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munsonsmixtapes · 2 months ago

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That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate.

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it?

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation.

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought.

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.”

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job.

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit.

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off.

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out.

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick.

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.”

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-”

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend.

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.”

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing.

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews.

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long.

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so.

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him.

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm.

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you.

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones.

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him.

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next.

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips.

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count.

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside.

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet.

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut

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alyssa-the-witch · 1 year ago

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Offerings and their Removal

Disclosure, this may not apply to everyone! Cherry pick it if that works for you, or take none at all. Just no hate or arguments in the comments!

Definition- Offering - Something given to an entity or deity to show appreciation. This can also be something done or said to show appreciation.

~~~~~Types of Offerings~~~~~

Food- In ancient tradition, specifically Greek, the first bites of food were thrown into the fire to be sent through the gods by smoke. However, this isn't an option for many people these days. Alternative methods are favored.

Fire - The old methods are still applicable if available. If one has a bon fire or fire-place/hearth, the first bite of food can still be "smoked" , per-say.

Prayer - A small prayer can be said over food before the first bite is taken. Just a simple "Entity/spirit, please accept this offering, Blessed Be" or something similar can suffice. This, for some deities like Hestia can be done at the end too. This is more convenient for a hidden practice and for those who can't afford to waste food.

Altar- If you have an altar, or ever a small bowl, they can place the first bite of food there for the deity entity too.

Objects and Trinkets- Just like us, deities/entities love little trinkets. Whether it be a few coins you find nice to a statue or an engraved candle. Whatever it my be, it can be given to an entity with a prayer and/or on an altar in their honor.

Removables - There are some things that can be placed on altar and taken off. I like to call them removables. When placed on an altar, one could say "Entity/Deity, bless this object, with your energy and blessings." let it sit for a moment or cleanse with incense. If a clothing item, accessory, or perfume, you can take it off and use/wear it. Just remember to put it back to refresh the energy and discuss before taking it off for the first time.

Actions - There are also things that one can do in offer of a deity or entity. They can be small things, like prayers, to full-on rituals.

Prayer- This is probably the easiest in my opinion. It can be a small "Hey entity/deity, I appreciate you." on the go, or reciting a hymn or a prayer by the altar. It's incredibly diverse and can meld to any practice.

Chores - This can apply more to some deities than others, but just Keeping your room and house tidy can be done in honor of a deity. Altars specifically can be cleaned or re-arranged as an offering

Art-In ancient times, arts of every kind were offered to deities ant spirits. And it can fit most anyone's style.

Music- written specifically or just a song you think reminds you of them. Drawings/Paintings- try thing that reminds you of the deity or how you see them can be drawn or painted. Others- Pottery, Dance, Crocheting or handy crafts, or even more. All can be done in offering to a deity. Specifics - If you have done research into who you're offering to, you can offer specific things. Sleep for Hypnos, Baking bread for Hestia, Rehearsing if in the arts for Dionysus, etc. Self Care- This not a lot of people think applies, however the gas most want you to be kind to your self. whether it be a bath with oils, flower petals, and all the works to just brushing your teeth at night. All would make the gods/entities very proud of you!!

~~~~~Disposal~~~~~

This is something a bit more difficult; You did the thing, you think it's time, now what do you do? A decent chunk of this section was taken from @khaire-traveler. Obviously, actions cannot be "removed" Once the action is complete, the offering is sent.

Food- khaire narrowed it into 4 options that I really like. Just remember, when on an alter, don't let it sit too long for health concerns (rotting, bugs, etc.)

Consume - After praying aver the food like I had mentioned before.

Bum - Also mentioned before, but can be done after sitting at an altar for awhile.

Bury- Food offerings. if safe for local wildlife, can be buried. "My logic in burying them (only if environmentally safe) is returning the offering to the earth in a sense." (khair-3) (Yes its MLA cited, AP capstone has rotted my brain) If that fits Your practice, it is a good option.

Dispose, - This, like everything else here, must be done with respect. Clarify with the entity/deity that you aren't doing so out of disrespect, rather because this is your preferred disposal style or your only option

Objects/Art Pieces- If you have this ability, talk to your entity/deity about it, clarify there is no disrespect in the removal, and give the deity some time to de-attach to it. Slowly, the energy will fade from the object when kept away from the altar. This doesn't need to a ritual, but can be if that's what you prefer

Thank you for reading! This is my first fore into the pagan-sphere, so if this is something a lot of people like, I'll continue! Blessed Be, Alyssa the Witch!

#witchcore #witchcraft #paganism #hestia #hellenic pagan #hellenic polytheism #greek deity #celtic deities

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nanamiskentos · 4 months ago

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THAT'S SO TRUE — toji fushiguro

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (e) and let the show begin !

prologue. → you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader (reader uses she/her pronouns)

warnings. reader has never been chill a day in her life, áge gáp, dílf!toji, big díck toji (ofc), voyeurísm (sorta implied), másturbátion (f), jealous sèx, reader watches toji through binoculars, they match each other's freak, creámpíe, reader gets called 'slutty' and 'doll', orál (m and f. receiving)

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. that's so true — gracie abrams

a/n. incredible art by sakimichan 🍃 i had so much fun writing this 😁 reader is an adult!! i imagined toji to be 35-ish, and reader to be 22...? its christmas day for me so i'm a tad late 😩

mp3. bet you're thinking 'she's so cool' kicking back on your couch, making eyes from across the room. wait! i think i've been there too!

if your friends knew what you were up to right now, they'd skip the intervention and go straight to dragging you to the nearest police precinct.

forget a lecture, they would slap a pair of handcuffs on you first, citing charges of being horny to the first degree.

officer! she just can't keep it in her pants!

but did you care? not in the slightest.

you adjust the blinds, nudging them just enough to angle your binoculars a little lower. focus sharpened, lens zoomed in, and there he was. the object of your totally healthy, not-at-all unhinged plan.

the target in question? toji fushiguro.

your next-door neighbour, who also happened to look like he'd walked straight out of a naked biker calendar. leather jacket snug over his broad shoulders, a frame built for sin, and pectorals that were so sculpted, you often dreamed of bouncing walnuts off them. just to see if the nuts would crack.

months ago, you had made a new years resolution to yourself that you wouldn't end this year without bagging the man at least once.

yet here you were on christmas eve, a few days shy of the year's end, still plotting and scheming like a bond villain on how you could charm the socks right off toji fushiguro.

but you feared that tonight was beginning to deliver a cold, harsh slap of reality.

your heart suddenly gives an undignifed lurch as toji swings off his motorcycle in one fluid motion. but your smirk — yes, you had been smirking and you wouldn't deny that, vanished the moment your binoculars caught sight of her.

right behind him, a woman dismounted with all the grace and mature confidence that you wished you could summon on a good day.

you twist the focus knob, an unfamiliar figure sharpening into clarity. tall, polished, probably closer to toji's age rather than yours, and way too pretty for your scheming, heinous comfort.

she's hooking her arm through his like they did this all the time, and her cherry-sweet smile beams up at him like he'd hung the damn christmas lights himself.

and then, then! she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, casual as a snowflake fluttering onto the concrete below.

your chest tightens oddly, though whether it was from jealousy or sheer mortification, you couldn't tell. and you didn't want to tell.

toji fushiguro, for his part, didn't seem fazed, at least, not outwardly. he turns his shaggy head away, smiling faintly with that gruff and polite expression he sometimes wore when someone cornered him into small talk.

not that it mattered. you couldn't stop the frown that tugged at your lips, watching the pair disappear out of view, the motorcycle keys still dangling from his thick fingers.

you sigh, setting the binoculars down with a little more force than necessary. tonight was supposed to be your night, the grand finale where you capped the year off with a big win in the shape of this six-foot-two man, with green eyes that could strike you dumb.

and you had even planned ahead! you'd been certain that there wouldn't be any pesky interruptions, particularly of the pint-sized variety.

not that you had anything against megumi fushiguro, he was a good kid — if a little unnerving with that brooding energy he carried around like a hefty backpack.

but still, you'd never really spoken to him much. call it morals or basic decency, but dragging a clueless kid into your schemes just felt a little wrong.

so when you had overheard toji casually mentioning that megumi was out for a sleepover with some friend, something about how nice it would be to have a night for himself, you had taken that as a sign from the universe. a green light.

fate herself waving you through the doors to make your move.

except now, traitorous fate had also thrown you a curveball in the form of the older, mystery woman who had been clinging to toji's back on the motorcyle. all expensive burgundy fur, and a darling blowout that was way out of a college student's pay cheque.

still, you're not the kind of woman who folds at the first sign of trouble. no, you think, squaring your shoulders. who would you be if you gave up now? perseverance is the backbone of triumph, or something like that.

the walls of this apartment are criminally thin, and you trust that the muffled thuds coming from next door are none other than toji fushiguro leading his...date up the stairs and down the hallway. the metallic jingle of keys confirms it, a sound that sends a pang of irritation prickling beneath your skin.

your gaze shifts to your desk, to the corkboard cluttered up with polaroids of your friends, random university flyers, and pinned up lecture schedules that you never follow. you press three fingers to your lips, in a respectful and solemn kiss, before tapping your photograph of aaron hotchner, in a promise for the near future.

"i won't give up, hotch," you murmur, the solemn, printed face of thomas gibson crossing his arms — gazing back at you, a beacon of motivational determination.

and with that, you grab a notepad and the first pen you can find, even though it's half-dried and it can barely write. you flip the pages open, and begin dotting down your back-up plan on how to score toji fushiguro tonight.

you're pretty sure it's been an hour since you started furiously scribbling on paper. five dried-out pens and a mountain of crumpled drafts later, each one titled with variations of how to get toji fushiguro in my bed, your notepad is starting to look like a pathetic manifesto.

you sip idly at your grape soda, the fizzy sweetness staining your tongue a violent purple. and listen, to be clear, you're absolutely a feminist. truly. you're not the type to believe in pitting women against each other. that's messy, unsophisticated, and frankly it's far beneath you.

but sadly, here's the other thing. desperate times call for desperate measures. and as much as you hate to admit it, toji fushiguro, your brooding and hulking neighbour with shoulders that eclipse the sun, has your resolve teetering right on the edge. the wanting and lusty human spirit is unbreakable, and the idea of losing is as appealing as licking sandpaper.

the sound of a low thud breaks through your plotting, as you drop the end of the pen out of your mouth. your ears perk up at the faint creak of a door opening. you recognise the gruff voice, muffled through the thin walls.

"damn heater's out again. 'm just gonna go check the switch downstairs."

uh-huh. that's what you thought. this was just act one of the stage play.

see, about forty five minutes ago, inspiration had struck. you'd realised you needed to get toji out of his apartment, and given his bear-like simplicity: eat, sleep, grumble, repeat, it wasn't exactly that easy.

but every man needed his rest, and no man could rest on christmas eve when the snow was sticking to the window pane from the cold.

so, you had snuck downstairs and flipped the heater's breaker to his apartment off, leaving the rest blissfully untouched. setting an ideal trap for the vast man.

you crack your door open, just enough to watch him lumber off towards the left staircase.

it's one of two routes down to the basement, and the fastest, if you hadn't intercepted fate. about twenty minutes into your plan, you had grabbed a handful of out of order signs (printed with comic sans, the true villain of typography) and plastered them halfway down the left flight of stairs.

you dart towards the right staircase, your knee-high socks skimming the concrete steps in a frantic descent. as you reach the halfway point, you hear the telltale grunt of a frustrated toji.

"damn management can't even warn people about closures," he's muttering to himself, heavy footsteps falling in line behind yours.

right on cue. by the time he reaches the basement, there you are, innocently peering at the big, clunky switchboard. like it wasn't you who had just broken into it to render toji's apartment a freezing chill.

your sweater's been strategically tugged off one shoulder, and you're pretending the icy air isn't slicing at your bare legs, left exposed by the shortest pair of shorts you own.

"what brings ya down here?" toji grunts, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

you count it as a small victory when his eyes sweep over you, slow and deliberate, before the older man coughs and shifts his focus back to the switchboard. you sidle closer under the guise of curiosity, so close that the fabric of your sweater brushes his arm. the steel biceps flexing under the tight, black fabric of his tee.

"i don't know," you sigh, feigning innocence with a touch of melancholia, "it jus' got so cold of all a sudden." you cross your arms over your chest, pretending to shiver just enough to catch his attention without looking concerningly ill.

toji glances down at you briefly, his brow furrowing, "mhm. yeah," he mutters, before turning back to the labyrinth of switches, "can't believe how these clowns the place."

you watch as the man leans in, studying the panel like it's some kind of ancient artefact. his expression is set in that serious, furrowed way men always get when faced with the unfamiliar terrain of household maintenance.

cute. almost.

you, of course, had done your homework. a quick google search of the model number earlier had led you to the manual, and you already knew it was the purple switch on the top right. but why rush, eh? if toji fushiguro wanted to play handyman, who were you to deprive him? especially when you needed a little more time to set the mood, to give him some ideas.

every time his fingers hovered closer to the correct switch, you leaned in, cutting him off with casual chatter. enough to have the man's eyes drop over you once more, before flicking away before he could break the bounds of propriety.

"so, are you doing anything tonight?"

"what?" his gruff tone reverberates through the dim basement, bouncing off the concrete walls.

you flutter your lashes at him, meeting his sharp, verdant gaze, "i mean, it's christmas eve. got any fun plans?"

he straightens slightly, his hand falling from the panel as he looks right at you, "nah. just stayin' in." but toji tilts his head and throws the question back at you, "why aren't you?"

"why aren't i, what?" you tilt your head to mirror the man, feigning confusion, "staying inside? i was, but then i got cold. y'know, busted heater and all."

toji exhales through his nose, and you watch mesmerised as the scar twitches over his lip, "no, doll. i mean, doing something fun. you're young. got your whole life ahead of you to be old and boring."

the faintest flicker of a genuine smile tugs at the corner of your glossy lips. if only he knew. you clear your throat, "i guess," and you shrug, the movement subtle, but just enough to let your sweater slip a little further off your shoulder, "it's just not my...taste."

your gaze trails over him, deliberate but not obvious enough to tip the scales out of your hand. you hope that you're not wide-eyed taking in how his broad shoulders ripple, almost tense?

"ah." toji fushiguro, everybody. a man of great wit, and even greater vocabulary.

he's tapping a knuckle against the switchboard, frowning at the rows of colourful levers like they've personally insulted him. you take the moment to edge a little closer, peering up at him with a deliberate and doe-eyed expression.

"need help?" you ask, voice sweet enough to break through teeth.

toji snorts, "you? help me with this?" he glances at you sideways, one thin brow quirking up, "i've got this, doll," but he seems to sober up, remembering that he does not have this, "unless you even know what this thing does?"

"of course i do," you shrug, feigning nonchalance, "i'm pretty good at flicking the right switch."

and what a sweet, untainted victory when toji's movements still. he doesn't tear his gaze away from the switchboard, but his hands pause and you see his lips twitch, "uh-huh."

"you should probably head back upstairs," he says gruffly, his tone almost concerned, "basement's freezin' and you're gonna catch a cold in, uh," and toji's gesturing vaguely at your thin ensemble, clearly trying to be polite.

"i know, but i was just comfortable in this," you run your hands, pretending to tug at the hem of your shorts. ignoring how the goosebumps are practically beating your ass right now, and you're about an inch of a temperature drop away from hypothermia.

toji fushiguro mutters something under his breath, something about attitude and young people these days, but he doesn't move away when you sidle back closer to him again, the faint brush of your arm against his making the great man stiffen up again.

"so, no christmas eve plans at all?" you press again, cocking your head, "not even a little festive cheer? eggnog?"

"festive cheer?" toji scoffs, finally pulling the purple switch as the low hum of the heater continues to chug away. dusting his hands off like he's just solved a national crisis, like you couldn't have solved that ten minutes ago, "i'm not big on christmas."

"that's tragic," you sigh, "and i was gonna ask you to stand with me under the mistletoe." your tone is teasing, light enough to deflect any serious questions but you let your lips form a soft pout. just enough to teeter on the edge of innocence. the faint, almost-whine in your tone is carefully calibrated: harmless on the surface but laced with the kind of undercurrent that can plant ideas in a man's head.

"ya' got jokes tonight," toji's gaze lingers, a little longer than necessary. you don't miss the way his shoulders draw tighter together. how his jaw ticks, but the real prize for you is when his hand slides up to rub the back of his neck, fingers kneading at the thick muscle, like he's trying to shake something loose.

the corner of your mouth twitches again, oh. you've got him now.

"imagine going through life, so lonely on christmas. that's gotta do something to a person." you're so not seeing the pearly gates, but you've come to terms with that.

"yeah? like what?" toji huffs.

you tap a finger against your chin, pretending to think, "well. for starters, it probably makes you very grumpy."

"tch, 'm not grumpy," toji rasps, but his tone says otherwise, as he runs a hand through sleek strands of dark hair, "yer' something else, you know that?"

"i've been told."

tojo shakes his head again, and you don't miss the faint smile tugging at the corner of his thin mouth, "alright, kid. time to head back up before you freeze to death down here."

time's up on this charade. you puff out a breath, your coy bravado dimming just a little bit, "fine, fine. but i'm not a kid, y'know."

toji's green eyes flick to yours, like chips of sea-glass as he holds your gaze, before turning back towards the stairs, "yeah. i know."

you follow him up in silence, the soft patter of your socks suddenly too cold on the pavement. at the top of the steps, toji pauses, glancing back at you with an unreadable expression, "get some rest. and make sure no-one's messin' with the switches."

"why would they do that?" you say, a touch too quickly.

"no reason," toji says, just as abruptly, stepping back as though putting physical distance between you two would help, "but it's all fixed now. go on, back to your apartment."

you blink, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift, "what? no thanks for keeping you company."

"thanks," toji fushiguro says flatly, but his gaze isn't unkind.

"wow. don't get too sentimental on me now."

"goodnight," the man deadpans, swinging your door open for you, just for good measure. before turning on his heel, and heading for his own room.

back to the drawing board.

toji fushiguro is convinced that the universe has it out for him. some karmic retribution is surely circling overhead, just waiting to strike. because really, what other explanation is there for his constant predicaments?

his life had been fine, a little lonely, sure, but manageable. until you moved in next door, perhaps sometime last year. sweet, maddening, entirely too pretty for your own good.

what the hell was toji supposed to do with that?

he's still rubbing the back of his neck, pushing open the door to his apartment. his date, right, was still perched on the old couch, scrolling through her phone. she's looking up at him when he entered, arching a brow.

"hey, you were gone for a while," she lightly comments, tucking her phone away.

"yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that," he mutters, crossing to the kitchen, "this place has a habit of breaking down on me."

shui had set him up with this woman, insisting that toji needed to crawl out of his self-imposed hermit hole and start living a little.

"you're not getting any younger, fushiguro," shui had snarked, as if toji didn't already feel every year weighing on him. so, fine. he'd agreed, figuring one dinner with a woman way out of his tax bracket wouldn't kill him.

and to be fair, the date had been...fine. the woman was attractive, sharp-witted, and she didn't pester him with inane questions. the kind of woman that most people would be thrilled to spend an evening with. but toji just couldn't shake the strange emptiness that had settled in his chest.

still, he had told himself to quit overthinking. maybe he was just out of practice. or maybe shui oddly had a point, and he needed to stop letting life pass him by. so, he'd invited her back to his place, hoping another glass of wine and small talk would lead one things into another.

what he hadn't counted on was running into you in the basement. how your light voice would replay in his head, that teasing lilt burrowing under his thick skin and leaving him restless.

tojo shakes his head, reaching for a couple of glasses and the half-decent bottle of wine that he kept stashed away from megumi's prying hands. kid was at that age where he was too damn curious for his own good about everything. his brain, however, was still stuck in the basement, circling around you.

what the hell had you been doing there anyway? sidling up to him all close, sickeningly sweet perfume or some shit that made his jaw clench. batting long lashes at him, and teasing him about mistletoe kisses.

civility. decency. that was the bare minimum that he could give you, wasn't it?

"you've got quite the collection of, uh, things up there," his date's voice pulls him back, gesturing to the open cabinet with a polite smile. toji glances at colourful boxes of cereal, and the little plastic bowls with cartoon animals splashed all over them. megumi's favourites.

"yeah," he says gruffly, pouring the wine, "got a kid. just the one."

she nods, taking the glass he hands her, "that's sweet. how old?"

"six. he's...not here tonight."

before his date can reply, catch the insinuation that he's thrown out, another sound filters through the paper-thin walls. a giggle, a sweet laugh followed by a voice he knows all too well.

"i know, right! he was like, totally into me!"

toji freezes, the wine bottle hovering mid-pour over his second glass. he sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary, pretending not to notice the way his date glanced toward the wall, clearly having heard you too. fantastic. as if the universe hadn't done enough to torment him today.

his teeth ground together as your voice floated through again, a singsong lilt that made his chest thump, and irritation flare all at once. what were you even talking about? who the hell was 'totally' into you?

"uh-huh," you had been laughing, your voice carrying through the wall, "and then, he asked me out!"

toji's grip tightens on his glass, wondering who on earth managed to pull you into a date. wait, why did he even care?

his date seems oblivious to the internal war raging inside of him, taking a sip of her wine and smiling, "so, what's your son's name?"

"megumi," he mutters, absently, eyes flicking through the wall like he could see through it if he squinted hard enough. ugh, what an awful thing to think. what was wrong with him? acting like freak, not able to mind his own business.

his date's laugh is soft and polite, "that's cute."

cute, yeah.

you thought it was cute too, didn't you? he remembered the way your eyes lit up when megumi toddled after you once in the hallway, clutching one of his ridiculous animal-print bowls.

"oh, what did i say?" your voice drifts again through the walls, following by a light laugh, "look, he was cute and all, but he just wasn't my type."

toji rubs a hand down his face, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his noise. you're just his neighbour. you're entitled to have your fun, to live your own life. that doesn't mean he has to like hearing about it.

meanwhile, his date sits stiffly on the couch, politely pretending your voice isn't bleeding through the walls like a radio she can't turn off. she's doing a commendable job of feigning disinterest, but toji knows it's killing what little momentum the evening had.

he clears his throat, trying to salvage things, "so, uh, got any plans for tomorrow? something fun for christmas?" great, now he's stealing lines from you.

her smile tightens, polite but clearly wavering, "just lunch with my family. my sister's bringing her kids over."

toji nods, grasping at conversational straws, "that's nice. i've got, uh, a brother. and an annoying little cousin."

"right," and she's glancing up at the clock, her patience thinning faster than her smile.

"oh, come on," your voice pipes up again, clearer this time, "you know my type's never been those kinds of guys. i like the big, rough ones." there's a pause, and then you laugh, the sound both coy and infuriatingly knowing, "yeah, like a bit older. all muscles."

toji freezes, trying to pretend like his insides aren't doing the tango. his date, on the other hand, has clearly reached her limit. her lips purse into a tight smile as she stands, smoothing her dress, "look, you've been nice and all," she says, voice clipped, clearly cutting off the chances of a second date, "but i really should get going."

toji fushiguro doesn't argue. doesn't even try to stop her. just watches as her expensive-ass coat swings off his couch, her heels clicking toward the door and her figure vanishing down the hallway.

he slouches back on the couch, arms sprawled wide, feigning a calm that he doesn't definitely feel. in truth, he's seconds away from keeling over, his chest tight and his pulse betrays him.

"huh?" your voice filters through the paper-thin walls, questioning and laced with mirth. the sound sends a shiver down his spine, and down somewhere else, "oh, my neighbour? toji, yep, that's him!"

his head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, eyes boring into the wall like he can will it to dissolve. tch, he's being such a dog. his ears are straining, sharp and unreasonably hopeful.

"yeah, he's so perfectly my type. tsk! yes, of course, i wish he'd just...yeah. anyway. but," you sigh, a dramatic exhale, "but i just don' think he's into me."

toji freezes, as heat floods his face, creeping down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. there's a traitorous clench in his groin as his stomach flips in a way that's both exhilarating and completely unwelcome.

the truth — shameful and complicated as it is — is that he is very much into you. has been for months. and it's getting worse.

every time you lean into him with those wide, sparkling eyes, every time you tease him with some playful jab or brush your fingers against his arm like it’s nothing, it carves a little deeper into his self-control. you're sweet, bright, always full of questions and comments that manage to sound innocent and maddeningly suggestive all at once.

but there's a prickling shame that comes with it, too, a harsh voice in the back of his head that tells him to grow the hell up. he's a grown man, for crying out loud.

a grown man with a kid who needs him, who already has enough on his plate without the complication of a pretty little neighbour who could turn his world upside down without even trying.

what could he offer you, anyway? you, who barrels down the hall in the mornings with an oversized bag bouncing against your hip, always late for something important, always in motion.

your life is big and full and bursting with possibilities. his, by comparison, feels...worn. quiet. comfortable in a way that makes him feel ancient when he looks at you.

still, it doesn't stop toji from looking. or from thinking things he shouldn't, like how your laughter lights up even the dullest days. or sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, pulling his hard cock out to tug on it, imagining your doe-eyes peering up at him.

toji rubs a hand over his face, groaning quietly into the crook of his elbow. what the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

you're starting to lose precious steam. for all your big talk about not giving up and winning toji over, the spark of confidence that got you this far is starting to sputter out. the lines that you'd carefully scribbled in blue ballpoint ink, a full script of fake laughter and coy quips begins to feel...a little tragic.

half an hour of pacing your apartment and pretending to be on the phone has left you feeling deflated, and painfully self-aware. your voice has grown too practiced, too rehearsed and you're starting to wonder if you even sound convincing anymore. and for all you know, toji fushiguro didn't even hear one word of it.

he's probably in there, sprawled on his couch, having a great time with his date. maybe laughing, maybe pouring wine, or maybe he's taken her to bed. fuck, your stomach lurches as your insides flip for no good, kind reason.

you glance at the cooling grape soda on your nightstand, still fizzing lazily in its can, and suddenly feeling quite awful. disgusted with yourself for the plotting, the dramatics, and the fact that it hasn't paid off in the slightest.

with a sigh that's more frustrated and resigned, you flop back onto your bed, ignoring the slight bounce of the mattress as you land. your apartment suddenly feels too hot, the air sticky and stifling.

you kick off the blanket that's bunched around your ankles, and you lie sprawled on top of the quilt. head tilted back against the pillows as you take in the dull hum of the light fixture and the occasional creak of the pipes.

with a despondent sigh, you find yourself half-heartedly parting your legs — maybe to entertain some false fantasy instead. you could have gone out, maybe really lived a little, just as toji had suggested.

you roll down the waistband of your shorts, pulling at the soft, elastic band. just tugging them down enough so you can trail your hands over the flesh of your thighs. yeah, you were that morose right now.

perhaps, you should have accepted the invites to all those christmas parties. you could have dolled up a little, grabbed a sweet drink or two on the house, fallen into the strong arms of a stranger?

you trail your hands over thin, soft skin. nails gently grazing over your mound, as you quickly run your middle finger through your slit, already dewy and moist. you muffle a small whine, because for all your showmanship earlier, you weren't above decency. and these walls were truly that thin.

but it's hard to not buck your hips up into your own touch, working your puffy cunt open with steady fingers. one finger, and then a second, fluttering at a gentle pace. how telling that the mysterious stranger in your fantasies is suddenly far older, with hazy green eyes and charcoal hair falling over his face.

you substitute the slap of your fingers for his, pretending its a rough thumb that pulls at your clit, gently pushing the throbbing hood up to run misshapen circles over the bundle of nerves.

"hah," you try to gnaw at your lower lip, keeping your mouth shut, as you're desparate for the creak of your bed frame to not carry over into the apartment next door, "t-toji, please."

there's a faint thud from next door, like someone has just hit their head. but you can hardly register it in your own mind. shuffling whines leaving your lips, as you use your fingers to stretch out your slick, sodden walls. getting faster, and faster with each piston-like gesture to curl the pads of your fingers up. searching, keening around for that rough spot that makes you squeal.

your eyes are fluttering shut, lashes falling against your cheek as your jaw tightens, heartbeat beginning to race as you heave for air, back arching up as you use your other hand to furiously flick over your clit, building up a steady ache in your wrist that you ignore, "ah, ah, toji, r-right there, fuck, 'm close."

each press of your finger against the walls of your entrance results in a large squelch echoing through your ears, getting closer and closer to that devastating peak, all the while as hallucination-toji snickers down at you and —

"hey!"

and just like that, your long-awaited orgasm, your beautiful climax, well. she disappears with nary a goodbye. your eyes snap open, heart hammering as you blink up at the dull ceiling. your hand is yanked away from your cunt, the cool air suddenly hitting the slick that's coating your fingers. your mind stutters, scrambling for clarity as an all-too-familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

"hey! c'mon, doll. don't have all day."

toji. toji fushiguro. oh, shit.

the panic rises quickly, what are your options? dive out the window and hope that you land on your feet? or fake an illness so convincing that you convince him that's contagious so he leaves? you consider it for a moment, but something else takes over. far more brave, or just reckless and lust-addled. you pull yourself upright, tugging your shorts back up. you shift your sheets, making sure that the dark, translucent patch is covered.

you pad towards the door with the air of a man marked for execution. when you swing it open, you're met with a red-faced toji. is he flushed?

you drop any cute pretense, and instead, lock your petulant gaze on his chest, straight up with the no eye-contact rule. it gives you a real, shameless good look at those heavenly sculpted pecs.

"what do you want?" you ask, voice as flat as you can possibly manage. but you're keenly aware of that mirror-gloss still coating your hands, and you wonder if its too obvious to scrunch your fingers in your sweatshirt. gross, someone get you out of here. the misery of your own making.

toji stands there, entirely dumbounded, and you notice the flush creeping up the peachy tan of his neck, a shade deeper than usual, "what do i want? what do you want?" he says, his voice rock-rasp.

you swallow thickly, ignoring the addled scent of leather, musk and something far more faintly addictive, "i have no idea what you mean."

toji huffs, obviously amused, before mimicking your voice with exaggerated sweetness, "oh, toji, please. right there, toji." he's mocking you, and your skin burns with the recent memory of that exact tone.

you consider for a split second if you can just hand him your lease tomorrow morning and call it quits. but then, toji continues, "y'know these walls are thin, right?"

you cross your arms, trying to steady yourself, ignoring how your poor cunt clenches with the faint memory of her ruined orgasm, "really? i had no idea."

toji mirrors your actions, his arms folding, but the effect only pushes his pecs up, and you try not to get distracted. but it's hard, very hard, "don't get all smart with me now. been hearing you giggle all evenin' and being all slutty."

"thought you had a date," you mutter, the act of playing pretend has long since passed and you're too far gone now to pretend. you scowl up at toji, meeting his gaze head-on, feeling your heart race as his eyes narrow and his pink lips part slightly. you can almost feel the urgent heat of his gaze dragging over your hand, your damp fingertips.

"how'd you know about my date? suddenly real concerned for me?" toji tilts his head, voice laced with infuriating amusement, and you fight the urge to lash out, to throw yourself into him and kiss him fuckin' stupid. instead, you dig in your heels, staying put.

"no, i'm not concerned," you stutter, floundering for a reason, "i'm just, well —"

"who asked you out?" toji cuts through your flickering thoughts, an undercurrent of something sharper in his tone.

"huh?"

"who was it? the one who isn't your type?" toji fushiguro says this all so casually, making your stomach flip. so he had been listening, he heard every word of you flouncing around your room.

you swallow hard, ignoring the sudden fluttering in your chest, "why? you jealous?" the words spill out before you can stop them, you raise an eyebrow, feeling a small victory in the way his priggish expression falters just slightly, "just go back to your date, fushiguro."

"gettin' real bold now," he murmurs, and you realise just how close the two of you are. how you can feel his body heart radiating off him. the tension between you is suffocating to say the last, and you can't decide if you want him to step back or push closer. he doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"thanks to your pretty antics, she sent herself packin', and now i'm all on my lonesome."

"how sad for you," and you suddenly curl your lip, "get a vibrator."

toji's maw drops open for a split second, before he shakes his head, "you first. don't know how you were doing all that without one," and he nods to your hand, "and because i wasn't hearin' much else."

something bold and red-hot comes over you, egged on by the damp sticking to your thighs, "want a visual demonstration?"

you barely have time to form a coherent thought before toji moves, a low growl rumbling in his barrel-like chest as he surges forward. his hands, large and calloused and warm, cup your face with surprising gentleness, though the intensity in his gaze leaves no room for doubt. then, his lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting. the faint scrape of the scar cutting across his mouth sending a shiver through you.

it's not careful, it's testing and tasting. as if he's waiting for you to push him away. but oh, you're not going anywhere. not when his kiss is setting your nerves alight, and sending your heart into a dizzying free fall. merry christmas to you, indeed.

you respond in kind, just as desperate, your hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders. the solid, hefty weight of toji beneath your fingers grounds you, even as the world tilts on its axis.

"ohh, look at you," toji all but purrs, pawing his hands over your back, your waist, settling over your hips as he pushes you further into your apartment. a strong arm stretching out to slam the door closed, tugging you further in. it seems he's too needy to even reach the bed, and you whine as you're shoved with your back to the wall. his hand coming up to make sure you don't quite slam in with too much force.

toji's lips are practically meshed to your own, and he's already pulling at the waistband of your shorts again. just as you were doing earlier, and you shudder, feeling thick fingers run along your hips.

"s-shit," toji gasps, "if ya' don't want me to —"

you groan, "no, n-no. want you," your voice quivers suddenly as warm fingers press into your soaked cunt. finding home right among your weeping slit. you don't even see where your shorts have been thrown, instead focusing on toji's hazy eyes flickering when they see that you've been wearing nothing underneath. all damn evening.

you don't think you've ever seen the man so dishevelled, heaving for air, as he tries to come to terms with all this, "so when you were in that basement, jus' tryna tease me? is that what you wanted?"

you can't help but laugh, but it's quickly cut off when toji's pressing a hot kiss to the very tip of your clit, it's so feather light and oddly gentle for the gruff man, and it has you keening over.

"that's it, gon' have you all in my mouth. gonna drink ya' up, it's what you wanted, right?" he uses two fingers to press right up against your entrance, parting your oozing folds so he can narrow his eyes at how ready you are for him, "gonna put this all in a cup, and drink it."

"t-toji!" you whine out, feeling your head go all light, and weightless, watching toji play with your core. seeing the older man gape at how you're soaking divots into his fingers, seeing emerald eyes darken with a carnal need to taste you. right now.

"stay still, doll. yeah, just for a sec," toji's hands tighten around your thighs, smacking a fat glob of spit over your trembling core, letting his index finger run the fluid up and down your pussy, a ragged laugh running raw from his smart mouth, "had no idea you were like this, been burying your pretty fingers in your cunt for me before, right?"

you need to get a hit of your own in, before toji fushiguro turns your mind to mush, "you been fisting around your cock for me, then too? bet it super hard when — fuck!"

your words are cut off by the flat pads of his fingertips coming down to deliver a jolt to your throbbing clit, slapping wet arousal around as toji almost glares up at you, but it's softened by lazy fondness.

"watch ya' mouth, doll. 'm wanting to go easy on you tonight."

he's delving straight into your cunt, like a man starved and searching for salvation between your thighs. you feel your mind go blank, that ruined orgasm of the past hour practically gaining a life of her own and cheering once more, coming back to you in embarrassing, full force as it barely takes a few, quick munches of toji's tongue around your sweet pussy.

that's all you need before you're quickly seeing flashing stars, and doing your best to hide the tremble in your thighs. but toji's having none of that.

his laugh is low, mocking and so ruined, "tchh, i really did interrupt ya' didn't i? must have been so close on that bed," but he's not stopping, practically speaking into your stimulated cunt, punctuating his words with buttery kisses, "must have caught ya' on the very edge for her to so ready for me."

"shut u-up."

"your wish? my command," toji snickers, letting your slick, running juices gather over his chin, "and you taste so good. she's a sweet thing, right," and you realise that he's not talking about you, but rather, about your weeping, glossy cunt that's shoved against his sharp nose. you've got the man practically pussydrunk already, and he's hardly gotten a good feel for it.

his hand comes to rest on your bare thigh, tapping it, "now 'm gonna need you to move that, yeah, that's right," you're slotting it over his broad shoulders, and it pulls him closer. and at this point, you don't even care for how you should be embarrassed, should be feeling some shame at having this rugged, older man salivating into your cunt. but there's a shocking glee instead, a quiet victory that's bubbling in your abdomen and already demanding an encore.

his tongue darts out again, this time he's prodding the muscle at your entrance, feeling for that slight resistance made weaker by your fingers earlier, all on your own. the very tip of his tongue in you has you whining again, slapping a hand over your lolling mouth.

"move that hand," toji grunts, punctuating each word with a flick to your clit.

"i c-can't," you gasp, hands finding a home in his clingy, dark strands, "people are gonna hear-ahhh," he's practically mouthing himself onto your pussy, slick strands separating from his lips each time he pulled away for air. the stimulation is making you so much more sensitive, tears springing to the corners of your eyes as the pleasure begins to sting so deliciously.

you pull fingers through ink-black hair, delicate threads that are soft to the touch and feather-light, "h-here, toji," you curl your fingers to angle him perfectly just so, and the burly man is letting you use him, letting you drag his mouth over your slippery folds. just so you can get him to flick his tongue over that spot that makes you cry out so perfectly.

and toji thinks he's never seen a greater sight. he feels a dizzy, heaving tightness in his jeans, that ache building in his groin like he's about to bust his load just from having you fall apart so prettily on his tongue. he ups the pace, making sure to nimbly etch patterns over your heated, swollen clit. he had you right where he wanted you, needed you, and he'd be damned before he'd left you high and dry.

"y'know, 'm thinking about to see this pretty pussy cum again," and toji sounds so proud, taking gratified in the fact that after only one taste, he's already attuned to the signs of your climax. the way your eyes roll back in your head, tears pricking at your eyes in a way that makes his cock ache even harder.

you're unabashed now, rolling your hips into him at a messy pace. letting spikes of white-hot and red-searing pleasure curl up in your abdomen, ready to burst. the entirety of his lower chin is coated in sweet slick, glistening his rough scar, with a clear drop just beading at his lip.

"i-i think 'm gonna, toji, toji - feels s-so —"

toji's mocking you, pitching his raspy voice up again to capture your tone, "oh yeah? 'm gonna, what? what are ya' gonna do? gonna cum, because that's what i'm here for, doll."

he's making a mess now, switching between a cool, short puff of air at your throbbing clit, and letting his tongue push into your gummy walls, unending pleasure until —

"aaand, cum. now, doll."

it bursts within you, swiftly and briskly. so intense that the edges of your visions become clouded with dark spots, a hazy vignette of sheer pleasure from toji's mouth running all over the filthy mess you've created. the gushing climax that must be soaking the scuffed, dark floorboards beneath toji's bent knees.

you don't even realise that you're still babbling his name, entirely lost in the daze of your second orgasm of the night. little cries of toji, like a prayer over and over, mantras that are making toji grin with his gleaming lips underneath you. all as he wraps his arms around your thighs, lifting you with brute strength. all the while not separating himself from your oversensitive cunt, petting soft kisses over your inner thighs, "gorgeous thing, aren'tcha? think ya' give me another one?"

you groggily lift your head as he sets you down on the bed, caging you beneath his considerable frame, "why? don't wanna, uh, stuff my stocking tonight?"

toji's green eyes flicker with mirth, amusement, only punctuated by him rolling them back in faux-disgust, "still runnin' that clever mouth, hah."

you squirm as he pushes his rough hands under your sweatshirt, letting both hands cup your breasts, pinching and twirling fingertips over your nipples, "are you a, mmph, a candy cane, toji?"

he doesn't break his concentration from where he's peeling your top off, "what nasty shit are ya' gonna say now?"

you giggle as he brushes past a particularly ticklish spot, "because i think you're s-sweet, and i wanna suck you."

"fuck."

in the blink of an eye, he's got you perched over on your knees, just as he hovers you. waistband pulled down enough to reveal black boxers, close enough that you could stick your chin out and press a soft kiss to the darkened patch of pre-cum that must be driving toji crazy.

and well, it's big. like it's jingle bells, jingle balls type of big. you drag your eyes from soft, curled black hair at the base of his groin and down an angry, thick red shaft that makes you clench your thighs.

"wan' me to slide over your chimney?"

that gifts you a barked, punched laugh out of the man — toji's got a large hand wrapped around his cock, "c'mon, doll. put that smart mouth to good use then," inching it closer to your lips in silent permission. you part your lips, anticipating the savoury pre that coats your tongue, the translucent fluid dripping from your mouth already.

he's thumbing down on your lower lip, easing the red mushroom tip into your waiting, eager mouth, "hah, think ya' were meant to take me. how's...how's this slutty mouth so perfect?" toji sounds ruined, all rock-salt rasp and his pink lips fall open, and a flush is painted over his tan skin.

you've never been one to give up, ready to angle your head lower, eager to take as much of him as possible into your mouth. but it's a hard stretch, as crystalline tears cling to your lashes, from the tight wrap of the back of your mouth around his throbbing cock.

toji's got his hand wrapped in your hair now, and you can tell that he's trying to be gentle with the strands as he angles your head lower, purring as you take him so well, "f-fuck, a perfect tease, yeah? fuckin' amazing," and you know he's telling the truth, for his cock is practically twitching with a life of its own in your mouth.

you've got this man hazy and drunk, just from sucking you off, and the realisation makes you whine all over again. reaching a hand down in between your thighs to rock up against your clit, all at the same steady pace.

and you know that toji is close, for those sculpted thighs of pure muscle tremble now, the powerful cords quivering as he bucks his hips, fucking your mouth in long, steady strokes. you also realise that you want him to cum, just like this, to have thick white fall from your lips to really seal and sweeten the deal.

but suddenly, you're left popping your lips shut, as toji groans, genuinely groans and shudders, pulling himself out of your mouth with a wet slop!

"don' give me that look, doll," toji chuckles, his chest heaving underneath the sculpted outline of his dark shirt, "can stuff ya' mouth with my cock later, if that's what you want. but 'm really gonna lose it if i'm not in her right now," and he's angling you back to give a loving, gentle pat to your glistening cunt.

rough, calloused hands slide across your bare back with an unexpected gentleness, against the soft curve of your spine as toji presses you into the mattress, so your head is finally resting back against the pillow.

toji's enjoying this, you know that, just from how he's taking your times to pull your thighs apart, sucking in a harsh breath at how your sleek entrance practically winks at him. tugging his hands roughly on his rock-hard cock, all so he can run the fat tip over your clit, making you mewl.

"don't t-tease, toji," you sniffle, feeling the searing tip push up against your clitoral hood, that nerves so stimulated that you're bucking up into him, wanting toji to just put the damn thing in already.

"fuck, doll," toji's taking a small mercy on you, pressing the first inch into your cunt, "i don't 'm the tease here, god knows how long you were jus' jacking off on the other side of the wall. hopin' that i'd come and stuff you like this?"

each inch that's bullying itself into making your head spin, making you wrap arms around his thick neck, just as he presses a soft kiss to the crook of your collarbone, "ya' good, doll? 's not too much for your, hnngh, tight lil' cunt, is it?"

you mewl as he bottoms out, and the stretch is unlike anything you've ever felt before. it's so deliciously big within you, scraping at the inside of your walls, "wan' be on top, toji."

"oh, yeah? lucky that i like ya' this much, givin' me orders and bossin' me around," toji huffs, using thick arms to pull you up instead, flipping you around so he's got you straddling his thighs, split apart so perfectly around his gliding cock.

"mmph, 's much deeper like this, toji," you chase after his lips, running your tongue over the taut, rigid scar that cuts over the right side of his mouth, all while he starts to set a maddening pace, bouncing you like a pretty toy over his cock, swabbing your insides with buttery wads of pre-cum, all sticky and loud in the silence of the night.

"lookin' good, doll," toji's grin can only be described as shark-like, and he's clearly pleased by the echoing squelches from the filthy mess that's dolloped between your groins, the smack of your ass against your thighs, tacky strands sticking to skin.

your chest is pressed against his shirt, and he's so enjoying the view. loves seeing how the swell bounces and hypnotises him, fuck, toji wonders how he's gonna go about the rest of his life away from you and your perfect pussy.

your eyes widen as you glance back, swivelling your head over your shoulder to watch the smacking movement of you against him, at how his thighs hold you up with a steady rhythm, "you're f-fuckin' me really well, toji," and god, he thinks he might just lose it all, then and there. the praise from your dewy lips is rushing straight into his cock, turning his mind to mush as he finds himself on some sort of autopilot.

he needs to cum in you, right now, needs to feel you milk him for all he can give. to stuff your syrupy cunt with mounds of weeping inches, and he's picking up the pace. smacking heavy, laden balls against your skin, so you whine and keen into him.

you're so caught up in the pleasure that you don't even realise toji had said something, words snapping around his teeth as he bounces you over and over, making sure that you ride him good, "w-what?"

"a date, doll," toji groans, smacking your hand away from your clit, just so he can toy with it, faster and faster, "lemme take ya' out properly, what'd ya' say to that, huh?"

"wanna take me o-out?" you all but weep over him, spearheaded on his tip, and raking sharp nails over iron abs, all underneath his tight top, "please, please, t-toji, wanna go out with you! and then," you hiss as he angles himself just right, curved sheath kissing that perfect g-spot deep within you, "and then i wanna do t-this all over again."

it makes toji's hips stutter, "yeah? pretty girl wants me to take her out, parade her around t-town, hah, i can do that. i can do all of that," he's gasping, feeling your tight heat snatch the life out of him. each girthy vein rubbing itself against your tacky cunt, "i can do all of that, and more. jus' lemme show ya', i'll spoil ya' for anyone else. those d-dumb college boys."

and you look at him with such gorgeous, pretty eyes that toji wonders how on earth he's gonna function now, with you so supplanted in his life. on his cock, even. he can taste something faintly sweet and artificial on your tongue, like tangy grape as he sucks on the muscle.

"never wanted a-any of them anyway, jus' you, toji. only you."

toji fushiguro loses his mind, he's cumming and his own orgasm is hitting him so hard that, in the back of his mind, he's concerned at how he's just filling you up. sloppy thrusts slowing down as thick, white translucent spurts paint your insides, right up to where he can see the divot of his tip through your abdomen. where you've taken in him so deep.

"s-shit," toji presses his mouth to yours again, harder, "look what ya' doin' to me, ruining me," and he also feels just a little bad for ruining your sheets, right as your own umpteenth climax for the night hits you, glossy and clear over the black tufts of hair. your pretty mouth pulled open in a wordless cry of his name, but toji doesn't let go. he lets you ride it out, that sticky mess becoming an afterthought for later.

in the hazy glow, toji's eyes wander over the mess of your room. but something else catches his attention, wads of paper flattened by an empty can of soda. he tilts his head, hair falling over his forehead, dampened by sweat. reaching for the paper with his curiosity piqued.

before he can fully read the words, you're suddenly pawing at his arm, practically leaping into him to get in the way, "wait, toji, don't! hey, that's private!" your voice is an odd mix of urgency and embarrassment, nothing like the angelic whimpers from a few minutes ago. you're swatting at his thick hand, trying to grasp at his fingers.

ignoring your protests and squirms, he crumples the paper open and reads the bold, hastily scrawled letters: how to get toji fushiguro in bed.

damn. so you had been responsible for that heater, the staircase, a fake phone call. he always did like them a bit cuckoo-bananas.

toji chuckles darkly, glancing up at you, barely able to suppress a grin. you're flushed, looking like you'd rather disappear into the floor, oddly shy despite the fact that you were so bold, and a minx riding him earlier to hell and back.

"look, i can explain. don't be mad, because i swear —"

toji groans, shifting you slightly in his lap, "mad? doll, 'm hard all over again. how'd you want it this time?"

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #daphworks

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tragic-ships-tournament · 2 months ago

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Tragic Ships Tournament: FINAL ROUND

Propaganda under the cut!

Orphydice:

"y'all probably know the story of orpheus and eurydice. but they are SO tragedy. they are TEXTBOOK tragedy. they redefined the genre. on their literal wedding day as she's walking down the aisle eurydice gets bit by a snake and dies. orpheus loves her so much he goes down to the underworld to try and save her. hades allows him to take her back to the land of the living, as long as she walks behind him, and he cannot look back, otherwise her soul will be taken. he's mostly fine , but begins to doubt and at the very end of the tunnel, he looks back. they lock eyes for a moment before she disappears back into hell. orpheus is then so distraught that he wanders the earth singing mournful melodies and gets stoned to death by some nymphs who think his sad songs are bumming them out. DUUUUDE their story consumed my every waking thought as a child."

Madohomu:

"madoka magica aired 12 episodes in 2011, with a sequel movie titled “rebellion” released in 2014. it’s been over 10 years since then, and these two have become the face of yuri. if someone makes a meme about loving yuri and makes a collage of example ships, madohomu are 100% gonna be present. video essays, fanart, fics, music videos and all kinds of fan projects featuring them are still wildly popular on all social media platforms.

but let’s talk about them (without going into too many spoilers, so this will be about the thematics in their relationship). they are light and darkness. the ying and the yang. forever intertwined. one would not exist without the other, yet they cannot exist together. for madoka has too much love for every living thing and too little for herself. and homura has too much love for madoka it blinds her to everything and everyone else, and she struggles with deep self-hatred. madoka has forsaken her own existence for the world, and homura has forsaken the world she created for her. the show has a lot of religious imagery, and madoka is akin to a god; there’s a shot of homura, who grew up catholic, kneeling at the feet of a gigantic statue of madoka, praying, but her hands stain her clothes. because if madoka is god, then homura is lucifer - specifically, iblis, the muslim version of lucifer, who loved god so much he betrayed him, for he’d rather defy him than bow to his creation, humans. and homura would rather defy the sanctity of madoka’s wish, rather than obey its laws, for she will take madoka’s happiness in her hands, if she refuses to. in the movie, dolls representing homura’s inner machinations yell, “gott ist tot”, for homura’s god, madoka, dies in the movie, when homura remembers that madoka was human first, and godhood was something she reached to save everyone, against her best interest and happiness. their relationship is one of love, kindness, obsession, devotion, hope, faith, worship - they are the thesis and the antithesis, the beginning and the end, the alpha and omega, an unstoppable force and an immovable object. forever locked in a struggle, never fully embracing, for madoka will always sacrifice herself for the world, and homura will always doom the world and herself for madoka."

#shipping #ships #fandom #polls #tragic ships tournament #hadestown #orpheus and euridyce #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice #greek mythology #pmmm spoilers #pmmm #madohomu #madoka magica spoilers #puella madoka magica spoilers #madoka magica #madoka kaname #homura akemi

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incomingalbatross · 17 days ago

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I like the "sweetheart" backstory. It DOES change it, from being (what looks like) a sarcastic, scornful epithet developing into a genuine endearment, to being a genuine endearment more-or-less tainted by bitterness throughout the trilogy. BUT. I don't mind that change.

Haymitch's use of it in SotR is so tender and affectionate and sounds so absolutely natural in his mouth that it's a shocking contrast between what he was as a teen and what he is by the time of the 74th Games.

Teen Haymitch is soft around kids and loved ones without any effort. Adult Haymitch's sentiments come out sharp-edged and broken and angry 90% of the time, even toward those he loves most.

It is also ENTIRELY IN KEEPING with the first use of it in THG and just adds another layer of typical cross-purposes between Haymitch and Katniss. Because the first use of it comes after Katniss shoots the apple out of the roast pig's mouth, then comes back and locks herself in her room and cries for an hour because she's Ruined Everything.

At dinner a few hours later, we get this:

The adults begin some chitchat about the weather forecast, and I let my eyes meet Peeta’s. He raises his eyebrows. A question. What happened? I just give my head a small shake. Then, as they’re serving the main course, I hear Haymitch say, “Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?” Peeta jumps in. “I don’t know that it mattered. By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go.” That makes me feel a bit better. It’s not like Peeta attacked the Gamemakers, but at least he was provoked, too. “And you, sweetheart?” says Haymitch. Somehow Haymitch calling me sweetheart ticks me off enough that I’m at least able to speak. “I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers.”

Katniss clearly takes it as condescending and insincere, and so do we - but the SotR intrepretation WORKS here. And makes it much funnier.

Haymitch, looking at Katniss's tear-blotched face and trying to figure out what went wrong: "And you, sweetheart?" WAIT why did I call her that no I'm not supposed to CARE about them abort abort abort Katniss "surely Peeta is trying to sabotage me when he's being nice and says he loves me" Everdeen, reacting characteristically: How DARE he patronize me like that

And the other thing I like is that it adds a layer to the Haymitch-Katniss relationship. We all know the parallels, we all know they both see themselves in each other and hate it... BUT this means that he also saw Louella in her. He doesn't just see her as a younger mirror of him, he sees a smart, spunky little girl he tried to protect and couldn't. A girl who deserved to be safe from the Games. And I just... it makes me happy that Haymitch was seeing her from the start as a child he wanted to protect, along with a kindred spirit.

ALSO, finally, I think if/when Katniss learned this was an inherited endearment she'd have very messy feelings about that. Which is fun.

#sunrise on the reaping #thg

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bonus-links · 2 months ago

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MY TIME HAS COME please discuss in great detail the GrooZeLink dynamics in prologue part 5. I am so intrigued by the stark differences between this shot:

And this shot:

The scar on triforce. The hiding. Please tell me everything there is to know

this is 4 u groozelinkers

why did i do text bubbles this way. how did anyone read this comic. god bless.

this is essentially Loft Monologues His Feelings The Update. It was very important to me that the audience understands where Loft's head is at from the get-go. and like listen, sometimes u have to have a bestie debrief even if ur bestie is a dormant sword spirit who can't talk to u. if bonus links was a musical this would be Loft's I want song lol

jokes aside I think Loft comes here to talk to Fi a lot. it makes him feel both better and worse

LOFTS FI IMPRESSION i feel like he used to do this a lot and thought it was so funny and every time Fi would be like. objectively that is not what i sound like. also, peep the textbox pattern!

even though Loft has trouble acclimating to life on the surface, it was important to me to show that it's not all like. angst and doom and gloom. But that's kind of the problem right? things are good, and he feels like this anyway. also I did my best to include most of the young adult skyloft npcs, I feel like the older one have mostly stayed up on Skyloft for now. LAKE TRIP!!

this is a direct reference to this shot from the game. this line of dialogue is an important thing to keep in mind. tbh the entire reason this comic exists is bc i thought too hard about the implications of skyward sword— what if you found out your girlfriend was really your god, who had orchestrated your entire life? wouldn't that make everything feel a little strange, even if you love her more than anything? much to think about

I like the scar through the triforce mark as a kind of symbolic gesture, but there's not really any intended meaning behind the two pieces of the triforce is goes through. feel free to interpret it however u like tho lol

AND THIS SHOT my headcanon is that Loft doesn't actually help much with the early building in Faron. It's partially because he can't- he pushes his body to the limit during his quest, and then completely crashes when it's over, and it takes a loooong time to even start recovering. He spends most of the time sleeping.

But it's also partially because he doesn't actually want to move to the surface. He wants to stay on Skyloft. In my mind it's like. he fought really hard to return to a state of normalcy that doesn't exist anymore, and that's hard to come to terms with. This is Zelda and Groose's project, and while he'll go along with it, he's not that enthusiastic about it. It's a source of tension in their relationship. Combined with Zelda often acting as a mouthpiece for the gods, it starts to grate on Loft that this aspect of his future has also apparently been decided.

tldr groozelink love each other a lot but things are definitely not perfect, and especially not right now

this is actually something I intended to get a little bit more into in ch2, but the chapter kind of. wrote itself away from it. every time I tried to include a scene with it, it felt too much like I was forcing characters to have too many heart-to-hearts too early. we'll get there eventually

this is an important update in the grand scheme of things :-) mystery mouseketool etc etc

#ask #bonus content #directors commentary #postscript

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inkinflux · 4 months ago

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Can't Keep a Secret

Viktor x gn!Reader | 3k | SFW Viktor notices you've been burnt out for a while, so organizes a short trip away to help you relax. A/n: I am so in love with this fictional man hnggggg also I based this off this song because it matched how sappy I felt :') 🚫 I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING USED TO TRAIN AI 🚫

Air pushed against your splayed fingers, the draft cool against your palm as you held it against the pressure. You dipped your nails down, the force causing your hand to swoop, the sensation pulling a smile on your face.

You didn’t travel often, and never before via airship. The novelty was neither lost on Viktor as he held onto the railing beside you, eyes wide as he watched the rolling hills of Valoran pass beneath. The airship’s shadow dove up and down the golden fields of wheat, until it reached the highest crest and the gold slowly dissolved into blue.

The wind whipped your face, its dominant presence the reason why the rest of the travellers remained inside during most of the duration of the ride. But the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant, in fact, it was refreshing.

After being holed up in your study for weeks, it felt nice to be given a stark reminder that you were, in fact, a living creature who needed sun and air and adventure to satiate your soul.

It had been Viktor’s idea to take a trip to the coastal city of Holdrum to pull you out of your rut. There was only so much staring at a blank piece of paper you could handle before it drove you insane. He knew that feeling of stagnation all too well, and also knew that pushing yourself past that point didn’t often yield the desired result.

The ship passed through a cloud, and you laughed as the condensation licked your skin, leaving you slightly damp. Viktor reached his arm out behind you, mimicking the way yours reached out into the clouds. He drunk in your joy and the fresh air, his tired lungs feeling lighter for once.

You opened your mouth as the next cloud passed, tasting it on your tongue.

The flight was thrilling, albeit brief, the airship docking a mere three hours after it had taken off from Piltover. The tickets had been cheap thanks to its avoidance of using the Hex Gates.

It was an irony that was not lost on you, that one of the creators of such an invention still couldn’t afford to use it the traditional way. Though you were sure an exception would’ve been made to let him fly for free, Viktor wasn’t the type to put up a fuss.

His hair was a fluffed mess from the wind when he shuffled along the gangplank back onto solid ground. You stuck close to him, slightly intimidated by the busyness of the station, wares and people being offloaded all around you.

Viktor tugged you along with a glint in his eye and a grin that shone brighter than the sun. Your briefcase was heavy with clothes and books, but you didn’t need to carry it for long as you reached a carriage that would take you to your weekend accommodation.

Your thigh bumped against Viktor’s as you peered out the window, making repetitive comments about how beautiful the view was. Viktor could barely concentrate as your hand rested on his knee, his eyes constantly drawn to your side profile as you watched the oceanside pass by.

His body objected as he clambered out, but his respite was so close, the seaside cottage standing at the end of the dirt path you’d been dropped off at. Peacefully isolated and surrounded by trees, with sand trailing through the cool shade of leaves, the sound of waves a hint at how to find the beach.

You took his bags, bright-eyed and excited to explore. Viktor tried not to drag his feet as he followed, lugging himself up the few steps of the porch. He subsequently crashed into the couch as you both entered the small wooden structure that had once been blue, but showed signs of age, driftwood peeking from beneath the paint.

“This is incredible!” Your voice came muffled from the other room as you darted in and out of the different rooms.

Viktor wanted to join in your energetic outburst, but after having been on his feet for most of the day, he couldn’t muster more than a hum of acknowledgement.

You poked your head out of the bedroom, taking in the way his lanky limbs extended over the small couch, his face pressed into the cushions. He heard you approach by way of creaking floorboards.

“Thank you.”

He raised his face, laying his cheek flat as he looked at you. You were on your knees, curled forward with your chin resting close on the cushion.

“I know no one who works harder,” he told you, “and no one more deserving of a break.”

You pushed his wind-tousled hair from his face, the gesture enough to make his heart soar. Or maybe he’d left it in the clouds when you’d thanked him the first time, looking up at him with the same adoration as you did now.

“No one other than you, you mean,” you teased, pinching his cheek before you rose back to your feet.

Viktor turned, the couch the perfect balance of firm and soft to keep his strained back at ease. He watched as you approached a window, opening it to let the stream of natural sounds flood in. Distant waves and the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze that was picking up with the promise of a summer storm.

He wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful. That you gave him the impression of a living piece of the world, clicking so perfectly into any scene. In the clouds, by the coast, at your desk, by his side.

It was a secret he kept, to no one’s benefit but his own, really. These words he guarded, belonging to only you. The thing was, he was terrible at keeping secrets.

He had blurted about the tickets the moment he’d seen you last week, when you had looked so colourless and crestfallen. He’d do anything to see you smile, even ruining the surprise.

Even now, he struggled against the word as it danced on the tip of his tongue.

“Beautiful,” he mused, “isn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a moment to tear your attention away from the relaxing ambiance. When your gaze settled on him again, it softened.

“There’s a storm rolling in,” you told him, taking a seat next to his reclined body. His shirt had rode up, exposing a section of his pale, lower stomach. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it down to cover him again, but not without brushing your fingers against him in what you hoped was an inconspicuous manner. Viktor bit down on the inside of his cheek, his entire body thrilling at your touch. “Perfect weather for a nap, don’t you think?”

Viktor smiled, the smell of rain filling the room as the first drops fell from the sky.

“You may choose whichever bedroom you prefer. I will remain here, for now.”

Your hand fondly stroked the cushion beside his head, too shy to risk another real touch. Viktor enjoyed having you so close that he could feel your warmth seep into him. You wanted to ask him to join you, your idea of the perfect nap to weather the storm being one where he held you in his arms, but sensibility won out in the end.

The room grew darker as you disappeared into one of the bedrooms, leaving the door open behind you as you collapsed onto the mattress.

The heavy rain lulled Viktor to sleep, his hand tucked under his cheek, unaware that you had curled onto your side in the same fashion, imagining the warmth of him around you.

When you awoke hours later, bare feet padding out of the dark and into the warm light of the kitchen, you found Viktor cooking dinner.

He had slipped into something more comfortable, a baggy t-shirt and pyjama pants that hung low on his hips. You admired the dimples of his lower back as he stretched up to grab two glasses from the cabinet. Once he placed them down, he propped his cane back under his arm, hovering close to the stove as something delicious-smelling bubbled away.

Your footfall was quiet, but he turned his face to the side, a small smile on his lips.

“Did you sleep well?”

You yawned as you approached him, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Like a log. Is that curry?”

Viktor hummed a confirmation.

“The pantry is stocked, so I found something I thought you might like,” he stirred the pot lazily, still somewhat sleepy. “Though, the town has a market that sells imported fruits. I was hoping we might go there tomorrow.”

You nuzzled your head against the side of his arm and he chuckled.

“Will you stay awake long enough to eat with me?” He picked up the wooden spoon, blowing on it. “Here. Try.”

With his other hand hovering beneath, Viktor brought the spoon to your lips. The explosion of flavour melted into your tongue, and you hummed in delight.

“Good?”

“Good,” you agreed, eagerly moving to the table, sliding onto the bench.

A moment later, Viktor placed the food and assortment of cutlery before you, then slid in next to you, your thighs pressed flush against another.

You hooked your foot around his ankle, too tired to pretend you didn’t want to steal every sort of touch he’d allow you to get away with in your sleepy states. You found he made it quite easy.

Few words were shared during the dinner, the food so good Viktor had to warn you to slow down.

“Who taught you to cook like this?” You were surprised, because he had opted for quicker meals while at the Academy, too engrossed in his work to waste time on such necessities as a well-cooked meal.

“My mother,” he answered softly. “Years ago, I would return home each week from the Academy to tell her about my work with Professor Heimerdinger. She would always cook for me.” You looked at him as he reminisced, somewhat melancholy. “The smell reminds me of her. Vegetables and spice and stock.” He turned his gaze to you now, his eyes adoring amber. “She would have liked you.”

Your elbow knocked against his as you shied away from the kind words, swirling your food with your spoon.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said with certainty, “because you make me happy.” He then poked your thigh, aiming for a lighter tone. “Even if you are clingy. Like a kitten.”

“I’m not clingy,” you stated with defiance, despite the fact that you’d all put burrowed into him.

Viktor smiled. “Do not mistake my comment for complaint. I… quite like it.”

Your back straightened at his words, the grip on your spoon tightening. Viktor cursed himself internally for letting the secret of his affections slip. Always in moments where he wanted to reassure you, he couldn’t help himself from tipping his hand to show you his cards were all hearts.

“I’m not like this with everyone, you know.” It seemed you didn’t know how to keep a secret, either.

“I know.”

After dinner, you sat on the porch, watching the rainy night with Viktor. You laid against his chest, his square thumbs massaging the wrist and palm of your dominant hand, which ached from the repetitive motions of your work.

“It is too bad such devoted hands cannot be mended with oil and tightening screws.” Viktor’s breath tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Flesh and tendon is so difficult to work with.”

You melted against him, nestling your face against the side of his neck. “Still feels nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

The post-dinner relaxation gave way to a familiar pull of sleep, but when it came time to return to bed, you lingered in the doorway, pleading eyes pulling Viktor up from where he had been preparing to read on the couch.

He curled a finger against the underside of your jaw, stroking up and down. You pressed your mouth into a line and tilted your head at the man.

“Does this sleepy kitty need company?”

You tugged at the drawstring of his pants in response, and he relented, snatching up his book and settling into bed beside you, reading glasses perched on the edge of his angular nose.

“The reading light won’t keep you awake?”

You made a small noise to suffice as a “No” before curling into him, your hand sliding under his shirt, coming to rest on the tuft of hair beneath his bellybutton.

Viktor reread the same sentence about a dozen times before he realized he wouldn’t be able to focus with you touching him like that. Still, he tried, until the sinking pillows pulled him into the same delightful dreams you dwelled in.

It seemed in his sleep, he had lost control of his limbs. Viktor awoke to an entanglement he couldn’t possibly hope to free himself from.

Your thigh was trapped between his, one of your arms pinned underneath him. Viktor’s nose brushed yours as he raised his head from the pillow, surveying the situation.

The movement caused you to curl into him further, a satisfied huff tumbling from your soft lips.

Viktor gave up any notion of getting out of bed, conceding to his fate.

The second time he woke, you were bending over him, placing a sweet kiss on his forehead. He shut his eyes quickly, pretending he was still asleep.

You were greedy and sought another stolen kiss, this time atop the beauty mark below his eye, your lips a fluttery feeling against his cheekbone.

Viktor waited patiently, silently urging you to give the same treatment to the mark above his top lip. He sucked in a breath as he felt your weight shift on the mattress, considering it as you hovered above him.

Then the springs creaked, his hopes dashed as you instead decided to get up.

You were eager to repay the favour of last night’s dinner with breakfast in bed, but before you could step away, a warm hand had shot out, curling around your forearm.

“Good morning,” you greeted, Viktor’s unfocused eyes drinking in your form.

“Where do you think you are going?” He asked, the rasp in his voice causing something within you to shudder.

You lowered you voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a secret.”

Viktor’s sleepy smile almost convinced you to stay. But you were determined to do something nice for him, after he’d organized the perfect getaway and treated you to such lovely cuddles all night.

“Stay here,” you told him, and reluctantly, his grip weakened, his hand falling empty as you walked away.

After five minutes of trying to be patient, he missed you too much, making his way to the kitchen.

“Vik,” you tutted as he came up behind you, hands sliding down your arms indulgently. You turned around, holding the spatula up threateningly.

“A fearsome weapon. Is it meant to scare me off?”

“Yes.”

Viktor wrapped his hand around yours, easily stealing it from you.

“Hey!” You complained, but there was a laugh in your voice. Viktor took over pancake flipping duty, if only out of guilt for ruining your plans to serve him in bed.

You gave up, pressing your forehead to his back. Your hands naturally found their way under the hem of his sleeping top, thumbs feeling out the bolts in his spine, tracing them with such fondness that Viktor struggled to remember how to breathe.

“How does your hand feel?” He asked, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

“Like it needs more attention.”

Viktor smirked as you pushed your hand through the gap between his waist and arm, letting your arm dangle in his line of sight. He took hold of it and pushed circles into your palm with his thumb while he flipped the pancakes. It proved more difficult than he had anticipated.

Breakfast was eaten back in bed, as you had insisted, the entanglement now only limited to weaved legs. The dawning day beckoned, and as much as you both would’ve liked to remain underneath the covers, you both found the motivation to get dressed and ready to explore the town and beaches.

The dirt track that led you out of your blissful solitude was now dotted with puddles from last night’s storm. The sky still held a hint of grey, but luckily the clouds had mostly dissipated, giving way to a clearer day.

Your shoes squelched in the mud as you stepped out, turning back and waiting for Viktor as he locked the front door. When he turned to you, he froze at the look you were giving him.

“Do I have something on my face?”

He looked absolutely divine. Being outside of Piltover, outside of the Academy, seemed just as good for him as it was for you. The leather strap of his bag crossed over his chest, atop a teasingly sheer white button down. He’d pushed his reading glasses up into his hair, a stray strand falling against his forehead. You adored him.

“Oh,” he noticed your gaze and tapped his head, quickly taking the glasses off and pushing them into his bag.

He reached you before you could fathom a reply. “Let’s hope the rain does not catch us out,” he spoke, unaware of the way your enamoured heart had caused a short-circuit in your brain. He was amused at the stunned expression you wore, reaching up to tap on a large leaf above your head, causing cold droplets to fall upon your face.

You released a shocked laugh, giving him a light shove. He regained his balance, his walking stick tucked firmly under his arm.

The trees glistened with suspended water drops, and you curiously tapped against a few before you stuck your tongue out, eager to taste how fresh the water was. The remnants rolled over your lips as you turned back to Viktor.

“You should taste it. It’s exactly like the clouds.”

Viktor stepped forward, a large hand cupping your jaw as he dipped his head. His mouth was against yours in an instant, stealing your breath. He took advantage of your parted lips, his tongue delving into your mouth.

When he pulled back he was pink-cheeked and wearing a wobbly smile.

“Yes,” he stammered, unable to focus on either your eyes or lips, his gaze flitting between them, “It does.”

#writing #league of legends #viktor #arcane fanfiction #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor

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broidobe · 3 months ago

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𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔨𝔲𝔯𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔟𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested!

⁎⁺˳✧༚80s-90s rock masterlist

kurt loves late-night, deep conversations, talking about everything from music to existential questions.

he would be drawn to someone who could match his intellectual curiosity, challenging him while also making him feel understood and supported.

do you think we’ve lived other lives before? like... maybe we were a couple of lost ghosts?

kurt would enjoy quiet, low-key dates, like going to record stores, exploring small art galleries, or just hanging out in a cozy café.

he’s not big on big parties or flashy outings, preferring intimate moments that allow him to connect deeply with someone.

kurt would appreciate someone who’s comfortable in their own skin and doesn’t try to be perfect.

he’d find comfort in someone who, like him, is a bit of a misfit and embraces their flaws and quirks.

music would be the core of kurt’s relationships.

he might write songs or share obscure records with you, using music as a form of communication.

he could be shy about expressing his feelings directly, but would pour his heart into his lyrics.

wrote something today... it reminded me of you. wanna hear it?

he randomly picks up a guitar and starts making up silly songs about everyday things, like your messy hair or how you always steal his socks.

why do you steal his socks though..?

like do you have a crown of his socks?

while he’d be protective and caring, kurt might also pull away at times when the pressure gets too overwhelming.

he'd need space to process his emotions, but he’d always come back with a new understanding of how much you mean to him.

i’m not always easy to be around... i get it if you need space, too.

in relationships, he’s so tender,

especially when you are feeling vulnerable.

he would be someone who would deeply understand emotional pain and would offer comfort, even if it’s just in small, quiet ways.

come here. i need you closer than close.

his ideal partner would need to accept and support his struggles, but not try to fix him.

he would appreciate someone who understands the dark, difficult parts of him and still

chooses to love him anyway.

and you are that person.

he’s never felt safer with a single soul other than yours.

you make me feel like it’s okay to just... exist. and that’s rare for me.

he grabs a hairbrush or random object and pretends to interview you like a journalist.

so, what’s it like dating the most misunderstood genius of our time?

always makes sure you’re at the shows.

he’ll tug you onto the couch and playfully say,

you can’t leave until i get my good luck kiss,

before going on stage.

if he’s feeling nervous, he leans into you and mumbles,

you’ll still love me even if i screw up, right?

mid-song, he makes eye contact with you in the audience and grins or winks, just for you.

#broidobe #kurt cobain x reader #kurt cobain #nirvana #nirvana band #90s grunge #kurt cobain fanfic #dating headcannons

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meraki-sunset · 3 months ago

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so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

#writing advice #csau extra

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strawberryblue-blog · 11 months ago

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Hey, hope you’re good. For the Barcelona football player povs, could you maybe do one about the moment he realised he was in love with you, thanks :)

FALLING IN LOVE

—FC BARCELONA.

summary: How would boys react when they realize they are in love?

words: +1.5k

warnings: none. cute, soft.

song recommendation:

Pedri González.

You were probably one of his first loves. Maybe he once loved someone but not like he does you. He really wanted to take things slowly but after not being able to hide his feelings, he would accept that he is completely in love with you.

Although he still doesn't know whether to tell you, he trusts you and knows that you would never hurt him, but he will wait for you to tell him so as not to influence your decision.

But he is very in love and you will see how he begins to have different attitudes towards you, his hands look for yours all the time, his eyes do not stop looking at you, his voice changes when he talks to you.

Ferran Torres.

You just got out of a relationship and didn't think you could fall in love again so quickly. But Ferran will not hesitate to tell you that her feelings have changed and now he sees you differently.

He really loves you, like you are the right person for him, he likes you with all your strengths and weaknesses. The way you laugh, when you seek his warmth, when he embarrasses you at his compliments.

He really admires and is proud to be able to say that he loves you. Because for him you are an honest, loving and kind person. So how not to fall in love with you?

Joao Felix.

Like Ferran, Joao also just broke up from a somewhat complicated relationship and although he thought he would not fall in love again for a long time, you arrived to ruin his plans (in a good way).

It was inevitable for him to think that you were a great woman, with clear values, principles and objectives. A woman who knows she wants him and loves that.

Compared to his previous relationships, this time Joao feels that it is real. That you understand and complement each other, that you don't need to tell the world about yourself but that you love and support each other.

Pablo Gavi.

For Gavi, loving you is something new in his life. Maybe she has had the odd romance but none like yours. He is completely lost in you.

Like a youthful romance and one of those that will last a lifetime. Gavi admires you, supports you and loves you no matter what. Willing to learn from you and everything that loving you entails.

He's a gentleman, he likes to be affectionate with you, tell you cheesy things, take you to cute places. He will show you to the world, because he loves you and he wants everyone to know it.

Fermín Lopez.

You have known each other since you were little and how could you not fall in love with such a man? He is everything to you.

Fermín is the person that everyone wants by their side, affectionate, kind, careful and respectful. And he loves you unconditionally. He has loved you forever, since you used to play in the gardens of his house.

I always accepted his feelings for you and he was always direct because he knows what he wants and that's you. So he's an old romantic and will treat you like the queen you are.

Marc Guiu.

Maybe at first he tries to hide his feelings, we all know that he likes to seem like a tough man but deep down he is not.

He is completely in love with you and he won't be able to hide it for long. Because he loves it when you laugh, when you get close to him, when You are free and fun.

He likes it when you care about him and take care of him, it makes him want to love you more than he should. So he will confess and he won't let you go, he is determined to have you in his life and he knows that you want it too.

Héctor Fort.

You are the first girl he has liked since he can remember and it will be a little shy and embarrassing for Hector. He doesn't know how to tell you, act, or approach you.

He will probably feel a little insecure at first but he will gain confidence when you are the one who approaches him and shows him that you are also interested.

Everything will be like the first time with him, loving each other, understanding each other, taking care of each other, but it will be so magical because Héctor is simply in love with you in every way.

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onegirlatelier · 1 year ago

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April, 2024 | Shetland lace shawl

Hi there! It’s been a while. I’ve been kept busy by all my university work…and this shawl.

The shawl is knitted to celebrate the wedding of my friend (now friends, I should say). A wedding is really the perfect excuse for all the heritage crafts and heirloom projects that might seem too serious to gift in other occasions. I did ask the recipient beforehand if she would like it, though, and I was so, so honoured that I got an enthusiastic ‘yes’. I’m sure this sentiment is shared by many makers, whatever gift they are making.

Shetland fine openwork, a knitted lace, seems to have emerged with the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, who championed and popularised the craft. It was probably spread from the Isle of Unst to other parts of Shetland. What surprised me the most when I first read about it was that Shetland shawls and other lace pieces were largely exported as luxury items and rarely worn by islanders themselves. Women bought yarn from spinners and knitted mostly in their homes. They then took them to local merchants and exchange the finished objects for goods or (commonly after the 1880s) money to supplement the household income. The ‘supplement’ nature of this work probably means it was not compensated as much as a job outside the home would be for the same hours and skills. Besides, it was not always easy to spin an even 1-ply yarn at 1600 metres per 100 grams. For a piece of knitting with a large ‘plain’ area (i.e. only knit stitches), the unevenness was impossible to hide but could only be discovered after the area was worked. Then the maker had to either frog (unravel) the area or continue with the risk of the whole piece not being able to sell.

Whilst it is very reasonable to point out that Shetland ladies did not usually wear this type of lace (I’ve been to the Scottish Highlands once, in summer, and it was not fine lace weather), I imagine that at least for some, it wasn’t just about making money. Some sort of fulfilment must have been from the satisfaction of having a piece ‘properly done’ by continuing and adapting a traditional pattern, technique or material. I think this sort of satisfaction is also why many modern knitters are willing to spend hundreds of hours on lacework.

Intricate handknitted lace items can still be bought today (a quick search on Etsy would show many are form eastern European countries with a long and prominent craft tradition), but many are knitted for friends or family members. It always makes me so happy to see people share the gifts they have made, whether big or small, simple or complex. I joke with my online craft friends that no handmade fibre project can claim to be so unless they have a hair or two woven into it. It is the proof of existence for the maker, who tries to go against the irregular nature of handicrafts and, at the same time, accepts it. It is about wrapping up hours, weeks or months in one’s life, along with the songs they have listened to and the perfume they have worn and the memories they have made, and putting it squarely in someone else’s hands and saying: ‘All this, for you.’

A Wedding Shawl

I have not read anything about there being a standard form of ‘wedding shawl’ in the Shetland tradition. However, there is definitely a category of square shawls with similar sizes and a few construction methods. The samples I’ve seen mostly measure 1.5-2m on one side and have three parts: a central panel, four borders and a strip of edging. It is worked flat in garter lace from centre out.

Neither is there a standardised yarn weight. A widely available yarn is the Shetland Supreme Lace Weight 1-ply by Jamieson and Smith, which weighs at 400m/25g. The Queen Ring Shawl examined by Sharon Miller used a yarn at 700m/25g. From my experience, if you want the shawl to be a true ring shawl (i.e. you want to be able to pull the shawl through a ring) at the size of the Queen Ring Shawl (210cm on the side), go for 700m/25g or finer.

I chose a rectangular shawl because I had very limited time, but I did enlarge it because for me, an abundance of fabric does mean an abundance of cozy happiness.

Pattern

Shell Grid and Spider Webs Puzzle, pattern No.19 in the book Shetland Knitting Lace by Toshiyuki Shimada.

The names of the motifs are confusing. One motif (or two highly similar motifs) might just have two different names if they are produced in two different regions. Names do not mean everything, but I’ve had fun trying to match the motifs with names according to this article by Carol Christiansen at the Shetland Museum.

The double yarnovers (YO's) in the diamonds were called Cat's Eye, but perhaps the 'Spider Web' in the pattern name is referring to the three rows of double YO's in the centre panel. It has a really simple but effective edging.

Yarn

Mermaid Lace, in colourway #naturel, sold by Great British Wool in the Netherlands. This yarn is 75% merino and 25% sea algae silk. ‘Sea algae silk’ seems to be a semi-synthetic plant fibre like viscose, with algae involved as part of the raw material. (At this price point I don’t think it has anything to do with sea silk, which is fibre produced by actual shells.) The brand name for the most popular product of its type is probably Seacell.

I bought the yarn, because I had never worked with this fibre before and was curious. What I like: it was a little cheaper than a wool/silk blend and has blocked very well. The whole skein was continuous so I didn’t have to deal with a single yarn joint. What I do not like: it lacks the sheen and smoothness of real silk and doesn’t feel as strong, although it doesn’t shed. In conclusion, I’d rather use a traditional Shetland 1-ply or another natural fibre yarn.

It's also worth mentioning that whilst I prefer to support small businesses, it was disappointing to have received a 93-gram skein when I had ordered 100 grams. It was one of those days between Christmas and the New Year and I somehow did not contact the customer service, but I really should have.

Needle

2.5mm 80cm circular needles. See modification below.

Modification

This Japanese knitting book follows Japanese sizing for knitting needles. The suggested size was no. 1=2.4mm. I figured that I could use a 2.5mm since I knitted on the tighter side, and in any case it was probably okay to make the lacework a little more open by going up a needle size.

I am not going to give out the pattern, but it is probably necessary to explain the structure of this shawl. The centre is knitted first, and then an edging is knitted onto it by picking up either live stitches or the vertical edge of the centre as you go (see schematic below). The four ‘corners’ of the edging have short-row shaping to help it lay flat. I know that traditionally people can achieve this by other methods, but I haven’t tried any of those yet.

I enlarged the pattern by increasing both the width and the length. I casted on 133 stitches instead of 101 for the centre panel and knitted Part B 8.5 times instead of 5.5. The spider web pattern in Part B requires the stitch count to be (something dividable by four) plus two, so I made one central increase before the spider web to get 134 and a central decrease after it to get it back to 133. Due to the openness of the lace, the change of one stitch is not visible.

The enlargement meant I had to recalculate the edging as well, because the number of stitches available for pick-up changed. Originally, at each corner you do two repeats with four short-row shaping each. I did 1.5 repeats following the original placement of short-row shaping in order to make the total number of repeats fit the number of edge stitches on the centre panel.

The pattern says to Kitchener-stitch the last row of the edging to the provisional cast-on. It just didn’t make sense because that would be two rows too much (the Kitchener stitch row plus the provisional cast-on row). To make the number perfectly fit, I knitted only ten rows of the last repeat (there were usually twelve in each repeat). Then I Kitchener-stitched the end to the provisional cast-on, following the lace pattern. I am quite proud of this solution because it is completely invisible.

Somewhere in the pattern it said to purl (looking from the right side). It seemed strange because the rest of the lace was entirely garter. I knitted those stitches and so far I haven’t sensed a ‘mistake’.

The pattern originally calls for 45 grams of yarn. I estimated (based on the increase of stitches in the centre panel) to need about 80 grams. I ended up using 86 grams. Besides the inaccuracies in my estimation, it was probably also because I knitted much more loosely than expected as it was difficult to tension the yarn tightly at such a weight. Like I've point out in the Yarn section above, I was lucky not to have needed more than 93 grams.

The original finished size is 53*118cm. I ended up with approximately 70*170cm.

Conclusion

This shawl took about three months of my craft time i.e. one full day every week for three months and many mornings before I had to leave for university. Knitting outside my room just didn’t work because I was a) engaged in some other activities that made it difficult to steady my hands, and b) worried about putting a white shawl on any public surface.

The pattern itself is relatively straightforward. The first difficulty was, of course, to understand the instruction written in Japanese. Google translate was horrible so I had to rely on my knitting experience. Fortunately, much of the text description was also found in graphs and charts. Then I had to get my hands used to the tiny yarn. After that, it was only fiddly when I did the edging, because I had to turn about every twelve stitches, and by that time I was handling a giant cloud of stitches on my lap. It did give me a lot of time to go over my favourite documentaries and films, and the last bit of edging was surprisingly quick!

Traditionally, Shetland shawls could be sent back to the maker for maintenance. I think it only fair for me to offer that too because I don’t want a gift to become a trouble (same as how you do not use non-machine-washable yarn for baby knits).

In general, I am very pleased with this shawl. It does pass the ring test, despite not being a traditional wedding shawl size or thickness. I do have a whole lot of actual Shetland 1-ply in my stash, so I am really looking forward to taking my Queen Ring Shawl project out of hibernation in the near future.

Reference list for Introduction

Christiansen, Carol. Shetland fine lace knitting: Recreating patterns from the past. Marlborough: Crowood, 2024.

Mann, Joanna. 'Knitting the Archive: Shetland Lace and Ecologies of Skilled Practice'. Cultural Geographies 25, no. 1 (January 28, 2017): 91–106. https://doi.org/10.1177/1474474016688911.

#knitting #knitblr #shetland lace #lace knitting #gift-knitting #stories

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mysteria157 · 11 months ago

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Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come.

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her.

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you?

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?”

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams.

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can.

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

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trippinsorrows · 4 months ago

Text

midnight sun + two

authors note: really wasn't expecting the response and interest the first part received. thank you so much! 🥺 as previously stated, this is going to be heavy. please be mindful of your mental state before consuming this content.

words: 3.3k

warnings: angst, domestic violence, violence against women

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

one

It takes some digging.

Requires blowing off some dust and the occasional angrily tossed objects, but he eventually finds it almost an hour into searching. The amount of time that could easily be used for other things, but none strike him as important as this.

More dust has to be wiped off the box that he hasn’t seen or touched in over 15 years.

Roman sits on the edge of the bed, careful with his movements, recognizing the fragility of the worn thing. Opened, there’s a strange feeling that settles over him seeing the contents, all drawings and artwork. But, it’s namely the largest item that lies at the bottom that evokes such emotions. Smaller pieces partially obscuring the view, slowly, his fingers move underneath it, gingerly pulling it out as he sets the box to the side and focuses on the item in hand.

A different time. A different person almost. Seeing the drawing of himself from that time in his life also brings up more confusing feelings.

Especially pertaining to the artist who created it for him.

2003

Solitude has always been his companion, a preferred thing over most people in his life who don’t understand him. Who only mean him harm, pain, and betrayal.

That’s why one of the first things Roman did was confiscate and make the only loveseat in the common area his. A possession from day one that no one has seemed to question or challenge, largely because everyone knows why he’s here and subsequently don’t want to get on his bad side.

A smart decision.

It’s farther away from the rest of the seating options, another preferred thing that allows him to zone out with the help of the headphones over his ears. An escape. Isolation.

Solitude has been the only companion granted to him in this life.

That and Rosalia.

But, as she’s not an option anymore, so he settles for what remains.

Except, it’s short lived, because with expert peripheral vision, he’s witness to a scene unfolding. Roman doesn’t necessarily need to hit pause on his Walkman to see what’s going on, but he does it anyway.

“Give it back!” Her voice is far too sweet, way too innocent. It makes him scowl. “Please!”

Roman directs more of his attention to the young girl he’s noticed in passing since his admission, the faded bruises on her face along with her bandaged wrists some of the first things to catch his attention.

It doesn’t take much to see why she’s there.

She’s younger than him by almost four years at fourteen to his seventeen going on eighteen, but he also can’t ignore the fact that she looks older than what she is.

More developed than most girls her age.

And judging by the three pricks playing hot potato with her sketchbook, stupid looks on their equally stupid faces, he’d bet that’s why they’re messing with her. Sick enjoyment at the sight of her chest moving as she attempts to pry her book back.

“Please!” She begs, and it only makes his scowl deepen. Her voice is annoying, but what’s more annoying is the fact that the fucking useless staff here are doing nothing to intervene.

Not surprising though.

In Roman’s experience, adults don’t help out and protect children.

Just feed em’ to the wolves.

Or are the wolves themselves.

“You want it back?” One of them sneers, a haughty look on his pimpled face. “Show us your boobs.”

She freezes, terror rendering her still as she asks in a low voice, “w–what?”

“Yeah, show em!”

“I bet they’re—”

Whatever was going to be said will never be known, it’ll never be known due to Roman decking the son of a bitch in the neck. The other dumbasses only further cement their stupidity by turning their glares onto him.

“You really fucked up.”

One goes to hit him, an easy dodge as Roman uses his elbow and rams it into the back of his head. The third is the most unlucky, Roman tossing him to the ground and pummelling him, a sick thrill filling him as he imagines someone else.

Imagines it’s his piece of shit, abusive father underneath his unrelenting fist. Imagines it’s his blood spilling all over again, life fading from his pathetic body.

A sick fill, indeed.

But, it’s short–lived, because security is yanking him off, yelling some shit at him that he doesn’t give two fucks about.

“Get the fuck off me!” Roman overpowers the guards, sending them both to the floor and he moves to walk away, unsurprised that no one comes after him. Their goal was simply to separate and break up the fight, not penalize him for said altercation.

They know fucking better than to try that shit with him of all people.

The heir to the Bloodline Empire. An empire that now technically is already his with the “death” of his pussy of a father.

A murder.

A murder done at his hands.

“Ummm.”

Roman has just sat back down on the sofa when he hears it again. That voice. Slightly less annoying but way too close. Because looking up, he sees she’s standing only a few feet away from him, hugging the sketchbook to her chest.

And just like that, the scowl returns, “what the fuck do you want?”

She opens and closes her mouth, temporarily looking down almost in embarrassment. “I just….I wanted to say….thank you.”

Roman’s sneer falters just a bit.

Thank you...

He can’t remember the last time someone other than his little sister uttered such words to him.

If ever.

Confused as to whatever the fuck is coming up in him, he easily dismisses it and her. “Good. You said it. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

A glance at her face reveals a small frown that’s followed with her leaving to walk away but not before she stops and turns around, a small, unsure smile replacing the frown. “I’m Solana, by the way.” He meets her gaze, warm locking with cold. “Solana Miller.”

And when she turns to walk away, it only makes sense he lets her do so. But, that’s not what happens.

“Roman,” he’s offering for reasons unknown, weirdly settled in a sense by the return of her small smile. “Roman Reigns.”

—----

Present

Walking back into the coffee shop, it’s only then that Roman becomes more aware of just how much this place really does scream Solana. Soft, pastel colors make up the color schemes. Random artwork with color palettes that match the painting and positive quotes that match her.

It’s exactly the kind of place he’d expect to be hers.

It’s when he walks over to the counter that he’s met with the one thing in here that is most definitely not Solana.

A young woman who looks like she either just walked out of a rave or satanic ceremony looks at him with icy blue eyes. Her black lips are curved into an almost mocking smile when she asks in an accented voice, “can I help you?”

Roman gives her a one over. She must be part of some damn work program. “Where’s Solana?”

The woman scoffs, crossing her surprisingly buff arms. It’s clear as day that she stays in the gym. “Why do you wanna know? I’m the manager. I can help you—”

“I don’t need you. I need Solana.”

He’s trying for the sake of not wanting to cause a scene at Solana’s place of business, but this Wednesday Adams looking bitch is really trying it.

“How do you know her?” She suddenly asks, partially taking him by surprise. “I saw you here the other day talking to her. You two seemed…..friendly.”

It’s the fact that Roman didn’t notice this bitch that day as well as the fact that she’s snooping that has him putting her in her palace. “That’s none of your damn business.”

But, she doesn't cower away, instead metaphorically puffing out her chest. “Look, I know exactly who you are, and I don’t give a damn. Solana is one of my best friends. She’s already got one piece of shit man in her life. She doesn’t need any more.”

“You know her fiancé?” He asks, now interested in whatever information she might have. “Cody, right?”

She nods, a bitter expression on her face. “Unfortunately.”

Her response is very telling. “You don’t like him.”

The follow up answer is filled with an equal amount of disdain. “I don’t like any man who gets off on beating the shit out of women.”

It’s one thing to suspect, even know for oneself. But, it’s another to have it confirmed. Roman's fist forming at his side accompanies his clarifying question. “He hits her?”

She says nothing, and it’s then he picks up on the extent of her discomfort. She’s obviously unsure with how much to share and how much to withhold, even if she’s already shared more than expected.

“Look, Solana and I….” He fucking hates talking to people in general, especially about his personal life, but this woman clearly has information he needs to know. And while he’s certainly not above torture, it’s not the preferred route in this situation. “We were friends when we were younger, but we….we lost contact years ago.” He adds, voice genuine. “I have no intentions on hurting her.”

Never has. Never will.

“Solana won’t leave him,” she finally relents after a few minutes of silence. “She gets….defensive when you ask too many questions or try to call her out on all the bullshit excuses she makes for all the bruises and black eyes.” She shakes her head, a sudden sadness in her eyes. “He’s broken two of her ribs before, broke her nose, her her wrist, put her in casts. And she mostly chalks it up to bad falls.” Crossing her arms, she says in a quiet voice. “He’s going to kill her one day. I just….I just know it.”

When hell freezes over.

Imagining all the cruel and vile ways he’s going to dismember this son of a bitch, Roman inquires. “‘How the hell did they even get together?”

“She went to some fancy ass business owner thing about a year ago. They met there, and he pursued the hell out of her. At the time, she thought it was sweet. Looking back now, it’s obvious he was preying on her.”

Roman says nothing, taking in all of the information, something about that meeting, the fact that it was a business thing along with the name Cody, prompting him to ask. “Wait. Is her fiancé Cody Rhodes?”

She scoffs. “That’s him.” Roman looks away, cursing quietly. “Why?”

He remains silent, partially confused as to what Solana could have ever seen in someone like Cody but also now recognizing that killing him won’t be as easy as he initially thought.

Because Roman knew the moment he saw Solana react with so much fear just at the mention of this Cody person, that he was going to kill him. Further cemented with how jumpy she was.

But, Cody Rhodes being the Cody in question massively fucking complicates things given the decades long truce between the Nightmare Factory and the Bloodline. The Factory doesn’t fuck with the Bloodline, and the Bloodline doesn’t fuck with Factory.

But, him killing Cody Rhodes, the fucking leader of the Nightmare Factory, will most definitely fuck with that truce. It’ll void it, thus starting a nasty, brutal war.

He can’t have that.

The Bloodline can’t have that.

But, Roman also can’t have that bleached bitch beating on Solana.

Or worse.

“I need to talk to her,” he announces, gaze on the woman who seems to be opening up more and more by the minute. “When is she scheduled to work again?”

Sighing, an answer is supplied that only pisses him off more. “She was supposed to come in today, but she called out sick.” Roman snarls. Sick, his ass. “She should be here tomorrow though. Works the evening shift.”

He nods, making a mental note to clear his schedule. “I’ll be here.”

She eyes him with skepticism. “Look, she’s got enough she’s dealing with. If you’re going to make things worse—”

“I’m not,” he interrupts, voice harsh, glare returning.

And, she doesn’t back down. Doesn’t deter from a glare that would have most people cowering. One thing for certain, while Solana may be engaged to a monster, the woman before him is a different kind of monster. A useful one to have on her side. “Then what the hell are you going to do?”

Roman notices the tip drawer on the counter and pulls out his wallet, sliding a crisp hundred dollar bill and placing it in the jar. Returning his wallet back to his back pocket, he leans over just enough so he can answer in the calmest, eeriest voice.

“I’m going to rip Cody Rhodes apart limb by limb.”

—-----

His heavy, sweaty body plops down beside her, face up, his gaze on the ceiling. The sound of his loud, uneven breathing further exacerbates her discomfort, disgust filling her at the feel of his seed spilling out of her.

Solana doesn’t hesitate to turn on her side, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible, to rush to the shower, to cleanse herself and scrub her body raw from the feel of him on her.

But, she knows how this goes. Knows that she has to wait for him to fall asleep before she can do that, has to ensure that he’s done.

And the minute she hears it, turns and sees that he’s in fact asleep, she peels the blanket off her naked body and makes her way to the bathroom.

Tempted to lock the door, it’s a declined decision knowing it will only wield a negative, painful outcome.

Turning the knob and stepping under the hot water, Solana allows it to rain down on her body, soothing the lingering aches and pains from the most recent beating. She also doesn’t hesitate to take the shower head, angling it up to her vagina, doing her best to wash away his sperm. An unnecessary thing given the fact that she’s on birth control and always consistent with it, it just helps her feel better.

As best as one can feel in this situation.

Standing under the comforting water until her body begins to prune up, Solana steps out, wraps a towel around herself and uses her hand to wipe the fogged mirror, providing a slightly cloudy view of herself. A view that immediately brings tears to her eyes.

The bruises. The cuts. The internal injuries. The pain no one can see and only she can feel.

Tears streaming down her face, it’s impossible for her to not think of her. To not think of how she’s become the very same person she swore she would never be.

Her mother.

“God.” Solana jumps at the sound of his voice, naturally moving her hand to the knot on her towel that keeps her wet body hidden. He stands in the doorway, leaning, dressed in only boxers. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Once a compliment that made her blush, it now only invokes nausea. “How much I love you?”

Another sickening thing, but not nearly as sickening as what she makes herself say next. “I—I love you, too.”

He makes a sound, walking over, Solana backing up when he tugs her to him, his hand gliding over her damp shoulder blade. “Say it again.”

A painful, tortuous thing. “I—I love you, Cody.” Delight fills his gaze, an infrequent but hopeful thing as she decides to take a risk, to shoot her shot in one of the few opportunities given. “B–baby?”

“Hmm?”

Her body naturally trembles as she powers through her fear and the terror that fills her being. “I was—I—I was wondering if…..if I could go visit my mom and sister.” He doesn’t say anything, but the movement of his finger ceases. “It’s just—I—I haven’t seen them in over a y—year, and she—my mom—I know she’s worried—”

“Solana, Solana, Solana.” And right then and there, she knows this was one of the worst things she could have ever done. “When will you learn?”

Before she can process what’s happening, before she can even fix her mouth to apologize, sheer pain courses through her body as he grabs her by her ear and slams the side of her face down on the bathroom counter.

Her body crumbles to the floor as she feels the blood suddenly spilling from the side of her head. Cody crouches down in front of her, face turned almost animalistic, “do you think I’m fucking stupid!”

Crying, she shakes her head and attempts to keep the towel together. “No, no, of course—”

Solana cries out when he grabs her by her hair, pulling her to her feet, yanking her head back, one hand wrapped around her throat, restricting her breathing. “Do you think you can fucking try to leave me?”

She’s gasping, small fingers prying at his hand. An answer is practically impossible with the strength of his grip.

“I own you! You understand me! You belong to me!” He shouts, once again slamming her face down on the counter. Solana is almost seeing stars, red liquid seeping down the middle of her face. “I fucking told you already. If you ever try to leave me, I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them fucking both!”

Another painful reminder that matches the pain multiplying through her body at his brutal, vicious assault. An evil smile crosses his face as he stares at her through the mirror. “Or, maybe I’ll just kill that bitch mother of yours, huh? Kill her and sell that pretty sister of yours to the highest bidder.”

Solana’s eyes widen, her fear extrapolating as she cries harder. “Please—please don’t—”

“Shut up,” he roars. A stinging punch to her side that would have her doubled over if not for his returned grip to her hair. “If I have to ever remind you of this shit again, I’ll slice you up and feed your body to the fucking dogs!”

A promise followed by him tossing her to the floor and a final kick to her side. “Sleep in here, you ungrateful bitch. I don’t want to see your fucking face tonight.”

Solana jumps when he slaps the light off and slams the door shut.

The silence and loneliness is welcomed, a rare safe space in her world that has in a matter of a year become anything but.

It was stupid, silly of her to even try to think that she could get away with such a thing. Even if she truly had no intentions of trying to escape. Never would. Not if it means the unspeakable horrors being done to her are extended to the two people she loves the most.

Or worse.

She just truly wanted to see her family.

Wants to see her family. Her home. The place that carries so many good memories, memories that fade with each day spent in hell.

The tears continue to cascade over, the hollowness in her chest and soul expanding by the minute.

Legs pulled to her chest, a long forgotten tune from such a different almost as painful time in her life returns to the forefront of her mind. Conjoined with the contact name still sitting unused in her phone.

Journey

Lyrics from a song shared with her from the most unlikely person spilling from her mind and out of her mouth.

“Just a small town girl….” Soft singing accompanies a heavy weight that nearly collapses her chest. “Livin' in a lonely world….” It’s the most she can get out before her sobs overwhelm her.

Left alone in darkness, it’s hard for her to tell where the rooms’ begins and hers ends.

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #arisnotebook

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