for him. his cock twitches in his pants, reminding him of how hard he currently is. each time you cry the boy’s name in such a lewd manner, there’s another surge of pleasure and he aches even more, to the point where he could cum just from touching himself over his clothes. still, wonwoo must ensure you’ve really learned your lesson. so, he offers you a deal. he’ll get to watch you pleasure yourself with the ice cube until he cums.

and so wonwoo sits in a chair based at the end of the bed, a hand stuffed down his pants, watching you swirl an ice cube at your sensitive core. he guides you every now and then: “hold it right there, pretty baby. let it melt all the way down. that’s it, sweetheart. n-now rub it, okay? f-finger yourself too. nnrgh, f-fuck. fuck you sound so wet. m’gonna c-cum—”

his strokes lash faster until wonwoo’s head rolls back against the chair, his eyes blinking shut while he chases his high. he hears you continue to whine as he cums, his cock throbbing in his hand, still so hard and heavy. in fact, wonwoo requires a moment just to breathe and let the heat circulate properly through his body.

with his fingers covered in the sticky mess of his cum, wonwoo approaches the bed again, fingering it as deep as he can inside you. he’s unable to remove his gaze from the filthy sight. there’s something so raw and intimate about watching his own seed getting pumped into you that sets his whole body aflame. he decides to let you orgasm as well, stimulating your g-spot consistently, letting you clamp down tight and ride his hand until you’ve got a full fix.

wonwoo supposes he’s done his job.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be able to look at an ice cube the same way again.” you laugh, sitting back against the headboard, tucked into his t-shirt.

drawing a warm washcloth between your thighs, wonwoo blinks at you, a very sly grin forming on his mouth. he plants a kiss on your nose.

“good. means it worked.” the boy says.

he folds the cloth over and finishes the last of his cleaning, ensuring there’s nothing more of his fluids that are still leaking out or anything sticking from your orgasm. grabbing your overnight bag off the floor, wonwoo pulls out a fresh pair of underwear and helps you slide into them. your lingerie sits in a pile off to the side, a few lace straps ripped.

“sorry about your little outfit.” wonwoo apologizes, staring at you earnestly. “it was pretty. you look good in everything.” he squeezes your hip and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay.” you murmur. “i’ll order something even better. and i’ll surprise you with it. maybe for your birthday. sound good?”

“mmhm.” wonwoo purrs, pulling you down with him to cuddle up close for the night.

“as long as i can take it off you, sweetheart, i’m fine with that.”

[legolaslovely]

A Dwarf and His Fairy

A/N: Here it is! The Fíli x Fairy piece I've been working on! This piece taught me a LOT! About editing, plotting, character work, etc., and though it's not perfect, I'm still really proud of it and happy with it. Thanks to all who supported me with this one. I hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Fíli x Ivy (my fairy OC)

Word Count: 3,780

Warnings: None!

Summary: Even Fíli needs someone to remind him that self-care is a requirement, and not a reward. Good thing he has a somewhat relentless, but very loving fairy friend to remind him.

Fíli slid the book away in defeat. It was as heavy as stone and full of numbers and dates and plans and problems. Even as the wicked pages turned by, they let out a nasty hiss and the scratchy old leather cover whipped around with a solid, successful splat, fighting Fíli until it’s last breath.

Once it was done, his surrender official, Fíli’s head fell into his hands and he groaned, making one of the last candles in his chambers flicker in his breath. Truthfully, the nub of wax, short wick, and tiny flame was barely a candle at all. It hardly resembled the tall, radiant torch it had previously been. But it wasn’t alone. Similarly, as the night went on, Fíli’s resolve had melted away and his shoulders warped and rounded like hot wax until there was very little light to give.

All because of that damned book.

       “I need a break,” he said to no one but the silver platter of untouched goodies sitting on the corner of his desk. There was a small, shining jug of sweet milk, a tiny jar of honey with a miniscule spoon to match and a delicate bowl of crumbling honey cakes. It was all left waiting, as was Fíli.

He stared at the treats and swore he saw them move. But he dismissed it, ascribing it to fatigue, and closed his eyes, leaning his heavy chin on his wrist.

Then something struck him.

It was a scent he’d long been familiar with. Despite its peculiarity, he could always pinpoint its source from the first time he witnessed it and matched it with its meaning. This was the smell of magic- frozen as fresh winter frost and balmy as sun bathed flower petals- and it effortlessly roused him from his near nap and provoked him to sit up straight and search the room.

At first, he saw nothing, though he did recognize the swishing sound of her clothes rushing through the air. Every spent candle in his chambers now roared to life with new flame and an endless wick. The room glowed as if it was midday, not only with candlelight, but with the hope and warmth of company.

       “Oh, my friend,” Fíli said. “Make yourself known to me. I’ve longed to see you again.”

She stopped, showing herself just below the ceiling in front of the desk. With a smile, she gracefully and silently descended, relaxing her wings and letting them sway through the air rather than furiously flap. When she found her place before Fíli’s eyes, however, the four little wings revolved again in a blur of speed in her otherwise still, hovering flight.

       “Hello, my dear,” he said, holding out a horizontal finger for her to perch on if by chance she was tired from her journey, or simply wanted to be near him.

She only smiled and took his hospitality. Even when her bare feet landed on his knuckle, Fíli barely felt her touch. Though he hadn’t seen her in some weeks and though they’d met decades ago, she still looked the same to him, as if time would never disturb her.

His fairy’s name was Ivy. She was almost as tall as his hand from wrist to fingertip, and she had long waving hair as dark as a winter night’s sky. The dress she wore was sturdy despite its fabric of light leaves and soft petals. Fíli had no doubt her clothing was made of the same flower whence she came. It was the legend, after all, though she herself never told him so. Instead, it was his fascination and, one could even say infatuation, that spurred on his research.

No matter where she was or what she was doing, his little fairy friend always appeared to glow. Fíli didn’t believe it to be magic or the pollen on her dress or the shine on her wings. He thought it was simply her essence that glowed and shone like a piece of a star drifting from its flight for his own sake and pleasure.

She was a pleasure. And she had been missed.

       “Where have you been?” Fíli asked. It wasn’t accusatory or disappointed or cruel. He just wondered. “Tell me of your travels.”

She sat down on him and squeezed his finger with hers, like tangled blades of grass, as if she knew how much he missed traveling himself. Like she knew of that feeling deep down in his bones that defied his kind and his duties, begging and pulling at him to wander and explore.

Still, the bundle of joy that she was, she didn’t dwell or dawdle, but showed him where she’d been, using pictures in lieu of words so he could see these places himself.

The visions flew up behind her head and revealed scenes that were so clear, it was as if Fíli was simply looking through a window and out into the most mystifying bits of the world. He could smell the warm wind that blew through tall grass on the hills and could hear the gurgling of stream water. He recognized the soft, wet, moss-ridden floor of Fangorn Forest and when he asked his fairy what she’d been doing there, she showed him the fresh green leaves of saplings. Her memories unveiled the fairies’ gifts of hardy seeds and fresh water, along with magic, but not artificial sunlight.

       “You helped them grow,” Fíli said, astonished at the ability and yet, not surprised at his friend’s generous deeds.

Ivy smiled and another scene flashed above her head. This one sent real spray into Fíli’s face that knocked him back into his chair with an indignant cry.

Her feet kicked through the air as she laid back and laughed, making the sound of a small bell ringing in the distance. It was the only sound Fíli ever heard from her and upon hearing it, he instantly forgave her antics.

       “What was that?” he asked, voice left high from his surprised yelp.

It only made her giggle more and even louder, like the bell was soaring closer to Fíli’s ears. With a hand over her belly, she leaned back again and in her entertainment, slid right off Fíli’s finger.

       “Hey there, careful!” Fíli chided, grinning all the way. He caught her, sitting her in his palm to avoid another slip. When she calmed and settled in the cushiony pillow of his hand, he said, “I should have let you tumble for that trick!” He winked. “But then again, you would have flapped your wings before you hit the ground, hm?” She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was fruitless. She giggled again and pointed at him with a shaking finger.

       “You’re right,” he said. “I would never let you fall.”

At that, she turned fully pink. Not just the round of her cheeks or the tips of her pointed ears, but completely pink- wings and all. Fíli loved it when she did that, especially when he was the reason for it.

The bright shade only lasted for a moment, however, and she quickly brushed her hair off her shoulder, pushing the locks down her back, and brought Fíli’s attention back to the scene that had splashed him. With a flick of her finger, she showed him more, uncovering a waterfall that was so tall, it could have reached the parapets of the mountain of Erebor. The water that flowed off the cliff and into the serene lake was as blue as the summer sky and framed with the deep green clouds of the hanging trees and stout bushes near its edges. The bright sunlight left specks of glitter in the fall’s foam and a radiant ribbon through the water’s center that was so blinding, Fíli had to squint hard until the vision moved and gave him a new, less glaring view.

       “It’s so beautiful,” he said.

She let him admire the scene for a long, generous moment before taking him along the trails hidden in the connecting forest to show him its exact location. The exploration was all done through the window of the vision.

       “I know where that is,” he said. “It’s not too far from here, close enough where you and I could sneak away. It seems I’m not the only one who could use a break from my duties.”

The fairy smiled and nodded, hair waving against Fíli’s palm and tickling him. In her eagerness, the shining curtain parted and one stubborn lock fell in her eyes. That rogue twist of hair was something that teased her often, but if it was an imperfection, it was one that only endeared her to Fíli all the more.

Before she could right the tendril herself, Fíli lifted his hand, brushing his fingertip very carefully over her small cheek and pushing her feather soft hair over her shoulder. He let his finger settle against her neck, but she grabbed him in a hurry, pulling him off of her skin, yet still keeping him close to her.

Before he could answer, her entire body shivered and shook and she pouted at him. Then she turned away. As if shaking water from her fingers, her hand flicked to the dark fireplace in the corner of Fíli’s chambers and she built him a fire flame by flame.

She felt that he was cold.

He laughed, immeasurably relieved that was all. He immediately stopped her waving arm.

       “I’ll make a fire. Don’t tire yourself over me, I’ll do it myself.”

She frowned at him, gravely shaking her head as he crossed the room.

       “Don’t give me that look! You know dwarves don’t feel the cold as you do. It’s not like I would let myself freeze over.”

She flew around him, waving over the stone cold bricks to warm them. Then she stopped in front of his eyes with a very unimpressed glare.

       “All right, all right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Then she smiled, wriggled, and flew back to where he’d been sitting.

As he took the firewood from its rack and stacked the logs just so, he checked over his shoulder to assure himself that she hadn’t left in a flurry. But there she was, legs dangling and swinging from her spot on the right arm of his chair.

After singeing a part of his sleeve on the flame she’d ignited for him, he turned back to his work and said, “I’ve missed you, you know,” throwing out the confession before he lost his nerve. “But I knew you must have been busy. Fairies never seem to stop and rest, especially you. Not even for the honey cakes I’ve set out for you every night for the past weeks.”

He finally peeked over his shoulder and chuckled at her wide eyes.

She pointed to herself in question.

       “Yes, they’re for you! I don’t know anyone else who garnishes their honey cakes with even more honey and then finishes them off with sweet milk. Do you?”

He expected a funny little glare from her, but didn’t receive any such thing. She was too grateful, too excited about her treats. She flew around them, as if deciding which one she wanted to indulge in first.

Once the fire was crackling, Fíli returned to his desk chair. He poured the small jug of milk into an even tinier cup for her- one that he’d had made special by the potter at the market. He’d felt the looks burning his back when he purchased it at the stall, but those and the extra work had all been worth it when his fairy first saw it. Specially made for her. And her sweet milk.

       “There’s more where those came from so go ahead and enjoy,” Fíli said.

With two straining hands and trembling arms, she held out an entire honey cake and offered it to him. Only to save her strength, Fíli took it with thanks, and so as not to offend her, he took a bite when she did. As her small piece left her eyes rolling closed as only a delicious delicacy would, the other half of Fíli’s cake crumbled in his fingers as the sweetness dissolved on his tongue.

       “Do you like them?” Fíli asked after a gulp.

In answer, Ivy burst into the air, twirling and spinning, sparkles and glowing fragments of pure joy following her flight. She flew in front of him and nodded.

Then suddenly, she laughed at him.

Before Fíli could lift a finger, she came close to him and her cool hands, like little raindrops, cleaned the mess of cake crumbles from his chin. He was amazed, she didn’t seem to mind the coarse hair of his beard on her delicate fingers. Not at all. In fact, if he could hazard a guess, he would have thought she lingered closeby, touching him, for longer than necessary. Unfortunately, she caught herself. Giving a funny salute, she flew back to her spot on the edge of the silver treat tray. Even when she dipped the next small chunk of cake into the jar of honey, her bite stayed intact all the way from the platter to her mouth. It must have been magic, Fíli thought.

       “I think these are extra tasty tonight,” he said, popping the rest of his piece past his lips. Then he leaned down to her. “But very short. Care to help me with these crumbs?” he asked, wriggling his scrunched mouth.

In a blink, she flushed pink from her tiny toes to her forehead. But she laughed and tugged on the braided mustache that swung closest to her.

       “Fine! I’ll do it myself,” he joked, enjoying her ringing giggle.

After a neat little swig of sweet milk, Ivy rose from her seat, holding her belly.

       “All finished?”

She shook her head violently.

       “Just a break then? Good. They’d call for a medic if we sent even a crumb back down to the kitchens. They all know no tray of sweets has ever survived the two of us.”

She glowed and left her spot next to the cakes. As always, she effortlessly identified the most recent bane of Fíli’s existence. It made him wonder if it was Ivy’s magic that helped her do it, or if it was simply a freakish skill. Either way, the moment she left the platter, she headed for the leather bound book Fíli had discarded before her arrival. She tapped the binding with her toe, questioning. But Fíli knew she’d seen it before and the little thing was fishing for a confession.

He also knew he’d been caught.

       “I was just putting it away for the night.”

She sent a glare his way whose meaning was as clear as if the letters were written across her round little nose: Liar.

In truth, Fíli had forgotten all about the book and its contents the moment his fairy made her presence known. It was mystical how quickly his mind moved from hopelessness and exhaustion to joy and wonder whenever Ivy was near. He often asked himself if he had the same effect on her, but had yet to gather the courage to ask.

Her peculiar movement pulled him from his thoughts. She’d squatted down like a dwarf about to lift a cart brimming with stone and with all her might, lifted the book’s heavy leather cover. Then with silent, bare feet, she walked over the title page until she’d flipped the book open.

       “Excuse me,” Fíli said with mock offense. “There are trade secrets in this book, you know. For no one’s view but my own.”

She rolled her eyes at him and lifted her finger, pointing to the end of the ribbon bookmark. She twirled her wrist and the light shooting out from under her tidy fingernails sent the pages whipping by as if caught in a windstorm. A moment later, the pages fell flat.

The place left open was riddled with smear marks and ink blotches, scrawled notes and words that had been crossed out with enough force to scratch the next few pages.

Her eyebrow crooked like the roof of a village house, accusing Fíli of the mess.

       “Ruling a kingdom isn’t easy,” he explained with a shrug. “Things get a little… untidy.”

Ivy’s lip quirked and she leaned down to skim her hand across the page under her feet. A rippling wave of fresh magic traveled across the paper from Ivy’s toes out to the corner edges, continuing through the air until it hit Fíli’s nose- that light, unique scent he’d always associated with his fairy. It immediately relaxed him, giving him peace wherever the information hidden in that book stole it away.

When the wave cleared, Fíli saw that his entries were organized anew. The spills and blots had vanished, leaving only what he’d intended in their place. Even his notes were left in the margins, now neat and crisp, with not a thought lost. But Ivy’s work hadn’t stopped at one page. Every section was free of crimps or bends, the cover was dusted and the binding was flawlessly refinished all in one singular moment.

It was astonishing.

       “Oh, Ive,” Fíli said, sighing out the rarely used nickname he had for her. From where he stood, he could see the pages were now smooth and soft as silk and he couldn’t help but touch them, running his comparatively rough fingertips over the center of the open book where the pages met. He took a corner and flipped through the last sheets, listening to the soft flaps that rang through the room- a noise that reminded him of the sound of Ivy’s rustling wings flying toward him. This torturous book was now bright and clean with a fairy’s mark.

The best part, however, was the scent left behind, pooling in its pores- that of magic, of his friend, of her belief in him.

Fíli held out his hand and Ivy flew to it.

       “I don’t think I’ll mind this work as much anymore. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She bowed, flashing her petal skirt with a flourish.

Just as Fíli reached for the neatened pages again, Ivy snapped the book closed with a turn of her wrist, almost trapping his hand inside.

       “Hey!” he laughed, startled from his daze. “I wanted to admire your handiwork!”

Once over her giggles, she planted her fists on her hips and with a demanding stare, pointed to the empty spot in the shelf where the hardcover belonged overnight. A stomp of her foot practically shouted: NOW.

       “All right! I’m putting it away.” He let Ivy dismount onto the silver cake platter and did as he was told, with a dwarfling’s grin wide on his lips. When he’d tucked the book into place, Fíli ran a finger down the soft, faultless binding with a whistle.

       “A craft any dwarf would be proud of.”

When he looked over his shoulder Ivy was watching him- carefully and contently admiring him. Even romantically, if Fíli was brave enough to use the word.

While he had her undivided attention, he winked at her, just as a tease to make her flood that pretty shade of pink. As a retort, she stole a sweet cake from his side of the platter and took a violent bite.

With a chuckle, Fíli plopped into his chair and watched her as he felt the exhaustion sneak into his stubborn muscles and his overstretched mind. He still had a sliver of energy, however, to wonder if his fairy’s glow had grown more intense after this time spent together. He could see it in her eyes. Though they were as dark as fertile soil, they were round and shining in the tireless candlelight she brought to the chambers. And now as she watched him, they were fearless in their gaze and brimming with affection in their softness.

Yet, despite it all, Fíli knew they were both aware that their visit couldn’t last much longer.

She rose and brushed the non existent crumbs from the purple petals of her dress, letting her wings flutter to life.

Fíli straightened in a rush at her movement, saying exactly what had been on his mind in a soft, sleepy voice. “I will never know how you always find a way to comfort me. Somehow, you’ve done it again, my friend. Thank you.”

She beamed, her smile like a crescent moon flipped on its side in the night.

       “Will you visit me again?” Fíli asked.

She nodded.

He leaned to her, taking her tiny hand between his thumb and forefinger. “Please don’t let too much time pass before you do.”

Her beating wings stuttered for a moment and her luminous aureola dimmed. Her twinge of sadness squeezed Fíli’s heart, strangling it like a thirsty vine, and he wished he’d never spoken so selfishly. But before he could take his words back, she fluttered up to his face and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek as her goodbye. Then she smiled, eyes brimming with clear sparkle and so many words unspoken.

With a wave of her hand, she beckoned him to follow her lead across the room. As she did at the end of every visit, she flew in neat ringlets through the air above his bed, dropping warmth, rest, and peace into the furs in the form of glistening sparkles like fresh pollen from her own flora. This ritual of theirs left magic on Fíli’s pillow for days to come. It would give him restful sleep, even with the weight of his kingdom on his shoulders. Her magic even seemed to quell the loneliness that often pulled at his heart. She always left a piece of herself with him.

       “You are far too kind to me, Ive,” Fíli said to her, standing next to the bed, close to her one last time before her departure. “Too generous-”

The blankets below him flew up and covered his head in a magical swoop. A fairy’s doing.

       “Fine! No more compliments!” Fíli cried, untangling himself. “But how am I not to, when you-”

With the covers back where they belonged, he was free to look around the room. The empty room. She’d gone.

In his defeated search for her, he found a gift left for him on his bedside table. A billowing purple flower with feather-like petals reminiscent of her dress sat in the now dim candle light. Curled around the deep green stem was a note that he fumbled to open with his round fingertips. When he pulled it flat, that same scent- the scent of magic, of his fairy- flew to his nose in a flurry and a message was illuminated.

Soon.

***

Taglist: @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics  @fire-flv @nerdbirdsworld @dashesofink @winchesterandpie @tumblinglringlring  @specialagentsnark  @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger @aidan-kili-mitchell-forever  @cassiabaggins @guardianofrivendell @lathalea @laurfilijames  @moniamoure @dark-angel-is-back @burningcoffeetimetravel @justfollowtheroad @vem-vem-writes @animallover81 @luckyluckyjesse

[turtle-steverogers]

she is very long so. enjoy😌

- Steve n Bucky going to the bodega down the street from their apartment. it’s open till like 4am and they go at all hours. sometimes they’ll go separately but they always go together when they go in between 12-4 am and no one who works there questions why

- they get a cat that they treat her like their child. it’s Alpine ofc😌 steve loves her so much but he knows it’s Bucky’s Cat and he’s fine with it

- you know how some siblings or partners or friends can communicate with their eyes and basically have telepathy? they totally have that and it annoys the shit out of every single person they meetjdksndks. someone will be talking to them and they will just make eye contact with each other bc it reminded them of an earlier convo they had or they both got annoyed by the other person or it reminds them of an inside joke or something and it just irritates EVERYONE. no one is able to intercept it and it’s just a thing that no matter what - even though they don’t mean to - you’ll feel a little left out when you’re with steveandbucky. it just comes with the gig. i like to imagine that depending on if it’s an au or not, its either really obvious or not. like in an au then yes it’s obvious they can have non verbal conversations, but if it’s not an au then it’s not entirely obvious bc they’re enhanced humans and they know how to hide their secret conversations. but everyone they talk to is essentially an enhanced human or has special abilities so it’s obvious to them and they catch them in the act LOL. if they’re interacting with regular people then it’s not very obvious though

- DATE NIGHT!!! yes they’re old yes they have date night. when they go out it’s usually to places in their neighborhood, but a lot of the time they like to stay in bc. they’re old men <3 steve is better at cooking and bucky is better at baking bc you can get creative with cooking and steve likes that more. he enjoys baking a lot too but he thinks bucky’s stuff tastes better. whenever they stay home though there’s ALWAYS a movie. always. they alternate choosing but there is always a movie to watch. bucky usually falls asleep nearing the end and steve plays with his hair😌 he rolls his eyes cause it happens every time but he actually likes when it happens bc he can braid strands of hair together

- pet names oh my god. so many pet names. every single one. mainly from bucky. steve uses them but maybe like two. he favors sweetie and buck and that’s it really. sometimes he uses hon. bucky though oh my god. every single pet name under the sun. so many variations of doll you wouldn’t believe - baby doll ofc, dolly, stevie doll. sweetheart. sweetness. blondie. pretty boy. hot stuff. stevie. baby. hon. honey. sunshine. angel. it’s just so many. and it’s like very sickening insane twisted etc but hot at the same time. most people are like jeez barnes do you ever shut up… but most of these people secretly think it’s a little hot theyre thinking damn where is that affection for me…. i need me a bucky barnes :| steve is the only smitten kitten outwardly even if he huffs and puffs sometimes but it’s obvious he enjoys it. like they are so annoyingjdkssn for real they aren’t a pda couple really but the petnames….. so many. so so so many it’s sickeningly sweet but bucky dgaf! steve is his sweetheart his dolly his baby his angel so he’s going to call him these things!

- steve knows his body is what is considered “perfect” but he still is insecure about it around most people and bucky knows this so when steve lounges at home in bucky’s boxer briefs and his own tee shirt or he kicks off his pants when he’s too hot at night in bed bucky is reminded of just how much steve loves him and feels comfortable around him which is something he always strives for - to make steve comfortable. not baby him because steve bitches at anyone that does that to him but to make him feel comfortable

- and on the subject of feeling comfortable i imagine that they always check in with one another but it’s very subconscious they hardly realize they do it. like steve will bitch at bucky to pick up his shoes from their doorway or to clean his hair from the shower drain but the next second he will ask him if his back still hurts from being kicked by sam and from where steve AND alpine scratched him (in very different ways)

- steve is the sweater husband and bucky is the sweatshirt husband. they trade off a lot but that’s just how their closets look

- steve takes a liking to crop tops 😌 but ONLY around the house bc again he’s really truly only comfortable around bucky. he wears em with boxer briefs or sweatpants but you can guarantee that the briefs and sweats usually just end up on the floor 9 out of 10 times

- hair ties everywhere. they can be found on the floor in the laundry in their bed in the couch on top of the fridge on their fire escape. they are literally everywhere. steve just picks them up and puts them in the bathroom but they always make their way back. he doesn’t say anything to bucky until he finds alpine chewing one and she ends up smacking herself in the face with the hairtie

- their fridge is always full with leftovers and food from sam or clint’s or whoever’s house or takeout. they always eat it all but they get and make a lot of food so the fridge is always full

- subconsciously bucky always has a hand on the back of steve’s neck. like it’s not ENTIRELY a possessive thing but he used to do it a lot when steve was small because it was easy and it was comfortable. for him and just for him and steve. it was like swinging an arm around steve’s shoulders or putting a hand on his shoulder. it was just natural and easy so he did it. a part of him back then prewar did it possessively too, but he always tampered that down bc steve wasn’t his. now he does it without shame

- steve really likes tofu and vegan meat, non dairy milk like almond and soy, and overall a lot of non dairy vegan foods, and a lot of fruits. he gets made fun of for a lot specifically about the vegan stuff but his reasoning is that there’s so much food accessible for people with allergies in the future that he wished existed a hundred years ago so he’s going to try it and stick with it if he likes it. people shut up after that

- he also tips a little more than he needs to everywhere he goes. everywhere. like it’s cool when steve rogers walks in to a restaurant bc he’s a superhero or whatever but its REALLY cool because he leaves a generous tip and that’s what really makes peoples day

- before they get legally married they are still very much married. like “i packed you lunch, meet me at the restaurant instead of me going to pick you up bc it’ll take longer, i got takeout let’s bitch together while we watch shitty reality tv, let’s bitch at EACH OTHER through the phone in public, let’s send each other ugly pictures of each other or funny texts while we’re right next to each other, i’m out with a group and you’re not there and i say multiple times ‘i miss steve/bucky’, let’s yell at each other from opposite ends of the apartment instead of getting up to see each other, steve i’m going to fuck you on the couch bc our room is too far, etc.” they are just very much married without the documents and legalities and it’s very obvious

okay all of these were ABSOLUTELY wonderful and im really going to restrain my urge to respond to each and every one but that might be futile

-okay YES they definitely go to that bodega at all hours, and usually it's for normal things when they go separately: milk, cereal, toilet paper. but when they go in the middle of the night, they almost always purchase some like odd assortment of candies and deli meat. also, they're always in their pajamas. like bucky's in plaid pj pants and a star wars sweatshirt, and steve is in like 5" shorts and a huge crewneck and they're both in slides and they definitely only speak russian to each other when they're in there after hours

-yes alpine! they also have a dog, that is more steve than bucky's!! his name is norman in my headcanon (and a couple of my fics) and he is best boy

-okay i need more of this in my general stucky life: steve and bucky being like,,, best friends as well as lovers and being so seamlessly close. like yeah, they definitely talk with their eyes, or just one glance, or half-sentences ("hey, did you ever get to--" "yup, on the way home. it was so--" "yeah, good. glad to hear") and they know exactly what the other is saying.

-yes to the date nights!!! and when they stay in to watch movies, they make Tons of popcorn. and they Have to make separate batches, because steve will Only eat his with like half a bottle of that powdered white cheddar on his

-YES we share the same fucking headcanon for petnames on god

Steve: love you, buck:)

Bucky: love you, pumpkin

-Steve definitely has body dysmorphia, probably even post serum (I have lots of thoughts on this, that might be a different post) and yeah, Bucky definitely knows its Big that he feels comfortable enough to be exposed around him (and he's even more honored that steve lets him be intimate with him, because that's really hard for steve, too)

-yeah! and easy check ins like "ur stomach still bothering you from last night?" "oh, no it was just a little bug turns out" or like "my head hurts:(" "i have meds in my bag. you want?" "yeah, just two" or like subtly checking on injuries, yeah

-yeah the sweater versus sweatshirt tracks tbh i picture steve in a lot of crewnecks so yeah

-STEVE IN CROP TOPS STEVE IN CROP TOPS and i raise you they're often ones he's cropped himself and he's also painted on! or bleach painted!! and theyre so cool and bucky never wants to make a big deal out of it, but he's so proud of steve for expressing himself like that

-ALPINE SMACKING HERSELF ALKFJALSDKFJA also steve always has a hairtie on HIS wrist in case bucky forgets one for himself

-they also always have Steve Staple Foods cuz i headcanon steve as a picky eater (adhd!steve + serum enhancements, it's down to a formula) so they have a lot of Kraft mac and cheese and easy heat up meals and lunch meats around for when he's having bad food days

-OMG and steve absolutely MELTS i raise you, too, bucky will especially hold the back of his neck when he needs to get steve to Chill Out. so like if he sees him stressing he'll put his hand on the back of his neck and squeeze and literally feel the tension drain from him or like if steve is having a panic attack, he'll hold the back of his neck while they breathe together

-yes and also any time that steve is Choosing food for himself and feeling motivated to eat it, it's a win, so people learn to back off there, too

-yes! he tips generously, but never awkwardly or offensively. he's also super kind and patient to food service workers!

-this last point is so perfect i cant. like yeah, back to steve and bucky just being,,,, the best of friends. ugly selfies galore, shoving their feet in each other's face, flicking each others ears. and yes, all the fucking gossiping. on the phone gossip, venting, fun gossip from around work. they talk about it all. and it's so great for them

thank you again for stopping by! your thoughts are impeccable!

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: hehe hello cuties, before i get to the chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and lovely messages you that you sent to me for the last chapter. as I said, it was one that was super personal to me and for it to be so relatable and emotional for you all makes my heart feel so, so full. these themes are going to continue, so please read the warnings cuties. as always, thank you so very much for reading my stories <3 

Part 6 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, HARD fluff to HARD angst, some sensual-azz fuckin’ (muhaha), unprotected sex (stay safe cuties!), lil bit of breath play, nipple play (f), cumshot, mentions of food, changbin has a cute butt (that’s the tweet) 

CWs: aftereffects of traumatic experiences, mentions of past toxic relationship, self sabotaging tendencies 

Word count: 6.6k (remember when i said i wasn’t gonna write long chapters? wellllll...ooP)  

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

When you were back in high school, before you knew a thing about what love was, your Art teacher had given you an assignment: what do you think that love looks like? At first, all you had really known love to be was the kind that you shared with your friends and your parents, and maybe with your family dog. You had read about love in your favorite books and seen it in your favorite movies, but you had never really considered what it looked like. Obviously, the assignment was all up for you to decide, but there being a million and one things that you considered love to be, to put it to paper with your own hand was something different entirely. 

At first, when you thought of love, you thought of the typical: hearts, hugs, the colors red and pink. But, this was too simple. 

“What are you drawing?” You had sneakily whispered to your classmate. 

She shrugged, and continued scratching away at her sketchbook. You had peeked to see what she was putting together, and for her, she had started to draw what looked like a house on the edge of a lake. The house was in the middle of nowhere and it was surrounded by trees of all different kinds and there was a single bench that sat at the edge of the water. 

You figured, love can be a place, so you started drawing that. 

Your pencil swiped over the paper in strokes big and small, and the lead rubbed off on the side of your pinky as you outlined the corners of your apartment building. 

You thought, I love the people who live here, therefore, this must be love. 

It made sense. People and places could make up love. 

When you turned in your drawing of your apartment building you were surprised to see the variety of other paintings and drawings that the other students had turned in. One student had turned in a whole piece that had been drawn with oil pastel. It was a jumbling of colors: mostly red, as you had expected, but it also held streaks of gold, black and teal. You remember your teacher really liking that one. 

Today, if you would’ve gotten that assignment, it would’ve been completely different. 

It was a sunny afternoon when you sat at your easel with your pencil in hand. Drawing out the mere outline and rough draft, tears welled in your eyes. A long time ago you had promised yourself that if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The sun filled your room in the golden hour of the day best it could from your frosted glass window. The warmth that the rays held made your whole body swell with a warmth, and it gave your shaking arms the power to keep going. 

You brushed lightly over the rough canvas with your pencil, tracing out the lines as if they were the very memories that you had kept painted in your mind. 

You drew a snowy night, not much unlike the ones that you had been seeing recently. You drew an empty alley, not lit by much light. You drew the way that the oil slicked in potholes mixed with the snow. You planned out the way that the industry of the city lit his back as he stared out into that dark expanse where you knew that darker figures were hiding. You drew him. You drew him on that exact same night that you had fist seen him: a dark outline, who would become full of color. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“What’s that?” 

Changbin pointed to your easel with a sheet draped over it. 

“A surprise.” You answered. “I know that I’m not good with surprises, but, are you?” 

“I don’t mind them.” He chuckled. “For me?” 

“Mmhm. Its not ready yet so you’ll have to wait.” 

“I’m fine with waiting.” He sighed out. 

You nuzzled closer into his bare chest, right up to his heartbeat. Both of you were admittedly a bit dewy in your sweaty afterglow, but this was of no concern to you. These past few days, this had been your preferred way to drift off to sleep. Even on the occasional times when the both of you would be too busy to make the time, when you finally could see him, it was everything to you. In his large and muscled arms, there was no place else where you had felt safer. You too wrapped your whole being around him with a feeling so close it must’ve been unreal. If you could hear the muffled little rhythm of his heartbeat, you were sure that he could hear yours. 

“Soon, all this snow is gonna melt, and then I can take you to loads of other places. I’m just getting started.” Changbin’s airy breath tickled your scalp. 

“Really? Taking me to all the usual places?” You mocked. 

“No.” He said seriously. “I want to take you to places I haven’t taken anyone before. My secret places. I...you know...wouldn’t mind if you could draw them for me either.” 

You giggled, “Ever heard of taking a picture?” 

“Hey! It’s not the same.” 

“Fineee. Okay, okay. I’ll draw them for you.” Your fingertips traced down the muscles of his back. “Maybe I should start charging if you’re gonna keep being like this.” 

“You don’t do pro-bono?” He ran along with your joke. 

“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider it.” 

He tsked, “Could you please draw for me?” 

You masked another adoring chuckle. “I do like it when you say please.” 

Everything about the one moment felt so sickly sweet, it was like you must’ve dreamt it up. In between the swaddling of sheets, you tried your best to enjoy the one moment: it was just enough to keep the doubtful whispers away. After all that he had done, said, all the pain that he had kissed away, or compliments he had hushed into your ear, the creeping feeling that you hardly deserved it all would rear it’s head time and again, even when you didn’t expect it to.

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you fell into the serenity of just existing together. After a while, you would narrow your focus best on the way that his breaths would rise and fall and the way this his body heat would melt into yours under the mess of sheets that neither of you bothered to fix. He would use his thumb to rub reassuring little strokes into the back of your neck where he had you. 

Your hand would fall down his arm, all the way down this wrist where his scar lived. Ever since you had noticed it, you couldn’t stop looking at it. Every time that you did, you were given a tangible reminder of everything that he had been, and was, to you. You rose the uneven skin to your lips to gift a little kiss to it. 

Changbin tried his best to hide his giddy smirk at the action. 

“Do you have to leave tonight?” You settled his arm around you once more. 

“No. Not tonight. But, for the next few days I don’t think I’ll be able to. They put me on the matinee shifts at the theater. I fucking hate those. No one comes in at all so it’s like I’m just sitting there.” 

“Wanna sneak me in some time this week? I should have a break.” 

“I would but...I’d prefer to keep that job. As much as I hate it.” 

“We could do something this Thursday? You aren’t busy on Thursdays as much right?” 

“Ahhhh I think so.” Changbin rolled the two of you over, allowing himself to lean over top of you. With a sly smirk he lowered his voice to say, “You know, my ribs really aren’t hurting as much any more.” 

“Oooh? Good to know.” You ruffled his curly strands. 

“I’m trying to say that I can go for another round if you would like to?” He bowed his head to kiss lightly into your neck and the fading love bites that he had put there himself. 

Your eyes wandered to your clock telling you that it was nearly 2 in the morning. If you had better judgement, you would’ve said no. But, these days, judgement wasn’t something that you took too seriously. 

He kissed down deeper, and pulled at your skin just in the way that he knew you liked it. Changbin knew the ins and outs of you perfectly, as well as exactly what to do send you quivering under him. All he had to do was press his body into yours so you could feel his weight, and it made you fold just for him. He followed his kisses up your jaw where he then lead them into your bottom lip and over every angle that your mouth would crave him. He often didn’t mean to do it intentionally, but between your parted mouths, his tongue would sneakily find yours, and he would slowly slide it against yours. 

“Do you want to?” He muttered between kisses. 

Under the covers, his hand cascaded down your side in a way that tickled slightly, but also made you shiver. 

He broke from his kiss to hold your eyes seriously. “We don’t have to.” 

“No, I want to.” You reached up to hold his sleepy and puffy face in your hands. 

Changbin said nothing more, but instead returned to weaving kisses back down your neck. Under your waist, you felt him angle up your hips higher and the heat of his tip teased at your entrance still slick with your arousal from before, and now renewed. He bowed his head down to your chest to pump himself with a few muffled grunts. After, he rose his head to hold your eyes with his own. The muscles on his arms flared where he held himself up, and those adorable little stretch marks in the corners of his arms moved with them. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” 

You melted under his compliment. No matter who many times he had said it, you still weren’t use to it. 

“So are youuuu.” You said with a dreamy tone. One other thing that you had figured out about him was that returning such comments to him made him a flustered mess. It was utterly adorable for someone as stoic as him at times. 

“Psh.” He scoffed, then lowered his voice once again. “Beautiful how I fill you up sweetheart?” Changbin angled your waist up higher, then spread your thighs, finally pushing them into your body to tighten you. He aligned himself over you, then pushed himself in agonizingly slow. “Beautiful how I can fuck you so deep? How I can m-make you...” 

He had given up on talking, but rather thrust himself further into you with his shaking breaths and little “mmm’s” getting caught on his tongue. 

“B-Bin...fuck, f-feels s-so good--”

He pushed your legs up closer to your body, allowing himself greater access to graze your g-spot. Your busy fingers found their way around his back to claw all the way down. He still relished in taking his time with you, and would never rush fucking you--it was as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. You returned around him, tightening has he fucked in and out with his own pace. After a while of doing the same, his hand crept around your neck to give you a couple choking squeezes that made you whimper out like a kitten. He would never keep it going for long however, but rather indulged himself in the way that your gasps would remind him of how good it all felt. After, Changbin dipped his thumb into your mouth to run the pad over your tongue. 

The tip of his teeth caught the skin of his lip which he bit into hard. 

“You feel so good baby. F-feels so good on my cock. It’s all for you angel.” 

An unrestrained groan escaped from your mouth as he continued and your orgasm pooled steadily. In and attempt to steady yourself you clawed back into your pillow supporting your head. 

He swiftly changed your position, taking both of his hands to turn you on your stomach. Without a pause he lead his swelling head back into your pussy where he kept on going at his favored slow pace. Your face smushed into the pillow with hips raised in the air. The fluffy fabric muffled your helpless moans. 

“Louder for me princess.” He growled. 

With one hand he arched over to tweak at your nipples with force: twisting and pulling, then he wet his hand with his own saliva to let your skin feel the cold and wet sensation. His other hand he used to reach around and rub circles into your clit. He was gentle at first, but worked your bud harder and faster. Your knees and legs shook the faster he rubbed, and you spilled your loudest and most unapologetic moans into the room that had risen in temperature. 

“Fuck...” He swore. Changbin allowed himself to quicken his pace inside of you. The action alone sent you spinning wildly into your orgasm: a tear of white hot heat that shook your whole body and turned your swollen bud into a sensitive mess under his fingers which did stop, even when when he knew that you had just cum all over them. The harder he pressed, the more wonderfully painful it felt, and you let your tears fall hot from your eyes to the sheet. You attempted to call out his name, but no words that left your mouth made sense. 

He turned your body once more, using brutish hands on your hips as he pulled you overtop of the sheets to fuck you into the bed once more with your sweating back stuck to the comforter. Your body shook with your orgasm still, and you needily brought his lips down to yours to kiss him with your thank you’s as he milked himself out in your tightening walls. 

Changbin was animalistic in the way that he finally let his hips snap over you, at last reaching his orgasm mere seconds after he had pulled out and jerked himself over you. Ribbons of his white cum came spilling out over your gasping chest and stomach and dripped lazily from his pink and flaring tip. He took in shallow inhales as he did, and kept rubbing until the very end and he had nothing more to give. Even as his hand dropped, you took his dick in your own hand to just twist lightly and ride out the last of his orgasm. He softened in your hand with eyes closed in his focus and came down. 

The combination of your lust held in the air for a few silent moments, then he collapsed back down next to you into a blushing and exhausted mess. His pink chest shook, and his soft heather eyes found you. 

“We should...probably take a shower right?” 

“Probably.” You grinned. 

Changbin leaned over to plant even more sugary sweet kisses on top of your lips. He always was one to admire his work, so he chuckled lightly seeing the way that he had properly covered you in his cum. 

“I can help you clean that off.” 

The bed shook and he rose to get you something to clean up. You wished that you could’ve moved to see him saunter around your room without a single piece of clothing on. It was no secret that he had one hell of a cute butt. 

Changbin helped you out of the bed, finding that your legs had started to shake and betray you a bit more harshly than you had intended. He ran the water for you both, inviting you in to take the task of cleaning you to himself. He took the suds in his own hands to brush them all over your body and took careful and gentle attention to the more sensitive parts of your body. He giggled a little at the way that even under the warm water, your nipples would still harden when he ghosted his fingers over them with soap. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You scolded him. 

He took care of the little bruises on your neck and collarbones, giving them kisses under the clear stream of water as if he was healing them. After he was done, you did the same and cleaned out his hair with your shampoo. He always let out happy little groans when you would massage his scalp. He still had a couple scrapes on his face from a few weeks ago, so you kissed all of them too. 

Changbin’s favorite part was how he could mess up your hair with the towel afterword and make you look as ridiculous as possible. Of course, you would do the same. You would brush your teeth together, and dress somewhat all of the way back again. A while ago he decided keeping clothes at your place was a good idea, but you ended up wearing them more than he did. You blamed it on dirty laundry, but you really did just like the way that they would smell all tangled up in your blankets on your nights alone. 

With bare legs, you would tangle yourselves all up in eachother once more, and not even bother to look at what time it was then. 

As it had become his habit, before the two of you drifted to sleep, Changbin would kiss into your forehead “l love you. You know?” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chocolatey goodness wafted up Felix’s nose, and he let out a happy little squeal. 

“~Thank youuu~” He beamed to the waitress. 

He took a careful sip not to burn his tongue, then turned his head to watch the way that the snow had started to flurry outside of the diner window. Minho flipped the pages of his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Whatcha reading?” Felix said with a little tap of his feet under the table. 

Rather than answering, Minho sighed out and closed his book. “Nothing now. If you’re gonna ask questions, then I’ll get distracted, so, nothing now.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Felix frowned. 

Minho rolled his eyes, suddenly becoming exasperated over his new friend’s dramatic reaction. 

“It was something that I’m assigned to read for one of my classes. It’s about economics or something like that. I’m kind of just skimming; reading because I have to....” He took a sip of his coffee. “Y/n should be reading the same book considering that we are in the same class...but I haven’t even seen you with it yet.” 

You prodded at your plate of half eaten waffles. “About that...” 

“If you think that I’m gonna give you the SparkNotes you are sorely mistaken.” 

You writhed in your seat a bit like an upset toddler. “Come onnnnn, Minho, you know that I don’t have time for that, working at the library and such...”  

“--More like stealing my roommate from me. I hardly see him at our apartment anymore.” Minho made his remark with a type of snark, but knowing him, he was still just as sarcastic. 

“Yeah,” Felix piped up. “The three of us haven’t hung out in a while either!” 

“...Sorry, I’ve just been getting...caught up in things.” 

Minho cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that its a bad thing. It’s just something that I’ve noticed.” 

Felix nodded, “Me too! I’m really happy for you!! So is Chan, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t seen you so happy and like, not serious in such a long time. Really, I’m so so glad that you have someone like him for a boyfriend.” 

Your fork scratched your plate. “--Boyfriend?” 

“Yeah!” Felix beamed. “Isn’t that what he is?” 

Minho too held an expectant gaze. 

“I-I don’t think...we hadn’t really talked about what it is that we’re doing...or are.” 

“So you’re saying that he’s not your boyfriend?” Minho cocked his head in his confusion. “Well, you ask him and he’ll think that it’s a different story.” 

“H-he talks about me?” You sat up straighter. 

“Well, he hasn’t explicitly said anything, but the way that he never shuts the fuck up...” Minho suddenly became much more interested in his coffee. 

“What? You don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Felix looked just as confused. 

In your hands, you crinkled up the napkin that you had resting on your lap. You hadn’t in fact, ever thought of such. Merely, you had thought that you loved him, and that you enjoyed being around him and that he had made you happy. Was it odd that the thought had never crossed your mind? 

“And he hasn’t said anything about it either?” Felix leaned in. To his side, Minho nudged his arm in the most non-obvious way possible. 

“...No?” 

Your heartbeat quickened in pace. 

“Af...after everything that happened back then? Didn’t you say that he like, confessed or something and you did the same? You’ve only been hanging out with eachother for weeks?” Felix pushed his cocoa away from himself to lay his hands flat on the table. 

“I...don’t think that we should press the issue.” Minho patted down the boy sitting next to him. 

It was the feeling that you had been avoiding for weeks: that kind of uncertainty and fear that you had pushed down so far after the night that it all came together, but you didn’t expect it to manifest like this. In your chest a knot tied itself together tightly and in a way that you couldn’t explain. 

“I...just like what's happening right now between us, I didn’t think that he would want--” 

Felix nudged Minho by the hip, motioning for him to let him out of his side of the booth. Minho rolled his eyes, but did so muttering, “I said we shouldn’t press the issue but here you go...” 

Felix slid over to your side of the booth, nearly shoving you up close to the wall with how near he scooched to you. Carefully, he removed the napkin that you had scrunched up into your palm. 

“Relax okay? You’re doing it again. Just calm down.” While his tone was sweet, you couldn’t help but find some condescending edge--real or not. 

“Doing what? I don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong??” 

Felix let you squeeze his hand tight, as patient as ever. 

“Do you not want him to be your boyfriend?” He repeated. “But he treats you so nicely? There’s nothing to worry about.” 

At first you were angry at yourself, angry at yourself for feeling the hot tears well up in your eyes in public, 

I’m so fucking pathetic. 

Secondly, you were furious at yourself for feeling anything less than the happiness that had made up your whole world for the past few weeks. You had worked so hard just to make something that made sense, and he made sense. Why did it have to be much more complicated than that? 

“Y/n?” Felix bowed his head down with his softening gaze. 

“F-Felix, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I’m just trying to understand so I can help you out with this. Clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you about, I don’t know, putting a label on it? If that’s the right word--” 

Minho sucked at his teeth, “He’s too nice to say that you’re self sabotaging again. Listen, you don’t have to have the answers right now, we’re just saying you’re getting in your own way at having something that could be really great.” 

Felix shot daggers in Minho’s direction. 

“I wasn’t gonna say this, but Bin’s been going through shit right now with his family that I’m sure he isn’t telling you about. Someone tipped them off about what he’s been doing and they’re furious. He’s been telling them that no one knows that he’s tied to them when he raps but they aren’t listening. Literally when he goes to see you it’s like, what’s helping him forget all that shit. He cares about you a fuck ton, and I’ve heard about it all. He wants you to be his girlfriend. Believe me. Don’t know why he hasn’t brought it up yet, but...” 

Felix took in a shaky breath, then turned his attention back to you. “Besides all that, I think that you should at least talk to him about this all. I had no idea that you felt this way. I’m sorry for making assumptions. At least, if you and him talk about it, you can figure something out right?” 

You took at the papery and crinkled napkin and dabbed it harshly on your eyes to dry your tears before they had a chance to run further down your face. 

“Why the fuck doesn’t he tell me anything?” Your voice wavered. 

Minho folded his hands on the table. “Knowing him, he probably thinks that it would be burdening to you. Selfless dick. He thinks that putting that shit on you somehow makes him seem like a handful or some shit.” 

“B-but I don’t feel that way?” 

“Then tell him!!” Felix’s volume rose. “When you talk to him, tell him that.” 

“What the fuck is this, a drama?” Minho laughed a little. “These communication skills are god-awful.” 

“Oh fuck off Minho,” Felix rubbed your back to soothe you. “This is real life, and we’re here to help out Y/n.” 

“That’s fuck off Minho-hyung to you.” The older boy stuck out his tongue. 

You wiped your nose against your hand, then Minho threw another napkin from the holder in your direction. 

“I promise that things will get better when you talk to him.” Felix nodded. “Talking always helps.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Thursday afternoon came, and the forecast had called for snow, but none had come. Rather, the atmosphere had turned to be dreary and grey the whole day long, and the temperature dropped so low that some local schools had to cancel classes for the day. Your university had decided to do the same. While you had been thankful and decided to spend the day working on your various projects, you couldn’t bring your hand to the canvas. 

All day long you had spent figuring out what it really was that you wanted to say to Changbin, and you still hadn’t figured it out yet. Even you didn’t know what it was entirely that scared you deeply. But, you knew that somewhere you did. 

Why her? 

You could do better. 

Isn’t she...boring? 

You hugged your legs to yourself as you waited on your couch. The memories seeped into your brain like some kind of poison diffusing its way. 

No, no. You’re wrong. You tried your best to banish them. 

You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, and dug your nails into the fleshy part of your knees where you held them. 

You don’t own me. You don’t have the fucking power. 

Three knocks clicked at your door, and you knew that it was Changbin. Your chest shook with a type of anxiety that felt like prickling thorns. You rose to open the door. 

“Fuck. It’s so freezing out there.” Was the first thing that he said. “I wouldn’t mind not having to go back out there if you are?” He slung his coat over one of chairs to your two person dining table. As soon as he was undressed, you were overcome with the desire to be as close as possible as you could get to him. It had been your safe place. 

Changbin let out a little surprised noise when you launched your body at him, but he just as quickly held you back firmly. 

“Is everything okay?” 

For a moment you let his rosemary and cedarwood cast aside all the ideas and words that ate away at you. 

“Can we talk?” You mumbled. 

“Yeah, of course. Can we sit down? Get a blanket maybe?” You nodded and let him do the work of going back to your room to get back your knit blanket that he knew you liked best. He threw it over his shoulders them beckoned you to join him in his arms. You snuggled right up into his chest where he had tucked himself into the corner of the couch. “Want to talk about it now?” 

With glistening eyes you tried your best to look up at him. His cheeks were still bitten pink from the cold. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your parents? Or about what’s going on right now?” 

Changbin sighed and bit at his lower lip in his discontent. “Minho said something didn’t he?” 

“You can tell me, you know?” 

Changbin shook his head. “It’s not your problem to worry about, so I don’t want you do.” 

“But you’re my problem to worry about. Don’t you get that?” 

He sighed once more, then rested his head atop of yours. Where he held you around your arms, he rubbed gently.  

“And if...being with me helps you...I’ll come around anytime alright? You don’t just have to come here.” 

He laughed a little. “My place isn’t as private as yours is.” 

You toyed with the fraying fabric of the blanket. “You know that I can be quiet if I need to be. Or if you just want me to sleep over, I can do that too.” 

“I don’t want you going out of your way--” 

“--I don’t mind.” You nuzzled a little deeper. “So, your parents are giving you a hard time?” 

He tsked. “Yeah. It’s just...stupid is all. They care so much about what I do and don’t do when I left so it wouldn’t bother them. They’re trying hand out some kind of threats to me like they have the right to do so....they don’t.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

Changbin helped you up a bit higher up his body so your head could rest on his shoulder. “Nothing. Keep doing what I’ve always been. No one knows except the people I have closest to me. They’re worrying over nothing.” 

You formed a “oh” with your lips. 

“But, it’s nothing to worry about. I promise.” 

Already, you had forgotten what you really had decided to talk to him about. It had slipped from your mind just as quickly as you had let it arise. The two of you grew quiet, and you let yourself become overcome with the feeling and warmth that his body and the blanket gave to you. You wondered if he would’ve gotten mad if you had fallen asleep just then. It didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“As long as we’re talking about things, do you mind if I ask you something?” Changbin asked after planting a small kiss on your forehead. 

“What’s that?” You said with a sleepy and cracking voice. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but I just thought it would be worth it to ask, since we’ve been doing you know, this, for a few weeks now. You already know how I feel about you, I think that I’ve made it pretty damn clear, but, I was thinking that we could make things exclusive between us? Like, it just becomes me and you?” 

Drip by drip, the drowsiness that had swept over your eyes dissipated. 

“Would you be up for that? I just, it seems a bit odd to me that we haven’t talked about it yet considering...well, I think that it would be easier if we knew what we were so then we could, I don’t know, plan or something like that? It’s kind of a commitment, I know, but I want you to know that I’m willing--” 

“Bin...” You pulled yourself up from his chest. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did-did I say something wrong?” 

Who’s baby are you? 

“You want me to...be yours?” 

“Well, not exactly, you know what I’ve said before, but, I would like you to be my girlfriend--” 

A sob clogged your throat. Now that he had finally said it, the realizations came flooding over you like the deathly winter chill. 

“Angel, are you scared again? I told you that you don’t have to with me, I swear that I don’t ever want to hurt you or anything like what happ--” 

“--Like happened what? Back when I was so fucking stupid to get myself locked up in something that I thought would be good for me? Why is it that you want me to be your girlfriend, huh? I-is it because I-I fall over for you? I can’t run away from you? Am-am I just a good fuck for you? What is it?” 

“What the fuck? Where is this coming from? Y/n, you know that I love you, I fucking love you like crazy and I don’t think any of those things!! I’m not trying to restrain you our use you or anything like that, I don’t know why the hell you would think that!” 

“B-because you might not now, but what about later down the line...when I get boring or you figure out that I’m not as exciting like I used to be or--” 

“--What?! No! That’s not gonna happen!” Changbin reached out to pull you back into his arms, but you shook him off. 

Salty tears filled the corners of your mouth. “The last time that I-I did something like this, I--” 

“--Well this isn’t last time, this is this time, okay? It’s different! I swear to God that I’m not that fucking asshole. I get that you’re scared, okay, that’s totally understandable, but I’m asking you to trust me alright? Can you trust me?” 

Part of you wanted to trust him. In fact, a much larger part of yourself wanted to trust him so bad, it hurt. But, a smaller part of you, a much smaller part of you still screamed into the abyss that he was the last person in the world that you could trust; and that voice, was much louder. 

“I want you to be my girlfriend, and I want to give you everything that I have. All my fucking time, my attention, hell, just minutes ago you said that I was your problem, can’t you be mine? Is that not allowed? I’m just...I DON’T get you!!!” Changbin growled out the tail end of his sentence and only after he had said it he realized it was much louder than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...please. I’m not mad at you.” 

Your body had weakened, so when he had reached out for you, you let yourself fall into his arms. 

“Angel, can’t you see that what I’m trying to do is the complete opposite of what you think I am? Yeah I mean, it would be nice to call you my girlfriend, but not because I’m trying to control you or anything, but because...fuck, you make me happier, made me feel like I’m less lonely in this fucking crazy-ass world. I want to be that for you and you only.” 

Poisonous thoughts. Why were they even more alluring than the antidote that you had right in front of your face? 

Your limp body mustered up the strength of push yourself off his chest. Looking into his eyes you felt numb. With all the care that he held for you, you felt as if you didn’t deserve one single ounce of it. 

Why her?  

You figured that in some parallel earth, you would’ve been able to have said yes. In that parallel earth, nothing bad would’ve ever happened, and you wouldn’t have been crouched in that alley with snow melting into your dress. You would’ve lived a normal life without pain and doubt. Maybe you would’ve met him there too, and you would’ve been able to say yes. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but can you please consider it...for me? I meant everything that I said, but I...I also can’t wait forever.” You heard his voice grow thick. “I know that if...you can’t do it, or iff you don’t know, then I can’t just make it happen. There’s not a lot else that I can do. But at least I want to try.” 

You could do better. 

“I-I think that I need to be alone...right now--tonight.” Two more hot tears fell down your cheeks with a sting like a papercut. 

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, just--there’s things that I need to think about, I don’t..I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“No. I understand.” Changbin sniffled. 

Slowly, your two bodies seperated, and the heat from his body faded. You thought to yourself, it wasn’t yours to keep in the first place. 

You lead him quietly to the door where you watched him lace up his shoes and throw on his coat. His eyes had become puffy, as much as you figured you had looked as well. His grey eyes looked tired, just like the dreary day that you had spent all day hiding from. Still, he smiled. 

“Y/n. I know that you think that you’re hard to love. But you’re not. If you take away anything from this, I hope you know that your past doesn’t define you, and that you can have happiness after it all. I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me. Only if you’ll let me.” 

Your clogged nose made a horrible stuffed sound and you nodded. You had listened to his words, but had you heard? 

He sighed with finality, then bent down to kiss at the salty taste on your lips. 

“Call me, okay?” 

You closed the door after him, then collapsed down the door. Your pent up sobs flew out of your chest with loud and ugly sounding sobs. Each one hurt more than the last to get out. You crumbled against the wood door, and didn’t even mind the cool draft from under the crack. Your world became a blur in front of your watery eyes and your hands shook as they took your phone from your pocket. 

Words of self loathing filled your ears as you searched up the name, but it was the only one that you could think of in your blind emptiness. 

If only things could go back to the way that they were. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The walk to his apartment was cold, freezing even. You had worn the shoes that you had been scolded for, and the coat that provided you with barely any warmth. You knew the way to his apartment well--it was almost muscle memory by now. Streetlights passed you overhead, and finally the snow that was promised started to drift from the heavens and before you. 

Your hands cracked with the cold when you pushed the button to his intercom, and he buzzed you in without saying a word. You showed yourself up the staircase with empty sounding footsteps echoing against the walls. Your eyes had welled with tears once you reached his floor, but you blinked them away harshly. It was a futile attempt considering that he would see how red your eyes had become. 

His door was cracked with old paint, and the number had been scratched off with age. You knocked one time, no more than that. Somewhere a tiny voice had hoped that he wouldn’t hear the knock at all, and figure that you hadn’t even come up, and that you could quietly slip back away. 

But he didn’t. He must’ve been waiting. 

He too looked to be a mess: his cheeks and eyes had puffed up and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely on his frame. 

“--Jisung--” 

Before you could say any more, he had leapt into you, and wrapped his arms around you so tightly that he could’ve rid you of all your breath. 

“Baby, thank you so much for coming. Thank you so much. I’m sorry how I acted at the concert. I just missed you so much....I missed you so much.” 

[amayawolfe]

Itsy Bitsy Spider (Chrollo x Fem.Reader)

A/N: fluff, spiders, angst, some harsh language

Word Count: 5262

Summary: Having been born in Meteor City, the majority of your life has been nothing but hardships. Looking back on it, you often wondered how you even made it to adulthood let alone become the treasured partner and wife of eight years to the head of the Phantom Troupe and mother to yours and Chrollo's son.

In the middle of prepping dinner, Chrollo and some of the troupe return from a successful mission. Your husband fills you in on the details as he and a couple of the members begin to help in the kitchen. The peace is suddenly shattered when your six year old comes running into the kitchen terrified, screaming, and claiming there is a monster in his room!

taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow @daisies-write

   The menu music to the DVD you were watching gently woke you from your unintentional nap. You blinked your eyes a few times to bring them into focus and stretched your curled up body along the large, overstuffed couch. This particular spot on the couch was often your place of rest unless your husband was home; in which case the couch was hardly ever used.

   Using the remote you turned off the tv and player then pushed yourself up into a sitting position. You snatched up your phone from it's place on the coffee table and checked the time. It was nearly early evening.

   "Guess I should start thinking about what to make for dinner," you said to yourself as you swipe through your phone to check for messages.

   Down in this underground hideout beneath Meteor City, phone signal alone was nearly impossible to receive. Thankfully, one of the family was able to figure out how to set up a computer that would broadcast Wi-Fi into the hideout from a line that went to the surface where a receiver was carefully hidden. This way, you could at least send and receive messages between the family and yourself.

   Your eyebrows rose and a smile touched your lips when you saw that you had a message from your husband, Chrollo.

Luci: Shopping run was successful, we should be home in the evening.

   You smirked a little at the cryptic message. The "shopping run" Chrollo was talking about was actually a heist during a gem and jewelry show. A heist in which you had helped plan out with your husband and three other family members.

   You glowered down at your phone when you realized the message had been sent a little over an hour ago while you were asleep.

   "I really need to get a louder phone," you muttered to yourself as you began to type a response.

You: I just woke up...

You: I haven't started dinner yet, is there anything you or the others would like?

   Phone still in hand you got to your feet and head in the direction of your son's room. As you walk through the hideout your sock covered foot falls are silent from a lifetime of practice. You pass a collection of pictures hanging along the walls. There are photos of you, Chrollo, your son, as well as the rest of the family doing random things a family would do.

 There were a couple from around the holidays and you and Chrollo are watching your son open gifts. Another was on Chrollo's birthday and two of the members had sandwiched his face between two pieces of vanilla cake with strawberry frosting. The look of shock and horror on Chrollo's face had been perfectly captured. While it was one of your favorite photos, he despised it. Chrollo's favorite picture on the wall was of you and him stretched out on the day bed in the library reading a book together while his head was resting on your nearly full term pregnant belly. You had to admit, it was a very cute picture.

   The home was enormous, consisting of s/n's room and his own bathroom, yours and Chrollo's large master bedroom with a large bathroom, a gourmet kitchen, library, study, massive living room, dining hall, training area along with a gym and a pool, a giant vault for looted treasures, multiple guests rooms with their own bathrooms, there was even a "war room" where missions and strategies were discussed.

   All the rooms in the place were lavishly decorated and furnished for maximal comfort. Any electronics and appliances were always top of line. Your husband always insisted on the best of the best for you and the family.

   Upon reaching your son's open door way you peeked in on him and found him laying on his belly on the floor reading a book aloud softly. He had his collection of stuffed animals surrounding him as though they were an audience listening to the story he was telling. A majority of them were a variety of teddy bears of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Ever since he saw a picture of a tiny teddy bear defending a sleeping child from a large monster he had taken a great liking to them.

   S/n's favorite teddy bear was one that Chrollo had asked Machi to make for him during a difficult time for s/n where he was greatly missing his father whenever he went on missions. It was of average size for a teddy bear and had medium brown fur. The button eyes were the same shade of grey blue as Chrollo's and it even had a dark long coat with white fur lining. But how Machi really outdid herself were the little details of a tiny book with a felt cover sewn to the teddy bears paw, the same mark on it's forehead as Chrollo's, and giving the bear little blue green glass bead earrings.

   Your son had been so happy to the point of joyous tears when his father gave him the bear made especially for him. He decided right there and then to name the bear "Sir Brollo." Upon s/n announcing this, you had to bite your tongue so hard it bled to keep yourself from laughing at the bright red look that came over your husband's face.    Sir Brollo had a front row seat sitting right beside s/n as he read. That bear rarely ever left your son's side.

   You rest your head against the door frame as you leaned against it and listened to your son read to his "friends." It saddened you knowing your son had no one to play with except for you and the family when ever they were home. But being the son of the head of the heavily feared and all powerful Phantom Troupe, precautions had to be taken.    There had been a few dangerously close calls of s/n being taken away to be used as revenge or leverage against the Phantom Troupe. Close calls that resulted in a sense of dread and anxiety that never fully went away. Even after Chrollo had gathered the nen techniques needed to build you, your son, and the family this safe place, the possible threat of invasion always weighed heavy in the back of your mind. And poor s/n was never allowed out of the hide out unless he had you or Chrollo and at least three other members of the family with him.

   These constant negative feelings that lingered in the air had taken a toll on your son causing him to become a very nervous and skittish child with a fear of nearly everything. You and the others hoped that, over time, he would be able to shake these fears and stand up to them.

   When your son finished the chapter he was on you lifted your head and gently called his name.    "s/n"

   The child jumped and looked up at you with wide blue grey eyes. His father's eyes. You could feel the sadness in your own eyes form at his frightened expression.

   "I'm sorry kiddo," you said softly and entered his room to kneel down close to him. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just wanted to let you know that your father and some of the family will be home soon."

   "Oh, okay, thank you mommy," s/n replied softly.

   "Is there something special you want for dinner tonight?" you asked.

   "Hmmm, not really. Just, no fish, please," your son wrinkled his nose, "I really don't like fish."

   You couldn't help but laugh aloud at his response. Stroking his soft hair you leaned forward, and kissed him on the forehead.

   "I know, baby, I know. I promise, no fish."

   s/n smiled at your  words and he began to kick his feet in the air just above him.    "Who else will be home?"    "I think your uncles Fei, Phinks, and Shal will be coming in with your dad."

   Right then your phone pinged and vibrated alerting you to a message response. Glancing down at it you saw Chrollo had responded to your previous question.

   "Oh," you said, "speak of the devil."

Luci: I have been asked to put in a request for your famous stew.

   You looked down at s/n, "How does stew sound for dinner?"

   His eyes grew wide and he smiled happily.

   "Yeah!" he cheered as he rolled to one side and pumped a tiny fist into the air. You couldn't help but laugh again and ruffled your son's hair.

   "Alright my silly boy, would you like to help me in the kitchen?"

   "No, I want to keep reading to Sir Brollo and the others," he answered honestly. "I want to finish a few more chapters before time to eat."

   "Okay, I'll come get you when it's time to eat then." You rose to your feet and started to leave the room. At the door way you turned and added, "I love you, sweetie."

   "I love you too, mommy," s/n beamed then returned to his book.

   As you made your way to the kitchen you messaged your husband a reply.

You: I can do that, I'll go ahead and get started. See you soon?

Luci: See you soon, princess.

   You felt the warmth of a blush touch your cheeks. A reaction that always occurred when Chrollo called you by his favorite pet name for you.

   When you entered the massive kitchen you set some upbeat classical music to play from your phone. You loved listening to music while you cooked and baked. You then brought down a large stock pot as well as collected a peeler, knife, mixing bowl, and cutting bored. From the fridge you set out a large chunk of beef, bacon, carrots, and celery. The pantry had the potatoes, flour, beef stock, onions, a bottle of red wine and garlic you needed.

   You really felt like you were getting into the grove as you gave your hands a good scrub. You diced up a few slices of bacon and tossed them into the stock put and turned the stove flame on to a medium high heat. While the bacon started to cook and release the greasy fat you were going to brown the beef cubes in, you cut the beef chunk into bite size pieces with impressive speed and accuracy. Chrollo wasn't the only one good with a knife.

   Once the meat was all cubed you tossed it into the mixing bowl along with some olive oil. Tossing the meat and oil in the bowl until the meat was evenly coated you then added flour, garlic powder, onion powder, season salt, and pepper; stirring it until it the meat was all evenly coated.

   Checking on the bacon and giving it a stir, you decided to let the bacon bits crisp a bit more and started working on dicing up a large yellow onion. Humming along with a playful piece of classical music known as "Thunder and Lightning polka" by Johann Strauss II, you really felt like you had a good rhythm going and was very much engrossed in your work.

   So much so you didn't even notice someone quietly enter the kitchen and walk up behind you. You didn't notice them watching while you worked, waiting for a pause in your actions before placing their hands on your waist.

   You let out a small yelp of surprise as you knocked the persons hands aside and spun around quickly, bringing the sharp edge of the kitchen knife up to your would be assailant's throat. You had expected to see the face of a dangerous stranger. But instead, you where greeted by the warm, familiar face of your husband. There was a small playful smile on his lips and an extra little gleam in his eyes. Chrollo normally wasn't one to sneak up on you like he just did, but he did tend to become mischievously playful after a successful mission. You figured it was most likely from the adrenaline high.

   "Damnit, Chrollo," you hissed as you removed the knife from his neck and leaned back against the counter, "You know better than that. What if I had cut your neck wide open?"    "Mmm, but you didn't," he replied softly.

   You sighed and rolled your eyes, Chrollo was never one to dwell on the "what ifs" of life.

   "I got you a little something, my dear," he stated as he reached into the pocket of his favorite long coat. Your husband was always bringing you little gifts when ever he went on a mission without you.

   From his pocket he with drew a small, dark navy blue velvet box and held it before you. You quickly washed and dried your hands so as to not to get the box all dirty, carefully took the box from his hand and let out a small gasp upon opening it.

   Inside the dainty box was a small rose charm necklace. The piece was masterfully crafted as the delicate petals of the rose were made from chips of rubies while the petals were made of dark green chrome tourmaline chips. Both gems were set in fine gold which also made up the delicate stem of the rose. The chain was made of fine delicate links also in gold.

    "Oh Chrollo," you breathed in awe, "it's absolutely gorgeous."

   Your husband smiled at your reaction, pleased to see you so happy with the piece he had picked out for you. He held up his hand to take back the box.

   "May I?"

   Without a need for question you handed the box back to him. You watched him take the necklace out of the box and he returned the box back to his pocket. You turned around as he held up the necklace and you moved your hair at the way so Chrollo could have unobstructed access to your neck. He stepped closer as undid the delicate little clasp and carefully hung the necklace around your neck.

   After he redid the clasp behind your neck he slid his hands to your shoulders and placed a soft, warm kiss on your neck. Chrollo's breath tickled the fine hairs on the delicate skin causing goosebumps to erupt down your arms.

   "A piece fit for a princess," he whispered against your ear in a low, sultry voice.

   His hands moved down your sides to your waist and pulled you closer to him. Your back flush against his chest, you tilted your head to one side allowing him easy access as his he ran a trail of soft kisses from just below where you neck and shoulder connect to your ear. Chrollo's arms came around your waist and he hugged you tightly as he nuzzled his nose against your ear and breathed against the sensitive flesh. You braced your hands against the counter as your knees started to feel weak.

   Mischievous and playful were not the only moods that overcame Chrollo after a successful job. You looked forward to the private activities that were most likely to take place between you and your husband behind the closed bedroom door later that night.

   "Hey boss, we finished placing all the merchandise into the vault," called a familiar voice, ending the tender moment between you and your husband. As romantic as he could be, Chrollo was never really comfortable showing physical affection in front of the others. Something that both amused and annoyed you the entire eight plus years the two of you had been together.    Your husband gave you one last chaste kiss just below the earlobe before turning to Shalnark walking through the kitchen doorway.

   "Thank you, Shalnark. And what are the others up to?"

   "Oh, they're arguing over what to watch until dinner is done," Shal laughed.

   "Why am I not surprised," you said over your shoulder as you started to scoop the crispy bacon bits out of the stock pot with a slotted spoon. "Say, since you two are here why don't you help me out with peeling and cutting the vegetables? The sooner everything gets into the pot the sooner it'll be done and we can eat."

   "Sure thing!" Shal beamed, causing you to smile. He always seemed so happy to you and reminded you of a little ball of sunshine.

   "I'll go put my coat up and then I'll come back and help," Chrollo replied and strode from the kitchen. Shalnark came over and washed his hands.

   "If you don't mind, could you go ahead and peel and chop up the carrots first?" you asked as you started to add the coated beef cubes to the bacon fat.

   "Yea, I can do that," Shal chirped. He dried his hands and set to work peeling the carrots. "How's everything been here the last few weeks?"

   "Dull and quiet," you said with a sigh as you turned the meat cubes, "it's pretty much the same routine when everyone else is away. Not that I am complaining, really."    "I would hope not," Chrollo entered back into the kitchen without his coat. He was wearing a dark sleeveless shirt with a high collar and some white bands creating a pattern down the front, a dark pair of jeans and white socks. The shirt showed off his toned arms, chest, and shoulders and it enticed you to take a nice, long looks at your beloved.

   "'Dull and quiet' means 'safe' for my two greatest treasures." Chrollo took his turn at washing his hands before asking, "Now, what shall you have me do, dearest?"

   Deciding against speaking aloud the first thing that came to your mind and causing your husband to blush in front of a family member, you set him to work on peeling and cutting potatoes.

   You had removed the meat from the stock pot and added some red whine to deglaze the bottom of the pot when Feitan came in mumbling.

   "Did you lose the coin toss, Feitan?" Shal asked while he was chopping the carrots.

   "Yes," he sighed, then added bitterly" and I would much rather help here than watch another sports game."

   Chrollo smirked and Shalnark chuckled while you bit back a laugh. The three of you knew that Feitan would have greatly prefered watch some documentaries on famous criminals; yet somehow Phinks normally won the coin toss on what they would watch when it came to what those two would watch.

   "Well, Fei, in that case you can get the dinner roll dough out of the fridge, space them out in a greased baking then cover them with a towel so they can start rising."

   You felt the look Feitan shot at you more so than saw it. He had obviously been kidding about wanting to help out on the kitchen. Or, at the very least, he was putting on a show pretending that he actually didn't want to help out when in truth he did.

   When you didn't look back over your shoulder at him after a bit he sighed and went to go do as you had asked. You had made sure to give Feitan an easy enough task where he didn't have to ask someone to help get something down or where he would have to get a chair. You knew he could sometimes be a sensitive and prideful when it came to matters of his height.

   "So tell me, love, how did the mis-" your question to your husband was suddenly interrupted by the terrified screams of your son coming from his bedroom.

   "MONSTER!! MOMMY THERE'S A MONSTER!!!"

   Your heart nearly stopped as you dropped what you were doing and started to turn to run out of the kitchen along with Chrollo and the other two.

   Chrollo was the first to the door but came to an abrupt stop as s/n came around the corner and ran into his father. Your husband grabbed hold of him to keep him from falling backwards then maneuvered your son away from the door towards you so Feitan and Shalnark could pass to go investigate s/n's room.

   Keeping himself between the doorway and you and your son, Chrollo knelt down beside s/n who was now clinging to you and shaking with tears forming in his eyes. He placed a gentle hand on his son's upper back while you stroked his head.

   "Tell me what happened, son," he calmly ordered.

   "I was r-reading my book and a big monster c-came out of the corner of m-my room." s/n stammered.

   "What kind of monster, sweetie?" you asked.

   "We couldn't find anything, boss," Shalnark reported as he and Feitan returned.

   "It looked like a b-big spider!" s/n added.

   Chrollo's eyebrows started to creep up his forehead, "Spider?"

   Your son nodded.

   "PHINKS!" you nearly roared. Phinks had been known to play pranks on s/n in the past. Pranks that didn't go as he had planned and usually scared the poor kid senseless. The Troupe member claimed he was just trying to help s/n get over his fears, you usually ended up beating the crap out of him regardless.

   "It wasn't me!" came Phinks's response as he quickly joined Shalnark and Feitan. "I swear!"

   He shied away and stood behind the other two when you locked a deadly glare onto him.

��  "No, mommy, it wasn't Uncle Phinks," s/n sniffled, "I was reading in my book and it got to a part with monster spiders then a huge spider appeared in my room!"

   There was a silent pause before nearly all the adults let out a collective sigh and their guards dropped.

   "See, I told you it wasn't me," Phinks muttered as he went back to watch the game.

   "Another false alarm," Feitan sighed while walking back into the kitchen.    "That's some imagination," Shalnark stated and gave s/n a pat head, "you must have thought the spider was one of those creature right out of your book, huh?"

   S/n nodded his head. His face was starting to turn red as he began to realize he had most likely been afraid of nothing once again.

   "But," he whispered sadly, "there really was a big spider in my room. And, I'm afraid it's going to hurt Sir Brollo."

   "Sir Brollo will be fine, love," you assured gently. "Give me a minute and daddy and I will come help look for the spider, okay?"

   s/n nodded and released his grip from you to stand a little closer to his father who rested a hand atop his sons head in means of comfort.

   You went to the stove, reduced it to medium low heat, added in the beef stock and spices then turned to Feitan and Shalnark.

   "Could you two please finish cutting up the vegetables and add them to the pot? Once that's done add in the meat last, give it a good stir then put the lid on. It should be good on it's own after that."

   "Can do, boss lady," Shalnark beamed.

   You thank them both and join your son and husband and the three of you head towards s/n's room with Chrollo in the lead. Upon entering the room everything seemed normal. S/n held onto you at the doorway and Chrollo walked a few steps further in while looking around carefully.  As he rounded the end of s/n's bed, looking down at a part of the floor you and s/n couldn't see, Chrollo actually jumped a little and a look of surprise appeared on his face.

   "Well, I was not expecting that." He blinked a couple times then began to look around the room for something.

   "What is it?" you asked. Chrollo smiled a little as he took a large clear plastic container and dumped out the contents to one side. He then went back over to the part of the floor you could not see, turned the container sideways and slowly knelt down.

   "An understandably good reason for our son to be scared," he replied softly, "at least at first."

   All you could see your husband do was make some slow, careful arm movements. He was speaking softly, to softly for you to here. You wanted to move forward to see what he was messing with but your son didn't want you to leave nor did he want to go farther into the room.

   You didn't have to wait long though, as Chrollo began to stand you could now see what he had corralled into the plastic container. It was indeed a spider, but not just any spider, this sider was enormous. With it's legs fanned out it was easily larger than your husbands face.

   "It's a snowy tarantula," Chrollo explained as he slowly walked over to the two of you, "it's sort of an ironic name considering it usually lives in hot, arid climates like the desserts around Meteor City."

   Once he was within a couple meters of you and s/n he knelt down and gently set the container on the floor. The creature inside barely moved as it seemed to turn and look up at Chrollo.

   "It's called a 'snowy' tarantula due to the white hairs all over it's body. The hairs actually shimmer and reflect the light just like fresh fallen snow. An evolutionary trait that developed to help reflect the dessert heat away from it's body and keep it cooler. A magnificent specimen to behold when the light hits it just right. Come see, s/n. She's actually quite docile."

   S/n looked up at you and you gave him a warm smile and a nod. He slowly let go of you and took one slow, cautious step after another towards his father and the spider that had frightened him so. You carefully followed behind your son wanting to get a look at the tarantula as well.

   As the two of you came closer, the tarantula daintily turned and looked up at you. You gasped slightly at the beautiful deep blue eyes that now stared up at you.

   "Now watch," your husband instructed and he began to carefully rotate the container in a circular side to side motion causing the light to dance across the hairs of the tarantula.

   "Whhoooaaaa." Your son's eyes grew wide in awe as a rainbow of prismed light moved over the hairs of the tarantula, giving her the effect of a living gem. "She's so pretty. I've never seen anything like it, daddy."

   Chrollo stopped the rotation of the container and carefully set it on the floor. He then reached over, placed his hand on the back of his son's head and gently pulled s/n's head towards his own as he too began to lean forward. The two touched foreheads over the tarantula and looked into each others eyes.

   "There is no shame in having fear, s/n, but do not let that fear keep you from learning and understanding the unknown. What once was scary and ugly could turn out to be something wonderful and beautiful once you find the courage to face it. Do you understand?"

   Your son smiled and nodded slightly, "Yes, daddy, I understand. I'll try harder to be brave, just like you, mommy, and the rest of the family."

   Your husband returned the smiled and closed his eyes, "Very good, my son."

   S/n closed his eyes as well and the two shared an unspoken bonding moment over the snowy tarantula who just looked up at them. You smiled down at the two you held most dear and felt your heart swell with love and emotion.  

   Your son was the first to break the silence.

   "Do you think we could keep her?" he asked as he gently pulled away from his father. "She could be our mascot!"

   "Ah-ha, I don't think so, sweetie," you said firmly. "I'm sure she would be a lot happier on the surface where she has room to find food and make a home."    "Awwww," s/o whined in disappointment, "when is she going back then?"

   "Probably the sooner the better." Chrollo added, backing you up before s/n had a chance to ask him as well.

   "Can I show her to the others before she goes back outside?"

   Chrollo chuckled, "I don't see why not. Just be sure to carry her gently and don't shake her. You don't want to hurt her before we let her back outside."

   "Okay!" s/n said with excitement. He carefully picked up the plastic container and walked with precise hurried steps out of the room, eager to show his uncles that he hadn't been afraid of just nothing.

   As soon as s/n was out of ear shot you turned to your husband who was now standing beside you.

   "I'm not going to lie, had that thing snuck up on me while I was reading I probably would have screamed, too," you admitted with light laughter sounding in your words. Chrollo smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist bringing the two of you close.

   "How did something like that even get in here? The airducts, maybe?"

   "It's possible," Chrollo agreed, "I'll ask Shalnark to run a check on the ventilation system just in case."

   You stood on your tip toes and kissed his nose, "I'd appreciate that. Also, you might want to ask Shal and Fei how the hell they missed such a big spider when they came in here to check for intruders."  

   "When s/n jumped up and ran out of here screaming it probably startled her and she hid among all the stuffed toys," your husband made a gesture with his head to your son's mass collection. You looked down and realized that, even though the spider had been huge, she could have easily hid between some of the bigger plushies blocking her from view.

   "Good point," you chuckled, "Okay, one more question, 'Who's taking the spider top side?'"

   "Once s/n is done showing the others I'll take them all top side to let her go," your husband volunteered, "we won't go far just to release her."

   "He's getting better at recovering from scares like this," you observed. "But still... I worry about him..."

   "Of course you worry about him," Chrollo said softly, bringing his head down to now touch his marked forehead to yours, "you're his mother. I suspect you will worry for him one way or another for the rest of your life."

   "And what about you? Don't you worry about our son?" you asked in the same softness Chrollo was expressing.

   "Of course I do, y/n, he's my son. But, seeing how the two of us are, and what we survived to get here, I feel s/n is going to -"    "AAAHHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" Phinks screamed, "WAS THAT IN YOUR ROOM!?!?! NO!! I DO NOT WANT A CLOSER LOOK!"

   Chrollo threw back his head and let out a genuine laugh. A laugh that made you smile and laugh along with him.

   "Hey! I can hear you two! Shut the hell up!" Phinks yelled, his voice cracking in embarrassment.

   His words made the two of you laugh even harder for several minutes.

   By the time you two had settled down and caught your breath there were tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. Chrollo looked down at you with a smile still on his face and gave you a long, warm, soft kiss right on the lips. It gave the moment an almost surreal feel to it.

   He was the first to break away from the kiss. Your husband chuckled as he swept some hair behind you ear with his finger tips.    "As I was saying, I think our son is going to be just fine."

[alwayspondering]

Promenade and Photographs

V x MC (Nala) | MysMe RBB

Hi! I had the pleasure of collaborating on this amazing project for @mysme-rbb with Mochi! The art that they created for my fic is spectacular! Check out Mochi’s Instagram HERE! ^^

Jihyun took in a breath of crisp fall air, the smell of fresh flowers misted over by rain enveloping him. Sunflowers. Lilac. Violets. This moment seemed too good to be true. Far too good, too pure, too lovely. Too full of light – of hope.

He couldn’t imagine a more picturesque moment. Walking the path to the nearby park with his beloved, he laced his hand seamlessly with Nala’s. Jihyun purposefully slowed his brisk pace to a leisurely stroll. If there was a way to freeze time, this would have been the perfect moment.

A momentary pause in both of their chaotic lives.

Nala was so grateful for the moment alone with Jihyun. Though they had been dating for quite some time, she wanted to spend each and every second she could with him. Being with him made her feel so comforted - so cherished. He was truly a rock she could lean on even in the worst of times and vice versa.

Nala couldn’t help but smile as she recalled the first time she met Jihyun - though then, she knew him as simply “V.” She had worked with Zen in a few theatre productions, met the RFA a few months later, and found herself falling for the tall, kind-hearted, soft-spoken photographer.

It took quite a while for both to come to terms with their feelings for one another: a slow burn, to say the least. But that’s what made the trust they shared in their relationship so unshakable.

“This is so beautiful, Jihyun.” Nala mused, nuzzling in closer to Jihyun’s side as they continued their walk to the park. “I’m surprised we’ve never visited before.”

The path in front of them was sprouting with all sorts of colors - red, blue, green, yellow.

Everything seemed brighter than normal, like a filter resembling a dream world.

A soft blush colored Jihyun’s cheeks as he squeezed Nala’s hand playfully.

“...I was hoping you’d like it. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been on this path. But aren’t the flowers here gorgeous?” His gaze scanned the nearby flowers, grateful they were still as vibrant as he remembered. With the eye damage he had suffered, he was lucky to have Nala to help him through the treatment process. He wondered what would be different if he hadn’t denied help at first - but he knew there was no room for regret.

Nala smiled to herself, returning the playful squeeze to the strong hang laced with her own.

“They really are. I can definitely see the appeal.” She commented with a soft laugh, recalling some of Jihyun’s past photo exhibits.

Most of Jihyun’s photos were of flowers - Lilies, roses, chrysanthemums. She considered herself immensely lucky to be with someone who has such an eye for beauty.

“...By the way, thank you for doing this. I really appreciate it.”

“No need to thank me. It’s my pleasure, love.” Jihyun’s voice rang in the deep, comforting timbre Nala adored. How had she gotten so lucky? She could hardly still believe that Jihyun was hers.

“It is my job, after all. You’re doing me a favor more than anything,” he continued, adjusting the lens of the camera that dangled in its case across his shoulder.

“I just can’t believe I’m making you take pictures for your job... On our date!” Nala joked light-heartedly, feeling giddy at the prospect of what the date would entail.

When it came to taking pictures, Nala oftentimes felt she was the farthest from photogenic. Everytime Jihyun took pictures of her, though, she felt and looked so powerful, feminine, and so entirely herself. He had a wonderful way of bringing out the best qualities of people in his photos.

“Hm... Would you believe me if I said that you are my absolute favorite person to photograph? How could that possibly be a nuisance to me?” Jihyun mused, stroking Nala’s hand with his thumb.

“I believe you.” Nala stood on her tip-toes to plant a gentle kiss on Jihyun’s cheek. The end of the path was nearing.

“Hey... before you start taking the professional ones, could we get one with just the two of us?” Nala considered, happy to see her words were followed by a smile from Jihyun.

“Of course.” Without a second of hesitation, he took his camera out of the case, holding it out to Nala. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

“Perfect!” Nala exclaimed, giddy that they would finally have an updated picture together. Especially with such beautiful scenery in the background.

Taking the camera, Nala extended her arm straight in front of her, angling the camera up so that both her and Jihyun fit in the frame. It was more difficult than she imagined - especially considering how tall Jihyun was in comparison. More than anything, Nala appreciated that Jihyun had trusted her with his camera like this.

She felt Jihyun’s hand rest on the small of her back - a gesture he knew Nala adored. Nala wondered if the blush that so obviously was coloring her cheeks would be seen in the photo. “Okay. On the count of three. One, two, three-”

As the word ‘three’ left Nala’s lips, Jihyun pulled Nala in close to his side - surprising her just enough for her smile to blossom as soon as the camera clicked.

• • •

A few minutes of walking later, the couple found themselves at the atmospheric park.

While he was with Rika, there were so many times Jihyun felt he needed to escape. To find a moment alone with his own thoughts. This was the place he often found solitude - true serenity.

He was grateful to finally be bringing the most important person in his life here - someone who brought him so much hope. This was a place he felt so at home.

“...Hm. There are weeds growing near these clovers. Let me just fix that real quick…” Nala bent down and plucked as many weeds as she could find. He loved how Nala so adorably demonstrated her passion for gardening.

Jihyun kept his fingers laced with Nala’s all the way until they approached the brick wall he designated for the headshot session.

The varied shades of red, browns, and burgundy would make for a perfect background. It would bring out the very subtle red highlights in Nala’s hair - the hints of blonde - her adorable freckles.

Jihyun ran through the monologue in his head he ran through with his clients, wondering how much he should keep the same or alter for his girlfriend.

He was delighted Nala was wearing her light pink cardigan; it emphasized her vibrant blue eyes even more than usual. The cut of the shirt emphasized her collarbones too - god, she is beautiful…

His mind began to wander - he began to visualize a little more than intended.

No. It’s time to be professional.

As Nala stood against the brick wall, it was obvious she was a natural when it came to posing. Zen had taught her well.

“All right, Nala. Can you give me a soft smile?” Jihyun instructed. The smile he adored so much appeared on her rose-tinted lips. Was she wearing the new lipstick he had bought her?

Click. Click.

“Great. Can you place your hands in your back pocket and roll your shoulder back slightly?” This also emphasized Nala’s bust ever so slightly. He tried not to let his mind wander any further than that.

Click. Click.

“Now give me some side eye…” At his words, her expression shone with a new color of sensuality. It was perfect for the camera. “...Good. Keep that!”

Click, click. Click, click.

“Wow. You are just breathtaking...” Jihyun took a moment to look through the pictures. Of course, she was stunning in every single one. He was right about the colors in the brick wall complimenting Nala well.

“...Okay. Hear me out. Look down, think of a secret, and look back up at me.”

“...A secret?” Nala raised an eyebrow at this. “I’m not sure I have many of those.”

“Oh, sure you don’t.” Jihyun teased playfully, adjusting the lens once more. A peal of laughter escaped the brunette’s lips.

Click.

Another beautiful, organic moment captured on camera.

“Okay, fine.” Nala pouted teasingly. Her gaze flickered to the grass beneath her feet. She took a moment to ponder.

And then, her gaze snapped up again. It rendered him speechless.

Click. Click.

Mesmerized, Jihyun took a few slow steps toward Nala. “...Tilt your head, just slightly to the right.” His own head tilted, wondering if just a minuscule angle change would define her jawline more.

“Do you mind if I adjust you, just a little?”

“Of course.” Her voice cooed.

Jihyun’s finger ever-so-delicately tilted Nala’s chin to the right and down towards the front angle.

There was little space between them now. The body he had memorized every inch of was just mere centimeters away.

The tension was palpable.

Without another word, Jihyun kissed Nala, both sinking effortlessly into the euphoria of the moment. Pulling away for just a moment, he waited for a sign from her to continue.

Nala pulled Jihyun in closer, pressing her lips against his. Her hand trailed from the nape of his neck into his teal-colored hair.

There was no denying they were all but pressed up against the brick wall now.

The kiss deepened - their breaths quickened - cheeks inflamed.

The reality of the public setting hit the two quickly. Laughs and explicit whispers were shared under hushed, giddy breath.

“...Would you like to finish this session somewhere a little more private, my love?”

[ancientwastedlores]

Undone by “Darling”

REQUEST (from @november-solarstorms​): Celebrating another year of this earth being braced by Tom Hiddleston's presence! Lol. Might I make a prompt request? I feel as though it would be interesting to read from Loki's POV to explore the dynamics between him and a human female who is just as intelligent as he. She has a sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Her sarcastic and clever nature enable her to out-banter Tony Stark, the king of snark himself (may he rest in peace). But she is also just as flirtatious and salacious. She never blushes, never falters, and is incredibly clever. You can decide the nature of their encounter. Really im just in it for a good game of cat and mouse.

A/N: Okay, I had SO MUCH FUN writing this!! And yeah, this will run a bit longer than my usual fics lol. Also, there IS a Loki POV, just keep reading thaaanks <3

WARNINGS: none. 

WORD COUNT: 1,932

____________________________________________________________________

Undone by “Darling” 

17 hours and 6 white chocolate mochas later, it was finally ready - an upgraded version of Corvus Glaive’s glaive, this one spec-ed out to your fancies and requirements. It was a beast, and definitely not something Nick Fury would ever let you play around with, even if you made it. 

Satisfied with your work, you remove your safety goggles and grin at Stark, who is working on his own weapon he scavenged from the Black Order. 

‘I’m done!’ you say triumphantly, causing him to look up and groan.  ‘How did you finish before me!?’ he lowers his glasses and looks at your weapon.  ‘I’m smarter’ you say.   ‘I went to MIT’  ‘And I didn’t, yet here we are, both in the same lab’. 

He shakes his head, not unlike a petulant child, causing you to laugh. 

‘How far along are you?’ you ask.  ‘Still running diagnostics’.  ‘Still!?’  ‘Have you seen the size of his hammer?’ he gestures to Cull Obsidian’s chain hammer on his work table, but the innuendo doesn’t escape you and you grin at him. He facepalms. ‘Y/n, for god’s sake...’  ‘You’re just tired, or you’d appreciate the joke too’. 

You stretch your weary body and let out a deep breath. You’d test the weapon out tomorrow, but for now, you need a nap. 

‘Take a load off, Stark. Hammer’ll be there tomorrow’.  ‘Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you...’ he puts his goggles back on and get to work. 

xx

Loki’s POV: 

Humans are surprising, but I always knew that. I never thought them boring, even if my brother says I do. Humans are of so little power but such incredible resilience that it’s frankly astonishing. I am inclined to believe that sometimes resilience is just stupidity... in most cases, I am right. But that’s not to say I haven’t come across some truly brave people. 

Take the Avengers Tower, for example. 

Just in here, you have Y/n, a brave soldier with the mind of an intergalactic scavenger, and I do mean that as a compliment. She’s awfully clever, she can build better than Stark, and has a track record of finishing every mission to perfection and before time. And then you have the Super Soldier Steve Rogers, a big muscled, big hearted idiot who often mistakes challenging our enemies for bravery and morality. 

The two couldn’t be more different, but they get along like siblings. Not siblings like Thor and I... better adjusted, perhaps. 

They sit in front of me, talking about some mission while they play Chess. Her moves are quick but calculated, his take more time because he’s more interested in telling his story than playing the game. 

‘...so there I am, no weapons, no shield, bang in the middle of the Serpent Citadel...’ 

He’s a good storyteller, I’ll give him that. But not as good as Y/n. She paints quite a picture, full of delicious gory details and horribly dark jokes. 

‘Steve, you have to pay attention, you’re losing’ she says.  ‘Yeah, I don’t actually know how to play chess, I just wanted you to listen to my story’. 

She looks up at him, almost offended. ‘STEVE...’  ‘Cool, I’m gonna go wrap Stark into a game of Battleships and tell him about my fight with Copperhead’. 

She laughs as he leaves the room, and she puts the chess pieces away. 

‘We could play?’ I ask her.  ‘Is the God in a mood to lose?’  ‘Over confidence isn’t attractive in anybody’. ‘Oh darling, neither is telling someone what is and isn’t attractive’. 

She’s never called me that before, and in the context it should seem cutting, but it isn’t. ‘Darling?’  ‘Problem?’  ‘It’s quite a term of endearment to set someone straight’. 

She says nothing. 

‘Cat got your tongue?’ I tease her. She only smiles and continues putting the pieces away neatly. Stark’s chess set is gold and black, all individually carved pieces. The pawns are all Iron Man suits, but that’s to be expected. She handles them with the care Stark would. 

‘I mean...’ I continue, ‘honestly, if someone heard, they’d never let you live it down’. 

And she carries on, unbothered. 

‘Y/n!’  ‘Oh dear, look at you come completely undone with just one term of endearment’ she comments, shutting the chess set. ‘Whatever would happen if I held your hand?’ 

The very thought of it seemed to drain my brain of blood. I unwillingly glanced at her hands, working the lock mechanism of the box, her blue veins prominent. 

‘Cat got your tongue?’ she asked. 

I stood up, the human emotion of embarrassment becoming too familiar for me. ‘I’ll have to see you at lunch’.  ‘Sure, darling’. 

Oh, I hate how she’s enjoying this. 

----------

The next day, Y/n booked a training room to test out the Glaive, and Stark had a rusty but working chain hammer. Steve insists on trying it out anyway, and now our breakfast is being spent on discouraging him from doing that. 

‘Guys... if nothing else, I’ll still have my shield. Let me test it out!’  ‘Y/n’s glaive cuts through Vibranium, you know that, right?’ Stark says.  ‘Y/n wouldn’t do that’. ‘Oh yes she would’ Y/n says nonchalantly as she sinks her teeth into a bacon and egg sandwich. 

As she does, the yolk runs down her fingers. She makes a sound at the inconvenience and sets the sandwich down, then grabs a napkin. I’m hardly ever crude, but the energy it took not to take her hand and lick off the yolk myself could burn every star in the galaxy. 

Captain America scrunches his nose at her remark, severely offended. 

‘In any case, that shield barely covers your giant body. It will force Stark to make you a new one’.  ‘What do you care about his giant body’ Stark says.  ‘It’s America’s ass, Tony’ she takes a sip of her iced coffee. Steve blushes, and Tony rolls his eyes. 

----------

The training facility is magic, of course, somewhere between a mirror dimension and Wanda’s reality powers creating a safe cocoon inside the building so no one can be harmed. Y/n hardly trusted anybody to fight with her except Thor, but given the nature of Corvus’ Glaive, she knew magic would be required. 

And so she called me. 

After getting into my battle armour, I stepped into the facility, equipped with my sceptre and the teachings of the witches of Asgard. 

She whistles as I walk in. ‘Trying to distract me from killing you?’  ‘Are you?’ I ask. She’s dressed in a black bodysuit, details of purple in her belt and weapon harnesses.  ‘Why yes, I am. Glad you noticed’. 

The glaive is on the floor, and she stomps her foot on one part of it so it swivels up and neatly places itself in her hand. She smiles. 

‘Try to keep up. I’m not just looking for eye candy in a training partner, darling’ she says, getting into battle stance. 

With nothing left to say for the second time this week, I aim the sceptre at her and the stone at the end glows. 

She charges and I shoot at her, but she spins the glaive and creates a shield which absorbs the energy. 

She continues to charge at me. I shoot again, and again the glaive takes the hit. Not a scratch on her. 

Once she comes closer, she simply places the flat end of the weapon against my chest, sending me hurtling back into a wall. 

She spins the glaive and laughs. 

‘Compliments of Wakanda. It absorbs any hits and charges up with kinetic energy’. 

I get up on my feet. This is far from over. I create multiple illusions to surround her, all of them brandishing knives, Chitauri tech, and sceptres. 

‘Damn, suddenly my whole evening has opened up’ she says, looking around.

Even my clones look around at each other puzzled. 

‘Come on then, who’s up?’ she spins the glaive around. ‘One at a time or all at once, baby’. 

They charge at her, and I expected her to fight them off at once... instead she plants the staff on the ground and ducks, and a semi-circle shell grows from the top of the staff, down to the floor... like a mini fortress, completely impenetrable. It could, no doubt, continue to take hits and build up kinetic energy, so I call off the clones. 

She gets up and retracts the shell. ‘Nanotech’ she grins at me. ‘The whole shell sits in a disk. It can withstand bombs and even a moon’.  ‘Is there any tech you haven’t adopted?’  ‘I’m an intergalactic scavenger, aren’t I?’ 

I stare at her, horrified. Can she read minds? 

‘Maybe I can. Or maybe I heard you tell Stark when he was complaining about me finishing my weapon first’. 

Silence. 

‘Also, darling, you’re awfully predictable in your fighting’. 

She picks up every trick and tech she sees, so beating her is less about weapons and more about cunning. 

No problem. Cunning is my specialty. 

‘Ready now?’ she asks.  ‘Mhm’. 

She takes a deep breath to ready herself, her eyes shutting slightly. Once they open back up, she stares in shock. 

In my Jotun form, I give her my most menacing smile.

She cocks her head to the side, studying my icy blue skin. 

The illusion I cast of myself approaches behind her, dagger in hand. Once it’s close enough and I can almost taste my victory, she raises the glaive and in one swift motion, sticks it into its abdomen. 

The illusion disappears into green light. 

‘Cute’ she remarks. She points the glaive at me. ‘What else you got for me?’  I shift back to my Asgardian form and sigh. ‘You win’. 

Y/n laughs and lowers her weapon. ‘Oh darling, I won the second you walked in wearing all that leather’. She winks at me, then walks out of the facility. I feel a blush creep to my face, much against my will. 

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

‘Maybe you should stick to your guns, Tony’ Y/n says, ‘Fancy suits is it for you, chain hammers may be overshooting it’.  ‘Is that what they taught you in the back alley you learnt ironmongery from?’  ‘Yes! Do you want their number, I’m sure they’ll have a spot on the waiting list for you’. 

Ah. Y/n’s relationship with Stark seemed more like mine with Thor. While they banter, Steve and Natasha tear up from laughing. I wouldn’t go so far as to call this domestic, but it certainly is comfortable. 

‘Come on, the glaive can’t be that good, right Loki?’ Stark asks. 

The company looks at me expectantly. ‘To say her weapon isn’t good enough means to insult your own tech, Stark. Everything about it is founded on your theories’. 

‘So technically, it’s my brain that made the glaive so cool’ he tells Y/n.  ‘Yeah, you could say that. The glaive comes from the same mind that manufactured Captain America’s dinner plate’. 

Steve doesn’t find that one funny, but Natasha does, sending her into peals of laughter. 

‘Oh whatever’ Tony huffs. ‘I’m going back to the lab’. 

He stands up and Y/n grabs his arm. ‘Aww Tony, I’m just kidding!’ she pats his hand, ‘Look, you’re a brilliant inventor, we all have our slow days’. 

He sighs and nods, and holds her hand. ‘Thanks... I guess I’m just not in my element, you know?’  ‘Yeah...’ she keeps patting his hand. 

And the feeling of domesticity creeps in. We really are all a family. Y/n smiles encouragingly at Tony, and Tony seems more relaxed. 

‘So, you want me to get you the number of that ironmongery, or...?’  ‘OH FOR...’ he snatches his arm away and storms out of the room, with Steve and Nat losing it all over again. 

___________________________________________________________

Ah this was so fun!!!!!!!! I hope you guys liked it <3 

MASTERLIST HERE

ASK BOX OPEN FOR FIC REQUESTS. Find GUIDELINES HERE.

[bearseokie]

boyfriend! oneus

[ gender-neutral! ]

oneus m.list | navi. | nsfw! bf! oneus (M)

Ravn:

selfie game, strong! between his insane visuals and like-minded camera angles, you're never let down by his pretty selfies that he sends you throughout the day. mainly paired with his chin to his chest while he's pouting and a silly caption.

if you think his selfies are good, the way he takes couple pictures? chef's kiss. you're never low on pics to post to social media or to put on your fridge. even the embarrassing ones, but he'll whine about those later.

matching onesies or couple pajamas.

walks up to you just to rest his chin on your head or shoulder and breathe you in.

holds your hand in the way that his entire hand envelops the width of your fingers while you hold on to his thumb.

asks for you to buy him flowers more than he gets them for you. you can't help but want to see his eyes sparkle at the sight of a dozen roses, though.

is probably biting his lip unwillingly but also on purpose. it's a habit you learn to enjoy. he does it when he's focused too, so you always know if he's paying attention or not. as confident as he is, he blushes when you call him out for it.

wraps his arms all the way around your torso and picks you up in a hug just because he can.

will see something out of the corner of his eye and make a whole circle to turn towards it. usually it's a gift of a random item he thinks you'll adore, and you always do. you'll gain a little collection of things you never imagined you'd own being with him.

genuinely not used to physical contact and tends to be rougher than he means to be. he's a temperate boy that has a habit of patting your head or kissing you a little too hard because he's in love and is still learning.

talks your ears off when you're alone. if you don't pull his beanie over his face, he won't shut up.

comes across as intimidating, but is literally the most considerate person. like he will physically reel you backwards just to gently push away an eyelash from your cheek and kiss your lips.

big pant, big shirt. aka his and your big pant and big shirt. sharing is caring. he gets butterflies in his stomach watching your hand caress over the clothes hanging in his closet as you search for something to wear.

unintentional - but completely intentional - lip locking. like he'll bend over to reach across your form laying on the bed when you’re distracted and he’ll be right in your face. before you know it, you're sitting up and your lips are colliding. especially loves doing this in public because your warm face is his rapid beating heart.

will admit to others how much he loves you but will be so stubborn behind closed doors. says things like "are you sure we're talking about the same person? me, wait— me? I'm in love with you? no— no, you're right. I'm guilty."

pouty boy with big, pleading eyes all the time.

runs his fingertips over the lines of your hands. you catch him mimicking them on his own and smiling like an idiot when they match.

take his flannels. do it.

late nights where he bursts through your door while you're sleeping and shakes you awake to run a few lyrics by you. always second guesses himself, but when he sees that you're actually taken back by the words, he gets all smiley bolts back to work.

snuggles into your pillow until you lay down with him, then you're his true cuddle buddy.

Seoho:

dramatically pulls his coats off to put over your shoulders. his constant body heat can warm you up immediately.

takes you on movie dates just to sit in the very back and have heavy make outs with you. like panting, fingers laced in each other's hair, bodies fighting to get into each other’s seats — make out sessions.

his! laugh! the way you can get him to laugh is definitely one of his favorite things in the world, and his smile could light up a room. also has the tendency to laugh at you even when you're not being funny.

pushes his face into the crook of your neck to fall asleep. his breath on your skin can make you feel weird and loved at the same time, but his sound sleeps are worth it. also pushes you to lay on your back so he can curl up beside you and rub his forehead against you.

more chaotic dates where he does things you're afraid of just to show you not to be so scared. hugs you like a koala for the rest of the day.

matching outfits like crazy. even down to the accessories. loves spoiling you with new outfits even if you tell him you hate getting gifts so often.

hugs your waist and lifts you up to reach something instead of getting it down himself.

will have the same pic of you and him set as everything. his phone’s lockscreen, wallpaper, his laptop’s lockscreen, wallpaper, profile pics, it’s the only post on his social media.

so in love that it can come across as icky. blushing cheeks, sweaty palms, a bounce in his step.

mocks you like you’re already an old married couple. but his loving banter comes off as charming.

the saying 'know you like the back of my hand' had to have been written by him, himself, because he does, in fact, know you that well. he knows the different sounds of your sneezes - aka whether you have a cold or not. he knows the change of your morning voice versus the tone you have in the middle of the day. anything going through your mind, this man has down pact.

random night calls where he just goes 'I'm at the door, let me in." because his hands are too full to reach for his key. stumbles in with bags full of snacks and treats just to have you both sit on the floor eating and ranting until dawn.

the softest kisses. and I mean the softest kisses. like michael angelo adding details to his paintings, type soft. you can hardly ever feel them and barely knows he's there until he starts laughing or vibrating from the sudden eye contact you're giving him.

would rather waddle side to side in a back hug than let you go to walk somewhere alone.

has a list of everything he loves to share with you over time. movies, music, random memos in his phone.

included in those phone memos are literally so many details about you that it can make your eyes roll. he has the smallest details noted and little asterisks to remind him to write them down in a physical journal one day, but you might have to do that for him.

a lot quieter than he makes himself out to be. is basically a ghost when you're around him. the only way you really ever know where he is is if he's lugging around a bluetooth speaker with music playing.

messy! hair! he will literally refuse to brush his own hair until you do it for him. loves it more if you just use your fingers to comb his locks.

squinted eyes because he's smiling at you so hard that he'll probably bump into something in the process.

lets you hold both sides of his face in your palms. especially if he's cold. sometimes you can squish.

Leedo:

being with gunhak — it is literally a love novel.

warm eyes that sparkle when he looks at you. you notice it and keep quiet just to bask in his affection, but it’s always the first thing people mention when they talk about your relationship.

can’t help but reach his hand across the table to hold yours while you eat.

scrunches his nose when you say silly things.

the most attentive person when you’re telling a story. will sit with his chin in his palm and his eyes going between your gaze and lips as you speak. makes constant “mhm” and “ohh” sounds to let you know he’s right in the story with you. stops you to laugh at the way you say a specific word. you both spend hours sitting somewhere together just telling stories back and forth until the sun rises or sets.

can’t go a single day without throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you around.

has his hand on your lower back all day. like all day. in public, at home, in bed while you're sleeping. as long as his hand is on your back, you know he’s next to you.

his face is always a hotter temperature than the rest of his body, especially if you’ve been looking at him all day. crimson cheeks, red-tipped ears, reddened lips because he can’t stop kissing you.

sleeps with you laying in between his legs and your head on his chest. you fall asleep to the beat of his heartbeat while he plays with your fingers and listens to your breathing.

puts you in the shopping cart before any items just so he can wheel you around and listen to you laugh when he pretends he’s going to ram into something.

will pull the shirt/jacket/top he was wearing over his head and toss it to you to wear or hug if he’s leaving so you don’t miss him too much.

isn’t extremely good with speaking words to express what he wants to say, so oftentimes you find little notebook pages folded around the house with love notes written on them. him telling you how much he appreciates how much you do for him. him saying ‘i love you’ in different colored ink in different kinds of ways. sometimes a smashed flower in between the pages just for added scents. completely a cheesy romantic with love notes.

likes to let you drive so he can put his elbow against the window and stare at you from across the front of the vehicle. while you’re focused he’s grinning and giggling because it’s ‘super adorable’.

sends flowers to your work at the most inappropriate times in order to keep anyone that’s been flirting with you in their place. very subtle about being protective, and thankfully never has to make large leaps to have others understand you’re unavailable. thinks it’s the best thing in the world when someone is eyeing you and you come running to him to dramatically toss your arms around his neck and place a kiss on his lips.

enjoys having cleverly matching pieces. a pair of earrings shared between the two of you. matching bracelets. soft cotton shirts you can wear on your days off. two blankets of the same designs but different colors.

severely embraces breaking his shyness when it comes to pda. will pull you into his arms and kiss you while walking down the street. lets you sit on his lap in a busy place. carries you on his back around big stores.

works out with you around him. if he wants to do sit ups, you're holding his feet. if he wants to do push ups, you're laying under him giving him kisses every time he comes down.

forehead kisses. temple kisses. cheek kisses. literally all of the softest kisses.

terribly difficult to wake up, but the sound of your voice will draw his lids to open in an instant so he can see your smiling face.

super nervous about the entire relationship so you have to guide him at a reasonable pace. hold his hand first, kiss him first, even say 'i love you' first, but he'll return it all in a beat after you express your love.

Hwanwoong:

would be the one to have that situation where you met by running into each other at full force and had to laugh it off despite how much pain you were both in. he does something like offer to buy you a drink as an apology and then he never leaves your side.

sits with him between your legs and his back pressed into your front so you can hug him around his waist and lean on him.

smells are a huge deal to him. hoards light scented candles and renames them with comic titles or references to your relationship just to make you laugh when he calls them out in conversations.

runs his fingers through your hair as a way of showing affection on a regular basis. if you’re in public, he’ll sneak in a quick kiss just because he isn’t huge on pda.

but not liking pda doesn't mean he won't cling to you behind closed doors. he can't go very long without brushing his skin against your own, even in a subtle way.

physically capable of making meals on his own, or with you, but he's too lazy. enjoy the take out! also huge on getting snack foods to feed you in a romantic way without it being intentional.

quiet. very quiet. he enjoys silence while holding you or waking up in the midst of the night just to hear you sleeping peacefully. it's his solace.

although he gets whiny, he will let you do anything you want to him. test out makeup looks on him, play with his hair, make him dress up for you. just as long as you can reciprocate by going on sweet dates with him or let him read his favorite stories to you, he's all for it.

gets you random, very personal gifts. his attentiveness is insane, so he'll give you something like a better-formed pillow to help you sleep or a journal of your silly inside jokes to keep around when you have to be apart.

pretends he's not emotional during the day only to spill the deepest things to you at night. you're his diary and he loves you for that.

but with his distant state, you're still the one to notice things first. if he's too tired, if he's hungry - you know the tell-tale signs and can quietly get him back on his feet. you’re basically his weakness and muse all at once.

he might be the last one to wake up, but that's just because he enjoys knowing you slept by his side all night.

tilts your head to the side to kiss you because he thinks it's romantic.

doesn't care who you think you are, he will give you a piggyback ride.

does that thing where you'll be doing something important and he'll be sat next to you whispering jokes into your ear to keep you from getting stressed. also has to hold your hand the entire time or else he'll get up.

intuitive to your emotions and feelings. if you're in pain somewhere, he's in pain. if you're laughing, he's laughing.

the most pleasing, deep morning voice ever. doesn't even have to try. it's like two octaves lower than his regular voice and will always give you the shivers.

instead of big things for dates he does tasks like have all of your house chores done when you return or studies up on your school work to help you out. it's his way of showing affection and appreciation. but he does bigger things too like cover your bathroom in flower petals with a nice bath running when you get home.

has a tendency of saying your name the most when he’s sleeping.

makes choreography and dedicates them to you all the time. will tug you into the practice room to show you moves. but then he's giggling uncontrollably and starts complimenting you until you kiss him.

Keonhee:

records everything all the time. has backup storage just so he can film everything you both do or take a thousand pictures. spends literal hours printing out the pictures to make photo albums or put them on his wall so he never has to go a moment without seeing you. carries around a physical, mini album just to stare at while he’s traveling or feels lonely.

loves showering with you. will take the showerhead off of the wall and hold it over you while making lightsaber sounds.

loves the sound of you saying his name more than anything. when he's happy, upset, angry - just a call of his name can settle his emotions. and maybe a kiss too.

will sit or lay somewhere and just stare at you with a big, goofy grin on his face and loving sparkles in his eyes for no particular reason.

claps your hands together before he holds them.

makes music playlists titled with hysterical names that are more distracting than the chaos of the actual list. names them with emojis and such to see if you can code his secret love messages.

his lips are always redder than normal around you. quite literally doesn't know when or how to stop kissing you.

cannot comprehend how he could love someone more than you. it's that dumb love like he'll trip over his own two feet, say your name instead of his own when ordering something, or even intentionally get something he hates just because you like it.

changes the color of the led lights to define the mood. happy, sad, sexy time. the room is a rainbow every week.

contrary to popular belief of the cancer man, he's not clingy until you tell him to be. postpones all physical contact to the last moment when you ask why he's distant and give him consent to holding you whenever he wants. then he never lets you go.

has to be even in height with you ninety percent of the day, even if you're off by a few centimeters. helps you sit on the kitchen counter, hunches to kiss you, lifts you up by your waist.

being on opposite ends of a room while he's doing hand gestures and silently singing you the song stuck in his head.

his most genuine habit is giving away all of his emotions in his eyes. one glance and you know exactly how he feels, even if he isn't speaking about it aloud.

thinks being out in the rain is extremely romantic but will pull you back inside at the first drop because "you might get a cold".

hardly wears clothes when he starts getting seriously comfortable with you. no shirt, maybe some pajama pants, maybe some socks with random patterns on them. if he gets hot at any point, shield your eyes.

pouts without actually pouting. you'll hear a little huff from beside you instead.

put your belongings into the rips of his jeans instead of his pockets. they're 'safe'.

visibly shudders when he gets to hold your hand after a long day.

so many shoulder kisses you can't even keep up with them anymore.

you have a collection of him scrunching his nose when you're trying to get soft couple pictures because he can't take it seriously.

Xion:

if you fall asleep on him at any point during the day, he'll wrap you in his jacket or a blanket around you and carry you to bed. he'll let you rest comfortably while he lays beside you and watches you sleep while running his fingers across your face in a loving way.

sleeps holding your hand no matter what position you're both in.

dates are basically: carnivals to sit at the top of the ferris wheel and make out peacefully, picnics in the park to pick flowers and put them in your hair, going to bookstores just to shuffle through the comics and mangas.

bites you. slowly. he’s not the type to just bite into your skin randomly, more like you’ll get big puppy eyes and know he’s up to something before you feel a little nibble.

competitive in an ‘i’ll let you win if you give me a kiss’ way. guess who always wins. sike it’s him because he can use it as an excuse to make you pouty and then kiss you until you can’t even pretend to be angry anymore.

loves singing to you and only you.

hand-makes you jewelry because he finds it more endearing than buying them. plus it's sentimental.

hates blushing in front of others, but you can make him blush from a few words. loves the pet names you come up with. they sound like common conversation pieces so no one questions why you said them until they notice his face is nearly crimson.

unintentionally does romantic stuff. plays ballads over a speaker while prancing around until you take his hand and dance with him. finds a rose bush and gently clips a single flower to put in a vase for you. absentmindedly kisses your knuckles when he sees you for the first time in a while.

has the hardest time showing emotions, but does have the tendency to cry when parting or send you chain texts about how much he misses you when he's away.

random cheek kisses throughout the day.

sweater paws because you're both wearing his large hoodies and holding hands.

has more soft objects than you've ever witnessed a person own. now they're partially yours, so choose a stuffed animal.

random store dates where you go inside and find the strangest items you both fall in love with and get to put on display at home. you know when you go to someone's house and see an object that makes you question how it got there? he gets a lot of those for the two of you. 'conversation pieces', he says.

remembers cheesy quotes to tell you throughout the day to make you smile. if he wasn't in love, he'd never think twice about memorizing them.

probably thinking about kissing you every second of every day, but he uses his kisses wisely.

steals your shirts to sleep with when he's away because they smell like you.

cannot handle more than holding your hand in public at first, but he'll learn to love pda very quickly if you enjoy it.

where has all his phone's storage gone? oh, they're just pictures of you sleeping.

so adorned by you that his eyes literally sparkle, even if you're in his peripheral.