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sincerelyneo · 8 months ago

Note

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

#nct smut #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct scenarios #park jisung scenarios #nct imagines

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un-lawliet · 6 months ago

Text

“Fit For an Archon”

— in which the Hydro Archon is fascinated by you

a/n- happy pride month to all my wlw, i wrote this for us <3 im sorry for how long it is (gasp)

word count (7.1k)

You are the worst seamstress in Fontaine.

You’re sure of it.

Your hands seem to repel fabric, your needle poisoning the thread in which you clumsily stitch with and leaving you with a truly horrendous looking frock.

Chiori, bless her soul, had hired you as a a request from your Father, who, in Chiori’s defence, was a fantastic tailor, renowned for his intricate stitching and detailed attires- Truly a renaissance for Fontaine fashion.

And so when he left Chioris business, set to start his own amiss the bustling harbours of Liyue, you found yourself tucked away, working in his place for Chiori, who was currently frowning pensivly down at your work, as if it had personally offended her.

“…It’s bad isn’t it?” You state, looking intensely at your boss who chewed on her painted bottom lip, head cocked, wondering how in Tevat you were your Fathers daughter.

“It’s not…Awful” She tries, although not very well, her gaze fixed on the uneven stitching and the deplorable match of colour.

“Better than last time?” You question, a terrible sense of hope clouding your voice, hopeful that maybe, just maybe you were improving-

“No, no, definitely worse.” Chiori mutters, and your face falls.

She sticks a hand out and touches the skirt you had presented her with, lifting it up.

The seams fall and the skirt halves in her grasp, and you cringe silently, eyes closing in embarrassment.

“Hm.” She ponders, turning to stare at you from over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s…Meant to do that?” You try, shoulders raising in contention, only to be silenced again at the shake of her head.

“Take a break Y/N.” Chiori says, tired under attempts to support your terrible creations.

You don’t argue with her, immediately fleeing the boutique as if you were being hunted down by the God King Remus himself.

The bell on the door dings as you exit, waving goodbye to your co-workers who scoff at your exit, whispering words under their breath that you chose not to render.

You just needed to stick this job out until you had enough income to quit.

But- with the state of your designs and the even worse execution of said designs, you doubt you’d ever make enough to follow through with your intentions.

And really…You barely make ends meet as it is.

Oh God.

You kick a stone and watch as it skims across the tarmac, bouncing up and down until skidding to a stop metres before you.

You hate being a seamstress.

Making it to the manufactured river, you slump down, lazily throwing your legs off of the sides, your boots delicately touching the water surface below.

The same way they always did when Chiori sends you away.

How ridiculously boring.

Fontaine’s a-lot quieter in the evening, most people finding themselves at the Opera Epiclese to watch a spectacle, faces tinged red with excitement.

You prefer it when it’s quiet, when the streets are empty. It means you can lie backwards on the hard ground without too much judgement from your fellow citizens.

Your legs still bent down towards the water, with your back on the concrete dock, you allow yourself a breath.

You hear footsteps somewhere off to your right but pay them no mind. After all, passing judgement is only ever passing, and you’re sure whoever it is will waltz past you, giving you a confused once over before immediately forgetting your face.

You stretch one of your legs and break the surface of the river, feeling the tip of your boot soak up the water briefly, before you’re lifting it back out, shaking it gently to dry it off.

Someone cleared their throat behind you and you sign with the frustration of interrupted serenity.

Can you truly not have anything?

Pushing yourself up with your elbows, you turn your face the perpetrator, eyebrows drawn down to a frown.

You were gonna stare them out until they left you to mope at this stupid river, politeness be dammed!

It’s Focalors behind you.

Lady Furina.

Every retort resting on your tongue is swallowed up, getting stuck in the back of your throat and you choke on your words, chest heaving in shock.

The Hydro Archon stares down at you, watching your struggle, her arms crossed over her chest and a smug smile on her lips.

Her hair sways in the breeze, tickling her leg and she seems to be quite fascinated in the dress encasing your figure.

A long ruffly mess of colour and mesh with a corset that one would barely call fitting, you look like a run away mannequin, pathetically thrown together before your God.

“Lady Furina.” You wheeze, propelling yourself to your feet, dropping into a bow, your skirt following comically behind.

Why is she here? Is she not fond of the Opera house? Archons people wait half their lives to meet her and here you are face to face with God through pure circumstance.

She waves a gloved hand in your direction, dismissing your bow entirely, eyes still drawn to the fabric of your gown.

“Your..attire is quite interesting.” She states bluntly, walking two steps to the left to capture your dress from all angles.

Your face flushes, “Thank you Lady Furina, it’s an honour to be complimented by-”

“Were you supposed to be in the opera?” She cuts you off, turning her body in the general direction of the Epiclese.

“What?” You answer before finding your manners, “I mean n-no it’s my….” You sigh, shoulders slumping, “I’m a seamstress.”

Lady Furina pauses, her head lifting you look at your face, studying it with such precision that you feel yourself bite back the desire to look away.

“..A seamstress?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

The pair of you look at each other for a moment before she throws her head back and laughs. It echoes around the empty streets of Fontaine and reverberates right into your ears.

“I suspected as much!” She guffaws, clapping her hands together.

You cock your head, confused, “No you didn’t?” You reply, unable to stop the offence in your voice.

Sure you weren’t good at your job but you liked this dress! And you were definitely not apart of any play!

Lady Furina’s laugh trails off and she stares at you, her lip between her teeth, holding back a grin.

“Tell me!” She begins again, and you shudder at the volume of her voice. “Why is it that you look so sad?”

“Huh?” You question, eyes widening in confusion.

Furina smiles, it brightens her face, before pointing at you then back to herself, “As your Archon it is my duty to right the wrongs of Fontaine, and you appeared so gloomy that I had no choice but to journey off my path to check up on you!”

Shame forces its way through your body and you shake your head, holding out your sweaty palms to face her, “Lady Furina you do not need to trouble yourself with my issues, trust me.” And you shiver against her unblinking gaze, “Please, continue on your way..” You awkwardly laugh, gesturing to the street, dying inside.

Furina blinks at you, “You don’t want to share problems for me?”

You take a step back, bashfully shaking your head, “I mean no offence…”

It’s awkward.

Furina tilts her head, studying you, confused.

She is far too use to Fontainians requesting her opinions on trivial matters so much so that the blatant avoidance from you is baffling.

You scratch the back of your hand in the silence.

Lady Furina watches you, dissecting you with her eyes, trying to go over every woe that past Fontainians had brought to her omnipresent ears.

You chuckle, trying to force her gaze off of you before you melt and join the water behind you.

“You’re not watching the play?” You say, gesturing in the general direction of the Epiclese, pleading silently for her to stop looking at you like that.

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, “I’ve seen it before, it gets quite tiresome seeing the same thing over and over again.”

“Oh”

Lady Furina grins, her opposing eyes still gracing your face as if you were so easy to figure out.

“Do you…Hate your job?”

You gawk at her.

She smirks.

Jack pot.

“I’m right aren’t I? You can save your praise, I know I’m truly otherworldly when it comes to intuition.” She fans her hand up and down at you, throwing her pretty head back dramatically.

“Must be a gift from Celestia then.” You conclude, turning away from her and sitting back down at your river side.

You’re slightly peeved at her reaction and would rather not disrespect an Archon so early in your life, so you do not face her with your glare.

“Come now.” Lady Furina says, strolling over to you, “I only joke.”

The Hydro Archon was now sitting beside you, kicking her feet in the water.

This truly cannot be real.

You sigh.

Well, if she’s asking, you may as well answer.

What’s another sinner to an Archon anyway.

“Do you ever feel trapped by the wishes of another?” You ask, defeat clouding your senses as you speak.

Lady Furina stills, but you do not notice.

“My Father, asked me to keep on his legacy in Fontaine, he’s a brilliant tailor, I mean, it’s like he was born to be one…”

You trail off, and splash your foot into the water, “And I just- I’m terrible at being a seamstress, I can’t even pretend to enjoy it because I am so utterly rubbish at it.”

She’s watching you, you can feel it. It’s as intense as your emotions, you almost shy away.

“Sorry.” You mutter, “I don’t know why I’m asking. It’s not like you have to struggle with these “mortal issues.”

You laugh bitterly in the silence of your confession.

Lady Furina’s hand slightly brushes yours and you wonder if she notices.

The pair of you sit quietly for a moment, your face growing warmer in the seconds.

You’re about to apologise again, your words on the tip of your tongue before she speaks, ripping the pages from your mouth.

“I always find it fascinating to hear how Mortals think.”

“Hm?”

“How they can voice their feelings so freely, it has always struck me.” Her voice is a lot quieter, you almost mistake her for someone else.

You glance, taking in the side of Lady Furina’s face, her soft features seem burdened, you hope silently that you were not the cause of her worries.

“An Archon admiring her subjects…” You say, slicing through the quiet, “That’s quite comforting actually.”

Lady Furina tilts her head, narrowing her dainty eyebrows quizzingly, “Pardon?”

You smile, and hope it reaches both your eyes and hers. “You care. It’s kind.”

She’s watching you again, her chest rising and falling in tandem to the gentle swish of the water.

You place an arm on your knee and rest you head in your palm, feeling bold.

“It must be lonely being a God.”

And her eyes grow wide, for a split second, before she’s blinking and resuming her facade of impassive control.

“What ever do you mean?”

“There’s no higher being to think about you.” You reply, introspection fluctuating in your words before it slaps you back into reality with a cold hand.

“Uh- Pardon me, I don’t mean to call you lonely I just-”

“It’s quite alright.” Lady Furina says, straightening up, her hair brushing your shoulder and her hand moving from yours. “You did not mean any harm.”

She moves to stand, and you watch, perplexed.

“You have the freedom to quit.” She says simply, “There is no higher deity forcing you to stay.” And she smiles, “All will be ok.”

She leaves as fast as she had arrived and you’re left alone to think.

Strange you think.

You hope you didn’t offend her.

—

When it’s not raining, the sun has a habit of overstaying her welcome.

It’s absolutely roasting in Fontaine, and so when Chiori asked if you would stay behind to finish your garment after work hours, you jumped at the opportunity to relish in the cool breeze of the back rooms.

Besides, you feel less embarrassed working by yourself, with nobody around to mock your gowns.

You flinch as you pierce the skin of your finger, watching as a maroon red slides into your palm.

You wipe it on your dress, it clashes with the colour.

“Do you always make a habit of wearing the most..peculiar garments?”

You jump, dropping your needle onto the sickly pink fabric, you wince as it falls, sure to be lost forever.

“L-Lady Furina?” You gasp, turning your body towards her, your dress swishing in your movement as you try pathetically bow your head in her exuberant presence.

“Yes “tis I.” She replies, her arms opening dramatically but her eyes stay focused on your choice of apparel. “Honestly.” She muses, “It’s no wonder they keep you back here…”

Lady Furina glances around your cluttered work room, taking in the flurry of vibrant coloured ribbons dripping out from their boxes, half finished corsets falling apart at their seams and the tatttered fabric unevenly pinned to a mannequin standing just inches away from her.

You step in-front of her, your eyes wide as you try conceal her vision of your failures, a sheepish grimace on your face.

“Um, we’re closed today, it’s only me in- uh how did you get inside-”

“I am the hydro archon.” Furina’s voice booms out, the exaggerated drawl making you cower away from her slightly, “I merely walked in.”

“I thought I had locked the door?” You questioned, taking a step back from her.

“A locked door is no enemy of mine!” She laughs, regarding you with a look oozing with pride, her chest puffed out and head raised.

“Right..” You mumble, picking at the skin on your fingers, nervously swaying back and fourth.

Your fingers are adorned with pricks from your needle, they would bleed should you continue your childish picking, yet you persist, unable to stop your absentminded jittering.

Lady Furina watches your movement, satisfaction appearing to glow in her eyes.

“Now!” She exclaims, wondering over to the only empty surface in the room, an old blue chair, faded with age.

“I need a new ribbon for my hat.” The chair creaks when Furina sits, crossing her legs and staring at you expectantly.

You think the chair isn’t even worthy enough for you to sit on, let alone the God Of Justice.

“I can..Write an order down for a ribbon for when Chiori returns?” Your voice trails off, thwarted by the dull look she regards you with at your suggestion.

“No, no, no!” Furina shakes her head, her actions reminding you of a child, “I want you to make it!”

“I beg you pardon?” Your eyes widen, and you glance around, taking in all your terrible, terrible works of fashion.

“Me?” You breathe, “Lady Furina, if I may- I clearly lack the talent to create anything, let alone something in which an archon should wear.” You hands shake slightly as she stares at you, willing yourself not to blink or look away in her ever present intensity. “You know this.”

“But I demanded it?” She cocks her head, reaching up to take her hat off, outstretching her arms to look at it intently.

Her hair falls down, it cascades down her shoulders like water and you hold yourself back from counting the waves between each strand, instead choosing to look away.

Ribbons are simple, you remind yourself.

You’re not entirely deficient in the art of fashion, you’re just…Well- you’re just you.

“So?” Furina says, her voices drags you from the inner monologue whispering in your ear, she pushes the hat in your direction, twirling it so you can view its simplicity from every angle.

Your clasp your hands together, head tilted like a dog.

“I’m thinking.. here.” Her finger rests on in the space between the crown and the brim, “A blue ribbon thats doesn’t blend in with the rest of the hat but adversely will not stand out…”

You nod, it’s curt, Furina smiles, it stretches her face and she all but glows, cheeks flushed.

“You’ll do it then?”

You scratch your arm, and sigh.

“It will look horrid.”

“It will look like it was made by you.” She replies, sweetly, her voice like the silk in which she adorned, you take a second to truly feel the implications behind her words and suddenly feel yourself become quite bashful.

Your heart ticks within your chest and like clockwork you reach your hands out for her hat, avoiding her gaze.

“A blue that doesn’t blend in but also doesn’t stand out?” Your voice is whispered, trying to act assertive but failing all the same.

“Indeed, a ribbon fit for an archon!” Furina appears to get louder the more she reminds you of her status, you cringe at her volume but turn so she does not see.

“I’ll try my best.” You hum, glancing at the box you pathetically labelled “Ribbons”.

You reach out and touch the cardboard confines, pulling it towards you and shuffling some fabric under your finger tips.

Red, yellow, green…the most hideous shade of pink ever- Dear God did you supply this?

Furina sits, twirling a strand of her hair as she watches you, taking in the chaos of your dress and your work space respectfully.

You really had such a unique flare to you.

Your dress was terribly put together, fabric seemingly falling off the skirt, which, in Furina’s opinion, was much too puffy for an average day at work.

When she leaned closer, she could see how the seams were pathetically stitched together, a bundled mess of experimentation that clearly did not work, the sheer fact she could see the stitching was enough of a sign to tell her that you had made this dress yourself.

Furina raises a hand to cover her the genuine smile that ripped across her features.

You truly were fascinating to observe.

“You chose to stay here then?”

You look back at her, a small frown on your face.

“Yea.” You say simply, “It’s just easier.”

She scoffs.

“What?” You reply, indignantly, “I’m still getting paid.”

“You’re staying for the money?”

“I’m staying to save up the money.” You retort, “As soon as I have enough I am gone, you’ll see.”

Furina laughs, you can help but feel melodic, almost sad.

You don’t know what else to do, so you smile, watching as Furina breaks eye contact immediately, coughing into her glove.

“I hope I do.” You hear her say, and you try to ignore the giddy sensation that seems to course through your veins and into your heart.

—

“Lady Furina what an i-interesting bow.”

“I know, I know! Isn’t it just fabulous.”

“It’s um rather…big?”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“N-no! I was merely voicing that-”

“If there is no issue then I must bid you farewell. I have a meeting with a most important diplomat, I assume you have already placed the pastries?”

“Yes Lady Furina…”

“Good.”

—

On days when you aren’t in the boutique, you write to your Father.

You write pages upon pages of frustrated scribbles, voicing your resentment of his craft and the comparison to your own, writing furiously about how much you wish to be freed from your job and allowed to travel with him to nations far and wide.

In the end you send none of it, opting instead to write false truths about how honoured you are to work in the darkest parts of his shadow, and how gracious you are for his talents.

You lick the envelope seal and pop it thru the post office window, smiling softly at the old lady behind the glass.

It’s raining in Fontaine today, dark clouds pulsing in the sky, above you, soaking the fabric of your skirt.

It always seems to rain after a trial.

You shake your head. Damn, you should have brought an umbrella.

When you pass by a group of children you hear their yells, pitiful pleads of; “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon don’t cry!”

And you smile and whisper it under your breath as you look to the sky.

Your thoughts circle back to Furina, you hadn’t seen her as much, especially not with the growing fears of the flood of Fontaine.

You wonder if it’s true, wonder how she’ll solve it.

You have faith in her, you think.

There’s no way you’ll drown before you can leave to travel.

There’s no way Fontaine’s Archon would let you all perish under the power of Hydro when she herself is the embodiment of the element.

You have faith.

—

There’s nothing you truly dread more than presentations to the Archon and her people.

And there’s nothing you hate more than how Champvallon, who was standing in for Chiori due to her endeavours in Inazuma, was currently mumbling under his breath at your choice of dress.

You had been running late, quite literally, the ends of your dress stained with dirt, dying the pale blue fabric brown and green.

“You’ll have to stand in the back girl.” He grumbled, his moustache dipping slightly into his mouth, pushing your shoulders and making you move behind your fellow seamstresses, grey eyes pinched into slits as he chastised you.

You heard one of your coworkers giggle from behind her hand, whispering to another about your ill fashioned garments matching your deplorable creations of fashion.

You bit your tongue and glanced at the wooden floor beneath you.

She isn’t wrong, you think, thank Celestia that your tailoring would never see the light of day.

Lady Furina and her entourage enter the room moments later, you think Furina appears to glow and wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, or if this is some strange phenomenon one achieves when becoming an archon.

You shake your head and join your party’s collective bow.

You and Furina had grown closer, although, the margin of closeness was confined between her passing by the boutique window and waving in when she saw you, smiling cheekily as she took in your plethora of dresses that just appeared to get more ridiculous with time.

You had begun to crave these moments of seeing her, positioning yourself closer to the window, as to ensure you did not miss her.

You don’t understand why.

Maybe you just liked to see her smile.

…“Lady Furina, we at Chioriya Boutique thank you for allowing us to present our garments for you today.” Champvallon declares. You cringe at his sickly sweet voice that deepens in tone as he continues his speech.

The man behind Lady Furina is Neuvillette, you’re sure of it. High and mighty, his stature as impressive as his title.

And under your breath you repeat the pronunciation of his name, dragging out the syllables from under your tongue.

Lady Furina allows a moment to pass before she prompts, “Ah yes! Only Fontaines best is suited for your justice party.”

The presentation from the boutique takes hours.

Furina catches your eye a few times, and smiles, it’s subtle enough that you almost believe it’s not aimed at you. Ignoring the flutter of your heart everytime her eyes meet your own.

The final designs are being brought out when suddenly you see a creation that makes your heart drop.

Sitting on a cushion, is a broach.

An ugly, bedazzled broach that you were sure you had thrown out.

And it was being carried over to the justice team by a worker who stares at it confused.

“And here we have a broach for the Archon herself.” Says Champvallon, who is still yet to turn his head to view your horrendous work.

You’re paralysed, hands shaking trying to think of a way you can remove the jewellery without causing a scene.

“We hope you adore it as much as we adored making-” Champvallons voice trails off and he looks at the cushion, his eyes widening as he finally see’s what he’s presenting.

You hear the party behind Furina collectively stop their idle chatter and stare.

Everyone looks.

Nobody says anything.

“And who is behind the creation of this…thing?”

You want to die. Truly.

Your heart is in your throat and feel sick, raising a trembling hand as you step forward, your eyes stuck to the ground.

You’re sweating, palms clammy as you take a breath, preparing to be fired in-front of Lady Furina and her circle. Shame appears to drip off your brow and onto the crevices of your cheeks.

“It was me Sir.” You mumble, your voice weak, “But it was an accident I swear!”

Looking towards Lady Furina, you bow your head, pleading silently for her forgiveness, “I never meant to offend.”

“You foolish, troublesome girl.” Hisses Champvallon, his eyes narrowed as he walks towards you.

You bite your lip, and apologise profusely although you know it will not matter.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon says as he reaches your side, plastering an ugly smile on his furious face, concealing his bitter dissatisfaction.

“I will send someone immediately to retrieve your actual broach, please, hand that one over to one of the maids, I will dispose of it as soon as possible.”

“No need.” Lady Furina says, halting the conversation instantly with a raise of her glove covered hand.

She glances at the miserable looking broach and then towards you, you hold her gaze for a moment before she smiles, recognition flickering across her decorated eyes, finishing her examination of your face.

“I’d like to keep it.”

“Lady Furina?”

Holding the broach in her hands, she raises it to her face, almost as if fascinated by the shameful stitching and the odd colour scheme.

“Lady Furina.” Champvallon stutters, moving away from you, “Your kindness knows no bounds b-but surely you would prefer something a little more..well pleasing to the eye?”

You stare at the back of his head as he leaves your side, counting the freckles on his neck to steady yourself.

“It’s unique, it’s different, Fontainians are known for their eloquence, and I as the God of Hydro must always be challenging these trends.”

Furina peers over her hands to stare at your boss, a dainty eyebrow raised.

“You wouldn’t dare to challenge an Archons will, would you?”

Champvallon splutters, his face warming to a putrid red, his arms rising up as if pleading to surrender.

“N-No I merely thought that-”

“Then it is settled.” Lady Furina laughs, leaning back in her chair and glancing at you.

In your daze, you barely register the tiny wink she sends you way, eyes too focused on the way you broach was now sitting snug, amongst the fabric of her outfit.

It stuck out like a thorn grips the side of a rose and you grimace.

It was ugly, inarguably so.

Neuvillette clears his throat, eyes sweeping over your trembling figure.

“It was you who made this?” He ponders, head tilted slightly.

Your eyes snap to his, and you nod, it’s clumsy and awkward and you hate yourself.

“Um, yes your Honour, I made it.”

“It’s very interesting.” His voice is light, as if trying to filter out the tension pulling the conversation to a standstill, “The yellow and the pink are an unusual yet unique combination, very bright to the eye.”

You breathe out a small smile, as Lady Furina nods her head. “Yes, yes, indeed.”

“Thank you Monsieur Neuvillette, Lady Furina.”

You’re bowing again, chastising yourself for never taking the time to learn how to properly bow for an Archon, and then you’re leaving, hands still shaking, but head lifted just a little bit higher.

Furina doesn’t see you leave, too busy tracing the colours of her broach, smiling down at the terrible stitching as if it were weaved in silk and gold.

The presentation finishes with an awkward finality, with all eyes subconsciously darting down to look at your broach on Furina chest, wondering what in Fontaine their Archon was thinking.

—

You don’t know how, but Lady Furina had became a regular in your life now.

Always managing to catch your eye when you’re walking the streets of your home land.

Popping up randomly behind you just to greet you before leaving.

It appeared she worked in patterns, as if she was use to working by a routine.

You almost assume she appears there on purpose, it’s always far too convenient for it to be by chance.

“Y/N!” You hear one day, you’re sitting outside enjoying your lunch break as Lady Furina approaches you.

You hear a bustle and suddenly Fontainians are flodding the streets, clamouring over to her, crowding her.

You smile as she appears to soak up the attention, flaunting her hands in every direction, acknowledging everyone, one by one.

The people don’t seem to think about the prophecy when Focalor herself is before them, too busy trusting her with their lives to care.

You catch her gaze after a moment, and she puffs out her chest, as if trying to impress you.

Your heart aches.

You blink.

…That’s a strange feeling.

“Now now, my faithful subjects.” She begins, “I must take my leave now, I have very important business to attend to!”

You hear the groans of her people, as they beg her to stay, but reluctantly they remove themselves from her and walk away.

It’s just you and her now and she gestures for you to follow her.

You grow nervous, knowing there are watchers.

You hear them whisper behind their hands, hear them questioning why the “crazy girl from the boutique was the centre of the Hydro Archons attention.”

You cringe, but follow her anyway, your steps timid under eyes.

You think you’d follow her anywhere, but that could just be your adrenaline talking, your heart thumping within the confines of your chest.

“Lady Furina,” You say when you reach an empty alleyway, away from the eyes of Fontaine.

You pause, taking in the cracked bricks in the surrounding walls. “This is…Well- I’ll be honest it’s creepy.”

“Huh.” She says, turning to face you, “It’s more private no?”

“It’s a dark alleyway.” You deadpan.

Furina laughs, taking your hand in a wild moment of humour.

Dear God you hope you aren’t sweating.

“Never fear!” She declares, “As long as I’m here, nothing can harm you.”

Her words draw out a feeling that you don’t allow yourself to delve into, choosing instead let her hold your shaky hand without pulling away.

“I never got to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

You blush.

“For saving my career the other day.”

You see Furinas eyes move, as if trying to recall.

“Oh! The showing.”

You nod, “Thank you for…being so kind.”

You smile at her, and her eyes drops to your teeth in one fast, graceful motion before travelling back to your eyes.

“Always.” She replies, as if it was the simplest concept to her, like washing your hands or falling asleep.

Your face is on fire.

Gods your hands are definitely sweaty now.

Lady Furina shakes her head, as if pulling herself together.

“Now! I’m inviting you to tea.”

What.

“Sorry?”

“Tea. With me, together.”

“No, no I-I got that.”

She smiles, “So?”

“Why in Teyvat would you want to have tea with me?” You question, hope blooming in your chest, overpowering your habit of avoidance.

Furina stills, her face filled with confusion that you don’t get.

“You don’t want tea with me?” Shadows seem to cover her face, and you pull your hand from hers to frantically wave them in front of you.

“No no! Don’t misunderstand me! I’d love to, oh my God there’s nothing I’d enjoy more it’s just that-”

“Just that what?”

“You’re an archon?”

Furina frowns.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m asking you to join me as a friend, not as an Archon.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

You know of your less than extraordinary appearance, and the simplicity of your life. You know that imagining anything more with an Archon is a fantasy so baffling that it even embarrasses you.

But you still can’t fight the disappointment resonating in your chest at the stupid word “Friend”.

Furina doesn’t seem to notice your deflation, instead probing you for an answer. Her hand reaching up to hold your arm, tugging you closer to her.

There’s a hopeful, cheeky look in her eye that you think could persuade even the most hellish of Demons to stand down.

“Well? You’ll join me?”

You sigh, and try to throw on a smile.

You feel like a puppet, your grin has to be ugly, repulsive, even so, you maintain it with cracked continuity.

“Sure.”

—

What does one wear to a date visit with an Archon?

You hate everything you own.

You almost rip your nails off in frustration after the fourth attempt to dress yourself fails.

This is terrible, everything is terrible.

Archons why do you own such ugly clothes!

You hear a knock at your door, and you jump, lifting your head to see Chiori staring at you, her unwavering gaze filtered with confusion.

“Chiori?” You ask, trying to hide the mess of your room.

Or well, her room, saying you were technically leaching off of her house until you could save up enough money to move.

She raises an eyebrow, a silent question of your antics, and you sigh.

“I have nothing to wear.”

“Hm.” Chiori responds, her lip going between her teeth as she takes in the mess of your clothing.

“And since when do you care what you wear?”

You scoff, offended.

“I always care!”

“Right…”

—

You think Chiori was sent by Celestia.

No really, you do.

Especially now when you’re twirling infront of your mirror, admiring her artistry on your body.

“It’s beautiful Chirori.” You whisper, your finger tracing the delicate stitching, enamoured by the sheer amount of detail on your gown.

“It’s hardly my best.” She replies, batting your hand away to finish the seam, “But all my other work is being used for the Fashion festival.”

You grin.

“I get the leftovers then.” You say cheekily, daring to wink at her.

Chiori shakes her head, “You get what I feel is right for you, and this…” She gestures to your dress, “Does look beautiful on you.”

Thank you Celestia you repeat in your head, Thank you for finally giving me a break.

—

You meet Furina at the Palais Mermonia.

She spots you as you walk in, and beckons you to a room across the hall.

Tiny Melusines greet you, and you smile at them, reaching down to pat their little heads.

Furina stills as she takes you in, fully looking at you.

“You look different.” She states, and you stop your movements entirely.

“You’re dressed…” Furina trails off, and your face warms.

“Nicely?” You finish, a teasing smile on your lips, “For a change?”

She shakes her head.

“You always look nice, it’s just jarring to see you wear something so well fitting.”

Her eyes trail along your figure, and you flush, your mind unable to comprehend your compliment.

Furina suddenly pulls herself out of her trance and smiles, putting out a hand for you to take.

“Never-mind that now!” She beams, “Desert time! Come, come!”

And you’re alone with Furina, your hand in hers.

She leads you over to a table adorned with confectionery to last over a hundred life times.

“Do you drink tea? Or would you rather Fonta?” She asks, turning her head to glance at you, and you rip your eyes away from your conjoined hands.

“Uh, tea, tea is good.”

Lady Furina looks at you, her eyebrow raised, “Alright, sugar?”

“Huh!!?”

“Sugar? As in, do you want sugar?”

“Oh! Yes of course!”

You pause, and Furina continues to look at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you taking sugar?”

Dear God, how are you so pathetic?

“Yes please.” You say silently, embarrassment morphing your face, forcing your head to fall to look at the floor.

Furina sets your tea in front of you, before pulling a chair over to sit next to you.

She watches the way your body seems to shrink in on itself, you hand fiddling with the loose fabric of your gown.

You nervous, and Furina scowls.

She doesn’t like this.

“What’s going on hm?” She asks plainly, and you restrain yourself from jumping at her forwardness.

“I-I’m sorry?” You attempt to delay, taking a sip of your tea, burning your mouth.

“You seem..off.” Furina says, her voice slightly drawn out, a frown on her features. “Have I done something?”

“What? No! Absolutely not you haven’t done anything…” You stammer out, a fake laugh breaking the barriers of your teeth as you try to compose yourself.

“Then why-”

Your eyes dart around the table, choosing to make eye contact with the bread than with her.

“It’s just a lot like wow I’m having tea with a God!”

Furina stirs her tea slowly, her eyebrows furrowed.

“I thought we were past this?”

“Sorry?”

“You seeing me as a God?”

You blink, and Furina takes a sip of her tea.

“You..You are a God though, you’re my God?”

Furina thinks the tea turns sour in her mouth.

“Technically, I suppose so, but I believe us to be friends?” She sets her cup down, and looks at you, her cheeks slightly red. “Am I mistaken?”

You clamour to explain yourself, your arms reaching out as if trying to slow time, ignoring the painful tug of your heart at that stupid word again.

“N-No of course we’re friends!” You stammer, “It’s just…Well I-”

“Then there’s no reason for you to be nervous.”

You nod.

And then something happens.

Something switches.

And suddenly Furina isn’t merely looking at you,

She examining you.

“Unless.” She starts, and you feel a truly dreadful sinking feeling within your chest.

“Unless there’s..Something else bothering you?”

And every facial expression you display is analysed before you, every twitch of your eyebrow, the way your eyes widen and the way you seem to stop breathing.

Furina leans forward, an emotion so humanly desperate flickering across her face.

An emotion she is yet to understand.

Your lips part and you truly do not know what to say.

It’s foolish, to ever consider yourself worthy to share a reciprocated love with your God you remind yourself bitterly.

You’re confused, anguished, disheartened by her referral to you as a friend and yet, you do not know what to say.

So you clear your throat.

And breathe in.

“I do not know what you mean Lady Furina.” You whisper, and it’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

And Lady Furina waits only a sheer second, before she’s leaning back in her chair and raising her head.

Somethings off.

“Then let’s us drink together as friends.”

You could swear then, that Lady Furina looked human.

You would stand trial on the fact that you saw her deflate with disappointment in the most mortal like way. You’d swear an oath.

But then you blink and the Hydro Archon blinks back.

And you’re sure you were mistaken.

—

There’s rumours in Fontaine.

There’s rumours everywhere, this isn’t a new concept to you.

But this is different, this rumour makes your blood freeze in your veins.

You heard it after you walked home from the boutique, a group of local Poisson men whispering under their breath.

“Lady Furina isn’t Fontaine’s Archon.”

You pause, turning your head as subtly as you could, creeping closer as to listen to their words.

You’re not a silent stalker and so they see you immediately.

They glare at you as they leave and you’re left confused as they made their way back to Poisson.

The next you hear of them, they’re dead.

Dissolved in the rising water.

You throw up when you see their faces in the paper, along with the heading “Fontaine’s Archon Fails Her People.”

You have faith.

—

Your faith dies with your Archon on the day of her trial.

You don’t go, you never go to trials.

But you know the happenings as if you were there to witness.

You find yourself running towards the Opera Epiclese, tripping over your own feet when the words “Death Penalty” reach your ears.

It’s silent.

Oh so silent.

And then the rain starts, and the tides grow.

And you can’t make it to the staircase of the Epiclese due to the water filling your lungs.

You’re drowning.

Screaming out bubbles of prayers to an Archon that isn’t yours.

Betrayal wrecks through your body and you’re drowning.

You’re drowning.

—

Furina cries on her watery throne.

Mourning the loss of her people, her home, her facade.

She thinks of you, briefly, thinks of your face, your clothes, your eyes.

Letting herself smile gently, she allows her tears to wash away her role.

It was nice to play a God.

If only she could save them.

—

You’re nervous.

You keep pacing back and fourth, pathetically trying to figure out a way in which you can knock on the door of Furina’s house, and speak with her like humans.

After the flood, you found yourself bed bound, your lips tainted blue and breath engulfing you so vigorously that you coughed until your eyes stung red.

The man who saved you kissed your hand when you woke up, crying out that he thought you wouldn’t make it.

You smile at him and thank him.

“I owe you my life.” You had whispered.

Lady Furina was no longer Fontaines Archon.

Gone into a state like hiding from the public, terrified of their outrage.

The nurse that cared for you, informed you of as much, recounting how the Iudex Neuvillette had saved Fontaine, saved you.

And you cried when she left you, tucked up in a hospital bed, weeping over the unknown.

You can’t face her. You conclude.

Not because you didn’t want to but because you had absolutely no idea how to begin.

Would she still regard you with such kindness despite you knowing everything?

How do you convey how you feel for her, when you truly do not know who she even is?

You heart sinks to your stomach and you walk away, hands dropping to your sides. Forcing yourself to move on, and to let fate guide you as far away from Fontaine as it could lead.

You hear a door open, but don’t make the connection until you hear your name being called from behind.

“Y/N!”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder timidly, staring towards the very God woman you had grown so fond of.

Staring at you humbly on her doorstep.

“Lady-Miss Furina.” You reply, your hands trembling and voice shaking, turning to face her fully.

Her cheeks were flushed as though she made her way to the door in a hurry, eyes narrowed and yet you could not see a trace of annoyance in the depths of her pupils.

“You-” She starts, breathless as if realising that her action of following you would lead to confrontation for the first time, “I saw you.” She pointed up to her arched windows and your face flushes, mortified.

Of course she had.

You say nothing, trying to think of an excuse, anything to dissipate the tension you feel in your bones.

“…You weren’t going to come in?” She questions, her voice small, unbefitting for a woman who use to bellow to the masses with the unfiltered confidence of a Deity.

And you stare, and stare and stare . Your eyes moving over her face, her attire, the stupid bow on her hat.

You’re utterly speechless, profoundly so.

Unable to say anything of value to the woman in which you swore that you-

Furina sighs, her shoulders dropping, hat slipping forward on her head.

Taking your silence for resentment, she accepts your unfettered anger as atonement for her sins.

“I see.” She mumbles plainly, turning to go back inside her house.

And it’s said with such bitter regret and vile disappointment that you find words spilling from the confines of your lips, desperate to call her back.

“I quit.” You frantically say, voice meek.

And Furina stops so you continue.

“Working for Chiori.” You clarify, taking a step forward.

The sun appears to intrude on your conversation, the early morning light presenting itself from behind the brazen buildings of Fontaine, eager to listen.

It makes her complexion golden, the blue strands of her hair, now short, appearing to glow in its wake.

Furina opens her mouth, then closes it, shaking her head defiantly before he’s facing you again, and you’re so close yet so far.

“I needed a change.” You whisper, and she appears to lean closer to hear you, to read the way the words fall from your lips.

You don’t know why this is the first thing you wish to discuss with Furina.

There’s countless other things you could spew, the mirage of questions you have resting in the back of your throat, the confused, recount of events, yet you chose to say none of it for sake of talking about yourself.

You’re selfish, perhaps cruel, but God you just wanted to talk to her.

Furina looks at you, her eyes wide, the sun catches the blue and draws out the sparkle as she looks at you. You drown.

“I’m…I’m glad.” She whispers, “You hated it there.”

“I did.”

You step towards her, keeping your hands still, resting at your sides limp.

“You-” You start, clearing your voice, terrified to overstep, “I mean- Did you hate being an Archon?”

Furina doesn’t move, her cheeks painted rouge with the mention of her role.

Then slowly, subtly, she nods, once up and once down. You almost miss it.

You smile, your eyes crinkling trying to express your endless empathy through one look.

“Then I’m glad you stepped down.”

And Furina wants to kiss you.

She feels it in her mortal soul, amid the beautifully soft way you voice your smile, the desire to be human with you and to make you hers.

She breathes and you watch.

“I’ll miss your silly clothes.” Furina sighs, and you giggle.

“I still wear my silly clothes.” You bite back, and she shakes her head before moving a finger along the underside of your jaw.

“You’re beautiful.” She says, and you take her role of silence, stunned.

Furina lifts her hand, and places it on your cheek, looking down avoiding your eye. “And so boundlessly fascinating.”

“I can’t quite explain it I just-”

You cut her off when you kiss her.

Breathing in her confession and replacing it with your own.

Two mortal souls intertwined as one on her doorstep.

She responds by pulling you closer, trailing her hand to the back of your head and smiling against your lips.

You’re not a seamstress and she’s not an Archon and yet, in this moment that’s okay.

Everything is okay.

feel free to leave a request!

Masterlist <3

artwork credits

A/N- when i say i have been wanting to write this for MONTHS i mean it- i am just so BOUNDLESSLY sick of wlw fics being fetishised and the lack of like a good wlw comfort fic in any character x reader was bothering me ! so thank u to anyone who gives this a try and reads it ! i appreciate you so so so much !!!

ALSO when i say the reader’s fashion is strange or unflattering I HAVE BEEN OBSESSED with insane 19th century dresses so i made a collection of outfits PSA when i say she (the readers) fashion is questionable I MEAN IT <3 i imagine my lovely little failed seamstress makes her own clothes from time to time bc although she’s not good at her job, she still enjoys being creative

if ur interested i made a post of her outfits here :)

thank u so so so much for reading i love u i love u i love u

#furina #furina x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #nuevillette x reader #genshin smut #genshin fluff #hurt comfort #hydro archon #wlw post #furina x female reader #AHHH

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mattsnight · 4 months ago

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Pissed off - Matt Sturniolo

Summary; Matt is pissed off about y/n going to a party, but will she make it up to him?

Warnings; Sex, oral (!male receiving), swearing, use of y/n, idk what else.

A/N; THANK ALL SO MUCH FOR ALMOST 100 FOLLOWERS!! it means a lot, i love you all!!

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Matt barely had any bad days, but if he had one he would be pissed off. Most of the times when it would happen, you and him would argue and later forget about it, but now it was different. You went out with some friends and you didn’t tell Matt. Eventually a friend of you posted a picture online and he saw it. He didn’t like this, so he started ignoring you.

You walk into his room, noticing he’s busy with his playstation. It’s clear that he’s angry at you.

“Matt? Hey..” you speak up. His fingers clench the mouse tightly, his face red with anger.

“Im sorry for what i did okay..?”

He pauses the game and turns to face you, his eyes blazing with jealousy. “You think it's okay to just disappear without a word?” He says. You sigh, not knowing what to say.

His voice is low and dangerous, barely contained rage simmering just below the surface. “Did you even think about me once? Did you ever consider that maybe I might want to know where you are? That maybe I might be worried about you?” His hands ball into fists at his sides.

“Im sorry, i should’ve told you.” You apologize. He scoffs, not mollified in the least. “Sorry? That's it? Don't you think you owe me more than just a sorry?” He shifts in his seat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “So where did you go?” He asks.

“Jim’s party.” You admit. Jim was someone you both knew from high school and he wasn’t exactly matt’s favorite. His eyes narrow, his jealousy turning into anger. “Jim's party? And why didn't you tell me?” He stands up, towering over you, the rage visible in every line of his body. “Are you trying to hurt me on purpose? Is that it?”

“No matt! I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to have fun..”

A deep breath leaves his mouth. He’s trying to control his anger, but it's clear that he's still upset. “You wanted to have fun? And you couldn't even spare a thought for me? Was it really that hard to send a text?” His voice is tense with frustration.

“im sorry.. can i make it up to you, please?” You beg. Matt sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

A smirk forms on your face as you sink to your knees in-front of him. His eyes flicker down to you, and he raises an eyebrow at your sudden closeness. “What are you doing?”

“Oh you know.. just.. this.” You say as you unbuckle his belt. His breath hitches as he watches you. “Oh, I see. You want to play that game, huh?” He leans back in his seat, letting you continue unbuckling his belt before he reaches down and brushes a hand through your hair.

You take off his belt, pants and underwear until his cock is in-front of you, fully erect. He lets out a soft sigh as you remove his pants and underwear, revealing his bare legs. He looks down at you, his eyes darkening with desire. “Alright, let's see how you plan on making it up to me.” He spreads his legs slightly, inviting you to sit between them.

You suck on his slit, making him shudder at the first touch of your tongue and letting out a soft gasp. He threads his hands through your hair, holding you close as you continue licking. “Y-yes, just like that...” He lets out a soft moan, his hips twitching slightly as you continue. A groan escapes his mouth as he leans his head back in pleasure as you take him fully into your mouth. He grips the arms of his chair tightly, his breathing growing heavier as you continue to move your mouth. “Ah, fuck... that's so good..”

You pump your head up and down his cock, determined to make him cum. He thrusts his hips up into your mouth, moaning loudly as he gets closer and closer to climax. He can't help but grip your hair tighter, rolling his head back in ecstasy. “God, yes... oh fuck, I'm gonna cum...” he moans out.

You keep going and going.

He suddenly bursts into a loud, desperate cry, his entire body shaking as he cums hard in your mouth. He grips your hair so tightly it almost hurts as he thrashes in his chair, his cum shooting down your throat in thick, hot spurts. “Fuck! Oh fuck!”

As he comes down from his high, you pull back, happy with your work. He collapses back in his chair, panting heavily as he looks at you with a dazed expression. He's still gripping your hair tightly, his heart racing from the intense orgasm. “H-holy shit...” He finally releases your hair, running a hand through it instead.

“Was that good, baby? You still mad?” You ask him. He looks at you with a mix of annoyance and satisfaction, his chest still heaving from his orgasm. “I'm still mad, but...” He trails off, his gaze drifting back to your mouth. “Maybe not as mad as I was before.”

“Do i need to show you again how sorry i am?” You look up at him, smiling innocently. He looks down at you with a smirk, his chest still heaving slightly. “i dont think im able to take it.”

“Oh we’ll see about that.” You say, biting your lip.

And that, that was the most memorable moment ever.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

yalllll i love this! Make sure to follow me for more<3

#christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader

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mountainficss · 9 months ago

Note

HIHIHIII 🦈 HERE !!! having a wonwoo thoughts again .. (im crazy in love with that man.) but anyways thinking abt him making u wear his glasses while he fucks u cuz it just turns him on ..

or vice versa where he wears his glasses just cuz he likes to see every expression and reaction u have while he fucks u😭😭😭

anyways love u take ur time cuz poopoo bum school is a pain in the ass giving u all these assignments u got important things to do. like writing these fics (super important business!!!) LOVE U 💗

-🦈🦈🦈

!! mentions of: unprotected sex

HIHIHI ANON I MISSED YOU AND I LOVE YOU SM! 🩶🩶🩶 no and honestly i feel you wonwoo is so pretty…i have the fattest crush on him it’s unhealthy. and omg i know school is so lame 🙄 it’s never even hard work it’s just sooo time consuming. i’m telling you my professors want me to be bored out of my mind. but anyway!

ohhh the idea of wonwoo being turned on by you wearing his glasses is so…UGH i love that. you’d probably just snatch them off his face for fun, running away with them and sliding them on to see his reaction. you’d smile at him widely and you’d be met with an astounded look from wonwoo. he would know you took them just to mess around and had an innocent intent, but oh seeing you in his glasses would turn him ON. his brain would flash him an image of you underneath him wearing nothing but his glasses, and he would feel his cock immediately stiffen in his pants. he’d hastily make his way over to you and pick you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to your shared bedroom. in seconds wonwoo would be tearing off your clothes, giving you needy kisses while you let out dreamy sighs. his glasses would still sit cutely on the end of your nose, and your eyes would meet his through the lenses with a dazed look. he felt like he was going insane seeing you looking so cute in his glasses. and your bare body would just make his cock throb harder. “keep them on,” he’d command breathlessly, tugging his shirt over his head and untying his sweats. “’m gonna fuck you while you wear those.” you’d smile devilishly at him as he fishes his cock out of his boxers, twisting his hand around it and throwing his head back in pleasure. “do i look cute in them?” you’d tease, reaching a hand up to adjust them playfully. wonwoo would groan as he peered down at you, fisting his cock faster at your actions. “you look so good,” he’d sigh, feeling you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer. “need to feel you.” he’d line his length up to your hole, pushing in slowly as both of you gasp at the stretch. he’d bottom out in one thrust, your tight heat making him feel dizzy. he’d study your face as he gives you time to adjust, admiring the soft blush on your cheeks and your cute expressions as he starts to rut into you. his cock always made you feel so full, and this time would be no different as he glides easily into you. he’d cup your cheek with one hand and you’d wrap both of your hands around his forearm, turning your head to teasingly kiss his palm. he mutters a small fuck and runs his thumb along the temple of his glasses, feeling you tighten around him. “can i take these back, baby?” he’d ask, his voice strained from trying to hold back his quickly-approaching orgasm. “need to see you. wanna see the faces you make.” you’d chuckle at him asking for permission as if they weren’t his glasses, releasing his arm to take them off. you’d slide them back on his face slowly, watching the moment he seems to really see you. his pupils would dilate at the sight of your lewd expressions, and he’d struggle to not roll his eyes back in ecstasy at the way you look at him. his hips would pound into you with quick thrusts, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot and bringing you closer to climax. “you’re so pretty,” he’d mumble mindlessly, leaning in to press a kiss onto your forehead. “really like when you wear my glasses.” you’d thread your fingers through his hair, gripping the strands as your orgasm washes over you in a powerful wave, threatening to send wonwoo over the edge too. he fucks you through your climax, feeling his cock pulsing inside of your heat and filling you full of his cum with a drawn-out moan. he’d hover over your weak form as you both try to catch your breath. “well,” you’d pant, releasing your grip on his hair and running your fingers through it to soothe the sting. “i like when you wear them too.” <3

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag

#thoughts #seventeen #seventeen smut #smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonu #mountainficss

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slut4evanpeters · 1 month ago

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My baby, My baby

kyle spencer x reader

song i recommend listening to: i bet on loosing dogs by mitski

warnings: EXTREME angst, very slow burn (im a slut for a back story), kyles past, manipulation, mentions of SA, objectification of men, arguing, fluff, happy ending, i think thats it!

word count: 6.5k

notes: this one is kind of heavy im so sorry guys:( theres not enough fics that give kyle the justice he deserves 😞 not even gonna lie i started bawling while proofreading this. also i would just wanna put out there that if you are struggling with ANYTHING my dms are always open to talk:)

It was just an average chilly night when you found it out.

The familiar sounds of your mother and father arguing once again filled the silence, voices bouncing down the empty hallways and ringing in your ears. For weeks now, the yelling and the clash of words had become as common as the ticking of the clock sitting on your shelf. It started with the usual pattern. Your father muttering something unnecessary, your mother shooting back, voice like glass ready to shatter. And then, like clockwork, things would escalate. A plate shattering, a door slamming, the sharp clinking of silverware as it Falls to the floor. Somewhere along the line, you’d learned to tune it out, even finding a strange comfort in it all.

But tonight was different.

A raw, intense throbbing in your head amplified the shouting in a way that pushed you over the edge. Something inside you snapped, like a thread pulled just a bit too tight. You threw your thick, silk duvet off in one swift motion, the cool air meeting your skin as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet sank into the plush carpet, the fibers soft as you steadied yourself and took a breath.

Without another thought, you crossed the room with swift steps, each one heavy with frustration. Reaching for the door, you grabbed the handle and flung it open, the force sending a slight echo through the hallway.

The sound of your feet slamming against each step echoes through the house as you storm down the stairs, your frustration at your parents boiling over in your chest. Every stomp is a silent scream. You’ve been holding back, but this time, they’ve pushed you past the point of reason.

As you reach the bottom, you stop, breathing heavily. The air is tense, almost vibrating. Your eyes fix on your parents in the kitchen. Your father, lips pressed thin, hands gripping the countertop, and your mother, her face unreadable but her body tense, holding herself with a dangerous stillness. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can speak, your mother turns. In one swift motion, she reaches for the knife block and pulls out the biggest blade.

The metallic glint catches in the light, and your breath halts. The kitchen feels like it’s shrunk to the size of a shoebox, every noise amplified, every heartbeat throbbing in your ears. You watch, frozen, as she raises the knife, her arm cocked and ready to strike. Your father stumbles back, hands up defensively, panic widening his eyes.

Without thinking, you scream, the sound raw and desperate, shattering the air like glass.

And then. Silence.

A thick, heavy silence, as if the whole world is holding its breath. Your eyes stay fixed on your mother, but you feel something different. A strange, burning energy coursing through you, pulsing from your chest to the tips of your fingers, as if an invisible string connects you to her.

With a sudden violent burst, your mother’s body flies back, her limbs flailing as if she’s caught in a hurricane. She’s thrown against the wall with a bone-shaking crash, and the framed pictures around her rattle off their hooks, crashing to the floor and splintering into shards. The knife slips from her hand, skittering across the floor.

You’re panting, your own heart thundering, and for a moment, the world spins, feeling somehow both right and wrong, as if you’ve crossed an invisible line.

Your father stares at you, his face drained of color. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out, only an expression of sheer terror. Without another glance, he bolts for the front door, slamming it behind him , leaving you and your mother alone in the wreckage.

You turn to her, her eyes wide and wild as she slowly lifts herself from the floor, her breath ragged. She seems smaller somehow, her gaze darting between you and the chaos in the room. She finally looks at you directly, eyes brimming with fear, and in a trembling, barely audible whisper, she says, “You’re…one of them.”

The words echo in your mind, heavy and unfamiliar. One of them? You feel the weight of her accusation, the horror in her voice, and yet, beneath it all, a strange sense of power fills you. A darkness, a part of you that’s been waiting in silence for this very moment.

That’s how you find yourself standing before the tall white mansion, Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The building stands before you, grand and stoic, its intricate columns rising up to the ceiling high before you. You glance up, taking in the massive structure. a place that feels like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The sheer size of it makes you feel small, and yet, the air around it seems charged, humming with an energy that you can’t quite place.

The events that led you here flash before your eyes in quick memories. The look of terror on your mother’s face after you threw her back against the wall, her whispered words about being “one of them,” and the silence as she drove you away from the only home you’d ever known. Her voice, low and hesitant, echoed in your mind as she explained that your family had a history with witches and unbeknownst to you, magic coursed through your blood, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

“Blessed.” she said, but the word tasted sour. Blessed. That’s how she’d framed it, though her face had twisted with fear as she said it, as if she could barely look at you, barely stomach the person her daughter had become.

You’d rolled your eyes at her, that one last act of defiance as she’d tried to make sense of what had happened, desperately clinging to the idea that this was some sort of gift. A gift. The idea was almost laughable. If being able to throw your mother across a room was a blessing, it felt more like a curse. But now, staring up at the mansion, all of that seems to drift away, replaced by a strange, thrill.

Taking a deep breath, you clutch your purse tightly, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. You begin to walk up the stairs, each step echoing through the morning air. Your heels click rhythmically against the hard concrete, the sound bouncing off the towering Greek pillars that flank either side of you. You feel their presence, cold and impassive, as if they’re watching, judging.

The further you ascend, the more the air seems to thicken, charged with a strange energy that sends a shiver down your spine. Each step brings you closer to a new world, a world that feels like it’s already reaching out to pull you in, whether you’re ready or not. With one final click of your heel on the top step, you stand before the doors, the shadows cast by the pillars now stretching long and deep around you. You pause, feeling the weight of what lies beyond.

You straighten, squaring your shoulders, your grip tightening on your purse as you prepare to enter this place. A place that promises answers and, perhaps, even more questions.

You raise your hand, hesitating for a second as your knuckles hover over the door’s dark wood, a mixture of dread and anticipation twisting in your stomach. But you gather yourself, take a deep breath, and knock sharply on the door. The sound echoes hollowly through the heavy wood.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence. You feel your pulse quicken as you wait, each second stretching on, amplifying the strange energy that’s lingered around you since you first set eyes on the mansion. Then, faint footsteps approach, growing louder, until finally, the door creaks open with a low, drawn-out groan that sounds almost otherworldly.

Standing before you is a woman, elegant and composed, with hair as golden as sunlight and eyes so deep a shade of brown that they’re nearly black, with a glint in them that’s both welcoming and mysterious. She stands tall, her posture regal yet effortless, wearing a fitted black dress with an intricate lace collar that radiates of old-world elegance. Her gaze meets yours, and for a split second, you feel as if she’s peering not just at you, but into you, as if she’s seen something hidden beneath the surface that even you haven’t fully recognized.

Then, she smiles, warm but with an edge of something unreadable, something secret. “Hello,” she says, her voice low and rich, “You must be Y/N.”

The way she says your name feels oddly intimate, as though she’s known it long before you arrived, as though the house itself whispered it to her. You feel a faint shiver ripple down your spine.

“Welcome,” she continues, her smile widening slightly as she steps aside, gesturing with a graceful hand for you to enter. There’s an invitation in her eyes, a silent, unspoken question, as if she’s asking if you’re truly ready for what lies within these walls.

With one last steadying breath, you cross the threshold. The air inside feels different, heavier somehow, steeped in a strange, stillness that makes you feel both protected and slightly trapped. You take in your surroundings, the grand foyer that stretches before you with polished marble floors gleaming beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. The chandelier casts fragmented light across the room, the crystals catching beams of sunlight from the windows and scattering them in delicate patterns across the walls and floor.

The scent of polished wood, and something faintly floral lingers in the air. It’s almost intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the place. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world. A world filled with secrets, shadows, and, somewhere beneath it all, an energy that hums with life, with power. The headmistress closes the door behind you with a quiet click that sounds like the sealing of a pact. Final and irreversible.

“I’m Cordelia,” she introduces herself, her voice steady and clear as she walks ahead, gesturing for you to follow. You can feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye, studying your every reaction, every flicker of emotion. There’s a subtle power to her movements, an authority that makes it clear she’s not merely the headmistress here. She’s the keeper of the academy’s secrets, the protector of its legacy.

As you follow her, each step echoing through the silent hallways, your heart beats a little faster. The mansion seems to stretch endlessly before you, filled with doors that are closed tight and shadows that cling to the corners. You wonder how many secrets these walls have witnessed, how many others have walked these halls with their own stories, their own fears.

Cordelia leads you deeper into the academy, her voice a steady presence as she tells you about Miss Robichaux's history, about the students who have come before you, and the purpose of the coven. But beneath her words, you sense an unspoken warning, a weight behind her voice as if she’s cautioning you. This world you’ve entered, it is not one to tread lightly.

You turn to your right, the polished marble floor beneath your heels as you step toward an open doorway. Through it, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be an dining room. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming through towering windows, casting a glow over the polished, table, long and grand, stretching nearly the length of the room.

At the far end, you notice a figure with platinum blonde hair, sitting with her back turned to you. Even without seeing her face, you feel a flicker of recognition. There’s an aura around her something powerful and dark. You’re not sure if it’s an instinct or an unease growing in the pit of your stomach, but it grips you, pulling your attention to her as if by force.

Then, abruptly, a searing pain spikes in your temples. You wince, clutching your head as a blinding flash fills your vision. In an instant, you’re pulled into a rush of images. Memories that are not your own, tumbling through your mind like a storm. You feel yourself slip, like falling into a chasm, as the world around you fades away.

Suddenly, you’re somewhere else.

The air is thick and you find yourself watching a girl. Her, Madison Montgomery, and she’s screaming. The scene shifts with a terrifying clarity, the details vivid and overwhelming. You see Madison, younger, her face twisted in horror and rage, as flames erupt around her. There’s a flash of red carpet, crushed beneath her feet as she stumbles back, staring at her hands, realizing what she’s done. The fire she’s conjured licks up the walls, and her eyes are wide, reflecting the flames that seem to both captivate and terrify her.

Another memory pulls you in, like you’re tumbling helplessly through her life. You see her standing in front of an audience, lights beaming down on her, cameras flashing. Fame surrounds her, yet there’s emptiness in her eyes. The applause seems to fade, the crowd a blur of faceless figures. She’s alone, trapped in a world that once promised her everything and now feels hollow. The lights dim and the applause fades, and a darkness consumes her.

Then, another sharp shift. You find yourself in a dark room with dim, flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. Madison’s face is contorted in a strange focus, her hands trembling over a mangled body on a table. A young man, Kyle Spencer. His broken, lifeless form lies beneath her hands, stitched together, his face pale and still. You can feel her desperation, a fierce determination mingled with guilt and something close to madness as she tries to force him back to life. A chant of a spell echoes in the room. She’s chanting, her voice loud and confident, but laced with fear and hope, until finally, Kyle’s chest rises with a shuddering gasp. But the moment isn’t joyous. It’s dark and twisted, a resurrection not for his sake, but for hers. Pain and control.

The images blur, but you see glimpses. Madison’s hand clenched around Kyle’s wrist as if to anchor him, her mocking words, the way she manipulates and taunts him, asserting her dominance over him, reminding him of his dependence. Her eyes are cold, her smile cruel, and a sick feeling settles in your stomach as the vision fades, lingering in your mind with the weight of something real and terrible.

You snap back to reality with a sharp gasp, stumbling slightly as the dining room floods back into focus. You blink rapidly, your vision still swimming, disoriented by the vivid intensity of what you just saw. The blonde figure before you shifts, and Madison turns, her gaze settling on you with a piercing, almost predatory look.

Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes raking over you in a way that feels both dismissive and mocking. “Well, well,” she drawls, crossing her arms as she leans against the table, clearly amused by your disorientation. “Look who’s already having visions. Must be so special,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowed as she assesses you with that haughty, almost venomous look. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” she says with a smug grin. “Though it’s a little rude to peek into people’s private moments. But, hey, you’ll learn manners eventually… or not.” She waves a dismissive hand, as if the whole thing is beneath her, yet her eyes glint with something sharper, a challenge or even a warning.

You’re still reeling, the images of her life blurring and pulsing in your mind. The way she toyed with Kyle, her cruelty and need for control, make your stomach churn. But Madison only grins wider, taking in your reaction with a look of smug satisfaction. “You’re gonna have so much fun here.” she purrs, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness.

And with a dramatic flip of her hair, she brushes past you, leaving a trail of cold disdain in her wake, and you’re left standing there, still shaken, feeling like you’ve glimpsed something you were never meant to see.

The next few days at Miss Robichaux's Academy have been a blend of fascination and unease. Adjusting has come easier than expected, with Cordelia and the other witches offering support knowing what you’re going through. You’ve met Zoe, Queenie, and Nan. Each of them are unique, with stories of their own, kind in ways that contrast against Madison’s cold, snotty attitude. Cordelia had explained that witches like you are becoming rare, power that can vanish in a generation without new blood.

But in the days that followed, your mind kept returning to him. The boy from your vision. Kyle. Despite never having seen him around the mansion, you could feel his presence, an unmistakable energy that screamed in the quiet corridors. It was as though he was always just out of sight, a shadow in your periphery, drawing you closer.

And then, one night, it happens.

You walk down the darkened hallways, the silence thick and heavy as a blanket around you. The dim glow of antique lights casts shadows that dance across the polished floors. Your pajama pants brush softly against your ankles, and your loose tank top, slipping off one shoulder, sways with each step. You round a corner when you hear muffled voices coming from a partially open door at the end of the hall.

“Kyle, come on… you know you want to,” Madison’s voice coos, her tone slick with manipulation.

You stop, heart pounding, her voice igniting a strange anger within you. The desperation in her tone, laced with a mocking condescension, is unmistakable.

Then, a softer voice replies, wavering, vulnerable. “No… just want to lay.”

Your pulse spikes with pure rage. You can feel the raw vulnerability in his voice, the hurt hidden beneath it, and without thinking, you stride toward the door and shove it open, letting it slam against the wall with a sharp slam. The sound echoes down the hall as you step into the room.

Kyle is standing there, and for a fleeting moment, your gaze locks with his. His blonde hair falls messily over his face, and his eyes are lost, haunted. Almost like he’s caught in a place he can’t escape. And then, before you can fully register the moment, the world blurs, a wave of energy washing over you, and you’re pulled into another vision.

It starts with a flash of warmth, light hearted laughter filling the air, and the scent of a beach. You’re suddenly witnessing fragments of Kyle’s life, moments of innocence and freedom. There he is, laughing with friends, his arm slung around his friends shoulders, carefree and bright. You feel his joy, the warmth of his spirit, the love he holds for his friends. The happiness and tenderness are so real that your heart aches with the beauty of it.

But then the vision shifts violently, twisting into something dark. You see a glimpse of the accident. The crash. Kyle’s face, pale and filled with terror as metal twists and glass shatters. Then, everything fades to black, and you’re thrust into a world of agonizing silence. When light returns, it’s cold and sterile, the beeping of machines and the murmur of voices mixing with a sickening. Energy. Madison’s voice echoes somewhere nearby, and you’re forced to watch as she brings him back. A mangled body, stitched together in a desperate, twisted act of resurrection. The confusion and pain in his eyes as he awakens, no longer whole, haunt you deeply. You feel his fractured mind, his broken spirit, bound to her. Trapped, a puppet brought back against his will.

You gasp, the vision dissipating as reality floods back. The intensity of Kyle’s memories leaves you unsteady, the pain and horror clinging to you like a shadow. Your heart is racing, breaths shallow as you try to shake off the raw ache his past has imprinted upon you.

Madison is there, watching you with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back with a mocking grin. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” she sneers, raising an eyebrow as if the whole thing were some sort of twisted game. “Enjoy the show?” She tilts her head, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Kyle’s mine, you know. You don’t get to swoop in and play savior just because you had a little vision.”

Ignoring her, you turn your gaze to Kyle. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you see the desperation, the fear, the fragments of a person he used to be. He’s trembling, caught in the haze of what’s left of his mind. Trapped between the past and this present that he never chose.

Without thinking, you open your arms to him, and something in his broken gaze shifts. He stumbles forward, instinctively, his body drawn to the comfort you offer. The moment he’s within reach, he collapses into your embrace, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly. He clings to you as if you’re a lifeline, his shoulders trembling as he buries his face against you. You can feel the tension in him easing, his erratic breathing slowing as he finally allows himself to feel safe.

Madison scoffs, rolling her eyes. “How touching,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, but you don’t even look at her. Your focus is entirely on Kyle, the broken boy now nestled in your arms, finding peace in your presence, perhaps for the first time since his resurrection.

As Kyle clings to you, his trembling form pressed against yours, another wave of energy pulses through you. It starts subtly, like a storm gathering within, and before you can stop it, another vision consumes you, pulling you deeper into Kyle’s fractured memories.

You’re standing in a small, dimly lit living room, worn and filled with the faint scent of stale cigarettes and bitterness of regret. There’s a woman Kyle’s mother, sitting on an old couch, her face pale and drawn, her gaze empty yet intense as she stares into the distance. Her features are gaunt, tired, but beneath the weariness is a sharpness, a bitterness that lingers in her eyes. She’s alone, her glassy stare betraying a lifetime of disappointment. You can almost feel the sorrow that hangs heavy in the air.

Then you see Kyle enter, younger, vibrant, his innocent smile lighting up the room despite the dark atmosphere. He glances at her with a look of hope, like a son yearning for approval, a glimpse of the mother he remembers from before. But her gaze drifts past him, unfocused, as though she’s looking right through him, her expression indifferent.

Suddenly, the vision shifts, blurring into darker moments, fragmented yet clear. You see Kyle in that same room, older now, his face worn with a new kind of sorrow as his mother’s hand trails over his shoulder, her touch possessive, her gaze twisted with a strange, warped affection. You feel his discomfort, his shame, the confusion that cloud his mind as he tries to pull away, his mother’s grip tightening, her twisted need for any semblance of maternal love.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Kyle withdraws into himself, retreating to a place in his mind that shields him from the reality around him. You feel his heartbreak, his sense of betrayal by the one person he should have been able to trust. The love he held for her is forced down, locked away as he learns to numb himself, his spirit fragmenting bit by bit with each encounter.

The vision shifts again, flashing back to the day he left for college, eager for freedom, for the chance to live a life on his own terms. You feel his hope, his relief as he steps away from that house, from her, determined to start fresh. But even then, a part of him carries the scars, the weight of her twisted hold over him. Darkness he can’t quite escape.

The vision ends abruptly, leaving you breathless and shaken, the horror of Kyle’s past etched vividly in your mind. You blink, reeling from the raw emotions that still linger, struggling to ground yourself as you return to the present.

Kyle’s grip on you tightens, his fingers clutching your shoulders as if sensing your understanding. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that shatters you. There’s an unspoken plea in his gaze, a yearning to be seen, to be understood. His face is etched with pain, haunted by the memories that linger in both of you now. You reach out, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe.

Madison stands nearby, her smirk faltering as she takes in the scene, her cruel facade wavering. But you don’t spare her a glance. You’re focused entirely on Kyle, your heart breaking for the boy who’s suffered so much, who’s been broken and betrayed by those who should have protected him.

“Hey.” you whisper softly, your voice a quiet promise. “You’re not alone, Kyle. Not anymore.”

He sinks further into your embrace, and for the first time, you feel him relax. A fragile sense of peace settling over him as he clings to the one person who’s finally offered him the compassion he’s longed for.

You pull back slightly from Kyle, feeling the warmth of his hold reluctantly loosen as you meet his eyes. There's a quiet plea in them, a vulnerability he rarely shows anyone, and you gently brush a strand of his hair back, offering him a small nod of reassurance.

“I’ll be back, Kyle,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the fury burning within you.

With one last reassuring look, you stand, directing your attention to Madison. She watches with a raised eyebrow, her mouth twisted in a smirk that only fuels the fire inside you. Her arms are crossed, as if nothing she’s done could possibly be considered wrong.

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your voice low and edged with a cold fury. “Madison… What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She raises her brows in mock surprise and fake innocence. "Oh, calm down,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. "I was just… entertaining him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, her voice dripping with a fake sweetness that makes your stomach turn. "Not my fault he can’t take a little fun.”

You feel your fists clench involuntarily, your nails digging into your palms as you try to control the anger coursing through you. “Entertaining?” you repeat, your voice shaking as you take a step closer. “Is that what you call it? Tormenting someone who’s already been through hell, treating him like he’s your puppet?”

Madison rolls her eyes, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “Look, he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I brought him back, remember? That’s more than anyone else has ever done for him. Maybe he should be a little more… grateful.” Her words are sharp, laced with that biting sarcasm she wears like armor.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably on the floor, his eyes downcast, clearly torn by the twisted logic in her words. Seeing him struggle makes your anger flare hotter. You step protectively in front of him, blocking Madison’s view of him entirely. “Grateful? Grateful?” You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping as you shake your head. “Grateful for being dragged back into a nightmare he didn’t ask for? For being manipulated and humiliated by you?”

Madison’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, you see a flicker of anger in her expression. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snaps, her voice growing colder. “This world isn’t made for people who play nice. I know what I want, and I take it. That’s what it means to have power.”

“Power?” you spit back, your voice sharp as steel. “Power doesn’t mean breaking people down just because you can. Real power is knowing when to stop. When to help rather than harm.”

Madison’s jaw tightens, her smile gone, replaced by a thin line of resentment. She scoffs, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest, her stance rigid and defensive. “Please,” she says, her voice biting. “You think playing the savior makes you any different? You’ll get tired of it. You’ll realize that people only want you when you’re useful to them. Like him.” She gestures dismissively to Kyle without even looking at him.

“That’s enough,” you say, voice rising as your anger breaks through. You’re inches from her now, your gaze locked in an intense stare-down. “Kyle’s not some possession for you to toy with. He’s a person, and he deserves better than this… better than you.”

Madison stares back, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. She looks at you with a mixture of despise and something that almost resembles vulnerability, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Fine,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “If you want to play caretaker, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not worth the trouble.” She shoots Kyle one last look, her eyes cold as ice.

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoes through the walls, the silence that follows thick and tense, lingering in the space she left behind.

You stand there, breathing heavily, letting the anger slowly drift away as the reality of what just happened settles in. Turning back, you see Kyle sitting there, his face a mixture of confusion, relief, and a hint of awe, as if he can hardly believe someone stood up for him.

Softening, you lower yourself back down beside him, reaching out to take his hand gently in yours. “It’s okay,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “She’s gone. I’m here now… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, sunlight streams softly through the curtains, and as your eyes flutter open. You find yourself still propped against the wall. Kyle is asleep in your lap, his head heavy and his breathing slow and uneven. His face is turned slightly toward you, his features softened by sleep but still carrying the marks of his trauma. Creases of worry, faint bruises that never seem to fully fade, exhaustion that rests permanently under his eyes. He looks so worn and fragile, more like a lost child than the broken soul of a man sitting with you now.

Gently, you trace the outline of his cheekbone, noticing every detail of his face. His muscles twitch slightly under your touch, and his brow furrows as if even in sleep, he’s struggling. But he doesn’t wake, and you let yourself take in this quiet moment, heart aching for what he’s endured. You can almost feel the scars his past has left on him. He’s been hurt so much, lost so much of himself. But there’s a resilience in him. Flickers of hope beneath the pain that keeps him moving forward.

As the morning stretches into day, you stay close to him, sharing quiet moments and small reassurances. Even though words are often lost between you, there’s a silent understanding growing. Comfort that comes just from being together. Every so often, he looks at you with that same hesitant expression, as though he’s not quite sure if he deserves this.

By evening, you find yourselves in the garden. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the dimming sunlight casts long shadows across the cobblestone paths. You sit on a weathered stone bench, surrounded by vibrant roses and tall hedges that offer some privacy. Kyle sits beside you, stiff and tense, his hands loosely clasped in his lap as he stares at the ground, as though he’s reluctant to look up.

He seems more restless tonight, his hands occasionally twitching, his gaze flickering to the flowers and back down. Finally, he attempts to speak, his voice low and halting. “I… feel… wro..ng.” His words are slow, each one seemingly pulled out with effort. “Like... b-broken pieces… that don’t fit.”

Your heart tightens as you hear the struggle in his voice, the way he’s trying to put together the broken pieces of himself to explain what he feels. He’s more hesitant than usual tonight, his voice disjointed, eyes darting around as though he’s worried the darkness within him.

His gaze drops, and you see the pain there, the deep confusion and shame as he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’m not… enough. N-not… me.”

You take his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the roughness of his knuckles. “Kyle,” you say softly, leaning closer so he can hear you clearly. “You’re here, and that means so much. You’re stronger than all the things that have happened to you. You’re not broken.”

He blinks at you, confusion and a spark of hope flickering across his face. “I… try,” he murmurs, his voice catching, as if he’s not sure if trying will ever be enough. He lifts his hand to his face, running a hand over the lines of his face, his eyes dark with the memories of the things done to him. The things that have fractured him.

“You’re not alone, Kyle,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes fixed on yours with an almost childlike vulnerability, and he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. His hand, slightly trembling, reaches out, brushing against your arm. For a moment, he just looks at you, his face softening, some of the tension easing as he absorbs the comfort you offer.

“Thank……you,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost miss it. It’s rough and broken, but there’s something genuine in it, something that feels fragile. He leans into you slightly, his head resting against your shoulder, and you feel his body begin to relax, the weight of his tension slowly fading.

In the evening air, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the garden, you sit together in silence. The stars slowly emerge in the sky above, casting a faint light over the garden, and for the first time, Kyle seems to let go, trusting that he’s safe here with you.

A couple of months had passed since the night Kyle finally opened up to you in the garden, and everything felt like it had shifted. The dark moments that had once defined his life began to fade, replaced by something softer, something that held warmth and hope. You’d spent every day by his side, helping him with patience and kindness as he took small steps toward healing. And now, looking back on those early days, you were amazed at how far he’d come.

The academy felt lighter, like a home. The other witches had become like a family to you, each one adding their own kind of magic (literally) to your life. Even Cordelia seemed to gleam with pride whenever she saw Kyle opening up or laughing with the rest of you. Madison, of course, still sneered and offered her sarcastic remarks, but her bitterness was easy to ignore now. Her words had lost their sting. In every way things were better than you could have ever hoped.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the garden again, Kyle’s favorite spot in the academy. The sun was setting, casting a golden haze over the flowers and filling the air with the scent of roses and freshly turned earth. You were both kneeling side by side, hands deep in the soil as you planted a new bed of wildflowers. Kyle had grown fond of gardening. There was something about the calmness of it, the gentle, nurturing process that seemed to bring him peace.

As you finished placing the last flower into the soil, Kyle turned to you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was still something a little unsteady in his gaze, but his eyes held warmth. There was spark that hadn’t been there before.

“You… helped m-me…. find this,” he said, his voice more sure now, each word steadier than they used to be. “This peace.”

You smiled back, brushing a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve done most of it yourself, you know. You’re stronger than you think, Kyle.”

He looked down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he fumbled with the edge of a leaf, as though gathering his courage. “But… you didn’t leave. I don’t think… I could’ve found it without you.” His words came slower, but clearer, each one laced with genuine emotion. “You make me feel… real. Like I’m more than… what I was before.”

A pang of tenderness shot through you, and without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You are, Kyle. You’re so much more than that. And I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize every feature, every tiny expression. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but you felt his gratitude, his trust, and something deeper in that simple touch.

He took a shaky breath, his smile widening. “I… don’t think I need… anything more than… this. Just… you.” His voice was quiet, like he was sharing asecret, his eyes soft and full of the warmth you’d come to recognize as love.

A gentle, happy laugh bubbled out of you, and in one swift, bold movement, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, Kyle tensed, his breath catching in surprise, but then he melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you in return. His head rested on your shoulder, and you could feel him relax, his entire being just sinking into the hug as if it was a safe haven he’d been searching for his whole life.

“You’re home, Kyle,” you whispered softly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

He nodded against your shoulder, his voice muffled but full of warmth. “Yeah… I think I.. am.”

You held each other in the golden glow of the setting sun, surrounded by the blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves, the world felt perfect. It was quiet and peaceful, with nothing but the steady rhythm of Kyle’s breathing against you. In that moment, you both knew that this was exactly where you belonged.

Kyle pulled back, meeting your gaze with a look that was so full of gratitude and tenderness that it made your heart ache. His smile was real, wide, and hopeful, and he reached for your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours as if he never wanted to let go.

#evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters angst #evan peters fluff #evan peters imagine #kyle spencer #kyle spencer x reader #kyle spencer x y/n #kyle spencer angst #kyle spencer fluff #kyle spencer imagine #american horror story #ahs coven

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feelinmatcha · 3 months ago

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❛ 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘 ❜

DESCRIPTION: hcs on having an unreciprocated crush on your best friend, sanji A/N: told my best friend of 8 years who is taken that im in love with them and its the reason why im no longer gonna contact them until i get over this silly lil feeling (i think shes it for me tbh). but!! im writing this because i miss them so much and breaking no contact with them is wrong!!! 🎵: i love you, i'm sorry by gracie abrams

just the way life goes I like to slam doors closed

when he's hurt or in trouble, you're the first to offer help or a comforting hand on his shoulder

on special occasions, like his or his mothers birthday, you'll anonymously leave a letter on the kitchen counter that would leave him tearing up in the most embarrassing way possible

you write letters filled with your true feelings, incorporating one for every other day. you label the dates, of course, in case you lose track of how many months its been since you've starting having such feelings for him

during late-night conversations, you find yourself pouring out your heart, sharing your dreams and fears. he listens with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, eyes sparkling with genuine interest, unaware that these moments are your way of expressing your hidden feelings

Trust me, I know it's always about me I love you, I'm sorry

you dream about him on the daily to the point where you're waking up to feel the space next to you cold

even with the subtle playful flirting, he doesn't see it as anything more than just friendly banter

when you're around him, it's like everything pales in comparison. you steal glances over the fire, the crowd, luffy's head in the mornings, and even early in the mornings when he's prepping for breakfast

when he gets upset over another failed pursuit of a relationship, you offer the same advice all while sharing some of your own romantic desires

'Cause that's just the way life goes I push my luck, it shows

you insinuate your feelings at one point, since its been almost a year

it was on a particular evening when the rest of the straw hat pirates were out on the deck, watching the swirls of blue and pink in the sky, while your loverboy sulked over nami for the millionth time this month

"you could always just ask her, sanji. it's just nami."

"yes, that's exactly why i shouldn't say anything. it's her!"

"we've been sailing together for how many years, you know her just like you know me and usopp, she's--"

"she's not like you, or usopp!" he groans, ignorant of the way your lips turn downward into a frown at the tone of his voice

"anyone would love you." you say softly

"you're just saying that," he runs a hand down his face. the tears threatening to spill over and his unkempt hair makes this situation so much worse than all of the other times he's cried over a woman. "you're part of the crew, of course you'd think that."

even through the threads of countless lives, your soul would search for his in order to endlessly love him through every echo of existence

a pang blooms in your chest

Thankful you don't send someone to kill me I love you, I'm sorry

it's been a year and a half since you've got feelings for the cook

nothing got better, but at least you're semi thankful for sanji not having the balls to confess yet

even if he did, nami knew of your feelings

she would spend at least one hour a day pestering you about your feelings for him and you didn't have the heart to tell her that he was in love with her instead

because he might just cut contact with you for that

You were the best but you were the worst As sick as it sounds, I loved you first

"why do you love him anyway?"

zoro asks you this one night when he catches you slaving over the counter, trying to prep the dishes and ingredients sanji will need for the next morning

you're rearranging your plans to accommodate sanji's needs when you stop on an island

you decorated the kitchen space with little touches that cater to his tastes-- framed recipes, kitchen gadgets, and cozy blankets draped over the usually chilly kitchen chairs

once every other month, you collaborate on ship projects like redecorating a space or choosing what else to grow up behind the main mast next to nami's mandarins

you don't know when it started but you started to express your affection through gestures like tucking his shirt in for him or fixing his collar from across the table, usually in a more private setting

most mornings he meets you in the kitchen at 4 and getting greeted with a steaming cup of his favorite tea

I was a dick, it is what it is A habit to kick, the age-old curse

"you're going to spend the night at hers?" with a sparkling drink cupped in her hand, you look up at him, a furrow in your brow. "sanji, we're leaving tomorrow morning. why do you think we're not drin--"

"why are you so insistent that i stay?" he rebutted. the girl that was gonna take him home shied away, like you were his mother berating him for something like swinging too high up on a swing

because i love you and i hate seeing you love everyone back but me, you hoped to say

"everyone said it was fine, so i'm going."

when he left, nami consoled you as you tried your best not to burst into hot tears

and when you saw zoro across from you, looking slightly hurt for you, you knew it was time to bury these feelings in the ground

I tend to laugh whenever I'm sad Stare at the crash, it actually works

after you avoided him for a week, which he thought couldn't be possible because they were on a ship, he begins to realize that a chunk of his life quite literally washed away like a plank in the ocean

the frame of you two sat would sit on the dining table after everybody had left, having been previously used for a recipe until you decided to change things up a bit one day

and when sanji saw it that day, he was glad and pointed out that its a nice picture and a good reminder of how fun that day was

to you, the photo was once a symbol of hope and affection but now it felt like a reminder of the emotional distance between the two of you

you threw it away the night you returned back to the ship, knowing he was in bed with another girl

Making amends, this shit never ends I'm wrong again, wrong again

NOTES: plsplspls ignore the errors im writing this at 12am ^^

#sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #hate using his last name but its to get more attention booooo #sanji black leg #opla sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #one piece live action #one piece #opla sanji #one piece x reader #opla x reader #taz skylar x reader #taz skylar

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firemenenthusiast · 27 days ago

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—“ruffles”

farleigh start x fem! reader

summary: farleigh has one purpose in this world, and that is to give you anything you want and more

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (well duh), BREEDING KINK goes brrrr, porn with plot (sorry for that lol), creampie, cunnilingus, riding, petnames, mating press (whoa), size kink, breeding endeavours (like really), no actual pregnancy, breast worship, oral fixation, literally about fucking reader to knock her up (no im not ashamed) (maybe a lil)

a/n: if you don’t like breeding kink or talks of getting pregnant and stuff you don’t have to read ! but just so you know i want him to get me pregnant (hello) 😞🙏🏻

strolling down the neatly shaped stone pavement, the glinting of overhead fairy lights reflecting against your glossy eyes makes you feel grateful that farleigh’s willing to do this. it’s been months since your last actual date, having only gone out to other people’s events or just hanging out around campus. you two were very busy, with the aggressive chase from assignment due dates and the cruel allocation of your schedules. it felt like the faculty hated seeing you two together and was doing everything in their will to separate you.

tilting your head towards him, you watch a slow smile thread itself across his lips as he continues looking forward so the both of you don’t end up tripping over each other. he could feel you alternating between watching your steps and watching him, taking in all his sharp features. his nose, the tip reflecting a glow from the fairy lights, his eyes, his long lashes that almost touch his pretty eyebrows. and his curls, god you love his curls so much, especially because he keeps them neat all the time. you’re willing to bet that incase of fire in his dorm building he’s gonna grab his hair products first if not only.

“take a picture baby it’ll last longer” he quips, making you eye roll at the cringey words. pulling you in closer to his side, you notice that you were seconds away from colliding into the group of people walking past. farleigh always does this, having told you multiple times that you’re careless when in reality he just wanted you to be as close to him as possible so people wouldn’t dare to get any ideas

one good thing about your relationship is that it’s gotten to the stage where you’re always each other’s date, especially for the family events. farleigh’s family in saltburn already welcomed you long ago, even since you two were just talking and when all the toxicity and angst happened between you and him. they watched from afar, not wanting to meddle into farleigh’s businesses but they were hoping you could work it out. they were hoping that you could just give farleigh a chance to prove that he’s actually capable to love properly, and you did.

you’ve come to the age you’ve started getting invited to your friends’ weddings, farewells and showers. you know, adult, family stuff. just last month you guys rsvp’d to annabelle’s wedding and went together. and the fact that the both of you fit each other so well stained a smile on farleigh’s face all the way home. the parties and raves are toning down and surprisingly, there hasn’t been any yet for your last year at oxford. farleigh had told you he’s glad that it’s all starting to get behind him now as he’s more determined to actually try for uni now that he’s got you. he wanted a promising future where he could keep you safe and healthy.

“im glad we did this, farleigh” looking up at him, the feeling of his calloused hand cupping against your soft one serves you warmth. you’re walking hand in hand under the dim lights of oxford little shop street.

a momentary quirk appears on his eyebrows before tilting his head down towards you.

“what ? take you out for a walk ?” his lips curl to huff out a playful scoff, seconds before he’s flinching from you playfully punching his arm.

“you know that’s not what i meant”

straightening his back, he smiles.

“yeah, i know. we never really have time for ourselves anymo-” as he squeezes your hand he’s being cut off by you squeaking in excitement, making him dart his head towards the thing distracting you from his heartfelt moment.

farleigh almost stumbles over the sidewalk when you basically jumped off to go into the shop, yanking his hand together in a still interlocked hand holding. he mentally curses as a reflex, does this woman not realise that she’s still holding his hand ?

“ohh,, oh my good— farleigh look !” you’re practically melting in front of the display of cute mini clothes in the shop with soft pastel interior. everything was so small and adorable, from the tiny two-piece light blue pyjamas to the mini rainbow xylophone neatly placed in a colourful box packaging.

it’s only when you look up to him do you see that your hands are stretched out, forming a bridge over the display table with farleigh on the other side just looking at you, waiting for you to realise you’re near yanking his arm off his shoulder. quickly releasing his hand, you mutter a low ‘sorry’ with your best apologetic face.

“what’s up with you and baby stuff lately ?” he inquires, tone obvious that he hasn’t even got one idea as of your latest obsession. what he does recall is that it started when one of your mutual friends invited you to their baby shower.

“they’re just so- do you not think they’re adorable?!” you’re moving quickly through the entire shop to make sure that you’ve looked at every single items that you don’t even bother to look up at farleigh who’s clearly unamused by the whole thing.

“they’re just small shirts. even i wear baby tees” you shrug at his answer, well he’s not wrong. he does wear small t-shirts, sometimes having cropped them himself.

having grown up with no other children in the mansion, and not having to deal with smaller cousins at Christmas or dinner makes him feel like children are no big deal. even when everyone geeked at the tiny human last week, telling him that she’s just the cutest little thing and so pure, he didn’t get the appeal. he was showing a distinct disgusted look the whole time and to be fair, you think it’s classic farleigh. you just laughed it off at seeing him trying so hard to hide the pout and ended up spending the rest of the evening telling him he’s cuter. you still remember what he said when you insisted that he’s cute.

“im a grown man, i don’t need you calling me cute. plus i don’t care about the baby”

“so what do you call a grown man ?”

there was a quick silence before you hear him respond quietly.

“….handsome”

his timid response made you snort laugh, and you still do when you randomly remembered his flushed face and his eyes looking into the distance in all seriousness as if the whole thing never bothered him at all.

swiping your fingers against the delicate fabric on the table, you couldn’t help the genuine smile glued to your face. somehow the mini buttons and small fluffy rabbit peeking out the shirt’s pocket really makes you float with joy. you don’t even notice farleigh slowly stepping closer towards you, as he reaches out to feel the fabric you’re so keen on feeling.

the smile on your face grows wider noticing farleigh has stopped murmuring protests about the shop selling basically shrunken clothes and instead, measuring how tiny the arm of the pyjamas is with his pointer finger. mentally he’s genuinely amazed seeing that it’s the same length of his finger because for a moment there, he forgot that babies are that small.

“they’re so small”

“i know, god these make me wanna have one just so we could play dress up” your eyes are still set on the matching pieces, responding to his quiet mutters. hearing your words takes the enjoyment of being there from farleigh, an itch crawled against the skin on his neck making him cock his head and let out a huffed sigh.

“let’s go home” he’s completely turned his body away from you with a few steps towards the door leaving you behind

“already…?” his musky scent no longer lingering around when you raise your head.

“farleigh—!” you try to call out to him asking him to at least slow down but he’s already standing at the door holding it open. maybe something’s caught his attention that his eyes are staring far outside, not bothered to look at you

the rest of the ride home farleigh’s only focused on the road, large hand framing the wheels making you look at his other hand, which would otherwise had already settled on your thigh, dangerously high.

the whole time he’s got his eyes straight through the windshield that not once does he bother to meet your gaze from beside like always. his back is pressed straight against the seat, shoulders pulled back, you know that he’s tensed. he looks somehow pissed, with his brows occasionally knitted together with a distinct furrow.

you’d asked him a few questions like you usually do, accompanying him along the drive because farleigh gets drowsy behind the wheels but all of them got shut down with barely a word or just a hum. all of his sudden behaviour leaves you worried, for one thinking about what you may have done that could’ve pissed him off and what his silence could’ve mean. farleigh on normal circumstances wouldn’t know when to shut up, so you’re really beating your head wondering.

“farleigh—“ he’s walking fast in front of you, leaving you to almost stumble over a scattered piece of rock on the pathway. the swings of his legs are obviously larger than yours, that you struggle to match the pace. he’s still silent, but not without his hand wrapped around your wrist, practically dragging you towards what you could make out is the direction of his dorm. you would have guessed that he was mad but the gentle hold he has on your wrist tells you otherwise

you were right, it is the direction to his dorm. stopping your tracks, you pull your hand away forcing him to turn towards you, before stepping in to close the distance in between. you have no choice but to crane your neck looking at him, his pupils blown and eyes dark. but maybe that’s just the dimmed lights along the hall, and the fact that it’s late. your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat seeing it heaves like the ocean wave.

looking him right in the eyes, clear concern and desperation glinting off your cornea. “farleigh what is it ? it was a perfectly great date—“

immediately as the words left your lips you feel his large hands cradling your face, slender fingers cupping your jaw as he hunches down to touch his lips against your soft ones, taking you in for a kiss so deep it feels like he’d longed for it since forever. all the building up protest within you dissolves slowly with each of the touch of lips on your bottom one, kissing on it like he’s desperate for something.

your fingers are crawling on his chest, trying to grab at the hem of his knitted sweater, subconsciously pulling him even closer. a deep breath sighs out of him as his nose bumps against yours, your lips getting glossy from both your saliva. just as you begin to step forward to push him back towards his door, he breaks the kiss with small pants.

“im sorry,,” he begins, your eyes bore into his, waiting patiently for an explanation, your fingers fiddling with the buttons on the chest

before he continues he takes your hands of his chest into his, stepping back and pulling you into his dorm after twisting the knob. for a second you widen your eyes at him seeing that he still doesn’t lock his room when he’s out, which you’ve told him to countless times. seeing your reaction to the little detail leaves a grin across his lips.

turning your back towards his bed, he continues to take you in for another kiss, his knee moving forward to separate your legs apart, dipping it onto the mattress. all you had to do was return the kiss, as he didn’t give you much option pressing his plump ones against yours. kissing farleigh was always like being given oxygen when you can’t breathe, and it always felt like he’s saved you from suffocating.

you’re now making out on the bed, with him on top of your body, his upper arm caging your head as his fingers move the stray hair across your forehead. it’s unusual for the both of you to be in this position, not without both your hands desperately ripping off each others clothes, tearing them off your bodies. now you’re moving in a slow pace, with his kisses delicate against your lips.

reaching your hand up to move his hair backwards, he takes that as a cue to continue explaining.

“i can’t stand not being able to give you what you want, the moment you ask for it”

his answer quirks your brows, the look on your confusion displayed across your face as your fingers moving to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“when you said you wanted a baby for yourself—“ realisation hits on what he’s talking about that you immediately shut your eyes and shake your head before they shot wide open

“oh my god— i wasn’t serious, farleigh !”

“i know, i know”

his dark glossy eyes search into yours before he continues

“but i can actually fuck you now, fill you up so full and nice, get you pregnant with my kid”

a soft moan escapes your lips when he leans in to kiss along your jaw, trailing down to your collarbone, his fingers work to undress you at each part of your body that he kisses, until you’re left with nothing

“you’re still dressed” you point out, receiving a grin from him

“does that bother you baby ?” he responds, as his hand grabs at the hem of his sweater to pull it over his head, his broad tanned shoulder now on full display, looking glorious as ever. if only he was facing the other way, the flexing muscles on his back would’ve made you cum right that second.

spitting onto his hand, the sound got him your attention as he leans down pursing his lips, a glob lands on your pussy, making it glisten with all the wetness forming. he wastes no time latching his mouth on your folds, lapping up his own saliva that’s mixed with your juices. scooting even further from the bed, he’s poking his tongue down your hole, sucking on it to catch every drop of your taste into his mouth. he’s humming from the sweetness, eyes shut savouring your taste while you squirm from the vibration.

he has his hands sprawled over your lower belly, pinning your hips down so he could have his way down your core all he wants, like it belongs to him. and it does. he knows it’s all his, yet he’s eating you out like he’s gonna lose you to somebody else.

the sounds coming out of your mouth are getting embarrassing, pathetic whines and broken out moans fill the room, making you place your forehand against your lips to cover some of them from spilling out uncontrollably.

hearing them all muffled, farleigh reaches his hand up to move your arm away, before sucking off your clit and raising his head up to look at you.

“let me hear your pretty sounds”

as he dives back into you, his nose grazes against your folds, collecting your wetness that the bridge is all glistening and shiny. he has his mouth pursed on your pussy before he’s sucking on your clit, alternating between his laps on your folds and kitten lick against it, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. you’ve missed how good he’d eat you out, and it’s crazy what he could make you feel in a span of mere couple of minutes.

your sudden grab on his hand tells him that you’re about to cum, and he could feel the subtle shake of your thighs against the sides of his head. raising his head up, his lower face all wet and sticky.

“wanna hear you baby, loud”

the final pressure on of his tongue sucking on your pussy brings you over the edge, with the vibrations of his words encouraging you to be louder toppling you over the high waves as they crashes down, and you’re cumming on his face. you’re panting hard, thighs shaking slightly, offering him a small smile as he stands to lean over and kiss you again, his finger pushing the hair sticking on your forehead away.

moving your body up from the mattress, you’re pulling him up by cupping his jaw, making him sit on the bed instead, his back resting against the headrest as you throw your leg over his hips, straddling his clothed hard on. your fingers quick to undo his belt and unzipping his pants before pulling out his already hard length, with farleigh wincing with each of your touches. the haste in your movement blows his mind, blood rushes towards the tip of his cock seeing you waste no time spitting on him and spreading it along his shaft.

the moans that spill out of your mouth from the feeling of you sinking on his cock were so loud that you could just pray no one comes knocking. you feel like never getting up from his cock ever from the pleasure. farleigh always stretches you out so nice, his cock hitting the right spots inside you with his length. bouncing on his cock would be nothing short of heavenly as he would place his hand on your waist, guiding you and even moving you by your waist himself to get off. but you love that, you love when he makes you his personal fleshlight.

“fuck, pretty girl-“

“fucking feel so good,, oh-“ he throws his head back feeling the clench of your walls down his cock

as your bounces are starting to grow rapid and desperate, you’re moaning uncontrollably at the feeling of his tip hitting the spot again and again, each time. farleigh reaches up to fondle your tits, pinching over the nipples before putting the mounds into his mouth. he’s mouthing at the soft flesh, hungry to stuff the whole of your tits against his tongue, eagerness spills out of him from how he’s flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, scraping his teeth over it. the pace of you fucking creaks the bed, with the headrest slamming against the wall behind it.

farleigh has his legs all sprawled across the mattress, his thighs fucking upwards to meet your bounces down his cock. while you’re busy fucking yourself down his cock, moans spilling down your tongue erratically, farleigh’s fixated on playing with your breasts and sucking on your nipples. you can feel his saliva slobbering all over your flesh. god how he loves them so much, loves stuffing his face in between your mounds and just getting lost in the flesh. the palms of his hand curl tight against your waist, mouth agape at the feeling of your warm hole wrapping around him so snug. you’re getting desperate,

“oh fuck, it’s all yours sweetheart” he’s grabbing on your waist, trying to get you to slow down or he’ll burst.

seeing as you’re not slowing down he straighten his back and pushes you down against the mattress by your waist, moving to stand on his knees, his cock springing out of your pussy looking painfully hard, a string of slick connecting the tip to your folds.

putting all his weight against the back of your thighs, almost folding you into two in a mating press. he has his palms flattened against your lower belly, with his large fingers curling over your sides. wrapping one of his hand around his shaft, he’s pumping it quick before positioning it at your entrance and fucking it back into you.

mumbling through seethed teeth, he’s almost lost in the feeling of wanting to breed you, pumping your pussy full of his cum and making sure he’s fucked a baby into you.

“wanna be a momma hm ? gonna make you one, gonna give you my seed”

as he starts absolutely pounding into you you can’t help but let out a yelp, the stretched out position of your legs dangling over his shoulders hurts so good.

“farleigh,, more—“

“more ?”

you nod quickly at him, desperate to feel all of him stretching you out.

“so- fucking greedy” to your command he adjusts his position so he could reach deeper inside, giving him more access to move his hips

“you’re gonna look so pretty, so round with my baby” farleigh’s now mumbling sentences about you getting knocked up, being so full of his cum that he’s sure you’re pregnant

“you want a baby huh ?” his hips slams his cock into your pussy, balls slapping against the sweaty skin of your inner thighs with each of his thrusts. he’s got you caged underneath him, his shoulders and chest towering over you.

leaning in, he places a soft kiss against your lips, muffling in your moans for a moment,

“you’re so pretty” he kisses at your calf beside his head, putting his body weight on top of yours.

you’re almost screaming, with your tongue calling out his name again and again, your eyes near rolling back to your skull.

as he suddenly leans down against your legs harder, his face inches from yours as he takes in your fucked out features, sweaty and sticky

“can’t hear you pretty girl” he mutters through seethed teeth, holding the feeling of your tight pussy clenching down his cock, threatening his cum to shoot into your womb. letting out a weak incoherent response, he leans back.

“try again”

“wanna- wanna be full of your cum,, mm- want your baby”

“that’s more like it”

he has both your legs wrapped in his arms, pushing your thighs together making your pussy feels tighter to him, before stuffing his cock so deep inside, all inches of him. throwing his head back, he can’t help the fucked out moan coming out of his mouth, your pussy getting him closer to his orgasm.

“gonna cum baby, gonna fill you up really nice”

all you could do was nod at him with a whine, your eyebrows knitted together as you purse your lips together at the pleasure, hoping that he’s too hazed out to care what you give as a response, which thankfully, he is.

“oh fuck— fuck, fuck” he’s cursing, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, splashes of your wetness landing on the sheets beneath from his hips slamming into you. you know he’s gonna be cumming in you any second because farleigh curses like hell when he’s close. as he moans start getting cracked and loud, you feel his cum flooding the insides of your pussy, painting your walls full of white.

“there you go, that should knock you up hm ?”

pulling his softening cock out slowly, his eyes settle on your hole clenching around nothing, the brim being pumped full of his cum that some are spilling back out down your ass.

“ooh, we shouldn’t waste any of this now” wrapping his fingers around his cock, his thumb and index aiming the tip to collect the cum oozing out of your pussy, before pushing it back into you.

as you’re panting and catching your breaths, farleigh spends a couple of minutes just collecting the cum that keeps spilling out and fucking it back with his cock. he’s grinning over you, enjoying seeing your pussy so full to the brim, your folds sticky with some of his cum sticking onto them. just when he feels he’s done fucking it back into you, he wipes off some of the remaining stuck to your skin to bring up towards your lips and pushing it down your tongue.

smiling, he places your legs down slowly before crawling besides you to kiss all over your face, his fingers grazing across your palm to intertwine them with yours. kissing your forehead, his eyes stare into yours, glossy and shiny with the reflection of light from outside. his lips curl into a soft smile as he brings up your hand to kiss at the back of it

“you okay ?”

nodding, you take a deep breath making your chest raise as farleigh reaches his other hand up to wipe the small beads of sweat on your face.

“you know, i think i’m okay with having a mini you around”

turning your head to look directly at him, his face soft, lips swollen and as pouty as ever, staring back at you. a feeling of relief washing over you at hearing his words, watering the newfound hope that he won’t leave you all alone if anything happens. you know nothing’s actually gonna happen because you’re on birth control but it’s nice for him to say that, especially after all the things you had to go through to get to this point.

“really ?” you ask softly

“yeah” he leans in for another kiss before getting up

“you stay there okay”

he mutters slowly, which are his usual words when he gets up to get some warm wet cloth and a glass of water, as you offer him a small smile.

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