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portraitofalinkonfyre · 1 month ago

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Burning Love

Chapter 8

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It was a beautiful morning.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as Four snoozed beside you. One of his legs had managed to hook over yours during the night, pulling you impossibly closer, but you couldn't have cared less.

It was rare that things went your way in life, which was probably why the moment felt like a dream come true. Your thoughts kept circling back to the moment he admitted his love for you, and it took everything in you not to squeal like a child.

He loved you, and, well, you found that you loved him too. It had seemed impossible, considering the circumstances, but there was no way in hell you were going to complain now.

"Mmm..." a sleepy groan left Four's mouth, and his hand tightened around your shoulder, as if he was testing whether you were real or not. Earthy green eyes blinked open, and you couldn't deny the rush of heat shooting down your spine when his first instinct was to smile up at you. "Morning."

"Morning," you echoed, shifting slightly to test the wound on your side. When only the dullest of aches could be felt, you grinned. "I think I'm on the mend."

"Yeah?" He hummed. "I'm glad."

"So am I," you thought back to a certain one of his admissions last night. "Someone's gotta figure out what's going on with you."

You felt Four's grimace before you saw it. "...Right."

"Sooo," you dragged the word on as long as you could. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess first?"

There was silence; a long, embarrassed silence that did nothing but intrigue you further.

"...How much do you know about the Minish race?" He asked, still half-hiding in your neck.

You blinked, unable to comprehend why he kept bringing it up; you weren't going to judge him. "I– well, they're mice-like creatures that only good children can see, right?"

"Er, not mice, but the rest is true," he sighed and you resisted the urge to pat yourself on the back. "They're... known for having strange reactions to emotions, specifically...."

"Love?" you finished, brain swirling with vague ideas of where this was going.

"That's one of them," Hylia, he sounded so nervous that your heart couldn't help but ache. "When a Minish loves, it's... it's not something that can be defined so easily. They're driven to do anything for their love, even if it means hurting themselves or others."

"You're not going to hurt me," you whispered, only to be met by a huff.

"That's what I said."

"Oh," you had no idea how to respond to that, so you pressed forward. "Is that what happened... you know?"

"Yes," Four answered, and, for a moment, you could have sworn his hands tightened like claws against your arm. "It's called a... rut."

You froze, a tidal wave of deja-vu washing over you at the use of the term. "That's– like a wolf?"

Four cringed against your neck, and you immediately regretted your previous choice of words. "Well, yes, but that's a... crude description of it," just as you blurted: "Oh my Hylia, I am so sorry."

A spark of electricity skittered down your spine at the gentle press of his lips against the base of your neck. "It's fine, I know you're new to this."

"Yeah..." you trailed off, still feeling bad about the accidentally racist comment. "But that doesn't excuse it."

"Don't worry about it," he murmured. "It sounds embarrassing, but it's still a part of my past."

You nodded, albeit sheepishly, and gathered your remaining strength to finish the blasted conversation: "What does that mean, then?"

"Pardon?"

"You said it was... like a wolf," Hylia, why did it sound so wrong to say? "Does that mean...?"

There was silence as a shudder seemed to pass through Four's body.

"Four."

"...Yes."

You fell silent as the pieces began to form; the fever had only been a precursor to the change, and nearly a week had passed since symptoms first began to show, which meant he had been battling this alone for nearly that long.

"I'm so sorry," you breathed. The hand on your shoulder pulled back, and Four sat up in all his mussed-hair glory, expression slightly panicked, a noticeable waver in his tone when he spoke next.

"Don't apologize, I was the one who lied."

You shook your head, sitting up despite the leftover soreness. "I could have helped."

It was as if time had stopped. Four stared at you with more concentration than a starving man at a feast, and you felt a shiver of heat pool in your abdomen... until his expression shifted to one of hard resolve. "You know I can't–"

"Why not?" You countered swiftly before laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're not alone, Four, so tell me what I need to do."

But Four maintained his shell-shocked gaze, seeming to become more panicked at your admission. "You're injured–"

"Then get a healing potion," you challenged. "And don't you dare make excuses; we're fixing this. Now."

Four didn't know whether to kiss you or run away. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to take you then and there, while the cacophony of voices in his brain yelled that he was mad if he was truly considering doing something so reckless to you while you were recovering from a wound he failed to protect you from.

He made his decision when you leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips, quickly cupping your face to pull you in for another. Your hands found his shoulders, kneading lightly at the strong flesh in a way that made him want to pin you down and show you just how much he loved you.

But that was dangerous. A rut was not to be trifled with, and he would sooner die than push you into anything you weren't comfortable with.

"Four," your voice, now deliciously breathy, called as you shifted closer, nearly chest to chest with him. His hands ached to feel your skin beneath them, stroking and teasing and making you scream–

You arched into him as the kiss deepened, followed by a lightly-pained whimper that had alarm bells dinging inside his head.

"Wait," Four mumbled against your lips and you paused, eyes widening slightly. "If we're– you need a potion."

"Okay," you responded with a smile, watching as he stumbled off the bed to the door. Four pushed the heavy wood open, scanning the hallway for any signs of the others, only relaxing when there was none to be found. He was about to dart over to Hyrule's room when his foot nudged something on the floor.

It was a health potion, conveniently placed next to the frame. Too convenient, Four realized when he picked it up, noticing the note tied to the neck of the glass, which read a scrawled rendition of what he could only guess were the words 'have fun'.

"Four? What's that?" You called from behind him, and Four quickly tore the note off, allowing it to fall to the ground as he retreated into the refuge that was your room. Your eyebrows flew up as soon as you registered what he was holding. "...Is that a potion?"

"It was outside," Four didn't bother hiding how he had come across the item, uncorking it and handing it to you. You downed the liquid like a champ, grimacing cutely at the taste. He took the empty bottle and set it on the nightstand before climbing back onto bed.

As soon as his knees touched the fabric, your hands were on him again, movements far steadier than they'd been before. Four leaned into your touch as you pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, then both cheeks, and finished off on the tip of his nose. You drew back, eyes studying his face with a calculated gleam that he couldn't wait to ruin. "How do we do this?"

"Like before," Four murmured, and your lips were on his again, an arm wrapping around his back while the other tangled in his unconfined hair. The air around the two of you felt as if it had ignited, setting his body ablaze as he kissed you.

Four could have stayed like this forever, until your gentle hands coaxed him into your lap, and he became painfully aware of the true scope of the predicament. Your abdomen pressed firmly against his arousal, and he could only whimper as more heat pooled in his pelvis.

You swallowed the noises with ease, fingers digging gently into the flesh of his thighs as you arched experimentally against him. A thick moan spilled into the kiss, and your grip tightened minutely as you broke apart, panting softly.

"Is that good?" you asked softly, and he nodded, feeling slightly sheepish, though it didn't last long when his hands flew to your shoulders, hips lightly rolling against your stomach. Four leaned forward to kiss the front of your neck, lips brushing your bobbing throat with as much tenderness as he could muster. You sighed breathily and pulled his hips closer.

"I'm not made of glass," you murmured, nipping the outer lobe of his long ear, and Four couldn't have been more in love. "So don't treat me like I am."

"I know," one of his hands skimmed your side through your tunic, passing directly over the wound. You shivered some, and he made his decision. "But I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," you echoed, and there was something so tender about the way you looked at him; like he was something to be treasured... like he was your treasure. Four felt his throat go dry at the realization, and he became painfully aware of how right Twilight had been. He was going to have to do something real nice for the rancher when this was over. "Now c'mere."

Your fingers dipped under the hem of his tunic with a hushed: "is this okay?" Four nodded helplessly, and you lifted the fabric off of him in one fluid motion, though he felt slightly self-conscious as your eyes roved over his form. His figure had always been a bit of a sore subject, whether it be height or... other attributes, but he couldn't help but feel, well, he felt rather loved at the appreciative sheen in your eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" was the first thing you murmured, and Four tried not to choke at the onslaught of emotion rushing through him.

"Once," he answered, feeling slightly bashful under your reservation-less gaze.

"Shame," Hylia, you were biting your lip. "What do you say we fix that?"

"How... do you propose we go about that?" He asked, knowing full-well what you meant. You grinned, pecking the tip of his nose.

"I have a few ideas."

The hand not glued to his thigh traveled slowly up his side with an almost featherlight touch, ghosting over the toned curve of his chest, and he let out a shaky exhale, shivering as a familiar tightness formed in his lower belly. You grasped him by the roots of his hair, and he could barely just stop the noise that threatened to spill from his lips when your other hand splayed directly over his abdomen, gingerly feeling the tight muscles. "Can I touch you here?"

"Y-Yeah," Four gulped thickly, nearly cutting himself off with a low moan of your name when you lightly cupped the bulge in his pants. Your answering chuckle rang in his ears, tongue darting out to flick the tip of his left ear.

Four swore under his breath as heat shot through his bones, licking hotly in every nook and cranny of his body. Your hand delivered a gentle squeeze to his clothed arousal, and, for a moment, he believed that you could very well have been a goddess sent from above to reward him for his sacrifices, to soothe the aches of all the blood, sweat, and tears he spent protecting his home. "Please," he pleaded, and you took mercy, slipping your hand beneath his waistband to free his throbbing cock, only to wrap your hand around the swollen length.

Four keened at the feeling of your soft, warm hand enveloping him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands shot to wrap around your back, burying his face in your clothed chest while you laughed softly. "Feels good?"

As if you even had to ask, Four thought as you began to pump your hand experimentally. The hand in his hair kept his face firmly nuzzled between the sloping flesh of your breasts, and he wanted nothing more than to taste your bare, salty skin under his tongue. Preferably with your beneath him, calling his true name in a delicious haze of pleasure while he pounded deep into you. His teeth ached to bury themselves in the meat of your shoulder, marking you as his for as long as this lifetime would allow, but he forced himself to focus on the positively sinful motion of your equally sinful hand, muffling his noises in the solid warmth of your sternum. "Please, (Y/n)–"

"It's okay, I've got you," you coaxed lovingly, pulling his head up to connect your lips once more. He was panting by the time you broke apart, a familiar coil tightening in his belly. "That's it," you cooed, and his orgasm hit him like one of Wild's bombs, thick ropes of cum spurting out to coat your hand and his stomach. Four buried his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, wailing against your skin as you stroked him through his high. He felt boneless as the pleasure slowly faded, practically collapsing against your sweet body.

"Hylia..." he breathed, and you laughed airily.

"That good, huh?"

He didn't like how you said that; not because it was offensive or mean, but the clearness of your tone reminded his fading mind that you hadn't received anything in return for your efforts. Four frowned–there was no way in Hyrule he was letting that stand. "We're not done yet."

You blinked owlishly. "We're not?"

"No," Four intoned as he applied pressure to your shoulders, pushing you flat against the bed. You went willingly, staring up at him as he sat– no, perched, on your hips, holding your lower half down with his own. He leaned down, arms coming down to cage your upper half. "Now it's my turn."

You gulped thickly, a sure sign that you knew exactly where this was going, and he felt a rush of pride. Good. He wanted you to want him as he wanted you, to crave him as he craved you, to understand exactly what you had done to him... and to understand exactly how he was going to repay you.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He asked, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses down the slender column of your throat. "I can't think straight around you."

"That's funny," you responded breathlessly, giggling softly when his nose brushed the sensitive flesh. "I could say the same about you."

Four laughed against the base of your neck, delivering a soft nip to your clavicle. You jolted, cheeks flushing pink as you yelped, but you said nothing to refute the action. "Has anyone told you how amazing you are?" He asked, and you grinned.

"Once."

You laughed softly at the tail end of the word, and Four wanted to make you laugh for as long as you would let him.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up far enough to reveal the bandaged expanse of your stomach. A twinge of guilt shot through him, but you seemed to anticipate his reaction quicker than he did. "It doesn't hurt," your hand cupped his cheek. "You gave me a potion, remember?"

He did, but it still felt wrong to–

"Four, I can hear you thinking from here," your voice tore him back to reality. "I'm fine, promise."

Four blinked, stared at the bandages once more, and took a deep breath. He trusted you enough to speak up for yourself, which was exactly what you were doing now, so how could he deny you? "You're right," his hands fiddled with the hem of your shirt, nestled just below your breasts. "Can I?"

You brought him in for a kiss, and it told him all he needed to know. Four brought the tunic up over your head, tossing it on the dresser with a grunt, leaving you in only your bindings and some leggings. He wanted those gone, and soon.

He began by dipping his head down, planting a steady kiss to your sternum, feeling the hard bone and smooth skin beneath his lips. His hands traveled up your sides until they reached your covered breasts, squeezing the mounds of flesh experimentally. You hissed and he swiped his thumbs curiously against your peaked nipples, and his tongue felt heavy at the thought of what else he could make your body do.

"F-Four," your hand tangled in his hair, clenching and unclenching in a way that sent shivers down his spine. "That... That's good."

"I know," he murmured, tongue tracing the small peak of your nipple over the bandages, and your chest shook as you giggled. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you responded, head falling back against the pillows with a soft sigh when his tongue swiped at your breast again, and it was everything he had ever wanted to hear.

Four hummed into the flesh of your breast, fingers tugging at the edges of your bindings. They needed to go. Now. He was just about to apply pressure when you gasped, batting his hands away. "Don't you dare! Do you know how long it took me to tie this?"

A whine that surprised even him slipped past Four's lips, but he dutifully sat back on your hips, hands still poised on your ribcage. "I can–" he began, only to have his hands batted away again.

"Nu uh, butts are for sitting," you sat up, hands reaching back to undo the bandages, and he was suddenly in your lap again, leaking cock bobbing insistently between your bare abdomens. "Don't even try to pretend you weren't going to tear them."

"I wasn't..." he said, like a liar, sitting obediently as you pulled the bindings from your chest, revealing your glorious breasts to his eager gaze.

"Oh, shut up," you cut in, though there was no real heat behind your words, not that he particularly cared when you leaned forward, inadvertently pressing his face directly into your tits. Four's hands immediately shot up to cup the sensitive flesh, relishing in the way your breathing deepened. His mouth watered as images of your breasts, dripping with spit and reddened from the attention he was about to lavish them with. "Ah-- Four."

"Yes?" He asked through a face-full of boob.

"You can... um, use your mouth," you trailed off, averting your eyes with a deepening flush.

Well, since you asked so nicely...

Four dove in with gusto, capturing a hardened nipple in his mouth while his fingers worked slowly against the other nub. You threw your head back with a soft whimper, hands gripping his shoulders tightly, and he took the opportunity to push you back down on the mattress, chest-to-stomach as he suckled on your trembling breast.

"Mmph!" You slung an arm over your eyes, and Four felt himself frown, capturing your wrist and yanking your arm above your head, holding it there. You yelped, but he merely sucked harder, scraping his teeth gently over your pebbled nipple, and a shocked moan left your parted lips. Good; he would be damned if he missed any one of your noises.

"Please," you groaned, the sound traveling straight to his cock. Your nipple slipped from his mouth with a lewd pop, and Four scooted up your body to press your lips together for the nth time. He could only imagine the noises you would make when he was buried deep inside you, and he was hellbent on discovering them.

"What is it?" He asked when you separated, gaze never faltering from your half-lidded one. Your flush darkened, eyes averting sheepishly, and he knew he had struck gold. "You can tell me," he coaxed, toying lightly with your nipple.

You bit your lip, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. "I... I want–"

"Use your words," Four encouraged, partly because he wanted to know what you wanted and partly because he liked seeing you squirm beneath him. He kissed the corner of your mouth, but you turned your head to close the gap once more. When you pulled away, he was pleased to see the look of resolve dawning in your eyes.

"I want you to touch me," you said, and he was more than happy to oblige, sitting up slightly to slide one of his hands over the seam of your leggings, drawing a pleased rumble from the depths of your chest. You sat up on your elbows, face flushed darker than he'd ever seen it. "Can you... my pants?"

Right. Pants. Four looked down and realized you weren't the only overdressed one here. Wobbling slightly, he slid to the side, shucking off his pants and undergarments before shifting back to start with yours.

"May I?"

Your nod was firm, and he quickly dragged the offending garments down your thighs and off of your legs, revealing your glistening sex to his awestruck gaze. Four tossed the material in the same general direction as his own clothes before focusing every ounce of his attention on you.

You were gorgeous; down to the gentle slopes of your calves, the quivering flesh of your thighs, the toned muscles of your stomach, and the heaving curves of your breasts, all just begging to be marked by him. Four could hardly contain himself as he scrambled back over you, the head of his cock poking insistently against your abdomen due to the height difference.

Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him down for a sweet kiss as your chests pressed together, heartbeat to heartbeat. He could have stayed like that for an eternity, cuddled against you like he belonged there.

"So," your voice broke him from his stupor, a mischievous glint in your perfect eyes. "What now?"

"Now," he reached down to slide his fingers against the soaked lips of your cunt, the pad of his thumb catching deliciously against your swollen clit. He could feel the warm, sticky heat of your arousal and it was driving him wild. You shuddered, and he ducked his head down to deliver a playful lick to your quivering stomach. "We find out what you like."

"O-Only if you let me do the same to you," you shot back in a noticeably shaky voice, tossing your head back to moan lowly when his teeth nipped your right breast hard enough to leave a small mark.

"Tell me what you want," Four echoed his past self, watching your every expression as his fingers delved into the searing depths of your cunt.

"Touch me?" you pleaded, and he did just that, capturing a bouncing teat in his mouth and sucking with enough force to have you mewling. His cock was rock-hard, glistening pearls of pre leaking down the weeping tip, but he forced himself to fight the raging instincts swirling inside him. There would be time for him later, when you had gotten more than enough of your share for everything you had done for him.

Four slid his fingers free of your velvety walls, bringing them to his mouth. He slowly licked the appendages clean, savoring the flavor of you as he maintained eye contact, relishing in the way your eyes went completely wide as you watched the spectacle. You tasted warm and sticky, like water on a dehydrated man's tongue, and Hylia knew Four was completely and utterly dehydrated for you. It was only when your eyes darkened and you whispered "do that again," in a vaguely commanding tone did he chuckle, licking a stripe up his pointer finger before they dipped back down to reacquaint with your dripping sex.

Four's heart fluttered when your cunt tightened around him, curling his fingers experimentally against your gummy walls. He had never done this before, but the other blacksmiths he worked with had been rather transparent with their encounters--a fact he was coming to appreciate more and more as the minutes ticked by. "Good?"

"You have no idea," you sighed. Four grinned, pressing deeper within you. He crooked his fingers again, brushing a vaguely spongy spot within you, and you jerked like you'd been electrocuted, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle what he was sure would have been a moan loud enough to wake half the inn. He repeated the motion, chuckling when your body shook again, cunt slicker than ever.

"How do you feel?" He asked in a half-joking tone, rubbing tender circles on your puffy clit.

"G-Good," you ground out, hands fisting the sheets. Pride blossomed in his chest at the desperate lit in your voice. "Four, I'm going to–... ah, if you keep this up–"

"You're so pretty," he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, taking the rounded lobe between his teeth, and the moan you let out was positively sinful.

"S-Stop talking," you panted, and he could have laughed if the look on your face wasn't so memorable. He crooked his fingers again, drinking in the keen that left you. You were close, he knew, and he was determined to give you as much as you had given him.

"I'm not lying," Four murmured, releasing your ear in favor of dipping down to suckle tender hickeys at your collarbone. "And I don't plan on stopping anytime soon."

"Shit," you swore, and the curse had never sounded better from your lips. He could feel his dick throbbing harder and harder, positively aching to bury itself within your warm, tight walls, but he steeled himself. "D-Don't stop, please."

Four chuckled, curling his fingers rather harshly against the spot from before while his thumb practically tenderized your poor clit. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Your cunt clenched down on him in rolling waves as you cried out, hips nearly arching off the bed if he hadn't pushed them down, forcing you to accept every ounce of pleasure he had to give. You thrashed in his hold, thighs shaking and head falling back against the pillows as your climax raged through every nerve in your body, so brightly blinding that you could hardly focus on anything but the feeling of his nimble fingers working you through your high. Only when your moans began to pitch into the realm of overstimulation did he stop, pulling away from your cunt with a lewd shlipp sound.

Four brought his fingers to his mouth again, licking them clean with a smug expression. You tasted almost as good as you felt, and he was sorely tempted to get a taste from the source, but the impatient throbbing of his leaking cock forced him to reconsider. Leaning forward, he cupped your sweat-streaked cheeks as you panted for breath. "Can you go again?"

Your eyes cracked open, peering at him through your lash line, and Four couldn't help but swoon at your disheveled gaze. "...Wha?"

"Do you want to keep going?" He rephrased, hoping to Hylia you said agreed.

Your eyelids slid shut, and he was about to call the whole thing off until your voice broke through the fog. "Y-Yeah, just... I need a moment."

"Take your time," Four murmured gently, settling flush against your body with his head resting snugly against your sternum, relishing in the small giggle that left you. One of your hands began caressing his hair, a rumble of satisfaction rattling within him.

"How are you feeling?" You asked after a comfortable silence had passed, and he could have kissed you right then and there.

"Great," he replied. "You?"

"More than that," thank Hylia, he thought. "...Have I told you I loved you yet?"

Four shot up in a flash, staring down at your face, wearing an expression that was too genuine to fake. A wave of heat shot through him, and he was almost positive the grin splitting his face was borderline embarrassing.

"I love you," you continued, and Four nearly choked at the onslaught of emotions rushing through him.

"I–" his mind felt fuzzy, like it was filled with love-soaked cotton. Every nerve in his body was screaming for him to kiss you, so he did. You returned it with a passion he thought only existed in children's stories, only breaking apart when your lungs burned from lack of air. "I love you too."

You cupped his cheek, kiss-swollen lips upturned in a blinding smile, and Four was sure he had ascended to the heavens, because there was no way the goddesses were this kind. "How do you want to do this?" you whispered, pressing featherlight kisses to his jawline.

Four's mind stuttered, but his mouth was already moving. "H-However you want."

"Then lay on your back," you purred, and it was quite possibly the sexiest thing he'd heard in his life. Four did as he was told, rolling off of you and landing on the unoccupied side of the mattress with a soft thump, sticky beads of pre dripping down his length.

Without missing a beat, you clamored atop him, straddling his hips as your hands planted themselves on his bare chest. Four's hands rested on your trim sides, just above the generous swell of your hips, groaning as your burning center pinned his cock against his body.

You bent down, hands still on his chest, and pressed your lips to his. Four moaned into the kiss when your core rubbed deliciously against his dick, sending shockwaves of pleasure down to pool in his pelvis. He was so hard it nearly hurt. "Are you ready?" you asked as soon as you separated, and he could only nod helplessly, watching with wide, awestruck eyes as you guided the head of his arousal to the drooling lips of your pussy, giving him one last grin before you sank down.

The two of you groaned in tandem as you took him inch by glorious inch, until your hips connected with a lewd smack. "Link," you whimpered, and he was convinced he had died and gone to heaven. "Y-You feel so good."

It took everything in him not to roll you over and show you just how good he could make you feel, so Four gave a pleasured groan and reached up to fondle your breasts. You wiggled and panted, sending searing bolts of heat straight to his dick.

"A-Are you alright?" The smithy whispered, fearing you had hurt yourself.

"I-I'm fine," you responded breathlessly, wiggling a few more times. Four watched in awe as you raised your hips, using your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself, and slammed back down with enough force to knock the wind from him. He squirmed beneath you as you repeated the motion, drawing moans from both your throats. The cycle continued as you kept pace, rising and falling with more conviction than the sun itself, with Four gripping the meat of your thighs, mouth spewing frantic encouragement as you practically pounded him to the bed.

The air was filled with heavy slapping noises, broken, off-kilter moans, and heavy panting, but Four couldn't have cared less as he coaxed you to continue riding him. Only when you moaned, long and loud as his cock grazed your sweet spot, and your scent practically doubled, did Four act.

You yelped when abruptly he sat up, grabbing your wrists with one hand and using the other to flip you, somehow managing to keep his cock buried deep inside you as he forced you, face down and ass up, on the mattress. "H-Hey--" only to be cut off when he pulled out and slammed back in, knocking the words from your mouth.

You screamed a broken rendition of Four's true name as he rutted you like an animal, balls slapping against your oversensitive clit with such ferocity that you nearly came right then and there. "You have no fucking idea, do you?" Four's voice snarled in your ear, but there was something dark embedded in his tone that had you crying out.

A shrill wail left you when his muscled front pressed firmly against your back, his hand ducking beneath your hips to rub deft circles on your overstimulated clit, while the other wriggled under your body to deliver a hearty squeeze to your right breast. The coil in your belly tightened unimaginably... until it broke and you gushed all over him like a tidal wave.

Four growled, slamming his hips to yours with a drawn-out groan. His dick throbbed, and ropes of hot seed spurted into your clenching core, all but coating your walls with his essence. He rocked into you for a few seconds, exhausted out of his mind, and caught your hips when they began to sway.

A short whimper left you when he slowly pulled out of you, a large dollop of cum blurting from your abused cunt, gathering your spent body into his arms. Four brought you to the head of the bed, tucking you under the once rumpled blankets as black spots danced in the corners of his vision, settling beside you with a contented sigh. You made a noise and immediately wrapped your arms around him, cuddling him to your chest like a teddy bear.

For a long while, neither of you said anything, basking in the comfortable silence.

"...I can't believe you didn't tell me," your tired voice filtered through the room.

"I can't believe you didn't run away screaming," he shot back, voice reverberating against your sternum, and the soft smack you delivered to the back of his head was so worth it.

"Idiot," maybe so, but he was your idiot. "I was in a war, remember? You can't scare me."

"That's what you think," said Four, adjusting his head slightly to better hear the steady beat of your heart. He had already been laid bare beneath you, both physically and emotionally, so what was the harm in another one of his secrets coming to life?

"...Four."

"Yes?"

"Please tell me you're not four remlits in a Hylian body."

Four blinked, temporarily detaching from your skin to process the absurdity of that particular statement. "...Excuse me?"

You coughed and held him tighter. "I had to make sure, it's really hard to tell when Time's making stuff up or not–"

"Time said that?!"

"It's not a big deal," you deflected, sounding far too nonchalant for someone who had been pounded less than five minutes ago. "So, are you going to tell me or do I have to answer three of four riddles correctly?"

"I can't believe you just said that," he interrupted with a deadpan, and your wide grin only made it marginally better.

"Thanks, neither can I."

"...I'm going to bed," said Four, settling back against your chest, quietly pondering how in Hyrule he had managed to survive thus far without you. Sweet, wonderful, devilish you, who had captivated him since day one. "Sleep well, my love."

"Only if you do too, honey bunch," you teased back, giggle-yelping when he pinched a nipple in retribution. "Listen here, you little s–"

"Can't hear you when I'm asleep," Four responded in a sing-song tone, snuggling closer with a relaxed sigh.

THE SMUT IS HERE!!! You'll all be pleased to know that this isn't the end of this saga, so stay tuned for more!

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #the chain x reader #link x reader smut #lu x reader #lu four x reader #loz smut #mating cycles/in heat

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g3l3mb · 2 years ago

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how to generate creative ideas:

(i need to get this out of my brain)

Make moodboards, playlists, keep a list of people who inspire you. Before starting a project think about the general vibe you want it to embody. Ask questions like “What would this concept sound like if it was a song?” ,“What would this concept be like if it was a person?”. Create a shirt that looks like a building you like, literally anything can be combined.

Take unrelated things or concepts and mix them together. Let’s take Addams Family as an example. “What if it was a story about a typical suburban family…but GOTH!”. It basically flips everything upside down. Or “What outfit would someone wear, who’s personality is the mix of the vibes of these two songs?” Random word generators are amazing for this if you don’t know where to start from.

Try making something truly BAD and then add a twist to it. It’s a great way for your brain to let go of expectations and then think outside of the box. But you can also use this to find out what you do not wanna do under any circumstances.

Think without worrying about the limits of what you can do and when it’s time for excecution, find a way around what’s impossible. It births more creativity and adds uniqueness.

Consider what your idea is NOT before considering what it is. Limits are the best way to avoid getting overwhelmed and giving up. Don’t ALWAYS do this though (unless you wanna…), it’s just something to try out when you feel like you’re seeing too many possibilities to the point that they’re contradicting each other. Unless your goal is to make something full of contradictions, you’re a Free Man, do whatever you want.

Keep a list of random ideas you have throughout the day in your notes app or something and then at some point actually review them. Keep what you think is worth exploring and then act on it.

Find out how something works very throughoutly so you know which aspect can be changed to create something new.

Take a concept and break it down into smaller concepts, ideas, questions, key elements and then also break those ideas down etc. This will naturally lead to associations, unique ideas you wouldn’t think of without doing this. I found that this is a great way of coming up with metaphors.

This one is similar to the last two: take a piece of art you really love and try to find out the thought process behind. What’s the story, where did the artist get inspiration from, how did they incorporate those ideas in their work. How did an artist combine their personal interests and knowledge into one big thing. For example: Tolkien was an erudite linguist, so much so that he created entire functional languages in his work, such as Elvish in Lord of the Rings. Hirohiko Araki loves 80’s music so much he named characters in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure after music references. This is why no knowledge is useless knowledge.

Think about the times you’ve been the most creative before. What were the specific circumstances? For me my best ideas always come when I have a strict deadline for something unrelated, like school (which I’m way too willing to sacrifice), or when I’m doing something mindless like walking and listening to music, or playing a game that requires no thinking. Most of the time after 10p.m. This doesn’t mean I can’t “force” myself to be creative (tips above), it just means these are the times ideas come most naturally. For some people this might be being out in nature or experiencing high emotions, maybe having their life on the line idk, to each their own.

You can’t just create. You also need to consume. The more information you absorb, the more possibilities you have with your ideas. So if you’re not feeling that creative, that’s fine, it’s the perfect opportunity to learn something new.

If you don’t already do these things and you’re looking to get more creative my advice is to ACTUALLY TRY THESE OUT. You’ll best understand them in action.

#creative #writing #creative writing #art #artist #creativity #entp #enfp #infp #intp #art tips #writing tips #writing advice #art block #writers block #creative ideas

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ronintales · 7 months ago

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So When I Die. | Gojo Satoru

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, mentions of not eating, and not proofread ;p

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.

Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.

You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?

You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?

When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.

Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.

You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.

For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.

Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).

Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.

You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.

In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.

You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.

You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.

You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.

Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—

Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.

Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.

Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.

You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.

You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.

You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.

You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.

“I’m still in love with you y’know…”

“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.

It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.

“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”

“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.

You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.

After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.

Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.

The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.

Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.

His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.

Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.

The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.

You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.

When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.

Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.

People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?

Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.

When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.

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creepycranberry · 4 months ago

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Same people different circumstances: Pt 2

Pt 1

Warnings: not proofread, baby babble, flying toys, fluff, not proofread

——————————

You and Eddie had fallen into a rhythm, he came over most weeknights for dinner and would sometimes stay over when he accidentally stayed too late.

He would usually sleep on the couch or on the recliner chair in the nursery if Winnie was being particularly fussy. It was nice to have him around again, though the question of what your relationship was hung heavy over the both of you. You ignored it for the most part but late afternoons were spent watching Winnie and Eddie exist together like it was so natural and sometimes, just for a moment, you let yourself believe that nothing had ever happened. This was just how things were, this was the life you got to live.

Eddie had been around plenty of kids, but this was slightly different. Because babies weren’t technically yet kids. Steve’s son was about three months younger than Winnie. He wasn’t talking yet, he said baby babble and that was it.

Winnie had certain words down.

Her new favorite being “no.”

Every opportunity she had to use this new fancy word she took. Whether it was a whine over it being bedtime or a simple answer to a question or a shriek when bath time inevitably came around, no was said. No was said with such vigor that somehow it managed to cancel out the no’s she was told by you and Eddie.

And a no mixed with her now being able to walk was almost impossible to deal with at times.

It was a bath time tantrum that caused a slight emotional breakdown for you.

Eddie had a date tonight, which already put you in a somewhat sour mood, despite the fact that you were the one to suggest it.

You felt bad that he was giving you so much of his life, and while he didn’t mind it was eating away at you. You guys weren’t a couple and you weren’t exactly at a point in life where dating was a priority and you wanted him to be able to have fun and go out. It wasn’t fair that you keep him with you to help take care of your kid.

So he was out with Delia, who he had met at work when she went to get some maintenance done on her car.

You had found her number in his wallet when grabbing some cash to tip a pizza guy the other week and you had encouraged him to call her.

And now both you and your daughter were in a sour mood due to his absence.

She had already all but refused her dinner, but what she did decide to eat was mushed into her shirt so you had told her it was time for a bath And now you were sitting on your bathroom floor while Winnie repeatedly said, “no mommy! No baf!” While she played with her bath toys on the floor.

“Come on, baby, please?”

She shook her head, her signature pout finding its way to her lips as she began to cry in frustration.

“No baf mommy!” She insisted and you sighed.

“What do I have to do to get you to take a bath, Winnie-Bear?” You asked and she huffed.

“No Baf!” She reiterated and you groaned.

“Come on, baby, take a bath and then we can watch Bambi or Eeyore and then Eddie will be here to put you to bed and tuck you in and read you a story.” Winnie shakes her head again, “Winifred Lane you need to take a bath!” You snap and her bottom lip juts out and she begins sniffling.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just need you to-“ you’re interrupted by a Little People Horse figurine hitting you in the eye.

“Mean mommy.” She wails.

You can’t help but cry too.

Throwing was another addition she had discovered recently but she hadn’t quite gotten the concept of aim. It was likely she hadn’t meant I throw it at you, she was just frustrated and didn’t know what to do with it.

And the rational part of you knows that but the shock of it causes you to start crying too, covering your eye.

You simply stand up, trying to hide your misty eyes from Winnie as you walk out of the bathroom, leaving her standing there, wailing.

And That was the moment Eddie just had to walk through the door.

“What’s Wrong? Where’s Winnie?” He asks immediately, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks but you don’t want it. You’re too overwhelmed, you don’t want to be touched or talked to or to hear your baby sobbing from the other room.

So you just point to the bathroom and then walk around him.

When Eddie goes into the bathroom Winnie is red in the face and crying so hard she can barely breathe.

“Aw, sweetheart.” He mumbles, “breaking my heart.”

He sits on the floor by her and holds out his arms, she climbs into his lap and sobs into his chest. He tries to sooth her the best he can, patting her back and humming ‘Winnie Lane is in my ears and in my eyes’

He stands to pace around the small bathroom, continuing to pat her back.

“What’s wrong, girlie?” He asks her.

“Me-mean mommy.” She sobs.

Eddie shakes his head, “she’s not mean, baby, she’s just tired. I think you’re a little tired too.”

The mere suggestion makes her worse, “no daddy! No bed!”

Eddie freezes, “you don’t have to go to bed yet, baby.”

She looks up at him with her red face and dramatic pout and Eddie melts, holding her as close as possible, “and I’m Eddie. Not Daddy. I know they sound similar but they aren’t-“

“No.” She shakes her head, still hiccuping a little but calmed at the knowledge that she’s not yet being sent to bed. She points a chubby finger at his chest, “daddy.”

She says it like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Sweetheart, why are you calling me that?” Eddie smiles.

“Mamá Lena.”

The old Cuban woman must have just assumed. She had always liked Eddie so it made sense he supposed.

“Do you want to color?” He asks her, changing the subject in hopes of distracting her so he can check on you.

She nods and almost throws herself out of his arms.

He sets her up in her high chair with a coloring book and some crayons, helping her pick out a coloring page before quietly heading down the hall to the bedroom.

The lights are off but Eddie can make out the faint outline of the bundle of blankets on the bed, the unmistakable snuffles coming from it make his heart squeeze.

“Sweetheart?” He coos softly to you but you just sniffle again. He sits on the bed, kicking his shoes off before putting his feet on the bed cause he knows it drives you crazy, “come on, can you sit up for me?” He reaches to the nightstand and flicks on the lamp.

You peek your head out of the blanket and he frowns at your tear streaked cheeks and at the one eye that seems redder than the other.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Eddie says softly, wiping away your tears with his thumb and moving your hair out of your face.

“She just got so upset, I just wanted her to take a bath but she was fussing and whining and I snapped at her and she started to cry and she threw a toy at me and it kind of shocked me and I just couldn’t do it and then you got here and I must’ve looked like the worst mom in the world but I just-“

“Hey,” he scooches closer to hold you better and you rest your forehead on his bicep,”you’re a great mom, you just got a little overwhelmed and I wasn’t here to help like normal, it’s okay.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, “why are you back so early?”

Eddies eyes widen and he avoids your gaze, “just got tired.”

“Eddie.”

He sighs, “I hated it. She was great, she was fun to talk to but then I just kept talking about Winnie and I hated leaving the two of you here and disrupting Winnie’s normal and by the end she just told me to go home.”

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, picking at your thumb nail.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I feel like I somehow ruined your date.”

“You did no such thing.” Eddie sighs, “and from what I can tell it’s good that I came home when I did. Apparently all hell breaks loose when I leave for too long.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, allowing yourself to lean into him a little bit more, “we did miss you though.”

“I missed you, too. Let’s get some ice on your eye.”

“It’s fine, Ed's, it's not even that bad.” You shrug, wiping your nose with your sleeve.

“Nope. Just in case.” Eddie stands up and holds your hands to pull you up into a standing position.

You groan but get up and he holds your hand all the way down the hall.

“Mommy!” Winnie’s little arms reach out to you and you pick her up, holding her close.

“Hey, Winnie-girl.”

Eddie walks up to the both of you with a cold pack, inspecting your eye, “she’s got quite the arm. Should sign her up for softball.”

“And let her get a concussion or sprain her ankle? Over my dead body.”

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head, holding the ice pack to your eye. Winnie reaches out to see what he’s got, jumping at the temperature.

“It’s cold, Winnie-bear.” Eddie informs her, using your nickname for her.

The three of you migrate to the couch, Eddie holding Winnie, “she still needs a b-a-t-h.” You sigh.

“Maybe it’ll go smoother with the both of us.” Eddie offers and you shrug.

“Maybe. Hey Winnie? How about that bath, baby?”

Immediately she pouts, looking at Eddie to save her. When he doesn’t do anything she wraps her little arms around his neck and holds on tight, trying to distract him with a cuddle.

“Come on, after your bath I can read you a story and we can cuddle in your chair.” Eddie says and she shakes her head, “well then I guess you don’t want the new story I got you.” He sighs, “oh well. Maybe I can it read it to mommy since you wrong want to-“

“Baf, mommy?” Winnie perks up and you smile.

“Come on baby.”

She lets you give her a bath and dry her off. She picks out her pajamas and then pulls herself up into her chair, looking at Eddie expectantly, “sto-y, daddy?”

You look at Eddie with raised eyebrows, “daddy?”

“Uh, yeah I uh- miss Lena said something I guess. I tried to correct her earlier but she said no and-”

“So long as you stick around I don’t give a damn what she calls you.” You assure him, leaning your head into his shoulder, “that’s all up to her.”

Eddie nods and maintains eye contact with you until Winnie lets out an impatient huff.

“I’m coming, Winnie Lane.” He smiles, swooping her up into his arm and attacking her chubby cheek with little kisses.

You leave so he can put her to bed.

——-

After about a half hour Eddie wanders into your room, eyes slightly droopy. You scorch over to give him room and he flops down on the bed next to you.

“Come here often?” He quips, laying on his side with his head resting on his hand.

You laugh and shake your head, “not at all.”

“Damn. So I just got lucky, huh?”

“I guess so.” You shrug.

“How’s your eye?”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t think it will bruise.”

“That’s good.”

“How was the date other than what you told me?” You inquire and Eddie exhales deeply, leaning back onto your headboard.

“It wasn’t bad. She was fun to talk to, the restaurant was nice. She could just tell that I had missed you and Winnie and she was sweet about it, but she told me that maybe dating wasn’t something I wanted to do right now.” He explains and you nod.

“So I guess you’re done with dating for the moment?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head and you involuntarily pout.

“What do you mean? You said you hated leaving Winnie and that you just needed to-”

“Well I figure if I’m dating Winnie’s mom I’ll get to see her more.” He shrugs, a sly grin overtaking his features.

You pause slightly for a moment, you feel the blush creep into your cheeks and you have to really try not to stutter when you clarify, “Was that an ask out?”

“Depends on whether or not you’d say yes.” Eddie smiles, fiddling with his rings.

“yes.” You say a bit too quickly for you liking, “I mean- yeah, sure.” You think for a second more, “but if it doesn’t work out you have to still be there for Winnie. I would forgive my-“

“I'm not gonna leave you sweetheart. And I would never dream of leaving her.” Eddie reassures you, pulling you closer into him and kissing the top of your head.

He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking, which is that he had spent a year just wishing to have you back. There was no chance he would be letting you go anytime soon, or ever.

You nod and look up at him, wide eyed and smiley.

He looks back at you the same way and leans down, kissing you on the cheek.

You pout a little and Eddie smiles, knowing where Winnie got that habit from, “what?”

“Eddie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you grow a pair and kiss me for real?” You sigh and Eddie laughs.

“Nothing I’d rather do, sweet girl.”

He leans down and brushes your lips with his, you can feel his grin and smell his cologne and shampoo.

You wanted to bathe in that smell, to have it around you all the time.

And Eddie would gladly make sure you could always have right there with you. He would always make sure that he was right there with you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #fanfic #dad!eddie munson

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lightlycareless · 1 year ago

Text

warnings: none.

Naoya didn’t even wait to be officially dismissed before he was rushing—no, flying his way back home.

Always of a common occurrence for him to behave in such way, especially after spending days, if not weeks, away from the Zen’in estate. After a job well done, all that he cared about was relaxing, not having to worry about annoying teammates, complaining civilians, and the endless paperwork that always ensued, and just let the days pass alongside his family.

Those things were enough of a reward for him to actively look forward to the end the day, but after a special something blessed his life, it’s all he ever thought of.

“You’re back home earlier!” you’d chirp as soon as you felt the familiar strong pair of arms encasing you from behind, just short of leaving your bedroom. Due to the circumstances of this abrupt meeting, one could even say you were fated to meet your husband, and honestly? You were not complaining about it, if anything, you were elated to be given this surprise on an already beautiful day.

“I am” he responds, kissing the top of your head before turning you around, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to now kiss your lips once, twice, thri— too many times to count. “I missed my girls far too much, I had to come back.”

You giggle, tip toeing to kiss him back before tightly hugging him.

“Welcome home.” You eventually say. “We missed you too.”

“It was insufferable to be out there away from you” he sighs, taking in your scent and relaxing him.

“I can’t imagine” you respond, knowing that sentiment very well. “But that’s over, and you’re finally home with us…”

“I’m glad I’m home earlier” Naoya admits. “I was going mad if I’m being honest.”

“How’d you manage that? I thought you’d be gone for at least another week...”

“I finished some cases faster, that’s all” Naoya kisses the top of your head. “As I said, it’s impossible for me to keep away from my family—It’s either rush to come back or die.”

“Don’t say that” you pout, and he chuckles.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that” He kisses you once more.

You always hated the days he’d have to leave for work, specifically for longer missions where their end was unforeseeable for the near future.

Because the nature of his career entailed high risks, you’d always keep a close eye on your phone, quick to reach for it whenever getting a notification, hoping it was Naoya contacting you, praying it wasn’t with any bad news.

But you guess you couldn’t complain much—you knew exactly what kind of lifestyle waited for you when marrying him, and as much as you get to dislike certain aspects of his career, you also love him for it. After all, it’s how you met in the first place, and Naoya absolutely loves his job as a sorcerer too, regardless of the… other things he didn’t like.

So, you were going to support him no matter what, as well as admire his accomplishments which had led him to be considered as one of the best sorcerers in the whole country!

And who wouldn’t to have a man like that as their husband?

“… I know” you sigh “Well… I’m glad you’re back sooner! But that means I didn’t prepare anything for your return—have you eaten? Or do you want to take a bath instead first? Oh, you must be so exhausted—” you being to fret, and Naoya can’t help but chuckle.

“While I have to admit that all of those things sound very, very good right now—but” he gives you a smile, before it turns into a pout, shyly looking away. “…I was hoping to see someone first.”

Quickly understanding what he means, you waste no time to smile back before grabbing his hand and lead him down to your shared room, where his beloved ones were eagerly waiting for their father’s return: the twin baby girls you had welcomed less than a year ago.

An unexpecting blessing indeed—and not because the thought of a family hadn’t crossed your minds. That happened just a few weeks into your marriage, if not prior.

But rather, because your dream of having a big family ended up becoming true right from the very start.

“Twins?” Naoya breathed, checking one too many times the monitor in which doctor displayed your ultrasound, as if trying to decipher the image the man so identified as two babies, or discover it was a prank.

“Yes—twins. And I can see the gender too! It looks like they’re going to be—”

“No!” you gasp, tightly closing your eyes as to avoid seeing anything that might give away their sex, not that you could understand what he saw but… “I want it to be a surprise!”

It was refreshing to see you so excited to have two babies instead of one, in contrast of his worrisome response, undoubtedly terrified for the difficulties this situation will bring, as well as the many doubts that quickly arose.

“What are we going to do with two of them?!” Naoya frets once out of the doctor’s office, with you silently agreeing with him. While it might be wonderful to have two little Naoya’s or two little Y/N’s (perhaps one of each, they hoped) the truth is that this would be far more difficult to overcome, both mentally, and specially physically for you…

“I guess we’ll have to love them” you attempt to reassure him, and he quickly succumbs to the warmth of your words.

Thankfully, the pregnancy was one with little to no difficulties, and the two girls, named Naoko and Naomi, were born as healthy and beautiful as any parent could hope, perfect for all the love they had to give.

Naoya’s eagerness is what rushed him to open the door before you could even grip the handle, swiftly sliding it open and quickly glancing form one side of the room to the other in search of his lovely ones, eventually finding them playing besides the futon, on the playmat Naoya bought them (because he’d never allow his babies to touch the cold, rough floor! What kind of father would he be if he allowed that?!) alongside one of their many, countless toys you told him to not buy because it was growing a bit excessive… only for you to comply when their adorable puppy eyes convinced you otherwise.

The girls, Naomi and Naoko, seem to be completely enthralled by the colorful toys before them at first, unaware of their father’s presence.

One of them, Naomi, had a small frown on her face while carefully analyzing the toy in her hand, as if trying to decipher how something so bright and fun, yet stiff could exist.

While the other, Naoko, spent her time crawling from one side of the playmat to the other, trying to get used to the movement, perhaps even itching to stand and finally take a few steps of her own…

A notion that makes you and Naoya sad, for both know that it’ll only be a matter of time before they manage to stand up by themselves, walk, run—

Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving the house as adults, ready to dive into their new life.

Oh, neither wants them to grow… but at the same time, there was an eagerness to see them become into the wonderful, successful women you knew they’d be. Perhaps one of them, if not both, would follow Naoya’s footsteps and become sorcerers themselves! Or maybe, they’d settle for a completely different career, something a bit more… calm, less dangerous, but equally essential.

Either way, you and Naoya were more than ready to support them in whatever endeavor they were to follow… even if it meant that both wouldn’t be able to dote at them as much as they did now.

Well, if they ever get lonely, they were sure they could have more kids, right…? Or who knows? Maybe they’d be fortunate enough to have grandchildren!

“Bngh ah!” one of the babies eventually babbles when catching a glimpse of their father—a noise that once registered by Naoya, makes all his worries disappear and focus instead on the swift way they crawl towards him, chubby hands eagerly attempting to reach him, effectively showing that they missed him as much as he did them.

“Naoko-chan, Naomi-chan!” Naoya face lightens, scooping them as soon as they reached him and wasting no time to give their soft, round chubby cheeks a big kiss. “How are my lovely girls? Did you miss me?”

Naomi, the most talkative of the two, is quick to babble in such a manner that gives the impression she understood what he was saying. He smiles.

“Ah, I missed you too!” And Naoya takes this opportunity to give them another kiss, one that now makes Naomi and Naoko giggle. “It was horrible out there, you know? I couldn’t wait to get home with mama and you—I hope you two were good girls while I was away, hm?”

Naomi coos in response, fully engaged in conversation with her dada, while Naoko simply stares at him, placing her soft hand over his face before grasping a thread of his hair—she was always enthralled by the duality of its color, and it made you believe that when she’s older, she might want to dye her hair too…

“I know you were” he says. You always loved how responsive he was to her nonsensical babbles, it’s almost as if he understood her! Might be the reason why she was so interactive in the first place, because there was always someone playing along to her tune. “You’re my daughters after all!”

Naomi smiles, relishing the compliment, but Naoko only squirms, having gotten bored from his hair and wanting to return to her crawling journey. Her father kisses her one last time before putting her back on the floor, where she was quick to pick up from where she left off… but even then, Naoko doesn’t stray much far from her father, crawling around him instead.

You watch the whole scene with great awe, for your heart had greatly missed these heartwarming moments, your heart finding some relief in seeing your family reunited and safe once again.

A smile parts your lips as you decide to take a seat by the futon, with your husband joining you soon after, all whilst still holding Naomi in his arms.

“What did my girls do today?” he asks, obviously referring to you, but Naomi wins you to it as she starts to babble, making the two chuckle out of amusement.

The baby stops, giving the two a curious look as if wondering what they were laughing at. Naomi didn’t intend her reaction to be as adorable as it turned out to be, but you and Naoya just couldn’t help laughing again—unfortunately this time, her face deepened into a frown.

“Oh, it’s nothing baby” you reassure her while pinching her cheek—a gesture that at first has her further confused, but when she sees the smile on your face and the innocence of your touch, she can’t help but to give you a bright smile as well before continuing with the conversation.

“Ah, really?” Naoya says, stringing along with his daughter. “And did you have fun at the park?”

You blink. Did he just…?

Guess he does understand her after all.

“Ranta told me” Your husband explains, as if sensing the disturbance in your mind, masking you sigh. You had to admit you were a bit worried there, believing that you were miscalculating your skills as a parent… “Scared you, didn’t I?”

“A bit” you chuckle and Naoya just smiles.

Naomi would continue babbling on, occasionally raising her hands to add a dramatic effect to her retelling, which makes your husband’s heart flutter— in that aspect, she definitely takes after you.

“I’m glad you had fun, love” he responds. “Maybe next time I can join you and your sister.”

She nods earnestly, and Naoya’s heart finally burst out his chest.

“That’s it. I’m retiring from work; I’m never leaving the estate” he darkly promises.

“Naoya!” you gasp “You—I mean, you can but you’ll regret it!”

“How could you tell me that, when I have these beautiful babies at home?!” he cries back, and you must agree with him, if it were the other way around you don’t think you’d be able to leave them behind…

“Life is cold out there, void of any love. I’d rather be here with you, and my daughters, and dote on both till I can’t no more.”

You give him a tight smile, feeling nothing but empathy for him and the countless sacrifices he must make because of his career.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Naoya loves his family very, very much, and would go to great lengths to ensure their safety and happiness. And while you spend every single day appreciating him for it, there’s this lingering sensation on the back of your mind that suggests you should do something more for him—something special to demonstrate to him that he’s appreciated for all he’s done for you and your daughters. Because no one knows more about the efforts he’s put both into his career and family, than you.

It wasn’t much, at least compared to what he’s done you suppose (If Naoya heard you, oh, he’d be quick to tell you otherwise—to him, you’ve done nothing but the best.) but you were proud to have made a place where Naoya feels cherished and protected. Where he can be himself, your husband, and not the heir with unrealistic expectations everyone else burdened him with, sometimes even berated.

And you’d do anything in your power to keep it that way, as well for your daughters.

“When is your next holiday?” you ask, now holding Naoko who has been tugging at your sleeve for the past few seconds, growing jealous of Naomi’s position and wanting to be held too. She wanted to get up herself, and almost did so too! However, her legs were still not used to her weight, so she could barely take a step before almost falling, an incident avoided thanks to your quick reflexes.

“Not until next month, I believe” he responds while squeezing Naomi’s cheeks—he always thought that out of the two, the babies looked the most like you. Of course, judging by how easy it was for him to tease their cheeks, a curse you had unknowingly bestowed on your daughters. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing” you smile, shrugging. “Just something I was wondering…”

Naoya smiles, because after years and years of knowing you, he rightfully assumes you’re planning something—and surprises from you are always well received, so he lets the topic die soon after.

He sighs.

“I’m tired” he says, laying back on the futon and placing Naomi over his chest. Once she’s comfortable, he rests his hand over her back, caressing her softly.

“How was work, outside of exhausting?” you ask, trying to hold Naoko in place for she’d begun to squirm yet again, this time from seeing her sister comfortably laying over their dad. Victim to her adorableness, you quickly succumb to her desires and carefully place her over Naoya’s chest, who quickly accommodates her under his embrace without complaint.

“Awful” Naoya admits. “Everyone always has something to say, something to suggest, but of course, no one ever cares to do what needs to be done. And it forces me to step in and do their job along mine!”

“Bah!” Naomi exclaims, a frown on her face as she tightly clutches his chest, seemingly annoyed by the mistreatment of her father. Naoya laughs.

“I know! Sometimes it feels like I’m the only capable one there” he adds “I’m glad you don’t think the same, it’s hard to always be right, isn’t?”

You giggle.

“Only you understand me, Naomi” he sighs.

“Nah!” It’s Naoko’s time to retort, Naoya raises his eyebrows.

“And you too, of course! How could I forget?” Naoya is quick to apologize, hugging them closer to him. “There’s no one else that understands me better than the two of you, and mama of course. My closest confidants…”

“You don’t need to say that Naoya. I won’t get jealous, you know?” you murmur. “Although… I wouldn’t mind getting some of the attention… I’ve been a good girl too.”

Your husband immediately smirks, knowing very well what you mean by that implication, and honestly? It’s something he’s thought of, constantly, every time he’s away. And it’s the bare minimum he could do for you, after all, worship you as the goddess you are to him.

“I’ll give you all the attention you want soon enough—You’re my favorite girl, after all.” He promises with a wink, and you blush, his words filling you with anticipation.

“Don’t say that in front of the kids…” you murmur, beyond flustered at this point, which makes him chuckle.

“What? It’s not like they don’t know how much I love you” he responds, and you just keep getting warmer. “I love you.”

“I know.” you whisper. “I love you too.”

He smiles.

“I’ll have all day and the day after tomorrow off.” he reveals. “So, for the next few hours, I’m all yours.”

“Really?” you gasp, excitement twinkling in your eyes. This was such wonderful news, exactly what you wanted to happen! “There’s actually so many things I’d like to do.”

“Sure, go ahead” Naoya says, leaning further into the pillow as the weight of his two baby girls resting of his chest beings to soothe him. “What do you have in mind for tomorrow…?”

“Well, I was hoping we could go down to the village” you begin. “I was told by the staff that a market has been set up and I was hoping to check it out. Now that you’re here, I think we can buy some new clothes for our dumplings, hopefully some cute onesies for the upcoming cold weather—Ah, I can’t believe they’re already growing out of their clothes! I don’t want them to grow anymore…”

“Hmm, I know…” he admits with a murmur before sighing. “I’d like to get my hands on some street food for a change too…”

“That’s easy to arrange!” you say with a big grin, already envisioning the great day you’d have with your family. “Haruko-chan told me that a lot of food vendors set up so, you’re going to have many options to choose from! If not, she can always prepare something. Oh, and talking about food… Would you like me to get you something to eat? And maybe afterwards you’d like a bath?—You must be starving, and tired too.”

“Mmhmm…”

“I’ll prepare you both, then” you declare. “I just have to know what you want to eat, if there’s something you’d like in specific, or do you leave that choice to me?”

“Anything… really…” he yawns. “I don’t mind. I’m just… hungry…”

“Are you sure…? You just came back home and I wanted to do something special for you.”

“su…r….”

…

“Naoya…?” You ask.

…

Silence.

“Naoya?” you ask once more, noting that silence between the two only grew. “Naoya”

Too focused on the day you were planning, you failed to acknowledge the way his eyes slowly began to blink, his breath deepening, and his words becoming slurry… until he was finally, asleep.

But perhaps what moved you the most was how your adorable twins were quick to mimic him, resting their faces against his chest as they began to lightly snore.

It was always a feat to get the twins to fall asleep, sometimes an impossible challenge, but when it came to Naoya, it was nothing but a piece of cake—he just had hold them against his chest before they began to relax, slowly drifting away before inevitably succumbing to slumber.

In your defense, there was something comforting about his arms that even you fell victim to them. You’re not even sure if he’s aware of that, or perhaps he is and abuses that hidden power? Either way, you were glad that just as you were able to find peace in his hold, your daughters too. And of course, they would, he’s their father who loves them very, very much.

A smile parts your lips as you glance at the lovely image one last time before deciding to take your phone out and capture the moment with a photo, one that you’d send to Naoya later so both could gush at it.

After taking the picture and putting the phone away, you get this sensation of how comfortable it must be to join them for a nap, but then, the thought of tending to your husband’s return briefly halts you, pushing you into a discussion.

Should you relish this moment as a family, or move on with your duties…?

There was no struggle to endure—it had been so long since the four had been like this, you knew you had to make the most of it.

Thus, you crawl towards your husband’s side, where Naoko was resting, silently to not wake them up, and giving each a soft kiss on the top of their head before laying down, resting your head by his shoulder, and draping your arm over him.

Once comfortable, you glance up to him, the relaxed sight of him warming your heart as you lean to kiss his jaw one last time, before accommodating yourself once again.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes.

“Welcome home” you murmur sweetly, and a few moments later, you fall asleep.

Sir—I... I need to write more. Thankfully, I have another one in the works :)

#naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

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malfromtheblue · 4 months ago

Note

Yandere Izuku Midoriya dealing with his wife ( preferably black ) is growing distant with him after the first few months of them having their first child. Just her dealing with postpartum hard and pushing away her husband in the process. Can it also be fluffy and wholesome for a yandere fic. Thanks in advance :)

im sorry im so late! but ask and you shall recieve!

"YOU'RE NO MONSTER"

YAN! IZUKU MIDORIYA x NEW MOTHER! BLACK! READER

Warnings: Yandere-ish topics, slight mentions of implied kidnapping, fluffy

Izuku frowned when you pushed your plate away and excused yourself before heading to bed. You had been like this for about a month and a half now and it was concerning him.

He knew he shouldn't have taken you away from your old life so forcefully, so quickly, but... You had been so willing. So happy with him, really. Despite the circumstances, you grew attached to Midoriya rather quickly, much to his absolute pleasure. He didn't have to keep you locked in his basement, he could trust you around the house and outside. I mean, the two of you were already practically married by the time the first year passed. You told him everything and in return he told you the deepest darkest secrets of his.

When the wedding did come around it was just the both of you (and the Priest). He didn't want there to be tons of distractions. Just him with his pretty little wife. And as every love story goes, the Honeymoon was wild. Unprotected, sweaty bodies grinding against each other, lips locked and tongues tied. The Devil's tango at it's absolute finest.

And what came after? 9 months of a rollercoaster ride, though Izuku wouldn't have it any other way. Because you gave birth to the beautiful baby girl that shared equal features between the two of you. Milky brown skin, doe-y green eyes, full lips, and a green curly afro. Every feature of her so tiny and delicate it was impossible not to be around her. She practically glowed with the light you possessed. Ot at least used to.

Ever since your girl had been born, you fell into a deep depression. Your motivation to do anything was gone, you were always mentally drained, and you had such a loss of appetite that the affects were quickly becoming visible. You weren't necessarily frail but you were physically weakened. Your beautiful body was thinning out and your dewy brown skin was practically grey with continuous exhaustion.

Seeing you like this shattered Izuku to pieces. He was taking care of the baby moreso than you. Of course he didn't mind taking up for you but you were somehow so lost it... Broke him.

After sitting in silence at the dinner table for several minutes, he picked up his little princess and bounced her to sleep in the way only he could. When she was snoring softly, he slid her into her crib by your side of the bed. You were just.... Laying there. Laying there, curled up and staring unblinkingly at the wall.

Izuku offered a gentle smile and shook you. "(Reader), Honey .... You don't look too well." He felt stupid the moment he said it. Of course you didn't look well, you hadn't eaten properly in almost two months. You stayed silent. His breath hitched before he continued.

"Baby, please tell me what's going on. Have I done something? Are you sick? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

Silence.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His breath quickened and he stood up sharply, pacing. There must have been something he was missing. You had been perfectly fine right after you had given birth hadn't you? The doctor and nurses congratulated you and your baby for being so inseparable right off the bat. And before the little princess too... You were so eager to get the nursing and play room ready before the delivery. And before that you were always encouraging Midoriya to sing to your pregnant tummy and feel the gentle thumps as the baby kicked.

He gripped his reeling head at what could've possibly went wrong. Had he been too clingy? He only wanted to be close to the princess. Perhaps this was you're way of showing him that he was going into this headstrong and you wanted to silently protest? Or... Maybe you hated him. You hated him, yourself, and the baby for falling so hard for such a corrupted man. Or could it be that-

He snapped his gaze over to you when he felt your hand tug on his own. You sat up slightly so you could look at him. "You're panicking. I'm sorry, Izu." You looked away, trying to find the words to describe your thoughts and feelings. "I don't know what's fucking happening to me. I feel like a monster."

Izuku watched as you broke down into tears. A monster? You? His pretty little wife?

"Oh, Doll, don't say such things." He leaned down to wrap you into his strong, scarred arms. You trembled under him, chest heaving with every choked sob falling from your pretty mouth. He tightened his grip on you. "You're no monster."

"Don't lie to me," You wailed, sniffling and wiping your sloppy tears and nose with the back of your hand. "I haven't even been taking care of my own baby. It's so hard, even to get up in the mornings. I'm horrible, Zuzu! I'm fucking horrible, she's gonna hate me-"

Izuku trapped your self-deprecating lies into his mouth when he kissed you. A kiss so fierce and feverish, it left you stunned. His forest green eyes were shiny with tears as he cradled your face. "Stop it, Darling. She doesn't hate you! She cries for you all of the time. I can't satisfy her needs like you can! Every time I walk over to that crib and pick her up, she's reaching for you, my love. You're her mother! She needs you much more than anyone else. Even me. Don't lie to yourself, baby."

The two of you stared at each other for a hot minute,. He was right though. Every time he began the day and pulled her from her slumber, your chunky little girl always reached for your sprawled figure, pupils dilated in hope. Izuku would shush her whiney hiccups of protest and whisper, "Mommy's sleeping, Bunny."

Suddenly, there was a squeaky cry from within the crib. And for the first time since you gave birth, your maternal instincts kicked in. You immediately got up from your curled position and went to pick up your baby. Her wails turned into soft coos as her tiny hands grasped at your shirt. She drooled and clung to you, clearly desperate for something. Milk. You laughed softly and pulled your shirt down enough for her to latch onto the nipple of your breast.

"Such a hungry girl, aren't you? Yeah, you are~" You purred as your little princess suckled happily.

Izuku Midoriya watched in awe and pride as you took the big first step into motherhood. Was that all you needed? To be told that you weren't at fault? Or perhaps your daughter's cry woke something in you? Or maybe both...

He rose to his feet and rubbed your shoulders soothingly, kissing your forehead. "See, Baby? She needs you. And I need you too. You both." He pressed a warm kiss to the nape of your neck. This was how it was supposed to be. Him and his beautiful two girls living in harmony.

i apologize, my knowledge is very limited when it comes to pregnancy so i hope this doesn't seem horribly rushed. hope you enjoyed!

~ Mal 🍵💕

#yandere blog #yandere izuku midoriya #black!fem!reader #anon request #fluff #soft yandere #requested #short story #yandere mha #yandere bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #yandere male #Married reader

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alovelywaytospendanevening · 21 days ago

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Lit Hub: The Question of Homoeroticism in Whitman’s Poetry

Walt Whitman’s best poems demonstrate an almost unimaginable prescience; he and Dickinson, among 19th-century American poets, possess a nearly chilling self-consciousness, an acute self-analysis. Edward Carpenter, the British anarchist, writer, and champion of the Arts and Crafts movement whose life and romance were the model for E. M. Forster’s novel Maurice, wrote this elegant description of a visit with Whitman in 1877; the emphases are Carpenter’s own: “If I had thought before (and I do not know that I had) that Whitman was eccentric, unbalanced, violent, my first interview certainly produced quite a contrary effect. No one could be more considerate, I may almost say courteous; no one could have more simplicity of manner and freedom from egotistic wrigglings; and I never met any one who gave me more the impression of knowing what he was doing more than he did.” That there were words for homosexual behavior in Whitman’s day there can be no doubt. Social structures for enabling same-sex congress seem to have been a feature of life in the modern city at least since the later 18th century, when the “Molly houses” in London offered a zone of permission for transvestism. Herman Melville, in Redburn, carefully evokes the nattily dressed fellows who hang out in front of a downtown restaurant where opera singers perform; he means us to understand what these stylish outfits convey. Historian and theorist Luc Sante describes a 19th-century pamphlet that takes as its project the publication of the locations of various quite particular spots of diverse sexual practice in New York City—so that those informed of, say, the address of a bordello featuring willing boys can take special care to avoid this hazard. Trenchant evidence comes from Rufus Griswold’s review of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass: “We have found it impossible to convey any, even the most faint idea of style and contents, and of our disgust and detestation of them, without employing language that cannot be pleasing to ears polite; but it does seem that someone should, under circumstances like these, undertake a most disagreeable, yet stern duty. The records of crime show that many monsters have gone on in impunity, because the exposure of their vileness was attended with too great indelicacy. Peccatum illud horrible, inter Christianos non nominandum.” Which is all a way of saying that Whitman inscribes his sexuality on the frontier of modernity; he is writing into being—particularly in the “Calamus” poems of 1860, with their frank male-to-male loving, their assumption of equality on the part of the lovers—a new situation. He does not know how to proceed—he has no path —but he does it anyway. My guess is that he couldn’t have written “Calamus,” or the boldly homoerotic portions of the 1855 Leaves, even ten years later, as the advent of psychology increasingly led to a public perception of the normative, and imagery of the sacred family becomes the object of Victorian romance. As a category of identity—sodomite, invert, debauchee, pervert, Uranian—begins to emerge, so the poems with their claims of a loving, healthy, freely embraced same-sex desire become unwriteable, paradoxically, just as new language of homosexual identity begins to appear. Unwriteable, and, it would seem from Whitman’s later remarks, and some of his revisions, barely defensible. Carpenter and his readers were reaching for signposts of a gay identity when such a thing barely existed, but Whitman is ultimately a queer poet in the deepest sense of the word: he destabilizes, he unsettles, he removes the doors from their jambs. There is an uncanniness in “Song of Myself” and the other great poems of the 1850s that, for all his vaunted certainty, Whitman wishes to underscore. Again and again, he points us toward what, it seems, must remain folded in the buds beneath speech, since it cannot be brought to the surface. (Full article)

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thesinglesjukebox · 3 months ago

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LADY GAGA AND BRUNO MARS - "DIE WITH A SMILE"

youtube

14 years after "Grenade," Bruno finally found someone who would do the same...

[5.70]

Kayla Beardslee: Hey, when is that Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars collab being released? [5]

Ian Mathers: Mars and Gaga are both skilled at their craft in a way that often seems like a throwback to an earlier era of the art/industry, taking the biggest swings possible in terms of seeking mass appeal without feeling like they're compromising or calculated, talented mimics and style chameleons when they want to be. Working together on a big, heartfelt, suitable-for-all-occasions ballad actually feels perfect along those lines. The result is the kind of sturdily good (or "good," depending on your sensibilities) song that, if it catches you at the right moment in your life, might make you bust out crying. [7]

Joshua Lu: This collaboration would've been unthinkable in 2010; now that their careers have somehow converged, the outcome feels weirdly predictable. The emotional heft, vocal runs, and vague nostalgia are there, even if all it does is fill that "Perfect Duet"-sized hole in pop radio. "Die With a Smile" can't help but feel underwhelming in the context of their career trajectories — the kind of corny balladry that Bruno's outgrown and that Gaga mostly uses just to recapture the general public — but it's impossible to wholly reject when it's this nicely crafted. [6]

Grace Robins-Somerville: Most Obamacore song of 2024, hands down. "Die with a Smile" is this very specific meld of the era when you couldn't go to the supermarket without hearing a Bruno Mars ballad and when Gaga was doing a country pivot (although this is far blander than anything on Joanne). It's been a while since I've heard such blatant Grammy bait. [3]

Jackie Powell: Entertainment Weekly's Joey Nolfi wrote that “Die with a Smile” is a song that recalls “the emotional bravado” of “Shallow,” the Grammy- and Oscar-winning smash from Lady Gaga’s A Star Is Born. He’s correct. “Die With a Smile” thrives upon accented and intentional dynamics while making vague and simple lyrics mean more than it they do on the page. That’s also what made “Shallow” so convincing. The difference on “Die With A Smile” is that Bruno Mars is more Lady Gaga’s equal than Bradley Cooper ever was. Mars has more to sing on a song that has Gaga’s name billed first, but both artists shine without the other having to sacrifice. Gaga’s part, which begins at around a minute and a half until the song's end, transforms this from a Silk Sonic B-side into something that’s much more memorable, emotionally resonant and cinematic. It's a song that makes me wish I had someone to sing it to. [9]

Katherine St. Asaph: So old-fashioned that YouTube's preroll ad recommended me Botox, and so definitively a Bruno Mars song that I'm genuinely unsure why the credits are in the order they're in. It works, albeit in an unexciting way, because Bruno and Gaga have practiced melodrama for years -- see "I'd take a bullet straight to my brain" and "not even the Gods above can separate the two of us," respectively -- and have also practiced singing pretty then belting big. [7]

Jeffrey Brister: When it comes to Bruno Mars, I want immaculately executed genre pastiche, something that sounds like the past but keeps a thrilling modern affect. Gaga, for all of her artsy subversion and slight avant-garde leanings, has just as much of a traditionalist impulse, if not stronger; under the right circumstances, the results can be explosive. That alchemy is present here: two artists synced up and bringing out the best in each other’s performances. There is absolutely nothing new here, but it’s polished and perfectly executed. I’m a mark for that sort of thing. [7]

Jonathan Bradley: It's not right to say Bruno Mars is so adept with pastiche that he transcends it; pastiche is his artform, his milieu, the genre that this genre artist seeks to perfect. "Die With a Smile" has two ideas: the first being the familiar terrain of the Bruno Mars ballad, and the second being "What if a Bruno Mars ballad was Jeff Buckley?" Even a few years after the 1994 release of Grace, pop music seemed like it only had room in its past for an artist like Buckley: a soulful and beautiful singer-songwriter who leaned toward rock-god charisma rather than folkish introspection. Mars has Buckley's swooning fragility as well as his stormy squalls of guitar, but for all that Buckley represented the last of something, he never sounded like he was going over someone else's territory. That fundamentally does not work for Mars's attempt to recreate the sound; navigating someone else's territory is Mars's entire point. If "Die With a Smile" has a third idea, it's the addition of Lady Gaga, who is herself no stranger to pastiche (see the Madonna-isms of "Born This Way," the heartland rock of "You and I," or the way she slipped effortlessly into the Hollywood prestige turn that was "Shallow"). Here, she delivers only competence, as if she'd been asked to sing backup on a new recording of "When I Was Your Man" and found out at the last moment that the assignment had changed. [5]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Once you get past the surprise of "Die With a Smile" being a Jeff Buckley impression, it's remarkably insubstantial. "If the world was ending I'd wanna be next to you" sounds clunky and hyper-literal next to, say, "I'd catch a grenade for you". At least the harmonies are nice. [4]

Iain Mew: Bruno Mars's progression makes it a fruitful idea to go back and invert "Grenade" from a distance. Back then, he took the prospect of death as an opportunity to bitterly prove his unmatched love. Now he meets no less than the end of the world with smooth certainty that it's a chance for mutual togetherness. Lady Gaga's way with projecting intensity and sincerity in the most extreme contexts makes her the perfect foil, and for two lines after she comes in, it's transcendent. Then Mars comes back in, and not only is there not enough space for Gaga to shine, there's barely any space at all. Maybe the old anxiety hadn't gone away completely after all. [7]

Alfred Soto: Bruno Mars hasn't sounded this convincing a love man in years, if ever. Too convincing: Gaga is a backup singer on her own single. Mars sure would fuck himself if he could. [5]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Someone pointed out recently how absurd it is that Lady Gaga's Twitter bio is literally advertising for the HBO Chromatica Ball special, Haus Labs cosmetics, Joker: Folie à Deux, and now "Die with a Smile." That sums up my feelings toward this entry into the Gaga canon: random and indicating a certain directionlessness—or perhaps overdirection?—in her career. She sounds great, and the bridge is perfect TikTok fodder, but she and Bruno Mars sound like they have as much sexual chemistry as brother and sister. [4]

TA Inskeep: Mars and Gaga sound nice enough together, but there’s no frisson, no spark; they’re just two famous singers, singing a duet for you to stream and buy. [5]

Scott Mildenhall: To the song's great benefit, the annihilatory proposition is underblown. Instead, its precise lilt is folded and finessed throughout, heading hither and thither without over-accelerating or escalating. It's a fine balance between ostentation and undulation. There's minimal vocal chemistry, but the blend is happening elsewhere. [7]

Hannah Jocelyn: I was with family over the weekend, and my brother asked “who is this??” like it was two stunning new artists on their debut single. Upon learning it was Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars, his excitement dissipated. Only Andrew Watt could make two of pop’s best vocalists sound anonymous (don’t get me started on that weightless drum sound he's inexplicably made his signature). I can’t tell where Gaga ends and Bruno begins, which is a horrible mental image. [5]

Taylor Alatorre: The drums treat every other measure like it's a climax because the entire song, or more precisely its billing, is one undifferentiated climax. Which means no build-up, no peaks or valleys, no memorable grooves or meaningful sense of release. It's just those two names together on a lighted marquee, a chart-watcher fanfic straight out of 2012, What Could Be measuring short against What Must Be, which in this case is the greatest common denominator of softer-than-talcum piano balladry. At least "Grenade" had cartoon bloodletting on its side, and "Shallow" had the benefit of context. "Die with a Smile" reaches for that old doomsday rhetoric out of sheer reflex, even when the prophesized end is painted in washed-out watercolors, like a dream whose outlines dissipate five seconds after waking. Andrew Watt's approach to retromania is less playful than the Smeezingtons' was, but also strangely less reverent, since if you truly revere the music of the past then you don't try to half-seriously Mandela effect yourself into its hit parade. [2]

Nortey Dowuona: Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga getting to coast by cornering the market on having both vocal talent and a modicum of charisma -- you know, the old-fashioned model -- would be frustrating, but at least Watt's patient hand is keeping this over there next to the white Broadway crowd. Anything but more Bruno funk. [7]

Mark Sinker: Obviously I want to claim I’m only onboard with Bruno as a project at last thanks to Gaga’s in-video cigarette — casually centred, disgustingly compelling — but I have to admit it’s something entirely more wholesome: the actual topic, the actual melody, the actual delivery! He got me in the end! (Also, I like thinking of him as a little monster. He is a little monster….) [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Would be a [6] with flipped Mars-Gaga ratio, but even then this would not quite get to the force of melodrama that would allow it to reach exit velocity and escape the great and depressing middle ground of tasteful 20th-century pop pastiche. These two have taken enough stabs at staid, boring pop songs for all occasions that they have become the legacy acts they once aspired toward and collaborated with. Good for them; bad for us. [4]

Kristen S. Hé: As much as I wish this Venn diagram had produced something more adventurous, it's arguably harder to write a song like this -- one that'll probably be on radio rotation for decades, and that I'll never object to hearing in any context. I've often found Bruno's schtick cloying and insincere, but here, I'd believe it even without Gaga's added star power. Bruno, please stay in this lane forever. (Gaga, please don't!) [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#lady gaga #bruno mars #music #pop #music writing #pop music #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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theamberfist · 6 months ago

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Leave it All on the Dance Floor! Part 5 | Alastor x Overlord! Reader

Platonic! Alastor + Best Friend! Reader who's also an overlord + Rosie

Description: The day of the long-awaited Overlord Gala has arrived, but when you feel too sick to attend, Alastor and Rosie make it their mission to pull you out of bed and onto the red carpet; for your own sake.

(Notes: CW Alastor, mentions of torture) (final part of Leave it All on the Dance Floor!)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Words: 3,745

"Where could they be?" Rosie questioned with concern in her voice as she glanced over at the clock in the middle of Pentagram City. "They're hardly ever this late for anything." Beside her, Alastor nodded in agreement.

"And I do doubt they would miss this event for anything." He added as his eyes narrowed, "Not when they seemed so eager to prove themselves better than that Velvet."

"Could something have happened to them?" Rosie asked now; her tone worried, "I'd hate to think about anybody else making moves on their territory today of all days!" Overlords didn't often threaten any of the three of you, given your strength and general intimidation, but that didn't mean the idea was impossible either.

"Had that been the case, I would have known." Alastor replied seriously. He always made sure to have a few eyes on the Swing Sector for your sake; after all, you were his best friend, along with Rosie! He had to make sure the rest of hell knew better than to threaten either of you in any way. Still, he couldn't help feeling slight concern over your current lateness.

The two overlords waited a few more minutes for you to arrive, hoping you'd show up and ease their worries eventually. But when you didn't, Rosie turned back to the Radio Demon with a frown.

"Something's gotta be up." She decided at last, "They wouldn't risk missing the gala after spending so much time making our looks for it; perhaps we should-"

"Sorry to interrupt!" A voice cut in suddenly and both overlord turned around to see a familiar-looking feline demon running in their direction. She seemed to be panting heavily and held a slip of paper in her hand. Upon recognizing her, Alastor immediately took on a more demonic form and grabbed her right off the ground.

"Where is your superior?" He demanded, though his voice was relatively calm as he stared the sinner down. She shook slightly with fear but held up the slip of paper in her hand anyway.

"T-they sent me to give you this!" Joan exclaimed, "Boss says they won't be attending the gala today but wanted to give their regards anyway."

"What do you mean they won't be attending?" Rosie questioned as Alastor dropped the cat and reverted back to his normal form. "They've been preparing for this event for months!" Joan panted from her place on the floor but pointed to the note Alastor now held.

"That should explain it," she said breathlessly. Rosie took a step closer to the Radio Demon so she could read over his shoulder. A few seconds passed as they looked over your note, which was sloppily written and to-the-point.

'Got sick. Not going to the gala. Have fun without me though; flip Velvet off.'

That definitely sounded like you but it didn't seem to be enough for Alastor, who looked up from the slip of paper with his eyes narrowed in your assistant's direction.

"They've fallen sick, have they?" He asked as she nodded quickly, "And tell me, did you and their other underlings make any attempt to prevent this from happening?" He was beginning to get scary again but luckily Rosie stepped in before Joan could be harmed. She knew he was just concerned about you but that these circumstances likely hadn't been brought about by the catlike demon.

"Now, Alastor, I'm sure she did all she could." Rosie told him as she looked towards Joan herself now, "Thank you for delivering the news to us, but I think we'd better go see your boss ourselves." At this, Joan immediately shook her head.

"N-no!" She exclaimed, "They specifically asked that no one be in their presence right now!"

"Well, I think it's safe to say that rule may not apply to us," Alastor replied as he immediately picked up his microphone-cane and began walking in the direction of your sector, "Especially on a day we were all meant to spend together!" Rosie nodded, following after him with a smile on her face.

"Thank you for delivering that message, sweetheart, but we can take it from here!" She informed Joan, who shrunk back in fear, knowing she couldn't stop the Radio Demon and cannibal overlord, but that you wouldn't exactly be happy to be plagued with visitors today, either. As a highly powerful overlord of hell, you rarely ever got sick, but when you did, it wasn't a pretty sight to behold.

..........

You sniffled, pulling the fluffy blankets covering your bed a little closer around yourself. A bucket lay on the floor beside your bed in case you needed to puke your guts up again and a box of tissues sat by your head. You honestly had never felt worse in your entire afterlife.

You couldn't help but wish for a second death as you lay there in your own little pile of sickness and sorrow. You'd been looking forward to today's gala so much, and you knew both Rosie and Alastor had been excited for it too; even if just because it meant you three could spend more time together. They didn't have as much personal stake in the event as you, but they were supportive nonetheless.

It briefly occurred to you that you should have sent more than just a note with Joan when she left. Though Alastor would have been understanding if the information had come straight from you, you knew firsthand how protective he could be over his friends. Hopefully, he hadn't given the poor cat-demon any trouble.

A knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts now and you groaned, raising the covers higher above your head. You'd told everyone you wanted to be left unbothered today. If someone had ignored your orders, you decided they'd be the next ones dancing until they collapsed as an example to the rest of your owned souls.

"Leave me alone to die!" You exclaimed when another knock sounded from the door. It clicked open a second later, though, as you groaned.

"Now now, as your dear friend, I could never allow you to die!" Alastor's voice exclaimed as he came into your room. You could hear another set of footsteps behind him, too. "At least, not again, that is."

"Why are you here?" You asked; your voice muffled by a pillow you'd placed over your face to block out the world. Your tone was exhausted but there was no hint of animosity in it as you addressed the Radio Demon.

"Why, to take you to the gala, of course!" He replied cheerfully and you heard him go over to the window by your bed, pushing the curtains open.

"I'm not going." You said from underneath the mountain of fluffy covers, "I'm sick and dying, Alastor."

"That's why we're here!" Rosie's familiar voice chirped from beside you and you groaned, rolling over so that you were laying face-down now.

"I can't even get peace on my deathbed." You grumbled, though neither of them could really understand what you were saying.

"Now now, you aren't dying!" Rosie assured you as she reached down and gently patted your back.

"And even if you are; all the more reason to make an impression at the gala first!" Alastor added as he went over and opened your other window now. You sighed, finally pushing yourself up and into a sitting position. The pillow that had been covering your face tumbled off the bed and Rosie bent down to pick it up as you turned to her.

"Look, I appreciate you guys coming by, but I'm really not up for this today," you told her finally, "You should just go without me."

"Nonsense!" Alastor exclaimed, coming over to where you two were sitting on your bed, "Darling, you have been preparing for this event for months; if you think there's a chance we would let you miss it now, you're quite mistaken!"

Rosie leaned in a little closer to you, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. "I have a recipe that'll have you feeling better soon enough!" She assured you, "And I brought you a whole new makeup bag with all your favorite products from the emporium!" You softened at that and Alastor lay across the bed on your other side now, kicking his legs like a girl at a sleepover as he eyed you.

"That cat of yours has already gotten to work in the kitchen," he explained, "Now, all that's left is for us to get you looking perfect for the gala!"

"I really appreciate it, you two," you said with a sigh as you pulled your knees up to your chest, "But I can't even stand without getting dizzy right now and I look like absolute shit. Plus, won't the reporters notice that I sound sick? You can hear it in my voice!" You buried your head in your knees but it seemed the two overlords at your sides weren't ready to give up yet.

"Don't worry about your appearance; I'll work my magic!" Rosie assured you as she pointed to the makeup bag she'd left on your vanity nearby.

"I can do something about your voice," Alastor said, "And not to worry; should you feel like falling, I'll be sure to catch you in the nick of time!" You were a little touched to hear that but still felt hesitant as Rosie took both of your hands and helped you off the bed now.

"But what if I get you guys sick?" You asked, "And if you catch me, Al, people are going to start theorizing that we're dating again like last time."

Rosie dragged you across the room towards your bathroom as the Radio Demon stood now and adjusted his suit. "Then let them theorize!" He decided, "I certainly have no time to worry about the thoughts of the masses, and if I recall correctly, you saw sales to the boutique spike the last time we were rumored to be in a relationship, did you not?"

You paused. He had you there. The same had happened before when Rosie and you were seen having dinner together in the Swing Sector one night, too. And while you’d never been that interested in relationships, you supposed rumors about you and your close friends were better than ones about total strangers, considering a bit of gossip was unavoidable.

"And don't worry about us getting sick!" Rosie assured you, "Should that happen, you can pay me back with a good basket of livers; sound good?"

"...Fine." You sighed at last, making both overlords perk up. With that, Rosie pushed you into the bathroom to take a quick shower before going over to your closet to find your outfit for the evening. Being the overlord of the Swing Sector with your own popular boutique, your closet was gigantic. Every design you'd ever come up with could be found there; save for a few that you'd decided were now so out of style that they were dead to you.

Alastor followed her inside as they both began searching for your outfit. After ten minutes of walking through the rows and rows of clothes, the Radio Demon managed to locate it in a fancy display case near the back of your closet. Taking it out, he and Rosie returned to your room, where you were now waiting on your bed once again in an extremely soft, fancy-looking robe.

"Good, you're ready!" Rosie exclaimed as she went over to you, pulling you off the bed and over to the chair in front of your vanity.

"I still don't feel all that-" You began, only to pause immediately with a concerned look on your face. You glanced at Alastor, who seemed to realize what was happening because he immediately made his way over to your bed, grabbing the bucket that rested near it and handing it to you just in time for you to throw up.

"There, there," he said as he gently patted the crown of your head, "We'll have you feeling better in no time!" You didn't believe him but a moment later, one of your owned souls came in to take the no-longer-empty bucket away.

You turned around, letting Rosie get to work on your makeup so you'd at least look a little less close to a second death. You still weren't sure about doing this, but it seemed as if they'd left you no other choice.

While the cannibal overlord worked, the other, also cannibal overlord stayed nearby, creating something else using his own power. You couldn't see what it was, but after a moment, he seemed to finish it and came over to you.

"Here you are, darling." He spoke, placing the small item in your hands. It looked like a button, but upon further inspection, you realized it highly resembled the staff-microphone he always carried with its shape and the little eye in the middle.

"What's this?" You asked, glancing up at him but being sure not to move your head too much since Rosie was still working on your makeup.

"To mask your voice, my dear!" He explained, "I made it a button so you can wear it alongside your clothes tonight. This way, no one will realize how sick you actually sound!" You turned the object around, inspecting its design and color scheme with scrutinizing eyes. If you were going to be wearing it, you decided it had better match the rest of your look. And luckily, it seemed Alastor had accounted for exactly that, because the colors fit perfectly.

"Thank you." You smiled, "It's perfect." His grin only widened.

"Don't mention it! Anything for a friend, of course." Though having you speak with a radio filter all night would only further convince everyone you were in a relationship, he elected not to mention it for the sake of getting you to the gala.

A few minutes later, Joan entered the room just as Rosie was finishing your makeup. She held a tray in her hands with a steaming bowl that had a smell that was already making your mouth water; and you hadn't even seen what was in it yet. She set it by your vanity and then Rosie finished up the last bit of your makeup.

"There; you look perfect, honey!" She exclaimed as she took a step to the side so you could see your reflection in the mirror. And, just as she'd said, you did look perfect. She'd somehow managed to cover your sickly complexion while also accentuating your face in a way that made it almost seem like you were glowing.

"Wow..." You whispered before bringing a hand up to your mouth to cover the fit of coughs that left your lips.

"This soup should help with that," the overlord told you now as she began packing up the makeup she'd been using in order to clear the space. "I promise it's vegetarian!" Though, with her, that mostly just meant that no other sinners had been used to make the dish.

"Thank you, Rosie." You smiled as you reached for the soup and tried a sip. It turned out to be exactly what you needed right now after not eating at all these last twenty-four hours since you'd felt so horrible, and you easily began gobbling the food down. Meanwhile, Alastor moved to stand behind you as Rosie stepped away.

"Now, to do something about your hair." He spoke as he took products from your vanity and got to work. You let him do his thing; after all, Alastor was surprisingly good at doing hair; no matter the texture or length, and he'd styled yours many times before. He was always careful about it, too; never pulling too hard or harming your scalp in any way. Between him and Rosie, as well as your own design skills, you practically had a whole glam squad on your hands.

You finished your soup as Alastor worked on your hair, and then once he'd finally finished with it, he took a step back so you could inspect it. The style was beautiful, as expected, and you knew it would go perfectly with the outfit you'd made for the event. He really did have an eye for this sort of thing, didn't he?

"You know, if radio ever gets old for you, you could have a very fruitful career doing hair," You told him with a smile.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I believe working on anyone else's hair would become too tiresome too quickly." Alastor replied as he very carefully patted the top of your head; not misplacing a single strand of your hair. "So, I suppose you'll have to remain my only client."

"Works for me!" You replied more cheerfully now that you were feeling a little better. You were still sick, of course, but at least for now, you weren't about to immediately throw up or faint on them.

"Now, let's get you into these beautiful clothes!" Rosie said with a clap as she pulled you from your seat at the vanity. You let her drag you over to where the outfit had been laid out on your bed, taking a second to once again admire the glory of your work as the other two overlords headed for the door. "We'll be right out here waiting to see the finished look!" Rosie told you but then paused, "And if you feel as if you're going to collapse, please don't hesitate to call." You nodded, chuckling quietly as she closed the door to your room behind them.

Then you turned back to your clothes with a grin; excited to finally get to wear them for the event you'd been planning to for months.

Once you had the outfit on, you grabbed the button Alastor had given you and fastened it onto the front. It turned out to be a good accent piece, to your surprise, and even added to the look, rather than taking away from it. You went over to your vanity to check out your reflection before showing it to your friends.

Compared with how you'd been prior to their arrival, you looked like a new person. In fact, you might not have even been able to tell that you were feeling unwell, if not for the pounding in your head.

Finally, you went over to the door, pulling it open and stepping into the next room, where Rosie and Alastor were trying not to look like they'd been eagerly awaiting the sight of you this whole time.

As soon as her gaze landed on you, Rosie gasped. "You look gorgeous!" She exclaimed, immediately coming over to take your hands in hers, "I can't wait to read all about how you had the best look of the night in the paper tomorrow!" You giggled but thanked her, nonetheless. After all, if not for her help, you wouldn't even be attending the gala right now.

"Indeed, you look much more alive than before!" Alastor agreed, "I, for one, cannot wait to see the look on the V's' faces when we all enter the event together!" You grinned.

"Well then, I suppose we should get going!" Rosie spoke, "We're already quite late to the event, but what loser shows up on time to these things, anyway?" She took your hand again, pulling you along and right out of the boutique as you shouted for Joan to be the one left in charge. There, a car was already waiting to take you three to the gala. It was old-fashioned, looking as if it were from yours or Alastor's time, and you all filed in to attend the event.

The second your car pulled up, you could hear the shouts of reporters outside, along with the clicks of cameras attempting to snag photos of you.

"Ready?" Rosie asked and you nodded, still feeling a little nervous.

"Remember; we're right behind you!" Alastor said as you opened the car door and stepped out, immediately being bombarded with reporters, cameras, and a thousand eager questions. Your clothes seemed to gleam in the light; soaking it all in as you walked across the red carpet. One of the reporters, who seemed to work for Vox, called you over and you decided to humor him.

"Tell us, who made the outfit you're wearing tonight?" He asked curiously as you just smirked.

"Why, I did, of course!" You replied, not sounding the least bit sick thanks to Alastor's mini-microphone button. Instead, your voice was masked by the static of the radio. “And I made theirs, too." You pointed back at Alastor and Rosie, who were taking their own respective poses on the red carpet. The reporter said something else, appearing to be in awe, but by now you were done answering his questions and headed back towards the entrance of the venue.

There were a few photos snapped of you, Rosie, and Alastor all standing together in your respective outfits before they finally let you head inside. As you did so, Alastor subtly went to your side.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" He asked.

"A little dizzy, but otherwise, alright!" You whispered back as his smile widened.

"Wonderful!" He replied, "And it seems our present company has noticed your arrival." You followed his gaze to see the V's all sitting around a table inside; Velvet looking furious as she stared you down. You understood why too, seeing the outfit she had on. Compared to yours, it was extremely plain and even a bit unoriginal. You held your head a little higher at that revelation, knowing she wouldn't dare approach you tonight and risk having a camera snap a picture of you both for direct comparison.

Once again, you seemed to have won the fashion game. You followed Alastor and Rosie to a table of your own, where you finally plopped into a seat and accepted some appetizers from a waiter.

"I'm glad you managed to convince me to attend tonight," you admitted finally once things had wound down, "Though, I won't lie, I think I'm about to pass out." The room was spinning, and not because you'd drank any alcohol this time.

Luckily, Alastor managed to catch you in his arms before you fell out of your chair, just as he'd promised. An amused chuckle left his lips despite you being temporarily unconscious from the dizzy spell. "That's what friends are for, dear!" He said as Rosie nodded.

"And don't worry," she added with a kind smile, "We'll be sure to keep looking out for you."

..........

Bonus:

You stared down at the magazine in your hands; where a photo of Alastor holding your passed-out self in his arms was printed on the cover along with the words 'Radio Demo Back With Ex-Lover?!'

"I told you they were going to theorize!" You called to Alastor, who was preparing tea in the next room. “Since when did they start assuming we were ex’s, though?” All you heard was the sound of light chuckling before he came out and handed you a cup, sitting down next to you on the lush couch that rested on your balcony.

"If nothing else, it will be great for your business, dear!"