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peggyao3 · 4 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 2 "Eidolon"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist (12 Chapters)

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tag list? Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

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Night 15

Midnight darkness caresses Feyd's shoulders as he pads to his dark bed, clad in full-coverage pajamas of loose, black fabric. He catches his silhouette in the wall mirror, glad to be spared the view of the new blemishes on his back and chest.

When he slips under the stiff covers of his bed, he is almost too excited to fall asleep. Excitement knots his stomach, so he forces his lungs to perform the breathing exercise that has always helped him since he was a child, channeling his focus only on his breathing, not whatever is happening to his body, the good and the bad.

The excitement helps him through the day, but he needs to relax his mind, relax his soul.

Is it working? When will he finally sleep?

The transition is seamless. He never realizes when he falls asleep and when the dream seeps into his mind like a blessing.

But then there she is, right in his arms where she belongs. They are reclined against the headboard of the large, white bed, their legs half buried under black covers. The fern rustles faintly in the terracotta pot and Feyd catches a glimpse of the two of them in the wall mirror. Immediately, his cheeks do this thing that makes them appear rounder and fuller and his teeth are on full display while his eyes are slitted. He is shirtless and there are no blemishes on his skin.

"Have you been here for long?" He asks, fingers tracing the softness of her upper arm.

"What?" She asks.

"What?" He replies and the same sense of could-be-should-be déjà-vu as always macerates the fabric of reality. She blinks at him and he leans down to kiss her on the lips. Her hand curls around the smooth back of his head, pulling him close as she opens her mouth and beckons him inside, so easily, so softly.

When they part, she whispers: "I don't know how long I've been here, but I missed you."

"I missed you," Feyd rumbles. She has absolutely no idea how much he missed her.

Gentle hands explore his face, touching places no one has ever touched, like his closed eyelids, the dip of his cupid's bow or the meandering shapes of the shell of his ear.

"How is this scientifically possible?" She raptly breathes and Feyd's eyes open back up from the blissful trance where only the caress of her hands can bring him.

"I still don't care." He smiles, leaning closer into the warm and comforting body that breathes against him.

"How can you not care? Shared, lucid dreams imply the existence of a connection between two organisms across space time, and since our interactions seem to be instantaneous, it's almost like we're quantum entangl- Feyd!" She squeaks when he rolls her on her back, pushing one leg between her thighs and his chest on top of hers.

She is so caught up in her wild chain of thoughts, that she completely forgets to hold him and that annoys Feyd greatly. "Don't you find that fascinating at all?" She asks.

"I have bigger concerns."

"Yes, like what?" She grins, cupping his face with gentle hands.

"Like the fact that you're not kissing me."

"Oh, you're so needy." She pecks him on the mouth, noting how his features soften and his lashes lower.

"I'm not." Feyd growls, pressing his mouth against hers softly while he wonders why he actually denies it. Their chests come flush in an intimate dance of bodies, bare, vulnerable skin stretching across bones and muscles.

These may be dreams and they are the dreamers, but she is real. Feyd could never make up a woman so kind without any reference.

Night 28

"How was your day?" Worry laces her voice and Feyd would like to be upset with her but, oh, he can't. She always looks at him with such concern, as if she expects him to drop dead any moment, or fall apart beneath her fingers.

"My day was better than usual," he reveals nonchalantly, scanning her face with challenging, blue eyes. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Something is up today, I can feel it."

"Nothing is up," he insists and delves for her throat where he intends to place kisses on the impossibly soft and delicate flesh, but she catches him by the chin (so smooth, not even a hint of stubble) and pouts.

"Don't lie to me, Feyd." She can read him so well, as if they've known each other forever.

Fine. "I killed my uncle's pet today." Oh, how good it felt to say that. The elation in his tone is impossible to hide.

"Feyd! Why?!" She lets go and flinches away from him and Feyd regrets his choice of words instantly. She however is more shocked by the fiendish grin with which he had admitted a murder than the actual words.

"If you saw iit and lived with it, you would understand why. You could say I put it out of its misery." He sits upright, mirroring her position. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Oh, so it was sick?" She hopefully asks and Feyd is seriously tempted to just lie to her to maintain that warmth that returns to her expression. She appears to be ashamed of misjudging him, but his answer can only disappoint her.

"It-, well, I should spare you the details."

"But now I want to know." She comes back to him and curls against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. She wants to know about his life.

"It was a monster. It would have scared you." And now it won't ever scare her. Feyd's arms slide around her waist and she leans into his embrace. His presence is so comforting, she thinks. She may not even care if he killed an animal.

"Was it dangerous?"

"It shouldn't have existed in the first place!" Feyd hesitates for a second and she feels the spike of his pulse against his jugular. "And it was my uncle's."

Aha, she thinks with alarm, fingers tracing patterns on his smooth, bare chest while she keeps her face hidden in his shoulder. "Tell me more about that pet." What she really wants to know is more about that uncle.

Feyd turns his head, catching her gaze which is only inches away and leans closer as if to whisper a foul secret to her. "It was Tleilaxu-fashioned." That word doesn't have the intended effect, which is a little annoying. She blinks at him without understanding - bless her innocence - so Feyd sees himself forced to elaborate. "I'm saying it was genetically engineered to be a monstrosity."

"Oh." She shrugs her shoulders like that is not at all shocking. His strange woman was shocked by his black cum but not a twitch of disgust decorates her features in the presence of breaking the laws of nature.

"It was fashioned only for my uncle's amusement, not because it should exist but because it could!" More anger swings in his tone now. "I've done it a favor."

When he was younger, he had asked himself many times if anyone would ever do him the favor, but he was too well-protected and now the idea has been banished into a dark, dark corner of his adult mind.

"So, your uncle has been… Mistreating his pet and you put it out of its misery?" Her fingers gently stroke his wrist.

"He's been treating it better than other things." Things, people, boys…

Feyd glances into the center of the room, looking right through everything, into the nothingness, not realizing how his grip tightens around her innocent flesh.

She sees it there in his eyes, the truth. She sees it in the tight set of his jaws, the sharp intake of breath, the terror buried beneath layers and layers of apathy. It could be anything, but her empathy has never lied to her. It's like she's always known.

"Oh Feyd," she says and wraps her hand around his. His every muscle becomes rigid and his head whips around. He can see that she knows.

How can she know from just a glance? This witch! Feyd recoils, aghast that he gave away so much of himself so easily. It slipped out of his grasp like a snake left to flail on the ground and bite him in the ankles unless he stomps it dead. Should he kill her so she can't tell anyone his secret?

As he recoils and slides off the bed, she releases his wrist and Feyd's stomach cramps. Why did she let go of me? I repulse her now, I repulse myself. Everyone who knows would be repulsed and wouldn't want to touch me.

He backs off until he has maneuvered himself into a corner, shoulders drawn up, panting like the small boy who once ran down the corridors, chased by nothing but the sticky shadows of reality that follow him every waking hour. His woman hasn't followed him at all. She sits on the bed, looking at him sadly and with pity that overflows from her eyes and posture.

"I don't want your pity!" He barks, voice shaking. "You know nothing about me!"

"I'm sorry," she squeaks, flinching, and Feyd wants to take it back, feeling awful for making her scared, but he can't, just like he can't take back the terrible truth.

"No…" Feyd weakly mutters, looking away, staring at the pattern of the floor until his vision turns grainy. Clenched fists yearn for his blade, but he's never had it in this dreamscape. Any target will suffice, a slave, a fighter, himself, his uncle… But not her.

"What can I do?"

"Can you get me out of here?" Feyd blurts out.

"Oh." Why does she sound so disappointed? "We've tried to wake up before, it's never worked, I don't know how to-"

"That's not what I meant." Feyd's jaws grind and he stares so hard at the floor pattern that his brain starts seeing the shapes of snakes that slowly coil around what looks like his neck.

"Oh, Feyd. My poor-"

"I don't know where that question came from!" Feyd snaps, interrupting her. Viciously, he shakes his head. His eyes sting with hot, wet tears because he's stared at the floor too long. How silly of him, a pathetic, dreaming boy, to think she could save him, when he can't even save himself. Giedi Prime's most fearsome warrior can't even-

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around him tightly and the crown of a head invites him to rest his chin upon it. Feyd's heart stops and he bites back the agonizing pressure in his throat with a choked sound.

"I'll stop if you don't want me to."

He hugs her back so fiercely that her poor ribs and spine must be aching, but she only hugs him back fiercer still, face buried in his chest, lips mouthing sweet nothings. After minutes, Feyd's grip grows weaker, his face on her head heavier and by the end of it, she is holding him.

Night 39

"Have you always dreamed?" Feyd innocently asks and she struggles to comprehend the question.

She lies prone on her stomach, legs spread open and a pale, smooth body undulates on top of her, taut chest and tummy pressed against her back, pelvis grinding against her ass. His length slides in and out of her at an inefficient angle, every upwards arch of her hips being smothered by a downwards push of Feyd's.

"Every other night, y-yes, hah~" Once more she tries to raise her behind, but Feyd's rutting hips press her down. He could reach much deeper if he only let her move!

"And have you ever dreamed of other men?"

"Hnngg, ahh- I'm sure I have. Feyd!" Her cheeks blush hotly when Feyd slams himself to a stop, cock throbbing palpably against her walls as he holds himself there, nearly crushing her with his weight.

"What?" His voice is more growl than human and a shiver passes down her spine which is smothered by his smooth torso.

"But not like this! Oh, please, don't stop." She tries to grind her ass against his pelvis with little to no range of motion, but Feyd only slightly shifts his knees, tightening the cage he has created around her body.

"Do other men have you in your sleep?" Plush lips tickle the shell of her ear and his hot breath caresses her skin, eliciting a clench of her inner muscles around his unmoving, velvety length.

"I only dream of you," she whimpers, heart thrumming up a storm in her chest. To be craved so possessively almost feels forbidden. "And do you dream of other women?"

"I only dream of you. I only think of you too," he rasps, hips snapping leisurely back to action massaging her inmost parts. Feyd expects her to repeat it after him but she doesn't, so he tightens his manacle around her shoulders, caging her torso with his arms. "Who do you sleep with when you're awake? Is there someone holding you while I fuck you in your sleep?"

"No, there is no one!" She snarls, shuddering from the harsher pace that came with the last question.

"Are you lying?!" Tiny specks of spittle spray against her ear.

"I'm not lying!" She snaps. Why doesn't he believe her? "Feyd~" A pleading moan rolls past her lips, body squirming for freedom and release, rejoicing when the former is denied to her. Feyd's right arm crawls under the impossibly tight space between her body and the mattress, past her sweat-damp pubic mount.

The tender, little nub of her clit rewards him with a clench of her walls when his fingers trace deft circles, smothering her body and mind from all directions with possessive affection that would be too much if she didn't crave it so much. Her body adjusts so easily to the rough tempo and pressure builds with no way out, nowhere to go except over the top of her climax and crashing down in hard waves that squeeze his cock and make tears and drool roll down her face.

The orgasm takes her worries to the sky where they dissolve among the clouds and pelt down like harmless rain drops. What if the dreams suddenly stop, what if she will never see him again, what if something terrible happens to either of them in the real world? All meaningless words, jumbled into benign disarray as bliss takes a hold of her body.

Her face drops on Feyd's forearm which is the bars of the fleshly cage that shelters her and she moans open-mouthed against his skin as he still ruts into her from behind, chasing his own release. Why would she ever have anyone at day when she can have him at night?

By a route obscure and lonely, Haunted by ill angels only, Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, On a black throne reigns upright, I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule – From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, Out of SPACE -- out of TIME. - Dream-Land by Edgar Allen Poe, 1844

[Tag list: @nostalgichoya]

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tacticaldiary · 1 year ago

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Gentle Hands

Request: Hey there! I love your writing so much and I was wondering if you could have some Johnny MacTavish brainrot with me. Johnny comes home from a looooong deployment and he wants to do nothing but collapse on the bed or couch. Until he sees our dear reader, cuddled up in their bed with one of his shirts on a pillow she’s cuddling. He can smell his cologne on the fabric and…whatever happens after that is up to you!

Pairing: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Genre: Fluff (You deserve it after the marathon of angst I've been feeding you)

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

A/N: The way I scrambled to write this the second I could, there's always time for Soap brainrot in this household

Masterlist

Sometimes he thinks the pinging of bullets ricocheting off of metal follows him out of the battlefield. It's the only explanation for the ever present tension in his shoulder after a long gruelling mission.

Soap sighs, stretching out a shoulder while he digs his house keys out from his duffel bag. The keys feel cool and foreign against his fingers as he clumsily slots them in a turns the lock.

It's been nine weeks since he's unlocked his front door.

Haphazardly pushing off his shoes in the entryway, he throws his bag onto the floor and peers farther into the house. Despite his exhaustion, a smile finds itself on his face at the prospect of seeing her again.

God, he misses her. It was difficult to contact anyone outside of his team when on a mission, even moreso when they were black. The fear of their lines being tapped and tracked is very real, and Soap would rather wait a few weeks to see her than compromise her safety and theirs by allowing himself one fleeting moment with her.

"Bonnie? You there?" He calls out, stepping into the kitchen. Empty. He fights the urge to collapse onto the couch when he checks the living room, the lack of sleep catching up on him.

He's surprised he's still standing, honestly. The OP he'd been on had been in a far mountain range, a lot of trekking and camping out in the middle of a humid, highly vegetated area. Visibility had been rough and they'd taken turns sleeping a couple of hours before they continues trekking towards the enemy safehouse they were aiming to ambush.

He hadn't been able to sleep on the chopper back either, buzzing with the knowledge that he'd finally see her again after months and months.

A damn real bed seemed like heaven after resting on a rough muddy floor for weeks.

It was the middle of the day, but she was nowhere in the house. Not in her favourite armchair by the fireplace, nor in the garage or any of the bathrooms. He frowns a little. She could be out, then?

It's not until Soap pushes open the door to their bedroom that the next call of her name dies in his throat immediately.

His hand slips off the doorknob, hangs by his side as he takes in the sight, a soft grin on his lips.

There she was, sound asleep, arms cuddled around a pillow that had one of his t-shirts stretched around it. She looked so peaceful, face half obscured by the way she'd nuzzled into the fabric.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, he tries to make minimal noise as he shucks off his shirt and sits on the bed next to her.

Huffing under his breath, he gently tugs the pillow out of her grasp, slides in next to her, adjusting himself until her face is tucked into his neck, not any different from how she was with that pillow.

As if on instinct, her body relaxes, sinking into him and curling closer.

Bliss.

Utter bliss.

A deep, satisfied rumble in his chest as he relaxes, holding the woman he loves so much in their room, their bed, with clean sheets and a heart full of love, is what prompts her to wake up.

With a small groan, she makes a move to pull what she thinks is her pillow closer, but what she grabs isn't a feather-filled soft cushion.

Hard muscle meets her palm, strong and familiar.

"Pawin' at me already, hen?" The deep, tired voice in her ear has a pleased shiver running down her spine, and her eyes fluttering open quickly. "I barely made it through the door."

"Johnny?" She mumbles, eyes widening as the hand around her waist tightens in response. "Johnny!" She pushes herself up on her knees in surprise.

Sure enough, laying right in front of her was the man in the flesh, smiling up lazily, satisfied with her reaction. With a happy squeal, she lunges forward, hugging him tightly. She giggles when he catches her by the waist, sighing into her shoulder and clutching her body to his tightly.

He lets her straddle his waist, looking down at him like she couldn't quite believe it. Her hands roam over his chest as if to assure herself that he was there, actually under her, that he was home.

They lock eyes for a moment, and neither of them knows who moves first but they pull each other into a hard kiss, moving against each other with a practiced familiar ease.

"Missed you," She mumbles against his lips as he runs a hand through her hair. He hums, lets her pull away and cup his jaw. "Missed you so damn much, Johnny."

"I know, baby. Seem like ya had my spot covered though." He grins teasingly, stroking her hair and nodding to the shirt-clad pillow on the ground.

The way she goes red is adorable.

"I told you I missed you." She mumbles. "It just...it still smelled like you, helps me when I miss you more than usual, you know?" She admits. A small pang of sadness hits him at the knowledge that she missed him enough to resort to this...makeshift Soap?

"I missed you too. This is one hell of a welcome." He smiles up at her, squeezing her waist.

She shakes her head but can't chase away the smile on her face. He was home. Johnny, her Johnny.

"Stay around and there'll be much more of that." She teases.

"Minx." He groans, propping himself up on his elbows to bring her into another kiss. As he's doing so, the ache in his shoulder tightens and he winces, a movement not missed by her. She stops him with a hand on his chest.

"You're sore?" She asks, taking a second to look him over slowly, and goddamn if it doesn't make him shiver.

"Nothing a few days with my girl won't fix." He says, trying to lean up again, groaning when she leans back out of reach. "Bonnie, your killin' me-"

"You look like shit, Johnny." She says bluntly, watching him pause to gape at her in mock offense. "You need to rest tonight, okay? Let me take care of you." Much to his dismay, she slides off of him, prods at his shoulder ordering him to flip over.

Too tired to argue, he turns onto his stomach with minimal protest.

Soap truthfully does look like hell; tired, dark circles lining his eyes, but the desire to have her close in any way he can clouds any and all other thoughts. "You know I love ya on top of me, but might I ask what you're doing?"

Johnny presses his cheek to the cool pillow to glance over at her curiously. He watches her straddle his back, her weight tearing a small sigh out of him, his aching muscles relaxing under the soothing weight.

"Nine weeks haven't taken your voice away yet, I see." She rolls her eyes, hands travelling up his bare back to his shoulders. Her eyes linger on those strong muscles she's felt countless times under her hands, her nails, her mouth...

"It takes more than that. Besides, ya love my voice-" She chooses that moment to press into one of the tight knots in his back, red flushing up her neck at the deep, surprised groan Johnny cuts his sentence off with. His head drops into the pillow, his back going up and down with a deep breath.

Love his voice she does. She certainly does.

Her hands knead at the tension in his back, his shoulders, working out the knots built from weeks of stress.

Here. This moment right here. It makes the weeks of loneliness worth it. Days spent without him, waking up to an empty cold bed with only the remnants of his belongings scattered around the house to occupy her thoughts. It was all worth it when she got to feel the warm press of his skin against hers, when she got to welcome him back like this and spend the rest of her days with him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they claim.

Her lips press gentle kisses down his spine as she works, soft presses that convey more love than she could ever verbalise.

"I fucking love you." He breathes. Goosebumps flash across his skin when she smiles, kissing the back of his neck. It warms her from the inside out.

"I love you too." She responds quietly, resuming her work. She kisses every mark, every freckle, and blemish, replacing every memory of harsh shoves and painful encounters with a gentle, loving touch. It reminds him that through the horrors he saw every time he strapped his gear on, there would always be people as good as her in the world. Untouched by darkness and willing to love someone like him, someone with so much damn blood on his hands.

Seemingly satisfied by her assurance, he relaxes, relishing the press of her hands against him. The room falls into a comfortable silence, mostly because he's too tired and blissed out to fill it with his usual chatter. A couple of minutes later, he's putty under her hands, languid and relaxed, his shoulders devoid of the tension he came in with.

It's only when his back rises and falls, deep and steady that she slides off of him.

He's fallen asleep, she notes with a smile. At ease, he's a sight to behold. She pulls the warm blanket over both their forms, shuffling close to him.

Johnny's arm comes around her, pulling her close instinctually. His soft mumble is incoherent.

He sought out her nearness, even when unconscious.

The press of his body is familiar, so achingly familiar. The steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his body lull her to sleep, comfortable and relieved.

She drifts off knowing that the next time she woke up it would be in his arms. Loved, protected, and cherished.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Comment and Like!

(15/07/2023)

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fumekara · 9 months ago

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MORE THAN ANYTHING

Kento Nanami x Gn reader

n/a: English is not my first language, besides, this Fic comes from a draft taken some time ago. I hope you enjoy it. It is my first time back to writing in a long time.

Tw: Just pure fluff and soft sfw, I would like to specify that this post does not contain any type of sexual content. The title is inspired by HH's song.

WC: 1.1K

That night you could not fall asleep.

After turning yourself several times on the sheets of the bed, on which you had lain a couple of hours before, you looked at the half-open door through which a dim light filtered from the living room, giving the bedroom a thread of light in the darkness of the night.

You hoped your man would decide to drop the papers and paperwork he often brought home from work and come to bed with you, wrapping you in his arms so you could finally sleep in complete bliss as you usually did.

"I'll be right with you, it won't take long," he had told you when you proposed to sleep with him after you both went through a long day at work.

However, this was one of those evenings when Kento would spend hours on the kitchen table filling out paperwork late into the night. Although he hated office work, he was always diligent and meticulous when it came to completing his tasks.

It was a characteristic that made you feel proud of the man you loved, yet no matter how responsible and careful he was in managing his time and energy, you were sure he was beginning to place less importance on his rest. You wanted so much for him to give up those silly practices and take the rest he deserved.

After staring at the ceiling for an hour, you sat on your side of the bed, shivering from the sudden cold due to the lack of blankets, and looking at the bedside table you saw that 00:50 was written on the screen. And even today he worked late

You got up and, making as little noise as possible, took small steps towards the living room.

Kento was writing something on his laptop, surrounded by a pile of papers divided into folders of various kinds lit by the light of the monitor and the lamp you kept in the corner of the kitchen.

He noticed your presence and gave you a small, tired smile, giving your heart some warmth.

"Are you still awake, love?" He asked as he leaned against the back of the chair.

"I could tell you the same thing," you replied a little sleepily, returning the smile and moving closer to the blond. As sorry as you are that he was exhausted from work, you couldn't help but think about how handsome he was. Even though you'd been together for a few years, the love you felt for this man had always had that effect on you. I've been waiting for you,' you said, heading towards him.

You sit on his lap and he wraps his big arms around you, you notice that the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and show off his forearms, something he always did when he came home. Leaning his head on your shoulder and inhaling deeply, he loses himself in your scent and warmth. Suddenly all the tiredness he had put aside to work on his papers came over him like a wave of a stormy sea, but the fact that you were there with him gave him a feeling of comfort.

He always felt at home with you.

"I'm sorry Y/N". He rubbed his head in the crook of your neck "I was late again without me noticing" he said, planting a chaste kiss on an exposed spot on your shoulder.

Gently you brushed his hair back with one hand, while with the other you closed the laptop he was working on just now, making it clear that it was time for him to take the rest he so richly deserved.

"Come to sleep, Kento, it's not good for you to stay here late and I miss you," you said as you rested your head on his soft hair on your cheek.

"I know, you're right," he lifted his chin, placing a kiss on your neck, "I don't like leaving you alone either."

Lifting your head slightly, you turned to stare at him, touching his cheek lovingly as you looked intently into his eyes.

Pure love

You couldn't have found any other words to describe the way he looked at you whenever you were in situations like this, alone, with no one else to interrupt you, without Gojo, just the two of you. He made you feel loved, important, and you often thought back to the moment you realized you had fallen in love with him.

As a result, Nanami couldn't understand how he could have you in his life, how lucky he was to have you and how much he regretted making you go through nights like this when he left you alone. He felt selfish and the only thing he wanted at that moment was to go to bed and wrap you in his arms with your head against his chest.

You remained in that position for a long time, a wonderful feeling for both of you. He placed his face on yours and then gave you a kiss on the cheek savoring the aroma.

Without saying anything, you got up from his lap, took his hand without taking your eyes off his and, after switching off the lights, slowly guided him towards your shared bedroom.

"I'm sorry I don't spend much time with you," he said as he shed his work clothes, "I don't want you to stay up because of me, but I appreciate you doing so." After slipping into his sweatpants, he settled next to you in bed as you wrapped him with the quilt.

"You don't have to apologize for working so hard, you have done and are doing a great job. I just want you not to overdo the work, everyone deserves a break and you especially." After turning off the lights you lie down beside him and feel him encircling your waist with his arm "Don't think you are being mean to me Kento, you always do so much for me, you show me that every day and remind me every time you look at me."

In the darkness you could glimpse his small smile that made your heart melt.

"Come here," he told you as he felt butterflies in his stomach, as if he had managed to fall in love with you even more than before.

More than anything.

You felt his grip envelop you even more as you brought faces closer and met lips in a chaste, soft, pure kiss.

When you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

"I love you Y/N."

"I love you too, darling."

You both fell asleep wrapped in bliss.

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staysdelulus · 1 month ago

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Stray Kids - Han [MDNI!!]

Kinktober Day 7!!

Summary: Smut w/o plot... your boyfriend comes back home needy

Warnings: fem!reader, pinv, no protection, clit stimulation, oral sex (fem!receiving), and more

Word Count: 622

“Darling, I love you,” he sings softly, stroking your hair as he kisses your temple. “Ooh, I’ll always, I’ll always love you.”

Han’s voice rings out softly as he gently sings, your eyes closing with exhaustion and pure bliss after a long session of intimacy, his arms holding you against him as you nod off, already half asleep.

It had started when he had first come home, his body immediately seeking yours. After you had tried on a new dress, sending him the picture of it… the way your body fit in it, accentuating your curves and making your body look so soft and small and easy to hold. He wanted nothing more than to just fuck you.

His lips had crashed against yours, hands groping your side as he dragged you to the bedroom, closing the door and pinning you against it as he rubbed himself against you, your eyes wide with anticipation as you bit your lower lip watching him undress. Gosh, even the way you did that was so hot.

As soon as he had freed himself, he had pulled your clothes off, your body wriggling to help, waiting in anticipation as you giggled softly at his eagerness. Han had been unable to hold back, whining against your lips as he held you, hands wrapping around your thighs, your legs straddling him as you sunk into his cock.

“H-Hannie-”

Your flushed face made him nearly lose it, the way your hair fell messily, framing your face as his hips grinded back and forth, rolling as he trapped you onto the bed.

His fingers had found your sensitive clit, rubbing it excessively as you cried out, his lips covering yours to muffle them as he whispered softly. “Quiet, baby. Quiet.”

You had only whined in response, eyes wide as you sniffle softly, the pleasure overwhelming, getting to your head as you clenched your teeth, his lips attacking your neck next, leaving red hickeys along your body. Marking you as his.

Sinking out of your throbbing pussy, his hands move to your legs as you whine, whimpering with desperation as he pushed them apart, licking his lips at the sight of you and just you. The sight of your glistening pussy, so slick and wet, just for him. The way you were practically dripping with arousal, the view making his head go fuzzy.

He could only think about the way you tasted, the taste of you sweet and salty all at once, his eyes closed as his nose nudged against your clit. Hearing you whine, he grins, gently nuzzling against it harder as you gasp with anticipation, eyes widening.

“Baby,” he groans, the vibration of his voice against your throbbing core making you quiver. “Fuck, baby. Tastes so good.”

You could only mumble, you eyes wide as your hands went to find his hair, hips pushing up desperately. You just needed it. Needed him. Needed a release.

Gently pushing your hand away, he climbs back up, grinning against your lips as he kisses you again, sinking into your core as he smiles. “Oh, baby. Feel so good around me, hm?”

You could only nod, eyes wide as he fucks you, holding you down as his hips move with a speed even he didn’t know he possessed.

When you clench around him, he gasps, sucking your breast before he comes, you following immediately, the shoot of his pleasure right into you making your knees buckle. Gathering you in his arms, he gently pulls out, holding you against him before humming softly, singing a song quietly.

And that was how you had found yourself here, held in his arms, drifting off to sleep as he kissed your temple tenderly over and over again.

A/n - SORRY these Kinktober stories are not very long nor very kinky- I've been a bit busy, but I hope these will suffice your thirst for our stray men- as always, feedback appreciated <33

#skz #skz smut #stray kids #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids smut #kpop #kpop smut #han smut #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #skz au #stray kids au #smut #stray kids x reader

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 6 months ago

Text

I see you have your requests open. Maybe something about reader getting majorly injured? Like car accident or something. And the boyfriend Eddie hearing about it?

Request by @mugloversonly 💌💞

Eddie found out about your accident in the middle of Hellfire. The club was knee deep in the current campaign, he has thrown himself into it since you had been gone for two days at a cheer competition.

He never expected that the first time he would fall in love (after many cynical years of believing it to be a load of bullshit) that it would be with someone from the dark side.

But you were different from Jason and the rest, Eddie fell for you instantly as you did for him. Six months later and he was still in a blissful state. He missed you like crazy and he couldn't wait to see you tomorrow when you were back from the competition.

Suddenly Dustin's walkie talkie crackles to life and he hears Steve Harrington's voice.

"Dustin, I just heard from Robin who's friends with Alice on the cheer team. Princess was in an accident" Eddie doesn't hear much after that. In fact his blood runs cold and he immediately jumps into action.

"Gentlemen and lady, he nods to Erica' We will have to reconvene another time" all he can think about is getting to you.

All he heard was the word accident and he was taken back to when he heard the news that his mom died. He feels as numb as he did at six years old when he realised his mom wasn't coming home.

His eyes blur and he wipes the tears away hastily. No. You would be fine this wasn't like that. He wishes he'd asked how you got injured but Eddie reacted before he could do so.

He drives to the hospital in blind panic and argues with the nurse on reception that confirms you arrived at the hospital half an hour ago.

The frustration is building. He just wants to see you and hold you. Before he can argue some more Chief Jim Hopper has his hand on Eddie's shoulder to calm him.

"It's okay son, she's fine. I'll take you to see her okay?" Eddie nods as relief seeps into his bones.

"What happened?" He demands and Jim explains that when you and some of your cheer friends went for a celebratory dinner after winning the competition, a reckless driver nearly drove into your path. You moved at the last second but fell on the pavement and broke your arm.

"I've already arrested the little punk" Hopper confirms before Eddie can think of making the dickhead driver suffer.

Hopper has to restrain Eddie the minute he sees the guy being led out of the ward he was on in handcuffs, there's not a scratch on him and Eddie feels his anger rise again.

Only the thought of seeing you keeps him calm.

As soon as he sees you he's at your side at once. You're fast asleep, arm in a sling and he feels a rush to protect you from anything that could ever hurt you. He never wants to see you lying on a hospital bed again, the thought physically pains him.

Gently he takes your hand and reaches down to kiss your forehead. This wakes you and you smile brightly even though you must be in pain.

"Eddie" he exhales in relief when your beautiful eyes focus on him. He's so happy that you're awake but he's still furious at the dickhead who put you in here in the first place.

He's not a violent guy but if he ever got his hands on the asshole, then there would be hell to pay.

"Princess, I was so worried" a moment passes between the two of you where you both cling to each other, soothed by each other's presence.

"I'm okay, my arm is broken and I have a few bruises but I'm fine, might need my handsome boyfriend to play doctor for a couple of weeks" you tease and he chuckles, he'd do anything for you.

"I'll be the best doctor you've ever seen sweetheart, might spoil my patient a little bit though" (well a lot)

He will make sure you're comfortable, loved and that you don't have to lift a finger, this whole situation could have been a whole lot worse and he's just grateful that his princess will be okay.

♥️♥️♥️

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #protective eddie

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jiminjamms · 2 years ago

Text

sex therapy :: 16. liar, liar

chapter tags/warnings: infidelity/adultery...lots of it. multiple partners mean many fluids in the action. mentions of rough sex. mentions of breeding. guilt-driven sex. nonconsensual acts. manipulative undertones. humiliation. strong language. classism.

word count: 4.0k

notes: thank you for the comments i've received about my graduation and for your patience in this update! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Eleven missed calls.

All of which came from your husband.

With your phone placed away, you had not realized this deluge of notifications until Choso dropped you off at your apartment lobby.

“Bastard still thinks you’re his good lil’ wife,” Choso snickered when he peered over your shoulder, scanning the messages as well.

Driven by post-coital bliss, his mood had improved dramatically on the drive back, and he grinned stupidly beside you. At some point, you had to push his smug face away so that he would stop gloating over the words on your screen.

Where the fuck did you go? I’m still at the restaurant looking for you, one of Naoya’s bitter texts read followed by another sent twenty minutes later: I’m already home now, goddamnit.

Oh, the dread.

The raw dread that filled you, knowing that you had a husband waiting for you at home. A dream for many, yet a curse for you...which was why once Choso bid you goodbye, this awful trepidation only intensified now that you were once again nothing but alone.

The long elevator ride up to the penthouse didn't help either, your anxiety consuming you as the numbers on the floor display ticked higher. Sometime before the elevator reached the twentieth story, you caught sight of your reflection in the mirrored walls.

Wow, with this new wild hairdo, you looked like a tornado survivor.

Oh, but before Naoya saw you, there was something else you should be more concerned about.

You stumbled towards your closest reflection, your breaths coming to a stop as you slowly—very slowly—peeled up your dress.

“Please...no,” you silently prayed but nothing could stop the gasp at your lips once the hem was pulled past your hipbone, revealing the purple bruises on your outer thighs and the prominent swelling at your ass.

“Oh my,” you winced when you ran a finger over one particular welt.

Naoya must never get a glimpse of this.

Shame burned at your face, which had marks of their own.

To justify this most recent escapade, you convinced yourself that this was what Naoya deserved after his hurtful words during dinner. Furthermore, if what the therapists said was true—if Naoya was truly cheating on you—you definitely merited rights to your own (reverse) harem, right? An eye for an eye.

Okay, there were faults in this logic, but you must suspend beliefs if you hoped to feel better about yourself.

When a telling ding signaled your arrival at the sixtieth-second floor, you scrambled, pulling your dress over the blemishes and patting down some stubborn baby hairs. Once the elevator doors parted, you paced briskly to the penthouse entrance, the unit’s usual jasmine scent greeting you followed by the overhead lights that flickered on.

You thought that you were the only one in the apartment until you spotted Naoya in the living room. He had a long day, but he was awake rather than asleep, sunken into the sofa. From the back, he appeared bored, shuffling idly through different channels on TV.

“I’ve returned,” you announced unceremoniously, slipping off your heels.

When your husband turned to look over his shoulder, you half-expected him to erupt in fury—to degrade you, to command you, to do everything to emotionally hurt you until he pleased himself using you. After all, that was the typical response that you had grown accustomed to.

In fact, Naoya almost seemed to have ignored you had it not been for how he stood up from his seat, revealing the tall silhouette that blended with the cityscape background behind him. Hands tucked into his pockets, he strode languidly toward you on long legs and silent steps until he stopped a mere foot away.

“What’s that?” he inquired about the shopping bag you just placed down. He peered inside and surely recognized the dress that Choso had so graciously returned. “Had you gone somewhere?”

“Picked this up from the dry cleaner,” you babbled only to immediately wish that you hadn’t. This was an awful fabrication that was formulated from impulsivity rather than wit, confirmed by how Naoya narrowed his eyes.

“I see,” Naoya hummed in acceptance, likely trying to understand why you decided to make a spontaneous nighttime trip to the dry cleaner when you were supposed to be on a dinner date with him. Then, he added very casually, “You didn’t respond to my texts, by the way.”

Neither did you, you wanted to retort. When he had vanished into thin air these past few days, did he bother to look at the many messages that you sent him? Of course not. Rather than stir a commotion, you merely uttered, “Sorry.”

“Just don’t do that again,” he advised. For a moment, he glanced to the side—almost like he was about to burst from frustration—before he calmly said, “I was worried about you.”

Now this you were not expecting.

Your chest even fluttered given that your husband rarely voiced his concern for you. Had you responded to his texts, would he ever tell you something like that?

His mood was pleasant—far too pleasant because this was Naoya Zenin in the question, a self-absorbed husband whose indecent wife missed each of his eleven calls because she was too busy getting her pussy stretched (but he didn’t need to know that last point, right?).

On that note, guilt tugged hard at your stomach.

While you had planned to confront Naoya about his potential infidelity, the idea suddenly seemed too out of place, and you were ashamed that you doubted faithfulness at all.

That was when you reminded yourself: Naoya would always be the endgame. The fuck session earlier tonight was only to get your mind off the husband that you were hung up on. Naoya was who you truly wanted in the end. The fresh change with Choso—you justified—was to lift your mood, so you could forgive Naoya for his earlier insults.

Nonetheless, this guilt was much too heavy to swallow.

This wretched feeling only intensified as Naoya closed the distance, gently leaning over to seal your lips closed. I’ve missed you, his kiss seemed to say.

Earlier tonight, he might have confessed how his intention with you was purely sexual, a statement that trampled on your already aching heart. But, in the end, Naoya was whom you were expected to spend the rest of your days with.

You gripped onto his shirt as his lips traveled to your jaw, the quiet smacks ringing softly in your ears before you felt him kiss the side of your neck, and his warm exhale excited a slight shudder down your spine.

Whether his actions were driven by emotion or duty, you didn’t know. But what you did know was how much you wanted to give yourself in to him, to sink into the arms that encircled your waist, to let him caress and then use you—all in an attempt to relieve you from your sins.

If only life was that simple.

“This smell,” Naoya murmured, lips vibrating against your collarbone as he spoke, “comes from another man.”

Your blood turned cold.

“...What?”

Caught completely off-guard, you could feel your sympathetic nervous system kicking in, your cold fingertips and widened eyes telltale signs of your fright. Before Naoya could look downward, you pulled at your dress to hide the bruises by your thighs, which would be a surefire giveaway to the dirty deed you had done earlier. However, you were not thinking, perhaps downright possessed even, when you tried to save yourself by adding, “That isn’t what you think it is.”

Although Naoya was still by your neck, even you could see how he cocked a brow at the comment.

“’That?’” he repeated, then pausing briefly. As his confusion waned into dubiety, he straightened up slowly and loomed over you. “That what?”

Oh, no—

“That what?” Naoya said again, except his tone this time around could cut like a sharpened blade. His face deepened and darkened for every second that passed, his expression souring into a frown with furrowed brows. Even his lips tugged between a smile and a jeer as if he seemed tied between derision and disbelief. He certainly made his mind, though, when he caught your hand shielding a certain bruise. “What...are you hiding?”

That was when panic swallowed you whole.

“Nothing. It’s just...I didn’t mean to—” Terror locked words in your throat, but you certainly made the wrong move when you blurted, “I had told him not to—“

“Him?”

Oh, now you really aroused Naoya’s curiosity, not to mention that he looked furious because why should he ever love a wife unfaithful to him?

“No!” you shouted when Naoya tore your arm towards him. Efforts to free yourself quickly proved futile given his firm clasp. Rather, Naoya first stared at your hand, studying the cuts across your palm before his gaze trailed down to the much more obvious marks on your thighs and knees.

For several silent moments, he appeared deep in thought...pondering and pondering...his flat expression too difficult to read. Only when the seconds turned into a full minute did Naoya cautiously loosen his grasp around your wrist, releasing you from captivity.

Relief swelled over your system because you assumed you were safe, that Naoya was actually a more forgiving husband than you had originally given him credit for. You even backed away from him knowing that you were now liberated from his scrutiny.

Until your husband very calmly added, “Seems like I’ve missed out on something exciting.”

You froze.

For a man red hot with anger mere minutes ago, Naoya was now so amused that you found his change in tone too eerie, his expression so stern that you must promptly avert your gaze to the hardwood floor.

“I...don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vainly, you tried to play down the weight of the matter. “Just headed out for a bit. Nothing for you to be concerned with.”

“Oh really?” The inflection in Naoya’s pitch was incredibly insulting and incredulous. “To the dry cleaners? Or don’t tell me that my beloved wifey lied to me because she had actually gone somewhere else? Because you sure were desperate to cover up for something that ‘wasn’t anything important.’”

Fuck.

“I—” A gulp.

Naoya did not need long to notice the backward shuffles in your steps. He followed you, stalking forward like a mountain lion closing in his pathetic prey. Ideally, you would like to tell him to stop, that you could barely think with him at such proximity, but the potential consequences of telling him off seemed too dangerous.

“Well, tell me,” he urged. With one last step, he cornered you such that your back pressed against the wall, his hands planted on either side of your head. He exhaled deeply, and remnants of his tequila whirled in the little space between you two. “Did my dear Mrs. Zenin have a lot of fun?”

Your mouth grew dry at the question, and you remained keen to drill your eyes into the ground.

“I...” You bit your inner cheek, remembering the tears that had rolled off embarrassingly from your face. “I...wouldn’t exactly call that fun.”

“Aw, not fun?” Naoya cooed and curled one finger around a loose lock of your hair. “Why not, darling? All because my baby’s got some booboos? What do you want me to do, hm? Want me to crawl onto my knees to kiss the bruises that another man gave?”

“N-No.”

He contemplated the answer, looking lost in thought as he twirled your tresses. “Then how far did you get with this lucky guy?”

At the confrontation, it took all your willpower to not crumble like potted soil turned dry. Wracked with humiliation, you decided to ignore the question, thinking that that was the safer option until your husband tugged your strands gently.

"Hey.” There was a spark of a raspy growl in his voice. Understandably, he was irritated, and you didn’t blame him for being impatient when he warned lowly, "Don't make me repeat myself."

You swallowed one hard lump.

“We didn’t go far at all.” A lie through your goddamn teeth. Yet, you had to say something if you ever hoped for him to let you off the hook, especially when—

“Ow!” you groaned at the forceful yank at your hair. Instinctively, your hands flew to your scalp and rubbed at where the sting burned the most. “The hell was that for?!”

“I just want you to tell me the truth,” Naoya advised coolly, which implied that he already had some idea what this ‘truth’ was. Whether or not he did, you could feel how he was dangerously toying with your strands again, ready to teach you another lesson if you disobeyed. “C’mon,” he challenged. “Test me. Who would have thought that my wife would have this much trouble being honest with—"

“We fucked over his car...”

The room went instantly silent as your words sunk in, the only sounds being your uneven breaths that were a by-product of your horror.

Did you really just say that?

Though you have yet to meet his gaze, you hated how your stomach churned with uneasiness, only exacerbated by Naoya’s overbearing presence beside you.

“Over his car?” Naoya quoted, his interest piqued. “As in, the car hood?”

For a long moment, you considered how to answer in the most diplomatic manner until your eyes slipped closed and you finally said, “...Yes.”

“And did you like it?”

“N-No.”

A gentle tug. “I can tell when you lie,” and by now, you could tell that he truly meant it. “Try me again, and I’ll—"

“I...loved it.”

You thought that Naoya Zenin finally derived the satisfaction that he wanted when his fingers ultimately loosened from your locks, only for these hopes to prove naïve when his dark chuckles rumbled from above. What started as a small snicker soon unraveled into a taunting laugh—an impassionate uproar—as your husband threw his head back, cackling wickedly into the air.

You were too absorbed in disgrace that you didn’t even notice Naoya approach you again, his right hand moving to grab your face. And when he finally forced you to turn to him, you see that his hazel eyes are ablaze with an unscrupulous sort of entertainment, tears from laughter pricking at his outer corners.

“Oh, ho ho!” he mused. His strong clutch on your jaw allowed him to revel in your distress, squandering your opportunities to look at anything else but him. “This is fucking hilarious! To think that everyone thought that Miss Prim-and-Proper over here is a good sweet girl when she’s been a slut all along.”

Naoya chuckled as his eyes crinkled with mirth, and you squirmed uncomfortably in his hold.

Rather than humiliation, your heart began to fill with chagrin.

Why was your very husband the only person who would intentionally work up so much frustration in you?

Ironically, the timing in this realization could not be more perfect as Naoya brought his face all up in yours.

“This wasn’t the first time, wasn’t it?”

Obviously, your first inclination is to lie, but you second guess yourself when you think back to his previous warning: I can tell when you lie.

“Not the first time,” you breathed slowly, and the rumbles in his laughter were wholly off-putting.

“So, did you spit or swallow tonight, you little whore? Well, you seem more like a spitter, you quitter. Unless...” He then covered his mouth for theatric effect. “Don’t tell me he came inside of you?!” he crowed and reveled in the glare you sent. “Bingo! He did, didn’t he? He came deep inside my wife, and I’m sure you loved that too!” At this point, Naoya was guffawing like a maniac on the ground, bent over to hug at his stomach. “I’m guessing you creamed all over his cock too! Boy, oh boy. What would your daddy say when he learns that his little girl’s been frisky? Oh, oh! Even better! What would the papers say when a little birdie informs them about your tiny secret?”

“Or about yours.”

Naoya’s laughter, which had bellowed through the penthouse just moments ago, immediately dissipated at the comment.

Your husband crawled up from the floor. He half-stumbled on his way up and met your deterministic gaze.

This, so far, was the bravest you have ever been. Never have you dared to even think about confronting Naoya. Yet here you were now. Even if you trembled with nervousness—his frame towering many centimeters above yours—you did your best to be the one staring him down instead.

While you expected repulsion, Naoya just stared pointedly at you.

“How did you know?”

Strangely enough, his unflappable composure was what upset you the most. He was calm and collected, so unperturbed such that he didn’t even bother to deny the accusation. Because compared to you, Naoya probably did not feel guilty in the slightest, instead viewing your awareness as nothing more than an inconvenience.

“So, the cheating rumors are true then,” you breathed, and when your husband nodded so nonchalantly, there should be no reason for you to experience a heartache that you knew wasn’t worth the pain.

Besides, you should have been prepared for this. The signs were so blatant and obvious: his ridicule, his actions, and his contempt all presages that pointed towards an underlying reason behind his behavior. For crying out loud, even your therapists, who probably never witnessed a second of interaction between you and your husband, were the first to suggest the idea of Naoya’s infidelity.

And like a fool, you had rushed to defend your husband.

But why were you so obsessed with upholding a failed marriage when your husband could barely care to do the same? Why were you so desperate to salvage any possibility of amending the bond between husband and wife when your other half could not care for the same? The entire reason you sought sex therapy was that you valued this marriage more than anything else, hoping to forge a physical connection with your husband that lied beyond obligation.

But were you really that disillusioned?

The shame that had churned within your chest had given way to pain as you eked out, “How long has this been going on?”

“Almost a year.”

In other words, well before he tied the knot with you.

You appreciated his honesty, but the truth did not stab any less into your heaving chest.

No wonder Naoya had always been callous, ruthless even. From day one, he never belonged to you. In this marriage, his heart, his soul, and his every waking second had always been dedicated to someone else while you foolishly clung on to hope that he would one day warm up.

“Then...why didn’t you just marry her?”

“Look,” Naoya started, only to pause as a thousand emotions flashed across his face, reaching to massage his temples before he lost total control of his temper. “Things are complicated, okay? Listing all the reasons would take an entire damn day because there’s a fucking million of them.”

“Just tell me what they are.”

“Goddamnit, woman!” Naoya shouted, thrusting his arm down in exasperation and startling you. “Since when can you order me around?! Can’t your tiny ass idiot brain tell that I’m not in the fucking mood right now to talk about this shit?”

“But you’re going to keep seeing her?”

“Yes!” and his response was so curt that there was undoubtedly no regard for your feelings in his reply. There was so much more to know, but negotiating with him for details was fruitless given his current mood.

“You’re not worried that I’ll tell someone about this?”

“Well, you won’t,” Naoya accosted with crossed arms and the most unbothered shrug. “Because you know what’s going to happen if you tattle tale, right?”

You sucked in a deep breath.

I would just tattle tale too, the glint in his eyes answered, and nothing could stop him then. The knowledge of your affair had emboldened him and provided him with justification to do the same, especially since he could now laud all this over your head like some twisted trophy.

“Look, it’s fair and square,” he justified. “We’re even now. Frankly, I don’t care and won’t care to know about your business so long as you don’t mess with mine. Do us both a favor, alright? Keep that loudmouth of yours shut, and I might just do the same. Our families spent much effort to secure this ‘picture-perfect’ relationship in Japan, so we wouldn’t them finding out about our part-time flings, now would we?”

The worst bit was how Naoya was correct.

Because you thought about your father-in-law, who would harbor no qualms about cutting you from Japan’s most affluent family for good. You also thought about Mai and Maki, the Zenin twins who would be heartbroken to learn how Naoya had been mistreating you all along when you had previously told the girls that he wasn’t. And most importantly, you thought about your father, who would resign from his position to support your decisions, no matter how grave.

If disclosed, news regarding the scandals—both yours and your husband’s—would bear headlines for weeks, and the two households would certainly then fall out from bad publicity.

As a result, there was only one answer.

“No, we wouldn’t them to know.”

“Then, you’re not going to snitch?”

“No, I won’t...” you trailed off, and—from the corner of your eye—you could see Naoya grin with victory.

The differences between you and Naoya may be irreconcilable, yet there still existed a silent but mutual goal to not disappoint each other’s families. While the thought of being second place in Naoya’s heart could tear through your own, you staved this emptiness away by justifying this as a small price to pay, given that thousands could at most dream about being in your place.

“So, you’re a well-behaved woman after all,” Naoya hummed happily, resting one arm suggestively on your hip. “What a good wife.”

A good wife—the main reason Naobito Zenin wanted his son to marry you to begin with. As a ‘good wife,’ you were expected to love your husband, respect him, and provide for him. Real love may not ever exist in your marriage, but you were still obliged to fulfill your duties as his lawful spouse.

So, when your husband carried you into the bedroom and brought you to bed, when he stripped you carefully from your clothes and squeezed at your breasts, you willingly let him turn you into his filthy fuck toy.

“On your back,” Naoya whispered at some point, pushing your shoulders back such that you landed on the mattress with a soft thud.

His gaze darkened salaciously upon inspecting all the crescents and markings on your ass, right before he pressed his lips onto your skin just to confess how he might actually like sloppy seconds like you.

He wished to take you in missionary as usual. What surprised you, however, was how he encouraged you to keep your legs closed this time, an idea he never proposed before. With an order that resembled more like a purr, he urged you to cross your ankles, explaining that this would allow you to squeeze his cock with both your vaginal and pelvic floor muscles, which would make him come faster. And when he started working into your insides—fucking used cum back into your tight little hole—his hand grazed along your bruises, causing you to hiss and squirm.

For a guy who pounded into your skull that he had no interest in you beyond sexual, Naoya sure knew how to make you feel every bit like the stupid breeding cumslut you wanted to be. That was perfect since you believed that the only way to be useful was to let him use you as he wanted, without thought for your own satisfaction.

As long as this marriage prevailed, he was yours, and you were his.

From here, there was no way out.

Or so you thought.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This chapter is a rollercoaster and has been incredibly difficult for me to write, largely due to the various emotions I had to convey from both Y/N and Naoya. Pissed-off Naoya is one of my favorite dialogues to write, but I also enjoyed propelling Y/N's emerging confidence in confronting her husband.

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subjectsix · 19 days ago

Note

Influence and Arish, for your one word prompt? 👀

Fighting to stay awake in the silence, Arish fishes for something to fill the air. He chews the insides of his cheek as he searches for his mug in the mess of folders on the table. Jesse pushes it toward him.

"Did you know," he stars, eyebrows raised as he downs the last of his coffee. The grounds stick to the back of his teeth. "That caffeine was proven to increase sensitivity to effects from HRAs? Pope was testing it."

She stares at him from across the table, saying nothing.

"That..."

Okay. He can't help it. She's considering it too long.

"Is bullshit. But imagine."

Jesse rolls her eyes.

"Of course. If Emily really ran a study like that, I would've heard about it. You would've been the guinea pig, based on how quick you're going through our stores. If she didn't use herself."

"True," he half-laughs, exhaustion making him a little more sluggish than he'd like. He ignores the small quiver in his hand as he sets the mug back down with a plonk.

It's... whatever they call "night-time" in here now. All the day-shifters are asleep, and the lights are blissfully dim. A little too blissful, as he's been fighting to keep his eyes open for the past... whenever.

He and Jesse are filtering through reports and maps, trying to mark sections of the House as safe, recovered, dangerous, or unknown. She tried to tell him to take a break, he insisted this was his job and not hers, and she does so much anyway. She countered that so does he, so they argued until they both sat down with half the stack each. The Director and the "Interm-Head-of-Security (until someone else takes the job because I swear I'm not going to keep this even though I've proven more than qualified. As Jesse would say.)" are the perfect people to sort through it.

By his count, he's gone through three pots of coffee now. Light work, compared to some days. He'd sleep-- it's a precious commodity, and one of the only things keeping their sense of time straight (assuming the House isn't pulling some weird paranatural trickery)-- but the papers have been piling up, and its this kind of monotonous work that can save lives. It keeps Ranger teams moving forward. It keeps researchers safe as they canvas out through the cleared parts of the house. It keeps maintenance--

"Oh, shit," he stands suddenly, knees hitting the table as his chair scoots back. She flinches, alert, hand hovering over the service weapon. His now-empty mug falls and rolls across his papers.

"Sorry," he grimaces. "No, I just, I forgot I needed to verify some of the levels at the NSC, and--"

"Samuel from maintenance already handled that. He checked in with me," Jesse says. "The... what was it... pressure release--"

"Yeah. Yeah," he visibly relaxes some, righting his mug again. "He did? I never told him to-- he didn't have to do that."

"Taking a page out of your playbook, I guess," Jesse smirks.

"I... well," he shuffles his papers as he pulls the chair back in. "I'm just doing my job. I guess."

"Well, you're a good influence then. I swear more people on your teams are picking up work from each other to fill the gaps. Which, by the way, I offered to do for you. But you're knocking coffee onto all my papers."

He's too tired to come up with a quip to try and deflect the compliment.

"Sorry. Thank you," is all he manages.

"I should probably say the same," Jesse laughs. "Directorship is... not getting any easier."

"Hey, there's only room for one self-deprecating person at this table."

"Apparently not."

one word prompts

#two idiot besties #ekjsfhjesfh thank u!!#simon arish #jesse faden #control 2019 #kips writing

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avastyetwats · 3 months ago

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The Olympic Lovebirds

Continued from here. @fornassau

That squeak Charles let out was fucking adorable and James couldn't resist kissing him on the mouth again, yanking him again just to try and elicit another adorable squeak from him. "If I poke you here, will I get another one of those squeaks?" He questions as he pokes his belly like he's the Pillsbury doughboy, unable to help but laugh at himself. He's never been so silly in his life and though they probably shouldn't be running or messing around in this museum, he was having so much fucking fun. "Oh, were you? Without thinking that I might see you the second I round the corner?" Not exactly a well thought out plan, but that was clearly the point of it. To be silly and have fun which they very much were. His own arms wrapped around his waist, holding him there while Charles held him around the neck, leaning in to kiss him once more - this time much softer.

He sighed in contentment against his lips, his eyes falling closed as he melted inside of his embrace. The world around them began to fade, becoming solely focused on Charles and how fucking wonderful it felt being with him. How his heart danced and soared, the butterflies fluttered about in his tummy, and his mind raced with so many possibilities for them. Time they could spend here, time they could spend back home. He'd never felt this way about anything or anyone in his life. He's never felt so... alive and carefree and so fucking happy. He's never been so in...-

"I love you, James."

...Love.

His eyes shot open hearing those words. He hadn't expected them, but at the same time he wasn't all that surprised considering how close the two of them became in such a short amount of time. How they connected and bonded so quickly, how they opened up to one another, and wanted to spend so much more time together. They somehow - in the span of two and a half days - became inseparable. And their first night together, last night, was one of the best nights of James's life. Even more so than winning that gold medal. He'd never felt so fucking good, he'd never experienced such bliss before, and they didn't just fuck. They... made love. They kissed while Charles fucked him, they hugged while he rocked inside of him, they shared praises and compliments and words of reassurance. James said things - felt things - he never had before... is that what love was? Where they made you feel at your fucking best? Where you couldn't wait to see them first thing as soon as the sunlight hit and they wanted to be the last thing you saw before you fell asleep late at night... and you wanted to spend every moment in between with them? Because that's how James felt about Charles. It was... fuck. It was love at first sight. That wasn't just in fiction stories and fairytales. It was fucking real.

He accepted the kiss and reciprocated, eyes falling closed for another moment as he just focused on how warm his lips were, how soft they were. He swears he could still taste himself from last night... pushing those thoughts aside, James opened his eyes and rested his forehead against his, face red and his heart racing. "Are... are you sure? It's not," he clears his throat. "It's not too soon? I've nothing about me that makes you want to run?" He asks with a chuckle, probably sounding ridiculous asking that, but he just... he had to make sure. He wasn't disbelieving Charles, he'd just... never felt this way, nor has anyone felt this way about him. And he wanted to make sure he didn't just say it because of where they were. In the heat of the moment. He didn't want it to be fleeting, he didn't want there to be any regrets or uncertainties. "Because I... I think I love you, too.." He murmurs softly, swallowing hard after saying that. Words he's never said to anyone. Well, except his grandparents, but that was completely different. But god, did he feel so strongly for Charles. More than just attraction, more than just desire. He was pretty fucking sure it was love. He lets out a breathless chuckle, then. "Fuck."

#AWWW MY HEART #c; james flint #fornassau

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hrtiu · 1 year ago

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omg happy birthday!🥳 I hope you're having an amazing day with lots of sunshine, tasty food and happiness.

If you're feeling inspired can you write some domestic bliss with foxiyo? I'm thinking maybe when they're both old(er?) since that's something rarely explored (at least as far as I've seen). Idk I just think they'd be that cute elderly couple yk 😭

Thanks for the prompt and the birthday wishes! Sorry I wasn't able to finish it right away, but hey. I haven't written any fic in months so this is still pretty good for me??

I haven't really edited this so... hopefully it's ok???

Riyo Chuchi could not sleep.

She stared up at the dim, roughly-textured ceiling and blew out a breath. There was a time when she’d work herself so hard every day that she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to fall into bed rather than on the floor. And now she regularly found herself waking up in the wee hours of the morning, her body tired and aching but her mind stubbornly and insistently awake.

She rolled over onto her side and sighed. No, this position wasn’t any better. She felt no less restless, no less stretched thin by unwilling wakefulness. Across the bed from her, Fox’s broad back slowly expanded with a deep inhale. Riyo smiled to herself. At least the view was better on her side.

After another half hour of staring at Fox’s back, Riyo admitted defeat and got out of bed. She went to the ‘fresher, brushed her teeth, and combed her snow-white hair. The texture of her hair was wiry and tough--both its color and texture a far cry from the famously-luscious lavender locks of her youth. Then she went to her terminal and checked her messages.

A few updates from Ahsoka, a brief, businesslike note from Mom Mothma, and a bunch of adverts. Great. Riyo wondered how she hadn’t appreciated the days when her terminal was stuffed to bursting with urgent messages--full of people wanting her assistance, her opinion, her time. It had been overwhelming, yes. But at least she’d felt needed.

She spent a while--much longer than necessary--answering her messages. Then she checked the news and let her eyes glaze over as the goings-on of distant planets filled the terminal. Several hours passed this way, and the sun finally began to peak through the closed shades of her study.

“Been up long?” Fox’s gravelly voice broke through Riyo’s near trance.

She looked up at him and smiled wryly. “A little while,” she said, knowing he would catch her understatement.

He crossed the room to her, his stiff leg traveling just a little slower than the other. He rested his hand on her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble to his once-firm grip.

“I’m sorry, my sun,” he said. “The meds aren’t helping?”

“They help me fall asleep, but I just can’t stay asleep for long,” Riyo said with a shrug. “I could take more, but I don’t want to overdo it.”

“That’s probably wise. You should wake me up next time. I’d be happy to keep you company.”

“At least one of us should be getting rest,” Riyo protested.

Fox let out a noncommittal sound and lowered himself into the chair next to her.

Riyo rested her head on his shoulder, her whole body relaxing at the familiar contact. As her muscles melted into him, he still felt stiff beneath her. He hid it well, but she knew how uncomfortable the stiffness that held every joint in his body tight must be. He had once been a super soldier, a man in peak physical condition. If she was missing the way she used to feel, how hard must it be for him?

She peaked up at him through her lashes, his silvery stubble and strong nose still so attractive to her, after all these years.

“How are you doing, love?” she asked. “I know you must be having trouble, too.”

Fox shook his head. “No, not at all.”

Riyo couldn’t hold back her snort. “I was at your last doctor’s appointment. I know your condition is progressing. But you never complain!” She sat up, turning in chair to face him fully. “You know you can always tell me how you feel, right?”

“Of course,” Fox said, taking her hands in his. “And you are right. I wake up in pain every day. It’s getting more difficult to walk. And I’m frustrated that I can’t trust myself with a blaster anymore.”

It was what she’d asked for, but still Riyo’s heart constricted in her chest. Fox was in pain, and she knew he wouldn’t even acknowledge any pain if it wasn’t significant. She squeezed his hands. “Fox…”

“But I’m happy, Riyo,” Fox cut in, firm and confident. “The pain is a nuisance, but it doesn’t bother me that much. I hardly even think of it.”

“How can you not think of it? It affects every step you take. It keeps you from doing so many things you love-”

“I don’t think of it, because I am happy.”

Riyo shook her head, feeling that she was still missing something. “I just don’t understand. Here I am, every day complaining and pitying myself for all the most common, least inconvenient inevitabilities of aging. But there you are, happy and unbothered while you deal with this diagnosis. Either something is wrong with you, or something is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you. This diagnosis isn’t easy for me, but it is so much more than anything I ever expected.”

Any words Riyo could think to respond with died in her throat. What could she say to that? Especially when she knew what he said was true?

Fox stood up, moving slowly but with purpose. He held a hand down to her and she took it, rising to her feet at his side.

One hand still holding hers, Fox stroked his fingers down a wisp of white hair that had escaped Riyo’s utilitarian bun. “Do you know how lucky I feel to be able to grow old with you? I never expected to grow old. Period. And now I get to experience it with the woman I care most for in the entire galaxy? Every grey hair. every aching joint, every hand tremor--every one is a privilege.”

A tear slipped down Riyo’s cheek, and she pressed her forehead to his. Her body still felt heavy and tired, and she still mourned for her youth long gone. But some of the weight of sorrow lifted from her shoulders.

“The privilege is all mine,” she said, meaning it with every ounce of her being.

#foxiyo #fic #star wars #tcw #commander fox #riyo chuchi #growing old together #old age

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mlmxreader · 2 years ago

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Nothing Else Matters | John Soap Mactavish x m!reader

anonymous asked: Soap with “So pour the beer for thirsty men” please?

summary: nothing's the same when Soap isn't around, but thankfully, you have some time with him before he's destined to be pulled away from you again.

tws: swearing, heavy make out sessions

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Being home for a while was good for Soap, it gave him a chance to settle down and to let himself go a bit; he could sing and dance, Bloodywood songs blaring from the speakers, occasionally bumping into the furniture. The days were long, the nights even longer, and he couldn't have been more thankful; being home was good for him, it was good for his health.

Of course, there was also the added bonus of waking up next to his boyfriend every morning, rewarded with soft kisses and murmurs asking what he wanted for breakfast; the feeling of finally holding him in his arms again, and the scent of his cologne, the sound of his laughter and the sight of his smile. Soap loved waking up next to you, more than anything in the world.

When you left for work, Soap was gutted, wanting to spend as much time with you as he could, but he knew you had a job to do and he wasn't about to stop you; the money was more than needed as it was, after all.

So he didn't mind seeing you off, kissing you at the door and grumbling softly when you pulled away from him, grinning him and telling him you wouldn't be long. He hated being alone at home.

But then you would come back, and he would practically pin you to the floor when he greeted you; grinning and laughing as you held onto him and kissed him eagerly. Things just weren't the same when he wasn't home, you didn't feel much need to come home from work, there was nothing to come home to; but when he was there... when Soap was home, you couldn't wait to come back. Greedy and always wanting more of his attention.

The long nights were his favourite, cuddled into your side and half asleep as you watched films and television together, occasionally playing with his hair and making him hum softly; his legs tangled with yours and his breathing so soft, always falling asleep like that.

Laughing at his stupid jokes, trying not to be too loud for fear the neighbours would complain; they never liked Soap. He loved the long nights he got to spend with you, never stopped looking forward to them and always wished they would last longer.

The long days were your favourite, dancing and singing in the kitchen to whatever metal song came on, cooking together and somehow always making a mess; letting him watch stupid horror films while you read whatever book it was at the time, not particularly feeling the need to speak or to actually do anything together.

Just wanting to exist. Content when everything was quiet, only ever asking if he wanted a cup of coffee or a cigarette. Quiet. The quiet and long days were always your favourite.

Long days. Long nights.

It didn't matter much as long as you were together throughout them; it didn't matter if you were doing something together or separately, it didn't matter if you spoke or if you were even near each other, as long as he could see you and you could see him. As long as you were together, nothing much else mattered. As long as you were together.

It was a slow night, cold; the wind battered the window while the rain attempted to chisel through the glass, and you and Soap were firmly snuggled in together. Two blankets and a duvet, two cups of coffee on the coffee table you had made a while ago; he had his head on your chest, arms around you tightly. It was bliss, really, the perfect way to end the day, you wouldn't have changed a thing.

He stretched a little, started to kiss at your neck and make you grumble. "Fuck, I've missed you."

You huffed, swallowing thickly when you felt him nip at your soft flesh. "Don't start that shit now, Johnny."

As always, Soap didn't listen, trailing kisses up to your jaw before he straddled your waist, gazing down at your lips as you put your hands on his waist to pull him a little closer; his breath was heavy, excited and just waiting for his orders. He wriggled his hips to get comfortable, pressing himself against you.

"C'mon," he breathed out. "A wee kiss, it's all I ask."

You couldn't help it, gripping his hips a little tighter as you nodded. "Just one."

His lips were on yours in an instant, open mouthed and heavy breathing as he clung onto the fabric of your shirt tightly, his knuckles turning white and clicking quietly; he spread his legs a little, wanting to be as close as possible as you eagerly kissed him back. He missed it more than he could say. The feeling of your lips on his, the lingering taste of coffee. It drove him wild, made him crave it more than his lungs could stomach it.

It was messy, all hot breaths mingling and soft whimpers, hands desperate to feel one another's flesh, soft groans and whimpered begs for more, more, more; you would not have had it any other way, though, fingertips digging into his hips so sharply that you could see his soft skin going slightly red, feel the way his hips bucked against you as he whimpered and begged you to keep kissing him.

Just a little kiss. Just a little more. Just a few seconds longer. He would happily take anything and everything you would offer him, eagerly lapping up any attention that he could get.

But then you placed your hand on his chest, and with great reluctance, forced him back a little bit; he pouted, a soft whimper coming from the back of his throat.

"Why did you stop?"

"I'm all out of breath," you chuckled, voice raw and hoarse as your gaze dropped to his swollen and wet lips. "Give me a moment and then I'll kiss you again."

Soap dared to laugh, trailing kisses from your jaw down to your throat as he gently tugged at your shirt like it was offending him. "Promise?"

"Yeah," you breathed out, not even trying to bite back your grin. "Yeah, I promise."

He licked his lips, swallowing thickly as he did his best not to attack you with all the sweet kisses he had saved up for you. "So pour the beer for thirsty men."

You scoffed. "What?"

"I'm gonna go get a drink," Soap told you quietly, a cheeky smile on his lips as he did his best not to laugh. "Y'want one?"

"Yeah," you agreed, trying not to whimper when he pulled himself off of your lap. "Don't be long."

"Never am."

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doriandistortion · 1 year ago

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My favorite quotes

Things might not get any better but they may get a little easier - I hate sports by I hate sex

When I talk they say I'm preaching cause I'm passionate when I speak - set to stun

Bad men make their own rules and only dead men can tell not tales - set to stun

That memory is just a tinkle in the toilet - it came to me in a dream

Some people make an art of watching life pass by.

My body is a witch, I am burning it

Everything is gonna burn. Well all get turns, I'Il get mine too.

If ignorance is bliss I wish I were blissfully ignorant - dear ms. Leading - the dear

I see the horns they follow me down god fell silent when I cried out - mistakes like fractures

My tombstone was made at birth my coffin is on my back - deadringer knocked loose

The once weak will one day rule the world - Charlie by million dead

I know when it's time to let the dog decide - a werewolf by attic abasement

I distrust a mattress that smells like it feels. We can unmake the bed and we can reinvent the wheel - a werewolf

Well, you can tell by the way I move my feet that I'm a genuine insurrectionary

It's a kind of nervous shuffle that contrasts so well with bolsavic bravado - I am the party by million dead

My knife wants to hide deep inside of you - counting by heavens

I drink myself to death to be the after life of the party - love me normally by will wood

When I die I want you to die too - we will commit wolf murder by of Montreal

I envy you because you can believe in things like I never could - we will commit wolf murder

I love you, Maurice but I used to be quite a happy person before I met you. - flowers

The sadness will last forever - Vincent VanGough

Happiness became a chore - Roy's our boy by charmer

Summer without you is as cold as winter. Winter without you, is even colder - for Beatrice by Lemony Snicket

The world is quiet here - a series of unfortunate events

I know that you wish you were sick but there are so many ways of being more disappointing - Kali Masi

You watch me like a ten car highway wreck with detached. vulgar curiosity

This looking down at the tops of the hats of us passers-by from your 7th floor balcony

And from such a height you missed creatures too small for sight carry on covert conversations

As the misguided insects crown me their grasshopper king with a dance of celebration - January 1979 by mewithoutyou

Honey, it's depressing what depression does to some. - jawbreaker

Numb, some call it. Now, me and Jesus, we like to feel pain - ecifircas by SewersIvt

Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end. - 1899

Last of the pitchers, catfish done hunting, Harry Lundt Most of the killers never get famous and it's hard on everyone - Chinatown by jets to Brazil

I want a cut scene - beach life in death

If you cant find your friends, you can leave without them and if you run out of drugs, you can sleep without them And if you wanna go home, you can call a taxi. And if you don't wanna talk, you can sit in the backseat - car seat headrest live at rock the garden

Came a time when every star fall brought you to tears again - helena by MCR

Let's talk about all our friends who lost the war and all the novels that had yet to be written about them. - the good that won't come out by rilo kiley

I was a hater in the depths of an emotional hibernation - first time high by of Montreal

A dull mind can’t cut you. Sleeping dogs won't bite. - spinning wheel by worthikids

How senseless death, How precious life - king park

I've been asleep for half my life but l'm awake now I make mistakes and I make them well, I make 'em big so as to shake the ground by uhhhmm??? I’ll edit this later lmao

I've found that the road to happiness is paved with rows and rows of very tempting parking spaces - call me what you like by lovejoy

I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible - against the kitchen floor by will wood

I'm wide awake, it's morning! - road to joy by bright eyes

I wish I was like you, easily amused - all apologies by nirvana

People like you find it easy - atmosphere by joy division

I will speak for you, Father. I speak for all mediocrities in the world. I am their champion. I am their patron saint. - salieri in Amadeus

Focus on what is ahead and step forward. - zenophelion on tumblr (your demons have good advice actually)

Some make exhaustion a mode of expression and that's their way - Chinatown jets to Brazil

Your entire life can change in a year @bmekween on TikTok

Just to prove that I adore every inch of sanity - drowning lessons MCR

I need to recycle all the feelings I had in the past - Kylie by bear vs. shark

Thy firmness makes my circle just, and makes me end where I begin - everything was beautiful … by mewithoutyou

The time is coming where you won’t feel like you do now - woolworm by Indian summer except that part is sung by a woman who was sampled

I wanna be a horse full of fire that will never train - pig by Sparklehorse

It’s hard to remember to live before you die - lives - modest mouse

If you could be anything I bet you’d be disappointed am I right? - lives - modest mouse

Good luck with your fight

Promise me the sun will rise again - washer by slint

I am a beast among machines - set to stun

If I’ve got nothing to live for, then I’ve got nothing to die for - doomsday by set to stun

YOU CAN TALK THE TALK BUT CAN YOU WALK THE WALK MOTHERFUCKER!!! - staria II - set to stun

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fumekara · 9 months ago

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MORE THAN ANYTHING

Kento Nanami x Gn reader

n/a: English is not my first language, besides, this Fic comes from a draft taken some time ago. I hope you enjoy it. It is my first time back to writing in a long time.

Tw: Just pure fluff and soft sfw, the title is inspired by HH's song.

WC: 1.1K

That night you could not fall asleep.

"I'll be right with you, it won't take long," he had told you when you proposed to sleep with him after you both went through a long day at work.

You got up and, making as little noise as possible, took small steps towards the living room.

Kento was writing something on his laptop, surrounded by a pile of papers divided into folders of various kinds lit by the light of the monitor and the lamp you kept in the corner of the kitchen.

He noticed your presence and gave you a small, tired smile, giving your heart some warmth.

"Are you still awake, love?" He asked as he leaned against the back of the chair.

He always felt at home with you.

"I'm sorry Y/N". He rubbed his head in the crook of your neck "I was late again without me noticing" he said, planting a chaste kiss on an exposed spot on your shoulder.

Gently you brushed his hair back with one hand, while with the other you closed the laptop he was working on just now, making it clear that it was time for him to take the rest he so richly deserved.

"Come to sleep, Kento, it's not good for you to stay here late and I miss you," you said as you rested your head on his soft hair on your cheek.

"I know, you're right," he lifted his chin, placing a kiss on your neck, "I don't like leaving you alone either."

Lifting your head slightly, you turned to stare at him, touching his cheek lovingly as you looked intently into his eyes.

Pure love

You remained in that position for a long time, a wonderful feeling for both of you. He placed his face on yours and then gave you a kiss on the cheek savoring the aroma.

Without saying anything, you got up from his lap, took his hand without taking your eyes off his and, after switching off the lights, slowly guided him towards your shared bedroom.

In the darkness you could glimpse his small smile that made your heart melt.

"Come here," he told you as he felt butterflies in his stomach, as if he had managed to fall in love with you even more than before.

More than anything.

You felt his grip envelop you even more as you brought faces closer and met lips in a chaste, soft, pure kiss.

When you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

"I love you Y/N."

"I love you too, darling."

You both fell asleep wrapped in bliss.

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tired-truffle · 2 months ago

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Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.7k

Part 46/54

Incoming montage of Hopelessly Devoted to You by Olivia Newton-John or SOS by ABBA but if you really want to get hit in the feels, either Rivers and Roads by The Head and the Heart or The Night We Met by Lord Huron

"In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you're whispering 'where have you been?’ I say, 'I've been lost but I'm here now. You're the only person who has ever been able to find me.’” — Sue Zhao

Masterlist

The days passed like Gwen was a fly caught in molasses. Every morning she would wake and for a brief, blissful moment she would forget all that had happened and reach over to try to feel the warm body that should be next to her. The furnace of a man who would pull her into his arms despite his grumbling at having been woken, press a kiss to her hair, and promptly fall back asleep. But the bed was cold and she was alone. Alistair was in his castle, surrounded by people who thought her nothing more than a monster. Was his bed as cold as hers or had he found someone to warm it for him?

It had been weeks - or maybe months, Gwen had lost track - since she’d left Denerim and made her way to Vigil’s Keep and joined the Wardens, though not in full. She had no idea what taking the Warden concoction would do to her, and neither she nor Darcy were keen to find out.

The first of Alistair’s letters had arrived only a week into her stay at the Keep. Darcy hadn’t yet made it, and she’d shoved it beneath the thin mattress of her bed. She wouldn’t read it, not only because she couldn’t, but because she was afraid. Would he hate her, curse her existence for what he did to her? Or would he beg her to come back, tell her how much he loved her? She wasn’t sure which would be worse. If he hated her, it would be easier to stay away, though it would kill that last piece of her that clung onto the happiness her love for him gave her, even as it consumed her. But if he wanted her back… she had always been weak when it came to denying him. She could already imagine the warmth of his embrace, the light in his eyes. It hurt to know how easy it would be to break her resolve.

Once Darcy arrived at Vigil’s Keep, Gwen followed him wherever he went, ignoring the worried looks he shot her way, his attempts to cajole her falling flat every time. Gwen may not have been a Grey Warden, but she was an ally with the taint - a rumour that quickly spread - and no one questioned their Warden-Commander, at least not when she was around to hear it.

When the Keep needed aid, Gwen travelled with him, intent to keep her friend safe by any means necessary. But when Alistair - King Alistair - showed up at the Compound, Gwen ran for the cover of the shadows, watching with an aching heart as his troupe approached.

As he rounded the corner, his armour gleaming in the sunlight and adorned with intricate designs and symbols of his rank, she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. He looked older, a weight on his shoulders that hadn’t been present when she’d left him on the morning of his coronation. She was relieved to see his cheeks were full, at least, and his hair styled the same in a half-hearted effort to keep it off his forehead. She longed to run her hands through it again, to feel the softness of the strands, to trail her fingertips down his face. But reality struck like a cold wave; she had given up that privilege. The weight of her decision crashed upon her, and her heart sank deeper into despair.

His lips were curved into an easy smile as he chatted with Darcy, his movements fluid and casual, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, darting around as if searching for something or someone. She knew without a doubt that he was looking for her. The earnest longing in his gaze tugged at her heartstrings, she didn’t deserve that, he should be angry, be looking for revenge for his broken heart.

Gwen could barely register what they were talking about, her thoughts swirling too rapidly for her to concentrate. It all blurred into a background noise until Alistair’s fidgeting caught her eye, unable to meet Darcy's gaze. "How is she?" he asked, and the world stilled around them. Her heart raced, both at the sound of his voice and the realization that he still cared enough to ask.

He didn’t have to name her, they all knew who he meant.

Darcy's head shook with a subtle, almost imperceptible movement. From her angle, she couldn't see his face, but she didn't need to imagine the grimace that adorned it. It was the same one he always wore when he caught her lost in her own thoughts - a mixture of disappointment and concern. It never failed to elicit guilt within her, knowing that he took too much on himself. This was not his burden to bear, not his fault to own. She tried her hardest to shield him from these moments, though she knew she would inevitably slip up.

“I think you already know the answer.”

Gwen couldn't bear to watch any longer as Alistair's face contorted with pain and heartache. The lines on his forehead deepened as he pressed his lips together in a tight line, trying to hold back his anguish. Gwen felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. It was a look she had dreaded seeing - one she had been trying to avoid for so long. Her heart ached as she retreated further into the shadows, her back pressing against the cool exterior of the building. She sank to the ground and curled up into a small ball, trying to make herself invisible and escape from the overwhelming scene before her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to stifle her sobs and remain silent in the darkness. Every nerve in her body was alive with emotion, raw and exposed like a fresh wound.

Darcy found her like that some few minutes later, the rest of the group having gone on ahead to give them space. The pity in his gaze was like a knife to her heart, making her want to tear out her own eyes and hide from the world.

“He asked about you,” Darcy said softly, concern etched on his face. Gwen nodded, burying her face in her hands.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice muffled against her palms

Darcy sighed, too weary for someone barely over the age of twenty. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I wish I knew how to fix this.”

Gwen shook her head. “It is not your fault. There is nothing left to fix. I will be fine, I just need a minute.” She wasn’t sure how many times they’d had this conversation in varying forms - each time leaving her feeling more drained. Darcy apologizing - believing it was his fault that Alistair became king, and while he may have had a hand in it, he’d had to do what was necessary. Gwen did not blame him for it - and she would tell him as much, though he never seemed to believe it. He would give her space, and then they would continue like over and over again.

She had little time to dwell, as the situation at Vigil’s Keep became dire, she followed Darcy to the deep roads once more. Though she couldn’t stop herself from wondering: Was he sleeping well, eating enough? Had he found people he could trust, was he happy?

She hated herself for the misery she caused him, but she’d had to do it. If only she had been born different, not some monstrous woman unfit for a king. It made her fight harder, all that rage threatening to burn her alive if she did not spew it onto something else first. She hacked and she slashed and she tore them apart with her teeth and she survived. Because that is what Gwen did, with or without the man who owned her heart.

When they encountered the talking Darkspawn… They were the nail in the coffin. If only fate had dealt a slightly different hand, she could have been one of them - twisted and corrupted, her core rotten to the bone. It was a sobering thought that haunted her every waking moment.

They’d had to leave her behind, the pull of the Broodmothers too much for her blood to resist, even after the Calling had ended. She’d stewed in resentment and restlessness within the confines of the Keep. But when the attack came, and once again she was thrust into a battle for survival, she was ready.

She met many people during these times, Anders the runaway mage, a spirit of Justice, Sigrun the castless dwarven woman and scout for the Legion of the Dead, Nathanial Howe - a much better man than his father, and Velanna the Dalish mage whose righteousness rivalled little else. While they were an interesting bunch, when they inevitably separated, she felt less sadness than she had when her first companions had gone their separate ways. She supposed that that was what groups did, they completed a task and then disbanded. No need to get too attached.

She always had Darcy, at least, and by extension Zevran when he came to stay with them. The Wardens were wary of her, at best, and despised her, at worst. But having the Warden-Commander as your close friend had its perks. She was relatively untouchable, though, in some ways, she wished she wasn’t.

Two years into her downward spiral, she received an unexpected letter from Leliana, the new Right Hand of the Divine. The delicate parchment was sealed with wax and bore the insignia of the Chantry. With trembling hands, Gwen tore it open and asked Darcy to read it aloud, her own illiteracy a constant source of frustration. Leliana's words were gentle and lyrical, inquiring about her well-being and praising her for her hard work with the Wardens. Leliana thoroughly avoided the topic of Alistair when bringing up old memories from their times together and Gwen was grateful for this unexpected connection to her dear friend. She felt proud of all that Leliana had achieved. In Gwen's eyes, she deserved nothing less than the world itself, and she was sure to include that in her return letter - with Darcy’s aid of course.

The letters continued to arrive sporadically, as Leliana's busy schedule often left her with odd hours. Gwen's own schedule wasn't much better, leaving them both struggling to find time for their correspondence. And on top of that, there was the need to get Darcy to read and write a proper response, while also constantly turning down his offer to teach her how.

If she learned how to read she’d have one less excuse to finally unearth the pile of letters hidden under her bed. Each one was embossed with a regal seal and written on fine paper, making them almost too precious to touch. Every time a new letter arrived, she would quickly stash it away in the box where it belonged, unable to bring herself to toss it into the fire. But on her loneliest nights, she couldn't resist the temptation to take out the box and carefully unfold only one letter, searching for any trace of his scent or any sign of where his fingers may have touched the paper.

Maker, she was a pathetic fool, but when it came to Alistair, she always had been.

Three years into her time with the Wardens, Darcy had finally convinced her to join him and his friends in a Tavern, to drink and forget and just spend time together. The other Grey Wardens put up with her presence because of her friendship with Darcy and she did not wish to think about what they would do to her if Darcy hadn’t ensured her safety through threat of death should anyone touch her. It isolated her, but this was alright, she did not wish to make any more friends.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Gwen dug her heels in as Darcy tugged her towards the lively tavern, song and chatter coming from within.

“I only have good ideas.” Darcy pushed harder until she relented, trudging unwillingly toward what she was sure would be her social doom. She tugged anxiously on her bandana, what if they saw what was underneath? What if they pulled it down and gutted her right then and there?

Darcy, sensing her distress, released her wrists and grabbed her shoulders instead, shaking her lightly as if he could get the thoughts to tumble from her head. “It’s going to be fine, I’m going to be right beside you, and if you really hate it you can always leave and I’ll never make you come along again.”

Gwen sighed, she was going to regret this, but when Darcy stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, his eyes wide and glassy, she had a hard time telling him no.

It was just a night in a tavern with people she spent most of her days around, how terrible could it be?

Gwen steeled herself as she followed Darcy into the warmth and noise of the tavern. Her shoulders hunched slightly, partly to make herself less noticeable and partly in apprehension. The tavern was alive with the sounds of lively chatter and music, the aroma of hearty stews and sizzling meats, the tangy scent of ale and mead, and the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread attempting to placate Gwen’s nerves. However, she only heard the loud thumping of her heart in her ears as she followed Darcy. She kept her gaze lowered as he greeted his friends boisterously, sliding onto the bench beside them.

"Come on, don't be shy!" Darcy said, patting the empty space next to him. Reluctantly, Gwen sat. She felt the weight of curious stares on her and resisted the urge to flee.

It took some time, but after she’d downed a few beers, a light buzzing in her system - though unable to get drunk - she found herself relaxing as Darcy regaled his friends with dramatized stories of their adventures, ensuring to steer clear of any mentions of Alistair. The other wardens started to regard her with newfound interest instead of fear and uncertainty, and from the knowing smirk plastered across Darcy’s face, that had been his plan all along.

She did her best to humour him, nodding along and confirming what he said to be true when the others looked questioningly at her. She felt at ease for the first time since… well, she preferred not to think about it.

Yet history had a way of haunting her, of ensuring she never knew a moment of peace.

The bard - a small elvhen man with a grin that could enrapture even the most reluctant of patrons - stood poised in the center of the bustling tavern where he had been playing energetically the entire evening. She’d vaguely listened to his music, it was good, but nothing she cared too terribly about. That was until the bard's voice rang out with an announcement. Her attention snapped back as he declared that he had a special song to share about Ferelden's King.

A cold, sharp pain stabbed through her chest and her heart seemed to freeze in place. Her heart leapt into her throat, her breathing faltering as his lyrics swirled around the room.

“Gather 'round, ye merry folk, and heed this haunting tale of woe,

Of young King Alistair's twisted love, a story yet untold.

In our fair Ferelden, where whispers rose and fears did grow,

A monstrous love now shadowed, love that fate would soon withhold."

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“A creature born of nightmares, with ash-filled eyes and skin so deathly pale,

With fangs that gleamed like daggers, she drew him towards her Blight.

In hidden corners lingered, their love began to bloom,

But fears of darkened magic sealed their impending doom.”

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“Rumors flew like wildfire, a curse upon the brave,

Whispers of dark magic and evil deeds he'd have to save.

with his pure, tender soul,

And though it tore right through him, he chose to let her go.”

“Oh, King Alistair, he lost his love of old,

For the coldness of her empty heart devoured all the light.

Amidst the fear and doubts, their love could not survive,

But their tale shall live on, as a warning to the wise.”

“So listen closely, dear friends, to the truth inside the song,

For love knows no bounds, even if darkened by wrong.

And though they say he broke her spell, the truth may never show,

The legacy of love shall grow, in whispered tales, the seed will sow.”

The harsh scraping of her chair against the floor echoed through the room, her ears ringing. Had Alistair heard this song? Did he hate her for haunting him still, for ruining his reputation? They never should have been together in the first place, she should have realized that she wasn’t worthy of his love, that he deserved so much more than her. Maker, she was an idiot, she could never stop hurting the people she loved. Darcy stared at her with a mix of pity and anguish in his large brown eyes. She couldn’t stop hurting him either. Maybe it would be best for them both if she just disappeared.

But she knew he’d never stop looking for her, and that would only hurt him more in the long run.

"Gwen,” Darcy started, reaching for her arm. She quickly raised her hand, signalling him to stop as she turned away.

“I will see you at camp,” she said, her voice firm. She parted without another word, striding out into the darkness where she belonged. Where a monster like her should be.

It was in her tent, sitting on her bedroll with a numbness that spread through her limbs that Darcy found her. He stumbled over the threshold, the lingering scent of ale clinging to him like a second skin. Gwen took one look at his glassy eyes and dishevelled appearance and sighed.

He stumbled forward, his body swaying dangerously as if he were about to topple over. Quick reflexes kicked in and she caught him under the arms, her strong grip guiding him to sit on the edge of her bedroll. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to regain his balance and composure.

"‘s my fault, you know," he slurred, flinging an arm dramatically over his eyes. "You ‘nd Alistair. If I hadn't made him king, you coulda had your happily ever after."

Gwen sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Darcy, you know that's not true. You're a wonderful friend. You did what you thought was right for Ferelden at the time. No one could have predicted how things would turn out."

Darcy peered at her from under his arm, his dark eyes glistening. "But now you're both miserable without each other. And there's nothing I can do to fix it."

"Sometimes life just doesn't give you the fairytale ending you hoped for," Gwen said softly, doing her best to keep her pain out of her tone. "Alistair and I… we weren't meant to be.”

Darcy grabbed her hand, his grip surprisingly strong despite his inebriated state. "I jus' wanted you to be happy, Gwen," he mumbled. "Both of you. And now look...it's all ruined."

Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder. "Darcy, look at me. You can't control everything. Sometimes life leads us down paths we don't expect or want. But you've always been there for me, and that's all I could ever ask for in a friend. Now you need to go to bed before you get your tears all over my pillow. Again.”

With little protest, Gwen helped Darcy out of his tunic and into a spare sleep shirt. As she tucked him under her blankets, already half-asleep, she planted a kiss on his forehead.

"It's not your fault, Darcy. I wish I knew how to stop you from blaming yourself for my decision.”

Quiet greeted her, Darcy having swiftly drifted off to sleep, and without another word she left him to his peaceful slumber, taking up watch over the camp. She wasn’t going to be getting any rest that night, not with that damned song echoing around her skull.

Darcy never brought up the incident again for fear of upsetting her further. But unbeknownst to Gwen, he’d woken early the next morning and snuck back to his tent, quill tapping paper as he wrote.

My dear friend Alistair,

Have you heard the song they wrote about you and Gwen? She’d kill me if she knew I told you but she’s withering away and I can’t stand to see her like this.

His words remained grossed out as he stared at the page. Rubbing his hand across his tired face he balled up the letter and stuffed it into his pack. He couldn’t send it, what could Alistair even do at this point? This was Darcy’s fault and his mess to clean up. Why couldn’t he do anything to make this better? Why did he stand there helplessly while his friend became a shell of herself? He was the Hero of Ferelden for the Maker’s sake and he couldn’t even do something as simple as put a smile on Gwen’s face. Some hero he was.

Out on a crucial mission for the Grey Wardens, five years after successfully ending the Fifth Blight, Gwen's heart raced as she caught sight of Alistair once again. She was just as unprepared for his presence as she had been the first time she’d seen him, some four years ago.

Visiting villages, boosting morale, and listening to the complaints of the people were all part of a King’s job. Gwen was aware of this and had been careful to avoid anywhere where he was rumoured to be, but when it was unscheduled, a surprise visit he decided to make on his way back to Denerim, there wasn’t any way for Gwen to prepare.

Fanfare accompanied him, whispers and excited shouts of the King’s arrival, his entourage on horses, knights guarding him from the ground, banners and so much noise that Gwen knew he would hate. Or the Alistair she’d known would have, perhaps he’d grown to like the attention.

She ducked into a darkened alley, pulling her hood up as she pressed herself against the cold bricks. The village was small, one main street running through the centre, the street she had been on, the street she had left Darcy and their other Grey Warden companions on. The street that Alistair was set to ride down.

Desperation burned in her gut, the need to see him making her legs scream against the stillness she was forcing into her body. She yearned to run out and into his arms, hold him and never let go, but that was not for her. Five years and she still loved him just as much as the day they had parted.

Darcy glanced around, his brow furrowed as he searched for her, a frown marring his striking features. He spotted her, in the shadows, releasing a heavy sigh as he shook his head. She didn’t need his pity, she just needed to hide from Alistair.

As his horse slowly clopped by, she couldn't help but study his face. His jaw seemed more prominent, evidence of the passing years etched into his features, his face no longer as boyishly round. His once bright eyes now carried a deeper darkness, reflecting the weight of responsibility he bore as King. But when he saw Darcy in the crowd, his entire countenance changed. A youthful joy spread across his face, momentarily casting aside the burdens of royalty and revealing the man beneath - Alistair. It was a bittersweet sight that tugged at her heart, wondering how often he could truly let go of his royal duties and simply be himself.

Alistair's keen eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face. His gaze was hopeful, as if he expected her to appear at Darcy's side any moment. But as seconds ticked by and she remained absent, his lips pressed into a firm line, disappointment etched on his features. He desperately wanted to see her, even after all these years. But she continued to hide in the shadows like a coward, ignoring his letters and avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, still searching for her face in a sea of strangers. He needed to move on, whispers of his inability to find a Queen, to sire heirs, would lead to his downfall. What was the point in all this suffering if he wasn’t going to do what he needed to?

Darcy reluctantly granted her permission to leave and she wasted no time in making her exit, her feet carrying her away from the man she loved. Her heart begged her to turn around and run to him, but she knew she couldn't. As she walked, she could feel the weight of his absence crushing her chest, each step taking her farther from where her heart remained all these years later.

No matter how long she cried into her pillow that night, no longer able to remember the feel of his arms around her, the warmth he provided, she couldn’t bring it back. Her only consolation was that she wouldn’t have to endure this torment for much longer. If what Alistair had said about the taint killing Grey Wardens after thirty years applied to her, she would soon be consumed by the very thing that had already ruined every piece of her.

“I need you to send him a letter asking him to stop. Tell him I don’t want to hear from him again.” Gwen cornered Darcy a few weeks later, desperation leaking from her tone. “And stop looking at me like that, I’m not some injured rabbit you need to care for.”

Darcy schooled his expression, replacing pity with hardness, his jaw tight and his eyes dark. “Write it yourself.”

“You know I can’t, Darcy,” she growled, clenching her fists at her sides.

“All the more reason to learn.” He slipped past her, pausing to look at her over his shoulder. “Do not ask me to break my friend’s heart, I did that already and I cannot make myself do it again.”

Guilt ate away at her insides and she ducked her head. She was being unfair to him, to ask him to do this, but if she learned to write, she would have to learn to read, and then she’d have no excuse to not read Alistair’s letters. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from breaking into his castle and kidnapping him if those letters contained even an inkling of the love he once felt for her.

Instead of Darcy, she recruited various Grey Wardens to write portions of what she wanted to write. Their puzzled expressions could not deter her as she separately requested them to jot down seemingly random words.

By candlelight in her room, she copied the words until they read:

Alistair,

Stop contacting me. I do not wish to hear from you.

Gwen

Darcy knew what she was doing, but other than a disappointed shake of his head, he did not try to dissuade her. There was no point. Once she was set on a task, no one could change her mind.

Alistair’s letters stopped shortly after that and what was left of her heart crumbled to ash. She missed him dearly, more than she thought possible to miss another. But they were not meant to be, and she should count herself lucky that she got to know him at all. Had she broken his heart a second time with her letter? Did he hate her now, her harsh words ripping at the compassion he still held for her?

If she had it her way, she would never know.

Next Chapter

A/N: Chapter summary - Gwen is depressed and delves into new layers of self-loathing and Darcy shoulders all the burdens.

Ok, this one hurt me to write, but it's necessary for the angst! Or at least that is what I tell myself :')

Here is the link to the playlist if anyone is interested!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3aljFDc57bauwsuEvjAzWF?si=TOONmoAKRxyP238fD_2Aeg&pi=u-6vMznMpES-OX

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #zevran x warden #original warden #Spotify

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artie5o5 · 2 months ago

Text

Lay Me Gently In The Cold Dark Earth | Short Story Update #1

Logline: A 24 year old guy is brough face to face with his childhood trauma of neglect abuse and violence that he would rather not confront when he goes to live in a small religious village town with his beloved.

Story's Vibes: Work Song by Hozier. My Own Private Idaho. Take Me to Church. I wanted it to have soft, rural vibes, domestic bliss.

POV: 1st person retrorespective.

Word Count: Around 5000

Inspiration: Work Song by HozerTM // Hold Me Under Till I See The Light by Shaelin Bishop.

Characters:

Protagonist

Soft boy vibes. River Pheonix Timothee Chalamet vibes

Loves his beloved. That is his entire personality, he eats, breahtes, lives his love. He lives for his love. He loves, loves, loves.

Racked with religious guilt, doesn't know what to do with his feelings.

Reckoning with the sins of his past as he "lives his sin" with his girlfrend in a deeply religious village

There is an interesting conflict in his internal beliegs that I don't really know how to explore.

His Beloved

Autamn day, fallen leaves, milky white hands colored with mud, soft sunlight bouncing off of brown frizzy hair

She's the gossip of the town, the shame on the family name. Yet so enchantingly charming no one can smite her to her face

Whispers follow her where she goes. Yet she chooses to go everywhere regardless of the whispers.

"A hush fell into the room when she entered, then whispers followed."

She loves, loves, loves, she loves everyone and everything.

What's it about?

CW: SA, Prostitution, Drug abuse, implied child abuse, implied self harm.

Our Unnamed protagonist goes on a three day binge by mixing a shit ton of alcohol with a shit ton of drugs and sedatives and starts dreamwalking. Dreamwalking? He basically keeps walking until he is out of the big city and ends up in a small town he's never been in before. He falls apart infront of a typists apartment, ready to embrace death...

... only to be woken up in a small succint apartment couch, he sees the soft sunlight coming through the curtain, he sees an empty crib in another room, he falls in an out of conciousness, and he's saved by the heavenly touch of someone he deems godsend.

They move in together in her small farming village after her father's death. Her father leaves her behind an apple orchard. He works as a farm boy in a neighbours land. They have quite the beautiful life. He works all day, comes home to her baking cookies in the kitchen. Falls asleep to the earthly scent of her hair.

Except for the fact that the deeply religious community deems their quaint life as "living in sin". The targetted preachings in sunday masses, the whispers, the name callings stirrs deep seeted memories in him, that he has spent a lifetime trying to drown in booze and pills. His own complicated belifes in divinity is in direct contrast with the life he has led, and is leading. He seeks for answers, he seeks for salvation, he seeks to be free

I started writing this story in either 2020, or 2022. It's been so long that I've forgotten. The first half of the story follows Hozier's Work Song beat by beat. The more I wrote, the more I edited what I wrote the story took on it's own form. It starts with our protagonist ploughig the field with his.. cowerkers? One of the boys Simon asks him about his beliefs in death and afterlife given the fact that they've heard everyone from towns and cities are athiests and heathens.

“But what do you believe?” Simon asked. “You want to hear some blasphemy.” Old Joe barked at Simon. “That's what you want.” He turned to the boys. “We go in our graves, six feet under - and then we rot and feed the worms.” There was a collective unease. Simon ignored Old Joe completely. He asked me again, “Do you also believe that? Or do you believe there is no Heaven and Hell?” I thought of my beloved, working in her garden. The earth and the dirt smeared in her pale white hands, at the hems of her skirts. “What Joe said. We go back to the earth, I suppose.” I shrugged. “But no grave will hold my body down.” I’ll crawl home to my beloved.

Copied straight out of the Work Song, I know. Bear with me for a second there. i was going through a terrible writing slump at the time, and the beats of the songs helped me find a general structure for the story. A lot of things did change the more I drafted. It's been so long and so many drafts that I've forgotten most of the drafting process.

In the Fall of 2020 Shaelin Bishop's "Hold Me Under Till I See the light" was published, so I think that probably tells us I at least started writing this in 2020. The line level work was heavily influenced by Hold me Under. Every time I felt stuck, I went back and re-read Shaelin's short story to get **inspiration**

In the final draft, not much of the story follows the beats in "Work Song". The structure a bit of a back and forth between the present day events in the village and the backstory of our protagonist. I've tried to keep the pacing as smooth as possible. There was a lot of pacing problems in the earlier drafts that I've since tried to polish out.

I've submitted to and got rejected by multiple magazines. I recently got a feedback on my story that was mostly positive apart from a few clarity issues, so I don't know what to do with it. I'm going to actively go threw it again. I'm also actively looking for anyone to provide critque or suggest possible literary magazines that publishes similar work. This story is really personal to me for some reason, I don't really know why. I'm neither catholic nor have been subject to any of the tortures our protagonist was subjected to, yet I somehow feel a certain kinship with him that I can't really explain.

Here are some excerpts from the finished draft

This is my original work, please treat it gently. Do not plagiarise

I had walked off for miles. Miles and miles and miles of highway and busy streets before I started wandering around in a place I had never stepped foot in before. It was well into the night, in an unknown town, in front of a stranger's door - when I passed out.

The line level work is probably where Shaelin Bishop's influence comes in the most. I've tried really hard to replicate her writing style as much as possible. I know I haven't succeeded. XD But trying to replicate her style has certainly improved the quality of my work compared to what it *used* to be.

image description: the outline of an ornate window reflected on a wall by the soft sunlight. Over it is the text "I woke up with her walls around me. The curtains were drawn – sunlight poured through the white fabric in a soft golden haze. I was lying face up on a sofa, cushion under my head, a blanket over me. My neck hurt as I tried to turn. I rested my head back on the cushion. The muscles ached all over my body. The headache was blinding. From the living room sofa, I saw a bedroom door slightly ajar, through the gap I saw an empty room with a high ceiling, nothing inside but an empty crib."

I tried to be very specific about the details, because our lord and saviour Shaelin keeps talking about **specificity**.

Here comes one of my favourite lines -------

I swear I thought I dreamed her. I could see in microscopic detail - Sunlight bounced off the frizz of her brown hair. She was sitting beside me on the sofa. She dipped a piece of cloth in a bowl on the glass table next to us and squeezed the water out. The wet cloth wiped out my sins as she rubbed it across my face, baptizing me for the first time in my life; when her fingers touched my skin, I knew I was reborn.

image description: a window from a dark room over looking a small a part of the sky and a streetlamp, the sun in the middle bright and glaring. Over it the text reads "“This is my home.” She said, “I grew up here.” There was the kind of ache in her voice that only comes with the yearning for a childhood you can no longer go back to. The house was engulfed in memories. She stood in the same spaces she had occupied in happier times, yet happiness felt like a feeling she could no longer replicate. Everything she touched had a story, and she recounted it all to me with a fondness tinted with guilt."

I tried to be as specific with my imegery as possible. There are some strong points, there are a lot of weak parts. I'm obviously only sharing parts that I thought was strong XD

The biggest part of the story is the relationship between the protagonist and his beloved, and I've tried to make it as heavenly and etheral as possible.

“Wait..” She walked up to me and opened the fridge, “I saved some for you.” She pulled out a plate with slices of pudding. “Desert before dinner.” She said.

“My hands are dirty.” I held them up.

She picked up a slice and fed me with her hands, clean and unbloodied.

The part that needs the most work is when his mysterious "sinful" part is fully revealed. The critique I got here is that a massive tone shift happens here. That this part of the story is more matter-of-fact than the rest of the story and as a whole takes the reader out of it a bit.

The backstory is very important and laying it out in a way that doesn't read like a "recitaion" is the main goal for my next round of edits. I haven't really had the time to delve into it just yet.

I will probably go read "Hold Me Under Till I see the light" again XD. For inspo. And rewrite the whole part scratch. I'll send the story out for another round of critiques.

If you're interested to swap short stories feel free to dm me.

#Lay Me Gently In The Cold Dark Earth #Overture #writing update #short story #short story collection #wip #current wip #excerpts from my writing #excerpt from a book i'm writing #prelude

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