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randomdragonfires · 11 months ago

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I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife.

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age.

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved.

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love.

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens.

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did.

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to.

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride.

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought.

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband?

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance…

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him.

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them.

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was.

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out.

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her.

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get. Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately.

How she wished it was her.

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals. Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?” she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?”

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now.

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut.

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger, it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face.

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him.

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these, he needed a champion too.

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife.

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor.

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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kurooh · 7 months ago

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HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY 🔥🥰

I truly love your work I was wondering if you can do more MHA men and how they would be like if fem reader was famous (model, actress , artist etc) have a great rest of your day❤️❤️❤️

BEGGIN’ ON HER KNEES TO BE POPULAR ! — BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA

⊹₊˚. you’re his celebrity crush. (still, even after you started officially dating)

⟡ feat. aged up! midoriya izuku, todoroki shōto, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, takami keigo.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), f! reader, some fluff, all characters & reader are 25+, quirkless/modern au, different au’s for each character, brainrot post.

⟡ xoxo, juno: omg nonnie this req is absolutely brilliant. thank you for the birthday wishes!! 💓

being a dancer/performer means your limbs are always a little achy or tight, and that’s where izuku comes in to help you stretch out. in other words, he fucks you in every position possible until you’re melting beneath him. he’ll attend all your performances and cheer, the loudest in the audience.. he’s almost gotten kicked out a few times. izuku’s always observing you, especially when you dance, and so he sweeps you into his arms after dinner, then slow dances with you.

shōto poses nude for you and sits pretty as you paint him onto your canvas, meticulously capturing the slopes and curves of his body. you’re the artist, and he’s your muse — even after years of painting him clothed or nude, he still gets hard from just your eyes on him. after a painstakingly long time spent correcting and coloring, you finally stand and give his drooling cock the attention it deserves.

denki’s a renowned singer, and you’re his groupie. despite the rumors of all the women he’s been with, you’ve come to learn that they were untrue. the second he saw you in the audience cheering, he decided to invite you backstage. then he started giving you free concert tickets to every show; it only progressed from there. so many of his fans are jealous, but he doesn’t care. if he could, he’d fuck your brains out right in front of them. denki helped make you famous by recording your voice and your moans in the studio, then he added them into his songs.

eijirou’s friends are tired of hearing about you all the time— all he does is rave about his beautiful model girlfriend and show pictures of her. he loves to participate in your social media posts and monitor the comment sections, etc. sometimes eijirou leaves one too many marks along your body (your boss hates him), or fucks you until you can barely walk just because. occasionally your instagram posts and sfw rating amps up when eijirou takes your phone and posts something a little suggestive about you two.

your most popular movie received worldwide attention, and even more when the truth about you and your costar, keigo, got out. you couldn’t escape the relationship questions all over social media or in interviews once everyone learned you’d hated each other behind the scenes, yet had unmistakable chemistry on screen. unbeknownst to the audience, you’d only maintained the chemistry with him because of some quick fucks before and after shooting. of course, it’s not like the sex stopped after filming and production— you’re still secretly seeing each other, practically dating now. your fans often ignore or wonder about the blank instagram account that likes to call you theirs in comments below your posts in response to others.

#kurooh #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #denki smut #denki x reader #hawks smut #hawks x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #todoroki smut #todoroki x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #deku smut #deku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut

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moonstruckme · 22 days ago

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Please Mr. Postman

summary: it's your first day at a new job, and the postman who comes by your office is especially friendly

cw: just fluff honestly, passed on opportunities to talk about post worker uniform shorts (sorry, won't happen again)

postman!James x fem!reader ♡ 732 words

A friendly tap on the glass startles you out of your stolen moment of meditation. You tear your face away from its hiding place in your hands to find a mail carrier peering at the large, darkened window of your office, shading his eyes to see in. You hasten and hit the button to unlock the door before he can.

Your office setup sort of makes you feel like a fish in a tank, or a zoo animal in a glassed-in enclosure. You’ve been itchy with the discomfort of being seen all day. You take a moment to straighten the row of pens on your empty desk as the postman’s voice booms in the entryway around the corner.

“Margaret, I never thought I’d see the day! Slipping on the job, tsk, tsk—” He fits his dolly through the doorway of your office with a practiced maneuver, stopping short when he sees you. “Oh. You’re not Margaret.”

You shoot him a small, sheepish, please-don’t-be-mad-at-me smile (you’ve had lots of practice with it already this morning). “I’m new.”

“You are!” he says, like this is the discovery of his day. “What’s your name, lovely? I’m James.”

You tell him yours, itching for a pen to write his name down with. You’ve had to learn so many, but James strikes you already as someone who remembers names and you’d hate to forget his. He has a bright smile that pokes dimples into sun-kissed cheeks and the sort of warm voice which threatens more smiles to come. He’s handsome, muscular limbs making his uniform fit tightly around his biceps and quads and brown eyes made large behind thick glasses.

“Margaret’s moved into accounting,” you tell him. “I’m replacing her, today’s my first day.”

James nods sagely. “Well, you look well prepared for it. Got all your pens in order” —your cheeks warm at his notice— “and you look very smart.” The warmth worsens. Your toes ache inside your stiff new shoes. “I’m sure you’re making a great impression.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice softening self-consciously. “I hope so.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He waves you off, leaning his hip against your desk. “Everyone here seems very nice. I mean, I’ve mostly spoken to Margaret, but still. How are you finding it?”

“Um.” You glance towards the door that leads to the rest of the office as though your boss is standing with her ear pressed to it. “It’s nice, so far, yeah. The coffee in the break room is good, so.”

James’ laugh is loud and lively, echoing in the small space. It makes you smile; you don’t think you’ve said anything so funny as to earn such a sound.

“Well, that’s the best you can hope for, isn’t it?” he asks. “Good coffee to keep trudging through. And it is only your first day, you can’t likely make an estimate of the whole place just yet.”

“Exactly,” you say, relieved.

“Is this the sort of thing you want to do? Work here, I mean?”

“Oh.” The question catches you off guard. It’s more than the weak small talk you’ve made with the other delivery people who’ve come by today, but there’s an earnestness in James’ face that says he really wants to know. “Yeah, it is. I mean, maybe not here” —you gesture to your unadorned fishbowl of an office— “but in this field, yeah. I’d like to stay here if I can.”

He grins. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have you, lovely. Well,” he heads for the stack of boxes against the wall, “I don’t want to keep you. This might take me two trips, but don’t mind me coming in and out, alright?”

“Oh.” You watch him load six boxes expertly onto the dolly, biceps flexing slightly as he tilts it back onto the wheels. “Do you want any help?”

The grin James flashes you sends a funny tingle down your spine. “You’re sweet. Thanks, I’ve got it. Just unlock the door for me on my way back in, yeah?” You do keep an eye on the door this time. You offer again to help when he comes back, but James only makes a comment about your work clothes being too nice to get dirt on and waves you away with an easy smile. You find yourself watching his truck rumble out of the parking lot with a light, fluttery feeling in your stomach.

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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IF YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE, I’LL STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face, and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. the memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, some way, you manage to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

a chuckle of your own drips into the air, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. you won’t give him the satisfaction.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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chilling-seavey · 8 months ago

Text

Dreamland (ln4) - Part Three

↳ A/N Idk where my mind went when I wrote this but I'm almost embarrassed to post it because it's so filthy- Please comment something nice so I don't regret everything and delete these 7.7k words of pure sin LOL

↳ Inspired By: 'Late Night Talking' by Harry Styles

↳ Summary: Ever since your night together in your hotel room, Lando can’t seem to get you off his mind

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 7.7k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, sexting, dirty talk gets really super nasty, sending nudes, Lando's so incredibly down bad

PART TWO || PART FOUR

It had been twenty-two days since Lando lost his virginity to you in that Bristol hotel room and ever since, he only thought about you more than he had before. Everything was you as if he couldn’t get enough, having given his trust into the hands of the woman of his dreams, and he was so far past attached that even he himself did not realize the extent of his borderline dependency. He played it cool with you through Instagram dms here and there since your night together and every time he received a notification with your Instagram account handle and a simple little message, he would be grinning ear to ear.

It had been sixteen days since Lando turned twenty-one. Usually he would message you first since you were still on your book tour and quite busy, but on his birthday you had sent him something early that morning. His only wish was to have more of you…to have all of you, for life. He even made that wish over his birthday cake as he blew out the candles. His sisters took some pictures of him so he could post them for his birthday and you were one of the first people to like them. You made his insides feel so warm and you did so unknowingly.

It had been three days since Lando moved out of the dorms and back into his parents house. Three days and he was already going crazy. The freedom of the dorms was refreshing but being stuck back at home under his parents’ rules felt suffocating to the now twenty-one year old. Between the curfew, chores, and annoyance from his siblings, Lando was nearly ready to re-pack his suitcase and book a ticket on the next flight out…if only he had more than $14 to his name. His family just didn’t get it. Not like you did.

“We pay a lot of money for you to go to school and we don’t like seeing you wasting your time and throwing it away.” his mother explained as gently as she could over dinner that evening.

Lando, elbow on the table and chin in his hand, swatted the last bit of his supper around his plate with his gaze downcast, “I’m not throwing it away.”

“Well you’re certainly not trying.” his father replied. “Your grades are proof of that.”

Lando dropped his fork to the plate with a clatter and his three siblings glanced over at him from around the table without a word, listening to him be ridiculed by their parents and waiting for his hostile defences, “It’s not my fault that I’m not as good as the rest of the students! I pull as many late nights as they do but their work is just better.”

“Have you sought out extra help from your professors or the tutoring centre?” his mother offered.

“God!” Lando tisked in frustration and slouched back in his chair, “I don’t care!”

“Exactly. You don’t care,” his father agreed seriously, “Your GPA is astronomically low and you’re threatened with academic probation because of it. If you flunk out you will be paying your mother and I back every cent that has gone towards tuition and housing.”

“This isn’t even what I want to do!” Lando retorted strongly, “I want to, like, go into arts and design…or something.”

“That’s not a stable career, Lando, come on. We’ve discussed this.”

His mother added, her voice attempting to be gentle, “We went out on a limb with your attempt at the racing and karting stuff and look where that got you? We want to support you, love, but we can’t keep taking financial risks. We still have to get your sisters through university too.”

“What if I had an opportunity to design book covers for a really well known author?”

His family all looked over at him. There was a beat of silence.

“Do you?” his father inquired, honestly curious.

Lando dropped his gaze to his plate and crossed his arms over his chest, “Well…not yet.”

His younger sisters snickered into their forks.

He glared over at them but recovered quickly at the defence, “But when I met that author that I like at her book signing last month I pitched the offer and she seemed really interested.”

“Oh my God, here we go.” his youngest sister rolled her eyes.

“Lando-” his mother started.

“No, listen-” Lando huffed, “When she gets back to Monaco she’s going to help me get a job…she said so. Something where I can do what I really truly like.”

His parents exchanged flat expressions that had his face falling.

“She will.” he pressed.

His father held a hand up to stop him, “You gotta stop living your daydream, son. Come on.”

“It’s not a daydream!” Lando protested. “Why can’t you guys support me?”

“We don’t want to see you struggling, Lando.” his mother said, “We want you to have a fulfilling life.”

“Yeah, they don’t want you unemployed and living in their basement until you’re middle aged.” his older brother added with a smirk.

Lando glared over at him, “Says you.”

Their two sisters “ooo”ed.

“Regardless of what you think your future is going to look like, you need to better yourself in the present.” his mother continued.

“Which means focusing more on your degree when the next term comes around…and getting a full time job in the meantime.” his father finished.

“I don’t want to go back to school.” Lando grumbled.

“Oh really? What’s your alternative plan?”

“She’s gonna get me a job-”

“Oh my God.” his middle sister laughed, “You’re dropping her name like you’re besties.”

Lando clenched his jaw, biting his tongue to smother the dirty truth to answer with the more innocent response, “We talk every day.”

“She’s being nice.” his mother said gently, “She’s being nice to one of her fans.”

Lando knew his family didn’t understand but the simple words from his mother sent his heart aching. In all honesty, it had been a few days since you had conversed and Lando had been starting to overthink every reason as to why you had left him on ‘seen’. He could have bet money on the fact that you would never use him and drop him…that your night together was more than just a one night stand…but maybe he was getting too ahead of himself.

His father only dug the blade farther into his chest, “She is a stranger whom you think you know. She doesn’t owe you anything. She is not going to be your free pass into having a life you don’t need to work for and she is not going to come sweep you off your feet to rescue you from your failing grades. You are twenty-one years old now, Lando, and it’s about time you start acting like a grown man and get your shit together before life runs you over.”

Lando threw his napkin onto the table and stood up so quickly from his chair that the cutlery rattled on the table when he bumped against it, his throat burning from how he tried to swallow back his anger, muttering under his breath before he stormed off, “I can’t wait to get out of this fucking house.”

His mother called after him warningly, “Don’t think that just because you’re twenty-one now doesn’t mean we can’t still ground you!”

Lando took the stairs two at a time and when he turned the corner at the top of the stairs into his bedroom, he slammed the door behind him and locked it. It was a dangerous balance between anger and heartbreak and Lando paced his room while taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down.

After the freedom that living in the dorms provided, it was hard to return to his house where his parents still ruled. Once he had that taste of independence - a taste of life with you - it was horribly difficult to fit himself back into the little bedroom in which he grew up and grew out of his small suburban town. He didn’t have a bad relationship with his family at all but the reintegration of him back into their house made tensions feel insufferable sometimes. His parents were always on him and he already wanted to escape.

Sitting down on the side of his double bed, Lando pulled out his phone and opened Instagram to send his frustrations to his group chat with his two closest friends.

landonorris: I need to get the fuck out of this stupid house and get to Monaco like NOW landonorris: I’m gonna lose my fucking mind alex_albon: Oh no what happened landonorris: My parents are on my arse about school and work and they don’t get it georgerussell63: Don’t get what? landonorris: That I already am on track to get the one thing I want and it’s not being a stupid accountant georgerussell63: You have us for that alex_albon: Yeah we’re always going to support your dreams mate landonorris: I just want HER landonorris: That’s all landonorris: And she promised me a job designing for her books landonorris: It’s going to be real landonorris: It has to be alex_albon: It will be alex_albon: It won’t happen overnight but it will be landonorris: I just want to get out of this house landonorris: It’s so fucking embarrassing living with my parents georgerussell63: Hey we all live with our parents georgerussell63: Are you saying Alex and I aren’t cool georgerussell63: Rude alex_albon: Yeah what the hell mate alex_albon: 🤨 landonorris: Noo it’s different landonorris: You guys aren’t trying to get a self-sufficient borderline famous Monaco woman landonorris: No one like her is going to want some muppet like me who lives at home with his parents georgerussell63: She clearly does alex_albon: Besides, this is just a temporary stop until you find your own place alex_albon: You’re being resourceful…saving your money georgerussell63: Has she said anything recently? You haven’t told us much these last few days alex_albon: Do we even want to know what she’s been saying? 👀 landonorris: Nothing landonorris: That’s it landonorris: Nothing georgerussell63: Wdym?? landonorris: I messaged her the day I moved back home just to make casual conversation that I moved out of the dorms and she said something like ‘that's nice’ and then when I replied again she just left me on seen alex_albon: Oh georgerussell63: Why?? landonorris: Idfk but I’m stressing so bad over it landonorris: Like what if my parents are right and she just sees me as a fan and nothing more georgerussell63: She took your virginity mate I don’t think she’d be the kind of person to just drop you after that alex_albon: Maybe she’s busy with work. Isn’t she still on tour? landonorris: Her book tour ended yesterday. She should be home now alex_albon: So maybe give her a day or two? Maybe she needs some time to relax after traveling the entire continent of Europe landonorris: Idk landonorris: I miss her georgerussell63: Message her again landonorris: Idk I don’t want to be annoying alex_albon: Ask for your virginity back landonorris: OMFG georgerussell63: Excuse me mommy can I have my virginity back 🥺🥺🥺🤲🏼🤲🏼🤲🏼 alex_albon: EW GEORGE landonorris: GOEREG STOP georgerussell63: HAHJJKKPFJFJG georgerussell63: That’s one way to get her to answer you alex_albon: No that’s how you get blocked landonorris: Lol funny you think I’m the sub tho landonorris: Anyways alex_albon: Pff georgerussell63: Oh yeah with all that experience you have alex_albon: OOF ROASTED landonorris: WOW landonorris: That one night was ENOUGH tbh landonorris: Jeeeezus georgerussell63: Ya those marks you had were fuckin brutal mate alex_albon: In the best way ofc landonorris: YEAH landonorris: I KNOW

Lando flopped backwards on his bed with a smile he struggled to bite back, his worries distracted by his internet friends and the mere memory that was your night together so many days before.

landonorris: God I miss her so fucking much landonorris: How has it almost been a month georgerussell63: Back to celibacy for you georgerussell63: Rip landonorris: I actually hate it here alex_albon: Just message her alex_albon: Just a ‘hey’ or something landonorris: Ew that’s cringe alex_albon: ??? How landonorris: Idk georgerussell63: Be like ‘hey how was the rest of your tour’ landonorris: Make me sound any more like a grandma 🙄 alex_albon: Mate georgerussell63: Or tell her you miss her georgerussell63: Girls like that kinda thing alex_albon: Like you would know what girls like 🤨 georgerussell63: 🖕🏼🖕🏼 alex_albon: ‘Hey I’ve been thinking about our night 😏’ landonorris: Brooo landonorris: I wanna sext with her so bad georgerussell63: 😂😂 alex_albon: Oh but just ‘hey’ is cringe okay landonorris: Maybe I’ll send that landonorris: Idk landonorris: Should I? landonorris: Is it too much? landonorris: After being left on seen for two days idk georgerussell63: Go for it georgerussell63: She literally let you come inside her georgerussell63: I think this is nothing compared to that alex_albon: An odd comparison but a valid one there, GR georgerussell63: Hey thanks mate landonorris: Should I?? georgerussell63: Yeah it’s just reminding her that she’s on your mind which is a good thing alex_albon: And it’s not too hot and heavy right off the bat alex_albon: If she responds with something flirty back then who knows landonorris: Or she’ll leave me on seen again and I’ll have to die of embarrassment georgerussell63: Omg alex_albon: Nah she won’t. Send it georgerussell63: Right now

Lando exhaled deeply and sat up again on the side of his bed as he exited the group chat to find his dm thread with you. It wasn’t too far down on his list since he didn’t talk to many people other than Alex and George and when he opened it up, the little grey ‘seen’ nearly slapped him across the face. He pursed his lips in thought and let his thumbs wave over the keyboard, debating what to say.

He finally drafted something quickly,

Hey…been thinking about our night recently

He screenshotted it before he sent it and then shared the image to his group chat.

landonorris: *sent a screenshot* landonorris: Is this fine? georgerussell63: Add an emoji alex_albon: Yeah maybe a heart or something

Lando swiped back to his thread with you and added a heart to the end,

Hey…been thinking about our night recently 🧡

He sent that screenshot to the group chat.

landonorris: *sent a screenshot* landonorris: Maybe? alex_albon: Yes I think that’s good georgerussell63: Yesss now send it landonorris: Ahh idk is that too annoying? georgerussell63: Blimey mate why are you suddenly all flustered like a teenage girl lol georgerussell63: You’ve literally already slept with her georgerussell63: The hard part is over alex_albon: ^^^ alex_albon: Send it alex_albon: Sendddd it georgerussell63: Send it!!!!

Lando sighed and sat up on his bed again as he exited out of the group chat and opened his thread with you once more. The notifications from his internet friends kept popping up at the top of the screen in silent encouraging cyber chants to get him to send the message. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous exactly. Maybe he had spent too much time dreaming about you that he didn’t want to let one measly message fuck up his one fleeting chance at having you.

His thumb hesitated over the send button for a moment, debating and overthinking. He got up and paced his room a little, staring at the unsent message and going through every possible situation in his head like it was the last decision he would ever make. With a slightly dramatic huff, he closed his eyes and tapped the send button hurriedly.

He exited the chat and opened his group chat in a panic.

landonorris: OKAY I SENT IT landonorris: AHHH landonorris: Gonna throw my phone out the window now georgerussell63: GOOD JOB alex_albon: YES georgerussell63: Now we wait 😌 landonorris: For a miracle georgerussell63: You already had your miracle georgerussell63: That was your night together alex_albon: She’s going to answer Lan dw

Lando didn’t leave his room all night because the concept of facing his family after his slightly immature and dramatic blow up over their inability to see his side of things felt like the worst idea ever. Instead, he dabbled with a few new doodles in his notebook that were infused with thoughts of you and when that got boring, he turned to one of your books for his usual go-to entertainment. His friends were busy with their families and it wouldn’t be until they were ready to sleep that they would reconnect.

Because of their lack of conversation that evening, Lando was trying to do everything in his power to keep his mind away from his sent message to you. The one that you still hadn’t replied to. The more time that passed the more anxious he got until he had no choice but to dive into your fictional universes as some sort of escape, his phone hiding under his pillow and out of sight.

His eyes were glued to the page and every carefully printed word as what always happened when he opened one of your novels. The steamy scene in front of him had his hands clutching the hardcover book tightly, spread out comfortably on his bed, and your honest words only brought him back to his own very real recollection of your magical night that you shared almost a month prior. The chapter ended before the scene got too far and Lando huffed and shut the book and tossed it onto his night stand, letting his head rest back against his headboard so he was staring up at the ceiling.

By that point in the night, it was dark outside and his room was illuminated by only the light of his bedside lamp. He had heard his siblings heading to their own rooms over the prior few hours and eventually heard his parents head to bed too. No one bothered him; probably not wanting to push his buttons with any wrong move. Things would smooth over by morning.

But Lando didn’t feel at ease at all and it was solely due to the fact that he was scared to death that you were ignoring him. He could only pray that his one message didn’t ruin all that he had dreamt of.

When the city of Bristol passed into 9pm, Lando checked his phone one last time. Only a few messages from his group chat were waiting for his response. Nothing from you.

alex_albon: Ok finally done the movie alex_albon: My family wanted to analyze the whole damn thing alex_albon: My sister doesn’t know a thing I stg georgerussell63: Omg we just finished too georgerussell63: I totally demolished my nephew on F1 2021 ngl alex_albon: Ayy the kid didn’t stand a chance alex_albon: Who’d you play as? georgerussell63: Max Verstappen alex_albon: Hell ya les gooo georgerussell63: Did you hear people say he be might be world champion this year?? alex_albon: And beat out Lewis?? Idk… georgerussell63: If my parents had actually let me kart and I made it to F1 I bet I’d be able to beat out Lewis lol imagine alex_albon: Kinky georgerussell63: Ew???? landonorris: George you’d get like 15 points MAXIMUM georgerussell63: That’s so rude alex_albon: Omg Lan hi alex_albon: Did she answer?? landonorris: Nopeee landonorris: I’m gonna kms 😀 georgerussell63: Nooo! georgerussell63: Give her time alex_albon: It’s only been like alex_albon: Three hours… landonorris: Ugh alex_albon: But I gotta sleep landonorris: Ughhhh georgerussell63: Same georgerussell63: I’m helping my dad run some errands tomorrow so we have to be up early for whatever reason alex_albon: Damn I just have to sleep because I’m tired alex_albon: I’m literally doing nothing tomorrow georgerussell63: Your usual landonorris: Lol alex_albon: Lando you’re so dry its weirding me out landonorris: Sorry landonorris: 🧡 landonorris: Love u mate landonorris: Sleep well alex_albon: Thanks mate alex_albon: Praying that you get a reply by morning georgerussell63: Me too! alex_albon: Love yall georgerussell63: Love u ♥️

Lando locked his phone and tossed it onto his bedsheets, deciding to get himself a snack since he didn’t finish his dinner. It would be at least something to take his mind off his worries. With his family already in their rooms, he could navigate his house without interruption and he tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen silently.

Glass of water and a handful of chocolate chip cookies in hand, Lando returned to his room and shut the door behind him. One cookie resting between his lips and his hands full with the rest of the stack and his drink, he headed over to his bed once more. His phone screen lit up just as he approached and the notification that was greeting him had the half bitten cookie falling out of his mouth and onto his bedsheets.

He hurriedly set the glass of water and discarded cookies on his night stand, brushing the crumbs out of his bed as he sat down and re-read the Instagram notification from you.

-Hey you 💕 I’ve been thinking about it too

Lando unlocked his phone and let his thumbs word a response for him without letting himself overthink it,

landonorris: Was wondering if you forgot about it! Haven’t heard from you in a bit

His message was delivered and opened right away, meaning you were waiting for his response in the chat. That fact had him biting back his bashful smile, but his nervousness still lingered over what your answer was going to be. This could have been the moment you would shut him down for good.

-Omg never! -Tour ended yesterday and the flight from Miami was crazy…delayed…they lost my luggage…and then after a hefty sleep last night I’ve spent today picking up my retrieved bags and then unpacking and I was just at lunch with my friends

Lando let out an audible sigh in relief,

landonorris: That’s okay landonorris: Good to be home? -Very -Tour was fucking incredible but this break is going to be nice landonorris: Yeah for sure -Did you really think I forgot about you just like that? landonorris: No I just wanted to make sure you were okay landonorris: It’s been a few days -You’re a sweetheart -I’m just fine landonorris: I’m glad 🧡 -But tell me… -What had you wanting to remind me about our night? landonorris: Nothing in particular landonorris: Was just missing you a little -A little? landonorris: …Yes -Mhmm -Well you may keep your pride here all you want but I won’t be afraid to admit that I missed you quite a lot landonorris: Oh really? landonorris: You? landonorris: Miss Monte Carlo? -Oh please -I’m the least Monaco that Monaco can get -And we had something special that night -I don’t throw that around lightly landonorris: Yeah… landonorris: Okay… landonorris: You got me landonorris: I miss you a lot -The truth comes out 😌 landonorris: I’ve been re-reading your novels because I miss you :) -Omg really 🥺🥺 -Which? landonorris: Second novel…chapter eight… -I see 👀 -So that’s what had you thinking about our night

Lando slouched back against his headboard with a blushing grin that he hid in the material of the collar of his forest green hoodie. He contemplated his response but saw that you were already typing so he waited.

-Which part were you thinking of most?

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip carefully with what you were smoothly instigating and his mind rushed back to each piece of your night together that had thrived in his memory ever since. He didn’t know how strong to start off so he played it cool,

landonorris: All of it landonorris: Kissing in the elevator landonorris: And in the hotel room -Just kissing? landonorris: Well you’re an incredible kisser landonorris: And I fucking loved kissing you -I loved kissing you too -Your lips are so soft -And your hands on my body felt so good -I miss that a lot -The way you grabbed me landonorris: I should have done more of that -That’s okay -Next time 🥰

Lando had to toss his phone onto his bed for a second so he could roll over and scream into his pillow out of sheer lustful glee. He was so smitten for you and all his worries were completely erased by the simple reassurance from you that you had been thinking about doing it all again.

landonorris: For sure landonorris: When and where -Sometime this summer maybe -But we can plan later -I want to hear more about what you miss about me first landonorris: Okay 🧡 landonorris: I miss your body landonorris: And the way it felt under my hands landonorris: Your hips…your ass…your tits… landonorris: So fucking perfect -I swear you’d be so good at body worship landonorris: Fuck baby I’d gladly worship you anyday -Yeah? 🥰 -How? landonorris: I want to take your clothes off and kiss over every inch of your body landonorris: Just breathe you in landonorris: Trail every curve with my lips or my finger just so every part of you has been touched by me -That sounds so good -And then? landonorris: You sure you wanna know? -Tell me everything -Don’t hold back landonorris: I want to spread your legs and taste you -Oh my God landonorris: Is that okay? -Yeah lol I’m sorry that just made my pussy throb landonorris: Jesus landonorris: Did it?? -Yess -I’m an author, words speak wonders to me landonorris: No pressure lol -Never any pressure with me baby -Tell me more -Just spill your thoughts here landonorris: I just wanna know what you taste like because I didn’t get to last time landonorris: You might have to guide me -That’s okay baby -I can lace my fingers in your pretty brown hair and show you where I need you landonorris: Fuck yes please -So I can feel your warm tongue all over my pussy -Inside me -On my clit -Feeling you so fucking close landonorris: I’d kill for your legs over my shoulders right now landonorris: I really really really want you to show me how to eat you out landonorris: Making you come on my mouth would be so fucking hot -Yes sir

Lando’s mouth literally fell open in shock, his heart racing in his chest at how quickly this conversation turned exactly to how he had imagined it in his most salacious dreams.

landonorris: And I fucking loved hearing the way you called me sir landonorris: That fucking did it for me baby -It was your idea and it was a genius one -It got me off too -Honestly I catch myself moaning out that title when I make myself cum now landonorris: You think of me? -Yeah I think of you when I touch myself -Every time landonorris: Often? -Couple times a week -And right now

Lando blinked at his phone screen in disbelief, trying to picture you in your pricey Monaco apartment and warm in your bed in limited clothing and touching yourself while you spoke with him. His dick twitched in his sweats and he dropped a hand down to palm himself lazily over his growing erection. You sent another message,

-Do you think of me? landonorris: Always have landonorris: Only ever you -You’re so fucking cute -God I miss you landonorris: I’m getting hardddd lol -Good hehe -Are you touching yourself too? landonorris: Do you want me to? -That’s for you to decide sir -Do you want me to help make you cum? landonorris: Fuck yes -Okay then strip down and keep talking to me landonorris: Ok gimme a sec

Lando tossed his phone to the side so he could hurry to push down his pants and boxers in one go, letting them drop to the floor carelessly. His sweater joined the pile, leaving him slouched back against his pillows and the headboard in the warm light of his bedside lamp, his legs spread just slightly. He returned to your conversation,

landonorris: Okay landonorris: What else do you want to know? -Talk to me more about eating me out -Have you thought about it a lot? landonorris: Yeah baby landonorris: I dream about it too sometimes landonorris: I can still hear your gorgeous little whimpers and the way you moan my name and I just want to feel you grinding up against my face and helping me to make you feel so good landonorris: But I really wanna know how you taste -Want me to describe it? landonorris: Yes -It’s sweet -But not like candy -It’s more of a warm kind of flavour that tastes salacious -And it drips everywhere and soaks everything -It would get all over your mouth and your chin landonorris: Fuck landonorris: I want that landonorris: And I want to wrap my arms around your thighs so you can’t get away from me and I can feel all of you all over me, just covering me in your wetness -It’s all for you sir -I’d link my ankles around your shoulders to keep you there too landonorris: Hands pulling at my hair -Yes please landonorris: Show me how you want me to touch you landonorris: Pull me to where you need me -Suck on my clit landonorris: Whatever you need baby landonorris: Can I finger you too? -At the same time pleaseeee landonorris: I can do that landonorris: My mouth on your clit and two fingers inside you -Fuck that’d make me moan so loud -Just the idea of your fingers flicking inside me is making my legs shake -I need it landonorris: How fast? -Slow. I want to make it last landonorris: Of course landonorris: And if you’re a good girl for me I’ll let you cum twice -Fuck how can I be your good girl sir landonorris: Let me have my way with you landonorris: And show me how good I make you feel with your sweet moans and the way you cry my name landonorris: You’re so fucking sexy I won’t want to stop -Yes I wanna cum for you -Can I sir landonorris: I’ll always let you cum baby landonorris: Just licking and sucking at your pussy with my fingers so fucking deep inside you landonorris: I bet you taste so fucking good landonorris: Soaking my face and my hand and the sheets landonorris: God I’m so fucking hard

Lando glanced down his naked body draped back against his bed to where his dick was resting against his abdomen, already swollen hard and aching for touch. You were taking a bit of time to reply so he reached down to gently rub the tip of his finger up and down along the underside of his cock, watching how his gentle touch made it tense and flinch. He turned back to his phone,

landonorris: Hello? -Sorry I just had to finish myself off lol landonorris: Oh- landonorris: Like right now? -Yeah, you said I could landonorris: You listened to me? -Yeah?

Lando swelled with pride at that concept,

landonorris: Good girl landonorris: Did it feel good? -Would have been better if you were physically here -But yes -It felt really good -Moaned your name when I came too landonorris: That’s so fucking hot -Now I wanna do more -How do you want to cum? landonorris: Inside you -Again? -Dirty boy -I like it -Would you want me to ride you? landonorris: No I want to fuck you myself -Go on… landonorris: Keep you on your back and push your legs open as wide as you can get them and just hold your hips while I push my cock inside your soaking wet pussy -Oh my god I miss that baby -I miss your dick so bad

He was letting lust take over in his messages, typing with one hand as quickly as he could while his other lazily stroked his dick in careful motions.

landonorris: Nothing compares to how you feel around me landonorris: You’re just so fucking warm…so wet -I’m soaked for you -You’d slip in so easy right now landonorris: Jesus landonorris: I wish I could see your face when I’m inside you landonorris: Your pretty eyes just fucking rolling -God you’re so big too what’d you expect -I’d be fucking drooling for it -I wanna beg for it…have you tease me so fucking slowly until I’m nearly sobbing for you to fuck me harder landonorris: Will you scratch up my back again for it baby? -I’d do anything you want for your dick

Lando mouthed a swear word to his phone screen, tearing his eyes away for a moment just to look down at his fist wrapped around his cock, the one that you were so persistently fantasizing about in the next state over. His hand was useless compared to how your pussy felt and after he had that glimpse of heaven, it was difficult to go without. Your words certainly helped, even only through messages, and he stroked himself a bit faster.

landonorris: I’m so hard for you baby landonorris: I seriously need to fuck you landonorris: I want to give you all you want and more -Can you take me from the back landonorris: Yes landonorris: Whatever you want -What a pleasure dom -You’re such a gentleman landonorris: Lol just want you to feel good -I can roll over for you and grind my ass back against your cock until you push it back inside me -You’d get so fucking deep that way -I’m already moaning just dreaming about it landonorris: Then I can hold onto your hips and fuck you like that -Yes pleaseee landonorris: Fuck -Can I send a pic? landonorris: Yes -Ok but no screenshots landonorris: Promise -*you sent an image*

Lando opened the picture with furrowed brows in intense interest as to what he was about to see. On his screen was the most glorious picture of you he had ever seen, the way you looked on your knees on your bed, fully naked, bent over at the waist so your phone captured your curves in the full-length mirror beside your bed. Lando’s eyes were wide as he soaked you in, licking his lips, and tried to memorize each pixel to keep in his mind forever. He let his lust speak for him in reply,

landonorris: Fucking hell baby landonorris: You’re so fucking hot landonorris: I want to slap that ass so bad landonorris: Grab those hips landonorris: Fucking pound you until your gripping the sheets -This pussy is yours sir -My whole body is only yours landonorris: Do you want a pic of me? -Only if you’re comfortable sending

Lando had never tried before since talking to girls - yet alone engaging in sending nudes - was quite few and far between for him. But he wanted to impress you and the way you tended to gawk over his body made him feel really good and made him hungry for more. He lifted his phone camera up and angled it towards his bare body, staring at himself in the screen as he reached his other hand down to keep a secure hand around his dick, drawing attention right to it. Only slightly self conscious, Lando hesitated for a beat before sending it to you before he could overthink yet another thing.

He waited while you opened his image and he nibbled at his bottom lip anxiously when you typing bubble popped up in the bottom left of his screen,

-Fuck I think I forgot how big your dick is -You’re stunning -Every inch of you -Holy shit -I want you inside me so fucking bad right now landonorris: Me too landonorris: My hand is not the same -I have my vibrator on my clit and my pussy is fucking pulsing for you. It’s just so empty… landonorris: Jesus fuck landonorris: I’d fill you up baby -God I know you would -So well too landonorris: Fuck you until your bed is shaking -Yes sir I want it rough landonorris: Then you should beg for it -I will -I’ll gladly beg for your cock -Cry for you to beat this pussy up, spank me, manhandle me -Whatever you want I can take -Fuck me like your own little whore

Lando could hardly formulate a response as the speed at which his hand was pumping his cock had him drawing dangerously close to that sweet pleasurably precipice that anything else seemed like too much of a distraction. He held his phone tightly in his left hand, the messaging thread still open, as his legs laid spread on his bed and his right hand stroked himself off in quick messy motions.

“Oh my God.” he groaned quietly through his teeth, letting his mind whirl with his memories from your night together and his fantasies of wishing you were with him at that moment. Those thoughts weren’t odd for when he got himself off but this time it was different because even from a timezone away, you were still helping him along.

-I’m so fucking wet its dripping down my thighs -It’s making the nastiest sounds that would only be so much better if your cock was pounding me from behind

Lando’s hand gripped his phone tighter, eyes focused unwaveringly from your little profile picture and the words you sent just for him to read, a little saucy narrative of your own lust made just for him. He shakily spelt out his encouragement to remind you that he was still there and still so painfully close.

landonorris: Keep going -You’re gonna cum aren’t you baby -Thinking about my pussy is gonna make you cum so fucking hard isn’t it? -Letting you fuck me…pound your big dick into me as deep as it can go until I crying for it -Making my fucking legs shake while I scream your name into the bed sheets

Lando read each of your messages so carefully, taking in your every word and transferring it right to the pictures in his mind as a light sweat dusted across his brow. He bit his lip to try and keep himself quiet, smothering his whimpers and groans from his oblivious sleeping family members through the walls. His dick was leaking, trailing precum down the length of it and down to his balls, only slicking up his hand in it to help him pull easier strokes faster and tighter, trying to replicate the feeling of your body the best he was able to.

-Give it to me sir -Please -I miss you so bad

Lando felt as if he were tingling and he naturally thrusted up into his hand a little, whimpering quietly, dizzy on the fast rising pleasure and the warmth it spread over his body.

-Send a voice memo of you coming if you’re comfortable baby -Please -I really wanna hear you cum -I really wanna hear the way you sound when you imagine coming so deep inside me

Lando was already so close that he didn’t even think about it before pressing and holding his thumb down on the audio record button, allowing his phone to capture his every breath and every sound as he finally came for you. He wanted to come inside you so badly that he nearly cried for it, being stuck with only his own touch to work him through his orgasm. His hand stuttered around his dick as the first shot of cum spurted out and fell onto his pelvis, matching the whimpering little gasps that he let out for you in steady waves.

And he of course moaned your name breathily as he always did, letting his eyes close and his head tilt back to welcome the pleasure that overcame him. He could almost feel you right there and he was desperate to reach out and hold you down on him, aching to give you his everything right then and there. When his thumb lifted from the screen, his recording sent right to you and he watched it immediately turn to “seen” as he kept a tight cum-streaked hand around the base of his throbbing sensitive cock.

Lando’s chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, his wide blue eyes peering down at the creamy white mess that streaked his hand, his dick, and dotted across his stomach and pelvis. He looked back to your chat as you sent your reply,

-Fuck Lando that was so hot -Oh my God -The way my name sounds when you moan it makes me fucking drip -You sound so pretty landonorris: Your words do things to me too landonorris: Felt so fucking good landonorris: Wish you were here too though -Me too landonorris: Did you come again yet? -Yeah lol I got myself off to your audio -It was hard not to landonorris: And you didn’t record it for me in return?? -Next time 😉 landonorris: Next time you better be with me for real landonorris: None of this texting shit -Yes sir -I agree -Really miss the feeling of you coming inside me landonorris: Fuck, me too landonorris: You’ll have to take plan b again landonorris: Right? -Of course -But that’s worth it landonorris: You’re incredible and I honestly can’t believe my luck that I can talk to you like this…have you like this -You’re a sweetheart -I feel the exact same way 💕 landonorris: Wish I could cuddle you right now -Me too 🥺 -And kiss you

Lando reached over to his bedside table and grabbed a tissue to clean himself up, giving him a second to absolutely grin to himself. Oh how he missed you in his arms…the post-orgasm drop off was turning lust into longing quickly. He wiped up the streaks of cum from his body and his hand and disposed of the tissue in the garbage bin beside his bed before returning to your few additional messages as he turned over in bed to cuddle up tiredly.

-I slept so well with you that night I really miss that -Didn’t know I’d be missing you so much but that week after just had my mind clouded with you and every day since has been filled with wondering when we can see each other next -You’ve really somehow wiggled yourself into my heart and soul Lando Norris and idk how you managed that

It took Lando all of his self control to not tell you he loves you right then and there. He had known you for much longer than you knew him…he had to take it slowly. He had always been hesitant in facing where he stood with you but at that moment, reading your little confession, it just felt like everything was falling into place.

landonorris: You’re always the only thing I think about landonorris: And I am so grateful for you for many reasons I wouldn’t even know where to start if you asked me to -Taking your virginity? 😜 landonorris: LOL yes that especially landonorris: No one else I would have wanted it to be -I gotta say, you’re certainly not shy over text -Your confidence is sexy -Makes me want to submit to you so bad landonorris: Donttttt say that or I’ll get hard again -LOL SORRY landonorris: Tell me more next time 🫣 landonorris: Although I’m probably going to be so shy when we see each other in person again landonorris: You tend to make me nervous lol -I make you nervous?? landonorris: Yesss you’re my dream girl landonorris: Ofc you make me all nervous and shy landonorris: And you make my heart go !!!! -You’re adorable I wanna kiss the fuck outta you so bad rn landonorris: 🥰🧡 -Gotta get you to Monaco -Gotta get you in my bed landonorris: Please landonorris: I literally need that right now -I know you have another term after break but then what’s your summer looking like -Work?

Part of him didn’t want to tell the truth as to what his pathetic summer was looking like but he trust you and you were never one to judge,

landonorris: Nope landonorris: No job and living back at my parents place landonorris: It’s been three days of only winter break and I’m going fucking insane I need to get out of here -Oh my -Would you want an internship or something with my team? Idk if its possible but I can see if I can pull some strings…get you a little summer position at least landonorris: Oh my god baby I’d love that -Haha okay lover 💕 let me see what I can come up with for you -We’re gonna get you out of this low landonorris: God I miss you so much landonorris: You’re fucking incredible -Anything for you 😘 landonorris: 😘😘 -I’m still pretty jet lagged so I might head to sleep now landonorris: Ok gorgeous landonorris: This was fun :) -Hehe it really was -If we can’t wait until we see each other in person then maybe we should try a phone call next time landonorris: Fuck I’d say yes except these walls are super thin and I don’t want my parents and siblings to hear every detail about how I want to bend you over your desk and fuck the shit outta you -Fuck offfjffjjfjfjf oh my gosh landonorris: What?? -You’re making me blush go away 😂 landonorris: 😜 -I seriouslyyyy gotta sleep landonorris: Yes you do landonorris: Sleep well baby -You too 💕 I’m gonna imagine you’re cuddling me the whole time landonorris: Wish I could 🧡🧡 -💕💕

Lando laid there for a little bit, just staring at your little pink hearts with a lovesick grin on his face, still giving his heart a chance to calm down after the events of the previous hour. He scrolled back up your conversation and screenshotted the last little bit of your saucy conversation, starting from his audio recording attachment down to your shared conclusions and then he scrolled back down to your promise of a job. The two most important things to share with his best friends for when they woke up.

landonorris: *sent a screenshot* landonorris: Just made her cum twice over text so anyway how's your nights going 😌 landonorris: *sent a screenshot* landonorris: And she’s going to help me get the fuck outta this place landonorris: Get you a girl that can do both landonorris: I love her so much landonorris: I can’t wait for the day I can tell her that landonorris: Good night guys landonorris: Talk tomorrow 🧡

Tag List: @black-fireproofs @k3nmakyan @m4rt10ne @strawberryy-kiwii @herebereblogs @arieslost @ophcelia @cmleitora @saachiep81

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

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naturalist-fr · 21 days ago

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A page from the Encyclopedia of Sornieth's Sophonts by Tetra Lightwrite, Chapter 1: Dragons, Entry 15: Spirals. The opposite page has extensive written information on this species, which reads as follows...

Entry 15: Spirals.

One of the common dragons of Sornieth, Spirals are native to the extensive bamboo forests found within Wind territory. They are among the smallest dragon species, only reaching a max length of a few mere metres. These energetic and acrobatic dragons are like living kites, using their extensive surface area to ride the winds and effortlessly glide from location to location. They are perhaps best known for their enthusiasm and excitement.

Spirals are very long and narrow, but have fantastic surface area. Their entire body is adapted for catching as much air as possible, with flaps of skin running down the sides of their body. Both arms and legs are pseudowings with extensive membrane that extends the aforementioned skin flaps even further. A downside of this is that Spirals are rather poor on the ground. Their first two digits on both limbs act like typical fingers/toes, while the latter two digits must be awkwardly curled back. Their wings are supported by cartiliginous rods, granting them high tensile strength in strong wings. At the end of their tail is a flat blade-like structure which often looks vaguely reminiscent of a leaf, though it varies from individual to individual. This blade provides even more surface area, yes, but is largely an individual trait that one may use to tell Spirals apart. A spiral's scales are very smooth, reducing air resistance as much as possible.

A Spiral is very at home in the air, more so than perhaps any other known dragon species. They love to launch themselves from great heights and glide around, slithering in the sky in a fashion that almost makes it seem as though they're swimming. Indeed, they swim in a similar fashion too, though perhaps less graceful. They are also highly adept at climbing, another favourite activity of theirs. If they must walk on flat ground, it is slow business on account of their awkward pseudowings. Many spirals use special footwear that they essentially hold onto, avoiding any awkward twisting of the digits. Some spirals even forgo use of limbs entirely and slither like a Serthis. Unsurprisingly, this behaviour seems to be most common in Spiral populations that coexist with Serthis.

The collective noun for Spirals is tangle. Spiral tangles are very common, as they're quite the gregarious species. They are very physical people, with touch being a part of everyday communication. Boundaries are far looser for a Spiral, which give them trouble when trying to integrate with other sophonts. Spirals may even get quite distressed if denied physical contact with anyone for long periods of time. As one may have guessed, it isn't unusual to see Spirals sleeping together in one big, well, tangle. They are also very, very chatty. Spirals seem to nearly always be in conversation, it's fair to assume they spend more time talking than not. If you aren't a conversationalist, you may have a hard time making friends with a Spiral.

Hatchling spirals are surprisingly independent, for better or worse, able to climb and fly just as well as an adult mere minutes after hatching. Combine this with the intellect of an infant, and you have yourself quite the handful. Because of this raising the next generation is a communal activity to Spirals. All hands on deck are very much necessary to keep these little wyrmlings safe. Thankfully Spirals mature on the quicker side for a dragon, reaching adulthood in about 20 years.

#fr #flight rising #FRFanArt #fr art #nat's art #my take on spirals! writeup on my thought process to follow soon in the reblogs #please ignore any typos or grammatical errors. I'm so tired haha

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classicfilmblr · 2 months ago

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DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS in THE BLACK PIRATE — 1926, dir. Albert Parker The most celebrated sequence of the film, and perhaps of Fairbanks's entire career, is the moment in which the Black Pirate, when capturing a galleon single-handedly, slashes a line with his knife, catches the end of the mizzen, and swings upward with the wayward sail to the main topsail. He then plunges his knife in to the canvas of the topsail and slides down the sail, supported by the hilt of his knife as it severs the canvas in half. He rends the mainsail in the same manner. The feat is so spectacular that Fairbanks repeats it once more with the fore topsail, rendering the ship powerless. The Black Pirate swings through the lines to the forecastle, swivels about a pair of cannons he has commandeered, and holds the crew as helpless as the galleon itself.

The sliding down the sails is a grand stunt, building on Robin Hood's celebrated descent down the enormous drapery in Robin Hood [1922]. The 43-year-old showman is in top physical form, and the appearance of effortlessness, the breathtaking arcs of movements, and the sheer joy with which he accomplishes the impossible are ample demonstrations of Fairbanks's kinetic genius.

The sequence was achieved with separate sail sets engineered by Robert Fairbanks on the back lot, apart from various ship settings, and erected on an angle away from the cameras (which were also on an angle). The sails, according to Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., were "pre-sliced and then stitched up invisibly. . . .The knife was rigged with piano wire, pulley, and counterweight. . . .He would thrust his knife into the sail and there would be a quick cut. The next cut would be of him holding the special knife connected to the hidden pulley and counterweight."

Airplane propellers behind the canvas provided the billowing effect for the sails. As with all of his stunts, Fairbanks wore a wire harness, and his arms and legs were taped to prevent friction burns. Although no one doubted at the time that he performed the stunt, William K. Everson later maintained that Fairbanks did not do so himself. But the accounts of Albert Parker, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., and Chuck Lewis and the surviving outtakes from the scene itself dispel any claim that Fairbanks did not perform his most famous feat. Fairbanks's bravura stunt was subsequently pirated by a stunt double for Errol Flynn in Against All Flags (1952) and by Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest (2006).

One of the immediate effects of the famous sequence was all the injuries sustained by impressionable children imitating their screen idol. Edward Wagenknecht wrote, "One shudders to think how many broken arms and legs he must have been responsible for among the children of America during the years of his vogue." Robert Parrish, a future director and film editor, was one such child. He recalled having seen The Black Pirate in his hometown of Columbus, Georgia, and immediately wanting to emulate the spectacular Fairbanks stunt:

"As a seven-year-old, I had seen Douglas Fairbanks in The Black Pirate plunge a knife into the sail and riding the knife down to the deck. I tried the knife stunt myself that afternoon with a borrowed linen bed sheet. Some friends and I attached it to the limb of an oak tree about ten feet off the ground. I climbed the tree with a butcher's knife in my mouth trying to smile like Fairbanks—I soon tasted blood in my mouth—and pointed the knife at the sheet and jumped. The sheet crashed down upon me like a deflated parachute and the knife flew out of my hand. I landed on the ground with a broken arm, the wind knocked out of me, and blood running from my Fairbanks grin."

#userteri #usermichi #marciabrady #userviet #filmedit #film #classicfilmedit #oldhollywoodedit #Douglas Fairbanks #The Black Pirate #1920s #ours #by Jackie

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ennabear · 2 months ago

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hehehe haii :P quick roblox with sevika blurb, inspired by lyss and pluto who are my roblox family 🤎 this is stupid and silly hehe don’t mind me i just think old woman playing video game is funny. also mutuals add me on roblox my username is sevikasgf_real!!

general:

ok so first of all, it would take FOREVER for her to make an account 😭 she does not know how to make a username and she’d probably try to enter something like “tittysucker2000” and get mad that the system says it’s not appropriate. but after a while of her struggling to come up with something that isn’t censored, she’d settle for something cute (like ennasgf_real) because you got tired of her struggling and being annoying.

her avatar would be so fucking funny!! purple skin and a bob, some random shirt that she found for free in the catalog, probably a picture of someone’s dog or something. she’d end up clicking around too much and find a way to make all of her limbs different shapes and sizes but not know how to fix it, so she just embraces the look of her avatar.

if you bought her robux she’d very likely spend it all in one place… she’d see a random costume that she wants to buy and suddenly all of robux are down the drain…

she would get banned from voice chat INSTANTLY. ignores all of the warnings that pop up on her screen for not following the guidelines. it starts with a ton of quick suspensions and then she’s just permanently in vc jail.

SCREAMS at the little kids who bully her. is not ashamed to get in a little online scuffle in order to protect her ego. nobody is about to call her ugly or old or uneducated if she can help it… this, obviously, is how she ends up getting banned.

also she gets noise complaints when she plays. multiple. from you and her neighbors both, she just completely forgets about volume when someone says that she’s probably lying about having a wife… but it is a little bit cute to know that she’s doing it in your honor.

it would take her FOREVER to figure out voice chat. she doesn’t know how to do it off the top of her head, so she googles how to do it but can’t find a straight answer. goes running around the house in search of her passport because she thinks that’s what she needs but you’re just like “babe… enter your phone number and it’ll let you… that’s all you need to do…”

dress to impress:

playing with her would be so fun because she does not know her way around anything. you’d force her on to dress to impress and she’d be so lost. is not aware that there’s a time limit or a theme to follow. by the end of the round she’s still gray and her outfit is half finished and she’s like “what is it doing?? why is there a runway??? i wasn’t done with my outfit.”

the people in the chat would respond like “bruh what is this” or “oh!” to her outfit, but you’re there to back her up and vote her 5 stars anyways <33. but if they start to get too mean, she’ll force you to tell her how to use the chat and she’ll type something like “fuck you guys at least i have a wife” which of course comes out as all ####.

and when she sees all of the tags, she’d be like “what the hell?? i didn’t type that 😭” and you’d have to gently explain to her that it’s because roblox filters certain things you say, especially like “fuck you” and probably every other thought that came to her mind when she was typing it.

ofc you and her would both get first and second place because you vote each other 5 stars, even though her outfits are… well… you know… not the prettiest…

murder mystery:

if you thought her in dress to impress was bad, it gets WORSE. no matter how many times you explain to her the rules of the game, she is LOST, as well as every single synonym for confused in the dictionary. perplexed. puzzled. stupefied. dumbfounded. all of the above.

as an innocent, she’d probably just follow you the whole time, waiting until the sheriff kills the murderer or time runs out.

as the murderer, she’d probably tell on herself IMMEDIATELY. has her microphone on in voice chat and says “what does it mean that i’ll get my weapon in 10 seconds??” and she’s shot before the round even lasts half a minute. either that or she’d keep it to herself, but walk around with her knife out the whole time absolutely cluelessly. she probably thinks that others can’t see it, or maybe she can’t see it herself.

she’d be like “babe i’m so scared :( i wonder who the murderer is…” and she’s standing in front of you like 🤷🏽‍♀️🔪 LMAOOO

as the sheriff, she’d either shoot some random person who walks past her and die for getting it wrong, or she’d freak out and spam 100 different buttons while trying to shoot the murderer. she’s jumping and running around, screaming at the top of her lungs because she’s so scared, clicking her screen in every place but where the murderer is standing.

with others:

imagine jinx and isha existing in this universe, she’d drain her whole bank account on robux for the 3 of them 😭 but, and as much as she’d HATE to admit this, she actually really enjoys playing with them.

isha is still learning how to spell, so her and jinx would cackle at everything the poor girl types coming out as straight hashtags. especially when she’s fighting with someone, they’d both watch her get heated and absolutely smash her little fingers into her ipad keyboard trying to type things out, but then comfort her when she gets too frustrated to continue.

also, if isha ever gets hit with “you’re probably a 5 year old�� from someone, sevika would be like “yeah, she is 😭” but jinx would stand up for her and type out PARAGRAPHS about how isha is so young and still better than whoever insulted her. jinx 100% has memorized all of the words that roblox flags, so she has no problem facing the hashtags.

they’re also such bad influences on your wife, they manage to convince her to buy more robux for them almost every week. you’ve caught her up in the middle of the night, phone sideways in her hand running around in a new game she’s found. you try taking your family out to dinner and they all just pull out their phones (isha, her ipad, still too young for a personal phone) and hop onto some new game jinx found. it’s adorable, yes, but definitely not the best habit she’s ever formed.

#if u guys see me playing sevika obby every day… no you don’t…#sevika #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #arcane #arcane netflix #arcane league of legends

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mellowtrashtrash · 1 month ago

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FNaF World: Welcome to the Freakshow!

Today I challenged myself to see how many characters I could complete in one day. We've got a lot to cover, so let's get started with...

Scrap Baby!

Pizzeria Simulator's iconic wretched dumpster clown!

Some of my finest modeling and animation! Scrap baby was a doozy of a design to try to simplify. She practically has the detail of every Sister Location character combined! Naturally, this proved to be quite the challenge, but in the end it turned out great. The shapes are very smooth and the rigging is exquisite. You can hardly even tell with how swift the animations are, but I was very deliberate with how those little wire-orb things were rigged. They move with the limbs and body to skillfully avoid obvious instances of clipping!

There were lots of hooks and curves involved in the blender process, and it was a meticulous and precarious process, but I managed to pull Scrap Baby together in about three days. After finishing her today, I figured "Hey, why not do a couple more! I have it in me!" And with that, my quest began. The next character(s?) I tackled was...

The Minireena duo!

Everyone's favorite claustrophobic nightmare children!

I decided to go with two of them, in reference to Sister Location Custom Night's two different sets of Minireenas, and also because just one would be far too small!

Now these little punks were a delightfully obnoxious design process! I'd never had the (dis)pleasure of working with two separate armatures in one character before this, and it was quite the challenge. But you all know I like a good modeling/animation challenge. It gives the sometimes boring process some novelty!

Sidenote: Minireenas' eyes are kind of weird. They show up only in specific instances, but are absent the rest of the time. Obviously so, as you can see their little endoskeleton in their custom night icon. No eyes! I think Scott just needed a way to make their jumpscares a little more intense, and didn't want to worry about giving them eyes anywhere else. But hey, those beady yellow peepers definitely worked! They're quite the uncanny sight!

Next, we've got the one, the only...

Bonnet!

Sister Location Custom Night's very own adorable nuisance!

Remember earlier, when I mentioned how just one Minireena would be too small by itself? There wasn't any getting around it this time. Bonnet is, by all accounts, a palette swap of Bon Bon, but does that hold her back from having her very own identity independent of his? Absolutely not! Bonnet has set herself apart with her signature mosey, her insecurity about her (literal) button nose, and her unnerving ability to maneuver around without the aid of an uncanny, leg-bearing, scary bear companion! (Try saying that five times fast!)

It's a little tough to make a character like this work on their own, but I managed to pull it off, and have somehow produced some of my favorite animations so far. Her big leap is very rabbit-like, and it's pretty natural-looking. Her hurt animation has a little shiver to it, like she's shuddering from discomfort. Her animations managed to be very lifelike, despite the limitations of the character's design.

Next up, in a sort of redundant fashion, we've got...

Lolbit!

The oddball salesman adapted for the screen!

Kind of an odd choice of character, considering Lolbit's already been in FNaF World, but with their breakout roles in Sister Location Custom Night and Ultimate Custom Night since their initial debut, I figured it was prudent to include them. My working theory is that once the story of FNaF World had concluded, Lolbit got bored of hanging around in Animatronica, and decided to find some business elsewhere, winding up with their unforgettable inclusion as a face on a series of screens that forces you to type buttons on your keyboard. Not the most stunning appearance, but hey, it's unique! And it's funding the development of new and better Bytes! Then once their contract expired, Lolbit returned to Animatronica to continue developing Bytes, only to find that new shopkeepers had arrived to take their place. Naturally, this meant Lolbit had only one thing left to do: tag along with the adventurers to find someplace to sell without competition!

In contrast to Funtime Foxy's monstrousness, I gave Lolbit the cheeky, cheerful charisma they've been rocking in every one of their appearances across the franchise. As a result, Lolbit's animations are teeming with callous impudence!

Finally, the character you've all been waiting for, the main attraction, the star of the show... It's:

Gumball Swivelhands!

Pizzeria Simulator's shockingly stupendous sweet-supplier!

Bet you weren't expecting this one, were you? Move over Candy Cadet, Gumball Swivelhands is the new star of the candy-dispensing show!

This character was unexpectedly fun to animate, and I adored the opportunity to model its face, but I must say, that expression seems awfully familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it makes me feel a profoundly frustrated sense of déjà vu...

Pizzeria Simulator is chock-full of memorable character designs, and despite its apparent genericity, there's always been something striking to me about Gumball Swivelhands. A concentrated sense of whimsy permeates this character like the suffocating aroma of six different flavors of bubble gum surrounds a gumball machine.

To me, this is what FNaF World is all about! Identifying and celebrating even the strangest corners of Five Nights at Freddy's history! There's a place for iconic, fan-favorite characters, right alongside obscure, sometimes even downright forgettable weirdos like this one! Five Nights at Freddy's is a freakshow, but not one that ridicules its freaks, one that holds them up high with a combination of joy and pride, like a father whose son has won the big sports game. "That's my son!" FNaF says, gesturing to the Eggbaby. "Hooray!" I scream from the bleachers. "Three cheers for these wonderful weirdos! Hip hip, hooray!"

I look forward to whatever I have to share next time. As always, thanks so much for tuning in! I'll catch you on the flipside!

#art #mellowtrashtrash #3d artwork #blender #3d animation #fanart #fnaf world #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #animation #circus baby #clown #gumball swivelhands #lolbit #scrap baby #fnaf sl #fnaf 6 #bonnet #minireena

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owlcomics101 · 4 months ago

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”New Master.” Demon!Taskforce 141 x Human!Reader

Warnings: 15+ (Slightly suggestive but nothing NSFW I’m a minor), Gore, blood, drinking, smoking, cult stuff, demons, (I do not condone any of these things), Reader is gender neutral

GIF credits: (All in order and on tumblr) ekscelsior, eurodynamic, collinnmckinley, deactivated account. (Some of these users are MDNI so please leave them alone if your under 18 like me I’m just crediting them)

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

You were trapped in a dark room. Your hands tied behind your back-ropes digging into your wrists almost to the bone. You body aches and burns, the back of your head throbs it felt like you were hit by a truck, though apart of wishes it was actually a truck. You hear whispering around you until a match ignites and lights a candle in front of you. You were then greeted to masked hooded figures with strange symbols on their clothes and body’s that you couldn’t quite make out.

“Are you ready little lamb?” The hooded figure in front of you asked that sent uncomfortable shivers down your spine. You began to weakly thrash as your eyes dart around the room-taking in all blood stained paintings among the walls, body parts on display for the world to see and were still dripping with blood. All the other hooded figure’s eyes were on you and that’s when you realized; you’re in a cult, but not as a member…you were being sacrificed.

“Come now, don’t be scared…” The hooded figure in-front of you said as they slowly pulled out a knife whose handle was coated in pure gold that seemed to have never been cleaned. You couldn’t help but wonder how many innocent people they sacrificed for whatever god or…creature they worship.

“You’re going to make the world so much better…” Another cult member said as they walked over with a book in hand, slowly opening up and trying to look for the right page. Other cult members circled you. The hooded figure in-front of you took the sacrificial knife and cut your thigh open. You let out muffled cries of pain through tape muffling your mouth. The other cult members one by one dipped their fingers into your open wound and used your blood to start drawing a pentagram on the ground. You squirmed and screamed in pure agony as they continued to use your blood as nothing but paint to aid them in their fucked up drawing. The hooded figure slowly licked your blood off the dagger with a smirk on their face. They watch tears stream down your face and dripping off your chin.

“Shhh…” The hooded figure was quick to hush you as they were given a strange book by another cult member.

“Quiet now and be still, it’ll all be over soon little lamb.” The hooded figure reassured you, but you weren’t reassured at all. No one sane was here to witness your death. No one outside could hear you scream. No one knew where you are. No one is going to come to save you. You closed your eyes as you began to hear the cult chant. Maybe if you closed your eyes hard enough, you’d wake up back in your bed. Back at your rundown apartment and hearing the rain hit the roof and drip into a bucket in the corner of your room, but that hope vanished as you felt the blade press against your neck-only bearly grazing your skin. This was it. You were going to die.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Then It was quiet…and cold. Was this it? Were you finally dead? No. You could still feel and hear your heart pounding in your chest, you could feel the blood still gushing out of your thigh, your limbs burning from the ropes rubbing against them, and your head was still throbbing, but you could no longer feel the blade-just the small graze on your neck from it. You were afraid to open your eyes at first. Would the cult still be there? Are they just waiting for you to open your eyes so they could see the life drain out of them? You were hesitant at first, but slowly opened one eye before opening the others. You immediately regretted it. You were met with dozens of mutilated corpses of the cult members. Some of their bodies were twisted in ways that made them look inhuman. While others were missing all kinds of body parts. Your breathing grew heavy, your skin went pale from both the blood loss and the horror of it all. Your lips parted as you were getting ready to scream again but all that came out was just a choked raspy sob. You then heard voices from afar. Was it the surviving cult members? Maybe the cops? You knew it was a risk but you squirmed around and let out muffled screams to get the voice’s attention, but you were met with figures that weren’t….human. Four demons stood before you. Their features coming to light as they stepped closer to the light of the candles. One demon had a strange short Mohawk with two large horns that curved backwards like a goat’s, two large wings flexing, pointed ears with small hooped earrings at the bottom of them, and a long forked tail that swayed back and forth.

“Och, looks lik' we forgot yin. Ah jalouse oor master left us a bawherr plaything…” The demon that the other demons called ‘Soap’ or Johnny said. His accent was so thick that you couldn’t quite make any of his words out.

“God are succubuses always this horny?” Another demon spoke up. This demon was wingless, and had more snake like features, he had ram-like horns that curved downwards and a tail with a snake’s head at the end of it. This demon goes by Gaz.

“Quiet ya muppets.” This demon’s voice was deep and booming. He had crackled horns that curled outwards like a bull, large wings that are torn at the webbing with the upper half of a human skull that coved his face. The skull wielded demon was only ever called Ghost.

“Ah, relax Ghost, we just havin’ a we bit of fun.” The succubus smirked. His words becoming a bit more clearer to your ears as he crouches down in front of you. You flinch and squirm as the demon licks at the deep cut in your thigh.

“Wheres our bloody master anywa-“ The succubus was cut off by getting yanked by the horns and shoved away. A low hiss escapes his lips as the fourth and final demon approaches and kneels down before you.

“Right here.” He says bluntly. His voice gruff and cold which sent shivers down your spine as he moves your head to the side-taking a look at a strange symbol that somehow appeared on the side of your neck. This demon didn’t really have as much demonic features as the others, he seemed the most..human looking besides a pair of horns, sharp fangs and…white feather patches here and there on his body. The three other demons call this one Price. He seemed like the head of the group. The leader.

”What? Them!?” Gaz shouts before scanning your form and looking back to Price. “No offense, but they seemed like they were supposed to be our sacrifice.

“Doesn’t matter.” Price says as he pulls the tape from your mouth and cutting through the rope with his clawed hands.

“This is the mark is it not?” Price says as he makes you tilt your head to the side and expose your neck for all the others to see. Their eyes widening at the strange symbol on your neck.*

“Dammit.” Gaz mutters.

“Fecking hell.” Ghost said with a growl, shoving past Soap and Gaz. His large frame towering over you as he watched Price pick you up and carry you bridal style.

“What would you like us to do Master?” Price whispered to you, his voice hushed and his warm breath hitting your ear.

“……M-Master….?” You finally spoke, your works slurring as every thing starts to blur for you. The four demons waited for orders but their eyes widened as you immediately slumped and leaned into Price’s shoulder-burying your face into the crook of his neck as exhaustion had finally taken over. Everything started to go dark from there. Your vision blurred, voices began to muffle. You were finally going to rest. Yes, maybe you can sleep all this away and everything will be back to normal in the morning.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

You begin to stir from your slumber, your heavy eyes slowly scan your surroundings. You’re back in your room.

”…See? Just a dream.” You mumble to yourself with a sluggish smile of relief. It was more like a fucked nightmare but a dream nonetheless. You were about to sit up and stretch when you had a weird feeling washing over you. You felt like you were being watched. The thought of being watched gave you goosebumps along your skin but you tried to blame it on paranoia from the nightmare you just had. You forced yourself to sit up. Your right thigh feeling painfully sore for some reason. You pull the covers off to see what was going on only to find a large gash in your thigh, but it was now all healed and scarred. Your eyes widened as your face paled in horror. It wasn’t a dream, and if it wasn’t a dream then that means-

“No, no, no-“ Suddenly something large jumped onto your bed and slowly crawled on top of you with wings spread out wide and a devilish smirk on its face.

“Good morning Master!” Soap yelled out to you.

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whor-ror-forever · 2 months ago

Text

That Bastard - Curly/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 839

Tags: post-crash, personality changes, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, cumming in clothing

Summary: Curly hadn't been the same since being rescued, but his strange new personality made your heart race. Somehow, you found yourself in your room with him, alone.

Read on Ao3

He used to be the captain, but he wasn’t at the moment. However, he wanted back in the captain’s chair, he wanted the authority and the power, surely. You had never quite trusted him. His attitude rubbed you the wrong way, he seemed like he was always hiding something behind his happy smile and cheerfulness.

When you got the news that he had been found, stuffed in an escape pod and pushed out into space, your heart sank to hell. Anya was on that ship, where was she? Curly was the only survivor, and he was barely alive. Your friend was gone, and for several months, Curly couldn’t even speak and let you know what happened.

After many grueling surgeries, agonizing physical therapy, and sessions with a shrink, Curly was finally, at least sort of, back at it. He had prosthetic limbs made with the highest quality tech, and wore bandage-like wrappings all over his body. There was so much damage, skin grafts wouldn’t cut it. He also sported a white eyepatch, making his remaining eye all the more bright.

And now, he was sitting on your bed next to you, metal hand on your thigh. Despite seeing the psych, his mind was changed. He no longer smiled, no longer cracked jokes. He was serious, stern, always watching his surroundings as if there was a predator waiting in the shadows. Sometimes he laughed, but it was a dry, dark laugh, like he had just gotten away with a crime.

“It was hell in that escape pod,” he said, putting his face next to your ear. You couldn’t feel his breath since he had bandages wrapped around his lipless mouth.

“Three days is a very long time when you’re in extreme pain. I would scream, pass out, wake up, and scream some more. I had no pills, and even if I did, I couldn’t have fed them to myself,” Curly whispered.

His voice was different on account of the damage to his throat and vocal cords. It was deep and hoarse and full of gravel. It turned you on, and so did his new dominate personality.

“You think I look like a monster,” he said, a statement, not a question.

“No, no I don’t. You look different of course, but you’re still Curly,” you said. It was a lie, Curly was no more, the man who escaped the ship wasn’t him.

He hummed. “Then why are you hesitant?”

You swallowed the saliva that had been building up in your mouth. “You have authority over me.”

“Not anymore, I’m not a captain.”

“I still see you that way,” you said.

“Then it’s wrong, so what?” He answered.

Curly put his hand in your hair, stroking it. “I wish I could smell you.”

You squeezed your thighs together, heat forming between them. You had always liked Curly, most of the women did, he was a heartthrob space captain after all. But this new Curly, he wasn’t a heartthrob, but he was alluring and frightening, and he got you wetter than a pretty boy could.

“Spread your legs,” he said, a command.

You leaned back a bit and opened up for him. His metal fingers caressed your clothed cunt, a wet spot already showing.

“Dirty girl, just filthy,” he cooed in your ear.

His hand slipped into your pants and his cold fingers found your heat. He started to rub your clit, then sneaked down to your soaked entrance, spreading your folds.

“Do you want me…want me to take t-them off?” You stuttered.

“No,” Curly said. “I want you to ruin them.”

Your hips bucked as he shoved two digits inside you. You grabbed onto his shoulders, digging your fingers in. Then you realized, were you hurting him? You removed your hands.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Put them back.”

You did so, continuing to ride his hand. His fingers scissored you open while his palm rubbed your aching bud, filling you with warmth and making your stomach tighten.

“I thought about you, up there, in the escape pod. When I wasn’t suffering, I was fantasizing, imagining myself with you.”

You threw back your head and closed your eyes. You knew he was full of shit, he just wanted to fuck you. You didn’t care, though, you wanted him to, but, could he?

Curly increased his speed, ramming his fingers into your sweet spot, making a “come here” motion. It was too good, you were going to go over the edge any moment.

“Cum on my hand,” he ordered.

“F-Fuck…” you gasped, and flooded your panties with your arousal.

Your moans filled the room, and your cum coated Curly’s prosthetic. He stared at you, brows furrowed.

“Pathetic, aren’t ya?”

He stood and walked to the door. “I know you’re curious - yes, it’s scarred but intact. Remember that for next time, slut.”

He left. You sat on your bed, panting and already feeling uncomfortable from your sticky undergarments. He was a bastard, would you actually let him fuck you later on?

Yes, you would.

#curly x reader #curly x you #mouthwashing #mouthwashing smut #curly mouthwashing #mouthwashing x reader #curly smut #captian curly #captain curly smut

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 months ago

Text

Paper Pirates

MDNI

An unconventional member of an unconventional crew, you find yourself wrestling with frustrations out of your league

Shanks x f!reader (more relevant in part 2)

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

There are many roads to piracy.

Paperwork shouldn’t be one of them.

Sailors fly the jolly roger for adventure, for freedom, for greed. Sweet or savage, pirates turn to the sea for a thrilling life away from responsibility. Not for double-entry accounting.

It should be all swords and swashbuckling, especially on a yonko’s flagship. Music and tuneless singing have steeped in the ship’s hull along with sea brine and rum, staining the Red Force with a mighty reputation.

And yet. Here you sit: ink-stained fingers, spectacles, and all.

The financial charts, ledgers, and reports from across the Emperor’s territory make a compelling excuse to skip the evening’s celebrations. Light from the overhead lantern trembles with the rhythmic force of a dozen idiots dancing – or fighting – on deck. You have a job to do and frankly can’t be assed to even feign interest, not that you put much effort into the pretense since your first introduction.

Shanks called for this particular event because it’s a day ending in y. No one has cannons aimed at the Red Force, and there’s no pressing need for sobriety. Standard practice, really.

The exposure to the crew’s merry making itches under your skin like sun blisters. You’ll burn if you get too much, but it’s an unavoidable hazard at sea.

Even if you’re only half-crew.

You’re a leap and a bound above a coddled passenger but so removed from the functional hierarchy you don’t even have a title.

Except. Well. There was always…

“Nerd!”

You drag your eyes away from ledger lines and decimals to blink at Yasopp. The sniper is drunk and enjoying himself. And pointing at you.

“Captain says you have to have a drink when you’re done.”

One finger curls over a notebook’s cover, and you contemplate how many more hours of work you can eek out before you’re too tired for responsible accounting.

“I swear the books get worse every time I come back.” It’s lighthearted, but also too fucking true. “I’ll be working late.”

Yasopp shakes his head. Grins. “Orders.”

Your eyes roll away from the pirate and back to the mathematic wreck on the desk. “Whatever. Just leave me something and I’ll lift a glass to your unconscious ass before I sleep.”

Cackling, Yasopp ferries your answer back to the party, and you work the puzzle of knotted equations until the lantern stops swinging and the racket falls silent. Pirates not on watch stumble through the corridors on their way to their bunks, slurring and laughing on the other side of the wall. Even that goes quiet eventually.

Your eyes burn from focusing too hard to blink for minutes on end, and you decide it’s safe to stop for the night. Off come the glasses, neatly folded and tucked into a desk drawer. They’ll be safer there than on your person, and you only need them for reading fine print. You didn’t used to. Not when you started. But that’s true of a lot of things.

With joints that creak like the steps you ascend, you head up on deck. Bodies of the fallen sleep under a blanket of stars – the ones who drank themselves to sleep or refused to leave the party before waking in the morning. The few on watch peer down from crow’s nests or attend minor chores around their comrades’ spread limbs and upturned bellies.

Yellow lights contrast with the velvet black-blue stitching together endless sea and sky, and you can’t help relaxing just a little as you approach the one table with a conscious crewman. The cherry of his cigarette burns bright, and smoke curls into the breeze.

“Benn.”

He nods, mumbling your name. As you sit, he slides a large tankard to your side of the table.

It doesn’t look like wine. Doesn’t smell like beer. It’s the wrong color for sake. “It’s rum, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t send Yasopp with a preference,” the first mate says. The telling glint in his eye betrays his good humor. “This was all we had left.”

“I’ve seen the inventory. There’s plenty for the next week of travel, even if the crew gets shit-faced twice a day.”

Benn shrugs. “It was all that was left on deck.”

You doubt it, even if it’s more plausible, but there’s no point arguing. Time to finish the last task of the day.

Lifting the heavy cup, you tilt your head back and chug.

“Steady.” Benn watches with his arms crossed.

You drink rather than answer. Swallowing fire, you drain half of what was left for you.

“I’m tired,” you say when you stop to breathe, “and I want to go to bed.”

Bed is a hammock in the groaning belly of the ship. Surrounded by other hammocks. Full of pirates. Who snore. Loudly. A night of drinking never helps the volume, but maybe your share will help you black out.

“If I drink fast enough, I’ll be asleep before it hits and it won’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

He’s very good at letting people make their own mistakes. You’ve watched him to it. But this isn’t the first time you’ve rushed through liquid social obligations on your way to rest. He doesn’t know you as well as he thinks, you’re sure.

The second half of the rum goes down like the first, and you aren’t even tipsy as you take your leave and head below. It’s a good plan. Maybe it would’ve worked, too, if it weren’t for the chaos you find in your assigned quarters.

While the little study always holds records, you aren’t aboard often enough to have a dedicated sleeping space. No cabin. Not even a bunk. Just a hammock in the hold with the lower ranks. You left your small trunk by one near the door, and you’d slept there for the past five nights running without issue.

Until now.

There must’ve been a brawl, or one of the bigger men misjudged his approach under the influence, because a wad of ripped and tangled hammocks sits piled in the center of the room. All the remaining options, including your unofficially claimed space, are full.

You can’t go to bed.

There is no bed.

Benn doesn’t seem surprised when you come back.

Sooner or later, the rum will hit, and you know better than to wait for it on your feet. So, you pick a place by Benn’s table and settle with your ass on the deck and your back against a wall.

Technically speaking, you’ve slept in worse places.

Realistically speaking, you usually sleep in better.

Honestly speaking, you’re too old for this shit.

This is the consequence of your actions. Today it’s glasses and rum. Tomorrow it will be a sore head and an aching tailbone. The day after it will probably be a cannonball to the face. No matter how lackadaisical the crew behaves, they’re all pirates at the end of the day, and so are you.

Why are you a pirate? Why are you here? Your life was so slow and orderly before a big grin and a thatch of red hair flipped it on its head. Did you ever actually agree to this life, or did you just fail to argue with the plan? That must be the problem. If you never learn to say no, whatever comes is your fault. But if you learn to say no, you’ll have to learn to say yes, too. That might be worse.

Of course, Benn can’t let you mope in peace.

“What’s eating ya?”

“Mosquitoes, maybe.”

“Nah.” He stubs out the butt of his cigarette and reaches for the pack. “Been off since your last sabbatical. Longer, if we’re being honest, but it really has its teeth in you now.”

“Nothing.” Gods. You sound like a teenager.

He hums, lights up a fresh smoke, and leaves it alone.

You can’t even explain why you’re in a bad mood. It’s just vibes. A feeling that makes sense until you try caging it in words.

You’ve been part of Shank’s entourage for years now, and you’ve seen the impact of his influence.

He makes things better. Things grow under his care.

That’s good. That’s great. That’s better than most folks in the New World ever expect to find in their lifetimes. But somehow it doesn’t apply to you.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The hollow thunk sounds as empty as you wish you could make your skull.

People drink to forget, or so some sad, broken soul tells you in every bar in every port you’ve ever visited. It’s a neat trick you never learned, though. Booze makes you think. Then it makes you speak. Then it makes you sleep.

It doesn’t make you the party girl the Red-Haired Pirates clearly hoped for the first time they dragged you into a night of carousing. It didn’t help your on-again off-again crewmate status. No one besides a handful of the most seasoned officers knew how to speak to you, and you could count those on one hand.

If you could bring yourself to care less about what you did, you would’ve flipped everyone the bird ages ago, refused to board the Red Force after one of your little layovers and made a home somewhere.

But you can’t, and you don’t, and the alcohol fumes up from belly to brain with old memories.

Once upon a time you bumped into a grey-haired man at the dock. His hands were full of loose papers and notebooks. When they clattered to the ground, you immediately helped pick them up, because that was just good manners. As you gathered the pages, you saw the numbers, and your brain leapt ahead of your mouth, so as you handed the collection back to Shank’s first mate, you blithely mentioned, “You have some transportation and duplication errors in the top account that are throwing off your totals.”

And, low and behold, the next day the first mate – one Benn Beckman – tracked you down and discussed working for one of the most powerful people in the Grand Line.

You almost turned him down. You tried, actually. But he insisted you at least hear his captain out, face to face. And then Shanks smiled, and it was all over.

They gave you a strange job.

Emperors reigned in their own ways. Force and threats were standard, but Shanks followed no rules. He governed without actually doing anything, relying on booty stolen at sea and the generosity of thriving island economies to maintain his ship and crew. At least it looked that way from the outside. But the system relied on more than luck and good looks.

Your tasks follow a cycle. The Red Force drops you at an island, leaves you there, then picks you up a few (many) months later. When you’re aboard, you review and balance the ship’s books. When you’re on land, you do the real work. You record how things work on the island, or how they don’t, and you gather the numbers to prove it. Then Shanks and his commanders use your data to find the best ports for long stays, to spot unrest before it became insurrection, and to generally handle pirate business.

Honestly, you enjoy it. You never thought your uncanny skills with numbers could lead to so much travel, and you like island hopping. It’s nice to be special. It’s nice to be needed, even a little. It should be enough. You have more than most.

The itch in the back of your mind has been getting worse, though, especially as you start looping back to hubs you visited in your early days as a quasi-pirate.

Things have grown. People have put down roots. They flourish and offer good fruit in return.

But you haven’t found a way to grow into the Red-Hair Pirates the way other people settle into their lives. Your roots grasp at salt water.

At the start of this adventure, years ago, you let the tide wash you out to sea. It’s no one’s fault but yours, and that doesn’t make you feel any better, so you self-isolate and avoid what you can’t explain.

Pirates aren’t big on feelings talk.

And you’re at least half a pirate.

“Eh, nerd still can’t hold her rum?”

Apparently, Shanks hasn’t surrendered to tomorrow’s hangover yet.

You huff as Benn’s chuckle rumbles over you. Without opening your eyes, which slipped closed at some point you can’t be fucked to remember, you say, “Nerd can hold her rum. Nerd’s hammock was a casualty of war.”

“Ah.” A chair creaks as the captain joins Beckman’s table. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay out voluntarily. And if you hold your rum so well, why don’t you have another with us?”

“I did my duty. I just want to sleep.”

Shanks tsks, and you finally crack an eye open. He’s taken the chair closest to your spot on the floor. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” You knock your boot against his bare ankle, frowning. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Are you going to nip at me like a sheepdog until I do? Come on, you’re awake. Have another drink.”

The insistence is inching towards an order. While the Red Hair Pirates have never followed conventional standards of respect, when Shanks tells you to do something, you listen.

Groaning, swearing, and taking your precious time, you stretch and inch away from the haze of sleep. You spare a filthy look for Beckman as you clamber onto a chair, because you can easily reason your way into this being his fault. The bastard smirks around his cigarette.

Maybe he really did plan this. Maybe Shanks did. Maybe the rats are in this together. Fuck knows what “this” is, but you’re sailing through Tipsy on the way to Drunk, and clearly there are plans in motion to blow you to the far shores of Hammered.

Fresh bottles have appeared on the table as if by magic, and you pull your discarded tankard over, resigned to your fate. It’s already been refilled.

You drink. So does Shanks. Beckman enjoys his smoke.

It’s…companionable. If it was always like this, maybe you could set your roots in the Red Force’s planks. Trust it to be a home.

But you’ll be ashore again in a few days, and if you let yourself grow into the crew, you’ll tear yourself apart when they leave.

And if they never come back?

Even a Yonko can die. And Shanks is changeable. One day they may not come back for you.

Did you eat dinner? The rum glows warm in your blood.

You find yourself ready to forgive Beckman. For… whatever. He was responsible. He was never the problem.

Shanks is deep in his thoughts, famous red hair drifting in the breeze. As he quietly enjoys his sake, you glare.

“Do you realize how frustrating you are?”

His cup pauses against his lips. His eyebrows leap up. “Eh?”

Yes. This is what you’ve been wrestling with it. He’s the problem.

“You’re the strongest.” You gesture as you speak, and rum splashes out, burning the cracked skin over your knuckles. “No one else can take care of you, so you better take care of yourself.”

Another kick. You aim for your captain’s ankle again, but you hit his shin. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like you could hurt him if you tried. While you aren’t the weakest aboard the Red Force, you’re pretty damn far from the strongest.

Shanks whines anyway, and Beckman’s dry laugh sounds like old leaves rattling in the wind.

“Seriously.” You empty your cup. That gives the truth time to percolate. There’s no helping it now. You’re smashed, and your dignity has flown. Your fist props up your drooping head as tangled thoughts spin out into thread.

“It’s so frustrating. You have no idea what’s like being weaker than someone you love.”

The immediate silence takes a minute to catch up with you. The rum has floated you beyond a standard perception of time, and your head is too loud to notice everything outside hasn’t kept up.

You frown.

You think.

And you realize.

In that moment, you aren’t a ship. There is no chair, table, or lantern to keep you steady. You’re floating in the black abyss, and you know without seeing that a sea king is circling for the kill. There’s no air. Or light. Or distraction. Just terrible, dreadful awareness.

Oh, gods.

Stars, seas, and sabers. Fucking hells and all the horrors below.

You love Shanks.

It’s the stupidest thing in the world, and it makes perfect sense.

You just informed on yourself. To yourself. And possibly to the two men eyeing you, but there’s grace in nebulous phrasing, and no one should be taken too seriously after so much rum.

You leap to your feet and point straight between the captain’s eyes.

“I am drunk, and I refuse to face the consequences of my actions.”

Shanks just blinks at you, and Beckman keeps his thoughts to himself as you back away, trip over your chair, and stagger back down to the study. You hold your head so high you can’t see your feet, and you earn a dozen nicks and bruises on your way.

You sleep in the corner with your jacket as a blanket, and in the morning, you tell yourself nothing happened at all.

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #one piece x reader #shanks x you #one piece fanfiction #fic: paper pirates

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