#mind consumed with thoughts of their gentle intimacy today

[serenbriar]

I often think about how verbal consent must be such an integral part of Tav and Astarion's relationship even once they've been together for years.

It doesn't matter if his body language indicates he's eager for intimacy, Tav will still ask him "may I?", "can I?", "is it okay if I..?", "do you want to..?" even if it's quite clear. Even after all that time, they want to remind him that he's in control, to make it known that they'll never do anything he doesn't want.

Often, he might eagerly accept, or even beg for them, but other times he might say no. And when he does say no, he never ever fears his boundaries being crossed, because he trusts Tav entirely to respect his body. He feels safe with them, safe to say no, knowing that the word has power here where it didn't so many times before.

Even after years, he might think to himself that they don't need to ask during moments of passion, that it's quite clear when he does and doesn't want intimacy, but it still brings him comfort when they do.

[ilys00ga]

𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗨𝗣𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡.

PAIR: yoongi x f reader

TAGS/WARNINGS: strangers to lovers, 'love at first sight' (I tried, okay?), producer!yoongi, producer!reader, fluff, I don't really know how to tag anymore, oh yeah no warnings just smoking ig, cats <3 this is very cheesy but op requested that sooo!!

A/N: requested <333 this is not my proudest work. and to be honest, I don't think I like it that much. but this is the best I can provide atm :,) I hope yall like it. don't forget yo leave ur feedback and comments! lots of love <333

SYNOPSIS: the one where yoongi falls in love at first sight on the streets of his city.

PS. ignore all mistakes people, thank u. I can't believe I even managed to finish and post this !

It all started one breezy Tuesday night—The first time Yoongi felt his heart leap in his chest because of a complete stranger.

The tune he had been stuck dealing with for the previous couple of hours was an endless loop echoing in his head, a desperate effort of his brain to solve his headaches for himself.

Being a significant producer-songwriter for many, he was often locked up in his studio for entire days, sometimes even weeks, but that's when he can tell he's on the verge of plunging into insanity—the irony of choosing to do the one thing he loved the most in this world—if he didn’t pick up his keys and his phone, headed towards the door and walked the tension between his bones away.

On his way back home that night, he let his legs bring him to a park by the edge of a vast river. It was fairly late into the night, but some humans lingered there and about.

He sat on a lonely bench, drawing some of the fresh air into his lungs before leaning back and making himself comfortable against his seat. Usually, he’d go for less crowded places, places where solitude spoke to his mind and put it to rest in the middle of the chaos his life was. That night, he found himself watching people existing on the edge of that river, where the water spoke the language of the sky and painted an image of the bright moon and city lights.

On their little picnic mats were couples sharing delicate intimacy and friend groups laughing and chatting amongst themselves, while cyclists drifted by. A perfect picture of humans basking in the moment.

And Yoongi? He had a cigarette burning between his fingers to keep him company.

His thoughts ran with a mind of their very own, he almost didn't notice her.

The stranger passed by him like the gentle whispers of breeze that played with his hair strands. A nearby cat caught her attention, she crouched down and petted it.

“You're hungry, aren't you? Me too, me too. I only had lunch today. Coffee for breakfast. I'm working on a new project these days. It's always hectic, you know? You probably don't. You're just a cute fluff ball. Wandering around. Surviving.”

Such were the soft words he heard the human say. It seemed like a natural conversation to any passing-by ear. He wouldn't have guessed a cat was at the receiving end if he weren't at a short proximity from them, but the simple interaction painted a faint smile on his face. It was endearingly pleasant.

Shifting his gaze to the scenery ahead of himself, he took long, thorough drags of his cigarette, and let his thoughts consume him.

“Hey, can I sit here?” He heard her voice again. Yoongi looked up, almost startled. The first thought that came to his mind was that her friendly smile reminded him of Sakura leaves dripping from the sky.

She pointed to the other end of the bench he sat on, waiting for his response.

“Yes, of course.” He replied, ignoring the way his heart dramatically skipped a beat in his chest, and the way the sound of the world existing around him faded into a blissful quiet once their gazes met.

She sat down quietly, her smell lingered in the air between them, and spoke again, “Cats hate the smell of cigarettes, you know.”

He looked at her again, the warm streetlamps kissed all over her features, giving him a better view of her face.

Her eyes, Yoongi thought he finally found something new to write a song about.

Regardless of the gentleness of her voice—almost as soft as the distant sound of the waves dancing across the shore—he glanced down at the cigarette in his hand with a weird sense of embarrassment.

“My bad.” He muttered, doing a quick job of pressing the burning cigarette to the sole of his shoe. Its once alive flame slowly died into a lifeless gray dust, before being tossed into a trash bin nearby.

She smiled, “It's okay. Have you ever owned a cat?”

He shifted awkwardly in his seat and answered with a short ‘yes’.

“Then you should know they don't appreciate it when people ruin their lungs like that.” She added, her tone light-hearted.

That made him release a soft chuckle into the air. His heart fluttered in his chest when she chuckled along, and then she proceeded to tell him that she too, although rarely, smoked as well.

“I always keep cat food in my bag just in case.” She said, bringing out a pack of cat food from her bag and showing it to him.

“Why?” He asked. He knew why, of course he did, but he'd never felt so at ease with a stranger before. He had the urge to initiate any form of conversation with the stranger to hear pieces of her mind for some longer.

“Because all cats deserve food and love. Especially the stray ones.” It was not hard to pick up on the shift that happened to her tone. The lightness that was once present on her features quickly faded into faint dullness. It almost made a frown of his own appear on his face.

She added, “Sadly, that's not common in the world we live in.”

“Keep doing that.” He said. “The thing you said you always do, keep doing it. Maybe one day you'll influence someone, and that someone will influence another someone. More cats will be fed and taken care of..”

The words floated in the air for a while. She smiled, a genuine, grateful one that gave him a sense of satisfaction.

The pair sat in silence following that. Neither of them deemed the need to fill the comfortable quiet that sat on the bench between them to be necessary.

An ‘Oh!’ from between her lips broke the silence between them. The stranger's brows tugged together as she checked her watch, and she muttered something about the time going so fast and her being late for something.

He never liked to admit it to himself, but he felt a tinge of disappointment pop inside his chest at the thought of her leaving.

He silently watched as she stood up and hoisted her bag’s strap onto her shoulder, then asked about his name. He answered as casually as he could muster.

“Yoongi..” She repeated, as if savoring the name on her own tongue, and smiled, “I'm _. It was really nice meeting you.”

And just like that, she was gone, fading into the faint chatter of the people surrounding him, and he was left in the park with a cat rubbing its body against his legs. It reminded him of her, the only thing that he had left of someone he thought he would never see again.

He made sure to feed and pet the creature some more, before scooping it up in his arms and taking them home. His mother would take good care of him, he thought.

The next day, he spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering if he'd find her warm smile and affection towards strays if he were to go to that park again. He missed her eyes, her smile, the way she'd spoken to him so naturally and so easily.

He was trying to push those thoughts off his plate and focus on his work, when she walked into his studio and introduced herself as his new, awaited co-producer.

The best part of it all was the excitement she displayed upon seeing him. It felt like he was reencountered with an old friend, except that an old friend wasn't supposed to make you feel like a teenager catching the glimpse of their crush in the distance.

“Hi! It’s you again! Sorry for being late. I had a crazy morning and just when I thought I was making it I-” She proceeded to talk, but he cut her little rant off with a gentle question.

“You met another cat?”

The small but amused smile on his lips grew a little bigger when the faint blush on her cheeks became more apparent.

“Well, yeah, I kind of did..” she trailed off, tilting her head to the side in embarrassment.

It wasn't hard for them to find a common ground to stand on after that. She liked to talk, the words kept coming naturally out of her mouth, and Yoongi, he liked to listen, and he didn't mind her talking his ears off one bit.

One day after another, hours spent in the studio together. It slowly became something very familiar to him, the feelings her presence gave him. They shared takeout meals on his uncomfortable studio couch and many cups of coffee at late hours of the night. The project they worked on continued to link his heart to hers. On days she would walk in with a deep frown on her face or tears staining her cheeks, she would sit on that couch and mope, and he would wordlessly open a can of beer and put it in front of her, then sit to work next to her until she decided life was worth living again.

From a stranger, to a ‘friend’, to someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. She was not only a good hearted person, but an incredibly smart and talented producer.

If feeding cats together did not push him over the edge of what he thought he would never come to experience again, then working with her surely did.

Sure, he didn’t have his answers. He didn’t know if it was going to be a long lasting thing, or just one more of those phases where his lonesome heart clung onto something other than the thing he loves the most, music, before deciding it had enough. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings that kept growing in his chest and the stupid butterflies he felt in his guts every time she so much as smiled at him. But he knew that spending hours at work and feeding stray cats became things he looked up to every single morning.

More importantly, he had a feeling that whatever he was feeling didn't come from his part alone, but it was all left unsaid for the sake of keeping a fine line between work and personal emotions.

And then it happened, their first, tipsy kiss. When they shared a bottle of liquor and celebrated the wrap-up of their project. The faint blush on her cheeks every time their eyes met made him feel like screaming at the top of his lungs.

He tasted the alcohol on her cherry lips, and oh, how he loved the taste on his tongue.

He thought he'd reached the peak of helplessness when he wrote poems for her eyes, but then he wrote some more for her lips, then her smile, then her hair, then her hands… and then there was no going back.

[bloombubs]

Hi, I saw your requests are open. If it's no trouble maybe reader pampering Adrian on an off day? My babyboy, murder-wife doesn't get enough TLC in my opinion. He just needs to be taken care of! Let him lie in your lap while you play with his curls. Do a face mask with him! (Baby likes to be included in your routine). I'll take anything! 💕

thank you so much for requesting <3 this was adorable. heres to taking care of our murder-wife

Adrian trudged through the corridors of HQ, his mind consumed by thoughts of you barely twenty-eight seconds after stepping inside. This level of distraction was unusual even for him – all he could dream about was laying in bed with you, feeling the gentle touch of your hands, the warmth of your breath, the sweet whispers that filled the room with intimacy. The allure of violence, which usually stirred his adrenaline, held no appeal in this moment.

Normally, Adrian relished the rush of holding a gun, of knowing he was making a tangible impact in his own enigmatic way. But today, even that sense of purpose felt distant. Adrian would never hint to anyone in the 11th Street kids that he felt fatigued or sore – no, he was in peak condition with utmost endurance and he could withstand these difficult conditions – but his muscles ached.

The physical toll of the day weighed heavily on him. Each blow, each impact, seemed to reverberate through his body, despite the protective gear he wore. The memory of being thrown to the ground, his helmet barely cushioning the impact as his vulnerability showed, lingered like a haunting echo. In those moments, all he desired was to be with you, in your comfort, at home.

When you heard your boyfriend's footsteps approaching the door of your shared apartment, you weren't taken aback by the familiar feeling of his arms encircling your waist, showering you with a flurry of kisses along your cheek, trailing down to your jaw and neck. The absence of his usual animated chatter caught you off guard. There were no excited recounts of his day, no boasts about his marksmanship or humorous anecdotes from his time with Chris, which he often shared eagerly, expecting your laughter to follow suit.

Turning in his arms, you met his gaze, noticing the lack of sparkle in his eyes. Without a word, you reached up to cup his face, the silence between you speaking volumes. “Let's go get ready for bed, yeah?" you suggested softly, a smile tugging at your lips. Pausing, you added, "I haven't done my night routine yet. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes, please,” he murmured, his head tilting into your touch as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of your hands.

In no time, you found yourselves standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, steam filling the room. Typically, Adrian would take the lead, but this time, you seized the initiative. Your fingers worked through his wet hair, eliciting soft moans of content from him as his tense shoulders relaxed.

Adrian had always taken care of you, but now it was your turn. As you massaged his tense muscles, you noticed the bruises marring his freckled skin. His body responded to your touch, goosebumps rising as he reveled in your tenderness. It was moments like these that reminded him he was loved, deeply and unconditionally, by you.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Adrian watched you with a mixture of admiration and adoration as you went through your night routine. His hazel eyes followed your every movement, a soft smile gracing his lips when you turned to face him.

His eyes brightened when he realized you were about to apply his favorite lotion, the familiarity of the scent comforting him. “This smell reminds me of you,” he mumbled, his gaze lingering on your face before trailing down to where droplets of water cascaded down your skin. The muscles loosened when he felt you massage his muscles once more, his head tilting back in pleasure. “Everything reminds me of you,” he added, his words laced with sincerity.

Your cheeks flushed at his sweet words, a warmth spreading through you as his ability to make you feel cherished never failed to melt your heart. Even in his fatigue, he knew just how to make you feel special.

As you turned your attention to his hair, applying a small amount of styling product with gentle fingers, you couldn't help but admire the way his features softened in repose. His hazel eyes, almost puppy-like in their adoration, gazed up at you, his hands resting lightly on your waist as you worked your magic. He pinched the fabric of the towel, rolling it between his fingers with a contented sigh.

Leaning down, you pressed a tender kiss to the top of his forehead, a silent gesture of reassurance and affection. “Go lay in bed while I get the rest of the things,” you suggested softly, cupping his chin and caressing the stubble on his cheeks. Without any hesitation, he nodded in agreement, rising from the chair and pressing a grateful kiss to your cheek before squeezing your waist one last time, his touch lingering as he made his way over to the shared bed.

As he settled onto the mattress, you couldn't help but notice the tension that still lingered in his body. With a gentle touch, you offered him an iced water and some inflammation medicine, silently acknowledging the toll the day had taken on him.

Carefully, you crawled on top of Adrian, settling in his lap as you tore open a facial mask sheet. His eyes were trained on you, his gaze filled with a mixture of appreciation and affection. “This helps with rejuvenation,” you explained softly, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. His hands squeezed your thighs, not wanting to let you go, not wanting to ever forget the sound of your voice or the way you look at him. This was all he wanted for the next few weeks of his life--he's sure of it.

“Is that what I need?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

“I think you need sleep,” you replied, shaking your head with a soft chuckle as you applied the mask. “But in twenty minutes, that’s when we take this off,” you added, your voice filled with warmth and tenderness.

As you both settled into bed, Adrian leaned against you, his body relaxing into the comfort of your presence. With each gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair, you could feel the tension melting away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment.

“Tomorrow I can make you a nice breakfast,” you offered, a soft smile playing on your lips as you sought to convey your love and care for him.

“God, I’m so thankful for you,” he groaned. “And so in love with you.” His words washed over you like a warm embrace, filling you with a sense of contentment and love. In this moment, surrounded by each other's affection, Adrian knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Sweetest kiss ✧

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Plot: After a perilous mission where you almost died and Cloud saved you, you thank him with a kiss.

A/N: OMGG Cloud fluff is pure perfection. Hope you enjoy xx! Daily reminder: English isn’t my first language.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The day had been long and arduous, the battles against Shinra's forces leaving the AVALANCHE team battered and weary. But for you, the weight of her near-death experience still hung heavy in your mind, a sobering reminder of the perilous nature of your mission.

As the group gathered to regroup and tend to their wounds, you found your gaze drawn to Cloud, the former SOLDIER whose stoic demeanor and haunted eyes had captivated you from the moment you'd met.

Whispers from the others, particularly the perceptive Aerith, had not escaped your notice - tales of Cloud's furtive glances, the softening of his features when he thought no one was watching.

Now, as your eyes met across the dimly lit hideout, you felt a familiar flutter in your chest, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that seemed to bind the two of you together.

Summoning your courage, you approached Cloud, your steps measured and deliberate.

He regarded you with his usual impassive expression, but you could sense the subtle shift in his posture, a barely perceptible tensing of his muscles that betrayed his own internal turmoil.

"Cloud," you began, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

"Thank you... for saving me today. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there."

The blond-haired man nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It's what I do," he replied, his tone clipped and devoid of emotion.

But you could see the flicker of something else in his eyes, a glimmer of a feeling that he seemed desperate to conceal.

Slowly, you reached out, your hand gently coming to rest on his arm.

"I mean it," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his sleeve.

"You've always been there for us... for me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Cloud's jaw tightened, his features etched with a mixture of discomfort and something akin to frustration.

He opened his mouth, as if to offer a rebuttal, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

Before he could respond, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in a featherlight kiss.

The gesture was tender, yet charged with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down Cloud's spine.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, the world around you two fading away as they stood there, frozen in a moment of intimate connection.

Cloud's eyes widened ever so slightly, his usually stoic expression betraying a flicker of vulnerability.

As you pulled back, you offered him a small, knowing smile, your hand giving his arm a gentle squeeze before turning around and rejoined the others, leaving Cloud to grapple with the swirling emotions that threatened to consume him.

As you rejoined the others, Cloud found himself rooted to the spot, his mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy of your action.

The warmth of your lips lingered on his cheek seemed to ignite a spark within him, a sudden flicker of emotions that he had long thought extinguished.

Cloud's brow furrowed, his usually impassive features betraying a rare glimpse of confusion and unease.

This was uncharted territory for him, a realm of feelings and vulnerabilities that he had carefully walled off, convinced that they would only serve to weaken him, to make him vulnerable in a world that demanded unwavering strength and resolve.

Yet, in the wake of the woman's affectionate kiss, Cloud found himself grappling with a swirling maelstrom of emotions - a mix of trepidation, longing, and something akin to a fragile hope that he dared not acknowledge.

Every time you smiled at him, every moment your eyes met, he felt a strange stirring deep within his chest, a sensation that both unsettled and intrigued him.

Cloud had spent years cultivating his stoic, unyielding persona, burying the remnants of his shattered past beneath layers of indifference and detachment.

But now, in the face of your quiet persistence and genuine care, those carefully constructed defenses were beginning to crumble, leaving him exposed and uncertain.

What did this mean? What was the nature of the bond that seemed to draw you two together, even in the midst of your perilous mission?

Cloud found himself grappling with these questions, his usually sharp mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to unravel the very foundations of his being.

[jasmineandcedar]

For now | To convince fate         

An Elriel drabble (dual POV).

I woke up today thinking, or perhaps I was dreaming, what if Elain and Azriel convinced fate itself, even for just one night? So, I decided to write something about it.

Warning: Non-explicit intimacy in the first paragraph.

Him.

He looked up at her. Into the warmth of those chestnut eyes he could never resist. For once, he let himself feel it. All of it. Let himself revel in their union. In her softness. Her delicate fingers on his chest. The affection she poured into him with every touch. Her boldness. His name on her lips as she rocked against him where their bodies became one. The sound of his name on her tongue fluttered through him, whispering promises to his heart. He couldn’t help but press himself against her, hands reaching to keep her close.

His eyes travelled across her face. He couldn’t stop it. The awe. At the smile blooming on her lovely face. He breathed her name like the vow it had always been. Since that first time in the garden. He wanted nothing more than to be hers. To bind himself to her. To call her mine. To tie their fates together through sheer will. To love her so fiercely even fate changed its mind. To love her with so much devotion even fate itself would have to rectify the mistake of not giving him to her. He would do that. Oh, he would love her. He would give himself to her.

And perhaps in that moment, fate was convinced. For one night, he was hers. She was his. And it was enough.

For now, he thought.                     

Her.

She looked down at him. Into the depths of those hazel eyes that had seen so much darkness, now filled with something delicate and sacred. She felt his strong body beneath her. His gentle touch on her skin. A paradox he was. Yet she wondered how anyone could ever think he was dark. After all, shadows need light to be seen. And there was light in him. In the depths of those hazel eyes. Hope. She wanted to tie herself to it. A bond of their making. Born out of love and choice. Since that first time he had shown her the song of the wind. She would find a way to do it. To tie herself to that hope. She would carve a way out of fate itself if she had to. She had made that choice long ago. Had chosen him. Chosen herself. Chosen them.

His name slipped between her lips, as it so often did when they were alone. The whisper of a promise. She felt his body react, as it so often did at the sound of his name on her tongue. A smile bloomed on her face. His voice was as soft as the shadows of the night, his eyes consumed by devotion, as he breathed her name in response. A vow.

And perhaps in that moment, she had carved out a corner of fate for them. For one night, she was his, and he was hers. And it was enough.

For now, she thought.

And then, as his vow and her promise were etched into the night, a faint smile bloomed within the depths of Fate itself.

For now.

[shiorihyugawrites]

Diamond Of The First Water

In the aftermath of war, Paradis finds itself in need of powerful alliances. When Emperor Armand of Valoria offers his military aid in exchange for the hand of his daughter, Princess Solina, in marriage, Captain Levi Ackerman is thrust into an engagement that begins as a political strategy but soon becomes something much deeper.

Princess Solina, sheltered from the world and unaware of the realities of love and war, finds herself drawn to Levi—the man known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. As they navigate royal customs, public expectations, and the growing threat of Marley, the bond between them deepens into a genuine connection.

But neither Solina nor Levi are prepared for the challenges of a political marriage, the weight of intimacy, and the secrets that lie beneath the surface. As Solina enters a new life with Levi, her naivety is tested, and Levi faces a battle unlike any he’s fought before—the fight to protect his heart.

Can their love flourish in the midst of war, duty, and danger? Or will the forces conspiring against them tear them apart before they can find peace? (Levi x OC)

Chapter Nine

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the large windows of the Rose House, casting a golden hue over the elegant room where Princess Solina lay, slowly waking from her sleep. The delicate fragrance of blooming roses wafted through the air, carried on the gentle breeze from the garden just outside. Solina stirred beneath the silken covers, her long, fiery red hair spilling across her pillow like a cascade of flames. For a moment, she lay there, her mind slowly coming to life as memories of the previous night resurfaced.

Levi.

Her thoughts instantly went to their conversation, replaying each word, each glance, over and over in her mind. The night had gone so much better than she had ever dared to hope. Levi was not the cold, emotionless soldier she had feared he might be. He was direct, yes, but there was a depth to him that she hadn’t anticipated. His quiet strength, his blunt honesty—it had all intrigued her more than she expected.

A soft smile spread across her lips as she stretched, feeling a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time. For so many months, she had dreaded this political marriage, fearing the unknown, but now… now she was excited. Levi was so much more than she had imagined, and there was a flicker of hope in her heart that perhaps they could find something real in this arrangement.

The soft sound of birds chirping outside reminded her that today was going to be a busy one. With a small sigh, she rose from her bed, the cool morning air brushing against her skin as she slipped on her robe. Today, there was much to do. The wedding planning had consumed her schedule, and there were endless fittings for her wedding gown, her engagement dress, and the myriad of other outfits she would need for the upcoming ceremonies. Not to mention her royal duties, which still demanded her attention despite the chaos surrounding her personal life.

But despite the overwhelming list of responsibilities, there was one thing Solina was looking forward to more than anything else—her dance lesson with Levi.

The engagement ball was quickly approaching, and she and Levi would need to practice dancing together in preparation for the grand event. It was tradition for the newly engaged couple to share a formal waltz in front of the entire court and the visiting world leaders. Solina had danced all her life, but the thought of dancing with Levi, of being that close to him, made her heart race with a mixture of excitement and nerves.

As she got dressed, the maids came in to assist her, bustling around the room with quiet efficiency. They helped her into a simple, elegant gown for the morning, as there was no time for anything elaborate just yet. Her hair was brushed and braided loosely, leaving a few strands framing her face.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” one of the maids greeted her with a warm smile. “You seem to be in high spirits today.”

Solina’s smile widened as she looked at her reflection in the ornate mirror. “I am,” she admitted. “Last night went well. Better than I expected, actually.”

The maid, who had been with Solina for many years, offered a knowing smile. “It’s always nice when things go better than expected. Captain Levi must have made quite the impression.”

Solina blushed slightly, her thoughts wandering back to the way Levi had watched her, his intense eyes fixed on her with that quiet, unspoken curiosity. “He did,” she said softly, her voice thoughtful. “He’s… different from what I imagined.”

“I’ve heard nothing but good things about Captain Levi,” the maid said, carefully pinning a brooch to Solina’s gown. “I’m sure he will make a fine husband.”

Solina nodded, her mind already racing ahead to the dance lesson they would have later. She had danced countless times before, but the thought of sharing that intimate space with Levi was a little daunting. Still, she was eager to see how he would handle it. She couldn’t quite picture him dancing, but then again, she hadn’t expected him to be so open last night either.

Once she was dressed, Solina made her way downstairs to join her family for breakfast. The Rose House was alive with activity, servants preparing for the day's events, and the soft hum of conversation filled the grand halls. Her mother, Lady Solana, was already seated in the breakfast room, looking radiant in a gown of deep green. Prince Solomon and Princess Soleil were there as well, their usual lively banter filling the room with a sense of normalcy despite the upcoming events.

“Good morning, Solina,” Lady Solana greeted her daughter warmly, motioning for her to sit beside her. “I take it you slept well after your talk with Captain Levi?”

Solina blushed slightly as she took her seat. “I did, Mother,” she said, glancing down at her plate. “It went… surprisingly well.”

Prince Solomon raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly in that protective, older-brother way. “Good,” he said gruffly, though there was an underlying note of approval in his tone. “I was wondering how the two of you would get on. Levi doesn’t seem like the type to waste time with pleasantries.”

Solina smiled, picking at her food. “No, he doesn’t. But that’s what I like about him. He’s honest. Direct.”

Lady Solana beamed. “I knew you two would find common ground. You always see the best in people, Solina.”

Breakfast passed in a blur of conversation, but Solina’s mind remained focused on what lay ahead. Afterward, she was whisked away for her dress fittings, spending hours standing still while seamstresses adjusted her gowns for the perfect fit. Her wedding dress was breathtaking—a masterpiece of lace and silk, the soft pink hues matching the colors of the Rose House. Her engagement dress was equally beautiful, made of shimmering fabrics that caught the light as she moved. But despite the beauty of the gowns, her thoughts kept drifting back to Levi.

Finally, as the afternoon wore on, it was time for the dance lesson. Solina’s heart raced as she made her way to the ballroom. When she arrived in the grand ballroom, Levi was already there, standing near the large windows that let in beams of sunlight. He looked as composed as ever, his uniform crisp and his posture rigid, though his expression betrayed no hint of discomfort. A dance instructor, a tall woman with sharp eyes and a precise demeanor, stood nearby, waiting patiently with her arms crossed.

Solina paused at the doorway for a moment, gathering her composure. The image of Levi from the night before flashed in her mind—his calm, collected manner, the way he had shown her kindness through his quiet strength. It had left an impression on her, and now, the thought of sharing a waltz with him stirred something new in her chest.

She approached with graceful steps, her long gown flowing elegantly behind her. As Levi turned toward her, their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, Solina felt a warmth spread through her cheeks.

"Captain Levi," she greeted softly, bowing her head slightly in deference, though her voice held a softness that suggested a budding familiarity.

"Your Highness," Levi replied with a nod, his tone as even as always.

The instructor stepped forward, eyeing them both with a critical gaze. "Good. You're both here. Let’s not waste time—there's much to practice." She gestured for them to come together in the center of the ballroom.

Solina felt a small tremor of nerves flutter in her stomach as she moved to stand before Levi, her heart beating just a little faster. The ballroom felt expansive, yet the space between them seemed almost too intimate.

"Let’s start with the basics," the instructor said, her voice firm but encouraging. "Your Highness, you lead the first few steps to get Captain Levi accustomed to the rhythm. Captain, place your hand gently on the princess’s back—steady, but not forceful."

Levi, who had been standing as rigidly as a soldier at attention, visibly relaxed his stance and stepped closer. Solina held out her hand, her breath catching slightly as Levi took it in his own. His grip was firm, but not harsh, and his hand was warm against hers. Then, his other hand found its place on the small of her back, and the proximity made her heart skip a beat. The touch was surprisingly gentle, considering his reputation for being so fierce in battle.

Solina blushed as she felt the slight pressure of his hand guiding her into position. The warmth of his touch spread across her back, and she could feel the tension in her body melt away ever so slightly. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, their gazes locked. Levi’s expression was as stoic as ever, but there was something unreadable in his eyes—something that hinted at his focus, at the weight of the moment.

The music began, soft and slow at first, filling the room with the delicate notes of a waltz. Solina took the lead, guiding Levi through the first few steps with practiced grace. Her movements were fluid, elegant, and precise, though she could feel the nervousness bubbling just beneath the surface. She had danced many times before, but this felt different. The fact that Levi, the man who would soon be her husband, was her partner made every step feel more significant.

Levi followed her lead, his steps cautious at first. Solina could feel the tension in his posture—he was a man used to battle, to sharp, decisive movements, not the fluidity of dance. But despite his initial hesitance, he moved with a surprising ease, his sharp instincts allowing him to adapt quickly. He was learning the rhythm, matching her steps with his own, and soon, they were moving together in harmony.

The instructor circled around them, her sharp eyes watching their every move. "Good, good. Captain, you're catching on quickly," she remarked, though her tone was still firm. "Now, let’s see if you can take the lead."

Solina felt a subtle shift in Levi’s stance as he grew more confident with the movements. His grip on her hand tightened just slightly—not forceful, but commanding—and the hand on her back applied a gentle pressure as he began to guide her through the steps. Solina, used to leading in many of her dances, now let herself be led, and for the first time, she felt the full extent of Levi’s presence. He was sure-footed, and though his movements were still a little stiff, there was a calm strength in the way he led her.

As the waltz continued, Solina’s nervousness began to fade. She found herself falling into the rhythm, the music carrying them across the ballroom floor. Levi’s lead became more assured with every step, and soon, they were moving together with a fluidity that felt almost natural. Solina glanced up at him, her cheeks still tinged with the remnants of her earlier blush, and she couldn’t help but smile—just a small, soft smile that hinted at her growing ease.

Levi, though silent as always, seemed to pick up on her mood. His movements were steady and precise, but there was a subtle shift in the way he carried himself—a hint of relaxation that suggested he was beginning to find his footing, both in the dance and perhaps in their strange, newfound partnership.

"You’re doing well," Solina said softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

Levi met her gaze for a moment, his expression still unreadable, though his grip on her hand remained steady. "I’m just following your lead," he replied quietly, though there was a hint of something more in his tone—perhaps an acknowledgment that, in this moment, they were truly partners.

The instructor, watching from the sidelines, nodded in approval. "Good. Very good. Remember, this isn’t just about steps—it’s about connection, about moving as one."

As the music swelled, Solina allowed herself to be fully present in the moment. The worries and expectations of their political marriage faded into the background, and all that mattered was the feel of Levi’s hand in hers, the way their steps aligned, and the rhythm of the dance that connected them in a way words could not.

Solina felt a spark of something more between them. Something real. Something that went beyond duty and obligation.

The music came to a slow, graceful end, and as they stopped, Solina realized she hadn’t felt this light in a long time. She looked up at Levi, her heart still fluttering, and found herself feeling just a little less afraid of the future.

…

Outside the grand ballroom, Hange, Armin, and Jean stood near the door, peeking through a crack as they watched Levi and Princess Solina waltz. The trio had been quietly observing for some time, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and surprise. The sight of Levi, usually so stoic and detached, now gliding across the floor with Solina was something none of them had expected.

Hange, as usual, couldn’t contain her excitement. Her wide grin stretched across her face as she nudged Armin with her elbow, whispering in her usual animated way. “Look at him! Who knew Levi could dance so well? I half-expected him to step on her toes the entire time.”

Armin chuckled softly, though his eyes remained fixed on the scene unfolding inside the ballroom. “I think he’s doing better than we thought. He seems… different.”

Jean, who had been standing with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, nodded in agreement. “He’s definitely not the same grumpy Levi we left in Paradis. He actually looks like he doesn’t hate being here.”

The three of them continued to watch as Levi and Solina moved gracefully together, the soft strains of the waltz filling the room. Solina’s long gown twirled around her as Levi led her in precise, steady steps. There was something mesmerizing about the way they moved together—something almost natural, despite the circumstances that had brought them together.

“I’ll be honest,” Hange whispered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I didn’t think Levi would warm up to this marriage. He seemed so annoyed when he first heard about it. But after meeting Solina yesterday and seeing them now… maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

Armin nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening as he watched Levi guide Solina through the dance. “It’s true. He was pretty opposed to the idea, but there’s something different about him now. I think talking to Solina last night helped.”

Jean, ever the skeptic, shrugged but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. But still, it’s Levi. He doesn’t show his feelings easily. Who knows what he’s really thinking?”

Hange leaned in closer to the door, her grin widening. “Oh, come on, Jean. You can’t tell me he’s not enjoying this at least a little. Look at him—he’s actually leading the dance now. And Solina seems to be enjoying herself too.”

Armin’s eyes flickered between the two inside the ballroom, and he couldn’t help but agree. Levi’s usual irritation, the cold distance he often maintained around others, seemed to have faded just a little. There was something almost gentle in the way he guided Solina—nothing overt, but it was there. The tension that had once been so present in his posture had eased, if only slightly.

“I think Solina’s had an effect on him,” Armin mused quietly. “She’s kind, and she genuinely seems to want to get to know him. That must mean something to Levi. He’s used to people treating him with fear or respect, but Solina… she’s different.”

Jean scratched the back of his head, frowning slightly. “Yeah, I guess. She’s definitely not what we expected either. I thought she’d be just another stuck-up royal, but she seems more down to earth. And I gotta admit, she’s… well, she’s beautiful.”

Hange grinned at Jean’s begrudging admiration, but her attention remained on Levi and Solina as the dance continued. “She is. And it seems like Levi’s noticed that too.”

Inside the ballroom, Levi and Solina finished their waltz, the music trailing off as they came to a graceful stop. Solina’s face was flushed, her green eyes sparkling with the thrill of the dance. Levi, though still composed, had a subtle softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. He stepped back slightly, releasing her hand but lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank you, Captain,” Solina said, her voice quiet but filled with warmth. “You dance very well.”

Levi’s eyes flickered down to her, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “You were leading most of the time. I just followed.”

Solina laughed softly, a delicate sound that made Levi’s gaze linger on her for a moment longer. “Perhaps. But by the end, you were leading just fine.”

From their vantage point, Hange, Armin, and Jean exchanged glances, the same thought running through all their minds—Levi liked her. He wasn’t the type to openly express affection, nor was he the type to admit to enjoying anything outside of battle and duty. But something had shifted. There was a connection there, however small, and it was clear that Solina had begun to break through Levi’s guarded walls.

“Alright, I think that’s enough spying for today,” Hange whispered, pulling away from the door with a satisfied grin. “Let’s give them some privacy, shall we?”

Jean rolled his eyes but followed suit. “Fine, fine. But I’m still not convinced Captain Levi’s ready for this whole marriage thing.”

Armin smiled softly as they turned to leave. “He’ll be alright. Solina seems to understand him in a way not many people do. That’s a good start.”

As they walked down the hall, the soft echo of their footsteps faded into the distance, leaving Levi and Solina alone in the ballroom once more. Inside, the silence stretched between them, but it was no longer awkward. There was something comfortable in the quiet, something unspoken that neither needed to voice.

Solina, feeling a little more confident now, smiled up at him. “I think we’ll be ready for the engagement ball,” she said softly. “Thank you for practicing with me, Captain Levi.”

Levi nodded, his gaze steady but without the usual sharpness. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” he admitted, his voice low but sincere.

For a moment, Solina thought she saw the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips, and the sight of it made her heart swell with hope. Perhaps, in time, this marriage could be more than just duty.

~

Masterlist | Patreon

Join my Taglist

Note: I am three chapters ahead on patreon:)

[1kook]

skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf 

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…” 

 Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane. 

 Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot. 

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form. 

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds. 

They were his favorite. 

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this. 

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month. 

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity. 

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings. 

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream. 

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. 

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping. 

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since! 

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind. 

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck. 

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go. 

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen. 

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins. 

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?” 

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world. 

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.” 

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.” 

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here. 

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action. 

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes. 

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high. 

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time. 

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down. 

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.” 

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now. 

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly. 

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist. 

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy. 

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can. 

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck. 

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer. 

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question. 

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. 

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.” 

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides. 

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.  

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry. 

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes. 

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be. 

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest. 

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly. 

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?” 

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign. 

He strikes while the iron is still hot. 

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion. 

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort. 

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months. 

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it. 

Kinda. 

Probably. 

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over. 

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing. 

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders. 

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off. 

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy. 

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face. 

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing. 

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting. 

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.) 

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you. 

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone. 

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more. 

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs. 

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it. 

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him. 

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top. 

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror. 

He’s never seen you like this before. 

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life. 

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips. 

And then something unforgivable happens. 

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information. 

Your hand. 

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness. 

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face. 

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant. 

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.” 

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.” 

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him. 

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him. 

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip. 

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now. 

The sympathy doesn’t last long.  

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams. 

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand. 

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this. 

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches. 

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are. 

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out. 

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him. 

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead. 

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.” 

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands. 

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!) 

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead. 

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises. 

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock. 

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon. 

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time. 

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.” 

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago. 

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap. 

There was never a choice.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[limey-self-inserts]

in joy of rain

Word Count: Under 1k Warnings: N/A F/Os: Aniketos (romantic) Summary: It’s a rainy morning and you are two sleepy people in denial.

-----

Considering that @tex-treasures​ gave me this wonderful prompt a while ago, the selfshiptober prompt for today was 2. Rainy Day, and I woke up this morning to heavy showers - the universe was telling me that it was time.

Tag list: @call--me--home​ @morilock​ @captainscyarika​ @carbo-ships​ (dryad buddy!)

------

Avon awoke to the faint thudding of rain against leaves and wood. Everything was soft - the sound of rainfall was muted by the walls around, the bed they lay in deeply comfortable, and the arms that held them loose and gentle. Doing their utmost best to shift as slowly and carefully as possible, they looked up to Aniketos and saw his eyes were still closed. Good. They could lay there a little longer. Turning their head gently to nestle under Ani’s chin (the pair were the same height but Avon found the position comforting in their own preferred way), they closed their eyes again and just listened. It was all too easy to become lulled, almost drifting off again until they felt Aniketos moving too. Their eyes flickered back open to glance to his face, and saw a sleepy smile cross his lips. 

“Good morning,” Avon whispered.

“Good morning,” Aniketos replied. “Did my presence assist you well in resting?”

“It did, very much so.” For a moment, Avon thought to kiss his cheek. But they resisted the impulse. Instead they murmured, “It’s raining.”

“It certainly is. A shame, I had planned to forage for some juniper, but I daresay such tasks can be delayed for a day or two.” He smiled further, reaching up to gently place a hand on Avon’s cheek, and they felt their chest go deeply aflutter. “I have good company to keep, after all.”

Avon had been away for only a week, and hadn’t expected this level of fondness from Aniketos upon their return. Certainly not these gestures, his comfort in gentle intimacy with them. Sometimes they thought ‘he must know what he’s doing, surely’, and then he would comment on how he’d been told kisses on the cheeks would assist in alleviating a mortal’s distress, and they would change their mind. 

Maybe….a small kiss wouldn’t be so bad though?

Before the thought could linger for too long, Avon’s stomach decided they’d been awake too long without consuming anything and let rip a soft rumble. Aniketos couldn’t help but chuckle, and Avon returned the mirth, soon enough the pair laughing softly under the sheets. 

“Stomach says food. Body says sleep,” Avon said through their remaining giggles.

“You can take your time in rising, I shall go ahead and begin the breakfast preparations.” Aniketos’ fingers stroked gently through Avon’s short cut locks as he sat up, before he stood from the bed. It only took Avon a few seconds to decide that while the bed was incredibly cosy, they didn’t want to stay in it alone, and so followed Ani (without his grace and poise, stumbling for a robe to pull over their sleeping garb). Aniketos glanced back over his shoulder and his smile widened at the sight of Avon trailing after him, before proceeding down the flight of wood-grown stairs. 

Dappled sunlight streamed through the windows of the tree, providing some faint lighting before Aniketos lit a couple of lanterns. This left a warm orange glow throughout the rooms, casting Avon into shadow as they shuffled along, through a corridor and into the small expanse of Aniketos’ kitchen. It made sense - he was one fae, he wasn’t going to need a large kitchen with his skill of cooking. But yet the space seemed to feel just a bit too small, only two steps from the cupboards to the stove and the cavalcade of various cups squeezed together just above. As Aniketos set a saucepan of water to boil, he began to rummage through one of his drawers. Within a small meshed metal ball, he carefully measured out pinches of spices and a handful of leaves, pressing them down, sealing the ball shut, and using a thin chain to lower the ball into the water. Soon smells of cinnamon, nutmeg and tea began to waft through the room, filling lungs with gentle heat to fit back the sluggish cold of the lingering night. Turning around to search for honey, Aniketos took in the sight of Avon perched on a stool. Their hair was partially mussed to the side, sticking upwards in a vague attempt to escape the pull of earth. Eyes were still heavy with sleep, but the smile on their face remained comfortably bright. One of Aniketos’ own robes was wrapped tight around them, and that alone brought a gentle chuckle to Aniketos. Reaching up past Avon’s shoulder, he tilted his head to the side, and Avon mimicked the action.

“What’s got you with that happy look on your face?” they questioned.

“Nothing much,” Aniketos lied, spooning out some honey and dropping it into the saucepan of tea. “Just…looking forward to the day.”

“Not much to be done when it’s pouring like this,” Avon commented.

“Ah, but you see, I can’t think of a better way to spend a rainy day than with you.” Aniketos’ eyes gleamed as he smiled to Avon, watching as their cheeks began to turn deeper pink. As his own heart-rate quickened, he quickly continued into, “I have some biscuit recipes to test out, and you have proven to be a most excellent volunteer with the various snacks I’ve trialled.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Avon said with a chuckle, the blush remaining strong but now distracted from the increased butterflies by the promise of homemade cookies. 

“And, in-between batches, I can continue to teach you to waltz,” Aniketos continued, offering up a hand to them. Avon rolled their eyes in good-nature, taking his hand and stepping into a slow dance that Aniketos led, humming a tune in harmony to the soft bubbles of sweet tea and raindrops.

[ohheyitsokay]

Home

this all takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3k

warnings: obviously a poly relationship, which includes kissing, domestic intimacy with all of them (not just with the reader, but not in-between Will and Ben because nope), mild sexual themes

summary: scenes at the beginning of making a house with five people feel like home

<<

The manicured grass is soft where it peaked around the edges of your sandals. Hands running over the grooves of they key in your pocket, you gaze around the little front yard, mind conjuring daydreams that fit on the weathered porch of the house.

Two bathrooms will be enough right? Your thoughts are running - creating and erasing images of the future, trying to squish them like magic into the home in front of you. The yard is big enough to extend the garage and for plenty of home projects…

Across the fence and a long stretch of field, a woman is hiking her skirts up, making a beeline for you. The neighbor’s house is a considerable distance away, being out in the countryside, but she must have been watching your tour from her garden with interest.

The others had left moments before, Santi promising to come back whenever you were done. After weeks of looking at houses, it became a little ritual of yours, to spend a few minutes looking around without the clutter of wonderful distractions.

“So which one of those strapping young men is your beau?” She asks conspiringly, eyes gleaming. It catches you off guard – the lack of introduction, but she seems harmless enough.

Your smile is equally mischievous, and your head tilts a hair.

“Well, which one do you think?”

The woman considers, boot tip tapping away at her grass. You replay the moments she could’ve seen, which were few, wondering if you’d leaned in any particular direction, and wait.

“Now that I think about it, I haven’t got a clue,” her smile is wide, softer and more genuine than before - polite. “As long as you’re good neighbors,” she explains, “I guess I wouldn’t care if it was one or all of you next door.”

You smile, thanking her as salutations ring in your ears, watching with grateful eyes as she hikes back towards her home. Then you move, wandering through the empty rooms for long, quite minutes before you peak over the fence again. The woman had gone inside, and if you squint you can see who you think is her husband, sleeping with a dog on the porch.

In the other directions, there isn’t a house within a reasonable distance. A knot loosens in your chest, as an unexpected feeling of freedom from judging eyes blooms in its place.

When Santi comes back to pick you up, you take his hand across the console. His skin is warm, and his thumb automatically begins to gently move across your knuckles.

“I think it’s perfect, Pope.”

He looks at you curiously, minding his thoughts for a moment.

“Yeah, love?”

The sun was beginning to set, and you look at the peaceful little home in the rear view mirror, and smile.

“Yeah.”

-

“What?”

“We need to … break in every room.”

“I’m just saying -"

“Oh he’s talking about – wait are you really horny, right now?”

“There are boxes everywhere, idiot.”

You walk in carrying a single plant and a stack of pizzas and the conversation hushes.

“Ah – payment,” Frankie kisses your cheek, moving the plant by the window as Santi clears the table.

Someone makes a quip about it being Santi’s house and you wince, the utopia popping.

“We don’t get paid to move our own stuff, Catfish.” His dark hair is damp with sweat but he seems otherwise unaffected by the hours spent hauling. It was still surreal – that this is actually happening, that this unanimously became a long term desire.

He has the most money and Will has the best credit score, so they bought the house to save you all from questions. The movement isn’t lost on your Ironhead, and he rubs a soothing circle on your shoulder as he reaches for a plate. Of everyone, he was the one who most understood your anxiety – close proximity always led to arguments at first.

“You got lucky,” Benny takes the first slice, accepting a napkin for an additional piece. “You fell in love with a pretty good moving crew.”

“I think so,” you grin, trying to ignore your anxiety. He inhales the food, pulling you into his lap as he bickers with Will about whether or not more needed to get done today.

Eventually Frankie dictates that at the very least some cleaning should be started and the bedding should be unpacked for the evening. The agree with varying degrees of enthusiasm and after a handful of innuendos your loves begin to disperse, too dutiful to let work go unfinished. The bedframe practically builds itself, and a portable speaker makes Santi’s hips twitch as he floats through the half-barren rooms.

When Will rolls his eyes at Frankie’s choice of screw, you duck away, nerves thrumming.

And you wander around, fake cleaning, until you find your Benny clearing pizza plates. Even amongst boxes and bins and old blankets, he could be at a photo shoot. The evening light make his hair look like silk, and his eyes shine like he’s making you promises this very moment.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” he says, drawing you into his arms as your head tilts. “We spent years in bunks and tents, and we were younger then.”

His chest was warm and you press your cheek to it, nodding. You hadn’t thought he had noticed, how anxious you’d been about the change, but you had been foolish. Even through his shirt, you can feel the thumping of his giant heart, steady as a drumbeat.

Replaying the evening in your mind, you let go of some of your worries, one by one, and he kisses the top of your head. It’s a thoughtful thing, and it never ceases to amaze you how easily he can wrap you around his finger.

“Ben?”

He makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and a grunt.

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him hard. It was a kiss that says you're grateful, and a kiss that says you love him for being… him.

He accepts it eagerly, and tiredness from the day long gone ad he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. The world spins and you feel him shove something heavy off the couch before replacing it with you.

The cushions are dusty from everything but he makes space, and you stop caring as he moves on top of you.

The others would find you soon, their instincts kicking in, but you savor it. Benny, pressing into you, kissing you in the evening light.

The beginning of their conversation from earlier blooms in your mind and you grin as his lips trailed down your neck. It suddenly didn’t seem implausible that he planned this.

“Breaking in” aside, this was the first room you where you truly felt like this could be home.

-

You feel his hands gently replace yours on the zipper and you jump a little - he stands just outside the mirror reflection as you watch the skirts around your ankles. Behind you the big bed is made neatly, there’s a ridiculously large closet, and a tangle of phone chargers.

The bedroom: the place that set apart your home from others. The room that housed five individuals, a web of relationships, a miracle of mixed bodies and minds and hearts.

It looks big, behind you.

Warm, daft fingers tie the extra strings, a neat little bow hanging just between your shoulder blades. The silence is thick, weighted with adoration, but when he breaks it, it’s as if he can’t resist.

“You’re beautiful,” he moves closer, kissing your temple and drinking you in. Turning, your heart aches.

Will is in his dress uniform, crisscrossed with crisp lines and newly shined awards. His hair is lighter after the summer, and he tried to comb it neatly to one side. Compliments catch in your throat as you stare and he smiles, turning you gently so he can kiss you properly. His mouth tastes like mint and you can smell hints of his cologne lingering on his skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, lips still brushing over his. Letting your hands wander over his face, smoothing his eyebrows, you feel almost in awe of him. Still, he flushes, pleased at your reaction.

“Thank you.”

His chuckle is warm, almost raspy as he tries to enjoy the quietness of your conversation, and he shakes his head. Really, you were sure he was thankful that he was been the only one free for your special evening.

“Thank you,” you correct him. “You didn’t have to do any of this.” The dinner, for your job.

In the mirror, he looked like diamonds and sapphires and gold. Will was like an action figure sometimes, solid and sculpted and stoic, but… he was looking at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky.

It made you blink, his eyes sliding over you, pupils just a little more blown than the lighting required - a gentle reset demanding your attention.

Looking back in the mirror for a moment, the room didn’t seem quite as big, or quite as revealing. It was comforting, how out of place the two of you looked, dressed to the nines because… this was your place. The softness surrounded by details perfectly woven into your life.

Turning, you slip your arms around his neck, gently musing his hair, and his eyebrows draw together, accepting, but confused.

And as you tuck your hand into his elbow and step into your heels, you resist the urge to thank him again.

“I like it better like this,” you admit, and he flushes again, beaming. Looking around, you realize you’re actually looking forward to coming home more than you’re excited to leave. It’s a new feeling, in this space with the four of them and it hits you, hard in your chest. Still, the man beside you is unwavering and you let the feeling consume you, knowing that you’re safe.

-

“Frankie, what is that?”

He flinches, nervousness cutting the excitement on his face.

“Rhetorical question,” Santi says, grinning at you. “He got it from a friend who was going to toss it out.”

It’s a hot tub, taking up a decent chunk of your back porch.

“If anyone can make it work like a dream, it’s Catfish.” Will’s tone is matter-of-fact, all honesty and pride.

Your sweet Francisco drops his tool and grabs your hand, his dark eyes big. “¿Cariño, por favor? From me, to you?” You can see his laptop up, replacement parts on saved tabs, and you tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He likes to have projects, needs to have somewhere to do things, fix things, create things. Maybe at one point it was because he liked the distraction, it was a … replacement coping mechanism, if you will, but it became his pride, to use his hands to improve your lives.

It doesn’t take long, two weeks at most, between his job and his loves, and his long list of honey-dos, but he does it.

“Please and thank you,” you say, and when he kisses you, slow and deep and happy, you hear cheers and high-five and you almost can’t kiss him because he’s smiling.

And it takes awhile to fill, (Will thanking the stars that the water bill is reasonable,) and even longer to heat, and then it’s ready. The boys yank on swim trunks, thanking Frankie with enthusiasm, and you watch them sink into the steaming tub with as they sigh.

You have a bathing suit, of course you do, but you pull on one of his work shirts, knowing he won’t mind the chemicals from the water making the stains blur. And you pair of shorts you caught him watching your butt in, thinking of acknowledging his hard work in your own way.

The volume of your bodies makes it overflow, hot water sloshing onto the ground, but it’s bliss. It’s big, and they shout over the bubbles, talking excitedly about the future, and your heart feels warm in your favorite way.

The others leave early, taking loud laughter with them, and it leaves you and your Catfish. You let yourself float, moving right on top of him, and his hands grab at your hips, slipping and sliding over your skin as he kisses you once, twice. Slow.

It’s late – the stars stretch, there’s a bit of a breeze, and there’s not a light on for miles.

“You like it?” his voice is raspy, quiet, intense, but almost shy. Like if you said no it would break him in two.

“Of course I do, Frankie.” He looks pleased, hand absentmindedly running under his shirt and over your side. Even with the heat of the water, his hand feels like socks warmed in the dryer some cold winter morning. Comforting, maybe a little electric.

You let out a long, happy sigh, and settle against him, content to stay with him until you’re pruny.

“I think…. This is exactly what this house needed.” He starts a little, surprised, but it’s not an exaggeration.

There was always work to do and things to change, but it was the first time you looked out, and didn’t feel a twinge of fear, that anyone was looking in. It would’ve felt vulnerable, intimate to be so exposed, but… it was perfect, because he created it for you. Confidence and pride bubble around you, and Frankie’s eyebrows dip as he smiles – understanding.

-

“Yeah.” Its simple, not too hot, not too cold. Just… right.

It feels like… tar and lava, hot and dark and thick, bubbling and sticky and you want to punch something. Or scream, or cry.

Your Pope finds you standing rigid, smudges of flour on your skin and clothes, pans and spatulas strewn.

“Are we out of sugar?” To your credit, you try to keep your voice even, but he knows you better than that.

Santi shakes his head, plucking it from the pantry and looking guilty. Your mind pauses it’s rampage, and you wince, because you should be the one making that apologetic face, not him. Hot tears bubble in your eyes and you hate it, hate that they’re coming for what feels like no reason.

“Baby,” he says, tone pleading, setting the sugar down and reaching for you. The afternoon sun makes his eyes like rich, deep pots of gold, his hair somehow both soft and statuesque.

When he pauses, the tears fall against your will, just two thick drops down your cheeks. His hand encompasses your whole jaw, thumb gentle as it rubs away the saltwater, and he looks a tad helpless.

And there’s understanding in his eyes and through the blur you think maybe it’s pity. He stands, and your heart clenches, knowing he’ll go get Will, or someone because you’re being ridiculous but… he doesn’t.

You’re saying something about how the kitchen is wrong, how it’s been building for days, you’ve been here almost a week and you can’t fucking find anything. Panic and frustration locked horns in your chest and you couldn’t breathe and all you wanted to do was make something nice –

Instead, he’s pulling out things and piling them onto the floor in categories around you. It’s almost comical the stacks he makes but he seems determined and in your confusion the tears slow to a stop.

“Santi –” he hushes you. The cupboard doors hang open, and he guides you, lifting you up and up and into his arms. It’s solid and grounding, and he’s not as tall as the others and you needed him desperately.

And slowly, you begin to put things away where it makes sense, to you, and he helps. Not once does he argue with you, not even a moment when his dark eyebrows knit together in judgement. Dutifully he cleans and places everything just where you tell him, and you can almost feel the steam rising off of you as you begin to cool.

The final pile is a mountain of cloth, aprons and oven mitts and… something you’ve never seen before. Or actually, something you had, just not in your house. A set of hand towels you’d wistfully looked at awhile ago, before talking yourself out of the purchase. You had dozens at this point and didn’t need more but…

The man seating on the floor, folding them into perfect squares, is the answer to the question your mind produces.

You feel like you’ve been hosed down from head to toe, almost cold from the absence of frustration in your blood.

Pushing the pile to the side you climb into his lap, as determined as he was, and he looks surprised. It’s silly: sitting in your lover’s lap on the kitchen floor, but it feels more real than a movie. It’s your kitchen, yours and his, in this moment.

You kiss him, slow and purposeful and –

He knows you like the back of his hand.

-

You’re sitting on the bathroom counter distracting Santi as he shaves when Benny bursts in to tell you a story.

Will trails behind him, patiently waiting for his brother to take a breathe so he can set the record straight. Absentmindedly he weaves between them to pick up a fallen hand towel, passing it to Pope to wipe the shaving cream from his jaw. They share a moment and Benny’s story stutters out. Looking up from your nails you see Frankie leaning against the doorframe, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

There’s hardly room to move – and you couldn’t have it any other way.

His eyebrows are bent as he takes in the four of you, crammed into the spare bathroom, and Ben laughs.

<<

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge @horton-hears-a-honk

for the poly frontier:

@grogusmum

[karmelek-writes]

comfort zone I part 4 - teaser #2

Harrison Osterfield x fem!reader, Tom Holland x fem!reader

Synopsis: What do you do when you love them but want someone else?

A/N: Hi guys! Firstly, I want to apologise for my long absence. I don't want to dwell on it too much, last month was extremely busy for me. However, I'm back now and to those who were patiently waiting for me to post - thank you for staying here and I love you guys! This is yet another teaser for part 4 of comfort zone. I'm about to finish writing it soon so I will post the whole part in a few days, but I wanted to make up for not posting for a while! I hope you're excited and I can't wait to read your thoughts! Love, W.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

Read part 1, part 2, and part 3

In Harrison’s mind winning you over wasn’t hard. He had a plan and it included being the best man he could be for you. Not that he normally wasn’t nice but when it came to you, he made sure to put extra effort in everything he was doing because he wanted to impress you so much. He failed to understand one thing, though, and it was his own admiration towards you. You were a good girl from a good house and Harrison knew that, he was your friend before but he couldn’t make out when he first realised he liked you and when liking you turned into being into you and when that turned into completely and utterly adoring you. His feelings crushed at him at the most unexpected moment and it scared him and thrilled at the same time. He was eager because you never failed to keep him on his toes, making him submit to you and falling in love with you every single day but also afraid because he never in his life felt such intense feelings towards any girl and he didn’t quite know what it meant for him. However, Harrison wasn’t stupid. He was more than aware of Tom’s feelings for you even if the man himself wasn’t yet. The way Tom spoke about you, with how much love your name rolled out of his mouth started making Harrison sick to his stomach. He was Tom’s friend but he couldn’t bring himself to stop talking to you or blocking you from his life. Harrison was breaking the bro code and he hated to be that person but he didn’t want to choose between love and friendship. That’s why he never told Tom about you. In his eyes, you and Harrison were just good friends who reconnected after losing contact. The blonde didn’t have the heart to reveal the truth, especially when Tom was venting to him about how he fucked up your friendship and how bad he wanted you back. He didn’t even have the courage to back up when the oldest Holland asked him for help with winning you back. That’s how he knew that Tom was about to call you tonight to make things right and that was the reason for your little adventure. Well, it wasn’t the only reason because he still wanted to do something nice for you and spend some quality time together but he still wished you forgot about Tom. He wished that after today you would see that Harrison was better for you than the bruette, because even though he was assured of your mutual attraction, he knew you still liked Tom. Another thing was that Harrison knew he was always the second choice. Most girls only talked to him to get with Tom and he was sick of being treated like a means to an end. Once in his life he wanted to be the chosen one, he wanted you to choose him. He hated himself for competing with his best friend for your favours, but what made him feel even worse was using Tom’s feelings to his advantage. Despite everything, they were still best friends. Harrison had Tom’s plan of making you like him again written in his head that’s why he was ten steps ahead in their game. He didn’t like referring to you as a prize someone could win, you weren’t an object that could satisfy anyone but that was how he felt - like a player who was too proud to back up even if he knew he should. The truth was Harrison was desperate. It’s been too long since he got a sense of comfort from someone, since he felt needed and wanted, and to his liking and hating, since someone made his skin burn just by a simple brush or caused his blood rush south just by glancing at him. He wanted- no, he needed that intimacy. He did what he did because it’s been too long since he felt like he was alive.

“Hey, are you okay?” your sweet, dripping with concern voice brought Harrison back to harsh reality.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, yes, I’m okay,” he didn’t know if he was trying to convince you or himself but it seemed to work as your full of worry eyes gleamed with their usual playfulness.

“You haven’t been listening to anything I said, have you?” a lopsided smile and apologetic glance sent your way were enough to confirm your suspicion. “It’s okay, it wasn’t anything interesting anyway,” you faked a chuckle to relieve some tension as you felt stupid for rambling. That must have been the reason Harrison zoned out, you thought, mentally scolding yourself for boring him.

“Hey, hey, no! Look at me, please,” at his plea you moved to face the blonde and you immediately melted just from looking straight into his ocean blue eyes. “I’m sorry for zoning out. Please, don’t think that I’m not interested in what you’re saying. It’s just um…” you sent him a warm smile noticing the hesitation in his melodic voice hoping it would help him to open up. The trick did its job as Harrison giggled at you. “It isn’t fair, you know?” he groaned playfully.

“What are you talking about?” you played stupid, sending him another “innocent” smile.

“THIS is what I’m talking about! You can’t just smile at me like that, it makes my knees weak and I want-” Harrison bit his tongue just in time to stop himself from saying something he’d regret later. He wasn’t ready to tell you about his feelings yet, as horrible as it sounded he needed to take Tom out of the picture first.

“And you want…” you didn’t let him get away with continuing, as you nodded at him to go on. Harrison cursed under his breath, not sure what to do next.

“I’ve just been having a rough time lately,” his mood shifted slightly and you probably wouldn’t notice if it wasn’t for him fidgeting with his fingers. You picked up that it was one of the things he used to do when he was nervous so you took matters into your own hands to lighten up the mood. You took his hand into yours, fingers intertwining with his as you squeezed his palm to silently assure him of your presence and support. Turning to face him you made a bold move to place a gentle kiss right at the corner of his mouth. You didn’t know what gave you confidence but you wanted to make him feel better, to show him you were there for him too. Pulling out slightly you made a mistake to avert your gaze from his lips and look him in the eyes. It felt as if the time stopped when Harrison subtly titled his head to the side without breaking eye contact. Desire evident in his azure irises consuming your soul, yet he hesitated to press his soft lips to your own. Noses brushing, you could feel his hot and uneven breath on your burning skin. Suddenly you forgot how to breathe, too occupied by the rapid heartbeat buzzing in your ears to pay attention to Harrison’s thumb caressing your rosy from excitement cheek.

“Whatever it is that you’re struggling with, I’m here for you,” you were scared to speak up so as not to ruin the sweet moment, so you whispered the words as delicately as you could, wishing that it could last forever. Harrison nodded at you, implying that he understood what you tried to say, too busy admiring your beauty from up close. After seeing his stare wandering on your features you suddenly became highly alerted of every single imperfection evident on your skin. Insecure of yourself, you turned away to look at the smouldering flames, too embarrassed to notice Harrison’s loving gaze.

Taglist: @osterfieldshollandgirl, @tom-holland-is-spiderman-archive, @harryhollandsgirlfriend, @peachyafshawn, @whltlock

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter eighteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

ao3 link

*

Chloe couldn’t remember a time where she’d been happier. Just over a year ago, she found herself on the verge of giving up by letting the drugs and the emotional abuse consume her whole, and now… she felt at peace. 

Fulfilled. Brave. Loved. 

Beca and Marleigh were her whole world, and Chloe still had a hard time truly believing that this was her life, now. 

“The itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout,” Chloe sang as her pointer and middle fingers walked up Marleigh’s stomach. “Down came the rain and whoop!” Her fingers disappeared. “Washed the spider out!” 

Marleigh giggled, her laughter Chloe’s new favorite sound. She was completely obsessed with her daughter and the new things she discovered every single day. Marleigh now slept through the nights and was otherwise a very chill baby, who loved cubes, ladyfingers, rolling over, and listening to Beca or Chloe sing. 

Chloe gasped when she heard the door open. “Who’s that?? Is that Auntie Beca?” 

Beca soon rounded the corner, grinning as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Hi! You’re still up!”

Marleigh cooed and flailed her arms towards Beca, who lifted her from the bed and held her close. Chloe had witnessed plenty of moments like these between the two, but they never failed to make her heart swell. 

“I was waiting until you got home to put her to bed,” Chloe murmured with a smile, knowing how much Beca loved to take part in Marleigh’s bedtime routine. “I already changed her diaper, if you wanna sing her to sleep?” 

Beca nodded, and Chloe stood up, pressing a few kisses to her daughter’s chubby cheek. 

“Goodnight, my love,” she murmured. 

While Beca put her down, Chloe changed for bed. Ever since they got together, Chloe had been sleeping in Beca’s room. They hadn’t gone much further than making-out so far, and Beca proved to be incredibly patient while Chloe found her footing again when it came to intimacy. 

Beca flopped down face first on the bed when she came back ten minutes later, drawing a giggle from Chloe as she slipped under the sheets. “You alright there?” 

Beca’s groan was muffled by the comforter. “M’tired. Picky artists suck.” 

Chloe smiled in sympathy as she reached out to knead Beca’s shoulder. “At least tomorrow is Saturday? You get to sleep in.” 

Beca rolled her head to the side. “Yeah.” She propped herself up on her elbows and craned her neck to brush a kiss to Chloe’s lips. “Hello.” 

“Hi there,” Chloe breathed out, giggling softly. She dipped back in for a longer kiss, and Beca hummed as she shifted to her side, her hand falling to Chloe’s hip. 

Their slow, exploratory liplock soon turned into something heavier, tongues dancing together and hands roaming under clothing. 

“Wanna slow down?” Beca asked as she laid on top of her, panting slightly.

Chloe shook her head and tugged her down into another hungry kiss. Her hips rolled against Beca’s, and Beca groaned against her mouth, her hand slipping under Chloe’s shirt to run up her side. 

Chloe wasn’t ready for her arousal to be chased away by a wave of panic. She tensed under Beca’s touch, memories she thought she’d gotten rid of flashing behind her eyes, and was pushing Beca away in the next beat.

“Sorry,” she whispered when she realized what she’d done. Embarrassment coated her cheeks with red, and she avoided Beca’s gaze as she sat up. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no,” Beca murmured as she sat back on her heels. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.” 

Chloe scratched at her forehead as she drew her knees to her chest. She could feel the craving for some coke rise within her, to make her forget about those nights. She pressed her palms to her eyes. “Fuck.” 

“Do you… wanna talk?” Beca asked after a few beats of silence. 

Chloe opened her eyes to find twin twinkles of worry staring back at her. She glanced back down to the comforter. “I think… I think I’m dragging some trauma from-- from the stuff that would happen at the club. With--with the customers.” 

Beca nodded slowly, reaching out to slide her hand into Chloe’s and squeezing. Chloe drew in a shaky inhale.

“I… I got used to my body being used in various ways, but never for my own pleasure,” she explained, looking down at their joined hands. “It was just pure sex, whatever the customer wanted me to do to them. Sometimes it was too rough, but I couldn’t say anything because I really needed the money,” she whispered, a sense of shame gripping her insides.

“And I think… that I blocked it all out at some point. It felt like my body didn’t belong to me anymore, and now…” She blinked back the tears pricking in her eyes. “I’m having a hard time reconnecting with it.” She thought it wouldn’t be a problem, as she had taken care of herself when her pregnancy hormones went wild, but being intimate with someone else was a lot different. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said, eventually looking back up. “I do. It’s just... a me thing.”

Beca blinked back her own tears. “What I want the most is for things to feel good for you when we do take that step,” she murmured. “And if you need more time to get to that letting go point, then we’ll wait. And if you never reach it, then that’s okay, too. I don’t… need sex to be happy, you know? I’m already happier than I ever thought I’d be, thanks to you and MJ.” 

“You really mean that?” Chloe asked, quietly. “About the sex part?”

Beca nodded. “I do. I promise.” 

Chloe hoped she would feel comfortable having sex again at some point, but it felt incredibly reassuring to know Beca wouldn’t leave if she never did. 

“Thank you,” Chloe murmured, not surprised but still in awe of Beca’s love and patience for her. “I really don’t deserve you.” 

Beca smiled. “That’s weird, I was telling myself the same thing about you earlier today.” 

Chloe’s cheeks warmed, and her heart swelled in her chest. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Chlo.” 

*

Spring warmed to summer. 

With Marleigh growing more and more curious about the world around her, they spent a lot of time outside, whenever the temperatures were bearable. Marleigh was obsessed with dogs, squealing every time she saw one and crawling after it in hopes of catching up before Chloe or Beca would snatch her back. 

She was already showing a mischievous side, and Chloe knew her toddler years were bound to be interesting. 

“Do you ever see yourself living elsewhere?” Chloe found herself asking one afternoon at the park. 

They laid on the blanket in the shade of a large oak tree, Marleigh having fallen asleep between them. The eight-month-old could sleep anywhere as long as she had her lovey. 

Beca glanced at her. “Elsewhere than New York, you mean? Or like, another country?” 

“Other than New York. Like, somewhere where we could have a garden, and maybe a dog. And where we don’t have to drive over an hour to find a forest.” 

Beca smiled as she folded an arm under her head. “I like the sound of that. I have the label to manage, but a lot of stuff can be done from home. So maybe somewhere within a two-hour drive from here so I can come down twice a week?” 

Chloe nodded. “Maybe after I’m done with college?” 

She was going back to vet school in a few months to get her vet tech training, and that would take her a year to complete before she could apply to jobs. 

“Sounds like a good plan, babe,” Beca said. “We could start looking in the new year?” 

Excitement swirled in Chloe’s stomach over the knowledge that Beca was on board, and she beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beca murmured. “Maybe somewhere around Poughkeepsie or Beacon? With four bedrooms and space to make an office or a studio?” 

“Four bedrooms?” Chloe asked, cocking an eyebrow as an amused smile tickled the corners of her lips. “How many kids do you see us having, exactly?” 

Beca chuckled. “Maybe three? If you want to, I mean. I’m also perfectly happy with our family as it is now.” 

Chloe’s heart felt fit to burst over Beca’s words. “I think three is a good number.”

They headed home around six and had dinner, then gave Marleigh a bath and read her a story before bedtime. Chloe stepped into the kitchen a bit after, where Beca was washing the dishes. 

She wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing a few kisses along the side of her neck. “Come to bed?” 

They hadn’t had sex since their talk but continued to explore through make-out sessions that gradually got more intense. Beca was incredible, always in sync with Chloe’s feelings and regularly checking that she was okay. Chloe could feel herself getting more and more comfortable with the idea of taking that step, and she was thinking she was ready to give it a try tonight. 

Beca hummed. “I’ll be right there.” 

Chloe was lying atop the covers when Beca rounded the corner, and she set her book aside, raising a curious eyebrow when Beca remained in the doorway, gazing at her with a look Chloe couldn’t identify. “What?” 

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured. 

Chloe felt her face warm-up, and she rolled her eyes softly. “Get over here, weirdo.” 

Beca laughed and stepped closer, climbing onto the mattress and crawling over Chloe. “Is that what you meant by here?” 

“Yes,” Chloe breathed out as she looped her arms around Beca’s neck and craned hers to brush her smiling lips against Beca’s. She bent her knees and wrapped her legs around Beca’s waist, a thrill of pleasure coursing through her as Beca’s hips met hers in a gentle roll. 

Chloe took the lead and deepened the kiss, skimming her tongue over Beca’s bottom lip. A moan spilled into the liplock as Beca answered with equal enthusiasm, one hand drifting down to rub her outer thigh. 

“I want this,” Chloe breathed out after a while, her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes darkened with lust. 

Beca kissed her softly. “Are you sure?” 

Chloe’s head bobbed up and down in a near desperate nod. “Yes.” 

“We can stop at any time,” Beca murmured. “Promise me you’ll say it if you’ve changed your mind?” 

Chloe reached up to cradle her cheek. “I promise.” She sat up and whipped her top over her head. Her body was different; she still had some lingering baby weight, but she considered herself too thin before the pregnancy, and she liked how she looked now. 

“Jesus,” Beca rasped as she took in the sight before her. 

Chloe couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her the way Beca was doing now, with so much love and desire it made her breathing hitch. 

Beca leaned in, re-attaching their lips together as her hand roamed up and down Chloe’s side in a featherlight touch, enticing goosebumps in its wake. Beca’s lips then traveled along the edge of Chloe’s jaw and down her neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. A moan spilled past Chloe’s parted lips when she latched onto her pulse point, and her back arched off the bed, searching for some kind of relief where she needed it the most. 

Beca continued to explore, kissing her way down Chloe’s chest, towards her breasts. While her palm wrapped around the right one, she swirled her tongue around Chloe’s left nipple, drawing a gasp from Chloe. 

“Too sensitive?” Beca asked, lifting her head. 

“No, no,” Chloe assured her. “It’s-- it feels really good.” 

Smiling, Beca dipped back in and spent the next minute focused on her left breast until she noticed Chloe squirming underneath her. “Okay?” 

“Yeah, I just-- I might come if you keep going like that.” 

Beca puffed out a breath, her cheeks turning redder. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, then pushed a kiss to Beca’s lips, her whimper swallowed by Beca as she slipped her hand between Chloe’s legs and cupped her. Chloe broke the kiss to take a sharp inhale as Beca moved her fingers in a light stroking motion. 

“Okay?” She asked as she rested her forehead against Chloe’s. 

“Yes,” Chloe breathed, raking her teeth over her bottom lip. Her hips tilted towards the contact, seeking more pressure. Chloe stilled Beca’s hand after a handful of seconds and sat up to shimmy her underwear down her legs. “Better.” 

Beca smiled and placed her hand to its initial position, a moan surfacing from her throat as she felt Chloe’s slickness. “Can I-- I wanna taste you.” 

At a loss for words, Chloe could only nod, her breath growing shallow at Beca’s request. She watched as Beca slithered down, leaving kisses in her wake until she settled on her stomach between Chloe’s legs. She kissed her way along Chloe’s inner thigh, slowly but surely reaching her destination. 

“Oh,” Chloe let out at that first exploratory lap through her folds, propping herself on her elbows to get a better view. One set of fingers gripped a fistful of the sheets while the other tangled through Beca’s hair. A gasp followed soon after, any ounce of apprehension left in her dissipating. “Baby.” 

The groan Beca emitted against her sent a zap of pleasure down Chloe’s spine. Her fingers tightened around the sheets as Beca alternated between lapping at her and stimulating her clit with licks and flicks. Beca clearly knew what she was doing, using the right tempo and pressure to draw out Chloe’s pleasure and not bring her to that climax too quickly. 

Mewls and whimpers echoed against the walls as the coil grew tighter and tighter with each ticking minute. Chloe’s elbows gave out at some point as her body started shaking with her incoming orgasm. 

She knew it was going to hit her like a freight train, yet was taken aback by its power as she released a throaty cry. Her body spasmed with each wave of intense pleasure as she let herself go, Beca’s name tumbling past her lips in a sweet prayer. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed as she basked in the lingering haziness following her climax, attempting to regulate her breathing. 

Beca made her way back up, capturing Chloe’s lips in a deep kiss before flopping onto her side. “Are you okay?” She asked, running her fingertips along Chloe’s side.

Chloe hummed, smiling. “Mmm. Okay is definitely an understatement,” she murmured as she chased Beca’s lips for another kiss. Once she had regained feeling in all four limbs, Chloe rolled on top of her. “Your turn.”

Chloe wasn’t sure at what time they fell asleep, wrapped up around each other as they basked into their newfound connection. There was one thing she knew for sure, however, and it was that the future had never looked so bright. 

[clairdelunelove]

Ocean Blues

armin arlert x f!reader, young!armin x reader, timeskip!armin x reader

genre: fluff, romance, mutual pining, angst

warnings: slight spoilers? 

synopsis: some cozy comfort with armin as the two of you venture to the beach and admire the sea. The day is filled with shy glances, damp clothes, and sweet treats- as he tries to make you forget that he has to leave. It’s days like these that he adores. Unbeknownst to him, these memories would later come to haunt him in the future.

a.n: in honor of armin’s appearance in season 4, have some angst with our favorite blond boy! 

“This is beautiful.” 

The confession leaves your glossy lips in a lingering breath that dances out and mingles with the salty air. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, a smile crosses your face as the cerulean waves crash against the golden sand. It’s quite reassuring how empty the spot underneath the concavity of a beachside hill was and occupying the area seemed too fortuitous. 

Hauling the beach bag over your shoulder, your feet stay rooted to the spot that overlooks the entirety of the ocean. The sun setting within the horizon casted a glow that rested upon the fluffy, rare clouds that were scattered across the sky. 

“It really is.” 

Nestling your toes between the layers of soft sand, your gaze flicks to the sudden exhale that’s emitted beside you. Cerulean eyes, combating the water’s hue, meet yours as he slowly exhales. His jaw slackens instantly upon noticing the tinted blush on your cheeks, causing his lips to curl into a joyous grin. The indirect compliment goes straight to your heart as you sputter out a halfhearted rebuttal before veering closer to the water. Immediately, the blond calls out to you while lugging the rest of your personal belongings and his gentle chuckle rings true to your ears.

With a quick pivot, you note the haphazard way he’s heaving around the obnoxiously colored beach umbrella, picnic basket, and blanket while trying to closely follow behind you. A laugh bubbles in your throat as he suddenly yelps when the blanket rolls out of his grasp. Placing the belongings beside you, the male hurriedly arranges the set up when he notices your watchful gaze. He works quickly to gather the pastel cloth and shifts to lay it in a specific way. 

“So if the wind direction is north and wind blows north to south,” Armin’s caught muttering his thought process as his slender fingers tug the blanket over the sand, “it should be shifted this way.” 

Outstretching his hands, he gestures for you to sit on the covering so you’re comfortable and you do so with a grateful grin. The sand provides cushion when you plop down, fingers itching to scoop a handful up. Grains of glimmering white and beige slipped through the crevices of your hands. 

Armin cautiously settles next to you, eyes trained on the soft features of your face, “is this alright?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

Shrugging off his navy cardigan, he folds the article of clothing and tucks it neatly in your beach bag while casting a relieved smile to you. It’s the type of expression that causes his furrowed brows to relax, the crease on his forehead disappearing with the action. He moves to fold his white linen sleeves and cuffs the worn fabric with calculated mobility. 

You tuck your legs inward, resting your chin upon your knees to languidly stare at the ocean. The crashing waves chase after each ripple while concocting a foaming aftermath that sizzles on the sand. Faintly, seagulls squawked in the distance as their habitual flying pattern took up the evening sky. 

“So,” he suddenly speaks up while fixated on the same breathtaking view, “this is the ocean.” 

Small puffs of warm air leave his lips, intermingling with the chilly weather. The comment comes out in measured breaths. You can’t help but note that his tone is oddly bittersweet in the romantic moment and an unfamiliar tug pulls at you. Doubts, anxiousness, and heartache recurrently clawed at you in the previous weeks. 

“I couldn’t imagine being able to see this before I left.” 

At the remark, he thumbs at a broken seashell that’s barely visible within the sand by him. The creme colored shell is partially jagged yet smooth when overturned in his grip and he runs a finger over the sleek surface. Moving to settle closer to the male, you carefully rest your head against his shoulder while listening to his soft breaths. 

You’d perceived that as a result of his sensitivity to nervousness, Armin’s breathing evolved into gasping whenever the situation was too overwhelming. Interlacing his fingers with yours, you gifted him a reassuring hum before gazing at your interlocked hands. 

“Do you,” it was your turn to abruptly speak, “have to go?” 

The blond’s head whips in your direction and stares at the top of your head while he’s unable to utter an answer. His lips move as silence is the only known form of language to him at the moment. Internally, his heart drops at how broken your voice sounds at the inquiry and he desires to push away the logic that clouds his judgement. 

“Enrollment for the Training Corps starts tomorrow,” Armin mutters while his thumb lovingly caresses the back of your hand. 

It’s the same explanation you’ve received for the past three months and he evidently aspired to keep it that way. Nestling into the crook of his arm, the hollow of flesh there indicated the limited muscle mass that the blond’s readily going to exercise once he’s a member. A small smile flashes on your face, inwardly overjoyed that perhaps the male would finally get some type of proper nourishment if he’s enrolled in training. 

Rolling up your frayed sleeves, a crooked grin dances on your lips, “I know you’ll make it.” 

“As a member?” 

He seems bewildered at how resolute and strong your voice sounds at the statement. If he’d have known better, the blond greatly doubted his ability to physically outperform most of the recruits that were willing to try out for the member position. Scrawny physique, due to malnutrition, was one of his traits that he’d been self conscious about before he met you. Usually, others were bound to protect him from the onslaught of swinging fists and raucous cursing. 

“Yes,” you quell his racing mind, “and as a commander.” 

Armin commits a double take, almost getting whiplash in the process, and his mouth drops to indicate how flabbergasted he is by the comment. Smiling brightly, you reach out to dramatically close his opened mouth with a tap of your index finger. His brows amiably furrow while he sheepishly smiles at your compliment. 

“You must be kidding,” the male responds in a higher pitched voice. 

“I’m definitely not.” 

Resolutely closing his eyes while shaking his head, he actively dismisses his capabilities of being a leader. The blond could barely even defend himself on the streets so becoming commander was pushing it. Yet, your jaw was set as earnestness consumed your entire being. 

“That’s so absurd,” he runs a hand through his hair and presses his lips together, “that I’m willing to bet anything that I wouldn’t become a Survey Corps commander.” 

Eyes tracking the movement, you can’t help but let your own fingers reach out to swipe a blond piece of hair away from his face. He sputters at the intimacy, reeling back with an arm drawn over his face, but quickly regains his composure with an awkward chuckle. At the dramatic scene, you both can’t help but freely laugh. His hair seemed to catch the darkened hues of light, illuminating it to appear golden. You always adored his bob hairstyle, one that he grew up with, and decided to cast a wager on a consistent ideal to prove how confident you were in his abilities. 

Tousling the hair framing his face, the bet is uttered by you, “and if you do become one, you’ll have to cut your hair.”

At the mention, Armin draws a hand up to brush away his bangs. Tilting his chin, he seems to ponder the gamble with an intrigued raise of a brow. The blond didn’t mind the length of his hair, quite honestly, and just kept the bob because it was all he’d ever known. He relied on consistency. If the options were weighed then he wouldn’t lose anything too drastic in the situation. 

“I can take you on that offer, since,” his lip quirks up in an amused half smile, “the possibility of a Titan attacking is higher than me actually becoming a commander.” 

“You have to cut it though,” you reiterate as your gaze broke away from his, “even if I’m not there to see it happen. I’ll know one day.”

It would be a long while before the male would actually become in a position of power since climbing the ranks was it’s own adventure. Plus, you were both extremely young to genuinely make a difference. If anyone had an ounce of striving for change, it would be Armin starting his life in the Training Corps. 

He nods, exuding endless loyalty that men would envy, and continues brushing a thumb against your hand. There’s a particular type of happiness that veils his eyes when he stares at you once more. Perhaps it’s the bubbling joy of looking forward to reaching for the commander position or just the notion that you hinted that the two of you would continually stay together despite his absence. 

-

“We’re going to get in so much trouble! Where’d you get that from?”

Stabbing the confectionary through a wooden stick, your lips curl into a mischievous grin that invokes the male to shake his head at your sly ways. You’d taken a trip to the town’s open roofed bakery and paid a visit to the place by giving their products a try. In your parents’ words, borrowing was always an option if the reward was great. Armin’s wide smile was acknowledgement that there was no risk without a reward. 

“This is basically why I wanted to meet up with you today,” you mentioned while your fingers continued sliding down the marshmallows to properly align on the stick. 

The blond blew out a breath onto the kindling, settling back on his heels when the fire roared to life.  He runs his arm over his forehead to gather the beads of sweat underneath his bangs. His white linen shirt laid wrinkled upon him, a rare sight, as the sleeves were bunched up at the ends. The brown trousers were folded up his calves to display the sand that stuck onto his wet skin. Your own skirt was tied at the end to hitch up the fabric to avoid the waves of water. There had been obvious evidence from both sides that the two of you finished a session of splashing in the ocean water. 

“Is that,” he scoots closer to your seated position by the fire, “chocolate?” 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not expecting two sweets to be implemented in the highlight of his day. The town’s rations were highly strict recently and confectionaries were not even uttered to be given to the lower division families. Ironically, the two of you were treating the dark chocolate like it was an unlimited treasure. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out while handing Armin a stick of marshmallows, “I wanted to try something new so just put them near the fire.” 

The makeshift fire that the male set up laid blazing in intermingled colors of crimson and orange. He constructed the fire directly on the sandy beach, placing it near the water’s waves during high tide. Heat radiated off the bonfire in strong flickers, casting a dewy glow to Armin’s skin as he heeded to your instructions and held out the stick close to the fire. 

Once the marshmallows were roasted to a golden shade, your hands quickly reached to your beach bag to pull out the rest of the necessary ingredients. Stacking the remains of some muffin crumbs, chocolate, and Armin’s roasted marshmallows, you squish the dessert between your fingertips. The white confectionary oozes out, leading the blond to curiously glance in your direction. 

“Try it.” 

Prodding the treat towards his lips, Armin’s gaze flashes toward it and then at your giddy smile. He adores every fraction and angle of the way your soft features gleam. Each wave in your hair, every freckle on your nose, and the tint of your lips didn’t go unnoticed by the vigilant male. Accompanied with the sunset casting a halo above your head, there wasn’t a sight in the world that he’d rather fixate on.

Nibbling at the corner of the makeshift s’mores, he hums in approval as wide eyes connect with yours. Your knowing laugh aids him in properly chewing with a full mouth of the sweet treat. You share the same dessert, taking a bite out of the opposing corner, and crunching in delight. The savory chocolate is a delicacy that you haven’t tasted in months, causing nostalgia to rush through you. 

“I wish we could always stay here.” 

Muffled by his mouthful of the dessert, Armin’s melancholy utterance is barely registered in a serious tone. Yet, you could tell in the sharp glint in his blue eyes that the notion clouded his thoughts. His fingers find purchase in yours, a gesture that you’d greatly reminiscence when he left to the Training Corps and the blush that bloomed on your cheeks was a clear indicator. Perching on your knees, your arms reach over to envelop the blond in a gentle hug. It’s clearly awkward, by the clunking of your knees hitting his and how your hands are still interlaced with his, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it all. 

“Come back to visit the ocean,” you whispered as your muffled voice drifted to his ears, “I’ll always be at the ocean waiting for you.” 

“Waiting for me?” 

“Always.”

Hot tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to slip as your fingers desperately dug onto his linen shirt. It stung that your only school classmate, childhood best friend, and innocent crush would depart while focusing on his own success. You were stuck in Wall Maria. The repetitive cycle of your district life was just beginning and a hint of jealousy clawed at you. 

“I promise I’ll come back to the ocean,” Armin murmured as his fingers soothingly played with your hair, “and cut my hair if I become commander.” 

“Promise?” 

Lifting yourself off his chest, you peered up at Armin’s tear stained cheeks and let out a broken chuckle. Your own eyes were tinged red as your lower lip trembled at each remembrance of the memories you made with the male. Drawing a thumb over his cheek, you allowed the blond to reserve the rest of the night to memorizing each determinant of your beauty. The sad smile, scars, and flaws were the winsomeness that he would take in every battle. 

“Promise.”

-

He never did see you again. 

The onslaught of destruction that the Titans brought to demolish Wall Maria was too massive to the districts below. Havoc, chaos, and terror were the only images that you were able to witness before your final breath. Yet, your mind was full with the fleeting touch of Armin’s hand in yours and his joyous smile that stretched across his composed features. You didn’t regret ebbing away from the constraints of life since he was the last vision you saw. 

The male, grown and stronger in his years now, was a prisoner in the endless phase of guilt. Each day was a struggle to regain the confidence he once possessed and lead a new army into the depths of uncertainty. Nevertheless, Armin did visit the ocean in hopes of seeing a glimpse of you. He hadn’t. Still, years after the first incident, the blond ventured to the ocean again. 

Curling his toes against the soft sand, he ran a hand through his newly cropped hair. The commander badge, clipped on his Survey Corps uniform, glinted in the dusk hours. Alike to when you were both young, he decided on picking a time that was eerily close to that fateful day. You would’ve had no doubt that one day Armin would make a fine commander. He tugged his leather boots along with him, trailing the edge of the ocean as a bitter half smile curled on his lips. The waves crashing against the sand were almost loud enough to muffle his strangled sobs.

Yet, a promise was a promise. 

[ecrivant]

aria | eren yeager

(eren yeager x reader)

in a rare moment of solitude, eren is haunted by his own profundity, and as the daylight’s death begets a cold, blue night, he hears a song which reminds him of home.  you are there to comfort him in his sorrow.

a quiet, slice-of-life character study of eren 

word count: 1.9k

“Sorry.”

Said in passing, over-the-shoulder, noncommittal and blunt, as you brushed by him in the cramped street. Pushing his shoulder back with yours. Brusque.  ‘Sorry,’ stated in the same way one uses ‘How are you?’ as a greeting—marked by insincerity and non-involvement and an implicit obligation to fill silence with niceties.  The collision was enough to knock him off balance, and he, torn between reactions of castigation and quiet indifference, found any possible words caught in his throat and could only let out a graceless and choked sound in response; and you, having carried on down the street without a second glance, did not hear him.  He scowled and collected himself and looked behind him in one single movement—though he figured you had long since disappeared from view, he also realized, even if he had spotted your form over his shoulder, he would not have recognized you among the swaths of people packed into the street. The crowd itself some featureless and amorphous unity, and you, both in it, lost and of it, a part.  All together indistinct.

Within the minute following he could not remember your face or your clothes or even your voice, every tangible aspect fleeting save for the lasting impression of a tactless interaction with another.  He thought of the way you had unceremoniously pushed past him and inexplicably flushed, humbled by this reminder of his insignificance.  To feel unimportant was now so foreign to him.  He was struck with an impression from his childhood—the pervasive feeling of inconsequence which once plagued him, a feeling against which he fought so hard—and he found himself thinking on it wistfully.  A yearning perhaps not for the feeling itself but for the idyllic milieu it imbued.  

He disposed of his own profundity, for now.  He could not think on the past without being consumed by longing.  He externalized himself.  

Brisk was the afternoon air as he ambled through the town in the eve of winter.  The comfort inherent to a year’s closing.  The late months were always a welcome change in the face of such blistering summers, though these days, all but the seasons seemed stagnant.  Or perhaps he was simply jaded.  Today he had earned himself a rare moment of solitude under the guise of searching for a birthday gift for Armin, informing the others he lacked trust in their abilities to keep the present secret.  A quest which led him to the town market, a charming and bustling plaza of commerce that seemed entirely separate from the rest of the world.  A breeziness so unfamiliar to him.  He would once despise this population, filled with the unaware and apathetic, but now, their ignorance, in some way, enviable.  

He went where his legs carried him.  Partially aware of his surroundings but more preoccupied with himself.  He came upon a bookshop, front window rife with leather-bound fiction.  Through the cracked door, a draft of must and leather and paper, aged and stained.  Homey. Smells reminiscent of that book Armin once presented, in childhood, whose contents were at one time of so much interest. The scent of forbidden knowledge. The building’s edifice, familiar—all wood and stone and slated roof, indistinct among the surrounding architecture.  Grime burrowed in the dips of the stone exterior. He touched this roughness as he stared through the shop window.  Each book had its own red-ribbon marker, a fiery tongue laid tame between parchment and words inked by those with greater minds than he.  As he entered the shop, he understood Armin’s affinity—the smells, the quietude of dampened sound, a tangible embrace.  One could lie on these grounds and sleep for eternity, for in this shop, surrounded by the unspoken intellections and lamentations of others, time lulled and itself seemed to arrest.  As he browsed the shelves and scanned words and names so alien to him, he was overcome by the realization that he was entirely a stranger to Armin’s interests.  He shifted from foot to foot and thought uncomfortably on it—there was something odd about the idea of discovering something new about someone with whom you had spent your entire life.  With Armin he had shared dreams and agony—why was this so foreign to him?

He exited the store emptyhanded and self-conscious and resolved to ask Armin about the books he liked.  He despised the fact he had never taken the time to do so, regardless of whether it was a fault of his own or a byproduct of their present reality—existence marked by suffering and few peaceful interludes.

It was dusk now, the sun having set and given way to bluish twilight, and the street was sparsely populated, and the air, now bitterly frigid, seeped through his clothes and settled on his skin.  He was not ready to return to HQ and instead found himself wishing for an endless solitude. As he walked down the street, one so different from that which was there earlier in the day, he forced himself to just feel—feel the way his footsteps, uneven on the cobblestone, felt in his ankles, his knees.  To feel the weight of his arms by his sides, the way they dragged his shoulders towards the earth.  To feel the way the night air numbed his fingertips and spread throughout his form.

Was this numbness anything like death’s aftermath?

Surely not.  Living numbness was like silence, for silence was simply wordless sound, the world’s ceaseless and gasping breath, absence rather than nothingness.  Death was an abject void.  Nothing any living being could conceive.

When the time came for him to disappear, as much as he convinced himself he would rescind control willingly, he knew he would resist.  Something in his nature, something deep and uncontrollable, so verily feared death—as it was in the nature of a priest to venerate his God, or the nature of time to continue unremittingly and remorselessly, this fear was intrinsic and implacable.  And one day, when he was to finally meet Death, she there to take him as she had so many others he knew and loved, he would be unashamedly afraid, and he would finally know himself fully.

His thinking was interrupted by song—one hazy and incoherent, an amalgamation of lyric and wordless vocalization, yet so deliriously familiar.  Echoing off stone, through the streets, a ghostly resonance.  Memories returned in swells—the warmth of the kitchen on a summer’s day, the rumbling laugh of his father, the taste of tea and soup and fresh-baked bread, his bedroom, pitch in the night, moonlight on walls, the smell of clean laundry, sun caught in his mother’s hair.  His knees collapsed beneath him; his hand, outreached to support his weight.  He gasped and blinked away tears and did nothing to fight against the paralysis that has overtaken him.  The tune, ephemeral and carried by a winter zephyr, was pervasive, without origin, and settled over the street like some aural mantle.  It ended suddenly, cut off by a voice before him.

“Are you all right?”

He did not answer, could not answer.  The silence, muffled.  He finally looked up and saw you, though he did not recognize your face.  You repeated your question, concerned, forceful, and laid a hand on his shoulder.  Through fabric, he felt your warmth; he could not stop the tears or his trembling inhalations.  Your touch was so gentle, within it, compassion so plethoric.  As if he were a friend, a lover.  

You sat him in the street and sank down beside him.  Shoulder-to-shoulder.  The hand that wiped at his face did little to stop his tears.

“It is okay to cry, you know.”

He shook his head in denial and sobbed again, and you simply and calmly restated your sentiments—an aphorism in which he was meant to find comfort.  The night, now marked by his quiet cries, seemed desolate; moon and sky entire occluded by clouds.  The street on which he sat was painted in undulating shadows, casted by a sole streetlamp illuminated by an orange and curling flame.  Your arm, draped over his shoulder, made him cry more—when was it last he was held like this?  He turned and buried his face in your shirt and breathed in your scent, one of oak and tea and personhood, and relished in the sincerity of your embrace.  To offer him comfort was not your bounden duty—you simply rested with him and offered your arms out of compassion.  You hugged his form tighter as if you too craved the contact.  

You quietly reassured him, of what you did not know, but he nonetheless absorbed your words.  He felt known by you, a stranger who immediately unmasked him—a type of intimacy which could only be shared between those who did not know each other.  So rare and unlike the closeness of friends.  You were at once warm and familiar and homely, and new and exciting and alien.  You were not his friend and did not feel like his friend, yet neither was required of you.  You, to him, in this moment, were something entirely different.  

He wondered what you thought of him.  A pitiable child?  One who only knew inconceivable loss and sorrow?  You would not be incorrect to assume either.

He had stopped crying long ago yet you still held him.  And he, you.

He pulled away and looked at your face and absorbed none of it before he leaned forward to kiss you. A chaste contact, testing.  He flushed, and warmness crept into his chest as you stared at him, eyes wide, unmoving.  A misstep driven by yearning you within him engendered.  He turned away as you leaned forward to meet his lips again, so your nose bumped his cheek, and you then engaged in an unwieldy dance to reorient your bodies to kiss.  Your laugh, awkward and choked and fragile.  

Then he was kissing you, and it neither amorous nor lustful.  And though he did not know what to do, the kiss itself static and somewhat unnatural, it was comfortable, placid, effortless—effortless like swimming with a current or laughing with a friend or returning, just before nightfall, to the warm embrace of a quiet home.  To him, you were intrinsic.  

Your hands on his face, gentle and warm and familiar, wiping away tears.  

The lamplight burned low when you finally pulled away from him.  

“Find me, again.”  

Your touch, a gentle graze of his browbone.  And with it, you kissed him one last time and smiled and stood and walked away and were engulfed in a dense and inky blackness the light did not penetrate.  

He rested his chin in his palm.  Imagining it was your hand, your touch.  

He did not move from his seated position on the street, and he stayed long after the lamp burned out, and the clouds in the sky cleared to reveal the domed firmament rife with stars, and the night’s death bore the dawn light, and he thought of you.  And as he walked back to HQ, stumbling as if inebriated, he still thought of you.  And when his friends demanded, voices frantic and concerned, where he had been all night, he responded that he had needed to be alone, and only he knew that his apparent solitude was feigned and untrue, as it was suffused by your presence, both tangible and incorporeal, like the way the night is both a darkness and an ambiance.  

That day he asked Armin about books and sat closer to his friends and allowed Mikasa to touch him and tend to him.  And though he could not return to the town the next night or week or month, your final words, spoken only for him, remained in his heart, a stranger’s implicit promise, the addendum: “And I’ll find you, too.”

—

hi!  thank you so much for reading!  been a little strapped for motivation and write-good juice lately, so i hope this isn’t pure garbage.  or, if it is garbage, i hope it is at least enjoyable garbage.  as always, feedback is very much appreciated.  (am thinking abt making this the first part of a long-form piece, lmk if that sounds appealing?  may do it or not do it regardless of what people say, cause that’s just how i operate xoxo)

i have a bunch of requests lined up, which is so so exciting!  thank you to everyone who sends me things.  it means the world xoxo

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 3)

ONE MORE CHUNK AFTER THIS. And it’s the sexy one. This has been such a joy to write, as spaced out as it is. Hoping to finish this THIS WEEK, so I can begin on SHORT drabbles. (Am I capable of short?)

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

It was not a very restful night. Wanda’s tired and aching body didn’t move at all, but her dreams had raced chaotically with no reprieve. They were usually quelled with the reassuring warmth and weight of Vision’s form beside her, which she would slip her arms and legs around, finding solace in the comforting white noise of his serene and positive thought computations.

Her eyes instead shot open, the stark morning-light mercilessly bringing her to full consciousness. She saw that the bedding beside her was undisturbed, then peered over at the living area from the bedroom nook of the hotel room. Vision had remained on the couch, facing away from her gaze. She almost thought he hadn’t moved from that spot since their parting last night, but she could see a new shirt upon his shoulders. Blue. He liked blue. Because she liked it on him.

Almost as if sensing Wanda’s awakened state, he looked up from his lap, but didn’t turn towards her.

“Good morning, Wanda.”

Wanda noticed the guarded politeness of the greeting. She took a pillow and firmly fluffed it back into shape before tossing it haphazardly back upon the bed.

“Morning, Vis.” She lightly padded over to him, clad in her faded night shirt and sporty red underwear. She leaned over the back of the couch and peered over the synthezoid’s broad shoulder. “That must be some book…”

She saw that, though he was staring at the literature in his graceful hands, it was only the title cover page.

“Oh…” She fought rising hurt. Perhaps he had just begun another. He could read exceptionally fast. It didn’t necessarily mean that he would have preferred to stare at a title page in the dark rather than come cuddle with her…

Vision pulled his gaze away from whatever distant thought he was processing and closed the prop in his hands. “I admit, I found myself too… distracted… to properly enjoy the novelty of physically reading, nor thoroughly contemplate the mastery of Tolstoy musings in it’s original Russian language.” He finally chanced a side-look at Wanda. “Not with more pressing perturbations to consider…”

He patted the seat cushion beside him, encouraging her to join him. Wanda obeyed, though she pulled her bare legs to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. Vision let her have her space, though his cognitive intuition told him that he should be holding her. He instead tentatively mirrored his hands against each other, creating a gesture of thoughtful regard.

“I have given a great deal of consideration to our conundrum regarding... well, regarding…”

“Sex?” Wanda offered, her turn to be unabashedly pragmatic.

Vision looked down, gentle smile on his lips. “Yes.” The smile then faded. He looked back at her. “And I have come to the conclusion that, perhaps preserving the other intimacies of our relationship, encouraging unperturbed growth, should be the primary focus. Rather than focusing on the … incompatibilities.”

Wanda sat in silence. Stunned. “I... I knew it was different, but I didn’t think it was… unbearable.”

Vision’s head reared. “No. Oh no, you misunderstand me, Darling.” He risked placing a hand on one bare knee, for consolatory contact.

“Well I can’t make you feel the way YOU make me feel.” Wanda placed a hand on his, clinging tightly. “I can’t do what you do for me, and the moment I point it out, you don’t want to take comfort in me, anymore…” She was doing her best to speak levelly, but her eyes watered with imminent tears. She tightly pursed her lips together to keep composure.

Vision now scooped her towards himself, embracing her lovingly. “Wanda, no. Please cast that conclusion from your mind.” He stroked her shoulder tenderly. “You are being far too gallant, taking the blame for my obvious and… and-and staggering limitations as a synthetic person.”

“Vis…” She held him back now. He was stuttering, like he usually did when he displayed nervousness or broached sensitive topics.

“The truth is, perhaps I’m speaking from a place of self-preservation. I… I don’t know if I could cope. If you came to resent me… for such limitations.” He gave a humorless huff. “I think I would rather cease to exist than witness that day…”

“That day will NEVER happen, Vision.”

“I see that my non-reciprocation upsets you, Wanda” He insisted. “I saw it last night, and the beginnings of it in other nights before.”

Wanda was silent a moment. “I never said anything that would insinuate-”

“No, but I can see it.”

“How?”

Vision opened, but then shut his mouth. Trying to explain how he could interpret the electric impulses of her aroused body would be yet another reminder of their physiological differences.

“Nuance” he said. “I know your body well enough to know when you are stimulated and when you are not.”

Wanda’s head shook, incredulous. “How could you think that I could ever resent you?” She reached out a hand to cup his face.

“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But some day, when my limitations keep preventing you from reaching important milestones in-in your life…” He trailed off. Unable to finish. It was unbearable for him to ponder.

“No. Not EVER.” Wanda retorted.

“Wanda…”

“NO, Vision” she said firmly. “I don’t see a future with kids, or a house with a picket fence… a dog. Hell, I don’t even know if in this line of work I’m going to make it to a very old age.” She held his face, gently. “All I see… all I feel… is you. And that’s enough for me.”

Vision placed his hand atop of hers, closing his eyes as her words deeply touched him. But after a moment, he reopened them. His gaze sad.

“It shouldn’t be” he murmured.

She tilted her head at him, full of love and emotion in those wounded, deep hazel pools. She caressed his cheek, tracing some of the patterns of his face and the etched seams of his forged skin. He closed his optics as she moved down his prominent, straight nose, until her touch loomed over his lips.

“Do you remember our first kiss?”

Vision smiled weakly. “I’m incapable of forgetting it. Nor would I ever wish to.”

She returned a soft smile, focused on her finger tips upon his attractive lips. “It was after I saw how you felt about me, through the mindstone. I could see into you and how you saw me… how you felt about me…”

It was a diversion. And it was successful, as the synthezoid was lowering his forehead to her instead of keeping her on topic. But it was only borrowed time. They had undoubtedly arrived at the precipice of a chasm that couldn’t be bested with assuring words and tender embraces alone.

Wanda’s hand skimmed up to the stone, her powers emanating in scarlet wisps of light as she moved her fingers in graceful, fluid motions. Vision’s eyes opened as he felt her administrations. It made him light-headed, but also completely enveloped by her essence. He could feel her observance of him. He didn’t even try and hide what he had come to know as profound feelings for the human before him. All his thoughts and motivations completely bewitched with maintaining her happiness. He watched as her closed eyes looked so serene. As she basked within his thoughts of her.

And then her hand bore down upon the yellow gem. Startled, Vision’s eyes fluttered opened. Her grasp was firm. For a moment, he winced as he remembered that day at the Avengers compound, when he and Wanda had found themselves on opposite sides of a rift. She overrode his mobility drives, controlling him from the inside out. He knelt before her, helpless, though unharmed. But this sensation was different. There was a struggle of control… but it was not within him. He watched as she gritted her teeth, furrowed her brows. The reflecting force that showed her the rich abyss of his adoration, suddenly flipped.

Vision sharply inhaled with shock. She was already in there, entwined with his consciousness… but he felt as though his was being drawn in by hers, and down into her depths…spiraling with the currents. An up and close look at her forceful oceans… until the roar of sensory newness calmed into…

Love. 

She loved him. She never said it. But she felt it. It was overwhelming and consuming beyond explanation.

Vision tried to find himself again, to process this, but the connection was so potent. It was easier to simply accept it rather than try to quantify. It was senseless to quantify. Quantifying was stupid.

“W-Wanda-“ He tested his voice, but was silenced by her lips. Her lips, which he could feel. Not his against hers… but simply HERS. He tasted himself. Felt the texture of his skin against her pleading buds. How it delighted the delicate skin with sensation. She urged against him and it was so clear what she wanted and why. Vision opened to her, his breath hitched as hers did. The rhythmic thump of her heart felt as though it was within his own breast, increasing in pace with the prolonged contact. Suddenly the shimmering shores of Wanda’s pleasure centers became more than just a map to analyze for productive response. There was aching. And a hunger that Vision had never known possible…

Wanda removed her hand from the mindstone and reality came back to disorienting focus. Both she and Vision were breathless from the kiss. Vision’s eyes were still closed, his body working in overdrive to adapt settings in order to accommodate and categorize the new sensations. His cerulean eyes slowly opened when he felt Wanda nuzzle against his nose.

“I had to show you…” She breathed. “You are enough.”

Vision grinned broadly, on the brink of happiness and humility. That she could feel as she did for a being like him. He pulled her face to his once more. His core pounded. Odd as he was not under duress… but he accepted, and even enjoyed, it. He breathed and gasped against her lips with the intensity… and there was that hunger once more. But it was now his own.

[yespleasefandomtrash]

Catradora Fluff Prompt: Smitten kissing and flirting in bed

tumblr isn't letting me add line breaks rn so I'll make sure to put them in later!! until then I apologize to all scrolling past xx

~*~

It was amazing how long Adora could sleep in. A little annoying, too, as Catra hated being the only one awake in the giant bedroom at Bright Moon, but it wasn’t like she could really hold it against her. Transforming into an eight-foot tall warrior goddess that channelled all of Etheria’s magic out of the heart and back into the world less than a day ago could understandably knock a person out, even if it had been awe-inspiring to witness at the time.

Catra had chosen to remain in bed with her still-slumbering girlfriend. Deep down she knew that while she could have gotten up and gotten dressed and gone downstairs to have breakfast with the princesses and it would have been fine, a part of her was hesitant to face them with the comforting presence of Adora. So, she stayed. Besides - it was amusing to watch Adora sleep. She kept mumbling and kicking out at some dream foe.

It was cuter than Catra would ever admit to her face.

Glimmer had come to check on them, once, as the sun continued to rise higher in the sky. Catra had faked being asleep, but her enhanced hearing still caught the girl humming in contentment and whispering, “Well, they need their rest,” before she left and quietly shut the door behind her.

Perhaps Adora more than herself, Catra mused, but still true.

At one point Catra rolled over onto her side to look at her girlfriend as she slept, and found her face getting red at the mere thought.

Girlfriend. Wow.

She almost couldn’t understand how she’d been so lucky - ‘almost’ being the key word because she knew if Adora was anything she was unconditional. She’d always believed in her, even when Catra was at her lowest point. Not that this knowledge made her feel less lucky, of course. It still didn’t feel real to say that her girlfriend was the legendary She-Ra.

But after eons of telling herself that she hated Adora, couldn’t stand her, blamed her for everything that had gone wrong that in reality she herself had caused, and then to finally admit that all that time she’d loved Adora, she was in love with her, she always had been and always would be, and then to learn Adora loved her, too… It was surreal. She’d already pinched her arm to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Adora grumbled something in her sleep, flinging her arm out and nearly hitting Catra, which was suffice to say enough to snap Catra out of her awestruck reverie. She hissed instinctively, dropping flat on her back to avoid getting smacked in the face.

Adora’s hand then fell down to her side, and a satisfied smile formed on her sleeping features. Maybe she’d defeated whomever she was dream-fighting.

Catra waited a moment to make sure her girlfriend wouldn’t unconsciously attack her again before returning to her position of resting on her side, bracing her head on her right arm. Adora’s hair had fallen straight across her nose and over her lips, and Catra sighed in amusement as she gently pushed it away.

Adora wrinkled her nose at the touch, and Catra felt the blood rush to her face when she heard her whisper, “Catra…?”

Sleep talk. “Embarrassing,” Catra grumbled to herself, but she still moved closer to Adora’s side, locking their hands together and burying her face in Adora’s shoulder.

This movement seemed to finally wake Adora, which Catra mildly regretted but was mostly relieved to see.

“Mm… Good morning,” she said, giving Catra’s hand a gentle squeeze and smiling at her softly with sleepy eyes.

Catra snorted. “Barely.”

Adora frowned, confusion flickering on her face. “Barely good, or…” She trailed off, yawning. “Or barely morning?”

“Oh, definitely good,” Catra purred into her girlfriend’s shoulder. “But not morning. It’s almost noon.”

Adora groaned and tried to sit up, though Catra threw her free arm over her chest to prevent her from doing so. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up? There’s so much to get done today.”

Catra smirked, lifting her head slightly to better look at her. “Well, you of all people are in desperate need of beauty sleep, so -”

“Oh, shut up,” Adora laughed, grabbing her pillow from behind her head and hitting Catra with it.

Catra’s response was to hiss, mock-glaring at her as she tried to pull away, but in doing so started to fall off the edge of the bed. Adora, considerably more alert than when she’d first woken up, sat up and grabbed her girlfriend’s hand before pulling her back onto the mattress, tugging her into her chest when they were both left sitting upright on the bed.

“Stop falling off of things,” Adora murmured, one hand resting on Catra’s lower back and the other gently stroking her short hair.

Catra’s face had turned a shade darker than scarlet, and she was silently thankful Adora was holding her closely and couldn’t see her blushing. And, well… She liked being close to Adora. “First of all, you’re one to talk about falling off of things,” she grumbled, but there was no bite in her voice. “Besides, I have you to catch me.”

Adora’s body stiffened, her hand pausing on the back of Catra’s head.

Catra leaned back slightly to look up at her. “You okay?”

Adora sighed, moving her hand away to push loose strands of hair out of her face. “Yeah. Just…” She gave her a gentle, if weak, smile. “In shock, I guess?”

‘Shock’ was probably an understatement for the traumatic experiences they’d all endured, but Catra didn’t want to talk about any of it yet. From the looks of it, Adora didn’t want to, either. Catra could tell what Adora was thinking, anyways - what if she hadn’t been there to catch her? What if she hadn’t saved Catra from Horde Prime? What if, what if, what if?

Catra knew her girlfriend was thinking about subjects like that because she herself had been consumed by what if she hadn’t been with Adora to activate the Failsafe and other… distressing thoughts only an hour or so earlier, while Adora had still been asleep.

“Understandable.” Catra took a turn pushing Adora’s hair out of her face and behind her ear, giving her girlfriend a gentle smile that made her feel terrifyingly vulnerable. But with Adora… She didn’t mind. As much, at least. “But we’re here now. Together. It’s over.”

Adora managed a laugh, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “God, shouldn’t I be the one comforting you? At least - at least I’m in a familiar place with people I’ve known for ages and it wasn’t like I was the one chipped by Horde Prime and yet -” Her voice cracked, and her gaze dropped to the space between them. “And yet I’m a mess.” She sighed, wiping her face again. “Sorry. I know I’m just insecure and stupid.”

Catra rolled her eyes, and she lifted Adora’s chin to meet her gaze. “You’re not stupid, Adora. Don’t beat yourself up about this. We’ve both been fighting a war since before we could walk.” Ugh. Now she was feeling weepy. Stupid emotions. “And don’t act like either of us has had it worse or whatever, okay?” They’d always be there to comfort each other, anyways, so long as Catra had anything to say about it.

Adora placed her free hand on top of Catra’s, guiding her girlfriend’s hand up from her chin to cup her face, closing her eyes and leaning into it. “Thank you.”

Catra blushed, and she knew her tail had started flicking faster to keep up with her racing heart. “Yeah. You’re, uh, welcome. Or whatever.”

Her blush deepened as Adora laughed. “Aw. You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” Both of her hands moved to Catra’s waist. “Makes me want to kiss you again.”

There was a pause. Catra was fairly certain her heart stopped beating for a good ten seconds.

Then Adora’s face turned a deep pink, her eyes widening. “I - okay, wow, that was really forward, I’m so sorry. I don’t - I don’t want to rush you into anything you don’t want to do -”

“You can,” Catra interrupted. “Kiss me. Again.”

Adora blinked. “Really?”

Catra rolled her eyes, trying and probably failing to act collected and nonchalant about the matter. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

Adora hesitated, anxiety flickering in her eyes. Catra seized the moment to take initiative, leaning forward and draping her arms over Adora’s shoulders as she placed an intense kiss on her lips.

Adora hummed in delight - a ridiculously adorable sound - and deepened the kiss, her grip tightening on Catra’s waist to pull her in closer.

Adora’s lips were chapped, and Catra knew her own couldn’t have been much better, but there was something so blissful about kissing her beautiful, badass girlfriend without the threat of the planet’s destruction looming over their heads. Catra wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world.

And when Adora finally pulled away, Catra was mortified to hear herself purring loudly, with her embarrassment only exacerbated by her girlfriend’s knowing smirk. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.”

“Oh please.”

Catra did what she knew best to counter Adora’s teasing - she pounced on her, in true cat-like fashion. Adora burst out laughing and held her arms up to defend herself, and the two wrestled and rolled over and both ended up falling off the side of the bed and onto the floor.

Adora landed on top, her hands on either side of Catra’s shoulders to brace herself and not crush her girlfriend.

Catra’s face had reddened as a result of the… position they’d landed in, but was comforted by the blush painted on Adora’s face, too. Such casual intimacy was not unfamiliar to either of them, but the change in their relationship made everything simultaneously more exciting and more embarrassing.

Catra found herself staring at Adora, soaking in her appearance - her gray tank top and white shorts, her blonde hair falling free around her shoulders. God, she was beautiful. Ethereal, even without the glowing power of She-Ra.

How had Catra gotten so lucky?

Adora gently ran her hand over Catra’s bangs. “I still can’t believe you love me,” she admitted. “I mean, I know you do. But it… still feels too good to be true.”

Catra sat up, Adora moving backwards and off of her to allow them to sit face to face again. “Yeah. It does.” Raised in the Horde, they were both taught that there was nothing a person inherently deserved. Everything had to be earned. And it was hard, maybe even harder for Adora, but it was a mindset they were both gradually unlearning. “But I do. Love you.” She slipped her hands into Adora’s. “A lot.”

Adora smiled, and she leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “I love you, too.” Her smile widened. “A lot.”

Catra was certain of only two things, she decided, one being how much she loved Adora and how much Adora loved her. The other was just as simple. Maybe even more so.

“Everything is going to be okay, isn’t it?”

Adora laughed, and God if it wasn’t the most beautiful sound Catra had ever heard. “Yeah. I think it is.”

~*~

feel free to send me catradora fluff prompts! but as always when it comes to requests, I only write what sparks my interest :) thank you for reading!

[writingawaymylife]

My Love, My Light, My Soul

A/N: Yeah so my wife requested this: @queenxxxsupreme​ - she’s amazing and I love her and her writing is amazing. Go check her out! Also, this is my first time writing for Yenn, so if you have any tips, or criticism, I’m totally open for it! 

Ship: Yenn/N!reader

Summary: Even on the hardest of days she’s there. 

Words: 2277

__

It was well after midnight when you had begun heading home. The city was quiet. Torches dimming and streets dwindling to only the odd cloak covered thief or stumbling, drunken man. The quiet was inviting, with only the hints of music from an Inn far away to further prove how silent everything was. 

You took every second of it. Reveling in the peace as you weaved your way through streets, pace quickening as the final stretch to your home creeped towards you. The walk allowed you to unravel some of your stress. Slow your thoughts, help prevent you from bringing all these emotions back home. Back to her. 

Yenn. A flash of guilt and shame spread from your chest, weighing your shoulders down, as you realized the time. The broken promise you made. The fact that it had been a long time since you had seen her, and already you were going to be disappointing her… You knew you shouldn't have let these thoughts fill your mind - that, while she was hard and stern, she would hate to know that this is what you were thinking. Yet it was so hard. Today was so hard.

You tried not to think about her impatience. How she would be frustrated that you had promised ten and it was nearly one. You hoped she would forgive you, that she would understand that today was just not a good one. Far too many people with far too many demands, all shouting for one thing or another, pulling you either way. 

All you wanted to was be in her arms. To run your fingers through her hair, to feel her lips brush against yours. The thought made your heart constrict. Aching, as the tears poked at your eyes and you blinked them away. 

It took another five minutes before you were home. Quietly opening and closing the door behind you as you walked forwards. Your hand waved up as you took off your cloak, a click indicating the door was locked as you threw the discarded fabric onto the couch. You frowned. Eyes narrowing as you realized that the living space was empty, that the candles were dying and struggling to fend off the darkness. 

The fire in the hearth was dead. Small crackles in the dying embers that thrummed softly. It dragged you in, stopping you from looking around the house, and giving you pause to just be. 

You don't know how long you had been standing there, staring at the coals. Arms crossed and jaw working, as you tried to control your tears, before a voice rang through the room.

"If I remember correctly," she spoke. "You promised me ten… and dinner." Her voice held an edge to it, mixing with a twist of exhaustion as you turned to look towards her. 

A pang of guilt, worse than the ones prior, spread through your chest and up your throat

Mixing with the ache of tears and the need for warmth.

"What kept you away from me for so long?"

Tears were already welling in your eyes, close to falling, as you took in her appearance. Tension leaving your shoulders just by the sight of her and the safety she exuded. 

You couldn't help but stop and admire her, to take her in. If not just for a moment. 

Dark waves framing her face, slightly more frizzy than before from what must have been a bath. Her purple eyes, sharp and cunning even when so tired, met yours in a way that had you heart beating like this was your first time seeing a woman as stunningly marvellous as her. 

Sometimes you swore she made you feel like a teenager. Like you weren't nearly a one hundred year old mage, who had seen and experienced the world many times over, but once again that giddy little child, stealing glances at their crush from across the classroom. You loved it. How she made you feel so alive after years of just living through the motions, waiting for the end without actively searching for it. You were still so relieved, so fucking happy, for running into her again. 

Years after Aretuza and losing contact with her - something that had broken your heart more than you wanted to think about, you had thought you'd never see her again. That she was gone and you had lost her without even getting a proper chance to be with her. And finding her again, seeing her eyes and her smile… hearing her voice that would always have you falling in love with her all over again… it felt like a breath of fresh mountain air. Clearing your lungs of the smog of the world, and hooking you to the feeling of the clear mind and euphoric buzzing in your chest that she gave you.

"I know, I'm sorry… today was…" You sucked in a deep breath, taking a few steps towards her and nodding your head. You had promised dinner… and for a night of much needed love and intimacy after being apart for so long. You didn't know if you could give that tonight. If you could give her what you knew she needed.

Your eyes shut for a moment, lungs sucking in another breath in an attempt to keep yourself calm as you opened your eyes. "Difficult. Very difficult."

When you met hers again, you could see the concern taking over her once annoyed features. The slight furrow of her brows and the twitch of a frown. Her arms, that were once crossed, fell to her sides, as she gently pushed herself from the door frame and walked towards you. 

She was silent for a moment. A hand coming to cup your cheek as she closed the distance even further. Her eyes were soft, just like her hand as her thumb brushed against your cheekbone. You swallowed. Fighting the tears as she spoke. 

"You’re forgiven. What's done is done…" She trailed off, eyes looking over your face as she subtly gestured her chin towards you. "What is it that you need, darling?"

Your eyes fluttered closed. A sigh of tension and stress leaving with a near harsh burst as you tried to calm yourself, before opening your eyes again. "I need a hug. Maybe a cuddle. Definitely a cuddle. Just… let me hold you." 

Her lips tilted into that smile. That beautiful and addicting smile as her hand slipped from your cheek and down your shoulder. Fingers ghosting your skin and setting goosebumps wherever they graced, before she took your wrist. 

She turned, a soft gesture of her head as she led you towards the bedroom. "That is something I can most certainly help with. Come. Let us get you out of those clothes. There should be enough…" The corner of her lips perked up as a small spark of light flashed in her eyes. "Juice left in the pitcher for you."

You hummed, a small spike of lightness in your chest as your own lips lifted just slightly, and you followed her. Eyes never leaving the back of her head, as she walked down the hall and into the bedroom. 

She glanced back at you, letting go of your wrist to move to the small table in the corner.

"Get yourself comfortable. I'll pour you a glass." She was already doing so when the order left her lips, head turned just enough to raise a brow at you and gesture to the bed. 

There was a moment where you were frozen. Unable to look away from her, like she was the one thing keeping you anchored. Keeping you from collapsing into a puddle of tears and exhaustion. You felt like if you looked away, for even but a moment, she would be gone. That you would be left alone to your own pain, to unwrapping your own emotions, yet again, without her firm and gentle caress and honeyed spice words. 

You never understood how she could make you feel this way. Even when you were stressed and angry and sad, she always calmed you down. Loosened the coil of emotions in your head and chest - eased the chaos pounding through your veins. She had this way with you. Even when you were at your most… feral. Chaos consuming you and unable to find yourself and your peace, she would appear and the fire would cool. Blood dropping from a searing boil to a simmer in your veins with a single look.

"Well?" She asked, turning around with two goblets of rich wine as she walked over to you. Brows raised and light smirk gracing her features as she realized you had been staring- no, admiring her. 

You cleared your throat, sweaty palms moving to rub against your pants as you slowly undid the buttons. Peeling the leather down your legs, as you walked towards the bed, and kicking them to the side once they were down to your ankles. You would put the dirty clothes in their designated place after. Right now, your feathered bed, duvets, and pillows sounded far more appetizing than cleanliness.

She stood in front of you as you sat and sank into the bed. A hand coming to cup your face before gliding down and moving to the collar of your jerkin. Her eyes never left yours, the candlelight illuminating her features, casting shadows through her white gown that had her looking so… ethereal, as she slowly unbuttoned of black vest and pulled it off of your shoulders.

The moment was so delicate. So peaceful as your eyes closed, and her fingers took the hem of your tunic, nails lightly digging ever so often against your stomach and up your sides as she lifted the shirt and let it fall beside her. 

Finally, after so long of trying to keep them down, tears found their escape. Gliding down your face as you let in a shaky and weak breath.

Your underwear was the only thing left as she moved so she was sitting in your lap. Her head moved forward, past your lips and gently to your cheekbones where she, ever so carefully, brushed her lips against your tears. 

Slowly, she moved down to your jaw, down your neck, before landing a kiss in your shoulder - quickly followed by a bite that had you gasping and had your arms wrapping around her waist, squeezing her firmly for a moment as you pressed her as close to you as you could. 

If you could see yourself, you probably would have felt like a fool. Your eyes were wide, lips slightly parted as her fingers brushed your hair away from your forehead, and she lifted her head up and looked at you. Eyes alight with that teasing love and care, heated in a way that had a shiver running up your spine as she leaned forward. Her lips finally pressed against yours. Moving with a heated, slow passion that had air leaving your lungs, as she wrapped her arm around your shoulder. Her other hand entangling itself in your hair, where she gave a slight pull that stung to match the graze of her teeth against your bottom lip. 

She held you like you were the most important thing. Like you were hers and hers alone and she would protect you from everything. Just like you would with her. And you couldn't help the light sob that racked your body as your hand came up and you brushed your knuckles against her cheek, running it through her hair and keeping her close. Afraid of her leaving. Afraid of what might happen if her lips and warmth were taken from you.

When she finally did separate, a soft gasp for breath through her soft lips, as her eyes opened to look down at you with emotions you always wanted to see in her eyes, you knew you were in love with her. So deeply and utterly in love with her. How it had taken nearly nearly five decades to find that out, to take the actions to get here with her, you'd never know. 

What you both did know, however, was how she had you wrapped around her fingers. Tightly wound and completely hers to subdue and undo as she pleased. You could see she loved it. The shine in her eyes as your hands found her hips and your nails dug in just the slightest. The soft giggle that bubbled from her smirking lips had you bowing your head and brushing your lips against her shoulder. 

You knew she could undo you. All she would have to do is look at you and speak and you would do her bidding. No magic needed. 

Even with this knowledge, you weren't scared. No. You had spent years being scared of this. Being scared of the possibilities and the potential. And after everything. All the pulls and pushes through the years. Of nearly losing her to a man who couldn't even show her love without mixing secrets along with it… you couldn't bear the concept of being like that anymore. No more fear. Just love, and safety, and intertwined souls that you would fight to the death to keep connected.

"You are my soul. My heart. The one thing that can lighten my darkest of days." You hated the vulnerability in your voice, the way it wavered as you spoke without even thinking. Her smile, however - her soft, enchanting, smile, sparking with a vulnerability that matched the same look in her eyes, as her nose brushed against yours, had any doubts pushed away. Shattered. 

"Darling, as you are mine. My mage. My love… my light."