#and given me ways to light that candle again

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 64

Chapter; Highlights

Hours later, Yrene was still shaking.

At the disaster they'd narrowly avoided, at the deaths she'd witnessed before that wave had struck, at the power of the queen on the plain. The power of the prince who had prevented the ensuing steam from boiling alive any caught in its path.

Yrene had thrown herself back into healing during the chaos since. Had left the royals and their commanders to oversee the aftermath, and had returned to the Great Hall. Healers drifted onto the battlefield, searching for those in need of help.

All of them, every single person in the keep or the skies or on the battlefield, kept glancing toward the now-empty gap between two mountain peaks. Toward the flooded, decimated city, and the demarcation line between life and death. Water and debris had destroyed most of Anielle, the former now trickling toward the Silver Lake.

A vision of what would have been left of them, were it not for Aelin Galathynius.

She'd been asked to inspect the queen when she'd been carried in to a private chamber by Prince Rowan, the two of them borne off the plain by Nesryn. Yrene hadn't been able to stop her hands from shaking as she'd hovered them over Aelin's unconscious body.

There had been no sign of harm beyond a few already-healing cuts and slices from the battle itself.

Nothing at all beyond a sleeping, tired woman.

Who held the might of a god within her veins.

Yrene had then inspected Prince Rowan, who looked in far worse shape, a sizable gash snaking down his thigh. But he'd waved her off, claiming he'd come too near a burnout, and just needed to rest as well.

So Yrene had left them, only to tend to another.

—

To Lorcan, whose injuries ... Yrene had needed to summon Hafiza to help her with some of it. To lend her power, since Yrene's had been so depleted.

The unconscious warrior, who had apparently tumbled right off Farasha as he and Elide had passed through the gates, didn't so much as stir while they worked on him.

That had been hours ago. Days ago, it felt.

Yes, she needed to rest.

But a horn, clear and bright, blared from outside.

Everyone halted-then rushed to the windows. Yrene's smile grew as she, too, found a place to peek out over the battlefield.

To where the rest of the khagan's army, Prince Kashin at its front, marched toward them.

Thank the gods. Everyone in the hall muttered similar words.

From the keep, an answering horn sang its welcome.

Not just one army had been spared here today, Yrene realized as she turned back to the water station. If that wave had reached Kashin.

…

Lucky. They had all been so, so very lucky.

Yet Yrene wondered how long that luck would last.

If it would see them through the brutal march northward, and to the walls of Orynth itself.

Lorcan let out a low groan as he surfaced from the warm, heavy embrace of darkness.

"You are one lucky bastard."

Too soon. Too damn soon after hovering near death to hear Fenrys's drawl.

Fenrys's smirk was a slash of white.

"You've been out for a day. I drew the short stick and had to look after you."

A lie. For whatever reason, Fenrys had chosen to be here.

Lorcan thumped his head back on the pillow. "Elide." Her name was a rasp on his tongue.

The last he remembered, they'd ridden through the gates, Aelin Galathynius's unholy power spent. Then oblivion had swept in.

"Helping with the healing in the Great Hall," Fenrys said, stretching out his legs before him.

Lorcan closed his eyes, something tight in his chest easing.

"Well, since you're not dead," Fenrys began, but Lorcan was already asleep.

Lorcan awoke later. Hours, days, he didn't know.

The candle was still burning on the narrow windowsill, down to its base. Hours, then.

He didn't care. Not when the dim light revealed the delicate woman lying facedown on the end of his cot, the lower half of her body still on the wooden chair where Fenrys had been. Her arms cradled her head, one outstretched toward him. Reaching for his hand, mere inches from hers.

Elide.

Her dark hair spilled across the blanket, across his shins, veiling much of her face.

Wincing at the lingering ache in his body, Lorcan stretched his arm just enough to touch her fingers. They were cold, their tips so much smaller than his. They contracted, pulling away as she sucked in a sharp, awakening breath.

Lorcan savored every feature as she grimaced at a crick in her neck. But her eyes settled on him. She went still as she found him staring at her, awake and utterly in awe of the woman who had ridden through hell to find him ...

Tired. She looked spent, yet her chin remained unbowed.

Lorcan had no words. He'd given her everything on the back of that horse anyway.

But Elide asked, "How do you feel?" Aching. Exhausted. Yet finding her sitting at his bedside... "Alive," he said, and meant it.

Her face remained unreadable, even as her eyes dipped to his body. The blanket had slid down enough to reveal most of his torso, though it still hid the scarred-over wound in his abdomen. Yet he'd never felt so keenly naked.

It was an effort to keep his breathing steady beneath her sharp-eyed gaze. "Yrene said you would have died, if they hadn't gotten to you when they did."

"I would have died," he said, voice like gravel, "if you hadn't braved hell to find me." Her gaze lifted to his. "I made you a promise."

"So you said."

Was that a hint of color stealing across her pale cheeks? But she didn't balk. "You said some interesting things, too."

Lorcan tried to sit up, but his body gave a burst of pain in protest.

Elide explained, "Yrene warned that though the wounds are healed, some soreness will linger."

Lorcan gritted his teeth around the sharp stab in his back, his stomach. He managed to get onto his elbows, and deemed that progress enough. "It's been a while since I was so gravely injured. I'd forgotten what an inconvenience it is."

A faint smile tugged on her mouth.

His heart halted. The first smile she had given him in months and months. Since that day on the ship, when he'd touched her hand as they'd swayed in their hammocks.

Her smile faded, but the color on her cheeks lingered. "Did you mean it? What you said." He held her stare. Let some inner wall within him come crumbling down. Only for her. For this sharp-eyed, cunning little liar who had slipped through every defense and ironclad rule he'd ever made for himself. He let her see that in his face. Let her see all of it, as no one had ever done before. "Yes."

Her mouth tightened, but not in displeasure.

So Lorcan said softly, "I meant every word." His heart thundered, so wildly it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. "And I will until the day I fade into the Afterworld."

Lorcan didn't breathe as Elide gently reached out her hand. And interlaced their fingers. "I love you," she whispered.

He was glad he was lying down. The words would have knocked him to his knees. Even now, he was half inclined to bow before her, the true owner of his ancient, wicked heart.

"I have loved you," she went on, "from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken." The light in her eyes stole his breath. "And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered."

Once, he might have scoffed. Declared that far bigger things mattered, in this war especially. And yet the hand grasping his ... He'd never known anything more precious.

Lorcan ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "I am sorry, Elide. For all of it."

"I know," she said softly, and no regret or hurt dimmed her face. Only clear, unwavering calm shone there. The face of the mighty lady she was growing into, and had already become, and who would rule Perranth with wisdom in one hand and compassion in the other.

They stared at each other for minutes. For a blessed eternity.

Then Elide untangled their hands and rose. "I should return to help Yrene."

Lorcan caught her hand again. "Stay."

She arched a dark brow. "I'm only going to the Great Hall."

Lorcan caressed his thumb over the back of her hand once more. "Stay," he breathed.

For a heartbeat, he thought she'd say no, and was prepared to be fine with it, to accept these last few minutes as more of a gift than he'd deserved.

"Say it," she whispered, fingers stilling in his hair. Lorcan opened his eyes, finding her gaze. "I love you."

"Yrene said you might always have this," she said, her hand mercifully falling away.

"Then it will be the scar I treasure most."

Fenrys would laugh until he cried to hear him speak this way, but Lorcan didn't care. To hell with the rest of them.

Another one of those small smiles curved her lips, and Lorcan's hands tightened in the sheets with the effort it took not to taste that smile, to worship it with his own mouth.

But this new, fragile thing humming between them ... He would not risk it for all the world.

Elide, thank the gods, had no such worries.

None at all, it seemed, as she lifted a hand to his cheek and ran her thumb along it. Every breath was an effort of control.

Lorcan held absolutely still as she brought her mouth to his. Brushed her lips across his own.

She pulled back. "Rest, Lorcan. I'll be here again when you wake."

Anything she asked, he'd give her.

Anything at all.

Too shaken by that soft, beautiful kiss to bother with words, he lay back down.

But until then, he wanted her here. Sleeping at his side, where he might watch over her. As she had watched over him.

Elide seemed to read that on his face, and her cheeks reddened further. "Later, then," she breathed, limping to the door.

Lorcan sent a flicker of his power to wrap around her ankle. The limp vanished.

A hand on the knob, she gave him a small, grateful nod. "I missed that."

He heard the unspoken words as she disappeared into the busy hall.

I missed you.

Lorcan allowed himself a rare smile.

[lynxgriffin]

Mightier Than The Sword

Gerson had one regret, but now Alvin has many. A fancomic about my thoughts and theories and who -and what- the Knight is!

While not directly connected, I'd say this one is in the same vein as the Deal With The Devil series! Hope you enjoy!

Alt text for this comic under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide shot of the interior of the Boom household. Several monsters are gathered in a clean-looking hall, dressed in somber clothing and talking quietly in small groups. The monsters include QC, Cat Mom, Toriel, Asgore and Mayor Holiday. Father Alvin stands waiting at a door in the hall as his sister, a red-headed turtle monster in a pink dress, exits through the door and speaks to him. “Alvin…he’s ready for you.”

Panel 2 - Mid shot as Alvin prepares to enter the room. Ms. Boom steps out of the way, and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Both of them look somber. 

Panel 3 - Alvin enters the room, mostly dark and lit by a few candles on a nearby desk. Gerson Boom is lying on a bed ahead of him, watching him enter. Alvin closes the door behind him and says, “Father, I’m here.”

Panel 4 - Alvin approaches his father, lying in bed. The bedroom has a few amenities, including a footstool set off to the side, a large rug bearing the delta rune, and a massive bookcase filling the entire back wall. A few books and papers litter the ground. Alvin bows his head, and says, “The hammer is ready for…for afterwards.”

Gerson just smiles, and responds, “Wa ha, is it? Well, it’ll do fine, I suppose.”

Panel 5 - Closer shot of Gerson extending his right hand towards Alvin. He’s smiling still, content with where he is. “Come here, son.”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin takes his father’s hand in his own, and clasps it tight. “Whatever you need…I’m here,” he says from offscreen.

Panel 2 - Alvin kneels by his father’s bedside, still clasping his hands. Gerson says, “Of course you are. Wa ha…you’re such a good and kind man, Alvin.”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Alvin as he just holds on to his father’s hand. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Gerson as he holds up a hand to conspiratorially whisper to Alvin. “And I know I can trust you with a secret, right?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Alvin as he looks back up, face earnest. “...Of course.”

Panel 6 - Gerson holds up one finger as he speaks to Alvin. “I told your sister I had no regrets, but that was a BIT of a fib! I’m afraid I have one regret…”

Panel 7 - Side view of Alvin as he learns closer, his face now worried. “Father?...”

Page 3

Panel 1 - Focus on Gerson as he leans back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I wish I had started earlier. Writing stories, I mean. Seein’ you an’ your sister’s eyes light up whenever I read you a new chapter…and then seeing all that joy from so many young folks after those stories were published!” he says, looking wistful.

Panel 2 - Alvin watches on sadly as Gerson continues, “It was the greatest feeling in the world, Alvin. It’s what life’s all about, y’know. Helping the young folks grow.”

Panel 3 - Gerson closes his eyes and looks back towards the ceiling again, still wistful. “So, I wish I’d started writing stories sooner.”

Panel 4 - Closeup on Alvin as he bows his head, still holding Gerson’s hand. “I truly do cherish those times you read to us, father…” he says.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Gerson as he closes his mind with happy memories. “Me too, Alvin. It’s a shame…I’ve still got so many tales to tell! But–”

Panel 6 - Gerson is interrupted by a round of hacking coughs. His time is fast approaching.

Panel 7 - Gerson settles back in to his bed and says, “The Angel’s given me SO many good, happy years. Doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

Panel 8 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to hold his father’s hand tight. “This doesn’t seem fair, either…” he says, tears still pricking at his eyes.

Page 4

Panel 1 -  Insert closeup of Gerson as he smiles at his son. “That’s life, Alvin!” He doesn’t seem bothered by his imminent passing.

Panel 2 - Side view as Gerson leans in closer to Alvin again, hand raised, back to sharing his secrets. “But, knowin’ my secret…there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

Alvin faces his father with seriousness. “Anything,” he replies.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Gerson, as he looks hopefully at Alvin. “You have a good heart, Alvin. I want you to know this joy, too.”

Panel 4 - Gerson continues in the next panel: “Please try writin’ stories of your own, alright?” Closeup on Alvin as he looks shocked and a bit worried by the request.

Panel 5 - Mid shot as Alvin holds up a hand to Gerson in protest. He says, “Father, I…I have no talent for writing fiction. Not like YOU.”

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson as he refutes his son: “Hogwash! I know you can.”

Panel 7 - Wide shot as Alvin stands up, and looks around the room. “No, I…”

In the foreground, there’s Gerson’s desk, currently showing some lit candles, some paper, an inkwell, a notebook, and his favorite fountain pen.

Page 5

Panel 1 - Closeup as Alvin grabs two objects off of the desk: the small notebook and the fountain pen. Offscreen, he says, “If you just…”

Panel 2 - Back at Gerson’s bedside, Alvin pulls up the footstool and puts the pen and notebook in front of him, intending to use it. He faces his father, and says, “Tell me your ideas, I could write them down, and–”

Gerson interrupts him: “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Alvin!”

Panel 3 - Gerson holds up both of his hands and smiles as he explains: “My tales are between my soul and the pen. You’ll need to make your own.”

Panel 4 - Gerson watches as Alvin, tears in his eyes, looks down at the notebook and pen in hand. “I–I cannot…” Alvin starts, looking despondent.

Panel 5 - Side view of Alvin as tears continue to stream from his eyes. He says, “Not without you!” In the background, in grayscale, there is a scene from Alvin’s memory: Gerson reading a book to his two children by the fire. Gerson looks happy, and both kids are enraptured, with Alvin clinging to a cat doll that looks like Seam.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Gerson, his face now more worried and pleading towards Alvin. Gerson says, “Y-you can… It’s all I ask…”

Panel 7 - Gerson turns away as he’s again interrupted by a round of terrible sounding coughs. Alvin stands holding the notebook and pen in the foreground.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Horror comes over Alvin’s face as his father continues to cough loudly, clutching his chest. He realizes that his father might be close to death now.

Panel 2 - Wider overhead shot as Alvin turns away from Gerson, looking frantically around the room. “No! Not yet!--” he says desperately. Gerson is still racked with coughs.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin grabs the candles from the desk–

Panel 4 - And then pulls a book from the bookshelf, with the delta rune on the front –

Panel 5 - And then finally pulls out what appears to be a beaded rosary, with the delta rune made of beads at the end of it.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Alvin places the objects in front of him, candles to the side, holy book in front of him. Gerson can only lay there as he does so, trying to catch his breath.

Panel 7 - Front view of Alvin as he clasps his hands together in front of his face, the rosary threaded between his fingers. He closes his eyes and bows his head in prayer. “Angel…Angel above! Please, heed your servant’s prayer!”

Page 7

Panel 1 - Closeup on Alvin as he continues to pray, the candles glowing around him. He keeps his eyes shut even as tears well in them. “I know you call back my father’s soul, but please! Please refrain!”

Panel 2 - Gerson desperately reaches a hand out towards his son, shaking, but unable to reach him. In the foreground, the fountain pen sits on the footstool between them. “A-Alvin…” Gerson’s voice is shaky now.

Panel 3 - Aerial shot as Alvin prays over the book, and Gerson is still confined to the bed, only able to watch. “This world still NEEDS his gifts!” Alvin says. “I pray to you, don’t take them from us now!” The shadows around Alvin start to grow strange, not matching the candlelight.

Panel 4 - Gerson continues to hold out a hand, now not looking well. “No…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on the candles as they spark to life, now glowing stronger.

Panel 6 - A strange bright glow begins to emanate from Gerson. Behind him, the books in the bookcase all rattle and shift as if in a localized earthquake. The colors of the room grow brighter and stranger.

Panel 7 - Still reaching out a desperate hand, Gerson lets out a soft breath. His soul, an upside-down white heart, comes up from his body. On the footstool in the foreground, the fountain pen also begins to levitate, as if by magic.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Front shot of Alvin as he continues to pray desperately, his head bowed and hands together. “Grant us the love shown between his soul and the pen!” Behind him, the colors have grown stark and bright, and a shadow resembling the angel looms behind Alvin.

Panel 2 - Alvin looks up to discover something amazing and terrible: Gerson’s soul has been drawn to the fountain pen, and begins to flow down into it.

Panel 3 - Closeup as Gerson’s soul is completely absorbed into the pen, hovering high over the bed.

Panel 4 - The candles turn strange blue and pink colors, and the books in the bookcase shake and rattle relentlessly.

Panel 5 - Extreme closeup on Alvin’s eyes as he sees this miracle; the light of his father’s soul reflected in his eyes.

Panel 6 - Closeup as the pen suddenly drops, and clatters back on to the footstool.

Panel 7 - Wide aerial shot as the room very suddenly goes completely dark and silent, the bright colors and lights now gone. Alvin stands up and backs away from the bed, still clutching the rosary, his face filled with horror. Gerson now lies unmoving in his bed, having passed away.

Page 9

Panel 1 - The same shot as the first panel of the first page, with the other monsters waiting in the hallway. No one says anything as Alvin emerges from the bedroom, leaning on the door for support, his head bowed. Everyone in the room knows that Gerson has just passed, although they don’t know the rest.

Panel 2 - An establishing shot of the forest and mountains surrounding Hometown…the skies are a dark, gloomy gray.

Panel 3 - Above shot of Gerson’s newly dug grave. At the bottom of a small pit lies Gerson’s hammer, covered in his dust. Politics Bear stands over the grave, holding a shovel. 

Panel 4 - Closeup as the shovel begins to dump dirt over the fresh grave.

Panel 5 - Another closeup of Gerson’s headstone, with bundles of fresh funerary flowers laid in front of it.

Panel 6 - Wide shot of Gerson’s funeral. Alvin stands over his father’s grave, reading last rites from one of his books. Lots of monsters are in attendance, including Alphys and Undyne, Napstablook, the Holiday and Dreemurr families, and more. A very young Kris, Noelle and Asriel are present, but Dess is not. Everyone is dressed in dark mourning attire.

Panel 7 - After the funeral, Toriel approaches Alvin and puts a hand on his shoulder. She says, “Beautifully said, Alvin. I know your father is watching proudly by the side of the Angel.” Alvin looks distant and mournful.

Panel 8 - A closeup of the fountain pen laying forgotten on the desk in Gerson’s room. Gerson is, perhaps, not actually with the Angel right now.

Panel 9 - Back at the funeral, Alvin bows his head, eyes closed. “You are too kind, Toriel,” he says.

Page 10

Panels 1-3 - We see the seasons pass through the changing of the trees…from the barren white trees of winter, to colorful pink blooms for spring, to the bright oranges and reds of fall.

Panel 4 - Sometime much later, Alvin again enters his father’s old room, alone.

Panel 5 - Much of Gerson’s room has remained untouched. The fountain pen still sits on his old writing desk in the foreground. Alvin steps inside, and carefully turns on the overhead light. “It’s been years,” he says.

Panel 6 - Alvin cautiously approaches the pen, which seems to loom large ahead of him. He hesitantly picks it up.

Panel 7 - Alvin places some blank pages on the writing desk. “Surely…”

Panel 8 - Alvin sits in front of the blank pages, still holding the pen cautiously. “Surely by now, I can do it.” He’s going to try writing.

Panel 9 - Closeup as Alvin dips the pen in the inkwell, and it comes away full of ink.

Panel 10 - Closeup as Alvin holds the pen over the blank page. The pen trembles slightly in his grip.

Panel 11 - Alvin tries to put pen to paper, but he’s still trembling. He looks down with great anxiety. “I…I…”

Panel 12 - Closeup on Alvin’s face as he looks more panicked, shaking and sweating. In the background, his memory of his father’s soul being absorbed into the pen plays back at him. This is still his fault.

Panel 13 - Closeup again as Alvin’s hand shakes uncontrollably, and the pen with it. Ink spots begin to dapple the blank page–

Page 11

Panel 1 - Alvin’s shaking hand accidentally knocks over the inkwell, and it spills black ink all over the blank page.

Panel 2 - Alvin picks up the ruined paper and folds it in half to try and stem the ink spillage. He quietly curses to himself. 

Panel 3 - Closeup as Alvin holds his head in his hand. It’s clear that this isn’t going to work. “I can’t…” 

Panel 4 - Closeup as Alvin puts the ink-stained paper back on the desk, and quickly grabs up the pen and inkwell.

Panel 5 - Taking the pen and inkwell, Alvin exits his father’s room again, head bowed and expression sad.

Panel 6 - Left behind, the folded paper slowly peels apart and unfolds…

Panel 7 - To reveal that the spilled ink has created a rorschach ink blot image of a titan. 

Page 12

Panel 1 - Wide shot as Alvin trudges down the streets of Hometown, alone. His head his bowed, and he’s still clutching the articles he took with him. It’s almost nighttime, and the sky is dark. “I cannot bear this kind of burden,” he says to himself.

Panel 2 - Shot from behind Alvin as he approaches the school building. It’s dark, and no students or teachers should be there. “Maybe you belong where you always have…”

Panel 3 - Now indoors, Alvin continues down the empty hallway towards a particular destination. “With the youth.”

Panel 4 - Alvin opens the door to the storage closet at the end of the hall. It opens with a soft creak. “Teaching. Telling stories,” Alvin continues to say to himself.

Panel 5 - Alvin places the fountain pen and inkwell on a small shelf in the storage closet. The closet is almost completely black. 

Panel 6 - The inkwell and pen are left on the shelf as Alvin closes the door behind him. His expression is mournful as he locks these reminders of his father away. “Inspiring someone better suited,” he says, hoping this is a suitable escape of his responsibility.

Page 13

Panel 1 - But in the storage closet, the objects are subject to something else already there: the grand Dark Fountain. The pen, ink and papers all fall into the darkness of the fountain–

Panel 2 - And start to change, the pen seemingly turning into liquid itself–

Panel 3 - As the pen falls deeper and deeper into the dark, the liquid begins to reshape into something new, something resembling a person–

Panel 4 - Until it lands on empty ground, now a person in knight’s armor, knelt over and holding his head in his hands.

Panel 5 - The Knight comes to, and starts to become more aware. He’s dressed in armor resembling the dark metallic sheen of the fountain pen, his mask resembling the pen tip. A bright deep red cape flows from his shoulders, and a single red-orange feather tops the helmet. “Where…am I?”

Panel 6 - The Knight again touches his helmet with both hands, as if not sure exactly what he is.

Panel 7 - Interior shot of the helmet, which reveals a figure much like Gerson…but much younger, more idealized-looking, with colors not matching his actual self. A Dark World interpretation. “WHY am I…?”

Panel 8 - A closeup of the Knight’s hand, slightly trembling.

Panel 9 - The Knight stares down at his own hands as realization begins to flood him, or at least something that looks like realization. “Wait. I see why. I KNOW.” he says.

 Page 14

Panel 1 - The Knight holds up his hand, and a sword appears in it in a flash of lights. The sword resembles the tip of a fountain pen, almost split neatly in two. “I serve the Lightners! That is my purpose!” Says the Knight. 

Panel 2 - The Knight draws the sword back with great fervor and determination. His thoughts echo around him in strong letters: “A purpose so bright, so clear…”

Panel 3 - In the final panel, the Knight drives the sword into the ground, causing an eruption of black ink-like material to spew from the ground…the creation of a new Dark Fountain. In the fountain itself, words reflect his purpose: “I EXIST TO GIVE THEM STORIES FOREVER.”

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[delulujuls]

healing sessions | aegon II targaryen

hi, it's been a hot minute since i posted here, the last weeks were pretty intense for me and since i have a summer break now, i would like to start writing again and do it more regularly.

this is something new here and since new episode of hotd dropped, im in my westeros era, so please prepare for something other than my last shots (i will still write for f1, don't worry)

and lemme set this straight, im team black till the day i die but those green bastards are FINE AS HELL lmao. also @alicenthightcwer is author of those gifts

summary: aegon isn't dealing well with his father loss, but gladly there is someone who's gonna do her best to lift his spirit a bit

warnings: it's fluff without basically any plot, sister x brother romance so targaryens at their finest, mentions of death, depression, alcohol, drugs

pairing: sister!reader x aegon targaryen

The news of King Viserys's death did not surprise the residents of King's Landing. Nonetheless, the loss of the kind ruler dealt a painful blow to the city, which seemed to freeze in time with the king's passing. The capital plunged into mourning, and in addition to the banners, black flags were hoisted. Westeros was left without a king.

Viserys's successor, his second child and first son, Aegon Targaryen, had not been seen since the king's funeral. Aegon had lost not just a king but, most importantly, a father who, unfortunately for him, named him the future ruler on his deathbed.

Aegon would have gladly given the throne to Rhaenyra, his older half-sister. He would have done it without hesitation, even placing the crown on her head himself. Unfortunately, his mother Alicent, who was with her dying husband and heard his wish to elevate their eldest son to the throne, decided to fulfill her beloved husband's last wish at any cost.

To be honest, Aegon couldn't care less about being king. The young prince had not left his bed for several days, thick curtains blocking any light from outside. Occasionally, servants were allowed into his chambers, but only with wine and poppy milk. Aegon did not eat, allowed no one near him, and slept. Sleep was his salvation. Even the prostitutes, who once outnumbered the rats in the castle, were no longer summoned. The fiery prince had dimmed.

Alicent knew she needed to give her son time to grieve. She didn't bother him, only inquiring about his condition from the servants who managed to enter his chambers. It was enough for her to know that he was alive. Aegon's siblings dealt with their grief in their own ways, and his condition hardly impressed anyone. Except for Y/N, who, despite her own pain, worried about her brother. Sitting at breakfast, she silently observed Aegon's chair, which remained empty. After her husband's death, Alicent decreed that all meals, not just dinners, be taken together. The firstborn had not appeared at any of them since.

After a silent breakfast punctuated by brief, formal conversations, Y/N stood up and grabbed a plate, filling it with Aegon's favorite croissants and a portion of strawberries. She was done pretending nothing was wrong. This had to end.

"You shouldn't go to him," Alicent said quietly as the servants began clearing the table. "You know him, he'll come out when he's ready."

"Or he'll drink himself to death first," she replied, not even glancing at her mother. Alicent clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, watching her family fall apart without knowing how to stop it.

Y/N left the dining room and went to Aegon's chambers. She knocked first, wanting to maintain decorum, but knowing it was futile, she grabbed the handle and pushed the heavy door open. Inside was darkness. Only a nearly spent candle by the bed gave off any light; the room looked like a cave. She blindly set the plate on a table, and with arms outstretched, she made her way to the windows. With a swift motion, she drew the curtains, and even she was blinded by the sudden light that flooded in. Not hearing any curses from her brother, Y/N looked over her shoulder. On the large bed, a figure lay curled up, back to her. From the waist down, he was covered with a sheet that blended with his pale skin. White hair in disarray touched the crumpled pillow. Aegon was either in a deep sleep or dead.

Y/N opened the curtains at every window, flinging some open. The room was stuffy, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sweet scent of poppy milk. She circled the bed, crouching opposite her brother. He was indeed asleep, but his breathing was shallow. His lips were cracked, stained with dried blood. His eyelashes were matted with tears, and dark circles marred his eyes. There was a bruise under his left eye that was different from the ones under his eyes, as it began to fade and turn from purple to green. Y/N remembered her mother, who had been rubbing her hand while sitting at the table for several days. She could only guess that Alicent was trying to shake her son off in her own way.

Aegon slept, lying on his side and hugging himself, seeking comfort only he could provide. Y/N brushed the tangled strands from his forehead and kissed him. Aegon did not stir.

The princess knew he wouldn't allow servants to tend to him. She left the room quietly, asking the maids to prepare a hot bath quickly and silently. Y/N returned and sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking his head.

Aegon wasn't the bad person many thought him to be. True, he was unique, and in a room full of people, he was impossible to ignore, but no one is born evil. Now, Aegon was simply engulfed in darkness from which he couldn't free himself. The slender, sticky fingers of depression had tightened around his throat, allowing only alcohol to pass.

After some time, a maid stood by the bed, whispering that the bath was ready, nervously glancing at the sleeping prince, afraid of waking him up. Y/N thanked and dismissed her, then leaned in and kissed her brother's forehead again.

"Aegon..." she began softly, close to his ear. "Wake up, I have strawberries for you."

He furrowed his brow, feeling her hair tickle his face. At first, he thought it was a dream or a drunken hallucination, but when he felt the urge to sneeze, he wiped his face with his hand. When he opened his heavy eyelids and saw how bright it was, he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I said no one was to come in," he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'll have you killed for this."

"It's nice to see you too, considering I haven't seen you in over a week," she replied, sitting back on his bed and placing the breakfast she brought on the table beside him.

Hearing the familiar voice and wanting to ensure it wasn't a drunken hallucination, Aegon removed the pillow from his face, clutching it to his chest. From squinted eyes, his violet gaze spotted a well-known figure.

"Y/N?" he asked hoarsely, his voice betraying that he'd only spoken to chase away servants in the past days.

"Yes, it's me," she nodded. "And if you still want to kill me, you'll have to get out of bed, which I doubt you can do."

Aegon sighed, more of a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted to cover his face with the pillow again, but his sister took it and easily pulled it from his arms.

"Did you come here just to make my life more miserable?" he groaned, looking at her with displeasure.

"I came to stop what you thought was the best solution," Y/N explained. "I brought you breakfast and a hot bath."

"I don't want breakfast or a bath," Aegon replied, turning onto his other side. "And you can leave. Tell mother I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not leaving until you get out of bed," she informed him, staring at his back.

"Then enjoy your stay," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

Y/N sighed. She knew it might be hard, but in a few days, she had almost forgotten her brother's character. And Aegon's character was sometimes the textbook definition of a Targaryen.

"I came here because I want to help you," Y/N began, feeling a lump in her throat. "No one talks to each other, and when they do, it's just some fucking formalities. Aemond flies on Vhagar every day, Helaena spends hours in the garden with her books, Rhaenyra has been on Dragonstone since the funeral, mother is banging with Cole at every turn, and I don't even know if you're alive," she said in one breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes. Only when she said it all out loud did she realize what was happening. It wasn't just about informing Aegon; it was about making herself understand. The truth hurt her even more than she expected.

Hearing his sister's trembling and upset voice, Aegon sighed and turned onto his back, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Only now could his sister see his full appearance. It was the image of a boy deep in mourning and struggling with unimaginable pain.

For a moment, they exchanged looks in silence until Aegon glanced at the nightstand beside his bed.

"Did you bring strawberries?"

She reached for the plate and placed it on the bed next to her brother. Aegon weakly lifted his hand and took one, eating it whole, including the stem.

"Croissants with filling?" he asked, chewing. Y/N nodded again.

"Nut and chocolate," she answered. Aegon silently took a croissant and slowly began to eat.

Y/N quickly wiped her cheeks as two single tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. The young prince looked at his sister, who also seemed different than he remembered from a few days ago. Her hair was still neatly combed, with a few small braids woven into it. The dark red dress, which he thought he had seen her wear before, now seemed to hang a bit loosely on her shoulders and wrinkle at the stomach. The color of the dress reminded him of the bloody cuticles around her nails, which she must have bitten out of nerves. Her face, still beautiful, was now paler than usual, almost as white as her hair. Her swollen eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and her lips seemed to have completely forgotten what a smile was.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment when he had finished eating. Y/N pushed the plate closer to him, and as he reached for another croissant, she only shrugged.

"I'm sad. And I sleep poorly," she replied, staring out the window.

"You know, poppy milk—", "I won't drink it," she interrupted him.

Aegon raised his hands in a defensive gesture, taking another bite of the croissant.

"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

He also shrugged.

"I don't even know. Now I think I feel nothing," he said, looking back at her. "Most of the time I feel nothing, except when a wave of sadness hits, and then I cry like a child until I fall asleep again."

Y/N nodded silently. She could tell that Aegon had spent many hours crying.

He put the last piece of croissant in his mouth and reached for a strawberry, handing it to his sister. She took it and ate it, nodding with appreciation.

"Not bad, right?" Aegon said, seeing her reaction. "Unusually sweet for this time of year."

Y/N let out an involuntary snort, lowering her head. Their father was dead, the country was without a king, the family was falling apart, and this idiot was talking about how great the strawberries were.

"They really are good, I don't know what you mean," he replied, taking the last strawberry and popping it into his mouth. The girl smiled, for the first time in a long while, then looked at her brother.

"I miss you, you know?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said sarcastically, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N set the plate aside, and Aegon extended his arm toward her, silently inviting a hug. The girl shook her head and stood up.

"Maybe I miss you, but not enough to hug you after so many days without a bath," she replied, nodding her head towards the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, but she shook her head again and pointed to the bathroom. Aegon sighed and slid off the bed, looking at her reproachfully the entire time. When he stood, the sheet slipped off completely, and he, naked and unbothered, walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. Y/N asked the servants to change his bedding and clean the room while she locked herself in the bathroom with him. As he sat in the water, she perched on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

She reached for the nearby comb and slowly began to untangle his matted hair. They both remained silent, as words were completely unnecessary at that moment. After a while, she put the comb down and picked up the sponge, wetting it and pouring water over his hair. Aegon closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

Y/N grabbed the soap and lathered it in her hands, adding a few drops of lavender oil. Aegon smiled as the familiar, pleasant scent filled the air, while she began to wash his hair. He sat there with his eyes closed, allowing his sister to take care of him. Aegon felt that of everyone in the family, only Y/N truly cared about him. Despite being the second youngest sibling, just after Helaena, he had always gotten along best with her. They were almost inseparable, always sitting together at feasts, stuffing sweets into their pockets to eat later in the garden when they managed to escape the table. Rhaenyra, their half-sister, was always the oldest and most composed. Aemond, younger than Aegon, was calm and collected but could stab a knife into someone’s neck without blinking if provoked. Helaena lived in her own world, surrounded by books, flowers, and maesters who had tried to help her ever since they noticed something was off with the growing princess. Aegon was often irreformable, acting and speaking first and thinking later. When he was younger, he was incredibly unruly, the mastermind behind every wild idea that Y/N almost always eagerly supported. The young princess loved her brother, who always tried to make her smile. Aegon loved his sister and knew that of all the people in the castle, she was the only one he would kill for and die for either.

Young prince winced quietly when Y/N, massaging his tense shoulders, ran her thumb over a particularly tight muscle.

"You're as hard as a rock," she said, continuing to massage his back. Aegon smiled to himself.

"Not quite yet," he joked.

She rolled her eyes and soaked the sponge again, rinsing the soap off his back with warm water. As she got up to stoke the fire, Aegon submerged himself in the water, washing the soap off himself and his hair. After a moment, he sat up straight and wiped his face off, leaning on the sides of the tub. He silently watched his sister, whose silhouette was highlighted by the flickering fire in the fireplace. Her white, slightly wavy hair cascaded down her back. The young prince smiled and bit his lip. Blood of my blood.

When Y/N finished tending to the fire, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She looked up, feeling her brother's gaze on her. He watched her in silence.

"Care to join?" he asked, glancing at the tub before looking back at her.

She shook her head, stepping closer and looking at the murky water. "I think I'll pass this time."

Aegon extended his hand toward her, and she gave him hers, which he pressed to his lips, planting a wet kiss on her skin. She smiled at his gesture.

"I'll go dismiss the servants," she said, stroking his cheek. "Make sure you wash away all the sadness."

The princess left the bathroom and returned to the chambers. They looked much better now, with two servants finishing changing the bed linens. When they were done, she thanked and dismissed them. She approached the large wardrobe, looking for clean clothes for her brother. She planned to get him outside for a walk, even if just a short one.

She placed the clothes on a chair and sat on the bed, running her hand over the freshly made bedding. Shortly after, Aegon emerged from the bathroom, not bothering to cover himself with even a towel.

When he stood in the doorway, Y/N involuntarily looked up at him. She looked him up and down, causing Aegon to smile.

"Like what you see?" he asked, approaching the bed without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm just checking if you washed yourself properly," she retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze when he stood right in front of her.

Aegon still wore a faint smile as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His pale skin had gained a bit of color from the hot bath, but he had goosebumps from the cool, fresh breeze coming through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but his gaze was now clear and certain, darkening as he was looking at his sister.

"I missed you too," he said after a moment of silence, during which they exchanged looks. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Make love with me."

It wasn't a command or even a request. It was a quiet murmur filled with desperation, almost sounding like a plea. Aegon needed to feel her warmth, needed to feel something other than the alcoholic breath of death that placed cold kisses on him.

She silently stood from the bed, and before he could say anything, she touched his cheek and kissed him. Aegon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, returning the kiss. Blindly, he started to fumble with the ties of her dress, but seeing his struggle, she began undressing herself. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. When she loosened her corset, Aegon grabbed the bottom of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. She shivered at the sudden chill but soon felt Aegon's warm body against her skin. He smiled into her mouth.

"You're so soft," he whispered between kisses, holding her tightly as if he wanted to lock her inside his ribcage. "Go on, lie down."

She obeyed, positioning herself comfortably on a pile of pillows. Aegon hovered over her, kissing her gently. Their hands tangled in each other's hair, touching and grasping every bit of skin they could reach. Lips swollen from kissing released soft sighs and moans mixed with tender words.

Aegon could be gentle, delicate, and caring. He wasn't like this with the whores he sometimes brought to his chambers to relieve himself and kill boredom. But he loved his sister dearly and would never harm her.

The young prince couldn't remember the first time his sister came to his chambers and stayed the night. It was probably before their father's illness. One autumn, Aegon caught a terrible cold. He couldn't sleep at night, and his cough kept the entire western wing of the castle awake. One night, a sleepy Y/N went to his room, silently took the nearby laying ointment, sat on his hips, and began rubbing it on his chest. Aegon, feverish, thought he was hallucinating. But when he woke up the next morning and saw his naked sister asleep in his bed, he knew the events of the previous night hadn't been a fever dream.

Now, too, Aegon had to think twice if the soft body in his arms was really there or just a trick of his drunken mind.

"Are you real?" he whispered, pulling away from her lips and looking at her face.

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Y/N replied just as softly.

Aegon smiled involuntarily and hurriedly disappeared between her thighs.

At dinner, not only Aegon's chair was empty. The chair next to his, Y/N's, was also vacant.

Aemond glanced sideways at his sister, who tried to hide her smile behind her hair. Otto looked at her as well, then at her mother.

"Helaena?" Alicent spoke, looking at the blushing face of her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Aegon is feeling much better," she said. The young princess knew this first because the garden she particularly liked was just below her brother's chambers, and the windows, this time, were wide open.

[notlongtolove]

sun makes the day new

it’s not the first time derek has called him during a night out, trying to rope him into joining the fun. the usual calls came with garbled voices passing the phone around, shouting ‘wish you were here!’, ‘just come out!’ and multiple slurred variations of ‘reidddddd’.  but derek’s never called for help before.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader is drunk! and spencer takes care of her

word count: 3.8k

note: spencer taking care of drunk bau!reader fills a void in me... spencer is reading the olfactory ethics thesis from twitter hahahahhhaha

a line: You’re the only reason he’d ever go—and the only reason he’d ever go unwillingly.

Sun makes the day new. Tiny green plants emerge from earth. Birds are singing the sky into place. There is nowhere else I want to be but here. I lean into the rhythm of your heart to see where it will take us. - joy harjo

It’s not often that Spencer gets a night to himself. Well, he’s used to spending most nights alone, but tonight, he actually has the time to make a cup of tea, to tuck himself under the sheets with a new read, even light the candle Garcia had given him two christmases ago. Nights like these, quiet and uninterrupted, are few and far between. 

“This thesis studies how literature registers the importance of olfactory discourse—the language of smell and the olfactory imagination it creates—in structuring our social world. The broad aim of this thesis is to offer an intersectional and wide-ranging study of olfactory oppression by establishing the underlying logics that facilitate smell’s application in creating and subverting gender, class, sexual, racial and species power structures. I focus largely on—”

And then his phone is ringing, cutting through the stillness. With a heavy sigh, he lifts it to his ear begrudgingly, but before he can say anything, pulsating music bursts through the speaker, forcing him to pull it away sharply and fumble with the volume.

“Reid! Hey!” Derek’s voice crackles over the line. “What are you—” your voice cuts in, loud and unmistakably indignant. “Are you calling Spencer—You’d better not be!” “I didn’t! I’m not—Ow!” A muffled struggle follows and then a sharp gasp. “You did! Oh, Derek Morgan, I’m gonna—” 

The line cuts off abruptly, leaving Spencer staring at his phone, brow furrowed in confusion. He considers calling Derek back but hesitates, Derek’s a tough guy; he can handle you, even when you’re tipsy. So, he sets the phone down and tries his best to refocus on the article in his lap.

“I focus largely on prose fiction from the modern and contemporary periods so as to trace the legacy of olfactory prejudice into today and situate its contemporary relevance. I suggest that smell very often invokes identity in a way that signifies an individual’s worth and status in an inarguable manner that short-circuits conscious reflection. This can be accounted for by acknowledging olfaction’s strongly—”

But the phone rings again, breaking the distinct quiet of his room. Spencer’s eyes flicker with irritation as he picks it up, this time holding it a safe distance from his ear.

“Can you—Would you get off me—Can you hear me?” The music in the background has faded, indicating that Derek has stepped outside. “Stop! Garcia grab her—Sorry, you there?”

“Still here.” His response is calm but tinged with impatience.

“Listen, we’ve got a bit of a… situation.” 

The words immediately put Spencer on edge. It’s not the first time Derek has called him during a night out, trying to rope him into joining the fun. The usual calls came with a mix of laughter, music, and garbled voices passing the phone around, shouting ‘Wish you were here!’, ‘Just come out!’ and, of course, multiple slurred variations of ‘Reidddddd’. 

But Derek’s never called for help before.

“How bad is it?”

Spencer hears Derek take a deep breath, as though trying to steady himself before turning back to the phone. “Man, it’s pretty bad.” 

“He’s lying Spence,” your slurred voice protests from a distance, teetering between laughter and the edge of a sob, “I’m just—Augh!” comes your muffled reply, followed by a struggle that’s half-heard through the line—something heavy shifting, a soft thud. “I’m just tipsy!” Spencer strains to hear the distant sound of hurried footsteps, heels on pavement. “I got her! I got her!” The clatter of keys and the rustle of fabric echo in the background.

“Sweetie you’re not tipsy, you’re—very intoxicated,” He hears garcia add, worry coloring her words.

“I’d say shit-faced,” Emily chimes in from the background, the amusement in her voice undeniable.

“She’s—” Derek mutters, “She’s pretty messed up, and uh—” He hesitates, the pause stretching into the silence. “She wouldn’t stop asking for you.” There’s an edge of exasperation in his voice. “How soon do you think you can get to 43rd and King Drive?”

This isn’t the first time Spencer’s been dragged out for a night he didn’t want. And it’s certainly not the first time he’s seen you drunk. In fact, if there were a Venn diagram mapping Spencer’s nights out and nights he was reluctantly pulled into, you’d sit squarely in the middle. You’re the only reason he’d ever go—and the only reason he’d ever go unwillingly.

Spencer rubs the bridge of his nose, already standing up, his eyes shut tight as he breathes out a shaky sigh. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

When Spencer pulls up to the address Derek had texted him, the group of you is impossible to miss. Emily is leaning against a lamppost, cradling what Spencer can only hope is her last drink of the night. Derek, propped on a fire hydrant is half-heartedly trying—and failing—to flag down a cab. Meanwhile, Garcia sits on the curb, gently stroking your hair as you rest against her, your eyes half-closed and face flushed.

“What did she have?” Spencer demands as he steps out of the car.

Derek, standing a few feet away, immediately tilts his head toward Emily, as though absolving himself of any blame. “Ask that one.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow as they land on Emily. She meets his stare with a guilty look. “Vodka, tequila, … a couple shots.”

“How many?” Spencer asks, countering her.

“I uh, lost count.”

Spencer blinks, momentarily speechless. 

“Bar was half off,” Emily shrugs, as if that explained everything.

With a sigh, Spencer shakes his head and crouches down beside you, his focus now entirely on your slumped form. His gaze softens as he takes in your flushed face and half-lidded eyes. You stir faintly, murmuring something incoherent as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

“She’s been this way for the past fifteen minutes,” Garcia says softly, her concern evident. “Poor thing, all that running must have really worn her out.” She pauses, a hint of disbelief slipping into her voice. “Y’know, I never would’ve guessed she’d be a running drunk.”

“Didn’t take her for a scratcher, either,” Derek chimes in, rubbing at a red mark on his neck. “Damn, the girl’s got claws.”

If he weren’t so worried, Spencer might have chuckled and launched into an explanation about the statistics behind why some people bolt when they’re drunk. He’d looked it up after the time he’d had to chase you down during your birthday last year, the last one left standing to wrangle you back home. But right now, there’s no room for humour.

Kneeling beside you, Spencer places a steadying hand on your shoulder. His voice drops low, calm and gentle. “Hey, can you hear me?” Your eyelids flutter weakly, a faint groan slipping past your lips as you lean ever so slightly into his hand. It’s enough to give him a sliver of reassurance, though not much.

“She’s definitely gonna feel that in the morning,” Derek chuckles faintly, stepping closer.

“Not helping, Morgan,” Spencer deadpans, his tone heavy with dry exhaustion. “Has she, you know—?” He makes a vague gesture, his meaning clear.

Emily jerks her thumb toward a couple of lampposts down. “Mhm. Barely made it out.”

Spencer follows the direction of her gesture, catching sight of a dark puddle by the door glistening faintly under the streetlight. He swallows hard, grimacing. “Right. That’s—That’s good.”

He adjusts his grip on your arm, bracing himself as he turns to Derek. “Help me get her to the car,” Derek nods, crouching down to take your other arm. “On three,” he murmurs, and together they hoist you up with practiced care. Your body is limp but pliable, your head rolling slightly as they steady you between them. 

The motion stirs you, your eyes fluttering open as an irritated groan escapes your lips. “Stoppp—I can walk, I can—Morgan let go!”

“It’s me—Hey,” Spencer says, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. “It’s just me.”

“Spence?” The word is slurred, fragile. 

Spencer’s heart clenches at the sound, his frustration momentarily giving way to something softer. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice low and steady. “I’m here. We’re getting you home.”

As the word slips out, he catches Derek’s eyebrow arching in his peripheral vision, the silent question practically radiating off him. Spencer doesn’t falter, his sharp, no-nonsense stare meeting Derek’s head-on. It’s enough to make Derek quickly avert his gaze, holding back whatever teasing remark had undoubtedly been forming on his lips. 

You and Spencer weren’t together. But you weren’t not together either. Whatever it was, it wasn’t in any way that people could put a label on. Unspoken yet undeniable. It wasn’t something you or Spencer were particularly adept at explaining either, nor was it something Spencer felt the need to justify, not to Derek, and especially not now. 

Your head lolls slightly against Spencer’s shoulder as they guide you forward, your weight shifting unsteadily between him and Derek. In Spencer’s presence, your expression visibly softens, sharp tongue giving way to sugar-coated phrases, the tension in your body melting away. It’s a stark contrast to the wild, uncooperative runner and scratcher the other three had described and had very obviously struggled to contain.

“You’re so nice, honey,” you mumble, your words slurred but filled with earnest sincerity. “Always so nice.”

“Definitely could’ve used your help thirty minutes ago,” Derek quips sarcastically. 

“I was reading—trying to.” The annoyance clings to Spencer’s words. 

“Right,” Derek lets out a low chuckle, “of course you were.”

“Seeeee!” You fawn, “Isn’t he the nicest?” You pause for a moment, your head tilting as if considering something profound. “And so handsome. Very nice and very handsome. The nicest and the handsomest,” you muse, your tone dreamy and matter-of-fact.

Derek snorts, his grip on your arm steady. “Don’t start,” Spencer mutters, his voice dry but tinged with something softer. The faintest pink creeps up his neck as you lean into him, your head pressing against his shoulder, seeking the comfort only he seems to provide.

It’s a chaotic tangle of limbs, with Derek flinching when your hand swings a little too close to his face—again. But they manage to get you settled into the passenger seat. As Spencer leans over to fasten your seatbelt, Derek leans against the hood of the car, smirking, “You know, Reid, maybe it’s time to retire pretty boy. Honey has a nicer ring to it, don’t you think?”

“I dunno, I prefer sweetheart,” Emily quips, her tone syrupy and teasing. “It’s got that rustic charm,” she drawls, throwing in an exaggerated wink for good measure.

Spencer rolls his eyes as he slides into the car, the door closing behind him. He hesitates, casting a quick glance at the others. “You guys… you have a ride back right?”

“Aw, would you look at that? The perfect gentleman. A one-stop kind of guy.” Garcia teases, mischief in her eyes.

“More like a one-woman kind of guy,” Derek says under his breath—Just loud enough for everyone to hear. It earns him a playful swat on the arm from Garcia. 

Spencer’s face turns a deep shade of pink as he stumbles over his words. “That’s not... that’s not what I meant,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I could—”

“Relax, Reid,” Emily interjects, gesturing toward the passenger seat. “Go get her home. We’ll figure ourselves out.” Spencer nods quickly, grateful for the out, though his ears are still burning as he starts the engine, determined not to look back at their knowing smiles.

The first time you brought Spencer to your apartment, you’d warned him about the stairs. He’d laughed it off, dismissing your concern with a grin, saying the three-flight walk-up wasn’t so bad—it added character, a touch of history to the building. “Besides,” he’d added, “did you know that having stairs in apartments likely means the building predates the widespread use of elevators which wasn’t all that common in residential construction until after Elisha Otis introduced his safety elevator in 1854?” 

But now, hauling you up those very same stairs, Spencer is sweaty, out of breath, and cursing whoever thought a three-story walk-up in a brownstone was a good idea.

“One more step, just one more—there you go, sweetheart,” he says through gritted teeth, practically dragging you up those last few steps. “Now, where are your keys?” He pats your bag as he speaks, more to himself than to you.

“My—hiccup—my keys are—hiccup—in there,” you slur, pointing vaguely at the bag he’s already rifling through.

When the door finally swings open with a shove that’s harder than Spencer intended, it bangs against the wall, making both of you jump. You lurch forward, your balance teetering precariously, but Spencer is quicker, his arm darting out to catch you before you can topple over.

“Whoa, easy,” he says, his tone gentle but firm as he steadies you, his hand lingering at your waist to make sure you’re upright.

You hum in response, barely acknowledging his effort as you shrug off his support and make a beeline for the bedroom. Your steps are uneven, your movements sluggish, and before you can collapse face-first onto the bed, Spencer steps in again, catching you mid-fall.

“Uh-uh,” he chides as he props you back up. “How about we change before we dive into our nice, warm bed, huh?”

You blink at him, swaying slightly as you process his words. “Mm. Warm. I like warm.” You pause, and then, as if hit by divine inspiration, you blurt out, “Soup. I want soup.”

“Soup?” Spencer echoes, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone. “No soup, honey. Not right now,” he says, heading toward the bathroom to grab a makeup wipe. But before he can make it two steps, your bottom lip begins to tremble, tears pooling in your eyes. 

“But… I,” you whisper, your voice cracking, “I really really want soup.”

Spencer freezes, his defences crumbling in an instant as he sees a single tear spills over, streaking your cheek. Oh, how could he ever say no to you? 

“Oh, baby, no, don’t cry,” he murmurs, rushing back to you, crouching slightly to meet your gaze. He cups your face gently, his thumbs brushing away any other tears that threaten to fall. “Okay, okay. I’ll make you soup, alright? Just... let me take care of you first, yeah?”

Sniffling, you nod, your tears beginning to subside. “And then soup?” you ask softly, your voice small but hopeful.

Spencer’s lips curve into a gentle smile as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. “Yeah, baby. And then soup. Whatever you want,” he murmurs, his tone warm and reassuring. Spencer knows deep down that you don’t actually want or need soup—it’s just the fixation of the moment in your drunken haze. Still, he decides to play along for now, hoping that with time, the thought will slip from your mind.

Carefully, he helps you out of your clothes, his hands steady and patient as he guides you into one of his soft, oversized shirts. You mumble something slurred and incoherent about how impossibly comfy it is, and his lips twitch into a fond smile. “Yeah honey, you’re right,” he humours you, adjusting the hem gently, “Fabric softener really does work wonders, doesn’t it?”

Spencer reaches for a makeup wipe from your vanity, his movements gentle as he starts to carefully remove the smudged remnants of mascara under your eyes. His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees one of your lashes come loose, but then he remembers you’d mentioned wearing false lashes on nights out. Right, that makes sense.

After two makeup wipes—both stained with hues of browns, pinks and purples, smudged from your makeup—he lifts your limp head, checking for any remaining traces. Your doe eyes blink up at him, looking soft and pretty, but there's an obvious blankness behind them as you babble on about how handsome he is. 

You’d once talked about something you watched on double cleansing, or was it triple? Better safe than sorry, he thinks grabbing another wipe to be sure. Once he’s satisfied, he sets the wipe down and brushes your hair back from your face. “There we go,” he murmurs soothingly, brushing your hair back from your face. “All done,” he says, his voice soft as a lullaby. 

You smile drips with affection as you look back up at him, and for a brief, blissful moment, he thinks the ordeal is over. Then you whisper:

“Soup?”

Spencer’s face falls, a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection washing over him. “Soup,” he repeats, more to himself than to you. He sighs, but when he looks down at your earnest, pleading face, his resolve crumbles all over again. “Okay, honey,” he relents, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’ll make you soup. You stay right here, alright?”

“M’kay,” you murmur, along with something incoherent, obediently crawling under the covers as Spencer tucks you in. And then you’re out like a light.

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you is the dull, relentless throb behind your eyes. The second is how heavy your body feels, limbs weighed down like lead, and you find yourself wincing as you shift under the tangled sheets. You’re not sure how you got home, you don’t know why your feet hurt so much either. And is that blood under your nails? You groan, clutching your temples in a futile attempt to block out the unanswered questions. Right now, all you know is that you need water. Desperately.

A sharp ache runs down your spine as you sit up, and you reach blindly for the water bottle on your nightstand. Your hand fumbles over the plastic, knocking it to the floor with a soft thud, and the sound only amplifies the pounding in your head. 

“Hey, you alright there?”, Spencer calls out. 

The unexpected voice startles you so much that you let out a sharp scream, immediately regretting it as the noise rebounds inside your aching head. “Ah! Jesus, Spence, you scared me!” you groan, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes.

Spencer’s face, which had been etched with concern, softens into a sheepish smile. He’s sitting in the chair by your bedroom door, a book resting on his knee, clearly having been there for a while. “Sorry, honey,” he says softly, closing the book and setting it aside. “I was just... keeping an eye on you.”

You blink at him, still trying to piece together why he’s even here. “Keeping an eye on me?” you ask, your voice hoarse and thick with confusion.

“You were... a little out of it last night,” Spencer explains gently, standing up and moving to pick up the water bottle that had fallen to the floor. He twists the cap open and hands it to you, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment, steadying your hand.

You take a cautious sip, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “Last night? But you—you weren’t even there.” You frown, trying to piece the fragmented memories together. There was Derek, Emily, Garcia, shots, that weird guy who kept staring at you, more shots... Were you really that drunk? No, you definitely would’ve noticed if Spencer had been there, right?

Spencer’s smile is small, almost apologetic, as he moves to sit on the edge of your bed, his voice soft but direct. “Let’s just say you’re pretty good at keeping everyone on their toes. And, uh, backup was needed.” 

“That bad, huh?” you murmur. “What did I do?”

It’s kind of more like what didn’t you do? Spencer thinks but keeps it to himself. He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s deciding how much to tell you, then speaks carefully. “I think it’s safe to say Morgan’s not exactly thrilled about the scratch marks.” He can’t help the small laugh that escapes, but it’s more for reassurance than amusement.

“Oh, god.” You groan and bury your face in your hands, the embarrassment rising in your chest.

Spencer gently rubs reassuring circles on your knee, steady and soothing as he tries to ease the tension evident in your face. “You were... spirited,” he offers diplomatically. “Nothing unfixable. Besides, I’ve seen worse.”

You peek at him through your fingers, surprised by how calm he seems despite everything. “I’m so sorry, Spence,” you say, your voice muffled by your hands. “Did I ruin your night?”

He shrugs with a small, reassuring smile. “Not at all. Kind of hard to be mad after you called me ‘very nice and very handsome’ at least three times.”

You groan again, your cheeks burning as you down another sip of water. Spencer chuckles softly, the sound light and comforting. 

“How’s your head?” he asks, his voice gentle with concern, though the answer is clear. 

A groan.

“Aw, honey,” he coos sympathetically, his arms opening wide in invitation. “C’mere.”

Too drained to move, you opt for flopping forward into his lap instead, your body feeling heavy and sluggish. Spencer’s hands immediately go to your hair, stroking it gently, his touch soothing. “Hurts, huh?” he murmurs softly.

You whine in agreement, your head resting against him as you let his fingers work through your tangled hair. He chuckles lightly, a sound that brings some small relief. “You hungry?” he asks, his voice still filled with concern, though it’s laced with a hint of casual care.

Another mewl escapes you, the idea of food nearly as unappealing as your pounding headache.

“You need electrolytes, honey,” Spencer suggests gently, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “We’ve gotta get something in you.”

You peek out from the mess of your hair, an eyebrow quirked as you attempt a teasing smile. “So forward, Doctor Reid,” you try to joke, your voice sluggish. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“You know what I mean,” Spencer says as he jokingly swats your arm.

You huff softly, your eyelids barely staying open. “Can’t move,” you mumble, curling further into his lap, trying to escape the weight of your headache. “Don’t make me move.”

Spencer chuckles quietly, his fingers gently tracing the line of your hair as he speaks. "You've gotta move at some point, sweetheart."

You whine in protest, your body too exhausted to even think of standing. "An hour?"

"I'll give you 10 minutes," he counters.

"40?" you bargain weakly, lifting your head just enough to look at him through half-lidded eyes.

"20," he shoots back.

You think for a moment, the numbers swirling in your hazy mind. "30?"

Spencer's grin widens, body moving as you gently tug him closer. "Fine," he relents with a soft sigh. "But only because you called me handsome that fourth time." You roll your eyes as you shift to make space for him.

He slides onto the bed beside you, his body pressing against yours as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into the comfort of his warmth. Your head rests on his chest as he tucks you in closer, his fingers running soothingly along your arm. 

"Hey, Spence?"

"Hm?" 

"Why’s there a bowl of soup on my dresser?"

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[aomiiine]

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘

love & deep space w ZAYNE format. fic. warnings. fluff + nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. soft vanilla love making. praise. endearments(darling, princess, etc). strawberry cake mention cs its my fav. summary. he’s more focused on you rather than the occasion which was his birthday.

author’s note. hppy belated birthday to my fav boy!!

“So you made these for me, hm?” The dark haired man beside you asked, his gaze attentive and tone almost accusing—something you were awfully used to by now. “Are you sure you didn’t buy them, darling? I won’t be mad if you did,” he added, pushing himself off the kitchen counter he was recently leaning his hips against.

“I made, Zayne. I’ve told you this time and time again—I’ve been practicing, okay?” you countered, your brows furrowing and your lips forming a small pout of annoyance at how your lover kept on questioning the source of his birthday cake for this year. Unbeknownst to you, while you were busy pouting and setting up the candles on the cake, Zayne had his eyes fixated on your face, the corner of his lips curling to faint smile as he spectated your change of expressions from your side profile.

“I never said I didn’t believe you, my love,” the tall man uttered in a soft scoff. He watched attentively as you finally held the lighter to light up the candles, the small flames making an intimate atmosphere in your purposely dimly lit home. Even with the skilfully made strawberry cake you decorated for him, the only thing he had given his attention to was you, and it seemed like it would be that way for the entire night.

”There. Make a wish and blow them out for me,” you urged, putting the lighter away and turning to him with a fond, excited smile. It was like you were more enthusiastic about his birthday than himself—and the way you caught him looking at you the moment you shifted your gaze to him proved that point more. It was his birthday—so why was he staring at you?

Your smile faltered nervously, feeling a bit self-conscious with how intense his dark hazel green eyes gazed at you, fingers twitching and all.

“Something wrong?” was all you could muster to say at the moment, cursing yourself for letting him affecting you so despite your years of being together. He still managed to make you flustered, shy.

“I made my wish.”

You raised a brow at him, blinking at him curiously with the candles on cake flickering softly, the flames illuminating the room just enough for you to see each other. The second you opted to part your lips to ask him what his wish was exactly, he stole your breath away, halting your actions by leaning down to you, letting his lips meet your soft ones. Your breath hitched once you registered his actions, not letting him wait and giving him access to your mouth.

“Zayne,” you huffed between your kisses, his hand moving up to circle your neck, his thumb gently caressing your jawline.

“You are what I wished for,” was all he whispered in return before sliding his tongue against yours, taking you in and leaving you to nibble on your wet lower lip. “I can’t possibly wish for anything more—,” he added with a soft groan, his free hand reaching up to grip your hip, fingers massaging your flesh there before pushing back up against the marble kitchen counter. “—other than for you to stay by my side.”

At this point, you were near breathless, soft mewls of his name leaving your lips at the feeling of his cold fingers skimming under your shirt and over your tummy. You had your hands hold onto his arms, nails gently digging him and earning yourself a hum of delight from him.

In a matter of seconds he had your shirt lifted up over chest, one hand helping you held it up while the other slid up your rib cage to cup your breast that was encased in your bra. All the while his fingers tugged on the fabric of your bra, he had his lips glued to your neck, tongue peeking out to leave warm licks along your skin whenever he felt your pulse. With a mere hook of his fingers on your bra, he had your tits spilled out for him, his mouth migrating downward to your sweetly bared nipples, taking one of them around his lips.

“Baby, the candles—they’ll melt,” you breathed out between pants and whimpers, shivers running down your spine with every tug he made on your hardened bud, the swirl of his tongue around your areola making you mumble pathetic, empty pleas for him.

“Then we’ll make love in the dark. I know every part—every crevice of your body by heart,” he replied calmly, not bothered by the thought of the candles suddenly going during their intimate moment—he was too into it to care.

How could he stop now? When he finally his hand hovering above your wet cunt, fingers teasingly hooking under your waistband of your pants but not pulling it down until he felt you were desperate enough. And that didn’t take long. ‘Cause he had your pants pooled around your ankles in seconds, hands impatiently lifting you up onto the cold counter where your pretty cunt was finally equally level with his hips.

“Let me unwrap my gift, darling,” his smooth voice whispered into your ear, his hot breath kissing your skin and heating up your face when he laid your lower half bare to him. You had your hands gripping onto his upper arms, then his shoulders, eyes glazed over and watching closely as he undid his the zipper of his pants, his slender finger sliding his boxers down a bit to pull his cock out easier. You gulped in both nervousness and eagerness at the sight of his thick length standing at attention with a slight curve, beads of precum forming at the tip of it.

“You’re drooling,” he murmured teasingly to catch your attention, exhaling a soft sigh and smiling at the sight of the adorable face you made when you left your trance of need whenever you admired him, any part of him. “I’ll give it to you, love, don’t worry,” he assured you, hand moving to part your thighs further, pulling you further to the edge of the counter and finally aligning his cock along your pussy, nudging your slick folds apart with the fat tip.

“Fuck,” you heard him growl softly, the mere contact of his tip with the outer layer of your sweetness affecting him more than he’d like. With a look of determination, he pushed his hips forward slowly, easing himself into your slit while keeping a good hold on your hip.

You couldn’t help the whimpers and moans that he coaxed out of you, your entire being melting at the fullness you felt when he was fully inside you, his balls pressed against your ass.

Zayne winced and grunted with every spasm you made around his cock, loving how his sweet yet filthy praises affected you so with only a few thrusts he made into you. And he didn’t hesitate to surge forward more, pounding into you with unbecoming moans and squelches made from your sex filling your home.

You held onto his shoulders tightly, your grip shifting with every thrust his hips made, making you wrap your arms around him and pulling him closer to you. Your thighs quivered around his hips, high-pitched moans forced out of you from how tightly the knot in your lower belly tied, the tip of Zayne’s dick hitting you in the right spot every time. Perhaps it was uncoincidental that your lover felt the same, the warmth and intensity of love that was shared between you amplifying the pleasure ten fold.

“Princess, ‘m gonna cum for you—inside you,” he murmured, his words jumbled and almost incoherent. It was clear his mind was as hazy as yours at that moment, his hips pounding into you with need. His movements turned jerky when he finally neared that climax along with you, your tightening cunt giving him the final push from the edge, his aching cock twitching and pulsing inside your depths as he finally spilled thick ropes of his cum, painting your velvety walls an innocent white. Your own orgasm followed suit, mixing with his own to form a potent mixture of sensual adoration.

With ragged breaths, he slumped against you, his knees bucking slightly as he basked in the afterglow with you. He didn’t shy away from your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent of your sweat and shampoo, calming him from his exertion.

“I don’t mind spending my birthday like this again next year, my dear. Maybe I’ll help you shop for a cake too,” he muttered against your neck, his voice hoarse yet playful. You groaned in response, hitting his arm lightly for acting suspicious about the cake you proclaimed to have baked yourself. “I didn’t buy the cake,” you grumbled against his shoulder, resting your head against him, to which he only chuckled at. “Sure, you didn’t,” Zayne murmured, smiling contently above your shoulder.

[seelie-buddy]

Tell Me You Love Me

summary : your love for alhaitham is endless, and you make sure to express that verbally; alhaitham makes sure his affections reaches you as well

contains : alhaitham believes in 'actions speak louder than words' ; pre-established relationship ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 800

The candle by your bedside is close to running out when Alhaitham appears through the door. Eyes drooping and a yawn slipping out, the bed dips under his weight as he joins your side. You smile softly as he snuggles in, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut instantly.

"Long day?" You whisper, raising a hand to brush through his hair. You receive a sleepy hum for a response as you pull the blanket over him. "Rest well then."

You can feel his breathing slow as sleep comes over him. It's rather endearing, watching him melt in your embrace, relax to your warmth. Oh, you loved him dearly. And you had no qualms to saying it out loud.

"I love you," you say, a gentle whisper as you lay a soft kiss against his forehead. You would repeat those words for him over and over again until the whole world knew. You would let those words echo through your shared house, letting its warmth fan the fire of the hearth, allowing your abode flourish in the warmth of a home.

And you were sure he heard you, as you felt his hand brush against yours, his index finger curling around yours, wrapping your finger in a gentle, yet firm, hold.

The sky remained hidden behind large, fluffy grey clouds, indicating the rain that would soon fall on Sumeru City. It made sense then of the people rushing back into the shelter of their homes before they get caught in the upcoming downpour.

You simply smiled at the idea of a cozy evening. You paused in your tracks, however, as you caught the whiff of flowers. Turning around, you catch glimpse a flower vender, packing up their stall as the other merchants did.

You returned home, grinning brightly despite the light scoldings of the elderly flower vender who was rushing to return home.

"I'm home!" You chirp in a sing-song. And ah, the sight of your beloved welcoming you back with a warm smile.

You thrust the flowers into Alhaitham's hand, feeling absolutely gleeful at the surprise flashing across his face. His widened eyes, momentary gaping melting into a smile as he recognizes the bouquet of flowers to be the same as the first gift you had given him at the start of your love story.

"I have something for you too," he says in a soft whisper before disappearing into your shared bedroom before returning with another bouquet of flowers in hand. Ah, seems he must have encountered the flower vendor on his way home as well.

His gaze remains on you as you laugh at the coincidence, his eyes honeyed with endearment and softened with amusement.

Oh and his silent laugh as you jumped into his arms, hugging him tight.

"I love you."

You were sure you found your heaven on earth.

You love your off days. Not only did you get to sleep peacefully until the sunlight seeping in through the curtains slowly awake you, but you get to enjoy the sight of your sleepy beloved. The whispered 'good morning's as you take each other in an embrace, snuggling until late in the morning, that joy was unparalleled.

Preparing meals together, snuggling on the couch as one napped and the other read, random chit-chat about some curious thing that happened at work throughout the week; these were all simple moments, but things you yearned for when you had to be apart because of work.

You enjoy watching the sunset with Alhaitham, sitting down on the ground, surrounded by the smell of the grass and dirt. Waiting until the moon rose high as you listened to him narrate bits of poetry in languages you could only dream of learning.

As you worked around in the kitchen with him, preparing dinner, you smiled contentedly.

"I love you," you mummer.

A soft kiss lands atop your head as Alhaitham continues to work around you, leaving you grinning brighter than ever.

"I love you lots," you say amidst your soft chuckles.

"I love you too," Alhaitham smiles back. "More than words could ever express."

"Really?" You cock an eyebrow playfully, not bothering to hide how his words made you soar over the moon.

"Really," he says, not minding your playfulness. "I could use all the words I know, speak all the languages I can, and it still wouldn't suffice to express what you make me feel, how happy you make me."

Alhaitham turns towards you, devoting his utmost attention to you. "Your laugh, your smile, your voice, your eyes, they will always be more beautiful than any language, any poetry that the world has to offer. You are the language I love most, and the only one I want to remain fluent in until my time runs out."

a/n : I previously wrote this drabble (a quiet love) for alhaitham and enjoyed writing it a lot, so I wanted to write more for him (I'm definitely not biased.... okay maybe a tiny bit hehe—); but yeah, I really like the idea of alhaitham following the 'actions speaks louder than words' if it wasn't already obvious

→ this fic was the (3+1) kinda type, or well, I had that in mind when writing it; dunno if it was noticeable or not lmao

p/s : now that my senior year of highschool started, I might be a bit irregular at posting (not that I actually wrote consistently before—), but I don't have too hard courses this semester, so who knows I actually might be a tiny bit consistent; but yeah you get the point right?

[windvexer]

Book Review: The Witch's Art of Incantation, 2nd ed. by Roger J. Horne

10/10, I'd buy again for what it is: but you should know what it is before you buy it

This is a review of the second edition, which is about 100 pages longer than the original and contains 55 additional incantations.

What's it about?

This is a book of translated and edited historical and folk incantations to be used in syncretic folk witchcraft or any form of witchcraft. These incantations are grouped into 9 categories:

Seeking the Old Ones

Calling to the Green World

Love and Spurned Love

Coinage and Prosperity

Curses and Maledictions

Spirit Flight and Second Sight

Blessings and Benedictions

Heretical Psalmistry

Miscellaneous latinate charms

Besides a brief introduction, the book is just incantations.

It's not a spellbook. It doesn't tell you to collect candles or herbs, or what day of the week to work them on, or the moon phase, or whatever. Just as it says on the tin, it's a book of incantations.

However, Horne does have a very handy section at the beginning called Approaches to the Art of Incantation.

Here he describes methods and techniques to help empower incantations (I recommend not skipping it), a framework for understanding the power of words, and folk magic actions that may be combined with incantations, such as the burning of candles with pins stuck in, or speaking over poppets.

If you've skipped Folk Witchcraft, definitely check out this section.

(As Horne explains in the introduction, the first ed. of this book was a companion book to his other text, Folk Witchcraft. Apparently, Folk Witchcraft provided a great deal of context and lore surrounding the use of the incantations themselves.

The second ed. has been developed into a standalone text, but Horne still recommends looking to Folk Witchcraft if you want more context.)

Where do these incantations come from?

Horne makes it clear that he primarily sourced incantations from Europe and America (primarily Appalachia) not because they're particularly better in any way, but because these are the areas his ancestors and practice stem from. He makes an outspoken statement against any perceived Eurocentric authority, and warns people to not take his area of focus to mean there is more power within those cultures than within others.

That being given, these incantations are sourced historically from at least the first century onward, from a wide variety of sources, including Greco-Roman, Irish, Scottish, Cornish, Welsh, French, German, Appalachian, Icelandic, and more.

When possible, Horne notes where the incantation originated from, and in what manner he edited it.

All of these incantations have been edited for use by the modern reader; they are Horne's original adaptations. This is not a historical reference.

An example?

To give you an idea of the contents, this is one of the shorter incantations in the book, "A Call to Fire."

A Call to Fire Fire untamed, lustrous, and bright, power behind the sun, moon and every star. Aetherial fire, source of life, most splendid flower, heat-bringer, light-bringer, hear me, radiant fire. [Origin: 3 BC - 1 AD. Greco-Roman. Adapted and rearranged with poetic license after The Hymns of Orpheus. pg. 100.]

This incantation may be used to charm offering candles, to consecrate sacred fires, to call forth salamanders or fire elementals, to honor a god or spirit of fire, and so forth - the application is up to you.

Is the variety solid? Are they versatile enough for use even if you don't consider yourself to be a folk witch?

A big reason I recommend this book so highly isn't just because it's handy for me, but because I think it is very versatile.

The variety of what's presented is exceptional; there are charms to hail the seasons and the moons, the Old Ones and plant allies, to cure grief and wrath, to call a lover, to steal wealth, to conjure all varieties of helpful spirits, to reveal a thief, to hag-ride, to skin-change, to induce second-sight, to charm your cards for better readings, and I could go on and on.

In addition, because Horne sources everything where he can, it's a wealth to look not only at his adaptations but compare the charms to the historical originals, and thereby gain inspiration for developing your own incantations.

The best part for me is that they're all usable. It's not a spellbook where you can't get some ingredients so you can't use some spells. They're incantations that you pair with whatever spell elements you want to include, including just using them on their own.

But are they sexy? Will I feel like I'm living deliciously?

Yes. You will feel like you are living deliciously. You will feel like ye olde wytche who feeds blood and honey to their familiar, and steals the potency of men at night as you roam in your second skin; you will believe you may only be harmed with a silver bullet when you take the form of a hare to rob milk from cows.

Real quick, what's up with those 'heretical psalms' and latinate charms?

The last (and smallest) portion of the book more heavily leans into syncreticism. Horne's attitude in the book is that folk witchcraft is by practicality and oftentimes necessity a syncretic one, and that witches use what's on hand in order to get the job done. He references the importance of the influence of the Church on modern cunning traditions, including both the adoption of psalms and also of latinate language.

Twenty-three psalms are printed in the book along with recommended magical uses, along with a list of the magical uses of psalms (which you'd have to look up yourself).

Finally, Horne has a fifteen incantations in Latin. Or, latinate, as he keeps clarifying. He hasn't taken charms and translated them into Latin, rather he's edited historical folk charms that were recited in liturgical Latin by the people who used them - again emphasizing syncreticism in folk magic.

If you're not into Christian syncreticism, I doubt this section would be of use to you. This section constitutes 80 total pages out of 319, or about a quarter of the book. Personally I'd still get it for the more pagan incantations even if I didn't want the more syncretic ones, but it's certainly not to everyone's tastes.

(Be advised that there is a lot of Scottish folk magic in this book, plenty of which calls on Mary as divine authority. Obviously you can change the incantations as you please, but if you're allergic to these things, be aware they are peppered throughout the text.)

Chicken, who would you personally recommend this book to?

I would recommend this book to a practitioner who is:

Ready to start seriously investing in their personal repertoire of spells

Confident enough to experiment with spellcrafting

Sick and tired of spellbooks that recommend inaccessible ingredients, and just want building blocks to make their own full-format spells

Wanting a resource that helps with getting practical magic done within their current paradigm, without having to adopt a lot of new ritual aspects or theories

Looking for inspiration to expand their current practice without having to restart their practice

Looking for resources on Christian or heretical witchcraft

Anyone seeking resources on the power of words in practical sorcery

I'm a pagan, not a witch, and I love hymns and incantations. Would I like it?

To be honest, I doubt it.

Yes, the book starts with incantations to the Old Ones, who are ostensibly gods; but anyone with an eye to see can tell that the incantations all either relate to the Devil or the Queen of Witches. Also, one for Fenris ("darkling wolf") and one for the Sun.

Like 5 of the incantations may clearly be associated with Greek gods, but those gods are not named and the association appears to be selected based on their relevance to witchcraft.

A vast majority of all incantations in the book are related to spellwork and conjuring nature spirits. These incantations were designed for use in magic, which includes calling spirits and compelling action; not so much veneration or worship.

Readability and Accessibility

The physical quality of the book is disappointing. And that's not the author's fault and has no bearing on the actual contents, but right out of the box I was afraid the poor thing was going to fall apart. However it was cheap as hell so I have nothing to complain about, this thing was like $15 for a paperback. It has the quality you would expect from such a cheap purchase.

The text is sort of an artsy one? It's a serif font that's not too out there, but it's smaller than I was expecting, and my eyes don't love it. You will have to find your reading glasses for this one. All his books I bought are published in this typeface so I assume it's a choice.

Horne loves big paragraphs and long sentences. I find his writing style to be clear and easy to follow, but it's not a lower grade reading level. You may expect a maximum of two paragraphs per page in the prose portions.

The incantations themselves are broken up into much more manageable parts, always containing no more than 2 lines per paragraph break.

I believe Horne did this on purpose to compel the reader to find their own cadence in the incantations. But, it has the added effect of contributing to readability. The way each incantation is split up makes it very easy to follow and not lose your place.

6/10 for physical manufacture; I really wish the typeface was less artsy and more standard, but I could still read it through, especially once I got used to it.

[thecapricunt1616]

capriiiiiii can i pretty please request something with carmy and a gf who is dealing with being stiff / sore and tired. i acc just need him to take care of me. maybe cook me a meal. :(( ily

My loveeeee Hello I'm sorry this has been rotting away I've been dealing with such writers block I hope this doesn't suck aaa! I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much / around tumblr this week i've been busy with other things but I hope to write more soon <3 I finally got my new laptop so i'm going to try and cook some stuff up really soon! Warnings for btc: None really, pure fluff & happy carmy!not edited sorryyyy WC: 1638

You had helped Sugar set up her nursery last night. All the moving of large boxes, and helping build the crib, changing table, and dresser, you were wiped out to say the least. You got home around 4 am, and  When Carmy had left for the restaurant that morning, you were still crumpled on the couch where he’d left you, snuggled in a blanket and softly snoring. When he came home that night and nudged you, you jumped like a sleeping cat 

“I’m awake!” You said quickly with an unintentional snore, rubbing your eyes tiredly. 

“Brought you a sandwich and some fries. Back still hurts?” He asked softly. 

You whimper gently as you stretch out your sore muscles, sitting up once again in the dark living room. “How’s work?” You mumbled with a yawn, taking the takeout container as he plopped next to you and planted a kiss on your head. 

“Doesn’t matter, m’here for you baby, why don’t I get you a bath set up mm?” He flicks on a lamp and you blink a few times as your eyes get adjusted to the light.  

“You’re too good to me, you know that right?” You gave him a peck on the lips. He smiled a bit and rubbed your side 

“I can’t even count the amount of back massages you’ve given me after a long week. I’m just repaying the favor.” He watched as you took a bite and sighed in relief, your stomach growling- likely in thanks as you hadn’t moved from your spot all day long in your blanket nest. 

“This is really good, Bear” you mumble as you chew. He hums happily at your approval, giving you one more kiss to the temple before getting up. 

“Good, I put a piece of princess cake in the fridge for you for after your bath if you want” he said on his way to the bathroom, and you could cry at the bliss that was being taken care of. 

He makes sure to clean out the tub with bathroom spray and rinse it fully, before starting the water at the very hot temperature he knew you liked after plugging the tub. He got one of the little herb sachets with different flowers and herbs and hung it over the faucet so it infused into the water, causing it to be a pretty light pink color.

From the bathroom closet he grabbed your little bath tray and set it up for you, as well as the little bath head pillow that suctioned to the tub for you to rest back on, and got those set up before taking out the waterproof electric candles and setting a few out for you for a comforting ambiance. After he put a good amount of the muscle relaxing herbal epsom salts in the bath for you, as well as plenty of bubbles the way you liked and agitated the water for you, he popped your favorite fluffy towel in the warmer. 

He cut off the water and went into the bedroom, grabbing your fluffy bathrobe and a comfortable pair of panties for you as well as the book you were currently reading from your nightstand and got them all set up on the bathroom counter for you, as well as your hair brush. He opened the bottom drawer where you kept all your sheet face masks, and picked out a bedtime one and set it on the bath tray for you next to your book. 

By the time he came back out to let you know your bath was ready you had already finished eating and were once again slumped on the couch, you figured you had pulled or overworked something in your back because even holding yourself up was proving to be exhausting very fast. “Did you want some wine my love” he crouched down next to where you were snuggled on the couch, brushing your hair from your eyes gently. 

“Yes please” you said softly. He planted a gentle, lingering kiss on your forehead before going to the kitchen. He got your favorite wine out of the fridge, popping open the bottle and pouring you a glass. He brought it to the bathroom and put it in the little slot on the tray made for wine glasses, before coming back to collect you. 

“Alright, up” he held his hand out to you and wiggled his fingers for you to take it. You sighed softly knowing moving meant pain, but when you grabbed his hand he lifted you to your feet with little effort, being sure to steady you with his other hand on your hip since you weren’t expecting it. 

“Woah” you giggled, the action having woken you from your tired state and following him to the bathroom. When you saw the state of it, you pulled him into a tight hug, kissing his neck gently. You didn’t want him to see the fact there was tears pooling at your eyes, since he hated when you cried. But the fact that he had a nearly 14 hour day, and came home to you- and still went out of his way, above and beyond to take care of you. To make you feel loved, cared for. You’d never had another partner who was so attentive and went out of their way for you how he did.

“Love you…” you muttered before pulling away with a sniffle. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a gentle kiss 

“Your towel is In the warmer waiting for you baby, I’ll get your pajamas set out for you” he gently tucked your hair behind your ear and rubbed his knuckle over your cheekbone before heading back to your bedroom, leaving the door cracked behind him. You noticed after he left that your skincare was all set up for you as well as your favorite body lotion and its matching body mist which just made you smile even more. 

After undressing you sit in the warm bath, sighing in relief as the hot water did wonders for your sore muscles, resting your head back on the comfortable pillow as you sip your wine and hum contently to yourself. For a while you just sat, reading your book and sipping your wine and after about 30 minutes when the water had gone lukewarm, and your glass of wine had been finished - you decided to drain the tub. 

Carmy heard you getting out of the bath, so he went and got your pajamas that he’d been warming in the dryer for you and got your side of the bed all made up after filling your reusable water bottle with iced lemon water.  By the time you had gotten your lotion on and did your skincare as well as brushed your teeth, the house had already been shut down for the evening. He had made sure to clean up the kitchen and living room, as well as shut all of the shades and get your coffee pot set up for the next morning like usual. 

“Hey pretty girl” he takes your hand, kissing it gently “got some warm pajamas for you, house is taken care of you just have to get in bed” he motioned to the bed where your pajamas were nicely folded for you. 

“And you say you aren’t romantic” you mused, causing him to chuckle a bit as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head 

“What can I say, I guess you bring it out of me. Get your pajamas on I’ll rub your feet for you” he said and you hum happily, closing your eyes and planting a kiss on his neck

“Can I be babied like this all the time?” You joked, he huffed a laugh, handing you your pajamas. 

“The days that I’m not too wiped out from work, I can try” he plopped down on his side of the bed with a soft grunt of relief after being on his feet all day. You slipped out of your robe, and his eyes rake over your frame as you unfolded your soft, fluffy nightgown and slipped it over your head. “Mm mm mm” he said jokingly. You giggled as you crawl on the bed, resting your legs over his lap and wiggling your manicured toes teasingly. 

“Get to massaging this isn’t a free peep show” you said and he took your ankle, bringing it to his lips and giving it a chaste kiss

“What- so you can put me to work, and I can’t even eye the goods?” he joked as he put your leg gently back in his lap and grabbing the massage oil that he’d put on the nightstand and warming some in his hands before starting to massage your foot. You hum happily, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

“Mmmm, keep doin’ that and I’ll let you see whateeever you want” you said happily, your voice nearly a purr from how expertly he was massaging your calves and feet. “Can I turn on Big Brother?” you asked and giggle at the way his face lit up

“You really waited?! Fuck yeah I wanna see whats up put it on” he said and you smiled, shaking your head jokingly as you turned on the TV. He had whined before about not wanting to watch ‘trash reality tv’ all the time, but over the course of the many nights he came home and you were watching it - he had eventually starting asking you to wait for him to watch ‘your show’ together, and you would tease him and tell him how you thought he said it was boring and gossipy, just to get his cheeks to go that cute shade of pink.“Of course I waited, it’s our show now”

[linopls]

kinktober day eight

breeding hyunjin x fem!reader summary: hyunjin figures out a new kink of yours. warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, degradation, humiliation, oral (male receiving), unprotected p in v 1.5k words

you haven't seen hyunjin in two weeks. neither of your schedules have aligned for fourteen days. you’re going what one would call boyfriend-withdrawal and it was terminal. you both had finally found a day that works, or a night. hyunjin told you he would be outside your apartment at 9:00 PM, it was 11:00PM. 

you’re fighting sleep at this point. you’ve had a coffee, an energy drink, and have turned down your AC to levels that will keep you awake. but you were just about to give up and let sleep overtake you on your couch, when you hear the sound of keys and your door knob moving. you jump off the couch, almost tripping in the process. 

before hyunjin can even enter your apartment, you’ve enveloped him in a kiss. he slides his unoccupied arm around your lower back and pulls you closer. he walks you both back into the room and shuts the front door with his foot without breaking contact. he drops his overnight back at your feet and wraps his now freed arm around your upper back, pulling your chest against his.

his lips are soft, everytime you kiss him that’s the first thing you think. they’re plush and soft and fit against yours like a puzzle piece. the way he kisses is perfect, it's never too sloppy but you can always taste him on your lips for hours after you’ve kissed him. he always knows exactly how to hold you to keep you close and drive you insane. 

you start to slide your hands under his shirt and rub your fingers over his abs when he pulls away.

“baby, i have barely gotten in the door,” he laughs, looking down at you. “what’s up with you today?” 

“i’ve missed you so much.” you grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up and over his head. “so, so, so much,” you say, dragging your nails gently back down his chest.

“don’t start something we both know you can’t finish,” he says sternly. you can tell by the way he talks that there is love behind everything he says and that he’s missed you too, but you decide to play along and see how far you can go and push his buttons.

“i can finish anything i start, hyunjin.”

“go sit on your bed. i’ll be there in a minute.”

his demeanor change sends waves of heat to your core. and as you hurry into your bedroom you catch a glimpse of the tent forming in his shorts. 

you take the extra time hyunjin has given you to light the candles on your night stand and shut the blinds on the window. you adjust the pillows upright and and adjust the comforter and sit with you back against the headboard while you wait for your pretty boyfriend to come back. 

he returns after about five minutes, his shirt still off and his overnight bag in his hand. he places it down on your dresser before stopping to look at you. “come here,” he commands, motioning you with his finger. 

you crawl to the edge of the bed and let your feet hang off the side. “get up,” he says, his tone never shifting, you obey and stand. he turns to face you, places a soft kiss on your lips. “kneel.”

you drop to the floor with enthusiasm, staring face to face with his crotch. you move you hand to palm him through his shorts, but he swats your hand away before you make content. “i didn’t say you could touch me, you’re so desperate.”

you whine. “‘m sorry.”

“show me how sorry you are,” he says, sliding his shorts down his legs revealing his long and dripping cock. 

your mouth waters at the sight and you go to wrap your lips around the tip and he stops you again. “you’re such a little cockslut, aren’t you? hmm? just open your mouth for me.”

it was like you were playing ‘simon says’ the way hyunjin said anything and you compiled, no questions asked. he slowly slides his cock down your throat. its heavy on your tongue and reaches the back of your throat with ease, you gag and he pulls out, doing the same action again until you are used to the feeling.

“only been gone two weeks and i have to retrain you to take me, hmm?” he laughs.

hyunjin pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail and whispers a small ‘you ready?’. when you give the go ahead he begins fucking your mouth at an animalistic pace, rutting inside you like he never had before. tears are streaming down your face and your moaning and whining at the feeling of hyunjin using your mouth. 

“fuck, thats it baby,” he grunts between thrusts. “make me feel good.”

your eyes roll to the back of your head and you're humming around him trying to bring him closer to his orgasm,when he stops and pulls out of your mouth.

“strip for me,” he says as he walks over to your bed and sits in the middle, back against the headboards. you do so quickly, knowing what's about to happen next. 

you crawl onto the bed and hover over his cock. “good girl, i didn’t even have to ask,” he praises while putting his hands on your hips.

as you slide down you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. you’ve tried to relieve yourself for two weeks but nothing feels as good as him. you slowly slide yourself up and down his thick cock, admiring the feeling. hyunjin stares at you with admiration and lust.

“will you ride me til i cum, baby?” he doesn’t need to ask, he knows the answer, you’d do anything to please him.

you slowly start to quicken your pace, balancing yourself by gripping his broad shoulders. pleasure hazing your mind at the feeling of his veiny cock sliding against your walls. hyunjin takes his hands and folds them behind his head. you whine at the lost of him touching you.

“you’re fine, baby. you can do the work today, i had a very stressful day,” he says. the way his voice is completely steady during this sends frustration and arousal to your core.

you begin to move faster. you move your hands to his knees in hope that can make you move faster but it doesn’t elicit a reaction from him. you whine again, worried you won’t make him finish yourself.

hyunjin must pick up on your frustration. “you can do it, baby. you can fuck me til i fill up your tight cunt.” 

the thought of him filling you up makes you dizzy. you whimper at the thought and try to ride him faster, moving your hips in circles.

“oh,” hyunjin gasps. “does the idea of me filling you up get you going?”

you whine in response, uncontrollably clenching around his cock. which at this new speed and angle is hitting your cervix directly.

hyunjin smirks. “keep going then, baby. fuck yourself on my cock til i fill you up and keep going so nothing slips out.”

you’re going insane, your mind is full of hyunjin and you want nothing more than to drain him completely. 

“come on, baby. that’s it,” he grunts. “at this rate, you’re gonna get yourself pregnant if you keep going.”

your brain short circuits at the thought and all you're able to do is moan.

hyunjin chuckles. “hm, is that what you want, baby? to be so round and full of me, hm?” he asks, placing his hand on your lower stomach. 

“yes, yes, god yes,” is all you are able to reply with. tears streaming down your face, heart pounding out of your chest, and sweat falling onto the bed below you.

“keep going, i’m gonna fill you up, i’m gonna knock you up so good,” hyunjin is blabbering as his hips grind up to meet yours. he moves his thumb down to your clit and rubs small circles on the sensitive bud. you yelp in pleasure as he finally gives you some assistance. 

“close,” you whine, grinding down desperately on his cock. 

“fuck, fuck!” hyunjin is yelling at that point, humping his throbbing cock up into you. “please cum with me, please cum as i fill you and make you mine. please.”

hyunjin’s cries send you over the edge and you’re cumming all over his cock. your juices slipping all over his lap and your hips buck controllably. before you can even realize it, hyunjin grabs you by the waist and slams you back onto the bed.

“jin! jinnie!” you whine as he continues his brutal attack on your hole. hips spazzing in overstimulation.

“stop squirming slut, take my fucking cum,” he spits. “gonna fill you up til you're swollen and pregnant.”

he thrusts once more before you can fill his cock twitch and his warm seed spilling inside you. he slows down his motions and pulls out. he swiftly replaces his cock with his fingers. he holds your squirming body still with one of his arms over your stomach. 

“i said i didn’t want anything to fall out.”

hehe

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@dvbkie099 @il0v3skz @chrishak@quokkaaah @bex90997 @sheeshhhhfelixsworld @leeknowyah @tumadreposts @hyunniebunni @cipher-ipher @alice630 @jinnies-princess @bangtancultsposts @evrythinghqppened @rebellescauses-blog @juicypebbless @fawnpeaks @the-life-of-stella @lakoya @compersian @seung-mine 

[etherealyoungk]

birthday boy - kim mingyu

pairing: mingyu x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

wordcount: 1160

a/n: happy mingyu day <3

"are you ready? we should leave babe", you yell out to mingyu who's still getting ready and you grab your phone from the table outside. you open your email to figure out the reservation details but you let out a gasp when you see the email headline that awaits you.

"what happened?", mingyu asks, coming out, hearing you and he walks towards you, a small etch of worry on his face. you only smile, trying to brush it off, not wanting to upset the atmosphere right now. but there was no point. the email you just read said that your reservation was cancelled and now you both had gotten dressed up to go...nowhere. you had booked that place two weeks in advance just for mingyu's birthday today and the fact that they cancelled it without any reason made you upset.

"what's wrong?", he prompts again, seeing the troubled look on your face.

"i-um", you start as you look at mingyu and sigh because there was really no point in denying it.

"the restaurant cancelled our reservation", you tell softly, feeling defeated. "i'm so sorry i should have planned this better, it's your special day and -",

"woah woah, sweetheart, look at me", he says making you meet his gaze. "it's okay we can do something else", he assures, giving you a small smile.

"but you were looking forward to this place", you add, frowning.

"how about we stay in? have some wine, cut the cake, just us?", he suggests. "are you sure? we can go somewhere else maybe, we're already dressed up", you add but he shakes his head. just then your doorbell rings and mingyu moves to open it but you stop him, putting your hand on his chest.

"i'll get it", you tell, shooeing mingyu away because it was a special delivery for him and you wanted to keep it that way. you had ordered flowers from mingyu, the bouquet was gorgeous, with fresh red roses with baby's breath in between all wrapped up in brown paper and a small note tucked inside. you smiled softly as you took the bouquet and peeked inside, hiding it behind your back as you saw mingyu putting out the cake and getting out the wine.

"gyu close your eyes", you told. "why?", he asks, playfully.

"just do it please", you add and he closes his eyes, a smile already playing on his lips. you make sure his eyes are indeed closed before you come forward and you bring the bouquet out front, holding it out for mingyu as you tell him to open his eyes.

he opens his eyes and he grins, his pretty canines showing and you smile too. "happy birthday gyu", you say as he takes the flowers from you like an excited puppy.

"for me?", he asks. "no they're for my boyfriend mingyu, give them back", you tell and he chuckles. "this is the first time someone's given me flowers", he confesses and you make a mental note to surprise mingyu with flowers more often.

he smells the flowers and his eyes find the note that's tucked inside and almost hidden in the flowers and his eyes sparkle. he picks out the note and you mentally cringe when you remember what you wrote. mingyu puts the bouquet aside, opens the note and he smiles like an idiot when he reads it. you know he's going to tease you about it, so you usher him to the cake that's waiting on the table, hoping he'll spare you.

you place the candles on the cake mingyu takes the initiative to light them and you find the princess crown you had found a few days back, thinking it would look cute on mingyu. "babeee", he draws out when he sees it, knowing exactly what you had in mind but you just chuckle as you put the crown on him and he lets you because he loves to indulge you like that.

you put your arms on your hips and admire mingyu. "you look so adorable", you say and he nods his head. "well, thank you for blessing me with princesshood on my birthday", he jokes and you smile, moving closer to mingyu when you notice the candles melting.

"make a wish gyu!", you tell and he sincerely closes his eyes, makes a wish and blows out the candles. his eyes are still closed so you take this chance to swipe some icing from the cake on his nose and cheek. he opens his eyes, his mouth opening in shock before he narrows his eyes at you and you run around the table because you know he's going to get you back.

he's quick to run after you and after a few strides from his long legs, he's caught you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you against his body as he corners you into the wall and you can only let out a soft giggle.

he leans forward and boops your nose with his and now you have icing on your nose too and he seems satisfed. "now we're even", he tells with a playful smile and you can only smile back up at him, your arms resting on his shoulders as his hands caress your waist.

"have i told you how gorgeous you look tonight", he says with a glint in his eyes and you smile, feeling your cheeks heat up at his compliment. he always made you feel like the prettiest person in the world and loved complimenting you, knowing you'd get shy about it. you clear your throat before speaking.

"have i told you how dashing and handsome you look tonight?", you tell, looking him up and down again because he was wearing that gorgeous all-black suit that he pulled off so well, making him look amazing (and hot). mingyu chuckles at your words and smiles wider, the sound of his laughter like music to your ears and he looks at you with pure adoration.

"is this the part where i finally get my birthday kiss?", he asks after a few seconds with a twinkle in his eyes.

"you're acting like i didn't kiss you today", you tell, tilting your head.

"but that was just a kiss, not a birthday kiss and you only kissed me once today which didn't even last five seconds". he explains, making you roll your eyes at his words and give him a look.

"i'm still waiting", he prompts, raising his brow with a tilt of his head, grinning that stupid smile that makes you melt every time you see it.

you lean forward and close the gap between you both, kissing mingyu and he pulls you closer against him as he softly moves his lips against yours, kissing you back.

"happy birthday", you whisper against his lips when you pull away.

"i'm really sorry about the reservation being cancelled though", you add because you did feel bad after having planned it and it fell through last minute.

"shhh, this is perfect too", he assures, kissing you again.

taglist: @biboramp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @icyminghao @kyeomyun @lvlystars @blue-jisungs @wootify @ihrtboo @idubiluv @n4mj00nvq @joshuaahong @fallingforshua29 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852 @mirxzii @wheeboo @writingmeraki

[viridescentelf]

Yandere Masseur - Micolai Introduction

Yandere Masseur x You (gender neutral)

Summary: A masseur you visit often is enthralled with you, planning to take every session one step further.

WARNINGS: 18+, no minors interact!, dubcon, explicit language, explicit sexual thoughts, touching, obsessive, toxic behavior

I chose the name Micolai, sorry lol Laoire is hard for me pronounce

-----

You were a regular. And you were his favorite.

Whenever he saw your name on his list of clients, he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. It had to mean something, that you came back so frequently.  

You told him it was due to your stressful day to day life. But he knew it wasn’t just that. You must yearn for his touch. The second his skilled fingers met your skin; he felt you shake slightly at the soft impact.

Micolai had many returning customers. He was the best in the parlor. It helped that he was good-looking, too. But it wasn’t just that, his hands were strong and well-trained.

Older customers complimented his complexion, a light tawny tone he didn’t need to try hard to get. A split second in the sun and his skin absorbed it instantly, drinking in every ray. His black hair curled at their tips, the wavy bangs reaching his strong brows and enveloping his dark chocolate eyes. An, older female customer he didn’t care for continuously complimented his steely eyes. They only softened for you.

Micolai had a way of smiling without his eyes. Most customers didn’t notice. They sparkled for the first time when he met you. It started when he answered the phone and heard your sweet voice for the first time. You had asked for a 60-minute session. Micolai immediately put you into his own time table, curious to meet the siren.  When your eyes met in the waiting room, he had trouble speaking. You literally took his breath away. He left the door open a crack while you undressed, peaking in, excited that you would let him touch you. The first time he felt your skin, he noticed a tremble in his own muscles, an extremely unusual occurrence. No one ever managed to unnerve him like that before.

The madam had given him the biggest room in the massage parlor, since he earned her the most profit. He decorated it to his (and your) liking, adorning the wooden shelves with many candles, dim fairy lights and fake plants. He carried his trusty speaker to his new room and set it up near the table, so he could adjust the volume when he saw fit. You loved the sound of the ocean; you were less tense when you heard waves between calming piano notes in the background. He had a beautiful vase that he used for tips, which was always full to the brim. One day he followed you home and noticed you looking at this particular one in a shop mirror. You hadn’t recognized it, yet. Maybe it hadn’t been what you were looking at in the store.

He didn’t accept tips from you, much to your chagrin. You tried every time. He couldn’t muster up the courage to ask for something else as a tip. One day, he would.

He learned that you loved orchids. Every time you visited him, a new bloom appeared in his room, which you complimented furiously. He wanted you to feel comfortable here. An entire relaxation area – just with you in mind.

Micolai crafted his own massage oil, mostly out of necessity due to the parlor’s cheap oil giving him itchy rashes. It had too many harsh ingredients that clashed with his soft skin. He couldn’t risk losing the smoothness that you loved. He had been experimenting with scents for you. He settled on lavender and lemon, two fragrances that made you moan when the scent reached your nostrils. A sound that drove him wild.

While he prepared the room for the next unimportant client, he wrapped his bathrobe tight around his waist. He only left it loose for you, in case you wanted to see more. You never did, but he was hopeful. When he worked on others, he thought of you. Every second of his day revolved around you, when would you come again? How could he take this further?

Seeing your divine naked form before him… it was like God was tempting him every time. He resisted the violent urge to pull the towel away from you, to see you in all your glory before him. To touch you in your intimate space and swirl out all the stress you say befalls you. He could make it all melt away, with two fingers. With one hand.

He already touched you where he shouldn’t, massaging your glutes and taking it in. The first time he dared this move, you jolted up a bit, but his slick voice soothed you quickly: “Shh, it’s alright. You carry a lot of tightness here. I know what I’m doing.”

This time, he would try to brush his lips against your skin while massaging your legs. For a brief taste. If you reacted negatively, he would claim he slipped in the oil. It was all part of the plan.

Each and every time, Micolai became more daring and more pent up. When you left his room, he had to relieve himself. He did it all over the towels you were wrapped in. Smelling your scent that lingered on the ones you laid on; he busted onto the one wrapped around your waist. His room was far in the back, so no one heard his cries of relief.

It was the perfect area to please you. You could be as loud as you want.

Eventually, he will get to experience every part of your form.

And feel all of you.

[ladyelissarose]

———————— ☠️

“Mmph!! -aby! Hol- on. mmm.”

“No- mmhmm.. let me -ave you.”

You were too caught up in Simon’s passionate kisses to even pay attention to his pleas and listen to them. But it had been a whole two LONG months since you two have seen each other, all because you were sent on different missions. And now that you had him back in your hold- there was no way you’re letting him go.

How your relationship worked out was beyond those who knew, but some spark had ignited a flame between the two of you since first sight, and that fire was growing and never ending on both of your watches.

So on his thick thighs you sat, holding his cheeks with his mask bunched up at his nose, giving him open mouthed kisses, wanting to taste and remember all of him as you had gone endless days and nights without him.

Simon groped your thighs tightly after he had left his fingers printed on your hips, missing what you felt like under his touch while all over him, he needed to feel you again, as you were his and only his.

Teeth practically crashing and lips probably bruised by now, you two shared breaths and hearts were synchronizing into one beat, you two becoming one.

You moaned into Simon’s mouth after he tightened his hold on you and lightly bit your bottom lip,

“Si- mmph! Easy solider... muah!”

You gave him a firm kiss before pulling away, a little streak of who knows who’s saliva of the two of you is lingering on your lips. Simon wiped it away gently with the pad of his thumb as he attentively heard you ask ever so sweetly,

“Si... can we do a bath when we get home?”

His eyes holding only love and admiration for you as you sat above him like a queen on her throne. He couldn’t even think of you lustfully as you beautifully sat right on him, sometimes all he wanted was to be loved and feel it in his chest beating out erratically. Feel fully satisfied in and out by your simple touch and loving words.

His brown eyes were raking all over your face as he nodded slowly, his fingers rubbing small circles on your waist,

“Of course love.”

A soft smile made it up to your lips at his agreement, since he wasn’t always up for touchy-touchy stuff. But also because you were feeling touch deprived of him, you went on for more,

“With the bubbles an-“

He nodded once again but as he bud in to finish your words,

“-and the candles, wine.. kisses... and se-mmmmph..”

You planted a long kiss on his lips, cutting him off as you were feeling even more happy. Cherishing Simon’s openness with you, and grateful that he was letting himself go and giving himself a chance to feel love and peace.

“-on’t sto- mmph..”

“Shh- mmmph-“

Breathing hard through your noses as you both couldn’t- refused to separate or go light on the kiss, choosing to deeply demonstrate your love even if you suffocated for it. Tasting and feeling him was Heaven and a whole new boost of hope for you, a beautiful gift. And for him you were a boost of life and reason to live.

Simon’s strong arms held you up and close to him, you could feel every part of him under you and his scent was so engulfed in you. Everything of him was in the palm of your hand, and with the heart you have given him, you loved and treasured him.

From back then compared to now- there was a big difference on how Simon accepted affection. Before you could barely hold his hand without him flinching away, holding a slight fear in his eyes along with uncertainty. It was hard for you at first to adjust with him, and show him in the smallest ways, that what you had to offer to him was safe and full of love.

Baby steps is what it took for Simon to finally be here and open up to you, receiving and giving affection or touch. Now in the comfort of his own room or yours (for he never showed strong PDA outside, he had a stern reputation to keep and you agreed with it- he was the Ghost after all.) He’d hold you close and wouldn’t let go for long periods of time.

“I missed you... so much.”

Hearing anything of vulnerability coming from Simon was rare, but cherished nonetheless when it came, as it was very genuine and heartfelt.

You planted a sweet kiss on his forehead as his doe eyes continued to admire everything about you that was all his,

“I miss you too sweetheart... I’m happy you’re ok.”

A small smile pulled at his lips,

“I’m happy you’re ok too love... I am happy with you.”

The cold, distant and bitter Simon was no longer around once he got to know you, you had become the light and joy of his life, and you had changed him completely- you saved Simon’s life before he let Ghost consume him fully.

You were the balance between the two lives he carried, you loved them both equally and were present where he needed. Either to stand by his firm choices on the battle field or watch his six- or to cuddle him at night when he needed to feel you after a rough day or nightmare.

Simon let his hand rest on the back of your neck, letting his fingers weave through your hair before pulling you close again, foreheads resting on one another while your lips barely touched, eyes closed in peace. He left his hand there and the other rested on your back, yours were planted on his firm chest, feeling his calm breaths fill him up and steady his heart beat under your palm.

“I love you Simon..."

Simon smiled fully and pressed your lips on his, letting you feel it, and without moving or anything else he replied against them,

“I love you more.”

[sonamytrash]

Midnight

Underground Virgin!Levi x Virgin!Femreader

MDNI

Warnings: y/n used, Childhood friends to lovers, fluff, smut, puberty mentioned, masturbation mentioned, fingering, sex, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, mentions of prostitution, characters ages aren't mentioned, but it's suggested they're both in their late teens, of age when writing but could be interpreted as underage? Virgin levi, virgin reader.

Note: Kind of wanted to write something about Levi losing his virginity and give him the blessing of something in his life that wasn't all bad. Reader and Levi have grown up together. Feelings have blossomed, and desires have been ignited over the years. The underground is a tough place to live with sex and violence everywhere. There's no smut in the first chapter, but it is heavily suggestive. Let me know what you think. Enjoy!

-----------------

In a world where the sun never shines, where the only light comes from flickering Street lights, candles, and the occasional spark from a fire, three souls found solace together in front of a fire. The underground city was a maze of dimly lit tunnels, cramped living quarters, and a constant struggle for survival. You had grown up together, survived together, and lived together in this harsh, unforgiving environment.

Your landlord was a cruel and greedy man, having come to you the with news that he wanted his rent earlier than usual, probably because he owed someone else the money or had pissed his own money up the wall. You couldn't afford to be out on the streets again. It wasn't hard to find a crook to rent a small apartment to three teenagers. But his terms were unreasonable.

Desperation and stress hung heavy in the air. You were usually the type to try and remain cheery, strong, and resilient, but these sorts of situations made you anxious. Finding money down here was hard enough, but being given less time to find it was so much more stressful. "I-I don't know what we're going to do," you stammered. "There has to be some way to make the money quickly." Furlan said thoughtfully as he tried to reassure you, but even his words sounded hollow. It really wasn't much time to get the money together.

You were always aware of the easiest way for a girl to make money down here. Selling your body to some piece of shit man to use for pleasure. It was quick and easy cash that much was true. If you were lucky enough to get paid, that is. The attempt to make any money that way came with many risks. Most women down here lived in fear of getting raped, abused, and even killed before the added risk of being a working girl. Having grown up with Levi and Furlan, they had kept you safe. Currently, you worked a part-time job at the morgue, which didn't pay well but allowed you to learn and study to some extent. But in recent years, since hitting puberty and developing into a young woman, the pressure had been more intense, men often offering plenty of money for the opportunity to have their way with you. Although this sort of interaction would result in being beaten to a pulp by Levi, he would die before he allowed you to have to resort to sex work. And you were grateful for that. The thought of having to resort to prostitution, a common but desperate measure, filled you with dread.

Levi, said nothing. He just stared at the floor, his jaw tightening with anger. You glanced at him, concerned. "Levi, if we need the money I can-" You asked softly, stopping when you saw him look up at you, his eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness. "I'm not going to let you do that," he said, his voice steady and unyielding.

You frowned. "It will guarantee us the money."

"Y/N" He said sternly. "I won't let you go out there and sell yourself for us to survive. I'll find another way. I promise." You looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty, but found none. There was only determination.

You nod in response, feeling reassured for now by his words. "I've got to go out. I'll be back around midnight, okay?" He states. Again, this wasn't uncommon. You worried about him and where he was going but even if you asked he wouldn't have told you. Criminal and immoral are the exact words that he himself would've used to describe his work, he was probably going to go and find some quick and easy job, guaranteed to pay but always carried so many risks. Furlan smiles gently at you as he follows Levi out of the door.

Having had a bath and tidied up a little. You toss and turn in bed for hours, lost in your own thoughts. You knew Levi would keep you safe to an extent, but nothing was guaranteed down here. Even if you didn't end up in a brothel, there was nothing stopping anyone from breaking into the apartment you shared now while the boys were gone, you could he kidnapped, raped and murdered any night, or day for that matter. You shudder at the thought. You wanted as much of your life to be in your own hands and control as possible. It wasn't like you wanted to stay a virgin forever, while still being young, you were old by the standards of the underground, which made you laugh. You wanted your first time to be something you choose, not something taken from you. You had desires and thoughts late at night like this when you were alone. Always of your stoic companion. You weren't sure when your feelings towards him became romantic, but it frightened you. He was difficult to read, but you were sure that there could be something there. And if there wasn't? Well, you were sure you could convince yourself that you would be satisfied to just be by his side in whatever capacity the universe will allow. Maybe you would be fortunate enough to be born as a princess in the next life, and he would be your Prince charming. You roll your eyes and laugh at the thought. A girl could dream, and your fantasy of prince's, pretty dresses and castles, however impossible it was did help you to fall asleep for a few hours before you were abruptly awoken by the sound of Levi and Furlan returning. You could recognise the sound of Furlans footsteps retiring to his small room at the end of the corridor. It sounded like Levi was still in the living room. You sit up in bed and light a candle.

Levi walks over to your door, having noticed the light emitting from beneath. A heavy sigh escapes him, his eyes carrying a look of exhaustion. As he knocks on your door just once, his voice is soft.

"Can I come in?"

You respond with a sleepy yes, and Levi pauses for a moment before he comes into the room. His eyes shift to your bed, and he realizes that you're only wearing a tank top and underwear. He doesn't let his eyes roam over you for more than a second, trying to focus on something else in the room before speaking up, sounding worried:

"Are you alright? Why aren't you sleeping?"

You smile. "I was, and I wasn't, I fell asleep not long ago, but I heard you come home. Is everything okay?" You ask him concerned.

Levi nods as he sits down on the edge of your bed.

"Yeah, everything is fine. Sorry if I woke you up. You should get back to sleep." He smiles softly, something only you and you alone are ever lucky enough to see. You gently tug his arm. "Stay, just for a little longer." A blush creeping across your cheeks. This was a bold move for you. Maybe you were still slightly delirious from having just woken up.

Levi looks down at your hand as it lays on his arm. A slight blush creeps up on his cheeks as he looks up at you again. Your messy hair, dreary eyes, and smile are just too cute. He doesn't know what he would do without you. He hates that he can't find a way to get you all out of this cesspit. You're like the moon that continues to shine on the darkest night. He's already resided himself to do anything to keep you safe and by his side. He feels guilty that this sight of you is making his cock twitch. The years have been kind to you and you're such a beautiful young woman now, each and every night his hand is tightly gripped around his cock at the thought of you. Seeing you like this, the covers barely covering your panties and your nipples visible through your tank top is all the more fuel for his desires. But he knows how it is for girls down here, he saw what life was like for his mother, he sees it daily in the streets. He would never dream of treating you with anything but the respect you deserve. Not only that, but the thought of jeopardising the relationship that you have now should he tell you how he feels, loosing you would really plummet his life into eternal darkness.

He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I guess I can stay for a little bit." He says softly. "Since you're such a brat if you don't get your own way." He teases.

You pout playfully at him, he chuckles as he shifts a bit closer to you, now sitting next to you with his arm around your shoulder, you nestle into his chest. A slight blush appears on his cheeks, which he immediately hides by turning his face away from you. "You're not still worrying about the money, are you? Is that why you're acting so needy?." He asks quietly

You shake your head. "Not anymore, I know it won't come to that." He nods, relieved that it isn't worrying you any longer. He's pulled from his thoughts when you speak up again. "I'm grateful. I know what I want for myself. And it's thanks to you that I'm able to make my own choices." You lift your head to meet his gaze, your face painted with a furious blush. "I'm ready to make my own choices."

Levi chuckles. "Well, you're spoilt for choice if that's the case." He says, trying to ignore the pang of jealously he can feel in the pit of his stomach.

You shake your head  "That's not what I mean, Vi." You nervously bring your palm to his cheek. "I want to be with someone I trust, someone I love."

Levi stares at you. Blushing slightly at your words. You have grown into a young woman who's a lot braver than he gives you credit for. A small smile forms on his face, but he's still hesitant to say all the things he wants to.

Levi tries to keep his usual cool exterior "A-Are...Are you saying what I think you're saying right now?"

You nod nervously. Averting your gaze, you have said enough for someone as intuitive as Levi to piece together. The seconds seem to last forever, but he finally gives you his response with a soft and gentle tone:

"I... I want that, too."

[brainddeadd]

With Quinn

•Acting mad but letting them get their way. (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Maybe a book store or target trip and Y/N really wants something and is excitedly talking about it but ends up putting it back on the shelf and walks away. Quinn even though he “looks annoyed” he has a smirk on his face and puts it in the cart without y/n noticing?

You were practically bouncing on your toes as you walked through Target with Quinn. Your hand lightly brushed against his from time to time, though he kept his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But you knew better. He always acted like that — as if every Target run was the worst thing in the world.

You wandered into the home decor aisle, eyes lighting up when you spotted an adorable fall-themed candle. "Oh my god, Quinn! Look at this!" you exclaimed, holding it up to him like it was treasure.

He gave it a quick, disinterested glance, his expression unreadable. "Cool," he mumbled, rocking back on his heels, trying to look bored.

But you weren't deterred. You twisted the lid off and leaned toward him, offering a sniff. "It smells amazing! Like cinnamon and cozy vibes." You beamed at him, hoping for even a spark of shared excitement.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, taking a slow, deliberate sniff before shrugging. "Smells like every other candle," he said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

You rolled your eyes playfully but kept chatting about where you’d place it and how perfect it would look on your coffee table. After a few minutes, though, you sighed. "Eh, maybe I don’t need it," you said quietly, reluctantly putting the candle back on the shelf. "We’re trying to be good about spending, right?"

You turned to walk away, mumbling to yourself about how it wasn’t a big deal anyway. Quinn watched you with a smirk tugging at his lips, waiting until you were distracted by another aisle. Then, with a slow shake of his head — as if to say, how does she do this to me? — he grabbed the candle and tossed it into the cart, still pretending to be annoyed.

When you circled back toward him later, you noticed the sly look on his face but didn’t think much of it. Quinn, as usual, was playing it cool. He strolled beside you as if he hadn’t just given in to your unintentional charm.

It wasn’t until you got home and started unpacking that you saw it — the very same candle, tucked neatly into a Target bag.

"Quinn!" you exclaimed, holding it up, grinning from ear to ear. "You did get it!"

He leaned back on the couch, arms behind his head, a cocky little smirk spreading across his face. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

You walked over, beaming, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "You’re the best."

He grumbled, though you could see the flush creeping up his neck. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered again, feigning irritation. But the small smile he wore said it all: You always managed to win, and he didn’t mind one bit.

[thezeninclan]

home to her | nanami kento x reader

kento swallows hard, and when he meets your gaze from across the kotatsu you can see that he looks as though he desperately desires to say something, but is trying hard to force it down. your brows furrow, the heat rising to his face having nothing to do with the warmth of the heater, and your hand lays upon the gift he had pushed across the table towards you. it wasn’t your birthday, wasn’t your anniversary, so the gift had come as a great surprise, despite the practiced nonchalance kento had shown when he whisked it from his satchel and laid it upon the table.

“a gift?” you asked, cheeks flushed with happiness. 

it wasn’t unusual for kento to return home at random with gifts for you, a bouquet of fresh cut lilies, a brand new journal, a sweet smelling candle. but you could tell from the way he presented it that this was something different, something new.  

your chest felt heavy and full, your body so light that for a moment you feared you might simply fly away, if it wasn’t for the wrapped parcel keeping you tethered. nanami nodded tersely, watching as you fingered the navy ribbon as your hands worked at the wrapped paper. 

you startled as the box came into view, the familiar hinged style telling you at once it was jewelry. 

you bit the bottom of your lip, hands nearly shaking as you opened the jewelry box and came face to face with what lay inside. it was a hammered chain-linked necklace, thin and fine, the color silvery-gold, so bright that it nearly glittered in the soft lamp light of the shared living room. your fingertips paused on their exploratory journey across the metal, feeling the heat of his gaze on the top of your head, and you looked up at him. “it’s beautiful.” you breathed, in awe and delight. he looks away from you, a splatter of pink painted across his cheeks that made him look unbearably endearing. but still he said nothing, looking down at his feet and frowning deeply enough to accentuates the sunken lines on his cheeks. 

you frowned, pushing yourself across the tatami to sit at his side. he had given you a gift, surely this must be a pleasant occasion— so why did he look so pained? 

you folded your legs neatly beneath you and placed your hand gently against his firm thigh in a silent gesture of affirmation, finally making him lift his head. kento sighed, long and deep, before lifting an arm and wrapping it around your shoulders, squeezing you against his side. you felt so at ease, so at peace— with your arms around his waist, his warm body pressed against yours, a big hand hand coming to rest upon the top of your head so he could gently stroke at your hair. 

“it’s-” he begins and you turn to look up at him through those big bright eyes he loves so much. he gestures to himself, his long fingers pressing to his blue striped shirt. you wanted them pressing against you. “to me it means...” he trails off again. it’s unusual to see him so at a loss for words, so completely out of his depth, and it just makes you cling to him further. “if you put it on then you shouldn’t...well, what I mean is that you shouldn’t—” 

you realize in a breath what he’s trying to say, the way his fingers have risen to his chest and pulled the collar of his shirt just slightly apart so that you can see a triangle of his bare chest. from the moment you had set your eyes upon him you had noticed something a miss, something unusual— but you hadn’t been able to place it until this moment, until you had caught sight of his naked throat. the chain he usually wore was gone, disappeared from its usual place resting upon his chest to reappear at your fingers. in the time you had known him he had never been without the golden necklace. when he slept he wore nothing but a pair of soft sleep pants and the golden chain, when he bathed or swam at the heated pool at the gym he did not remove it. even when he worked, he wore the chain beneath the lapels of his dark blue long sleeve. you knew how much it meant to him, so to see him without it, to see him gift it to you.    

“I won’t take it off.” you said, interrupting him gently by placing a hand on his. 

you entwined your fingers with his, feeling the calluses and rough skin from so many years of hard work. his eyes were firm as they met yours, unwavering, and yet there was a softness there that made you continue. 

“It means the same thing to me.” you promised, hoping your eyes spoke the words you mouth couldn’t. you knew the weight of the gesture, knew what it meant to him to have gifted that collar to you. “I won’t take it off, kento.” he loved the way you said his name, like a prayer, like a song, whose words only you knew.

the chain felt cool upon your skin as he laid it around your throat, fingers tickling the back of your neck as he did up the clasp. it felt heavy, solid, the same comfort as a weighted blanket orr a warm cup of tea on an icy day. his fingers lingered, sliding down the curve of your spine to the small of your back, the heat of his skin making you shiver. a hand rose to your neck, resting over the golden chain, the other cupping his cheek. your thumb brushed across his bottom lip, the preamble to a kiss that made a frisson of warmth burst through your body. 

“I love you.” you whispered back, kissing kissing kissing him. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” he whispered, and you knew he meant it, the intensity of his voice, the closeness of his lips against yours, the way he cradled your body against him, like you were something precious, something cherished.

also posted on ao3