#i need something softer and she’s not always very soft in her approach | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedemoninme141 · 1 month ago

Text

You deserved better. (A one-shot request I got from anon)

Summary: Wednesday attends a wedding... your wedding.

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader.

Warnings: Angst! ABitOutOfCharacterWednesday! Sad ending [Your spouse's name is mentioned as S/L/N.]

"You're brooding." "I do not brood," Wednesday replied, her tone clipped and dismissive. "I observe." Bianca smirked. "Or maybe you're just wallowing in your own feelings."

Wednesday’s nails dug into the edge of her chair, but her face remained as impassive as a tombstone. “You presume too much, Barclay.”

“She once meant something to you, back in Nevermore.” Bianca said, cutting through the veil of denial Wednesday tried so hard to weave.

“She still does,” Wednesday snapped.

Bianca blinked, momentarily taken aback by the aggressive honesty. Then, with a softer tone, she asked, “So why did you let her go?”

Wednesday didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she allowed her gaze to linger on the crowd—on the mundane joy etched across their faces. Her fingers tightened in her lap. “I had my reasons,” she said at last, her voice devoid of emotion.

“You know,” Bianca continued, her tone almost contemplative, “Though I would've never admited this back in Nevermore, I’ve always admired you. You were excellent at everything you did, Wednesday. You won anything you wanted to win. And yet…” She paused, letting the words hang heavy between them. “You didn’t get the girl.”

The doors opened, and there you stood, your wedding gown glowing as if it had captured the very essence of the sun. Enid was beside you, with her bright smile, but Wednesday didn’t see her.

Her gaze was fixed solely on you.

You were breathtaking, a vision of happiness and love—everything she had convinced herself she didn’t need, didn’t want. Yet now, watching you, she felt the full weight of what she had lost. Your gaze swept across the guests, and Wednesday’s breath hitched when your eyes found hers. It was only a fleeting moment—a glance, really—but it was enough to send her spiraling. The warmth in your eyes wasn’t for her; it hadn’t been for a long time. Still, she held onto it, even as you looked away, your focus now entirely on the person waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

As the ceremony began, Wednesday forced herself to remain still,

Wednesday told herself she had no right to feel this way. You weren’t hers anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time. Still, she couldn’t stop her mind from going back when you were...hers. She remembered the way your fingers used to thread through hers, the way your smile softened her sharp edges, the way you looked at her like she was your entire world.

Now, someone else had that.

The vows began. She forced herself to listen,

“I promise to love you in every season, through every storm,”

It should’ve been her standing beside you, holding your hand, making promises she would have gladly kept till the end of the world. But she had chosen her pride over vulnerability, her fear over love. And now she was paying the price.

When you kissed your partner, sealing your vows, the room erupted in applause and cheers. Wednesday remained motionless, her hands refusing to move.

And so, she stood on the balcony during the reception, alone, she’d told herself it didn’t matter. That she didn’t care. But the knot in her stomach and the ache in her chest told a different story.

Footsteps approached, soft yet purposeful. Wednesday didn’t need to look to know it was you. She could sense your presence even through the darkness of hell. She straightened her posture, smoothing her dress as if preparing for battle.

“Wednesday,” your voice broke the silence, tentative and soft. It was the same voice that once whispered secrets into her ear, that once spoke her name like it was sacred. Now, it sounded like a dagger.

She turned to face you, her expression as impassive as ever. “Mrs. S/L/N,” she greeted, her tone as sharp as the blade she kept hidden in her boot.

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by her formal address. You didn’t correct her, though. Instead, you stepped closer.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, dancing the night away with your new spouse?” She said, her eyes ignoring yours.

“I needed some air,” you replied.

There was a long silence between you, the kind of silence that felt like a chasm. You were looking at her now, your gaze searching, as though you were trying to piece together something broken.

"Are you happy, Wednesday?" you asked, your voice quiet, almost drowned out by the music and chatter around you.

Wednesday’s lips parted as though she might answer, but no words came. She looked at you, her eyes darker than usual, and in that moment, her silence spoke louder than any reply ever could.

“I’m fine,” she said finally, each word precise and measured. “This is your day. Don’t waste it on me.”

“Wednesday,” you said, and her name on your lips was both a balm and a wound. “I know it’s complicated,” you said quietly. “But I still care about you. I always will.”

There was another silence between you. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was heavy, with all the things left unsaid. You opened your mouth as if to speak, but before you could, your partner appeared, placing a gentle hand on your arm.

“We should greet the rest of the guests,” she said warmly.

You nodded, giving Wednesday one last look before walking away with your partner.

Bianca reappeared at Wednesday's side, a glass of champagne in hand. She offered it to Wednesday, who took it without a word.

“Well,” Bianca said after a moment, her voice light but not unkind, “that was... something.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. She sipped the champagne, the bubbles sharp and unpleasant on her tongue, she hated drinking, but again, she also hated weddings... but you were the exception, you always were.

"For all your intelligence and control, this is one battle you lost. You had her, Wednesday. She would’ve done anything for you. But you let her go. Why?"

Wednesday’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. It was carved into her heart.

You deserved better.

Author's note: I got this request from anon a week ago, I had completed this back then and wanted to post it after season 2 for a larger audience, but thought it might take too long so why not?

Also please do comment how do you guys feel about this angst!

Worklist Link

162 notes · View notes

starless-nightz · 3 months ago

Note

Could you maybe do Wednesday, Enid and Bianca (seperate) with a S/O who is uncomfortable with physical affection, at least at first??

Wednesday, Enid and Bianca with a S/O whos uncomfortable with physical affection

note -> MY FAVORITE GIRLS AHHHH, I absolutely love the Wednesday girls like they are all so beautiful and silly, I need to write something about Yoko and Divina.

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, all three are very respectful.

Wednesday Addams

Wednesday immediately picks up on how uncomfortable you are with touch; she's observant, and she finds it rather fascinating how you will stiffen or pull away whenever someone gets a little too close. Most people would prod or push, but she does none of those things—she keeps her distance.

She's not the type to demand constant physical affection herself, so the dynamic doesn't faze her. As a matter of fact, she enjoys being with a partner who knows not all affection needs to be loud and physical for it to be honest.

Instead of hugs or kisses, she'll give you silences shared, a book she thinks you'd like, or even a especially macabre location for a date. The way she looks at you-sharp, attentive, as if you're the only thing worth focusing on—is her own unique way of expressing her feelings.

Words are where she'll get a bit softer. She's not above giving you a small, dry compliment when the two of you are alone. They might sound weird, but from her, it's practically a declaration of love.

If you ever feel bad about not being able to offer more physical affection Wednesday will shut that thought down fast. "It's not a problem," she'll say without inflection, "It's just who you are. And if anyone has a problem with it, I'll deal with them accordingly." There's that slightly threatening glint in her eye and you know she means it.

Enid Sinclair

Enid adores being extremely affectionate—naturally so—hugs, cuddles, and holding hands. But once that clicked in that it makes you uncomfortable, she readjusts. The initial instinct might be to feel concern, she doing something wrong? Once she gets it, she is all for your boundaries.

She's really patient and soft about it all, she will talk with you about making sure that she's not crossing any boundaries, and always be open to work out what's best for both of you. Enid might feel a little sad that she can't show her love physically the way that she is used to, but she'd rather you be comfortable than anything else.

She masters all the non-physical touches: baking your favorite treats, sending you cute texts throughout the day, and leaving little notes or doodles in your locker. She will go out of her way to make sure you feel loved in a way that doesn't involve touch.

You'll often catch her bouncing in place with excitement when you have been away for some time. Rather than running up for a hug, she will flash a brilliant smile and wave until you're ready to approach—at your own pace.

On days when you feel all right with physical contact, Enid is quite happy to accommodate, though she'll always ask. "Can I give you a high-five?" she says with a grin, as though the question were a small celebration between the two of you.

She's your biggest cheerleader, always making sure you know you are perfect just the way you are. "You don't have to change anything for me," she'll say with a ring of sincerity in her voice. "I love you just as you are."

Bianca Barclay

Bianca has an instinct for observation, and she will easily notice that something is bothering you about displays of physical affection. She may start trying to test these boundaries with light touches or hands on the shoulder but instantly retreats the moment she perceives flinching or pulling away.

She's confideng enough in herself and in your relationship that she doesn't take it personally. If you ever try to explain or apologize, she'll cut you off with a gentle but firm, "You don't have to explain yourself. I get it.".

Bianca seeks other ways to connect with you, and the conversation often drifts into intellectual discourses and deep discussions. She loves to debate and hear your viewpoint; thus, those nocturnal talks become a form of closeness that she values just as much as physical closeness.

She'll often act very loving with acts of service. Someone's got to help you study for a test? She's there, with a set of notes perfectly organized. Got a tough situation you're trying to work through? Bianca will take care of it, no questions asked.

This is her way of trying to ensure you are safe, secure, and will never feel smothered; watching from a distance whenever she feels you are overwhelmed but never stepping in unless you need her.

Of course, when you do initiate even the tiniest of physical gestures—brushing your hand against hers, say—Bianca never overreacts. She will flash a slight smile on her lips, seeming to acknowledge it but not making it larger than it need be, for your discomfort. The smile does stay with her all day, though.

#wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams #enid #enid x reader #enid sinclair x reader #enid sinclair #bianca #bianca x reader #bianca barclay x reader #bianca barclay #wednesday netflix #wednesday show

197 notes · View notes

mustangbby · 11 months ago

Text

-> sleepy cuddles

synopsis -> wriothesley comes home tired and upset from a bad day at the fortress. so, you just have to indulge in a cuddle session.

warnings -> angsty, sad wrio nooo.. mentions of fighting, baby sigewinne got hurt oh no, more angsty than i thought whoops

w/c -> 659

you were awakened to heavy footsteps entering your home at around 11:00 pm.

usually they’re a lot softer, much less aggressive, thats for sure. you recognized them though- they were your husband, wriothesleys. he seemed pretty upset.

you pick your head up from the pillow, groaning as you slowly got out of bed to see what he was doing. to no surprise, he was in the kitchen, brewing tea. he had his head in his hands, oblivious to your approaching form.

“wrio… whats wrong?” you said in a raspy, groggy tone, and accidentally startled the man, for you were able to catch him jump the slightest bit before bringing one of his hands into yours. “talk to me.”

he just groaned, pulling you flush against his chest, before nearly breaking down into tears. when you felt the first drop of wetness on your bare shoulder, you pulled out of the hug, grabbing his face in gentle hands.

“okay, something is seriously wrong. how bad was today?” you look at him in pity. one thing you’ve learned from being married to this man for two and a half years is that when the great, mighty duke of meropide cries, it’s almost as important as if the city flooded over with primordial seawater. but only that important to you.

he took a shaky breath in, and then looked down. “pretty bad. two inmates decided to pick on sigewinne. her injuries were enough to send her up here for more professional medical treatment. even for me, it was scary, seeing how she felt helpless and couldn’t patch herself up like she normally does.” he exhaled. “they took her vision and taunted me with it. obviously i got it back, but not without a fight.”

you nod, standing next to him as he pours his tea in a mug. he took a sip before offering you some, in which you politely declined.

“how long is sigewinnes absence going to last? if anything, i have some medical experience behind my back. i can stich up a wound at most. if you want my help in the infirmary, then i’d be happy to offer.”

he scratched his temple, seeming to debate on whether or not that would be a good idea.

“we’ll see, i have yet to get detailed information on her stay. once i get more, i’ll let you know if thats needed or not.”

you nod, before taking his hand in yours, leading him into bed. he changed his clothes before joining you.

once you two made it into bed, he snuggled up against you as you rubbed his back to try and ease some of his pains. you could tell the incident involving sigewinne was weighing like a fifty pound weight on his mind, and you wanted to silently remind him that you were always there for him.

this is where you felt the tears spill out, with light gasps to follow. he was never an obnoxious cryer. you just held him tighter, allowing him to cry it out and allow his mind to process things.

you continued to rub his back and shoulders, calming him down. he hugged you even tighter, shoving his face in your chest before finding it okay to shut his eyes. your hands made their way from his back, to his shoulders, to the back of his head, fluffing his soft hair. it smelled very nicely of tea leaves and a sweet and smokey scent. something you could compare to vanilla, but with a, once again, smokier touch to it. he loved when you put your head on top of his, occasionally leaning in to kiss it.

within a matter of ten minutes, he had drifted off. you kept him close, making sure a nightmare doesn’t rouse him from his sleep. the last thing you both wanted was him to be tired in the morning, and adding that to additional stress? oh, the duke certainly was not a morning person.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x reader fluff #genshin fluff #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley angst #wriothesley x reader angst #genshin angst #genshin x reader angst

737 notes · View notes

mim16s · 4 days ago

Text

Survival in Game

Cho Hyun-ju x Autistic!Fem!Reader

This is part two of Survival in Game. In this chapter, I wanted to explore more of Hyunju and the reader's relationship in a softer, more emotional way. I hope you enjoy it! In the next chapter, we'll dive into the second game of the season.

_____

Part 1:

You held the lunchbox in your hands and, as you walked back to your bed, you saw the woman who had helped you in the last game. Your heart raced a little. You wanted to thank her and also stay close to her. You didn’t fully understand why, but something about her radiated safety. In such an unpredictable place, that was exactly what you needed.

Social interactions had always been challenging for you. Words often got tangled, and people’s expressions didn’t always make sense. But with her, it was different. Something about her seemed calm and welcoming.

Stopping in front of her, gripping your food tightly, you tried to organize your thoughts. She, already eating, paused her meal and looked up at you. There was something comforting in that look of recognition, but now that you were so close, the words vanished from your mind, as they often did in moments of anxiety.

— Do you need something? — she asked kindly, as you looked down at the floor, trying to muster courage.

— I wanted to thank you... for protecting me in the game — you said quickly, bowing in gratitude. Formality helped you organize your speech. When you looked back at her, you noticed a shy smile on her face. It was a soft smile, free of judgment. She looked so beautiful smiling that it made your cheeks flush, something you couldn’t hide very well.

— Don’t worry, you didn’t need to thank me — she replied calmly. You took a deep breath, trying to prepare for what you wanted to say. The anxiety made your head spin.

— I’d like to ask you something — you finally said, seeing curiosity spark in her eyes. — Can I join you? — The question seemed to surprise her, her eyes widening slightly. She was silent for a moment before smiling again, this time more broadly. It had been a long time since anyone sought her company. Since her transition, people preferred to keep their distance. The fact that you had approached her touched her deeply.

— Of course, sit here — she said, moving aside to make room next to her. You sat beside her, still nervous but relieved that you had managed to speak. As you stared at your lunchbox, she broke the silence. — What’s your name? — she asked curiously.

— My name is Y/N. And yours?

— I'm Hyunju — she replied, with another smile that made your mind feel at ease. Unfortunately, the calm was interrupted by shouting. When you looked, you saw three men fighting violently. Your body stiffened immediately, and fear consumed you. Instinctively, you moved closer to Hyunju, seeking the sense of security she exuded. She noticed the fight but made no effort to push you away, letting you stay close.

You had always hated fights. They scared you deeply, bringing back painful memories from your childhood. You remembered when your mother started dating. At first, he seemed like a good person, but he soon revealed his true nature. He not only abused your mother physically but also diminished her emotionally. You watched helplessly, just a child, unable to do anything as she suffered. She tried to shield you, but you always heard the sounds of violence and shouting from your room.

For years, that violence was a constant weight in your life until he tried to do the same to you. That was your mother’s breaking point. She finally realized she needed to protect you and ended the abusive relationship. However, the scars of that period remained. Those years left deep marks, and any sign of violence was enough to make you relive it all.

Now, with your emotions still raw from the game and the deaths you had witnessed, the fight in front of you felt like the last straw. The loud voices, the sudden movements—it was all too much. You covered your ears with your hands, closed your eyes, and began rocking gently, trying to calm yourself and push away the bad memories that kept flooding in.

Beside you, Hyunju noticed your reaction. Initially confused, she observed closely, trying to understand what was happening. Although she didn’t know exactly what to do, it was clear to her that you were scared, and she hesitated for a moment. Then, carefully, she placed a hand on your shoulder, saying nothing but showing she was there.

— Hey, it’s okay. They won’t hurt you — she said, trying to soothe you with her soft voice, but her attempt didn’t seem to help much. You were still caught in your internal storm, hands pressed to your ears, body trembling. Hyunju looked around, trying to think of what to do until an idea came to her.

— Look at me — she said, and you obeyed, your eyes finally meeting hers. — It’s okay, just breathe, alright?

She noticed a slight relief on your face when one of the players intervened and managed to stop the fight. With the commotion settling, she turned her full attention back to you. — It’s okay, repeat after me — she said, guiding you through breathing exercises. She took deep breaths, and you tried to mimic her, following the rhythm she set. Gradually, your body began to relax, but not enough to completely shake off the weight you felt. You instinctively hugged yourself, seeking comfort, which caught Hyunju’s attention.

— Do you need a hug? — she asked in a calm, careful tone. You hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded.

— May I hug you? — she asked again, waiting for your permission. Another affirmative nod. Carefully, Hyunju moved closer and wrapped her arms around you—firm yet gentle. Something about her size and the steadiness of her embrace made you feel safer, as though she could shield you from the world.

You nestled into her chest, breathing deeply as small tears slid down your face. The warmth and protection you felt there gave you the comfort you needed to begin recovering from the episode.

— It’s okay now — she whispered, holding you firmly but without pressure, giving you all the time you needed.

— I’m sorry — you murmured, voice muffled, trying to rein in your emotions.

— There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s okay — she replied softly, tightening the hug slightly, a silent reminder that she was there for you without rush or judgment.

— It’s just... so much has happened, and I couldn’t handle it — you said, sadness evident in every word. The weight of your emotions felt overwhelming, as though everything had built up all at once. Hyunju sighed softly, understanding the depth of the situation.

— I understand — she said gently, her voice calm and reassuring. — There’s so much pressure here. You’ve just seen so many difficult things, and now this fight... it’s completely understandable. You have nothing to apologize for.

Her words, filled with empathy, eased some of the tension you felt. She didn’t blame you for your reaction, and that gave you a little more freedom to process everything in your own time. Her embrace felt like a silent guarantee that she was there to support you—no rush, no judgment.

Later, when it was time to sleep, she lay down on the bed next to yours, her eyes discreetly watching your movements, a silent promise that she would be there for you if you needed her. Despite her exhaustion, Hyunju couldn’t ignore the strange feeling growing within her: an almost instinctive need to protect you.

As the silence of the night enveloped the room, she reflected on everything that had happened. Tomorrow would be another difficult day, another unpredictable game that would put your lives at risk. But one thing she was certain of: she would stay by your side, no matter what.

Part 3

#autistic reader #squid game #hyunju x reader #player 120 #hyun ju squid game #Hyunju x Autistic!reader #autistic!fem!reader #Park Sunghoon #Squid game x reader

94 notes · View notes

kiki-smith21 · 6 months ago

Text

A Silent Understanding

Wednesday Addams x autistic fem reader

A/N: This is my first fanfic, and any feedback would be appreciated. Let me know if you want a part 2. (I am actually autistic, so this is mostly based off the symptoms I show, but if you have any typical symptoms of autism you wish for me to add to the story later let me know and I'll try my best. Please be respectful to all, and remember to drink water and look after yourself, cuties)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: In the comfort of the library, you and Wednesday share a moment of vulnerability and trust.

In the dimly lit, Gothic confines of Nevermore Academy, the atmosphere was as thick with mystery as ever. Wednesday Addams, with her signature braids and dark demeanour, was engrossed in her latest endeavor—a particularly challenging crossword puzzle.

You, a quiet student with an affinity for the arts and a mind that danced to a different rhythm, often found solace in the same library where Wednesday spent much of her time. You had always admired her from afar, drawn to her enigmatic presence and unique perspective on the world.

Today, the library was especially silent, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floors and the soft rustling of pages. You found a seat at a nearby table, trying to focus on your sketchbook. It was in these rare, quiet moments that you felt most at peace, your thoughts flowing freely without the need for words.

As the hours ticked by, you noticed Wednesday glancing over her crossword with a hint of frustration. Summoning your courage, you approached her table, clutching a folded piece of paper in your hand.

"Do you need help with that?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart raced as you waited for her response, unsure if you had intruded on her solitary work.

Wednesday looked up, her dark eyes meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. "And why would you offer assistance?" she asked, her tone a mixture of skepticism and intrigue.

"I noticed you were having trouble with a few clues," you replied, hoping your voice conveyed the sincerity you felt. "I've always been good with puzzles."

A faint, inscrutable smile tugged at the corners of Wednesday’s lips. "Very well. Let's see if your skills are as impressive as you claim."

You settled into the seat beside her, your nerves calming as you began to work through the crossword clues together. The process was slow but rewarding, each shared glance and whispered suggestion deepening the connection between you.

As the final word fit perfectly into the grid, Wednesday's gaze lingered on you. "You did well," she said, her voice softer than usual. "Thank you."

The library was quiet, save for the faint hum of the old heating system. In this serene bubble, you felt an unexpected urge to express something you had been holding back. You reached for the folded piece of paper you had brought, unfolding it to reveal a simple drawing of a crescent moon—an image that had always felt comforting to you.

Wednesday’s eyes softened as she studied the drawing, and for a moment, you both simply sat in silence. It was a moment of unspoken understanding.

Without quite knowing how it happened, your hand found its way to Wednesday’s, fingers brushing lightly against hers. The contact was gentle but electric, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had formed between you.

Wednesday’s gaze met yours, her expression inscrutable yet filled with something tender. Slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a hesitant, yet warm kiss. It was a soft, fleeting moment that spoke volumes, a shared silence that encapsulated everything words could not.

When you finally pulled away, Wednesday’s eyes were still locked onto yours, a rare and genuine smile playing on her lips. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your own little corner of understanding.

As you both sat there, the unspoken connection between you felt more profound than any words could ever convey. It was a silent promise of something more, a shared moment of intimacy that marked the beginning of something beautiful.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams

122 notes · View notes

misterfic · 2 months ago

Note

Hey there! Hope you’re doing great. I have a fun one-shot idea for Hell’s Kitchen Season 6. In this story, Gordon’s wife is the third sous chef. She’s 26, and she and Gordon got together when she was 20, marrying at 22. Because of her kind and caring nature, she’s really close to Heather and Scott, who are just as protective of her as Gordon is.

In this scene, Joseph takes things too far by insulting and even threatening her, which sets off a big confrontation. Gordon’s ready to jump in to defend her, and Heather and Scott’s protectiveness escalates the situation. I’d love to see how this plays out with all the usual Hell’s Kitchen intensity! Thanks so much for considering this—I’d really appreciate it!

But if you don’t feel comfortable with it, please let me know!

A/N: As I’ve said before, I don’t watch Hell’s Kitchen🥲, so I hope this pleases you.

Title: Hell Hath No Fury Like Gordon Ramsay's

Summary: A contestant's attitude toward Gordon's wife pushes the fiery chef to his limit, proving that some battles are more personal than professional.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Reader

Tags: Conflict

It was the sixth season of Hell’s Kitchen, and you were living right in the thick of the action. As Gordon Ramsay’s wife and third sous chef, you had your hands full, moving between the red and blue kitchens, helping wherever you were needed. Your soft, nurturing approach balanced the kitchen’s intensity, especially in contrast to Gordon’s fiery persona. Your role was often the one to soothe tempers and diffuse the storm Gordon would sometimes whip up. Despite his bark, you knew your husband well enough to see through it; when it was just the two of you, he was nothing but a gentleman, and his touch was tender, leaving you breathless in ways only Gordon Ramsay knew how.

The heat was on as the dinner service began, and the teams were floundering. Gordon, already wound up, was pacing back and forth, shouting instructions with his usual unfiltered intensity. “Come on! Move it! You call that cooking?” he roared, his blue eyes flashing as he berated a contestant. You saw the tension ripple through the kitchen, and you sensed it was time to step in.

Gordon shot you a look as you approached him, a glint of irritation in his eyes, but you caught his arm, your touch firm but gentle. “Gordon,” you murmured, your voice steady, “they’re trying. Let’s give them a second to catch their breath.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair, but softened just slightly under your touch, your quiet presence calming his storm.

“Alright, love,” he muttered, pulling back as he gave you a begrudging nod. “But only because you’re bloody distracting me.” His tone was low, carrying a playful hint, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks as he let his hand linger on your waist for a moment longer than necessary.

Moving over to Scott in the blue kitchen, you caught him shooting Gordon an amused glance as he leaned in. “Always the one keeping him in line, huh?” Scott teased, smirking as he looked at you with a mixture of respect and admiration. You chuckled, giving Scott a playful nudge. “Someone has to, right?” you replied with a wink.

Heather was equally protective in the red kitchen, always hovering close to you, watching the contestants carefully, especially when they’d make snide remarks about your role in the kitchen. “Don’t let them bother you,” she’d whisper, shooting you a reassuring smile. “You’re the only one who can handle him,” she said with a chuckle. And as she said it, she wasn’t wrong.

That night, the pressure seemed relentless. With tempers flaring and mistakes piling up, Gordon’s patience finally snapped. “Are you lot trying to kill me?” he barked, his face flushed as he slammed his hand on the counter, startling everyone in earshot. You saw him glance toward you briefly, a flicker of something softer passing over his face as he took in your calm expression. It was as if your very presence grounded him, tempering his frustration.

As the dinner service heated up, Gordon’s attention shifted to the red kitchen, leaving you in charge of rallying the blue team. It was a challenge, given the tension hanging in the air, but you had managed to build a quiet respect with the contestants over the season. Most, at least. Joseph, however, had always been prickly, and tonight he seemed particularly agitated.

As you moved past him, helping another contestant with his station, Joseph huffed loudly, his voice dripping with irritation. “Could you quit hovering? You’re getting in the way,” he snapped, his words biting. You kept your composure, brushing off his tone with a calm expression. After all, this wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with outbursts on Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned to face him, maintaining your professionalism. “I’m here to help you succeed, Joseph,” you replied steadily, “so let’s focus on getting these dishes out.”

But he wasn’t having it. “Helping? You’re messing things up. If we lose tonight, it’ll be on your head,” he sneered, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. The insult stung, but you took a breath, refusing to let him see your frustration. The other chefs shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension escalating.

Before you could respond, Scott stepped in, his expression cold as he positioned himself between you and Joseph. “Back off, Joseph,” Scott growled, his protective nature flaring up. “If you think this is her fault, then maybe you need to take a good look at yourself. She’s here to help, and she’s doing more for this team than you have all night.”

Joseph’s face reddened with anger. “Oh, I get it now,” he spat, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re all just here to back her up, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter if she screws us over; you’re ready to throw yourselves at her defense. Pathetic.” His words were sharp, meant to rile you up, but you felt your confidence waver as his insults grew nastier.

Heather, who had been watching from across the kitchen, noticed the confrontation building and immediately darted over to Gordon, who was busy berating the red team. Tugging his sleeve, she leaned close and muttered something in his ear. His face darkened instantly.

Gordon’s blue eyes flashed as he dropped what he was doing and marched straight toward the blue kitchen, his presence like a thunderstorm. “Joseph!” he barked, his voice echoing through the kitchen. “What the bloody hell is going on over here?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Gordon cut him off, his face a mask of fury. “You think it’s alright to talk to her like that? You’re gonna run your mouth at my wife?” His voice was like steel, every word laced with barely contained anger. “You’ve got some balls, haven’t you?”

Joseph tried to stammer a response, but Gordon stepped in closer, towering over him. “You’re gonna insult the one bloody person in this kitchen who’s keeping you from falling apart?” he growled, his tone dangerously low. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but she’s here because she’s good at what she does—better than you’ll ever be if you keep running that big mouth of yours.”

As Joseph shrank back under Gordon’s withering stare, Gordon’s expression softened only slightly as he turned to you. “Are you alright, love?” he murmured, his voice dropping, almost gentle. His hand found your shoulder, his touch grounding you, reminding you of the care he kept so carefully concealed when others were around.

You managed a nod, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. “Yes, I’m fine,” you whispered, but your voice shook slightly, betraying your nerves. Gordon’s face hardened again as he turned back to Joseph.

“Listen here,” Gordon hissed, his voice a low growl that only Joseph could hear. “You don’t speak to her like that. Ever. You’re lucky she has the patience to put up with a hot-headed twit like you. If it were up to me, you’d be out of here already.”

As Gordon straightened, his gaze still icy, he looked back at the rest of the blue team. “Now, all of you,” he commanded, his voice booming, “get your arses in gear and start working together. You don’t like it? There’s the bloody door.”

As Gordon stormed back to the red kitchen, the tension in the air was thick, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Scott and Heather both gave you reassuring nods, their silent support meaning more than words in that moment.

As the night wore on and the kitchen’s frantic energy settled, Gordon pulled you aside for a moment of privacy. “You don’t let anyone talk down to you, yeah?” he murmured, his blue eyes warm as they met yours. “You’re far too damn good for that.”

You managed a smile, your pulse quickening at his protective words. “Thank you, Gordon,” you whispered, your voice soft. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his touch sending a familiar thrill through you.

“Any time, love,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that familiar, intimate tone that only you knew. “And next time anyone tries it, you just send them to me. I’ll remind them who they’re dealing with.” He brushed a kiss against your forehead, his affection clear even amid the chaos around you.

As the dinner service finally drew to a close, you knew that no matter how intense things became, you’d always have Gordon by your side, ready to defend you with that fierce loyalty and passion that left you breathless every single time.

#gordon ramsay x reader #gordon ramsay imagine #gordon ramsay

76 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 2 years ago

Text

"Sea shanties" - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[mentions of a minor injury and blood]

SUMMARY: Alina catches Sturmhond in a surprising moment of weakness when he's quietly watching you sing to yourself and fix the net.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

The cold wind nips at your exposed skin and part of you beckons you to return under the deck to finish sewing the net back together. But you dread returning among the sailors: despite truly being a lovely bunch, their constant chattering and liveliness can wear you out. The berths and cabins are warm, yes, but the sea is silent, predictable and, most of all, doesn’t expect engagement. As long as you let her be, she leaves you alone in return. Here, where cold wind tugs at your clothes and saltwater spray your face, you can finally take a deep breath and relax your tense shoulders. Stitching the nets is a very monotone, maybe even boring, activity but it’s exactly what you need. Your hands fix the knots on their own, guided by experience, allowing your mind to let go of duties and worries, to slip away into much more pleasant thoughts.

“I’ll wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home,” you sing barely above a whisper. Truthfully, you can’t recall where you learned the song. It’s as if you’ve always known it, the melody haunting you whenever you’re getting lost in thought.

Alina lets out a sigh of relief when she finally finds Sturmhond. For a moment she was really considering whether he could snap his fingers and vanish. He’s leaning against the doorframe but his broad shoulders still block most of the view of the deck. Sturmhond is completely oblivious to her presence and Alina has a bit too much spite in her to let the opportunity go. She quietly approaches him, harbouring a wicked hope that maybe she can scare him and single-handedly rub away that smug smirk of his.

She stops a pace or two behind him, taking in a deep breath to yell right into his ear. "Sturmhond, I-"

But the privateer is quick to silence her:

"Keep your voice down!" he hisses at Alina.

The Sun Summoner frowns at the privateer. Not only did she not scare him but also seems to be interrupting something. And considering his wish to keep things quiet, Sturmhond is doing something he knows he shouldn’t. She stares at him through half-closed eyes, beaming with suspicion, when she hears a faint hum distracting her from constructing some passive-aggressive remark. Alina recognizes your voice, although it sounds a lot softer than what she’s used to. Being the boatswain, you’re mostly heard yelling out orders for the maintenance crew that you’re watching over; forcing seafarers to tie perfect knots, no matter how many tries it takes them and raising Hell for the smallest error in repairing sails. Even if you might come off as harsh, credit is due as Volkvolny’s sails and equipment are kept impeccable. Your discipline has definitely played a significant part in Sturmhond’s successful betrayal of the Black General.

Listening in, over the howling wind and crashing waves, Alina and Nikolai eavesdrop on the sombre song you’re singing quietly to yourself — a story of a woman mourning her lover who never returned from the sea. Despite the heaviness of the words leaving your mouth, your voice is rid of dread as though such a woeful story is nowhere near relatable to you. Alina doesn’t notice that detail but Sturmhond surely does. In fact, it brings him a sense of relief: after all, how could he compete with a dead man for your love?

A mischievous smile creeps onto Alina’s face as she’s looking between you and Sturmhond. As far as she can tell, you’re completely oblivious to the small audience watching you go about your duties. The sailor, however, is unable to control his soft expression and that lovesick, mellow look in his eyes. To be honest, Sturmhond looks so removed from reality, he might actually be unaware that there are more people in the world than just him and you.

“So, genius privateer Sturmhond, the fright of the sea is in love with the boatswain,” Alina whispers, barely holding in an impish snicker, “but instead of his usual bravado he cowers away, settling for watching her from afar like a creep.”

He seems to ponder her words for a moment, nodding his head ever so slightly. “That is a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?” he asks. Nikolai appears to be well aware of his affliction but rendered powerless in the face of his heart’s desire, he can only accept the state of things.

“I wanted to say pathetic but either way works.”

Sturmhond looks at Alina out of the corner of his eye but only for a moment, unwilling to waste any more time not admiring you. “Wouldn’t it be more pathetic to be the best privateer in all of Ravka’s history but not know love?”

Alina clenches her fists. She puckers her lips, suddenly feeling hot as blood rushes to her face. Saints have mercy - he’s right. The sole act of seeing eye to eye with the blond man isn’t as terrible as the act of admitting it and stroking his ego. “I hate to say it but I agree,” she grits through her teeth.

Nikolai notices her discomfort. He doesn’t hide a certain satisfaction in the effect he has on her - it’s amusing to see her paper mache confidence falter, although he is painfully aware that this will prove problematic later on. “Oh my, I might think you actually tolerate me.”

She forces herself into a contemptuous scowl - it’s a little overdone to be considered natural. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Alina dismisses him.

“You know, I might be an incredible captain and all but without her…” Sturmhond shakes his head. His eyes follow your barely noticeable movements as you weave the net back together. “This whole ship would have already sunk.”

But she doesn’t believe him - not entirely. If she is to believe Tamar, and Alina doesn’t have much reason not to, Sturmhond chose Volkvolny despite having more captain-worthy vessels available. “Somehow, I don’t believe you’d allow that.”

“Right. If she wasn’t on this ship, I wouldn’t be either.”

Alina almost comes to the conclusion that you’re the sole reason he chose Volkvolny to be his flagship but she mostly dismisses that thought - Sturmhond may be doting but he’s far from completely losing his mind. He simply doesn’t give the impression of someone who’d shuffle his life around just to be able to creep on his boatswain. Little did she know at the time but the strangeness and dread the future holds is going to prove her wrong.

Their conversation is halted when one of the sailors on night watch passes by them. Alina recognizes him by the burn mark spreading across the right side of his face. Tolya called him ‘Marquis’. His long, blond hair sway in the cold wind. As he’s carrying a heavy crate from starboard to port, he’s quietly singing along to your song with certain carelessness as though he’s not entirely aware he’s doing it:

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me-”

Alina yawns. She’s had a long, exciting day and tomorrow is not going to be any easier, that she’s sure of. Whatever she wants to tell Sturmhond will have to wait until dawn when the captain wriggles free of his heart’s restless desires. Even though at first she’s annoyed that she has to wait because Sturmhond decided to play a lovesick teenager, she quickly finds it may be for the best: an in-depth discussion will surely erupt between the two of them and doing so when the moon is high just doesn’t seem like the best idea. Aside from that, she can really use a few more hours of sleep.

The Sun Summoner murmurs something resembling ‘Goodnight’ to Sturmhond and turns around to go back to the room she shares with Tamar, when a great wave shakes the ship, throwing her against a wooden wall. Despite the impact not being exceptionally painful to her, she’s sore anyway, the sound of it carried quite well.

Hearing a thud, you look up out of reflex. Glancing around the deck, your watchful eyes stop on Sturmhond, who’s staring back at you. The privateer gives the impression that you’ve just become privy to a side of him he’s not so keen on showing. Perhaps ‘side’ doesn’t quite mirror the idea. ‘Layer’ seems more fitting. It’s as though he dropped the facade of quick wit and evasive answers, only to show the exhaustion of a man carrying the world on his shoulders for a day too long. Despite the silence and distance between you, this staring feels intimate; both of you are showing something raw to one another in the gullible hope that the other will keep it secret.

He appears different, more calm than smug, than he does during the day, although still beautiful enough to make you flustered. Truly, he looks like he breaks the hearts of naive girls for a living. Despite that, as well as your experience with sailors in general, you found yourself craving his attention. Whether it’s intentional or not, Sturmhond has the ability to make people feel seen and their efforts acknowledged. Considering that establishing your position among sea dogs as a woman is a real challenge, maybe it was your hurt ego that clawed at any possibility or delusion of your exceptionalism. And maybe the privateer never intended for you to be hopelessly in love with him. Sure, the two of you have flirted back and forth but you never assumed it means as much to him as it does to you. It’s just the way he is, right?

A sharp, stinging pain in your finger makes you yelp. Discarding fantasies about the blond man in an awful frock coat, you look at your sore hand, now noticing a drop of crimson slowly rolling down your skin.

“Well, shit,” you whisper to yourself.

You put the bleeding finger against your lips. It’s a small cut, it shouldn’t bleed longer than a minute or two and then you can get back to-

“Are you alright?”

Sturmhond’s worried tone elicits mixed but engaging feelings from you. On one hand, you’re giddy at any crumb of attention he gives you. On the other hand, you just failed at the second easiest maintenance job a ship can have - one Hell of a way to make a good impression on the captain that always seems to fall on four paws.

“Yeah, just pricked my finger with a needle fixing the net. Nothing fatal.”

“Why are you doing this anyway? You’re a boatswain. This is a deckhand’s job,” he says as he grabs the net from your hands and tosses it aside.

“Believe it or not but I actually enjoy this. It’s peaceful, helps me get my mind off of things.”

He gives you a cocky half-grin. “Pricking your finger is just a tasteful addition, I presume?”

“Oh, you know, just trying to enrich things,” you joke back.

Sturmhond lets out a quiet, resigned sigh. Of course, you told everyone to go to sleep and finished the odd jobs yourself. “Have Tamar look at this,” he says in a soft voice. Despite the suddenly mild demeanour, his smug expression stays in place. “I’ll get someone else to finish.”

“Alright, captain,” you reluctantly agree. “But can it wait a few minutes? I like it here.”

Your gaze returns to the sapphire waves and black firmament, the line of horizon barely distinguishable between them. To your own surprise, Sturmhond sits down next to you on a barrel. “Just a few,” he says insincerely. You may not know it but he’s willing to sit there with you for much longer than a few minutes.

Volkvolny bobs on the waves, headed somewhere in the South-East direction. Cold water sprays on your face and clothes but you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing. Only now do you notice how quiet the ship is. Most of the crew must already be asleep, revelling in the few hours of rest they have until dawn. The thought of sleeping sailors makes you aware of your own exhaustion, both physical and mental.

You barely stifle a yawn. Too tired to think twice, you lay your head against Sturmhond’s shoulder. He doesn’t shy away, quite the contrary - he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to his torso ever so slightly. He smells like expensive, imported cologne and seaweed. The fragrance is hardly likable but you’ve grown to earn some masochistic pleasure from it simply because it belongs to him. The blue frock coat he’s wearing feels nice against your skin.

“Why do you always sing that song?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

“I always sing or hum doing manual jobs. It’s a habit I can’t kill,” you answer quietly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open and you can hear your words starting to slur. “I grew up in Novokribirsk. I know a lot of shanties.”

“Know anything happier than mourning a sailor?”

“Hardly,” you let out a tired chuckle. “Somehow, sailors have an aversion to happy songs. There’s one you might like.” You clear your throat, trying to recall the song from your cloudy, tired memories. “I’m a broken man on the Os Kervo pier, the last of Ravka’s privateers.”

Sturmhond furrows his eyebrows and he shakes his head in disapproval. “No, it’s still depressing.” Whether he means to or not, his finger is gently brushing circles against your arm.

“Alright, another one, um�� Oh! Don’t haul on the ropes, don’t climb up the mast. If you see a sailing ship, it might be your last.”

“Ominous and tedious. I’m actually surprised you can put both in one song.”

To Sturmhond’s dissatisfaction, you pull away from him. Still, the distance between you is considerably small and you feel each other’s breaths on your skin. With half-lidded eyes out of exhaustion, you give him a wide smile. His breath shakes in his chest.

“You know, you might be the most optimistic sailor I’ve ever met,” you confess.

He could kiss you right now. Saints only know how much he wants to. If the odds are in his favour, and his vanity would like to think they are, you might even kiss him back. Or at least not slap him. Would your lips feel soft and warm against his? Would you taste of saltwater and rye bread like he always imagines? Would you giggle nervously after? In that specific way that makes him forget to breathe?

But Sturmhond can only hope your tired mind can’t compute his nervousness. “Does that title come with a prize?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Is being the most optimistic sailor truly worth such honour?” he says in an overly dramatic tone. He jokingly puts his hand on his chest. “Are you not underestimating your presence, my lady?”

“You get extra credit because I like you. A lot.”

Sturmhond swallows nervously. Since when does he get nervous around women? For a moment you’re just staring at each other again. The desire to push his lips against yours is back flooding his mind, now stronger and more desperate than before. The first chance might have been a coincidence but the second… He slowly leans in, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. But you look just as lovely as you did in the morning. His nose almost brushes yours and-

“I might have a happy one,” you suddenly speak up. You look back at the sea, furrowing your eyebrows in deep thought. “Saints, how did it go?” you whisper to yourself. “Prick your finger, it is done. Roll her out and spread her wings, the time has come for better things.”

Having mastered self-control, Sturmhond doesn’t make his disappointment visible. The third time’s the charm, right? “First one that doesn’t make me want to drown myself.” The bitterness in his voice is almost inaudible but you’re too tired to notice.

“I’ll sing you the whole thing but that has to wait until morning, alright?”

“I’m holding you to that.”

His heart quickens its beat when you lay your head back on his shoulder. He should probably tell you to go back to your berth and get some sleep but maybe it can wait a few minutes? He likes it here.

429 notes · View notes

aaaaafro · 2 years ago

Text

Soft Japanese Pillows, Two more, please? IVE Rei x ? x M! Reader (+18)

And we're back with a special guest. Pt 1 here

tw: more pillows, more softer + Rei's blonde now and we bout to die

The bells above the door chime as you enter the familiar outlet. You won't lie after the showcase of products last time and even though you've bought enough pillows to make your sleep a hundred times better. Your mind couldn't help but look back at the experience. It always feels like you need more of those pillows and today you've concluded that two isn't just gonna cut for you.

"Welcome, are you ready to have the best sleep?" It's their catchphrase that you didn't pay attention the last time from a somewhat unfamiliar voice and face.

It's not that you're disappointed or anything (or it's not like you're expecting another Japanese staff to assist you, right?). If it is something, you're actually awestruck at her visuals. The simplistic approach of her make-up just accentuates her natural beauty even more.

"My name is Kazuha, you can call me Zuha. What can I help you with?" She smiles once more as you just stood there lost of words.

"Oh sir!" Now a familiar call from somewhere woke you up from your trance.

You and Zuha look over and see the adorable Japanese pillows–woman! Japanese woman approaching the two of you. Her smile didn't leave her face even after she's finally right in front of you.

"You're back, did something happen with the pillows?" Rei asks.

Respectfully your eyes wander towards her lower regions for some reason and that fraction of a pause didn't go unnoticed by the two ladies. A fake cough from Zuha wakes you up from your daydream as you did your best to focus on the matter.

"Uh... yeah... I mean no! There's nothing wrong with them. I'm a-actually here f-for..." Your words got caught up in your throat.

"Me?" Rei jokingly finishes as you two awkwardly laugh at each other.

"Uhm, I'm here to p-purchase m-more, if it's okay?" You clarified as Zuha and Rei's eyes light up upon hearing of a potential sale.

You could've guessed that ever since what happened to you and Rei that there shouldn't really be anything awkward between the two of you and to prove that Rei quickly jumps onto you, clinging tightly as she presses her soft body against your arm.

"Let's go then, sir~?" Again with a little cute fade at the end, as her smile flashes and it gives you flashbacks of your first time here.

You couldn't help but notice though the other lady in the room. As you and Rei look back at Zuha who's standing there in awe at the relationship you two have. Rei waves at her before saying; "Watch the store for me."

Clearly seeing the annoyance at Zuha's face that these two don't really get alongside each other. A light tug at your arm signals you to walk but you keep glancing back to see Kazuha's face who seems disappointed. You could say the sale incentives might be something that comes to play with this, but that's clearly not all of it.

"I'm so happy that you're back..." Rei comments as she continues to lead you to the back office of the store.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back with the products. Oh gosh! I know you'll love them and I'm so excited to show them to you." Hearing the enthusiasm in her voice really does make you excited as well and remember your first time here. while you're sitting down on the very neat white couch.

Not even a minute in. Rei comes back with a couple of pillows in hand. You're stunned to see the variety of styles and the visible differences between the products. Not just the sizes but the sheer materials of it are visibly different.

"So, these new ones just came in..." Rei starts presenting them.

Handing you one to try and feel the undeniable comfort in your hand. As you're feeling the product's quality, your mind then starts thinking of something else and it really doesn't help when that something else is right in front of you.

"So? How's it sir?" Rei scoots forward excitedly and you can't help but focus on the way her meaty legs jiggles with her movements.

"U-uhhm... They l-look g-great..."

"Oh... H-how about the materials sir?"

"T-they uh... yeah, feels great."

Those half-assed answers weren't really enough for Rei, as she traces your line of sight and realizes where your focus is on. Knowing what's distracting you from getting the full experience she quickly thought of a solution.

"Do they really feel great sir?" Rei suddenly closes in your personal space even more to the point where her body is pressing against your shoulder.

"T-they d-do..." You might've swallowed a whole gallon of saliva, as you try to form the right words for a response.

"Oh really, I was just about to say..."

"These are made of one hundred percent authentic Japanese materials." Now you're torn between the pillows or her thighs pressed against your arm but either way you're taking something home and it'd be nice if you can take both home.

"T-they a-are?" Your voice might've just cracked mid sentence due to your nerves but that's not the point.

With that Rei moves her lips closer to your ear before whispering; "Yes sir, and the biggest feature of these is that they are water resistant."

There goes Rei with her patent adorable fading voice as her hot breath brushes against your ear. You sit there, heart pounding as her hand lands on your shoulder before slowly sliding down to your chest as she continues; "Do you want another demo sir?"

With no words forming in your head you just decided to nod and this was enough for Rei, as she jumps on top of you. Her healthy legs trapping yours on the spot as she reaches for the pillow in your hand before chucking it like it was nothing.

"We'll begin the demo now sir." Her sultry voice trickles your ears.

Her hands skillfully find yours, her delicate fingers intertwining with yours as she slowly guides them to her hips. You shudder at first contact as if touching something so rare, well it is.

"W-wow." Might as well insert the Owen Wilson meme as you're too amaze to say anything else.

A proud smile comes across Rei's face seeing your eyes almost popping out. Just as then, you realized. She's still wearing a hoodie that's really obscuring the real feel of her body.

Rei can clearly see the frustration settling in on you and as a good customer service, she decides to oblige and provide you a better feel.

She removes her stuffy hoodie instantly and presents you with her slim hip and her voluptuous chest. Your drool almost slipping out and with a huge slurp that causes Rei to let out such an adorable chuckle that contrasts such a lustful body.

With her top hugging her figure so much almost as if they were about to pop, you couldn't help but just stare and obviously this isn't what Rei wanted her product to be experienced as.

Now with a firm goal of proving her product's exquisite quality, she takes your motionless hands and guides it up to her chest. Palming both healthy clothed pillows giving it a good squeeze, as Rei had to bite her lip to suppress her moan.

"C-can you feel it, sir?" Your hunger for her has now reached an all time high. As her soft spoken voice enters your eardrums.

"F-fuck." You mumbled.

Rei's hands captured your head before plunging you straight onto her chest. Her soft cushion catches you just fine as she then lowers her mouth closer to your ear as she whispers; "Later sir."

You can clearly see in your peripheral that she's smirking proving that she intends to do what you're proposing. just as then regret start to settle in as you've slowly realize how you're still in between her soft goodies and even then Rei starts pressing her mounds together trapping you even more.

And so you did what every sane person would do in this situation, you start kissing the in between of her orbs. Tasting the packed goodness of her skin was really something else. You can clearly tell she's been working hard as the hint of slight saltiness was fighting her sweet cherry flavored skin.

"Mhhmm, y-yes sir~ keep going." Well, if she asks so... who are you to not oblige?

Being a lil' too frisky you decide to go all ham on her, lifting her top off. The sheer ridiculous bounce that her mounds made the moment they were freed was something you've engraved into your mind forever.

Rei's pink cute hardened nubs are just calling you out and without a second to spare you quickly took one in your mouth. Her gasps send you shockwaves of happiness as she pulls your head deeper hoping to get more out of the sensation.

The sweet, savoury flavor of Rei's body resting on your taste buds is enough to make you come close to the edge of being rabid and just taking her to town but seeing how much Rei is enjoying this steady pace that you've created, you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

"Haaa~ fuck, that's some fucking good stuff." You said right after regretfully detached yourself from her orbs having to catch your breath for a bit.

"Are you done sampling the products sir?" Rei's tone isn't that sweet, more so inviting if you'd say so yourself.

"B-but there's more products to sample." She added before removing your hands from her mounds and placing them on hee thighs.

S O F T, those are the only letters that you can think of at the moment. Like there's other words more fit than that... you dig down deep in your personal thesaurus, mushy? squashy? or supple? All of it fits but simplistically SOFT.

"Holy fuc-." Rei's finger halts you from finishing such a filthy reaction before she once more reaches for your hands and guides it towards her core.

Two layers of clothing did nothing to hide her arousal as the wet spot right in the middle is too evident. She smiled as your thumb glides up and down tracing her hot line.

"W-wow." Another Owen Wilson meme worthy reaction as you continued to press against her ever so wet snatch.

"Sir~." Rei's soft whimper cuts you off from the trance as she starts to stand up letting your legs free.

Your heart breaks into tiny pieces as the feeling of her soft body is now nowhere to be found. Like taking a treat from a puppy, your hands reached out trying to pull Rei back. She chuckled at the sight as she grabbed your hand and gave it a good squeeze. Enough to reassure you that she's coming back.

Rei suddenly reaches for the hem of her shorts. Wiggling her cute butt she does her best to slither off of the fabric. Gladly it was stretchable and she did it so easily. Now in her surprisingly cute underwear which is such a confusing sight but yet you're not one to look away. She smiled seeing your eyes are fixated on her lower half.

To make it even better she begins to wiggle it, you almost drool at the sigh as her soft thighs jiggling aggressively as she continues to undress herself while wiggling. A devilish grin on her face alerts you of something and a signal with her finger standing you up from the couch.

You could've sworn the world slowed down as you approached closer and closer to Rei and her bare skin. Your eyes never left the plump woman as you finally closed the distance between the two of you.

Towering over Rei was something that shouldn't surprise you but yet you can't help but adore the height difference as she slightly has to look up to meet eyes with you. You captured her by the hips pulling her closer. The two of you lock eyes before surrendering to your hunger.

Fireworks start to set off from your heart as you finally get a taste of Rei's lips (though you'd prefer the other lips more). The savoury goodness of her lips really does wonders as she wraps her arms around your neck before jumping onto you and you're quick to catch her by her meaty thighs.

"You taste so fucking good!" You comment midway through the make out session.

Rei's lips curls up as she then introduces another participant in the form of her tongue. The two of you engage in a battle for dominance but yet can easily tell how it's tipping over your side of the scale.

Being in so much ecstasy your legs start to crumble and as the obvious choice at the moment, you quickly carry Rei towards the white couch. Carefully placing the precious Japanese on the soft cushion as you got lost at how her meaty legs squishes against the surface–oh, just how you'd wished it was your face.

"You said these pillows are water resistant?" Rei adorably nods as you slowly remove your pants.

"Let's test that out shall we?" You finally discard the last useless garment off of your body as you line your face with Rei's wet entrance.

Seeing Rei holding back her excitement as she spreads her legs wider giving you a better look at her moist lips.You two made eye contact as you inch closer to her goods a slight nod from her encouraged you enough to dive in.

Placing a long lick along the slit of her core making sure to scoop as much as you can of her liquid gold. This action elicits a high pitched moan from the Japanese woman as her toes curls up. You can clearly see her resolve leaving her body as her hands suddenly lands on the back of your head pulling you deeper onto her core.

Your tongue reach as far as you could while doing your best to drink up her dripping springs. Her moans drown the whole room as her hand tussles with your hair trying to get some form of relief from all of the pleasure she's having.

"S-sir! Nnnhhnngg~! H-how is it?" Hearing that question made you commend how dedicated Rei is at her job.

Imagine getting eaten out yet you're worried about what that customer thinks about the service. As much as you'd love to give her millions of compliments you decide to just double the amount of pleasure as you jam two fingers inside of her tight walls. Rei's back arches as her nails digs deep into your skull, yet pain didn't even register in your mind as you're too focus on giving Rei your efforts.

"F–fuck! Sir! Ah–shiiitt..." Rei squealed as her legs kicks out before a gush of her liquid comes pouring out. Without detaching your mouth on her sacred lips you drink up as much as you can whilst Rei rides out her orgasm.

"See sir? How it just lets out all of the water?" You chuckled hearing Rei's attempt to make a sale as you finally let the girl rest for a bit seeing how the climax knocked the wind out of her.

Standing up as your legs start to cramp, Rei's eyes get fixated on your rock hard rod, but she can't blame you though, after all even just from the moment she straddled you, your member was already engorged.

"S-sir." Rei called as you're trying to stretch out the muscles of your leg and the moment you turned around, you almost passed out seeing Rei's on her knees while her torso was prompted on the backrest.

"What the f–."

"Fuck? Yes sir, that's the idea." Rei finished your sentence like she'd rehearsed it a couple of times.

Like your bed after a long day of work, you got pulled in as if she has a leash on you. Your hand traced her plump behind before giving it a good squeeze. Rei looks back as she gave you that mischievous smile of her before pushing her ass back to make contact with your member.

The sheer heat that radiates from her core and the remnants of her juice that it has, almost sent you to the edge but you're not one to disappoint her. "Go on sir. Fuck me." She whispered before looking away and bracing herself on the backrest of the couch.

Well, she asked for it and you'd be stupid not to give her what she wants. You quickly line your member on her entrance but before anything else, the back office's door slams open, stopping you right in your track.

You and Rei look back only to see Kazuha with an obvious angry expression. She nonchalantly approaches you and Rei before sitting down right next to her colleagues who's still naked and spread out on her knees.

"Uh... Zuha." Rei calls.

"No, no. go ahead." She replies as she just looks on.

You stood there dumbfounded as Rei just shrugs and proceed to penetrate herself with your rod. This took you by surprise but as you tried to pull out of Rei and she just suddenly pushes herself back to penetrate herself once more. You groaned feeling her tight walls clasping your member.

As awkward as the situation is, you can't help but to start giving Rei the business and despite her workmate being right beside the two of you doing the nasty, she just sat there and watched over, intrigued at the way your rod completely disappears and partially reappear from Rei.

"Mhhmmm, fuck sir! You're so big!" Rei moans.

This is all too much for you already, and yet Kazuha suddenly stood up and starts removing her pants.

Introducing you to another great Japanese product.

"Fuck!" You twitched insure Rei as she jolts slightly feeling your rod react at the sight of her colleague.

Rei looks back to see Kazuha snaking her hands around your torso, this prompts Rei to double the pace as she starts throwing her ass towards you to deepen the connection each entry.

"Does she feel good?" Kazuha whispers into your ears as you continue to pound away at Rei's cakes.

"Mhhmm, I knew you weren't just here for the pillows..."

"Look at those thighs bounce..." As if you couldn't. You can't even look at Kazuha as you're too fixated on Rei's body responding each thrusts you did.

"How about we double down on some deal?" You really can't think straight to process what Zuha proposed but you somewhat understand it by the way she took your hand which was clutching Rei's hips and guides it towards her thigh.

Never! NEVER! In a million years you'd think that buying pillows can be this heavenly and you haven't even gone home yet to try and sleep on them. "How does that deal sound sir?"

Kazuha's lips suddenly captures your earlobes as you try to put your thoughts into words; "Fuck."

A light chuckle from the two Japanese pillo–ladies! Japanese ladies echoes. You're a mess trying to juggle the feel of Rei's love walls and Kazuha's clothed bolsters.

Now Zuha adds more to the equation when she suddenly slides her safety shorts aside and self penetrated herself with your fingers. And that's when the apex was within your sights feeling Rei's walls clenching as Zuha continues to play with your earlobes and fingers.

And to add cherry on the top Zuha whispers; "Cum inside her. Fill her up sir, she'll love it." Before recapturing your earlobe.

A few more thrusts as your member and your finger feels the two ladies reaching their limits as well. The three of you groans in a synchronous fashion, climaxing at the same time. Your waves of white love injecting inside Rei as she mixes it with her own fluids, meanwhile Zuha bites at your shoulder trying to ride off of her orgasm.

Finally collapsing on the body fluid riddled couch the three of you cuddled along as you got sandwhiched by both gorgeous ecstasy filled ladies, doing your best to catch each of your breaths.

"So, how were they sir?" Rei asks as her breathing comes back to normal

"Right... sir?" Kazuha followed.

"I..." You contemplated for a bit before saying fuck it, there's no such thing as too many Japanese pillows.

"I'll take two of each, please?" The two ladies smiled from ear to ear hearing your response before placing a kiss on each of your cheeks.

#ive #ive smut #rei #ive rei #naoi rei #rei smut #male reader #ive x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim smut #le sserafim #le sserafim kazuha #nakamura kazuha #kazuha smut #kazuha

510 notes · View notes

cheynovak · 4 months ago

Text

Healing Waters - pt 5

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N

Summary: Azriel is sent by Rhysand to the Spring Court to investigate Tamlin's erratic behavior. While spying in the woods, he comes across Y/N, an Illyrian female bathing under a waterfall. Intrigued by her beauty and shocked to see the scars where her wings should have been, he is immediately captivated.

Warnings: 18+ish.... Hurt, pain, anger, nudity, spying, aggression, ...

English is not my first language

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

Part 5/?

* Published September 13th 2024 *

** Azriel's POV **

The night stretched on, filled with restless pacing and seething anger that I couldn’t seem to shake off. The memories of Y/N's story replayed in my mind, fueling a relentless rage that I directed toward the name “Keir.” I couldn’t stand the thought of him walking free, still living while others had suffered because of his cruelty.

I couldn’t stay idle, so I sent the information directly to Rhysand. His response was quick, his promise to look into it reassuring, but he also warned me to stay away from Hewn City and Keir. He knew me well enough to anticipate my next move, and I hated that he was right.

My instincts were to hunt down that bastard and end him, but Rhys had always been the voice of reason, the one who could temper my more impulsive tendencies.

In my frustration, I let out a furious yell into the night, my voice carrying across the quiet streets. “I want to rip his head off!”

The sound of my own anger echoed back to me, amplifying the frustration I felt. Rhysand didn’t respond, and I was left alone with my thoughts until I noticed a figure standing in the distance.

Y/N was there, clad in her nightgown, her presence a stark contrast to the turmoil that had consumed me. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and something softer—maybe understanding.

The sight of her calmed me in a way I hadn’t expected. Her presence was a reminder of why I had to hold onto my promise, why my anger needed to be channeled into something more constructive.

As I approached her, she made a feeble attempt at humor, a weak smile on her lips. “So, some part of you is still Illyrian, huh? I already started to think you were to tame.”

Her comment made me chuckle despite the lingering anger. It was a gentle reminder of the calmness I was struggling to keep in check. “My temper can still be very much Illyrian,” I replied, my voice softer now, the anger receding as I looked at her.

She gave a small, shaky laugh, and I could see the fear behind her brave façade. It was a side of her I hadn’t seen before, and it made my resolve harden even further. I couldn’t let her be afraid because of what I might do. I needed to be the protector I had promised to be.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” I said, trying to soften my tone. “I just… needed to vent.” She shook her head, her gaze steady despite the tremor in her voice. “It’s okay. I understand... I eh, used to yell at my demons too, at times.”

The sincerity in her words was like a balm to my frayed nerves. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and nodded. “Thank you for trusting me, with those demons.”

I looked at Y/N, still standing in her nightgown, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. I could see that she was trying to avoid eye contact, her gaze shifting back toward the hallway and the direction of her room.

“Why are you up?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. She turned slightly, her discomfort palpable. “Eh, the bed…” she began, trailing off as if the explanation was somehow too trivial.

“What’s wrong?” I pressed gently, trying to draw her out. She looked embarrassed, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown. “It’s too soft,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her confession. “I get the feeling,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Years of sleeping on the cold, hard floor can make it difficult to adjust to a bed that feels like a cloud you’re about to fall through.”

Her eyes met mine, and despite her discomfort, a small smile tugged at her lips. It was a smile that spoke of shared understanding, a moment of connection over something as simple as an uncomfortable bed.

“I guess thats what I mean,” she said, her voice a bit more relaxed now. “I’m just not used to all this softness.”

We stood there for a moment, the night air cool around us, the tension from earlier dissipating into a comfortable ease. It was strange, but this small conversation about an overly soft bed had created a new kind of bond between us—one that was built on shared experiences and mutual understanding.

“If you need anything,” I said, my voice sincere, “just let me know.”

Y/N gave me a grateful look, her eyes reflecting a sense of relief. “Thanks, Azriel. I appreciate it.”

Hearing her say my name stirred something deep inside me, a feeling I hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t invited. The way Y/N's lips shaped my name sent a warmth through me that I couldn’t quite shake off. As she turned and began walking toward her room, my mind wandered, unbidden, to the image of her whispering my name again—but this time in a far more intimate setting.

I imagined her in my bed, her soft voice barely a breath against my ear as I held her close, our bodies entwined in the warmth of night. The thought sent a ripple of heat through me, and I quickly forced myself to suppress it, to keep my emotions and, more importantly, my scent from betraying me. The last thing I wanted was for her to sense what I was thinking.

But her presence… the way she smelled after living so long outdoors—like fresh earth, pine, and a touch of something uniquely her—made it difficult to keep my focus. It wasn’t the typical perfumes and floral scents most females wore. No, her scent was raw, natural, and it stirred something primal in me that I had no business entertaining.

She paused mid-step, and for a moment, I worried my control had slipped. She swallowed hard, her shoulders tensing just slightly, as if she sensed the shift in the air between us. My heart raced for the briefest moment, my mind running wild with the possibility that she might turn around and call me out.

But she didn’t.

She simply took a deep breath, gathered herself, and continued walking. There was no comment, no accusatory glance. She either hadn’t noticed, or she was kind enough to pretend she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and cursed myself for letting my thoughts get away from me. This wasn’t the time or place for such distractions. Y/N had already been through enough. The last thing she needed was for me to make things awkward, or worse, let her think I had some ulterior motive, that I would be the scum that had forced himself on her.

No I needed to keep her safe, wanted to keep her here with me, where I know she's save.

** Y/N's POV **

The moment I smelled him, it took me a second to recognize the scent—a mixture of raw power, shadows, and something distinctly masculine that stirred something inside me. It had been a long time since I had been this close to an Illyrian male, and even longer since I had sensed arousal from anyone. The realization hit me just as I reached my room, and I forced myself to keep moving, though my legs suddenly felt unsteady.

I closed the door behind me, leaning back against it, my breath coming out in shaky, uneven waves. How was it possible? I’d only mentioned not being able to sleep, and yet I’d felt it, the change in his scent. The sharp edge of desire laced through the air, unmistakable. And what baffled me most was that it wasn’t unwelcome. I didn’t feel disgust or fear like I would have in the past.

I wasn’t upset.

But I was confused. My mind began to wander as I stood there, eyes closed, trying to make sense of it. Azriel—the way he looked at me, the subtle heat in his eyes that I hadn't fully registered before. I began to imagine what it would be like with him, to feel his hands on me, his body pressed against mine. For a moment, I indulged the thought, picturing slipping into his room, into his bed. What would it be like to experience something real, something not born from pain and cruelty, but desire?

I could almost feel his warmth, the gentle touch of his hands on my skin, his lips trailing down my neck as he whispered my name. The thought made something inside me stir—a strange, unfamiliar heat that I'd never associated with intimacy before.

But then, the memories crept back in, as they always did. Sex had never been about pleasure for me. It had been a tool, a weapon used against me. My body had been nothing more than a means to an end for others. The idea of it ever bringing joy or connection was foreign to me, no matter how much I wanted to believe it could be different with someone like him.

Azriel.

He seemed different—a good male, one who could offer something more. But I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining the image I had of him, of seeing him through the same lens as all the others who had used me. What if the reality didn’t live up to the fantasy? What if, in the end, he was no different?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. No, no. It’s not fun, I reminded myself. It never had been. And I didn’t want to risk breaking this fragile thing between us.

I heard him. Even through the thick wood of my door, I could sense Azriel on the other side, moving about in his room. The same scent lingered in the air—desire, thick and palpable, brushing against my skin like a caress. It sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs feel unsteady, my heart pounding faster than I cared to admit.

How was he doing this to me?

My thoughts spiraled, battling between reason and impulse. Should I open the door? Should I let him in? Just for a moment, for a taste of what it could be like? I didn’t know why, but my body craved it, craved him. I hadn’t felt anything like this in so long—maybe I never had. The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I hesitated, doubting myself, doubting him.

By the time I made up my mind, my hand reaching for the doorknob, I heard his door close.

The soft click echoed down the hall, and I knew I was too late. My heart dropped slightly, disappointment settling into my chest. Still, I found myself stepping across the hall, standing just outside his door, drawn to him despite my better judgment. My hand hovered above the wood, unsure whether to knock or walk away. But instead, I leaned in, pressing my ear gently to the surface, my breath hitching as I strained to hear anything on the other side.

And then I heard it—his heavy breaths, labored and uneven, the sound of desire and restraint barely held in check. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, every beat reverberating through me as I caught his scent again. Stronger now, more potent. The way it tugged at me made my body respond instinctively, a warmth pooling deep in my stomach.

Then, in the silence of the night, I heard him murmur something under his breath, barely audible.

My name.

The sound of it slipping from his lips, filled with need, with want—it sent a shock through me. I hitched a breath, my pulse racing, and I stepped back, almost stumbling as I did. His voice, soft and raw, saying my name like that… it made me feel things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in so long.

I stood there, frozen for a moment, torn between wanting to open the door and flee back to my room. His presence, his desire—it was so close, so tangible. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face what lay behind that door.

Before I could slip back into my room I heard his door open.

"Y/N?"

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @sidthedollface2 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @mich0731

#acotar #acosf #fanfic #azriel #the shadowsinger #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #x reader #fluff #hurt #hurt/comfort #illyrian #azriel acotar

27 notes · View notes

solastia · 8 months ago

Text

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Y/N (OFC)

Warnings: None Currently. Will be smut later on. Perhaps a small warning for the overuse of musical symbolism, because I'm cheesy like that. Also trying out a different POV for reader view.

Summary: Y/N and Yoongi embark on a whimsical journey of love, laughter, and cat-induced chaos. Their romance has led to a shared living space, and now they navigate the highs and lows of cohabitating bliss. AKA: A series of slice-of-life drabbles to help me get in a writing mood when I'm having trouble, and to help me grow with my writing. And it's about Yoongi, surprise!

PART TWO

* * *

The shrill beeping of the alarm clock sliced through Y/N's dreams like a knife. A clumsy hand emerged from the cocoon of blankets, fumbling for salvation from the noise. With a satisfying click, silence prevailed. Y/N stretched, arms reaching towards the ceiling as a wide yawn claimed her face.

"Another day," she muttered to herself, voice scratchy with sleep.

Padding across the room, her feet found the cool floor comforting. The aroma of coffee and something sweet wafted from the kitchen, guiding her like a siren song. There, Min Yoongi, hair tousled from sleep yet eyes alert, stood flipping pancakes with an ease that spoke of quiet mornings and softer nights.

"Morning," Y/N mumbled, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey sleepyhead," Yoongi greeted without turning around. His voice was smooth, a contrast to the sizzle of breakfast on the stove.

"Smells amazing." She approached him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and resting her head against his back.

"Only the best for you," he said, his tone treading the delicate line between sincerity and jest.

Y/N circled around to face him, taking in the sight of Yoongi in his domestic element. His hands moved with practiced grace, and there was a faint smile on his lips – one that spoke more of contentment than amusement.

"Did I ever tell you that you look incredibly handsome in the morning light?" Y/N teased, standing on tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Every morning," Yoongi replied, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "But keep telling me."

"Consider it done." Her words were light, dancing between them like the steam rising from the freshly brewed coffee.

* * *

Shadow wound his sleek black body around Y/N's ankles, a silent demand for attention. She chuckled and scooped a generous portion of kibble into his bowl. "There you go, Your Majesty," she said, scratching behind his ears as he began to eat with fervor.

"Thirsty too?" She replaced his water with a fresh supply, the gentle ripple reflecting the early sunlight streaming through the window.

"Breakfast's ready," Yoongi called out, a subtle note of pride lacing his words.

"Coming!" She washed her hands and joined him at the table, where two plates of pancakes and fruit awaited them.

"Plans today?" Yoongi asked, fork poised over his creation.

"Usual stuff." Y/N shrugged, slicing a strawberry. "You?"

"Music," he answered simply, biting into a pancake. "Maybe find a new sound."

"Ah, the elusive new sound." She raised an eyebrow. "Is it hiding somewhere in the apartment?"

"Very funny." Yoongi's eyes twinkled with amusement. "It might be."

"Let me know if you need help setting a trap for it," she quipped, enjoying the familiar banter as much as the meal.

* * *

Y/N slung her bag over her shoulder, the strap pulling at the fabric of her scrubs. She glanced at Yoongi, who was clearing the breakfast dishes with a methodical precision that always amused her. "I'm off to save some furry lives," she declared, her tone playful yet edged with the pride of her calling.

"Make sure you save one for Shadow," Yoongi responded without looking up, his voice steady and calm as he stacked the plates with a soft clink.

"Will do. I’ll grab him some more treats on my way home, too. Maybe some gourmet fish sticks or something equally regal." She grinned, imagining Shadow's haughty little face judging the selection of treats.

"Sounds fancy. He'll approve." Yoongi finally turned, his gaze meeting hers with a warmth that never failed to stir something deep within her.

"See you tonight?" Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a fleeting kiss that held the promise of more.

"Count on it." The corners of Yoongi's mouth curved upward in a smile that didn't quite hide the reluctance in his eyes.

"Love you." She pulled back, the words floating between them like a shared secret.

"Love you more." It was their familiar refrain, yet it still sent a flutter through Y/N's chest every time.

With a final wave, she stepped out into the cool morning air, the door closing behind her with a soft click. She imagined Yoongi there, standing in the quiet aftermath, surrounded by the remnants of their morning routine.

Inside, Yoongi let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The apartment felt larger suddenly, the silence more profound. He eyed the keyboard in the corner of the room, the black and white keys gleaming under the strip of sunlight sneaking in through the blinds.

"Time to find you, new sound," he muttered to himself, a spark igniting in his chest. His fingers itched for the familiar dance across the keys, for the thrill of coaxing melodies from the depths of his imagination.

He crossed the room in a few strides, flipping on his equipment with practiced ease. Headphones settled over his ears, he surrendered to the rhythm pulsing through him, each note a building block in the architecture of his creation.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, the world outside his studio narrowing to nothing but the beats and chords that flowed from his soul. Time became irrelevant, meals forgotten, as he chased the elusive siren of inspiration. It was an all-consuming fire, and Yoongi was both the moth and the flame.

* * *

Keys jingled. The door creaked open. Y/N stepped in, the weight of the day lifting at the sight of home. Shadow's treats crinkled in her hand as she tiptoed past the living room, a soft hum leading her to Yoongi's studio.

"Hey," she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her over the music. Leaning against the doorway, Y/N watched him: head bobbing, fingers flying, lost in a world of sound and rhythm. The dedication in his furrowed brow drew a proud smile to her lips.

Shifting the bag to one hand, she peeled off her jacket, the fabric whispering its relief. Comfort beckoned. She slipped away, leaving Yoongi to his muse.

Moments later, she returned, now clad in well-worn sweatpants and an oversized tee. She sank into the couch's embrace, her gaze returning to Yoongi. The melody spilled over her, intricate and haunting—a testament to the man behind the keys.

"Sounds like you're onto something big," she called out, finally loud enough to pierce his concentration.

Yoongi glanced up, startled, then pulled the headphones down with a sheepish grin. "You think so? It's just... I don't know. A mess of notes."

"Your 'messes' could win Grammys." She chuckled, crossing her legs and settling in. "Play it for me?"

"Alright, but it's rough." He hit a few buttons, releasing the tune through the speakers.

The music filled the room, wrapping around them like a shared secret. Y/N closed her eyes, every note painting colors behind her lids.

"Rough?" she echoed when the last echo faded. "That was..." Words failed her.

"See? A mess." Yoongi's laugh was soft, self-deprecating.

"Best mess I've heard all day," she shot back. "Keep making messes, Min Yoongi. You're damn good at it."

He just shook his head, a hint of pink on his cheeks. But the pride in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

Yoongi's fingers paused, hovering above the keyboard. He turned, catching Y/N’s eye. "What's up?"

"Let's cook," she suggested. "Something new."

"Uh-huh." Yoongi's eyebrow quirked up. "And what disaster are we attempting today?"

"Hey," she feigned offense, "my culinary skills have improved."

"From burnt toast to... mildly overcooked toast?" His smirk was contagious.

"Ha-ha," she deadpanned. "Come on, chef-grandpa. Impress me."

He rolled his eyes but stood, stretching limbs stiff from sitting too long. "Fine. Let's wreck the kitchen."

* * *

In the kitchen, recipes sprawled across the counter, they began their dance of dinner preparation. Yoongi wielded a knife with precision, chopping onions into fine pieces that could pass muster in any five-star restaurant. Y/N watched for a moment, mesmerized by the steady tap-tap-tap before shaking her head and tackling the peppers.

"Show-off," she muttered under her breath.

"Jealous?" Yoongi teased without looking up.

"Please," she snorted, "I'll have you know I'm the queen of dicing."

"Sure, as long as the kingdom doesn't mind irregular shapes."

"Character," she corrected him, tongue poking out as she concentrated on not losing a fingertip.

They moved around each other with an ease born of countless shared spaces. Pots clanged, water boiled, and spices were debated over with the gravity of international diplomacy.

"Garlic?" Yoongi held up the bulb.

"Always garlic," Y/N confirmed.

"Thought you'd say that," he said, chuckling.

"Because you know me so well?" She bumped his hip with hers, sending a carrot rolling off the countertop.

"Or because you’d put garlic in your cereal if I'm not watching." He caught the rogue vegetable mid-air, tossing it back onto the cutting board.

"Exaggeration much?" But her grin told him all he needed to know.

Laughter bubbled between them as the scent of cooking food filled the air. It was comfortable, this life they had stitched together, thread by thread—a tapestry of music, love, and now, the sizzle of stir-fry in a hot pan.

"Think it'll be edible?" Y/N asked, squinting at the recipe.

"Edible?" Yoongi feigned insult. "It'll be a masterpiece."

"Confident."

"Realistic."

"Grandfatherly."

"Hey!" But his mock indignation couldn't survive the twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

Plates clinked as they came to rest on the table, steaming with the colorful stir-fry that topped them. Y/N inhaled deeply, the garlic and ginger hitting her senses with a promise of flavor. Yoongi poured glasses of water, his movements precise and unhurried.

"Looks like we outdid ourselves," he said, settling across from her.

"Wait until you taste it." She picked up her chopsticks, eyeing him over the first bite. "This could be the start of our own cooking show."

"‘The Grandfatherly Gourmet’?" he suggested with a mock-serious nod.

"Only if you wear an apron with that embroidered on it." She took a bite, flavors bursting in her mouth. "Oh wow, this is good."

"Knew it would be," Yoongi replied after a moment, his own approval lighting up his face.

"Your modesty is truly astounding," she quipped, but was too busy savoring another mouthful to see his reaction.

With the meal doing a slow dance across their taste buds, they fell into a companionable silence, punctuated only by the occasional contented sigh or the soft tap of chopsticks against plates. The warmth of the apartment wrapped around them, a cocoon fashioned from shared effort and simple joys.

Dinner done, Y/N gathered the dishes, but Yoongi's hand on hers stopped her. "Leave them. Let's just... relax for a bit."

"Lazy," she accused without heat, following his lead to the couch.

"Efficient," he corrected, pulling her into the crook of his arm as they sank into the cushions.

"Same difference." She snuggled closer, the remote between them like a scepter waiting to anoint their evening entertainment.

"Comedy?" she suggested, thumb hovering over the play button.

"Something light. I've had enough drama for one day," he said, referring to the fiasco of a spilled bag of rice earlier.

"Here we go." She pressed play, and the screen lit up with the title sequence of a sitcom known for its sharp wit.

Laughter filled the room, bouncing off walls that had likely never witnessed such merriment. They repeated punchlines under their breath, chuckling at running gags and the absurdity of the characters' predicaments.

"Who writes this stuff?" Y/N gasped between laughs, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Comedic geniuses," Yoongi deadpanned, but his smile betrayed his amusement.

"Or just people who spy on us and find our life funny?" She nudged him playfully.

"Could be." He didn't miss a beat. "I mean, we are pretty funny."

"Speak for yourself, I'm downright hysterical."

"Of course you are," he agreed, squeezing her gently. "Why else would I keep you around?"

"Ouch." She feigned a wounded look. "And here I thought it was for my stir-fry skills."

"Those too," Yoongi conceded, kissing the top of her head as they settled back into the rhythm of the show, their laughter mingling with the onscreen antics.

* * *

Shadow, a sleek black form in the glow of the television screen, leaped onto the couch with the silence and precision of a ninja. The show's laugh track couldn’t mask the sound of his purring as he nestled firmly between Y/N and Yoongi, his green eyes an obvious plea for attention.

"Jealous much?" Y/N quipped, stroking Shadow's head, her fingers trailing down to scratch behind his ears.

"Can't blame him," Yoongi said, joining in the ritual of affection with a gentle hand. "Who wouldn't want a piece of this cozy action?"

"True. We're quite the package deal." Y/N chuckled as Shadow purred louder, a motorboat of contentment.

"Package deal, huh?" Yoongi raised an eyebrow, but his smile was soft, almost lost in the scruff that framed his jawline.

"Yep. You get one, you get all. No substitutions."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He leaned in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, then turned his attention back to Shadow, who seemed to smile, if cats could indeed do such a thing.

The clock ticked away, stealing moments from the evening until the credits rolled over the screen, signaling it was time to say goodnight to their temporary entertainment.

"Bed?" Yoongi suggested, his voice a lullaby of calm.

"Bed." Y/N agreed, scooping Shadow into her arms to place him gently on the floor. "Night, buddy. Dream of mouse chases and endless treats."

"Or just claim our warm spot the minute we stand up," Yoongi snorted, watching as Shadow circled twice before curling up, now the king of the couch.

In the bedroom, they shed the day’s garments for the comfort of pajamas. Y/N slipped into hers, a soft cotton set that hugged her in all the right places, while Yoongi opted for an old shirt and flannel pants, the grandfatherly vibes strong even in his choice of sleepwear.

"Comfy?" he asked, eyeing her attire as they crawled under the covers.

"Always," she replied, sliding closer to him, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.

"Good." He kissed her forehead, a whisper against her skin. "Because I plan on lazy Sundays being a thing."

"Lazy Sundays, hmm?" She tilted her face up, meeting his lips with her own, the kiss a promise of all the lazy Sundays to come.

"Best day of the week," he murmured against her mouth, his breath warming her soul.

"Only because it comes after Caturday," she teased, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"Terrible," he groaned, but the laughter in his voice gave him away.

"Admit it, you love my puns."

"Love is a strong word..." His hands roamed to her back, pulling her impossibly closer.

"Fine, tolerate with mild affection?" she bargained, her own hands finding the hem of his shirt.

"Sounds more like it." He conceded with a chuckle, and they settled into the quiet, the night wrapping around them like a blanket as they whispered sweet nothings, punctuated by the soft press of lips and the shared warmth of laughter lingering in the air.

* * *

The darkness settled, and in the quiet of their sanctuary, only the soft sound of breathing filled the room. Y/N's head rested on Yoongi's chest, rising and falling with his calm inhales and exhales. His arm wrapped around her, protective and tender, while her leg hooked over his, tangling them together in a comfortable knot.

"Think Shadow's plotting to wake us at dawn?" she mumbled, her voice drowsy.

"Only if he's planning world domination," Yoongi replied, the vibration of his chest tickling her cheek.

"Wouldn't put it past him," she chuckled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

"Then we'll just have to bribe him with treats and cuddles." His fingers sketched lazy circles on her back, tracing patterns into her skin.

"Works every time." She sighed contentedly, the tension of the day melting away in his embrace.

"Like magic," he said, a hint of a smirk in his tone.

"Your kind of magic or mine?" Her fingertip traced the outline of his lips, feeling the curve of his smile.

"Ours." He captured her finger with a gentle kiss. "Definitely ours."

"Nice save," she teased, her heart feeling as light as the words they shared.

"Always," he whispered back, his breath warm against her forehead.

In the cocoon of their bed, with the stillness enveloping them, they edged closer to slumber. A shared rhythm between two hearts, a silent symphony played just for them. The world outside faded, irrelevant to the comfort found in each other's arms.

"Night, Yoongi," she breathed, already succumbing to sleep's pull.

"Night, love," he murmured, his voice a soft lullaby coaxing her into dreams.

And as they drifted off, nestled in the haven of their home, the promise of tomorrow held no weight against the certainty of now. Love was here, laughter would follow, and together, they were home.

#bts #yoongi #bts fanfic #kpop fanfiction #min yoongi #solastia #kpop fanfic #yoongi x reader

31 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 7 months ago

Note

dads reaction to finding out their kids are being bullied at school? :3c

cw: bullying, comforting,

Ingo noticed the subtlest traits with Erin. He always had. Something inside his brain just demanded that he pay close attention to the boy. He was a natural worrier – and Erin almost always drew in people to want to protect him. Which is why he noticed him being more on edge… lulling around the house to try to avoid leaving on time, flinching more, and seeming overall more withdrawn. He felt concerned. Erin was fragile. The boy would burst into tears if he accidentally stepped on his pet Skitty and needed to be held for nearly an hour afterwards.

Ingo was startled when a teacher informed him that Erin had been… targeted by some classmates. The school had already begun to take steps to separate the kids from Erin, but Ingo felt mortified that it had been happening, and Erin had not told him a single word. Part of him wanted to shout at the poor educator, but he knew that was not appropriate, nor would it fix the situation. He sighed, nodded, and headed back out. His thoughts fell back to his school days. He and Emmet had been social outcasts when they were young. Their eccentric behaviours and profound understanding of each other turned others away. Poor Erin… At least he had Emmet at the time. The little boy had no one.

Ingo opted to let Erin skip the next day of class and join him at work. He felt light when he saw Erin smile softly at, wandering the station in his mock uniform. Depot Agents were always happy to greet him, and the receptionists gave him some candies when he approached him. When he got off his shift, Ingo had taken Erin with him to Anville, knowing how much the boy enjoyed the sleepy countryside town. They both sat together on a bench on the platform and watched nature together. Erin snacked on some Sinnohan snack his pen pal had sent for him. Ingo debated how to handle this.

He placed a hand gentle on the boy's back reassuringly. “… Has everything been alright?” The words were soft and curious. Erin grew eerily still. Before Ingo could ask what was wrong, his body began to shake, and quiet sniffles came from him. The twin's paternal instincts kicked on in an instant. Erin was pulled into his lap and allowed to rest his head on Ingo's shoulder. More nearly silent cries came from him. The teacher had told him that Erin had been mostly verbally mocked for his overall softer demeanour and eccentricities about trains. He rocked him carefully. Thankfully, the Anville platform was mostly deserted at this time of day to prevent any other kind of embarrassment. Slowly, the boy came back down from his emotional high yet kept a fist full of Ingo's shirt. He shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently, “I understand if you don't, Erin.”

Ingo could only respect the boy's wishes, whatever his reply was.

His goal was solely on allowing Erin to open up to him and comfort him as he needed.

Emmet was observant. It was his job to be, after all. He saw all the minute details and committed them to memory. So, when Inka seemed more downtrodden, he noticed. And when Emma seemed more protective and withdrawn, he noticed. What was especially noticed was how Inka tried to shove away Emma. The older girl was clearly hurt by this, and the younger hung around vacantly, trying to avoid her twin. The distress Emmet felt was very real. What could drive a wedge so strong into twins? Especially in young girls…

He caught Emma one day as she sat in the living room playing with her Joltik. The poor bug cried excitedly at the sight of Emmet, its tiny bow that decorated bouncing as it vibrated. She stared at him silently, face frozen in a frown much like her uncle's own. Emmet smiled amicably at her. “… Is everything okay?” he asked plainly, seeing no reason for subtlety. Her eyes went wide. She was quiet for a moment more. Her eyes averted from his own, and she seemed impossibly small.

“Did you and Uncle get called weird a lot…?” she tilted her head. Emmet instantly understood what was going on. Weird... She and Inka had been put in the same class. While she and Inka were not nearly as identical as Emmet and Ingo had been at their age, they still had their obvious connection and same face despite their different hairstyles and clothing. The smile on Emmet's fell. He embraced the small girl.

“Verrrry often,” he admitted, “Brother and I got mean comments.” Those younger days… He grimaced at the memories. Their classmates had found him especially odd. He often did his own thing with little worry about what others thought, unlike Ingo. This made him the target of worse comments. He sighed. Inka... She was like him in a lot of ways, but she was also like Ingo in a lot of ways. If she had been treated as he had… It was still no excuse to hurt her sister.

“… I don't really care about them,” she hung her head low, “Inka is verrry hurt… She cares too much… She said that she wishes we weren't twins.” Emmet gasped. He wanted to go tell Inka how mean that was, but he stopped himself. The little girl was pulled into a tight hug. A coo came from him. She silently returned the affection, lips pulling slightly up. They would have a more in-depth discussion later, but his attention turned to Inka instead.

He found the little girl playing in a nearby park, seemingly trying to train up her Joltik against various other kids. The sight brought out more past memories, but he stopped himself. Walking up to her, he commented on her strategy. She nearly jumped back at his sudden appearance. Emmet tilted his head. He asked her to come with him with a more serious voice, and she relented, aware that it was bad news when he spoke like that.

He walked them to a quieter place in the park. “… You and your sister are being bullied, yes?” he said simply. Inka was ready to jump again. She hung her head, much like her twin had. He sighed. “I will speak with your teacher,” his plan was absolute. There was a function to these things, and he would not stand to let them continue to go through such social othering. She looked mortified at the thought and grabbed his leg tightly. Emmet picked her up in reply. “... You are verrry worried…” He nuzzles his nose to hers, “Papa will help you! There is nothing weird about being a twin. It is a special bond. Emma is hurt. She looked ready to cry earlier.”

“Sh-she did?!” Inka's eyes went wide. She almost shrank before his eyes. “... I didn't mean to…” she mumbled quietly, “Everyone kept saying that we were creepy or that one of us was a clone and fake…” Emmet rubbed her back as she started tearing up. His heart hurt. Such cruelty… He fought back his anger. Similar things had been levied at him in the past.

Both girls got a trip to the Nimbasa Amusement Park, ice cream, and a visit to Aunt Elesa to cheer them up.

He would work to fix this so that his girls could be happy again.

Cyrus noticed Cyllene's behaviours becoming more withdrawn. She already was not the most social child, but now she seemed completely uninterested in even joining him at his office. His worries only increased when she asked if she had to go to an in-person school. She would not even meet his eyes. There was even a question about her missing class one day. Something was wrong. And, he had an idea as to what it was.

Cyllene was sitting alone in her room at her desk, fiddling with some small project she had started. He stood silently in her door frame. To him, she was a perfect human being. She was intelligent, ambitious, and genuinely talented. These traits would drive envy in an environment where conformity is expected. Do not do too bad, but also do not do too well. Both would result in someone being shunned or considered strange. He knew it very well. Especially when it paired with… Their issues with socialising. He approached her and observed her work.

“… Machines are beautiful, aren't they?” he started, “They act within expected parameters and are not influenced by emotions…” Cyllene stopped screwing in the piece she was finishing up. Her eyes stared up at him. Everything about her was so much like him. He felt shame that she had inherited his innate issues. A certain glassy sheen coated those sky-blue irises. His heart hurt. “Something is wrong at school. Your classmates treat you like an unwanted presence in the room. Teachers avert their eyes when cruel comments are left on your desk,” he mumbled out, mind drifting to his younger years, “It's foolish. They envy you, Cyllene. Your intelligence scares them.”

“… Father…” she mumbled quietly before tearing up. Cyrus mind raced. She got up from her seat to cling to him. “D-daddy…” the words came from her lips like a plea, drawing his mind instantly to her, a few years in the past. Cyrus fell to his knees to embrace her. He forgot… She was still a little girl. She had only just turned ten. He held her as she shook like a leaf in the wind. “I… I don't know why… I'm polite to everyone…” she hiccuped, “Is there something wrong with me?” Cyrus felt rage alight in his heart. The incompleteness of spirit it needed to be– He was stopped by Cyllene calling out for him again.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he reassured her, “… Many in this world will treat you with either admiration or abuse, and it is their own choice to view any which way. All that matters is remaining firm to your own values.” The words felt strangely nostalgic leaving him, but he was not sure as to why. Cyllene stared at him with big eyes before nodding. He brought a hand to stroke her hair. Closing his eyes, he pondered what he could do to support her needs better.

“Thank you, father,” she said softly, “... I… I want to show you this hand fan I made! It's getting hot again, after all…” He eagerly observed the small device that she had made.

He later contacted her school and may or may not have threatened something unless they did something about a bullying issue that was going ignored.

#ingo.ima #emmet.ima #cyrus.ima

28 notes · View notes

starless-nightz · 3 months ago

Note

could I request Athena with an s/o who's sort of the opposite of her please? like they're very soft, open, easygoing, trusting, etc :)

Athena with an opposite! S/O

note -> ATHENA IS MY WIFE <333 I'm currently trying out something new with my style of writing and i'm trying to fix my grammer ^^

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, idk what to put here😭.

Athena first notices how different you are from her, your softness and open-hearted nature compared to her carefully calculated, strategic mindset. At first, it catches her off guard—shes always been used to wariness, to being prepared for everything, and you seem to live without any of that weight.

You trust easily, and while Athena admires it, she can’t help but feel the need to protect you. Your faith in people is so pure, so unguarded, and it makes her anxious. She finds herself stepping in when she thinks someone might take advantage of that trust, she doesn't want anything happening to you.

She’s protective in ways you don’t even notice. Athena isn’t obvious about it, but she’s always watching out for you, quietly guiding you away from situations where she thinks you might get hurt. She’ll offer advice—subtle, measured—hoping you’ll see things her way, but never wanting to take away your freedom to trust, but one of her owls will always be on the lookout for you, just in case.

Athena tries to learn from you, though. She watches how you navigate the world with kindness, with faith in others, and she finds herself softening whenever y9u are arounf. It’s not something she’d ever admit, but when she sees how easily you bring out the good in people, it makes her wonder if maybe she doesn’t always need to be on guard.

You bring a softness to her life that Athena never knew she needed. Whenever she’s deep in thought, strategizing or solving a problem, you’d curl up next to her, offering quiet support without trying to fix anything. Your presence is enough for her.

You balance her. Athena’s mind is always racing, always calculating, but you have this way of slowing her down, of reminding her to breathe. Sometimes, when she’s overthinking, you’ll pull her away from her work, leading her outside to enjoy the simple pleasures she often overlooks—a walk through the forest, sitting under the stars, things she wouldn’t normally make time for.

Athena is fiercely independent, but she seems to find herself relying on your openness and trust more than she would like. You teach her that it’s okay to lean on someone, that not everything has to be a battle. It’s something she struggles with, but you’re patient, always offering her that soft, reassuring smile when she starts to close herself off. You make her laugh, though she tries to hide it. Your easygoing nature brings lightness into her life, and while Athena might roll her eyes at your laid-back approach, she secretly loves how you bring humor into her world. She never thought she’d be the type to relax, but with you, she finds herself laughing at small, silly things she wouldn’t have noticed before.

She’s gentle with you, more than she is with anyone else. Athena’s used to being strong, to being in control, but with you, she lets her guard down. When it’s just the two of you, she’s softer, her touches more tender, her words less guarded. She doesn’t need to be the wise warrior with you; she can just be herself.

Athena never expected to fall for someone so different from her, someone who approaches life with such trust and openness. But the more time she spends with you, the more she realizes how much you’ve changed her. You’ve brought balance to her world, showing her that sometimes, the best strategy is simply to trust—and that not everything needs to be calculated or planned.

You’re her safe place, the one person she doesn’t have to be strong for. And in return, she offers you her strength, her wisdom, and the kind of love that comes from truly understanding and cherishing someone so different, yet so perfect for her. She would give up her life for you.

#athena #athena x reader #epic #epic x reader #epic the musical x reader #epic the musical

205 notes · View notes

cecilysass · 9 months ago

Text

Shine On (13/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 13: Revival

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 9:05 am

For fifteen minutes neither of them moves.

They sit on the floor soaked in their son’s blood, Mulder’s arm limply around her, staring at the boy’s body lying before them, still and unmoving.

*** She knows they should stand up. She knows this. They should make calls. They should clean up the glass from the shattered door and the broken coffee pot. They should take showers and prepare for the house to be a crime scene.

But she can’t. She can’t look away. With his eyes closed he looks so much younger. More like a little boy, and she never saw him as a little boy. The slope of his cheeks, the delicate thin skin of his eyelids: this is what remains of her baby, that baby she loved so much and expected to raise.

His lips are stained with blood, but they are round and perfect and look just like Mulder’s. Just exactly like Mulder’s.

***

After fifteen minutes she becomes dimly aware of the sound of footsteps on the porch through the jagged maw that was once the front door, and she knows she should be concerned. She should at least turn her head to Mulder and look at him. They should appropriately evaluate the situation.

But she doesn’t lift her eyes from Jackson. She can’t, yet.

She feels Mulder’s arm pulling away from her. He seems to be trying to get eyes on the person approaching the house.

“Hello?” he calls half-heartedly. His voice is weak, almost unrecognizable. It sounds like it belongs to an old man.

The creak of footsteps grows closer, and Scully has the thought that maybe someone has come back to finish the job, to kill her and Mulder. To make sure there are no witnesses after all, despite all the cryptic statements about flesh and blood and old allies.

She reaches out and tentatively touches some of Jackson’s soft dark brown hair, in a way she never did in his life.

Maybe I deserve to die. For failing to protect him.

The footsteps crackle over broken glass as whoever it is walks into the house, walking right up next to them. Scully bows her head, allowing some tears to drop onto Jackson’s mangled chest.

She closes her eyes now. Waiting. Preparing herself for whatever additional violence is about to come.

“You’re too late,” Mulder says dully to the stranger. “He’s gone.”

Hearing his voice distantly reminds Scully of something, nudges awake a thought inside her: Mulder. Mulder is here, too. She can't just meekly watch him die.

She forces herself to look up.

It’s not an armed man, but a petite woman in a black coat, staring down at them impassively. She doesn’t seem very dangerous.

Ah, she thinks listlessly. The mysterious Rose. What does it matter now? Scully looks back down at Jackson’s motionless face. None of his secrets matter now.

“He’s not gone,” the young woman tells them suddenly. “We need to revive him.”

Scully and Mulder say nothing at first, as though they haven’t heard what she has said. Neither of them move.

“Did you hear me?” the young woman says. “He’s not gone.”

“He is,” Mulder says shortly, his head snapping up towards her. Then he shakes his head, and his tone grows softer and more despairing. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry.”

“I would know if he were gone.” Rose’s answer rises in pitch just slightly. She looks at Mulder significantly. “Maybe you can tell, too. Try and see. Reach out.”

“Jackson hemorrhaged,” Scully replies, monotone, emotionless. Whoever this Rose is, she obviously needs to understand. “The bullet likely hit an artery. He bled out fast. There’s no possible way. He’s gone.”

“He’s not,” Rose repeats back to Scully in a fierce voice. “Try to revive him.”

“I’m a doctor,” Scully says, her voice a flat line. “I know when someone is alive or dead.”

“That’s not always true. You have to try.”

“Scully,” Mulder says, his tone suddenly different. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You feel it, too, don’t you? His shine?” Rose turns her attention to Mulder. She crouches down next to him. “You can tell he’s still here?”

“Maybe,” Mulder says quietly, his eyes bouncing from her to Scully. “Maybe. I feel … something. I can’t tell what it is.”

“A person can’t be alive after having lost so much blood,” Scully recites robotically. “He needs the blood to sustain basic life functions. He hasn’t been breathing. For fifteen minutes.”

“Jackson isn’t like other people,” Rose says. “He has a set of abilities, some of which you know about, and some of which I don’t think anyone knows about. Maybe including the ability to survive more than human beings can survive. To go into temporary stasis. Like … some of the hybrids can.”

“Like you can?” Mulder interjects softly.

“Yes. Like I can.” She turns back swiftly to Mulder. “Which is how you were misled … back then.” Her next words are low and urgent. “You can’t be misled again. Please don’t be. He’s still here, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” Mulder responds, furrowing his brow, his face beginning to come into focus, to take on an intensity Scully doesn’t understand. “Yeah.” He takes hold of her shoulder. “Scully, we need to try to revive him. Right now.”

“When we were misled back when?” Scully repeats, bewildered. “What’s she talking about? Who is she?”

“We should try CPR,” Mulder emphasizes.

“Right now,” Rose agrees. “Who will do it?”

Scully blinks, looking from Mulder’s gaze to the young woman. “Me, of course. Me.”

It feels ridiculous, sad, against every bit of training she’s ever had. To try to revive her obviously dead son feels like a pathetic act of futility.

But Mulder’s eyes are close on her, so she leans over and begins the process of trying to keep Jackson’s circulatory system alive, even knowing that for the past fifteen minutes no air has been filling his lungs and no pulse thumping through his veins.

She begins chest compressions, the sickening squelch of his pooled blood under her fingers. The only thing she can do is keep her mind empty. Don’t dwell on anything but the familiar movements. She tilts his head, giving him two rescue breaths. His mouth is still bloodied, and she tries not to think about the copper-penny taste on her lips.

Then she pulls back, watching his chest in silence to see if it moves.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

“Nothing,” she whispers. She looks up at Mulder’s face. His eyes are on her.

“Now you do it again, right?” he asks. “That’s how it works?”

Scully twists her mouth, nods. She can’t possibly let him down, not when he is looking so hopeful. Not when she failed to protect his son to begin with. She’ll do any irrational thing he wants.

She positions her hands on Jackson’s body for the chest compressions again.

Press, press, press, press: her hands rediscover the required rhythm, the natural backbeat of life.

Each time her hands bear down she feels more hopeless. She wonders if she will break his ribs, if she will damage the body of this poor child of hers further. She tries to empty her mind again. When she can’t do that she tries to think more like Mulder; she tries to will herself into believing it might work.

All along she can feel the young woman Rose leaning tightly over her shoulder, her breath drawn. In a different situation, Scully might be curious about this. As it is, she can only focus on what she must do.

Thirty compressions, then back to the breaths. She takes careful hold of his chin and tries again, pushing air forcibly into his lungs with her own.

She brought him to life the first time, in Georgia, years ago. It was a miracle then. Maybe she can do it again.

She stops, waiting and watching.

With a sound like an inflating balloon, Jackson suddenly gasps, his eyes fluttering open.

Scully’s mouth flies open, too. Not possible. The boy’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, as he tries to gain control over his lungs again.

“Jackson,” Mulder says shakily. “Jackson, can you hear us?”

Scully stares. Her hands, still smudged with blood, are still extended unsteadily in front of her, as though they’re about to do more compressions. She’s afraid to trust her senses, afraid to move.

Jackson, wheezing a little, looks at Mulder and begins to cough violently, pushing himself up on his elbows. Blood foams from his mouth.

“Oh Jackson,” Scully whispers. She makes herself move, dabbing at the blood on his chin with the sleeve of the tee-shirt she’s wearing, which is covered in blood already anyway. “Jackson, it’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll get him water and a washcloth,” Mulder says, leaping up.

“What’s going on?” rasps Jackson. More blood dribbles from his mouth.

“Just wait,” Scully says in an artificially high voice. “You’re okay. You’re… going to be fine. Just let us take care of you for a moment.”

He sinks backwards again on the floor, wincing a little.

“I don’t understand. What about the entry wound?” Scully whispers in horror to Rose. “What about the bullet? Internal damage?”

“I think he must heal fast,” Rose says, sounding perplexed. “He must. You could … look at the site of bullet penetration.”

Scully reaches down and examines Jackson’s torso, visible through his ripped shirt. She runs her fingers over his rib cage, sticky with blood, but she can no longer see the site where the bullet pierced him, no source of bleeding.

“It’s completely closed,” Rose observes in a whisper. She seems to be surprised by this, too. “That makes it … hard to kill him. Maybe impossible. This changes things.”

“I got shot,” Jackson mumbles in shock. “That man shot me, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t kill you,” Scully says. She touches the hair on Jackson’s head affectionately, not caring for a moment about giving him space, not caring about the blood on her hands. “You’re alive. You’re going to be okay.”

“There’s blood … everywhere,” Jackson breathes, sounding panicky. “Is that my blood? On the floor and all over you?”

“Here’s a damp washcloth,” Mulder offers. He crouches down to hand it to Jackson. “You can wipe some of the blood off.”

“Did you save me, Rose?” Jackson croaks, accepting the washcloth and wiping his mouth.

“You saved yourself,” Rose says with a small tight-lipped smile. But, Scully thinks, Rose did save him, or at least her unlikely advice did. “You seem to have the ability to bounce back from death.”

“Wow.” Jackson stops wiping his chin. “Really?” He looks at Scully for confirmation, which she finds oddly touching. She nods weakly, and he turns back to Rose. “So I’m, like, immortal. Like a god.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Rose says, her smile brightening. “I have some of the same abilities, you know, so you’re not that special.”

Scully raises her eyes to study Rose more carefully, noting this dynamic between her and Jackson. Didn’t she imply she was a hybrid? Where did she come from? How does he know her? The girl’s eyes, alight now with happiness, are very clear and very blue.

Jackson smiles crookedly. “We’re superheroes,” he mumbles, dazed. “Like the brother and sister in The Incredibles.”

“Something like that,” Rose says. She looks like she wants to cry, but she presses her lips together into a tiny smile instead. Scully frowns, wondering. Part of her is tempted to begin pressing for information right now.

But Jackson is still so pale. First things first.

“Let me examine you, Jackson,” Scully says crisply. Nothing here is normal, everything is upside down, but her tone is all business. A personal specialty. “And let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Jackson is remarkably healthy for someone shot a half hour ago, although he’s suffering from what Scully might describe as low level shock. After he rinses off in the shower and dresses in Mulder’s old sweat suit, they wrap him in Scully’s quilt. He sits bundled on the couch, a slightly stunned look on his face.

Scully crosses her arms over her chest, trying to formulate the right series of questions, when Mulder clears his throat and wipes his palms on his pants.

“We should probably figure some things out,” he says. All in the room look at him. There are still visible tear tracks on his face. Scully imagines there must be on hers, too. “Do we need to take Jackson to the hospital, Scully?”

“I don’t see why,” she says. “There are no signs of serious trauma. We can monitor him here.”

He nods. There’s an abrupt frigid gust of air from the hole that is the former front door, and Mulder speculatively looks it up and down. “We need to consider this problem, then. It’s freezing out,” he says, gesturing to the destroyed door frame. “I either need to find a way to make this weather proof, or we all need to relocate to a motel tonight.”

“Yes, agreed,” Scully says, nodding, trying to keep up with what he’s saying.

Rose is sitting silently on the desk chair, and Mulder walks to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “And what about you, Rose? Do we need to be worried about your immediate safety? Are there going to be more Walled Garden operatives coming for you?”

“No,” she says blankly. She looks like she is about to say more, but her eyes land on Scully. “No. I don’t think so.”

Scully’s eyes dart in the space between her and Mulder. The relationship between Rose and Jackson is perplexing enough, but this interaction is even harder to interpret. Mulder seems almost protective of Rose, like he knows her.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Scully says softly to Rose. “But … who are you, exactly?”

There’s a pause, and no one answers. Rose looks at her feet, her discomfort apparent.

“Yeah. All right, Scully,” Mulder says, placating. “We should talk about it.” She hates the tone of voice he’s using. It’s the one he uses to calm her down when he thinks she’s being unreasonable, and her question isn’t unreasonable. “I think that first I should get some plywood I have in the shed out back. Maybe I can board the door up for now. Then—I don’t know, we can sit down and talk, make a plan.”

Scully does not like this at all. But she raises her chin up and down in a reluctant nod. “Do you need help?” she says.

“Why don’t you take care of Jackson?” Mulder suggests. “Rose, why don’t you give me a hand with the plywood?”

Rose nods shortly, glancing again at Scully.

“It will just take a second,” Mulder assures Scully, clearly reading her expression and body language. “We’ll be right back. We’ll all talk.”

“All right,” she says. She stands, watching as Mulder silently bundles up in his winter coat and smiles at her, then walks out the gap into the cold morning.

Rose follows him, burrowing her hands in the pockets of her coat again. She pauses, angling backwards, and her blue eyes shoot back inside towards Scully for a moment.

Almost like the curiosity is mutual.

Scully realizes she’s gnawing on her bottom lip as she meets the young woman’s eyes. She gives Rose a cautious smile instead.

Even after both Mulder and Rose have disappeared from sight, she stands there, facing the gap in the wall.

Her hands run slowly up and down her arms. She’s wearing a clean oversized shirt of Mulder’s, but there are still streaks of dried brown blood everywhere on her skin, even in her hair, and she feels cold and uneasy. She tries to warm herself as she puts pieces together.

She thinks over what she heard Mulder say to Rose just minutes ago, about operatives from something called the Walled Garden. She wonders if that’s the same organization the hybrids who came for Jackson were from.

“I know,” Jackson says in his hoarse voice from the couch. “You hate not knowing the whole truth, even for a few minutes. Right?”

Scully has the inappropriate urge to laugh, remembering suddenly that Jackson hears all of her thoughts. She really needs to get in the habit of remembering. Feeling suddenly very tired, she walks back to the couch and sinks down next to him. He is watching her with an intent, serious expression.

“That’s right,” she admits. “Is that something you saw using your shine, Jackson?”

“Yeah,” he says, “but even if I couldn’t, I think I could tell from how your face looks right now.”

That does make her smile a little. “I’ve always tried to appear inscrutable,” she says, “but people often seem to be able to tell when I’m upset.”

“Me, too.” Jackson pulls the blanket tighter. He eyes her. “I’d like to have a poker face, but I just don’t have one. My face gives away more than I want to, I guess.”

Scully’s smile deepens. “Exactly.”

“That’s not always necessarily bad,” Jackson says.

“No,” agrees Scully. “Not necessarily.”

Jackson pulls in a breath. “Mulder’s worried about how you’ll feel about what he's going to say. He’s worried that … you’ll be upset.”

“Oh.” Scully leans her head back against the couch, feeling rising trepidation. She doesn’t look at Jackson, continuing to stare instead at the wrecked door frame. “What do you think?” The wind rattles into the heart of the house again, sending a deep-reaching chill through her. “Is he right?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says. “Maybe.” His brows knit together. “You know… you know how you told me you’d tell me the story of your first kid—of Emily—but that it was a sad story?”

“Yes,” she says cautiously. She squints as the light filters through the front windows, becoming suddenly more starkly bright.

“Well,” Jackson says, swallowing. “It is a sad story. Just not in the exact way you thought.” He hesitates. “You know how genetic brothers and sisters sometimes have the same traits. The same abilities.”

In slow motion Scully turns her head to look at him.

“That’s what it is, I guess. Although … I don’t know if her having those abilities and me having those abilities is actually because we are brother and sister,” Jackson says. “Because she has them because she’s a hybrid. And I have them … because of some reason nobody understands.”

Scully stares at him blankly. She thinks about Rose, all sorts of details from her memories now coming into crisp focus. The strawberry blonde hair, the blue eyes. Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. Mr. Potato Head. The brother and sister in The Incredibles. How we were misled back then.

“I didn’t have any idea I had a sister,” Jackson continues. He turns to face Scully now, his voice turning secretive and important, like he wants her to know. “But I think she’s known about me for a long time. I think she’s been watching out for me. She’s the one who saved me after my parents were killed.” He’s watching her face now. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

“Yes,” she says, the word whisper soft.

But she’s not sure she does, not really. That woman, that adult woman. It couldn’t possibly be. She was dead. It had been confirmed. They knew she was dead. It was the only way she would have ever left San Diego and not looked back.

She becomes aware that Jackson’s expression is changing—his eyebrows arching, his lips drawing together. He looks concerned for her. Worried. Tender. He looks just like Mulder.

“She’s not Mulder’s kid, like I am,” Jackson says curiously. He’s clearly listening to her thoughts. “Is she?”

“No,” replies Scully again.

Jackson seems to consider this a moment. His eyes slide over to her again, worried.

“I can tell you’re upset. But … I thought you’d want to know so you didn’t wonder,” he says uncertainly. “And I thought… maybe somehow me telling you would be better than them telling you?”

He’s watching her so closely. She knows she needs to think straight here, to pull it together.

“I did want to know,” she says, her voice brittle. “And you’re right, Jackson, you telling me is better. It’s just …”

A shock. The nauseating discovery that she’s failed to be a mother for two children, not just one. That this child went from being a cherubic preschooler to a stoic young woman in black without her, with whatever chaos happening in her life, just because Scully wasn’t brave or wise enough to question what was conventional and safe.

“Okay,” Jackson says suddenly. “Come on. Jesus. Stop.”

Her eyes focus back on him, on his pale face.

“That’s what my therapist would call negative self talk,” Jackson adds, rolling his eyes self-deprecatingly. “And, uh, I’m hearing all of it.”

She feels her lip trembling. “Jackson,” she manages. “I’m sorry. It’s just …”

“Rose probably hopes that you’ll be happy to meet her now,” he says pointedly. “Because that’s a pretty good thing, right? After all this time. That you get to finally meet each other. Maybe even be … something like family. Isn’t that kind of badass? Isn’t that a pretty good thing?”

She doesn’t need a shine to see into his thoughts right now.

Silent tears are on her face, and she takes his hand in hers, squeezing it. Looking into his eyes, she lets him feel her joy, her real joy.

“It’s more than a pretty good thing,” she agrees simply. “It’s a miracle.”

She realizes, somewhat to her surprise, that she believes what she’s just said.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. She notices there are silent tears on his face, too. “And like the third one today, too.”

They don’t let go of one another’s hands. They wait in silence for Mulder and Rose to return.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp #x files revival #my fic #shine on

44 notes · View notes

yuezodiaco · 1 year ago

Text

Unveilings

First of all. You can find me as Pandorahero17 on AO3

Your boyfriend Aizawa notices that you haven't slept for several days. As the two of you have a heart-to-heart talk, you begin to talk about the support you give each other and something else.

You were sitting in your office working, grading homework that you had dropped off from the 1-A and 1-B students at A.U. Hero School, when suddenly you heard a light knock on the door. Aizawa was standing in the doorway of the room.

"You should be asleep by now," he said leaning against the door frame.

You looked at him before sighing and ignoring him as you turned your gaze back to the paper you were grading, the sound of footsteps followed the sound of the door closing. The man took your chin and made you look at his face.

"I need to finish grading" -With a sleepy voice you answered him.

"You're working too hard" -Said Aizawa still holding your chin and looking into your eyes with his irritated eyes, it would seem he was analyzing you, he let go of your chin before sighing and pulling away a bit- "Why are you working so hard" -He stated almost desperate for an answer.

You brought your hands to your face while gently rubbing your eyes- "Because I've been grading your work, it's all to help you, you've been too busy on missions you've been ordered to do and you haven't had a decent rest".

The red-haired man's expression turned friendly at your comment, he let out a slight chuckle before sighing and smiling a little.

"Why do I deserve to rest" - He asked raising an eyebrow looking at you as if there was a trick to your answer?

"Why? You're always guarding the city at night, you're an excellent teacher, you're also working and teaching the children" - Your voice comes out with tones of indignation - "And that's what I love about you." - The last you say with a soft tone towards the man.

"And what exactly do you love about me?" - Aizawa said smiling without looking away this time she spoke in a softer tone than usual. That question she asked you didn't seem like a trick, a trap or something like that, it seemed like she was genuinely asking you, her body was more relaxed, her shoulders were no longer tense, all that stress was suddenly gone.

Slowly you got up from the desk leaving everything there, you start to approach the red-haired man and hugged him- "Oh Shouta, I've known you since we were 16 years old" - You stand on your tiptoes to reach his face and start kissing him repeatedly all over his face. - "You are so protective, caring, understanding, an excellent hero and teacher" - You tell him between the kisses you give him.

Aizawa blushes at your words, he had heard them many times, but it was always different coming from you. The small soft kisses and the hug made him feel warm almost as if his body was getting warmer. He wrapped you in a hug and pulled you to himself before finely speaking.

"Is that all" -He expresses with his mocking tone, his grip on you tightened.

"Mmph"-You make a sound of affirmation as you let yourself be enveloped by his warmth. - "You're the best, baby."

"Mmph, you're the best, baby" - Aizawa said with a teasing tone in his voice. He pulled away from the embrace as he looked at you, his expression not really changed by the compliment. She smiled at you for a few seconds before she looked up and took your hand in hers and started walking towards the door. - "Why haven't you slept in two days" - The red-haired man asked you after a moment of walking in silence, He squeezed your hand to get your attention as he looked up at you waiting for the answer.

¨I know honey, I am your fabulous girlfriend" - you answer with a big smile, hearing again the question you explain why. - "I saw you so busy with the assignments you are given and I know that you then come very tired to grade the assignments you leave, so I decided to do it for you, but it seems to take me longer than expected. You make your class suffer with quite a bit of homework, but I understand your methods. - you mention mockingly.

Aizawa's expression became softer when he heard your answer, he was so used to people telling him that he needs to be less strict and that his students suffer because of it. For once, someone understood why he was like this, he was doing all this because he wanted to be the best possible teacher for his students.

"Well, they need to learn their lessons somehow so they can become good heroes someday" - Aizawa states with a small laugh on his face as he squeezed your hand. "Thank you for helping me."

"I don't see any flaw in your logic and I'll tell you a secret between us, I love to see them desperate when they ask for help with their homework" -You let out a small laugh as you remember a certain blond with an electricity quirk. - "No problem at all, love."

Aizawa rolled her eyes before giggling a little. - "So you like to see them suffer when they ask for help" -She said with a smirk on her face- "You're an evil being" -She laughed before looking towards you. - "I have to be hard on them to keep them from failing and becoming failures, after all, I want them to be their best. - He gave a small sigh before looking up at you and giving you a small kiss on the cheek- "Thank you for always being with me".

"It's a guilty pleasure" -You close your eyes as you feel Shouta's kiss- "For better or worse, sweetheart, but I think it's time to go to sleep, I think I'm going to start competing with your dark circles under your eyes and you, my love, need more sleep." -You grab his hand tightly to leave the office and go straight to their shared room.

Aizawa chuckled a bit as you spoke, maybe it's not so bad to make children suffer after all- "It's okay, they can keep suffering. I won't stop you from watching" -You managed to make him chuckle, he let you lead him to the bedroom before sighing and looking at you.

"Maybe I should quit my job and start being a househusband instead" - He joked, it seemed that he is finally starting to relax, the stress of days he had seemed to be gone, at least for now. I just wanted to be by your side right now.

The two of you enter your room, quickly changed and lay down on the bed- "Ah, then I'll buy you the best apron for my sexy boyfriend to welcome me back" -You exclaim excited- "God I already gave myself a mental picture, I think I'll have a wet dream" -You declare with amusement and insinuation.

The man's face turned completely red and he gave you a nervous laugh when you spoke frankly about your dreams. He gave you a playful little smack on your arm. - "That's not something to joke about, baby" - He commented teasingly, resting his head on his pillow to turn to you with his eyes closed as he waited for your response.

"Come on honey, if you put on the apron I'll put on the kitten lingerie you gave me on our anniversary" -You begin to settle on his chest. - "I think it's only fair, the outfit is brand new."

Aizawa commented laughing lightly when you made mention of the lingerie, with a slight blush on her face- "If you agree" -Commented with teasing in her voice, she opened her eyes, gave you a smile and kissed your forehead before speaking again- "Okay, but you can't make jokes when you wear it" -Exclaimed while stroking your long hair lightly with her hand.

"You're taking all the fun out of it" -You exclaimed with your eyes closed and letting yourself be petted- "Besides where did you get that tiny outfit from?"

"Well, I can't let you say something funny, we both know you'll make fun of me" -Aizawa chuckles lightly before his eyes widened comically at your question- "Where did I get the suit!"- He seemed surprised that you seemed to know, a slight blush came on his face- "You shouldn't have seen it!"

"If that were to become true, why did it mysteriously appear in my lingerie drawers?"-You exclaimed teasingly-"Is it that you wanted to see me in the lingerie on our last anniversary, with those tiny panties, tiny bra, with cat ears and tails?"-You opened your eyes without turning to your boyfriend.

Shouta's face turned completely red when you started describing the little outfit and yet he couldn't help but feel a bit excited and thrilled- "Maybe I did…" -He said with a hungry tone while looking at you with a playful and flirtatious expression on his face.

Following his game you started to say- "Mmm then we'll have to wait until the weekend when Eri goes out with the guys from your class, so we can debut the suit and maybe hopefully give Eri a baby brother" -You comment flirtatiously while caressing his chest."

Aizawa couldn't be more flushed, he felt nervous and excited as he watched you in the moonlight- "Excuse me what?"- Clearly nervous about this moment, he raises an eyebrow at you as his lips parted slightly.

"If you heard me that's good, if not, you'll have to wait until the weekend to find out what I told you" -with mockery you put yourself on the opposite side of him and cover yourself with your sheet- "He dreams very well, my love".

Aizawa started to feel sexually frustrated when you spoke teasingly, you were teasing him…but internally he liked it, he loved it when your his girlfriend teased him, even if it turned him on quite a bit- "And why should I listen to you?"-He exclaimed teasingly, he leaned closer to you when he spoke and started to nibble your ear playfully- "I think I prefer this more"-He gave you a slight choked laugh.

"Oh Shouta stop playing" -A soft moan came out of you- "I don't want our little girl to hear her parents having sex" -You start to give little sighs.

Shota smiles mischievously, he kissed your cheek and played teasingly with your nipple before he spoke again- "Well then you shouldn't have started playing…you know I'm flying crazy with you, love." -He exclaims as he leaned more over you, he kept giving you little kisses on your neck- "You know that if we keep this up I'm going to get you pregnant, right?"-His breathing was slowly intensifying.

"Shouta…If you get me pregnant you would make me very happy" -You were trying to moan softly.

Her face flushed again when you mentioned having a baby. That was something he never thought he would have because he was a hero, however, the idea intrigued him and made him feel happy, giving you a little kiss on your cheek and he placed you on your back while he settled between your legs, he leaned over you to whisper in your ear- "Is that what you want?" -I asked you lustfully while he started to play with your breasts.

"Yes" -With your voice full of assurance and love you said the following- "Yes, please fill me with your seed, baby, I need you." Shouta's face is completely happy. The words you said a moment ago were what he wanted to hear. His breathing started to become heavier with your affirmation. - "Okay, but on one condition" -I whisper to you. "Yes my love?" -You questioned.

"Marry me" -Aizawa whispered in your ear. There was no hint of mockery in his tone or a slight hint in his voice. He was completely serious about his proposal, he had been thinking about asking for your hand for so long and this seemed like the perfect time to finally bring it up.

"Yes" -You affirmed as you slowly covered your mouth with your hands and tears of happiness came out of your eyes, you began to nod your head repeatedly. - "Yes, yes I want to marry you, Shota."

Aizawa smiled softly and let out a small laugh. She wiped away your tears as she laughed, leaned over to you and gave you a small kiss on the lips.

"Oh, honey" -He said as he sat you on his lap and hugged you- "I never expected to make you cry like this" -He looked at you- "Are you happy?" he asked with a soft and comforting touch.

"God Shouta, you've made me the happiest woman" -You answered his hug and sobbed into his chest again- "I love you so much". "Well, it doesn't seem why you're sobbing now" -Shota mentions before chuckling lightly as he held you close to his chest. He hugged you back and sighed before speaking again. - "I love you too, sweetheart" -He said gently caressing your back, he smiled softly again and kissed your head before speaking again- "So, are you sure about marrying me now or…?" he asked with a slight teasing tone in his voice.

"Shh Shota, let me enjoy this moment" - Your voice came out a little hoarse but calm, as you gave him a light punch on arm. - "I love you."

"Can you make me a promise" -He asked you softly as his hand caressed your hair before he spoke- "Please stop working late" -He said with a soft tone of voice while kissing your forehead.

"Okay, I promise" -You say exhausted by this talk- "But you also have to promise to sleep with me and eat something more decent than your jellies, hey, I don't want my husband to get tired before giving me a baby.

Aizawa laughed lightly- "Don't worry love, I promise you everything you ask for" -He started kissing you again and pulling you closer. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with you right now. Just the fact that he could finally say you were his fiancée and future wife made his heart fill with a new warmth he had only felt twice, the first time when they became sweethearts, the second when they legally adopted Eri. When he spoke to you again, he did so in a soft voice. - "I love you" -With her tone of voice back to its normal state, her eyes had a gleam of happiness in them.

"I love you too" -You replied in your tired voice. - Goodnight sweetheart…-Slowly you began to drift off to sleep, but with a smile on your face.

The black-haired man hugged you as he watched you sleep, he was so happy to be able to call you his fiancée and future wife. All he wanted at this moment was just to have you close. He leaned in and gave you one last kiss before finally closing his eyes and falling asleep in your arms. His breaths became deep and even, as he slept, a sweet smile came over his face. A smile filled with the happiness of love for you.

I hope you like it, it's been a long time since I've done this. There is continuation with smut in Ao3 <3

#anime #bnha smut #aizawa x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa shouta #mha x reader #mha #bnha imagines #x female reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #my hero academia aizawa #mha x you #aizawa smut #shouta aizawa imagine

72 notes · View notes