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acotarxreader · 4 months ago

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Healing Hands

Azriel x Reader (Devlon's daughter)

Synopsis: A new suitor in your life interrupts your friendship with your three best friends at Windhaven. The budding healer in you finds yourself breaking more hearts than healing.

Warnings: Angsty angst, fluff, descriptions of injury and cleaning injury. Blood and bruising city.

A/N: Hehe this is just a silly little will-they-won't-they taking place towards the end of the boyos time at Windhaven.

(Alternative title for this was Flutter lol)

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“Woah what happened to you?”

“Fucking Devlon, fucking surprise drills” Azriel stomped inside your minuscule cabin, a mile or so from Windhaven where your childhood friends were coming to the end of their training. Your wings hung in their usual state, bumping the front door closed behind Azriel as he threw himself down on the couch. He flexed his cracked hands into small fists at the sight of your clipping scar while you retrieved your box of medicinals.

“Poor Illyrian baby” You teased, sinking into the seat alongside him, scarlet dripping from deep in his hairline, to slip past his split open lip and his bloodshot right eye.

“Just fix it”

“A please would go a long way” You jerked his chin towards the light to inspect his injuries.

“Hands” you ordered, they shook slightly before being steadied by yours, you inspected his splintering knuckles, your thumb slipping over his now well-over decade-old injuries decorating his skin for the rest of his life. Hazel eyes softened at the loving action until you returned his hands to his lap and reached for the mixture of alcohol and herbs to soak on balls of cotton wool. You kneeled on the couch cushion, tilting his head down to attempt to find the source of the stream of blood.

“YNN, on your knees for me? You’re such a tease”

“Careful Az or your eyes will be a matching set” You shot back with a smile, the mouth of the wound coming into your view, you leaned in further, tilting his head downwards as you inked the mixture slowly into the cut.

“You know you're basically forcing my head into your chest now right?”

“Are you complaining?” You squeezed the cotton ball tightly, the liquid free flowing into the cut, releasing a hiss from Azriel, his hands gripping your hips into the burn. The cotton ball soaked the majority of the blood into its fibres until you replaced it with a fresh victim.

“Don’t cross the healer/patient relationship line Az” You grinned, prying one of his hands from your hip to hold the cotton down. You swiped a cloth across the drying blood before sitting cross-legged across from him after retrieving something else from your bag and pulling him closer to you to look at his swelling orbit.

“This was just an excuse so you could spend the night looking into my eyes wasn’t YNN” He grinned until you flickered a small fae-light directly into his eye causing him to flinch away from you.

“Argh!”

“Well your pupils are fine” He shoved you back as you laughed in almost hysterics, his body now hovering the length of yours, a hand above your head to support his weight.

“No need to fix my eye now that you’ve blinded me”

“You're right, we should fix your lip though” You lightly catch him by the chin, dragging him down closer, him willingly going, dropping the cotton pad he held. Your faces were mere inches away now, Azriel believing he was about to have some of his dreams come true. He slowly closed his eyes but you quickly reached for another soaked cotton pad and pressed it to his lip. Azriel half howled from the surprise and accompanying pain, shooting up straight, a leg on either side of you while patting his lip dry.

“Bitch!”

“An odd way to say thank you but I accept” You smirk, his hands reaching to your sides as he had you pinned, tickling you mercilessly leaving you caught between a scream and laugh.

“Truce! Truce!” You called out as he beamed down at you, only stopping once you had begun to turn purple. You smiled up sweetly at him before the sound of a rusty lock shattered the peace in the cabin. Azriel leapt from you, shooting down to hide behind the couch as the latch on your front door lifted. You stuffed the used cotton pads behind the couch cushion as your father allowed Summer air to whip through the cabin.

“Evening sweetheart” You smiled up at his greeting as he rolled his head along his shoulders. His eyes landed on the open case of medic supplies on the coffee table, a brow raising.

“YNN you know I don’t like you messing around with that stuff”

“But I’m good at it”

“It doesn’t matter, not the way to secure a useful match, playing around with things we leave to the professionals” He sighed, picking up a ball of cotton, the minuscule drop of blood threatened to betray you, you could practically feel Azriel holding in his breath behind the couch.

“Okay Father” you dipped your head, resulting in a small smile growing across Devlon’s face at his wallflower daughter.

“YNN, have you given further thought to the offer of courtship you’ve received” Your eyes darted back to him before he strode back over in the direction he came from, you felt the gentle press of a shadow around your ankle, only for you to softly brush it away with your other foot.

“No”

“Perhaps you’d enjoy this male’s company, it would certainly be a better use of your time than those three males I see you sneaking off with”

“Surely there is no better than a High Lord's son” you quipped, him spinning back to you, rage flashing across him before disappearing again. Azriel bit hit tongue from behind the couch, the sheer thought of you with his brother threatening to rise a laugh from him.

“There’s better than that High Lord’s son” You could practically feel the heat radiate from the other side of the couch at the disrespect towards Rhysand. You gave an obedient smile before standing to close the distance between you and your father, hoping he wouldn’t sense the quietly boiling Illyrian.

“I will consider meeting with this match Father, now please rest, I’m sure those surprise drills were rather taxing to arrange”

“Quite” He nodded, moving across the cabin before his hand hovered on the door handle that led to the hallway of bedrooms.

“How did you know about the surprise drill?” His eyebrow raised like the heat in your cheeks.

“Umm it’s a Tuesday...every fifth Tuesday you have your surprise drills” You offered.

“Quite right-” he laughed, air returning to your chest “-perhaps I should move things around if even a female can work it out, no doubt some of my cadets have it twigged as well. Goodnight Sweetheart, clean up that mess and head to bed” He passed through the door with a smile. Azriel stayed hidden until the click of Devlon’s door met his ears, your shoulders slumping down.

“So little YNN has a suitor” He teased quietly, hoping to cover the simmering jealousy as it rose through him. You just rolled your eyes as you packed a small care package for Azriel to use on his wounds.

“Well, who is he?”

“Leave it Az”

“No no, you have to tell me” he whispered, gratefully taking the small package you made for him.

“He’s no one, he finished up training last year and is doing pretty well for himself, Rhy’s father has even taken notice of him”

“Rhy’s father notices me”

“Yes but he notices him for good reasons” He threw a cotton wool ball at you before heading back towards the door.

“Make sure you wipe down your hands and apply the cream I gave you”

“Yes boss” He gave a mock salute to you, hand resting on the door handle.

“Do you think you’re going to agree to meet up with this so-called Mother’s gift to Illyria” you chuckled at him, resting your arms behind your back and rocking from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know, maybe, I’m not getting any younger, my wings are ruined, why not add my future to the list” Your sad smile caused a twinge in Azriel’s heart.

“Marry me then” he teased.

“I don’t want to marry you” he rolled his eyes at your toying, suddenly releasing the handle of the door to push you flush into the coat rack with a gentle thud. You let out a slight sexually charged whimper at the sudden control he was taking and he smirked. Damn it, you thought. He was inches from your face once again.

“Yeah, I thought so” he winked before releasing you, revelling in the little victory you just granted him while you cursed yourself.

“I think I will agree to meet him” You tried to regain control as Azriel allowed more air to flutter into the apartment. He didn’t reply, afraid he’d shown you too many cards already.

—--------------------------

Try as you might, Devlon stayed persistent with you with regards to meeting this male. Surprisingly, he wasn’t as terrible as you had assumed, Cal had a somewhat medley of opinions similar to your fathers but also to your friends. More importantly to you, he introduced you to the world outside the war camp, bringing you to Velaris for the first time, an easy place to fall in love with. You learned quickly that if you agreed to meet with him, more often than not the courtship would lead you out of the Illyrian mountains, your deepest desire. With more and more time away from the camp, more and more time away from your friends coincided, not going unnoticed by the trio. Azriel believed he’d lost you to the dashing soldier when really you were enamoured by the city of starlight while still able to keep a healthy distance from Cal’s advances under the guise of proper etiquette. It had been almost three months since Azriel had heard of the potential match your father was in favour of, his moody behaviour being sent on overdrive ever since, his two best friends being tormented by the increasing edge to their friend.

You wandered home through the camp on your usual route after a rendezvous with Cal, blushing as you walked thinking of the way the music on the streets of Velaris made you feel.

“Your cheeks are the same colour as my ribs” Your head spun towards Cassian, leaning against a post of a training ring, the Autumn night air beginning to give over to the Winter bite.

“Cass” you rushed to him, hugging quickly to evade any eyes that may still be lingering around so late at night.

“Surprised you still remember my name YNN” He teased with a slight edge of annoyance, your hand ran over his cheek, his eye swelling slightly to match his lip.

“What happened?”

“Ehh surprise drill, the Blood Rite will be in a few months, all the practice we can get is needed” He said softly, pulling your hand from his face, you swished your bag from your side to dig through its contents. You passed him a pouch of homemade lotions and potions to help soothe his splintered face.

“Thanks, YNN, I got out fairly unscathed in comparison to Rhys and A-”

“I’m not that ruined” Rhysand’s laugh met your ears, one of your favourite sounds but the sight of him quickly ended any ounce of joy you held.

“Rhys…” It was as though he had been torn asunder by wolves, even his clothes shredded.

“You two are coming home with me right now. My fathers meeting with yours Rhys, I’m not leaving you two to die of infection before you have a chance to kick all their asses at the Blood Rite” You didn’t give them much of a choice, the two Ilyrians following you home, under the guise of accompanying a lady safely home.

You had patched together what you could of your friends, finding the return of comfort in their company that you had missed so deeply.

“It seems rather early still for Blood Rite drills” You mused, offering Cassian a large cup of fragrant floral tea as the two warriors lounged on your couch.

“Drill? It wasn't a-” Cassian stomped down harshly on Rhysand’s foot to silence him, the action immediately alerting you, Cassian exhaling deeply as an accompanying roll of his eyes travelled his face.

“Spill, now” you ordered Rhysand.

“Well…Az has been kind of… temperamental, we decided on temperamental didn’t we Cass?”

“I voted for raging asshole but whatever” Cassian sank further into the couch, pressing a medicinal-soaked cloth into his eye as it threatened to close. Your hands found your hips, glaring down at your friends like scolded schoolchildren.

“Anyways, he’s been picking a lot of fights lately which is fine, it’s how he should work through his feelings but this time…this time he kind of decided to take on a whole fleet of Ironcrest members all very eager to receive their stripes, all by himself, we got to him just in tim-” Cassian sighed again through Rhysand’s confession, slightly annoyed that Rhysand had forgotten their deal to not tell you.

“-Where is he?”

“YNN, I don’t think you should g-”

“Where is he?” you chewed out, not welcoming negotiations, the two brothers sharing a worried glance.

“Oooone-”

“-YNN we’re not children-”

“-Twoooo-”

“That’s not going to work on us-”

“Thhhhr-”

“He’s at Rhys’ mother's house!”

“Cassian!” Rhysand scolded, returning the stomp of a foot from early.

“She’s fucking scary when she does that!” Cassian exclaimed, a hand landing on his now bruising foot. You shot away from the two of them, quickly changing into a looser top and trousers.

“Bunch of 24-year-old babies” You muttered, filling your bag with fresh supplies.

“It’s not our fault you’ve driven him crazy” You stopped on the threshold of your home, turning your head towards another one of Rhysand’s confessions, tilting your head daring him to continue.

“C’mon YNN, you’re off fluttering about with some hot shot, forgetting all about us, you're not around to rein him in lately so he's bound to go off to his own devices to distract himself”

“I do not flutter”

“Fine, let's go with galavant-”

“-I would say whore around but-”

“Cassian, inside thoughts” Rhysand warned, your hand leaving the handle to storm in front of the two Illryrians again.

“I think you all forget that in a couple of months, you’ll be gone, off to be unleashed on the world, with one another. I’ll be here, I’ll always be fucking here, broken wings to match the broken dreams of escaping this hellhole while the rest of you go on and live your fucking lives without me. So please, forgive me for seeing an out no one else could provide me and fucking taking it” You snapped out, stunning the two males into silence, moving quickly with a heavy foot out the door.

“And for fuck sake take your feet off my coffee table!” You shouted back, slamming the door behind you in a fit of rage. Cassian's feet returned to the ground, both men brought down a few pegs with their new awareness of their ignorance.

Your rage could melt through the first fall of snow that began to glitter on the roofs of the war camp. Your heavy treading split the mud apart as you landed outside the haven provided to your friends. Your hand found the hidden key, letting yourself in, practically taking the door off the hinges.

“YN? What the fuck?” Azriel groaned, attempting to sit up on the couch, his muscles screaming at the movement as they fought to stay attached to the bone.

“No, you don’t get to talk right now!” Your feet pounded the floorboards and right through Azriels ears.

“Where the fuck do you get off thinking it’s my fucking responsibility to regulate your emotions?!” You couldn’t stop the rage-fueled truth flying from your mouth.

“I-I don’t do that” he winced out, a hand wrapping around his torso to keep the muscle tying his ribs together from giving up, his feet landing shakily on the floor to sit up on the couch and face you properly.

“Save it! Dumb and Dumber already told me about your recent…outings. What the fuck is wrong with you!? Alone!? They could have killed you!” You couldn’t seem to bring your voice back to its normal register, slamming your trusty bag of lifesaving ingredients down on the small table in front of Azriel.

“Don’t pretend you all of sudden care about that! What? Has your prince charming turned back into an Illyrian frog like the rest of us?!” The blood coating his lip ran freely as his equally sharp tone reseparated the skin.

“Shut the fuck up, give me your stupid hands” You sat on the coffee table, his knees touching yours as he slipped his hand to you with caution, your thumb tracing over the scars of his childhood as they always did while you inspected hands. Despite your current temper, the action gave comfort to Azriel that all was not lost between you both.

“There’s a duck on the sink” You said oddly bitterly.

“Wha-ARGH FUCKING HELL!” You relocated his thumb back into its socket, his hands snatching back from you as they attempted to flex away the pain again. You pulled his face closer to yours, a particularly deep laceration decorating across his eyebrow.

“Fucking idiot” you murmured, pulling thin threads of fabric that you began to coat with a sticky substance.

“Bedside manner could use work”

“Shut up” You chewed back, Azriel’s shoulders sinking. Despite the nature of the visit, if he was honest with himself, there was an element of him that loved this one-on-one time, the first in weeks. He winced as you ran the strips on either side of the incision, using the tension to pull the skin back together where his healing powers would aid the knitting together.

“Right. Shirt. Off. Now.” You ordered, removing yourself from in front of him to quickly fill a dish of water and elixir at the sink, returning to your starting point. Azriel fought the urge to shriek at the movement of his arms. You exhaled, helping him to pull the fabric from his skin, revealing the mottling covering his chest and abdomen.

“Some of these are older” the first time your voice had softened since your arrival, your fingers lightly brushing over the blotches of winter palette in front of you. His eyes traced the lines of your face as it dipped to inspect his dappling.

“It’s been a tough time recently”

“Who’s fault is that?” You gave a breathy laugh, running some thick creams over the fresher bruises before dipping a cloth into the dish and running it down his face to remove the dried blood.

“Mine” He gave the gentlest of smiles that you returned, meeting his eyes for the first time since you arrived.

“Good answer” You found yourself grinning, the boiling rage seemingly sinking to a simmer as you stood to retrieve a fresh shirt for Azriel to shield himself in.

“You’re going to have to start getting better at taking care of your wounds for when you leave Az” You gestured for him to lift his arms as you pulled the surprisingly soft cotton down around him again, the bruising having happily drank the serum you applied.

“Not if I steal you away with me” he laughed as his head popped through the collar, his body jolting slightly with the movement.

“Ah to be your nurse”

“To be my partner in crime as you always have been” His soft words ceased all heating of your rage as you found your familiar spot next to him on the couch, the snow now beating down on the windowpane.

“I wish I could Az but as you know my only way out of here is in a bright white dress or a casket, some might say those are the same thing” Your hand found the side of his cheek before tangling slightly in his hair as he leaned into the touch he missed so much.

“You know those aren’t your only choices, we’ll come back for you YNN” He fought the rising salty mixture threatening his eyes, your hand slipping from his face to find your lap. Azriel grimaced as he turned his body to face you, his hands held yours as you often held his, his thumbs tracing the backs of your hand.

“And am I to wait and hope you don’t find another female for your group”

“Mor is not gonna like that comment” You laughed, pushing him back gently, regretting it as he recoiled his tender muscles.

“There is no other you YN but we understand if you can’t wait for us, your survival is more important than our pride” his soft smile met your hands with a gentle kiss, your wings dipping at the action.

“So you’re telling me if I chose to accept to marry Cal you’d be happy with that”

“Yes” he gritted out.

“Liar” you laughed wholeheartedly.

“He is a suitable match” he managed, his hands fixating on your delicate palms against the stark contrast of his own blood betrayal.

“I think you're a suitable match for me” You finally admitted out loud, the words had never left your mind before but now they floated out there in front of you for him to hear.

“I am not suitable for anyone” His hands slipped from yours, landing back in his lap, his hazel eyes fixated on them as the cracked knuckles attempted to fuse together again.

“Azriel”

“It’s not your job to regulate my emotions YNN” You laughed lightly, pulling his hands back to yours.

“I’ll regulate the stupid ones and that my love is a stupid one” A soft shiver shot down through Azriel’s spine at the term of endearment.

“YNN, I am going to climb every mountain they put in front of me until I am worthy of you”

“Az, you’re worthy now” You leaned across the space between you, the taste of slight metallic and iron meeting your lips as you met him. Warmth transversed the air around you, the action healing something cracked in your soul and something in Azriel’s he thought had long died.

“Looks a lot like fluttering to me” Rhysand laughed from the doorway, separating the two of you quickly, Cassian limping to his side, snow-covered.

“How come that wasn’t offered to us in our care plan?”

“You called me a whore Cass, you’ll get nothing and like it” You laughed as they closed the door behind you, Azriel a little more than annoyed at the interruption.

“He what?” Azriels stiff neck shot towards his friends, Cassian lifting his hands in a truce.

“Easy Az, another stupid emotion is showing” You smiled.

“I have no regrets, I’m team Az” Cassian settled into the carpeted floor across from you both.

“By the looks of it, so is YNN now” Rhysand called from the kitchen, searching for snacks. He returned with a dragon trove amount of snacks, happy to see his family healing together as one again.

“Cassian and I are sorry for what we said YNN, jokes aside”

“Aw no not jokes aside” Rhysand clipped Cassian into the chest with an orange, the four of you laughing. Azriel’s hand folded neatly into yours, and as always your thumb traced soothing circles over his scars.

“I’m going to speak with my father tomorrow, his lead healer, Madja, is looking for an apprentice and Devlon won’t be able to refuse his High L-” you leapt from Azriel’s side, practically crashing Rhysand into the plush fabric of a well-worn armchair.

“Sorry sorry!” You quickly added as Rhysand groaned into the weight you were putting down on his still-healing body.

“See, whoring around” Cassian quipped, one of Azriel’s shadows nipping him with more precision than an orange.

“No white dress or casket required while we’re around YNN” Azriel beamed from behind you.

“You’re rescinding your marriage proposal from Summer” You fake offense, finding your spot next to him again.

“Only if you don’t accept it” he laughed.

“Ugh cauldron boil me, are we going to have to deal with this for our last few months” Cassian whined.

"I'm hoping the rest of our lives" Azriel received more groans from your two best friends.

"I think I preferred when you were a raging asshole"

"Too bad Cass" you grinned, Cassian pressing his face into a pillow to shield his eyes as you Azriel pecked your cheek.

The remainder of the night was wrapped in overwhelming familial familiarity. The four of you catching up on the months of escapades you had missed from one another during your absence, Azriel’s head resting in your lap where you swirled your fingers in his hair, his hands resting on your legs, wishing the end of this moment would never come.

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Whatcha think?

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fushiguho · 5 months ago

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You Never Called ☆ Geto Suguru

☆ WORD COUNT – 6.2k ☆ SYNOPSIS – In the midst of getting a tattoo, you can't help but to notice how familiar your artist looks. Wherever you've seen him, you can't seem to ignore the feeling he gave you, Maybe the feeling is mutual. ☆ CONTENT WARNING – Geto is mean :(, spit, name calling, creampie, strangers to lovers

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

You winced as he brought the gun closer to your skin. While sucking in a tight breath and furrowing your eyebrows, you braced yourself for the sharp burn of the gun’s needle.

“You know you picked one of the worst possible spots for a tattoo, right?” He grinned while flitting his gaze from your hip bone to your face, the needle hovering just above your skin.

“Oh, perfect!” You snarked as you rolled your eyes, silently berating yourself for even coming up with such a bright idea in the first place. A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to drape itself over your forehead.

“I’ll do just a small line first, ‘see how you can handle that.” He spoke.

You simply nodded as if telling him to go on.

Slowly, he was pressing the needle to your skin, beginning the line work of the small bumblebee he had traced just moments before.

The feeling wasn’t nice. Most of your friends described the feeling of getting a tattoo as a prickling, burning sensation that lasted far too long. However, they failed to mention that it would have you on the verge of kicking the poor artist in the face.

It felt as though hundreds of minuscule kittens were clawing away at your skin in hopes of locating the catnip hidden beneath your epidermis.

Maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the feeling was pretty damn close. It was bearable though, not fun, but bearable.

“See? Not too bad, yeah?” He smiled while backing away to admire the little bit of work that he’s done.

“I mean it hurts, but it’s not the worst pain ever.” You jested.

“Yeah, definitely not the most pleasant feeling.” He responded while turning around in his chair to dip the tip of the needle into a small container of ink.

“Want me to keep going?” He was turning back around in his chair with an encouraging grin.

You nodded while mumbling a reassuring yes.

With that, he was pressing against your skin again with the needle of the gun, tracing the purple ink of the stencil he had outlined earlier. Slowly, he dragged the needle centimeter by centimeter along the bone of your hip.

It wasn’t until now that you realized how close the placement of the tattoo was to your center. His hand rested just above the thin underwear you wore. His hand brushed the skin every now and then each time he changed the angle of the gun.

You found yourself wincing as he neared your core. It seemed to sting a lot more as the needle moved closer and closer to your center.

“I know, I know.” He cooed, “It hurts a bit more here, huh?” He questioned. He must have noticed your discomfort.

“Yeah,” You breathed, casting your gaze away from the gun in hopes that it would somehow lessen the pain. “Doesn’t feel great.” You continued.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized, “I’m almost done with this section. You’re doing pretty well for your first time though.” He complimented.

You wondered how he could tell it was your first tattoo. You don’t remember mentioning it to him. Maybe it’s just his tattoo artist intuitive—knowing whether it’s someone’s first time or not. Now that you’re thinking about it, it was probably pretty easy to tell.

“How’d you know?” You still questioned anyway.

He smiled, “An artist can always tell.”

You simply nodded.

“Why a bumblebee?” He questioned, flickering his eyes from the half-finished insect and onto your face.

You shrugged, “I’m not sure. They’re cute.”

“They’re cute?” He repeated as a grin began pulling at the corners of his lips, a small chuckle leaving his mouth soon after.

You have never been one to judge those who get tattoos that hold little to no sentimental value, including yourself. Bees are cute and you can’t argue with that. You believed that not all tattoos need to hold some sort of meaning, though those that do are just as cool.

Hell, if someone were to get a piece of corn tattooed on their sternum, you would do nothing but applaud them.

To each their own, right?

“I’ve seen you before.” You spoke, trying to make conversation to drown out the annoying hum of the tattoo gun.

“Yeah?” He stopped for a moment to meet your eyes with curious ones, “Where?”

“You really don’t remember?” You questioned, a hint of discontent beginning to lace your tone.

He backed away for a moment to lean back in his chair. He looked contemplative in thought as he kept his eyes on yours. His chin found itself resting in the palm of his hand as he took a minute to flip through the arbitrary cabinet files in his brain.

Suddenly, as if a broken lightbulb finally flickered to life above his head, his mouth fell open in realization.

“The farmers market.” He chimed, “I do remember you. Your hair’s different.” A smile made its way onto his face.

You returned the small gesture, smiling back in response.

For some odd reason, you couldn't seem to get that day out of your head—the day you two met .

You had first noticed him looking at jars of organic honey. From the looks of it, he was having trouble deciding which brand to get. He almost looked frustrated as he flitted his gaze from jar to jar.

His hair was long and dark, it almost reached the middle of his back. Half of it was messily tied into a bun while the rest flowed down his plain white t-shirt. You vividly remember him wearing sweatpants even though it was nearing a hundred degrees. You mentally noted that he was most likely insane.

He was attractive in a way that would make a woman swoon. His features were sharp and etched out damn near perfectly. His eyebrows were full and his ears were decorated with an array of black jewelry. You also noted that he had a scar running along his forehead.

You remember telling him which brand you preferred and when he asked you why, all you said was, “The bee on that jar is cuter.” With a small shrug.

You complimented the arm of his that was littered with tattoos. You told him that your favorite was the snake that wrapped around his bicep. He mentioned that it was one of the first ones he had ever gotten. You remember telling him that you’ve always wanted one.

The two of you ended up exchanging phone numbers at the end of the conversation, but it’s been almost three weeks and not a single attempt at a follow-up call was made from either of you.

“You never called.” He finally spoke, knocking you out of your thoughts.

“Neither did you.” You reminded.

Geto shrugged, “You make me nervous.” He replied as he began to press the needle against your skin once again.

“Nervous?” You laughed. “How so?”

“Pretty girls make me nervous.” Is all he said while turning around to dip the needle in the container of ink.

You grinned childishly, “So you think I’m pretty?”

Geto looked up at you and said nothing. His eyes almost looked as if they were trying to speak for him, saying something along the lines of, let’s be serious .

For some reason, the look he gave you had your lower stomach growing warm with a heat that slowly made its way to your core. You weren’t sure what it was, but the feeling had you on the verge of pushing your thighs together before him.

You looked around the shop’s interior as he worked away at your hip to distract yourself from the buzzing heat between your legs.You noticed that it was empty, there was no one there besides the two of you.

“Yeah, It’s slow today.” He commented.

You notice how he had been shuffling in his seat every now and then, almost as if he was readjusting himself. If you weren’t mistaken, his shorts seemed to be growing tighter by the second. Maybe it was just your mind getting the best of you, but it was getting hard to ignore.

That buzzing heat from earlier quickly turned into arousal and soon, you could feel the wetness beginning to trickle out of your entrance. It wasn’t long before you began to feel it drenching your underwear.

There was no doubt in your mind that he couldn’t see it. He was right there —right in front of your warm cunt, his hand dangerously close too as he worked his way closer and closer to your center.

“You hanging in there okay?” He questioned, a hint of concern flooding his tone, “Don’t pass out on me.” He was only half-joking.

He must’ve noticed your discomfort by the way you were pushing your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the dull throbbing between your legs.

“No, I’m not—I mean I’m not going to pass out. I’m fine, I just,” You shamefully dropped your head to look at your underwear, but stuttered as his gaze followed yours. His lips parted slightly once he was met with the wet patch between your legs.

“Oh,” Is all he was able to say.

Your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment as you waited for him to say something, anything .

God , you had never been so ashamed in your life. Who gets turned in the midst of getting a tattoo? No one but you of course. But who could blame you? The way he looked at you, how close he was to your core, the way he himself was growing hard—it was all too much.

“You uh–you,” He stuttered as he tried to find the right words to say. Hell, are there even right words to say in a situation like this?

“I’m sorry,” You started, “It’s just–oh my God, I don’t know.” You mumbled as you began sitting up.

You were about to stand up to grab your pants off the chair beside you, but before you could, a hand was reaching up to grab at your arm.

“Look.” He muttered.

You followed his gaze until it landed on his shorts. Just as you thought, you weren’t mistaken. The bulge hidden beneath the fabric was large and prominent.

“Is it my fault?” You questioned, your voice quiet yet curious.

Geto hummed in response.

You brought your gaze back up to meet his and once you saw his eyes again, they were a lot darker than before. Maybe even a little wider. His pupils seemed to be blown out and filled with need.

“How ‘bout we take a break, yeah?” He asked, or more so stated. “Looks like we need one.” He finished.

You nodded in agreement as you began to sit back down. Geto was standing to his feet in front of you before beginning to walk closer, his beaming figure towering over you.

“Can we make a deal?” He questioned as he stood in front of you, eyes locked on yours.

You muttered a small yes .

“How ‘bout we help each other out, what do you think?” He hummed, “I’ll help you, then you’ll help me in return.” He continued.

You nodded almost immediately, embarrassingly fast.

“Yeah? You like that idea?” He spoke again as a grin began working its way onto his face.

As you silently nodded, his hand was coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb inched closer to your bottom lip until it was pushing itself into your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around him, beginning to suck on the salty digit like a baby. His mouth fell open at the sight of you so sweet and compliant. From this alone, he knew you’d do just about anything he’d ask.

“Fuck, look at you.” He muttered before pausing as he took his other hand to thread it through your hair. He began to slowly pull your head back, forcing your gaze onto the ceiling, your mouth still wide.

“Open a little wider.” He mumbled, his thumb still in your mouth.

You obliged, hesitantly opening your mouth just a bit more.

“Wider.” He repeated.

You opened your mouth even wider if that were even possible. Geto proceeded to gather saliva in his mouth before lolling his tongue out and letting his spit drip from his mouth into yours.

The sudden action shocked you so much, your poor brain couldn’t even process what was happening until he was forcefully closing your mouth with his hand before muttering for you to swallow it all.

“You don’t even know me all that well, yet you allowed me to spit in your mouth.” He commented. “Who does that?”

You remained quiet as you stared up at him, eyes full of nothing but desperation and want. You could feel your cheeks growing warm at his comment. You hated that he was right, who does that?

“What else would you let me do?” He questioned as he began to reach toward your damp underwear.

Slowly, he dragged his fingers along the fabric. You felt him press just a little harder as he neared your clit, eliciting a small whimper from your mouth.

“You’d probably let me fuck you, wouldn’t you?” He spoke, “I bet you’d beg me to cum inside too, huh? Beg me to breed your tight little cunt, get you fucking pregnant.”

As he spoke, he was beginning to pull your underwear to the side in order to slide his fingers along your folds. You found yourself nodding slowly as you sucked in a tight breath, eyebrows furrowing in arousal.

“You look like the type.” He commented.

He began to push two fingers inside of you without so much as a warning. You gasped as he bottomed out at his knuckles. He couldn’t stop himself from groaning at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapping around long fingers. He couldn’t help but to wonder what you’d feel like wrapping around his cock instead. He’d sure as hell find out though.

“Please.” You mumbled, your eyes begging for something, anything .

Ignoring you, Geto continued.

“And this little ass shirt,” He paused as he brought a hand up to roughly grope your chest through the fabric, running his fingers along your hardening nipples, “You probably planned this, didn’t you?”

You frantically shook your head, muttering a small no .

“Don’t lie to me. Like I said, you look like the type.” He scoffed. “Take this off.” He demanded as he tugged at the fabric of your shirt, fingers still buried in your cunt.

Almost immediately, you were slipping your shirt over your head and dropping it beside you, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You sat sheepishly in front of him as his eyes took in the sight before him.

Your pretty tits were on display for him, nipples nice and hard. He dragged his gaze down your body until he met with your waist and how it branched out into beautiful, wide hips. As he brought his eyes down a bit further, he was met with his fingers as they were tucked away inside of you.

He pulled them out of you completely before shoving them back inside. He repeated the action until he found a pace that had you reaching for his hand in an attempt to slow his thrusts.

“Move your hand.” He muttered.

Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away and allowed it to rest at your side. Geto began using his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive clit. Your mouth fell open at the feeling as your head began to fall back onto the chair.

“Feels s’good.” You whimpered, chest beginning to heave in arousal.

“Yeah? You want my mouth on you too?” He questioned.

He gave you no time to respond as he was falling to his knees before you so that he could be face to face with your warm cunt. Immediately, he was replacing his thumb with his lips as he began to suck on the bundle of nerves, eliciting a shallow gasp from your mouth.

“Oh… oh my God.” You cried as your hands threaded themselves through his hair, attempting to pull him closer.

His fingers never stopped pumping inside of you as he dragged his tongue along your clit. His pace remained steady while his tongue lapped at every bit of arousal that slipped from your leaking hole.

Moan after moan fell from your lips as he pushed you closer and closer to an inevitable orgasm. You rolled your hips against his tongue, back arching up off the chair at every sudden flick of the wet muscle. Geto’s free hand was slipping under the small of your back, helping you maintain that pretty arch.

He hummed in satisfaction as he licked through you, eyes locked onto yours to ensure you were watching his every movement. Every now and then, when your eyes would flutter shut, Geto would mumble for you to keep them open for him and that if you closed them again, he would stop.

The lewd squelching of your walls sucking him in so greedily filled the room, along with your whimpers and his hums of contentment. The many different sounds created a harmonious echo that seemed to reverberate off the walls of the parlor, filling your ears peerlessly.

You could feel yourself beginning to flutter around his fingers as he pushed them in and out of you, the sensation becoming overwhelming.

"Please–fuck," Was all you managed to cry as you felt the impending orgasm building deep inside of you, threatening to snap at any given moment. Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t even have time to warn him.

Geto pulled his fingers out of you, only to replace them with his tongue. He shoved his tongue inside of you in an attempt to taste you from the inside and God , did you taste good.

You laid there before him, mouth wide and chest heaving whilst he fucked you with his tongue. His thumb found its way back to your clit and it began tracing circles onto the bud once again.

You whined as you felt your lower stomach beginning to tighten, begging for some sort of release. That feeling spread throughout your body, making its way to your toes and even the tip of your nose.

“M’gonna cum,” You mumbled, “Please–m’gonna cum.”

Geto quickly replaced his tongue with his fingers to urge you to cum for him. His voice was hoarse and needy as he spoke.

“Cum on my face,” He muttered, “I know you’ve been wanting to.”

You didn’t need much encouragement because with that, you were releasing yourself before him, panting and whimpering like a fucking puppy, mumbling nonsense that neither of you were able to comprehend.

As your walls fluttered around his fingers, his pace never faltered. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly in an attempt to get more from you.

He hummed as he lapped at your release, drinking you up and continuing to slip his fingers inside of you as if he were trying to collect all of your cum.

After enough begging and attempts to push him away, he finally stood to his feet, face glistening in both your arousal and cum. Without warning, he was leaning down to connect his lips with yours, forcing you to taste yourself on his lips. He didn’t even bother to wipe his face before kissing you but you didn’t seem to mind.

You even took it upon yourself to clean it up for him, dragging your tongue along his face to drink up the mess you’ve created. You hummed as you licked at his skin, collecting every last drop of your release before finally reconnecting your lips with his.

“God, I knew you were nasty.” He mumbled, lips still slotted against yours.

Your tongue was slipping into his mouth, desperate to feel his pushing against yours. Once his tongue met yours, you hummed as his hand began reaching for the back of your head in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Your mouths moved in sync with one another, teeth nearly clashing as the two of you explored each other's mouths.

Geto eventually had to will himself to pull away from you in order to move you from the chair and onto the floor below. With a hand to your head, he was forcefully pushing you to your knees before gripping at the waistband of his shorts to pull them down, along with his underwear.

Slowly, he stroked himself before you, your face directly in front of his cock. He held out a hand in front of your face, just below your mouth before asking you to spit in his palm to which you quickly obliged. Immediately, you were gathering saliva in your mouth before lolling out your tongue, allowing it to messily fall into his hand.

“That’s a good fucking girl.” He praised while using that same hand to stroke himself once again, coating himself in your saliva.

“You wanna put your lips on it, don’t you?” He questioned as he began to drag the tip of his cock along your wet lips before gently prodding them. You could taste the bittersweetness of the precum that coated the head.

You nodded slowly as you looked up at him. His eyes were low, hooded and filled with nothing but lust. You could feel yourself growing impossibly wetter as you kneeled before him.

God , he was so fucking hard. The tip wept with several beads of precum while the remainder of him seemed to gently throb with arousal. His balls even looked nice and full, begging from somewhere, anywhere to release themselves.

“Yeah, I know you fucking do.” Is all he said before pushing himself all the way into your mouth, eliciting a gag from your throat.

“That’s it,” He muttered through gritted teeth, “I want you to take all of it.”

You allowed him to pull himself out of your mouth before shoving it right back inside until he hit the back of your throat, forcing yet another gag out of you. Already, you could feel your eyes beginning to brim with thick tears that would eventually fall whether that be sooner or later.

Your mouth felt so full as he began to fuck your face. You could hardly breathe as his cock stretched out your poor jaw. With each thrust, you swore he was somehow reaching deeper and deeper.

Silent grunts and choked breaths began to fall from Geto’s lips as he pushed himself in and out of your mouth. He sucked in a tight breath once he felt his balls graze your lower lip. God, he wished your mouth was deep enough to fit them in there too.

Both of his hands found themselves threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He began to push your head onto him as he thrusted into your mouth. Gag after gag fell from your lips as he continued to abuse your poor throat.

Each time Geto pushed himself down your throat, a visible bulge could be seen from the outside. He took a large hand to place it over your throat, holding it there for a second just to admire the way his cock would disappear and reappear each time he slid back into your mouth. The feeling of his hand around your neck made your stomach flutter. He loved how big he looked inside of you.

“So fuckin’ good,” He groaned, his head falling back to dangle over his shoulders as his eyes threatened to roll to the back of his head.

He held himself still for just for a moment, still buried nice and deep. He admired the way you gagged and sputtered around him. Saliva slipped from the corners of your mouth and down your chin.

Geto brought a hand down to your face to wipe away the saliva with his thumb. He brought the wet digit to his mouth to suck it clean. You could feel more and more of your arousal slipping from your entrance at that action alone.

“You make me wanna cum.” He breathed, “God, you make me wanna cum so much–so fuckin’ pretty for me.”

You took it upon yourself to hollow your cheeks as you felt him beginning to twitch in your mouth to help him out just a little. Your attempt was immediately cut short when Geto was quickly pulling himself out of your mouth to avoid cumming before he wanted to.

“Not yet,” He panted, “Inside–I’m cumming inside of you.”

You felt your lower stomach begin to flip in arousal as you imagined the feeling of his thick, white seed dripping out of you. He’d probably make you put on your underwear immediately after so that none of it would go to waste, not that you minded that anyway.

Geto was walking away to kneel on the opposite end of the long chair in which you sat. He began moving closer so that he could push your legs apart before moving your underwear to the side. He was then lining himself up with your leaking entrance.

Without saying much of anything, Geto was slipping himself inside of you with a hiss. Given how wet you were along with your saliva that dripped from his cock, he slid in almost too easily.

Your mouth fell open as he pushed himself completely inside of you, bottoming out in a single thrust. His warm, fat balls were pressing against your ass as he held himself still for just a moment, admiring how full you looked from him already.

“Ah–fuck, I knew this slutty little pussy would take me so fuckin’ well.” He groaned as he began to draw his hips back before snapping them forward to meet with yours. “So fuckin’ tight–God.”

He repeated the action––drawing his hips back far enough until the tip of his cock was just barely resting at your entrance before slamming himself back inside of you with a groan of pleasure. He continued to do this until he picked up a quick enough pace that had your tits bouncing in front of him.

He watched as your mouth hung agape while small pants and whimpers fell from it. His eyes dragged from your lips, all the way to your chest, admiring the way the fat of your breasts would jiggle with each thrust.

He was dragging a harsh hand up your body to massage your tits, rolling and pinching your hardening nipples between his fingers. He even took it upon himself to lean forward in order to slip one of the buds into his mouth before sucking on the sensitive spot with a content hum.

“So good,” You moaned, vision going hazy as he continued to fuck himself into your tight little cunt. “You’re s’good–feels too good.”

“Yeah?” He hummed as he began to trail sloppy kisses up your chest.

He dragged his lips up your body until they were pressing against the skin of your throat. His tongue was then sliding along your neck before gently nipping at the skin with his teeth. A shallow gasp fell from your lips at the action.

Geto’s hands found themselves slipping under your thighs in order to push them up, pinning them to your chest. This way, he was able to fuck himself much deeper inside of you.

As he began to fuck you like this, you swore you could feel his cock all the way in your throat. He was fucking you with all of his weight as his hands pressed against the back of your thighs.

“I bet no man has ever fucked you like this,” He paused for a moment to allow a guttural moan to fall from his lips, “Legs pressed to your chest with a cock buried inside of you.”

You could only whimper in response, furrowing your eyebrows as your mouth hung wide.

“You like getting fucked like this?” He continued, “Like a fuckin’ slut, hm?” His words were immediately followed with a groan.

You only nodded, no sound seemed to form.

“Answer me, don’t just fucking nod your head.” He spoke as one of hands were reaching up to grip at your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.

You began nodding once again, but this time you were mumbling small yeses and pleads.

Geto pulled himself all the way out of you, the tip of himself resting just at your entrance. You almost wanted to frown at the loss of contact.

With one of his hands, he took his cock and began rubbing the head along the expanse of your cunt, careful as to not miss a single part of you. The head easily slipped around, gliding and glistening in your arousal, coating his shaft in a nice, sleek layer.

He dragged himself from your clit, all the way down to your entrance again, pushing in the head just a bit, only to pull it out just as quickly. He did that a few times, seeing how long you could endure the torture before you would eventually lose your fucking mind.

It wasn’t long before you started whining at the absence of him. Geto wasn’t even surprised. It hadn’t even been more than a few seconds before you started huffing irritated breaths, whimpering his name, and muttering all kinds of pathetic pleads.

As if to shut you up, Geto was pushing himself back inside of you with a barely audible whimper.

“You’re just so desperate,” He moaned. “I bet this isn’t even enough for you, is it?”

You shook your head. You wondered how he could tell.

“You want more?” He queried, leaning down so that his lips could hover just above yours as he spoke. “I know you do.” He cooed.

“Yes.” You whined while lifting yourself up to connect his lips with yours, “More… I need more, please.”

With that, Geto was slipping himself out of you before turning you around. He had you on your knees while your hands gripped the chair in front of you. He was then pushing your legs apart so that he had the perfect view of your leaking cunt from behind.

You felt him running his fingers along your folds, dipping inside your hole every once in a while, further spreading your arousal.

“You don't even know me,” He began, “I’m practically a fucking stranger, yet you’re letting me fuck you raw, no condom, nothing .” He continued, beginning to whisper toward the end of his sentence.

He stuffed three of his fingers inside of you, forcing you to cry out. You whined as you felt him beginning to pump them inside of you, not because it was too much, but because it simply wasn’t enough.

His fingers came nowhere near as long and thick as his cock. You almost felt empty as he fucked you with his fingers. You rolled your hips against his hand in an attempt to get more from him, but it still wasn’t enough.

You need him––not only his cock, but his cum.

“What? My fingers aren’t enough for this needy little pussy?” As he spoke, he was leaning forward to speak into your ear, his lips brushing the skin.

You quickly shook your head.

“You want more?” He cooed as he began to drag his lips along the skin of your neck. He placed several openmouthed kisses to the area before pulling away to turn your head toward him. “You want my cum?”

You nodded your head as he forced your gaze onto his. As he kneeled behind you with your face in his hand, his grasp was tight enough you have your lips sitting in a cute little pout.

He placed a wet kiss to your pouty lips before letting go of you to turn you back around. He proceeded to push your body forward, forcing your face to collide with the cushion of the chair.

He began to push himself inside of you once again, but held his hand on the back of your head as he fucked you. He had a feeling you’d move far too much so this was his attempt at keeping you grounded.

“You should’ve called me.” He muttered, thrusts never faltering, “Could’ve had you like this weeks ago, crying and stuttering around my cock.”

You could only apologize as his balls slapped against your ass, creating a wet, squelching noise that only seemed to add to your arousal. You mumbled apology after apology, regretting never having called him.

“It’s okay because you know what?” He began talking but cut himself off with a chain of heavy moans. “After I’m done with you, you won’t ever stop calling me.” He grunted.

“You’ll call me every fucking day, begging me to fuck you like this again.” He continued, “‘Cause no one fucks you like this. No one knows how to satisfy this needy little cunt like me, do they?”

All you could do was shake your head in response, unable to properly respond.

And though you hated to admit it, he was right. After this, there was no doubt in your mind that you would become a cock-drunk slut that would only crave him. You were afraid that you’d somehow become dependent, needy, and useless without his cock buried inside of you.

“No one knows that you like having someone else's spit in your mouth, or that you like to be fucked like a dog. No one knows that you enjoy being called a nasty little slut, do they?” He spat.

You whimpered at his words, whining as tension began building in your lower stomach. The feeling of your abdomen clenching, begging for some sort of release had your walls fluttering around his cock, indicating that you were close, so fucking close.

He dropped his head so that it could rest within the crook of your neck before speaking, “And no one knows that you like letting strangers cum inside of you, do they?” He spoke, his lips pressed to your neck.

“No,” You breathed, chest heaving, “No–no one knows.” You said while panting.

Geto scoffed. He almost found it pathetic, sad even. Never in his life had he met someone who would let a literal stranger fuck them senseless without even knowing their full name. It amazed him how willing and compliant you were for him. He wondered if you were always this way when it came to sex.

“Oh, God.” He groaned, head falling back to dangle over his broad shoulders.

He could feel his lower stomach growing with a need for release, begging for somewhere to create a sticky mess. His cock began to twitch, throbbing in hopes that soon it’d be able to cum inside of you.

As Geto neared his high, you felt yourself beginning to release all over his cock. A continuous chain of moans and whimpers fell from your lips as you began coating him in your milky-white cum. The way your legs started to tremble, threatening to give out beneath you had Geto reaching for your hips with both hands to keep you still as he was about to fuck his seed into you

“Look at you, makin’ such a mess–fuck.” He groaned, “M’gonna fill you up then fuck it nice and deep.” He breathed, the tension in his stomach threatening to snap at any given moment.

Geto’s pace started to slow in the slightest, but his thrusts were just as forceful. His breathing picked up as he began to pant like a fucking dog, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“M’cumming… holy fuck–oh, God. I’m cumming” He whined, hips stuttering as he began releasing several ropes of his seed inside of you, coating your walls in the sticky substance.

He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, ensuring you were stuffed nice and full. There was absolutely nothing stopping you from getting pregnant and there was no doubt in your mind that you’d end up all big and round with his baby inside of you.

“God, look at this.” He spoke as he began to pull himself out of you, “Such a fucking mess.” He began dragging his finger along your folds, collecting the mixture of cum before pushing the digits inside of you.

You winced at the feeling of his fingers pressing against your sensitive cunt. The feeling was a bit much. His intentions weren’t to get you off again, but to make sure none of his cum would go to waste. Once he was finished stuffing you full, he proceeded to pull your underwear back into place, watching in admiration as the fabric dampened with his release.

The atmosphere was warm and it smelled of sex. Geto watched as you reached for your shirt, slipping it over your head before shooting him a sheepish smile. He returned the small gesture, grinning in response.

“You think you’re gonna call me this time?” He jested as he began to pull his shorts back up his thighs.

You hummed in feign contemplation, though you already knew what your answer was. As you repositioned yourself back into the chair, you watched as he walked to the nearby sink to wash his hands before slipping on a new pair of black latex gloves.

“Maybe by the time I finish your tattoo, you’ll have an answer for me, though I’m pretty confident I know what you’re thinking.” He responded almost knowingly as he walked back over to where he previously sat.

Little did you know, this was the beginning of a newfound obsession. An unprofessional one at that. What the fuck did you just start?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*: ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ

Hey, you! Did you like this? Click here for more!

#geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu geto

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marida · 4 months ago

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The Empress Theodora's Codex (9th century)

This is one of the only two surviving minuscule manuscripts written on purple parchment paper with gold ink. It contains various Gospels from the New Testament and it dates over 12 centuries ago.

#academia #dark academia #dark acadamia aesthetic #light academic aesthetic #light academia #manuscript #greek #ancient history #new testament #literature #greek literature #books #books & libraries

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soraphic · 1 year ago

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some soft angst with plug!connie x black!fem reader + some light nipple sucking at the end🙈

"you'on get it con,my family would never—"

"yea,yea..mommy would never approve of you messin' wit' a 'thug'"

"that's not—"

he cut in rather harshly,running an inked hand down his face. "lo que sea.." his voice fading as you continued to rant over him.

"you wouldn't get it,connie,it's—"

"oh,i wouldn't get it?" he scoffed,head snapping to you in immediate reaction to the words you hadn't meant to tumble so carelessly out of your mouth.

feeling you had opened a dam that couldn't be closed now,you continued- "yeah,you wouldn't get it!"

he took a few strides closer to you,now glaring daggers down at you as if he were waiting for you to say the words,challenging you,provoking it. "say the words,chiquita."

"you've never had a family!" you finished,throwing your arms from your sides as you gawked at him,as if to ask 'is that what you wanted'.

"fuck you." he spat,turning sharply to the kitchen. you watched,feeling somewhat helpless,with a wanton expression on your face from the kitchen door,as he began collecting the small littering of his presence within your home. a worn down t shirt - that had been previously drying - he had left after spending strings of nights in your bed,one he knew you liked as it hung from your smaller frame,as comfortable comparison to the tight,busty clothing you always adorned. his phone and keys laying against the humble,little table that sat within the east corner of your run-down kitchen. and his dark tech he had swung over the edge of a chair the moment he came bombarding into your home earlier that evening,talkin' bout some 'business he handled for his princesa' in the hopes of being rewarded with something a little more than just strings of complaints about his 'lifestyle'.

he then barged back through the house,completely disregarding you as he charged for the door.

"so you just gon' leave,then? like that?"

you raised your brows,questioning him,arms folded tightly against as your chest with an edge of attitude he didn't like.

"go run to 'yo lil' family 'bout it. got me fucked up." he muttered the last part underneath the sound of your cutting in,

"you know i ain't mean it like that! you stay starting shit,connie!"

"there ain't no other fuckin' meaning!" the harshness of his voice and his raise in volume made you wince,the boom of it from deep within his throat rattled you.

"i know that things were tough wit' you and your mom,i would never use that to hurt you!" you wanted to show him that your intention wasn't to hurl insults at him,or think of the nastiest possible thing you could say,but to give him reasoning on why he simply couldn't understand your devotion to abide by your family's wishes.

"don't fuckin' talk about my ma,that's nothin' to do wit' you." his voice suddenly dropped an octave,his tone piercing and cold as he threateningly held a finger up at you.

whatever happened with his family,which you had only heard pieces of,compiling small bits of information over many months,you knew affected him greatly. it took a tole on the way he held himself around you,sometimes letting little cracks of himself shine through the 'big,bad' exterior he put up. he was afraid,afraid of you getting sick of his dirty work,sick of his attitude,sick of the danger,throwing him out the way his ma had.

you also knew that his dad had never really been in the picture. he talked very little of anything to do with his life before he met you,brushing you off by telling you 'we here now,ain't we? so don't worry about it.' but the minuscule times he had mentioned the scum bag,you gathered he certainly had no respect for him.

"it has everything to do with you." you jabbed at his chest,levelling up to him with hard eyes,"and that means it has everything to do with me."

"don't fuckin' play wit' me." he growled,chest bumping with yours,eyes narrowed.

you couldn't help but feel the way he had responded to being asked to open up with fearful aggression was proving everything your family had drilled into you. you were from a much wealthier side of town,the effects of it showing in the way you held yourself. you prized your appearance,fancy cars,big money and the idea of getting anything you wanted,when you wanted it. it was what had drawn you to connie. he was mysterious,in a ridiculously sexy kind of way,but what attracted you most to him was the way he never chased you. he'd simply gaze at you through his brows,lit joint dangling between his lips,leant over a dingy coffee table passing stacks between his gaggle of 'homeboys' that tailed wherever he went,with this unreadable expression on his face. like he was watching your every move,yet completely unbothered by your lingering presence. you found him most often places he didn't belong,places he stuck out. you could spot him almost immediately through the clouded haze of a rich,suburban house party,unlike you he was there to work,not to shake ass in an inordinate kitchen to 'white people music' as he called it. you felt you had fallen in love the first time the two of you spoke,pushed together in a crowded corridor by grinding bodies as he tried his hardest to remain unbothered by you,but that look. you didn't even know him yet you were gazing up at him like he was the one who hung the stars in the sky. sure,he had his fair share of pussy,and he was more than aware of the effect he had on women. but they were all women from his side of town,the kind that were nothing like you. they weren't enthralled by him,by his lifestyle,the way you were. so he wasn't surprised when you told him your family had warned you to stay far away from him. he had been to highschool with your brothers and vaguely remembered a distaste they had for him,not that he ever really attended by junior year. he was already wrapped up in the way of life,the money,the drugs,the status. he knew he had grown greedy,but who could blame him? all these things on a plate handed to him while his poor ma had been working two jobs just to provide for him and his hermanos.

"my brother was right,connie. you ain't shit."

"yea? go ride his dick instead."

"you're fucking unbelievable."

"fuck you!"

"you keep sayin' you gon' leave,so do it!" you snapped. you hadn't meant it,you didn't want him to go,but he continued to push you in ways you weren't used to.

no more words were spoken between the two of you,just an angry puff of air through his nostrils as he swallowed thickly at you. he waited for maybe 2 seconds,waiting to see if maybe you'd take it back. but you were done. you had no more left to say to him.

he slammed the door angrily behind him as he left,the gust of air and the deafening emptiness of your home suddenly making the corridor you were standing in feel cold.

you curled in on yourself as you cried,tears of pure anger and a hint of regret.

you were awoken by some federal ass knocks on your door,groggily checking your phone to see no messages left and the digital time glaring at you: 2.05am.

you were too hopeful to be irritated,racing down the stairs as you nearly tripped,missing the bottom step.

you hadn't bothered to tug on a shirt,almost knowing who could be knocking on your door with such force so late. his jaw nearly dropped at the sight of you when the door was swung open,revealing your figure lazily hung against the door,big brown eyes batting up at him. you were in a comfortable bra and a pair of his grey boxers hung loosely around your waist,almost deepening the smooth carob of your skin. he hadn't realised how much his time away from you had effected him,slinging his arms loosely around your frame as he pulled you up into his embrace,muttering strings of apologies into your hair.

"you came all the way out here to apologise?" your surprise irked him,a mean scowl immediately resurfacing on his face as he kissed at the valley of your breasts. your long acrylics scratching at his buzzed head soothed him enough to push you further inside,kicking the door shut with a soft bang,mumbling - 'so what? i can't come see my lady?'

you began to apologise for what you had said earlier,how you had no right to bring up his past the way you had,but to your utmost surprised he shushed you again with a kiss to your lips.

"'ion wanna hear it,mami,we in the present now."

you mumbled a soft 'ok',scratching down his back the way you knew he liked as some other form of apology. his lips came to close around your nipple,suckling gently as he gazed up at you,eyes full of boyish adoration that made your heart thump with love for him.

maybe introducing him to your family wasn't such a bad idea,after all.

soraphic 2k23 — please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms: i do not tolerate them at all.

#𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊#plug!connie #attack on titan #connie springer #plug!connie smut #anime and manga #anime

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yuellii · 1 year ago

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could you maybe write something with zima/зима :3? i loved your writings with neuvilette!!!!

“ Now... now I'm going out for a walk... The moonlight is... beautiful... It's good for writing... Maybe... you should try to write a poem too. ” — zima / gn reader

There’s a particular silence in the air in which you have yet to get accustomed to; but for Zima, it was his comfortably preferred state of existence.

He does not speak a word to you in the middle of this cold expanse, the top of his cheeks a snowy pink hue as the bottom half of his face is buried warm under the top of his coat. This old, stone bridge was icy, yet it was glimmering under the brilliant moonlight. A mere simplicity his eyes followed—from the cracks of stone to the sightless ocean, from the ocean to the cloudless sky, and from the sky to the lonely moon. A serenity that encompassed nature; also only a serenity that encompassed you.

You, who encompassed his blanking mind of ethereal solace no poet could ever portray.

Due to his nature of silence, though it does not register to him—perhaps it does not occur to you how lines and lines of the prettiest sentences form in his head just at the sight of you, nor the penmanship inking the inner folds of his sleeves. They were stained with all the words he can think of to describe you, and all the rhyming lines that rivaled you to the royalty and to the heavens. He was quite dramatic at heart… But you didn’t need to know that.

No, not when he can barely form words around you. Not when sometimes, he has too many words to say and he cannot speak a single one of them. Not when you cloud his thoughts with foreign phrases—so admirably, and so helplessly lovestruck in analogy—he can’t even begin to try and translate to English. And so he keeps his mouth shut under his coat, choosing a silence he knows so well.

He sees you stop at the top of the bridge from his peripherals, halting in his steps to join as you stare out into the moonlit ocean. You were just as cold as he was—he could see it in the crinkle of your eyes; but when your head leans to rest on his arm, there’s a beating of his heart that makes him feel warmer than a fire.

“Are you cold?” you ask, gently like the brushing waves below.

“…No.”

It’s so artful, painfully woven like ribbon around his eyes, like he’s blinded by your brilliance in rivalry to the moon. Any poet would kill for a muse like you.

Yet, he still can’t find the words.

Maybe one day, he’ll be able to ink something. Maybe one day, his pen will be able to form something as beautiful as you are. But for now, in this present moment ( from the moon, to the stars, to the ocean, and to the ever-gleaming ice framing perfectly around the Earth ), even all nature were utterly minuscule to the way he thought of you.

🕰�� ;; thankyew anon for liking all my neuvillette fics because i hope they are clear to show how absolutely deranged and delusional i am over him ( insanity )

#st. pavlov foundation #reverse 1999 x reader #зима #зима reverse 1999 #зима x reader #zima #zima x reader #reverse 1999

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nashdoestournaments · 2 years ago

Text

Ink Tournament: Round 1, Poll 1

#ink tournament #nashdoestournaments #undertale au #minuscule!ink #spritz!ink #tournaments #polls

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zafirosreverie · 9 months ago

Text

Their reaction to you asking them out (BSD)

a/n: Lovecraft's mentioned in three of these other than his simply because I LOVE him. Sorry not sorry.

Doppo Kunikida:

"T-tell Dazai this joke isn't funny."

You blinked in confusion, before realization hit you. You didn't need Ranpo's mind to know that the blonde in front of you had a soft spot for you, it had been that way since you entered the ADA, and for you it was an immediate crush.

But neither of you had acted on it, keeping your interactions purely professional at first and then simply being friends. The complete opposite of Dazai. After rejecting his proposal of a double suicide with a simple laugh, the brunette decided that you were his friend and that was it, you had nothing to say about it, not that you cared much.

Since you had no ability, you simply worked as a secretary at the agency, but that didn't stop Dazai from dragging you into his chaos. When he wasn't bothering Kunikida, or traumatizing Atsushi, the waste of bandages was stuck to you, trying to coax you into doing something diabolically chaotic, simply because he was bored.

You usually ended up taking most of the blame, since Fukuzawa and Kunikida were softer on you anyway, but at the end of the day, Dazai was a good friend. He had given you the courage you needed to finally confess to Kunikida, after teasing you of course.

Honestly, you believed that if the blonde rejected you it would be because you hardly fit into at least five of his ideals, you didn't expect him to be jealous of his partner.

"It wasn't a joke" you said softly "but we can talk about this at lunch."

Kunikida looked at you surprised, his green eyes shining with distrust but with a hint of hope as well. You smiled at him and quickly walked back to your desk, not caring about the evident blush on your face.

For lunch, he would take you to a restaurant further away from the agency building and you could finally talk. You would show him that you were worth more than the ink in his notebook and even though he didn't think you would last long together, in time he couldn't imagine a life without you.

H.P. Lovecraft:

You sighed internally but tried to keep a kind smile on your face, although you honestly didn't know how much you could fool an ancient god with that. You mentally cursed Mark and John for convincing you this was a good idea, but you cursed yourself more for thinking Lovecraft would actually agree to go on a date.

"Explain to me?" he asked after a minute of just looking at you with those piercing but empty eyes.

"Uh?!" You stammered, jumping a little “D-don't you know what a date is?”

"No, I know that" he replied "I have been here since before humanity, I have seen you develop, break down, and rise again, and although I am never near you unless summoned, I know enough to know how those types of relationships work"

“Oh” you whispered.

You weren't really expecting a philosophy or anthropology lesson, you just wanted a yes or no (preferably the former), but realistically, when, since meeting him, have you been able to have a simple, easy conversation with Lovecraft?

"Then what?-" you started, but he interrupted you, still staring at you.

"Why would you want to form that kind of human bond with someone who...isn't?"

You blinked and, for the first time since you started this awkward conversation, looked at him. His face showed no emotion, as always, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn't been there before, as if he really wanted to understand what was going on in your mind.

For some reason, the minuscule possibility of being a mystery to a man whose mere existence was the biggest mystery of all, made you feel important, like the entire universe was watching only you.

"I don't know" you shrugged "maybe it's your way of treating me a little warmer than you treat others, or maybe it's because my eyes can't see anyone else as soon as you walk into a room… Maybe I'm just crazy, who knows?"

"Why would you want to join your being to an evil eldritch god?"

“I don’t think you’re evil” you refuted.

"Then you don't understand me" he said.

"No, but I've never said I do" you agreed "but…if you really are older than humanity…shouldn't you be immune to the criteria of good or evil?"

Lovecraft looked at you with, what by his standards, must have been a ghost of amazement. He didn't respond, but the gleam in his eyes intensified and it only took you a few moments to register that his normally cold and indifferent aura seemed warmer and… joyful?

"You're not an ordinary human" he finally said "You're not afraid of the dark"

"I never have been" you smiled "Hawthorne says that will condemn my soul to hell…nice guy right?"

"Your soul already belongs to the abyss"

You looked at him curiously and swore the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You weren't sure if that was a yes or no to a date, but the moment he took your hand, you decided it really didn't matter.

Edgar Allan Poe:

Why? Was it a joke? Were there hidden cameras capturing his humiliation? No, you weren't like that…but you spent a lot of time with Mark, maybe he had convinced you…No, he liked to make fun of Hawthorne, not him. So it didn't make sense, why would you ask him something like that? Why would you want to stain yourself with the same madness, anxiety and loneliness that accompanied him everywhere? Why would you want to subject yourself to such torture? Not even he could beat his own demons, why would you want to see them yourself? Why would you, of all people, ask him out on a date?

Those were the questions that ran a thousand miles an hour through Poe's mind as he looked at you silently, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. Karl had long since moved onto your shoulders, sensing the imminent defeat of his owner.

"…Edgar?" You asked softly, worried.

It was a good thing you were in his study, because the moment you touched him, the writer fell back as if he were a statue, making you jump and scream a little before running to his side.

"I think I broke him" you said to Karl, as you fanned the man on the floor.

"I'm fine" Poe grunted, sitting up.

It seemed like the hit was what he needed to get his mind working again. He hadn't really expected your confession, much less for you to ask him out, damn it, he hadn't even hoped that you might like him like he liked you. But there you were, looking really worried about him (and damn cute, but that was another story), and he owed you an answer.

"I-I'm sorry" he stuttered "You took me by surprise"

"I noticed" you laughed softly, awakening butterflies in his stomach "I didn't mean to"

"N-no, it's okay, just…I didn't think you saw me like that"

"Really?" You blinked “I thought it was obvious. Even Lovecraft noticed”

"He did?!"

You nodded. It was true, the entire Guild knew about your feelings for Poe, some had even bet how long it would take him to realize it or if you would have to tell him yourself (you could already hear Margaret complaining about having to pay Nathaniel and John), even the eldritch horror had noticed it and he was asleep 18 of the 24 hours of the day. It seemed like everyone knew except Poe.

"I understand if you don't want to" you said "don't feel obligated to-"

"No!" he interrupted you, making you both jump at his sudden shout "sorry… I do want to, it's just… it's hard for me to think that anyone would want to spend their time with me willingly" he admitted awkwardly.

You looked at him for a moment, not understanding how he could not see how cute, not to mention how incredibly interesting, he was. You smiled at him and held his hand tenderly, waiting for him to make eye contact with you.

"Don't worry" you told him "I do"

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

"I miss her"

Herman looked curiously at Hawthorne for a moment before following the man's line of sight. You were sitting, talking calmly with Steinbeck about the small garden you had decided to start a few days ago, and although the blonde was more than happy to give you tips and advice, it was obvious that your attention was more on the tired sea god at your side. It was no secret to anyone that Lovecraft was one of your favorite beings.

"And why don't you tell her?" the older man turned his attention to the minister next to him.

"Its not that easy"

Melville looked at him a moment longer before looking back at you. He was a wise man, and he has known Nathaniel for years, even before the latter joined the Guild. He knew the man's faith, his ideals and moral compass, he knew that he could be stubborn and immovable in his convictions and that few things mattered more to him than his religion. After Mitchell's failed attempts at a romance with him and his relentless way of ignoring Twain's jokes, it had become clear to everyone that Hawthorne was a man of god, that his devotion was to him, and no one else. Most simply opted to leave him alone when he wasn't needed for some mission and he had been fine with that. Until he met you.

Of all the new Guild members, you were by far Melville's favorite. You were kind, happy, calm, willing to learn and rarely caused problems. You were often the first to offer help to whoever needed it, and although you possessed a dangerous ability, you had complete control over it, so no one was worried about you hurting them. You were practically an angel, and it was obvious that you were quickly earning a place in everyone's hearts. Nowadays it was common to see Poe leaving his room more often thanks to you, or how Louisa laughed more, how Fitzgerald praised you even for the smallest things, and Herman himself loved the peaceful afternoons with you in his office. You were even replacing John as Lovecraft's favorite human. But it was obvious that the person you had most under your spell was Hawthorne.

The usually serious man smiled as soon as he saw you, he talked to you about all kinds of things, often even forgetting his Bible and his talk about sins, he accompanied you everywhere if you asked and was always the first to welcome you when you arrived from a mission, always making sure you were okay. It was a lovely sight, and Herman appreciated your presence in the other man's life. But all that ended a few days ago, when he had broken your heart.

Melville was the only one who knew the story thoroughly, listening to what you were able to tell him between sobs and what Hawthorne himself had confirmed the next day when he confronted him about it. Apparently, he had rejected you without hesitation, and although he tried not to make drama about it, it was obvious that his words hadn't necessarily been soft, but rather dry and direct. You had smiled and accepted the answer, before quickly leaving, but Nathaniel had caught a glimpse of disappointment and sadness in your eyes, which had pierced his chest for some reason.

It took him a terrible sleepless night and a tough talk with Herman to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. He hadn't wanted to realize the true nature of his feelings for you, he hadn't wanted to face what that meant for his faith and ideals, but he gave up when he couldn't get you out of his head for days. At first, he was surprised by your ability to act in front of others as if nothing had happened, but in reality you no longer spoke to him, you no longer smiled at him, nor did you look for him, you had left him alone, and that, like he himself confessed to Melville, felt like the greatest penance for a mortal sin, the sin of having hurt an angel like you.

"I can't face those broken eyes, not again" Nathaniel whispered, not taking his eyes off you.

"You've already lost her" Herman sighed "what else do you have to risk?"

The minister didn't respond, watching as you softly laughed at Lovecraft, who had fallen asleep with his head in your lap. He knew that the other man was right, he had already lost you, there was nothing more he could risk, the only thing he had left was the hope that you would give him a second chance.

Herman Melville:

(shhh lemme be, we love Sea Santa Claus in this house)

"My child" he laughed softly "I'm sure Mark would be happy to date you."

You blinked in confusion, as your cheeks quickly heated up. In the man's defense, you really shouldn't have confessed your feelings to him… like that. Seriously, what did you expect by basically yelling at him that you loved him while you played chess in his office?

"I- I don't like Mark" you simply said "not that way"

"Oh… John's pretty nice too"

“Steinbeck scares me” you shivered

"Really?" Herman raised an eyebrow “You spend a lot of time with him”

Was that… jealousy you heard in his voice? A part of you clung to that thought, despite the very clear surprise, confusion, and rejection in his voice.

"I do it for Lovecraft" you admitted "I like him… Steinbeck gives me nightmares"

Herman looked at you for a moment before sighing and laughing softly. Really, he couldn't understand you, the idea that someone as young as you, with a whole life ahead, could have fallen in love with someone as old as him, was ridiculous. But if he had learned anything in the time he had known you, it was that when you wanted something, there was no human power to change your mind.

And if he was honest with himself, you had truly earned a permanent place in his rusty old heart. You were a happy and confident soul, kind and gentle, something rare in the current Guild. Apart from him and Lovecraft, you were the only one who saw Moby Dick as more than just a ship, you had brought warmth back to his chest, and he would do whatever it took to protect you.

“I guess Poe is out of question” he whispered in amusement, gently taking your hand across the table.

You quickly understood the joke and caught the glint of hope in his eyes, which made your heart race and a huge smile bloom on your face.

"Nope" you said "I already made up my mind"

Herman smiled at you and nodded, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it reverently. It would be awkward to explain this new step in your relationship to others, but it was worth it to see you smile.

"Besides, we all know that Poe belongs to Lovecraft. I'm not going to fight a sea god over him."

Louisa May Alcott:

"M-me? R-really?"

Louisa looked at you with wide eyes as you laughed softly and nodded, repeating your question for the third time, just to make sure she believed it.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

She felt her already red cheeks heat up even more and tried to hide her face in her hands. She was basically a tangled mess of nerves and little squeals.

Listen, she liked you too, ok? Louisa just wasn't someone who thought much about dates and partners and stuff, mostly because she had long ago accepted that no one would notice her that way, but deep down, she had to admit that her heart had always harbored a little bit of hope for romance. She just didn't expect that you, who had become Guild's golden girl thanks to your charisma and power, would be the one to be interested in her.

On one hand, she was afraid that this was doomed to be a failure, that the more you got to know her your interest in her would fade, but the braver little part of her told her that it might be worth it. After all, you had always been kind to her, you tried to include her in everything you could and it was not unusual for you to spend your afternoons reading silently next to her. You made her feel special, like no one had ever made her feel before. She supposed that, in a way, it had been impossible to stop her from falling in love with you.

"I-I…I'd love to!" She responded, a little louder than she would have liked.

But it didn't seem to bother you, you simply smiled wider at her and gently pulled her closer to you to hug her, giving her enough time to get away if she wanted to. Louisa hid her face in your shoulder and as she felt your hand rubbing gentle circles on her back, she was mentally grateful that someone was finally noticing her for who she was, not her power or position in the Guild.

Bram Stoker:

"Why?"

"Because now you have legs and I don't have to carry you on my back all the way?" you joked lightly, feeling a little silly under the vampire's piercing gaze.

Bram just frowned and tilted his head in confusion. You had told him that you would like to go for a "drink" with him, or just "walk around the fair", mundane things, but little lady Aya had told him they were "dates".

It had taken the poor girl a couple of hours to bring him up to date on modern courtship customs, and even longer to convince him that it was fun and romantic. In his time, there was not much room for romance, marriages were arranged according to the political and economic advantages that the union could achieve and that was all. Much easier if he was honest.

But that wasn't what bothered him, it was the fact that apparently you, of all people, could have developed feelings for someone like him. Yes, you had helped him and Aya escape from Fukuchi and had remained loyal to the end, despite your lack of ability, but that was precisely why he couldn't understand your reasons.

A mere mortal who didn't know who they were talking to, he could understand, but you? You knew what he was, you knew the monster you were trying to court. Bram was no fool, and despite his lack of understanding of modern times and customs, he had never been one to deny his feelings (from that to him acting on them was another story, of course), and could easily admit to himself that he had developed a liking for you, especially after the whole vampire apocalypse.

But you? What could you want with one of the ten calamities of humanity? It just didn't make sense, no matter how much he thought about it.

"Uh-…Bram?" you asked softly

"Why?" he asked again

"…because I like you?" you said, giving up on your jokes and opting to be direct.

"Why would you?"

"I don't know" you shrugged "I just do."

"Why me?"

"Why not?"

Sigma:

"You're cruel"

You blinked before frowning in confusion. It wasn't exactly the answer you had been waiting for. When you decided it was time to ask Sigma on a date, you had prepared yourself for a no or a yes, what were you supposed to do with this answer?

"Excuse me?" you murmured

"YOU'RE CRUEL!" he shouted, looking at you with tears in his eyes.

Now you were worried. You tried to approach him, ask him what was wrong, and apologize if you had upset him with your question, but he just walked away abruptly and turned his back on you, furiously wiping the tears from his face.

"Sigma-"

"Why would you?" he whispered "Of all the pranks you could play, why such a cruel one?"

"What?-"

"You know how I feel about you" he continued, completely ignoring your worried look "I'm not even good at hiding it, but I thought you'd at least stop Gogol from using it against me…why would you? Why would you give me hope like this?"

His voice broke on the last sentence, just like your heart. You watched him fall to the ground, covering his face as his shoulders shook from silent sobs and your mind tried to catch up with everything. You couldn't really blame him for thinking this was a joke, after all, you were friends with Nikolai, his main tormentor.

Usually, you tried to stay neutral about the pranks the clown played on the poor boy, mainly because you knew that if you defended him, Nikolai would just make an even more evil prank. But you didn't expect him to actually think you would do something like that to him.

You felt guilty beyond words, and you promised yourself in that moment that you would do everything you could to repair a trust you didn't even know you had lost. It didn't matter if Gogol or Dostoyesvky got upset, you swore you weren't going to let them (or anyone) hurt him again.

"I swear on my life that this is not a joke" you said softly, sitting next to him "I'm so sorry if I ever gave you reason to believe that I would hurt you like this."

Sigma glanced at you, but he didn't respond. You took it as a small victory when you moved his hair back a little to caress his cheek and he didn't move away from it. It took you a while, but in the end, you managed to get him to look at you, still with tears in his eyes, but a glimmer of hope in them.

"I really like you" you said "and I promise I'll do everything I can to make you believe me."

He gasped when you leaned in to place a tender kiss on his cheek, and his entire face heated up as you held him close to your chest. You both knew that it would take you a while to convince him that you weren't really trying to use him, that you were sincere in your feelings, but at least, you were pointing in the right direction.

Nikolai Gogol:

"I knew you couldn't resist my charm"

You rolled your eyes as the clown laughed maniacally in front of you. Honestly, sometimes you questioned why you liked him, and if this had been a good idea. You knew he wouldn't let you live with this, he loved any excuse to boost his ego and tease you, but deep down you knew you wouldn't want him any other way, murder and obvious insanity aside.

"Oh, but darling, you didn't think it would be that easy did you?" he smirked at you and you could feel a shiver running down your spine "oh no, before you date me, you have to prove how much you love me!"

"Oh no" you shuddered "on second thought, let's stay friends."

"No, no, no" he said, grabbing your wrist before you could escape "you can't back out now!"

You looked at him for a moment before sighing and giving up. You knew that there was no human power that could stop him when he planned one of his "games" and that no matter what you did, you had already let the cat out, there was no way he would forget your confession, much less that you could get out of this.

“Okay” you sighed “what do you have on your mind?”

Nikolai simply smiled at you before using his power to transport you somewhere else.

In the end, you ended up spending hours solving puzzles and tests that, if you were honest, weren't even too difficult, at least not by what he was used to, but it was frustrating that every time you finished one, another immediately appeared, it seemed like a never-ending punishment. You assumed he wanted to test your willpower.

However, the reality was that Gogol wasn't even thinking about it, he was simply keeping you busy while he dealt with the sudden rush of complicated emotions, doubts, and fears that washed over him. It wasn't a secret to anyone who was observant (which meant it was only obvious to Fyodor) that the DOA clown had really taken a liking to you, which was why he teased you so much, as an attempt to keep your attention on him.

He never expected you to have feelings for him tho, much less ask him out on a date. A part of him was happy about it, but his mind was yelling at him that he shouldn't accept, that he shouldn't be tied to anyone. His entire life was supposed to have been dedicated to seeking his freedom, he couldn't risk that, not even for you. You really were a danger to him, and for once, he didn't know what to do with it.

Ogai Mori:

tw: manipulation.

"Bold and brave" he smirked "I like that"

Are you okay? Is someone threatening you? To be fair, you really didn't know what you were getting into. You didn't know the true nature of the man in front of you, you simply knew him as the kind doctor you had met by accident on the street and who you sometimes ran into.

It was weird at first, but after the third time "casually" meeting each other, you just decided it was funny and started a friendship with him. Bad idea.

You had no idea of the danger you were in, you didn't know what he was capable of. Developing a crush on the Port mafia boss was probably one of the stupidest things you could do. But he had made you feel safe, appreciated, and it really wasn't long before he had you under his spell.

It wasn't really your fault though. Mori is a brilliant man and a skilled manipulator, he rarely took a step without thinking, and it definitely wasn't a coincidence that he found you. You had a powerful ability, one that would be a huge asset to the mafia or any organization that had you.

It had gone unnoticed for so long because, as you had confessed, you didn't really like using it, but it was only a matter of time before someone else found out, so he had made sure to get to you first.

Honestly, he didn't expect this turn of events. His plan was simple: lure you in with kindness, make you feel safe before showing his true colors and then offer to join the mafia, which was an understatement, he was more than ready to force you to join if you didn't accept of your own free will, he even had planned to use Elise (he knew you had a soft, motherly spot for children) to convince you.

The fact that you were offering yourself on a silver platter only made things easier for him. Besides, he wouldn't say no to other kinds of advantages and a pretty face. (He would never admit that in that time of "knowing you" he had developed a… liking for you)

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nouvxllev · 8 months ago

Note

Hi loved your recent Jenna fic

I have a request where reader confesses their feelings to Jenna after a long friendship (you can figure out how long and that friendship if you want) and Jenna doesn’t really react and unfortunately something or someone interrupts them that forces them to push that topic aside or something then Jenna like shuts down because she goes over reader’s confession over and over because how did she not see it that what she felt towards reader was exactly the same thing which leads her to think over having a relationship with reader and how it’ll work or how it won’t work I’m rambling at this point so you can just take over from here if you want

Just something along those lines idk if that made sense you can ignore this if it doesn’t ha😅

so this is love?

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 4.7k (damn i expected it was gonna be more than 5k)

Warnings: a long fucking love confession!!! you'd think to yourself how did they even say that in one breath, jenna being the oblivious little shit, r and j.o is horrendously inlove w eachother its fuckng insane, kind of bittersweet kind of just sweet, several 7 husbands of evelyn hugo references, im yapping too much about love here

a/n: first of all, thank you so so much!! and hope you'll like this one anon, thank you for the idea!

masterlist.

"Y/n, I'm thinking about changing this scene. Just a slight bit, nothing too over the top. What'd you think?"

"Yeah? Oh, yeah. Definitely."

"But it's such a late change—fuck, I should've told Tim a little earlier. You think he's gonna get frustrated? Then again, he's a sweet guy, I don't think he will."

"Jenna. Jenna, I like you. So fucking much. It's spontaneous, a little on the weird side that I'm telling you this now in your Wednesday Addams get up with a script on your hands asking me if your idea is good or not, even if it is—everything you do is amazing—but I'm in love with you for little over a year now and it's tearing me apart so please just reject me so I can move on."

"Yeah, yeah I like the idea too but—what?"

"I like you. Jenna."

. . .

Here's the thing:

You give a poet paper, they will embellish it with their words. People will mourn over their unfortunately late mortal soul enclosed with a tomb that carries their quill and ink.

You give a painter a blank canvas with nothing but their own mind, they will create a sensation, a masterpiece, a tour de force. People will gaze upon it in awe, so valuable they will waste a fortune.

You give a musician a silent room, an auditorium with nothing but a few instruments and tarnished worksheets. They will make out of it, they will fill the room with melodies that no one would hear, yet the very vibrations would resonate with the walls.

But if someone gives out their heart to you, they will pour it all over you. They will reprogram their own organ so that it beats solely for you. They will rip it out of their chest in bleeding agony and give it to you with no price more than their own faith.

You are given no options other than cherish it, treasure it, be thankful someone admires you as such they will do anything and everything for a piece of your attention, maybe even reciprocation.

You are also given the option to trample on it, break it, shatter it into minuscule pieces that have no intention in restoring to it's formal use. Let it be nothing but a bullet to their own decision, to their own emotion, to their own choice to love you.

Jenna was given those options. None other from her friend since the day she became an actress at a young age, a childhood friend even. What now?

. . .

"...What?"

The brunette responded, murmured even, like she was out of breath. The corner of her lips forced themselves to tug into an awkward smile.

What else are you going to respond with if you're stuck in a situation where your friend of a decade, nearly how long Jenna has been in this fucking industry, tells you that they're in love with you?

You shook your head, noticing how Jenna's gaze flicker to your fidgeting hands. "I like you, Jenna. Like, like you. I love you—no, that's crossing the line. But I just... like you, Jenna. Don't you get it?"

Jenna blinked. So much for being in character. She scoffed, albeit playful, running her fingers through Wednesday's fringe, "Yeah. I like you too. We are friends. Best of friends."

You shook your head once more, slowly taking a step forward towards Jenna like you were cautious. "No, Jenna, I—" you sighed, "I like you. Romantically. Like I'm willing to be in a relationship with you like way."

Oh.

Jenna swallowed the ever growing lump in her throat, feeling her eyebrows crease yet a smile was still present on her face. Her lips parted, threatening to say anything that just comes to her mind at this point. "You… you're serious?" Her voice wavered.

"Very. Dead serious." You nodded, gulping in your own words like you were trying to swallow them whole.

"I don't want our friendship to die out because of this, I wished I should've stopped my mouth from rambling all this to you so spontaneously but I—I should've done it more romantically than this setting. I've been in love with you my whole life, I've loved you for as long as I can remember even if I lose my memories. I'm not a romantic soul, I'm more far from it, and I'll never find the words even if I'm given a lifetime to describe how much I love you. I'm… I'm not saying all of this so you could reciprocate what I feel, it's just that I'll be lying to myself everytime I breath if I don't tell you this. You're my colleague, my co-star, my friend, my childhood, my everything ever since we met on that set of that god-awful ad that I cannot for the life of me watch again. I noticed that I talk to you almost everyday, how I adapted to your weird fucking horror movies that I absolutely somehow love, how I—I bought a stupid vinyl because you liked the artist, how I started listening to your music taste, how I started writing poems, how you always manage to sneak up in my conversations with others. You don't have to even be there, and yet, you linger in my words. I would surrender everything I worked for just for you, I would do anything, sacrifice my time and all. You've been all of those and more, and it's shocking that I'm only saying this now, after five years of loving you, half of the time we've known each other."

Jenna was silent, her lips parting as if to speak, but her mind held her back. But her heart did everything to speak, yet it never came.

She was lost, unsure, afraid. She didn't understand, and she fears that you know she doesn't. She never will unless time so happens to be on her side. Breathing was the only option, and breathing out was her only relief that she was alive.

She looked at you, and you looked at her back. No words exchanged. Your hands are now fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, pulling the loose strings apart as you catch your breath.

Jenna could grab your hand, apologize, and reject you. She could throw everything you both had built and walk away, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart.

Maybe that both of you will go to separate paths after filming was over. Maybe you'd tear away the contract that stated that in all your shows, Jenna should be there.

But the thought pained her.

It's painful, it's torture, it's agony, it's suffering to live in that universe where you weren't the one Jenna calls when it's a rainy day. The universe where Jenna stays awake, mellowing in her own woe, not knowing who to turn to, who to call at the dead of night. The universe where every poem on her phone, on her paper, on her notes, on every surface she had the ability to write on, wasn't meant for you.

Do you refer to that as love?

"Y/n, I... I just need some—"

"Y/n! There you are."

Shit.

Tim cut Jenna off, approaching the both of them, but more primarily you.

"Y/n, makeup team, and Jenna, your scene."

It all took Tim nothing but to speak seven words for the both of them to pry their eyes off eachother and remind themselves it was a professional setting. With professional actors and professional feelings. Nothing personal, is what Tim would say.

Jenna was an actor. You were an actor, her co-star.

That just so happens to be in love with her.

You nodded as you looked right at Tim, your gaze leaving Jenna for the first time.

Jenna was desperate to hold your hand, take a firm grip of your wrist and to tell you to 'stay' or 'don't go' like what they do at cheesy romance movies where the guy gets the girl.

But it wasn't. Jenna would've loved you if it were a movie.

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

The question still arises on set. Dressed up as Wednesday, cameras rolling, her mind wandering nowhere near the scene but your trailer.

What do you do when a friend confesses their love to you?

A friend who's been a familiar presence in Jenna's life, a friend who's been there since Jenna learned her heart yearned for others, how it beats for other people.

Someone through every moment of self-doubt, they saved her when she couldn't save herself. Through struggles that Jenna considered could be something to gash her mending heart, but they would offer a piece of theres in exchange for happiness in her.

A friend she loves.

It's a simple. You fold your heart in half, maybe even in fourths, then tuck it away in the deepest depths of your pocket. You might stamp it, decorate it, perhaps even address it to none other than your soulmate.

What do you do if you don’t know your soulmate?

You look for them. Jenna never looked for love outside of her family or friends; her heart was content with the familiar comfort of their love. Those were the types of love she knew. She had never felt the need to pursue romance.

Probably because everyone sees some others as they want them to be in their own head. They fall in love with the idea of them, the person they want them to be. An idealized version only they see fit to their desires, a false projection.

Most people would call her beautiful or pretty. She would pass the street and people would look at her, stare at her, look at her up and down, maybe even subtly lick their lips. They look up at her like she’s a force they cannot compete with, like she wasn’t human. Not amongst them. They will compliment her base on her appearance, and in rare cases, on how talented she is.

But someone would call her glorious, like Greece, and grandeur like Rome. Someone would call her lovely, not in a way everyone calls her, but someone would look up at her with eyes that feel like they’re borrowing, harnessing even, the energy of a thousand suns to even look at her. Like she was a garden. But yet, they would also look at her like she was an old friend. An old soul, the soul that could melt yours but still be so comforting.

And it was you.

Most people would look at her and smile. Say hi, wave a greeting, a handshake if it was really needed.

But you look at her as if you were seeing something more, as if Jenna had never seen a person more in awe that you when you look at her. Like how the sun would be nothing without her, how you'll spend your whole life loving her and nothing more, how you look at her and she feels though as if she has never been admired in her whole life. If she was someone intolerable, someone unbearable, suffering to a degree you'd rather die, and you would. But only if it were in her arms.

Most people would describe her as someone talented, art, hot, stunning, sexy. Like she was nothing but a piece of imagination to someone, like her good traits were the only characteristics that made her Jenna Ortega.

But you would turn all of those down. You would say, no, in the face of the interviewer. You would say that she was the renaissance reincarnated as a single human, that was beauty in everything imperfect, she was the art that would put the Sistine Chapel to shame, the sculpture that would have Michelangelo resurrecting from the dead only to lie back of how undoubtedly perfect and impossible to replicate the pure astonishing beauty that was her.

You were an old friend of Jenna, the two of you were ever since Jenna played young Jane in Jane the virgin at twelve years old and you had approached her as an extra to be her somewhat, co-star-in-the-future-friend.

And now, she's only imagining what would've happened if you hadn't been the big ball of sunshine that you always were up until now.

There were times that you would make her laugh, putting up a half-assed comedy show whenever she's in a bad mood, but then you'll give her space if she doesn't budge. Times where you would hold her close in your arms whenever she's on the verge of tears, and times where you hold her close to you whenever she achieved something.

There were times she wasn't proud of herself, how self-doubt creeped into her mind and slowly started to deteriorate her soul, yet you were there. You called her brilliant, a genius, someone show-stopping people from all around the world would be shocked how amazing she was and a few other words that she kept close to her heart.

There were times where Jenna calls you, telling you how filming was all too stressful and she needs a break. Then you're with her the next day, surprisingly becoming an extra or maybe a new side character to her films.

You were always saying how you would protect her at the age of twelve, and she'd always respond with "how?" with a laugh, then you'd respond with a simple shrug saying, "I'd love you."

Jenna didn't understand it at first and yet you understood her in such a short amount of time. How you knew why she always has her headphones on, how you wrote down and knew at the top of a hat what she likes and what she hates, how your laugh sounded at her most darkest of jokes, how you would bring back snacks whenever you're on a run, how you would always say 'i love you' in times where she's breaking down.

And up until now, she never understood why you would protect her with your love.

Jenna was your friend but you treated her like she was your everything.

And up until now, she realized that she loved you back.

And up until now, she realized how could she even dare to live without giving you the same love as you did to her?

People tell you that relationships are easy, that they're lovely, that they tell you that love is the only thing that keeps the both of them going.

But they don't tell you the rest.

They don't tell the pain you want to go through all for your significant other. The nights you want them to be in your arms but you've gone through yet another foolish argument that created a hole in your heart that seem to never mend, but it will.

It made sense that Jenna never wanted to be in a relationship, it was scary. The answer to a question as such was always going to be no. How there was always someone going to be hurt or inflict hurt.

But it never made sense that Jenna would experience pain with no presence of mercy to be with you.

Everyone talks about falling out of love, but that's bullshit. If you fall out of love, then there must be a reason you should've never fell from them in the first place. It's something Jenna never understood why falling out of love was never a thing if love prospered and it was for all eternity.

But the thought of being in a relationship with you, and having to watch you fall out of love with her is terrifying.

The two of you would work because the both of you are long friends, childhood friends. Yet, it won't. Because the two of you were friends. What would happen if Jenna let you in the most deepest parts of her heart? What would happen if you did? Would you get turned off? Would she get turned off? She wouldn't. You wouldn't

If no one had stopped Jenna in the midst of her performance as Wednesday, she wouldn't notice she was messing up her lines. She wouldn't have noticed that she was crying.

But she did notice that one familiar scent you always carried around you; that one perfume mixed with the shampoo you used everyday. Jenna was around you her whole life and she never got tired of it. It could be the smell of her home, like that one familiar scent at your childhood home.

It wasn't long before she felt a pair of two hands grabbing her shoulders, tugging her gently, and it wasn't long before she felt herself walking with them.

The voices were drowned out, muffled, she can hear someone saying to "let her take a break until she's feeling better. Emma, your scene."

"Jenna?"

"Jenna, please, talk to me, why are you crying?"

"Shit—Jenna? Jenna, it's alright, I'm—Well, I shouldn't probably be here."

She knew that voice. How could she forget them?

It wasn't fair that Jenna's heart skipped a beat once she heard your pitch, like you were worried or concerned. She recognized it all too well that it brought a sense of comfort in her soul.

"Y/n?" She whispered, noticing how you brought her into your trailer and sat her down. "Shit. Fuck, I'm supposed to be on set. Y/n, why am I—"

"Jenna. Jenna, hey, look at me," you grabbed her hands, your touch a bit too warm as you held hers tightly, but it never failed to give her peace. "I'm sorry, I know I'm not the one who should be doing this since you know, the whole shit that happened an hour ago."

Jenna looked down at your hands, your thumb slowly caressing the back of her palm, a silent permission. A permission she would always grant with open arms. Or maybe hands in this case.

You nodded, fixing yourself up on the couch as you look at Jenna. "We're gonna take deep breaths, alright? I'll be here, don't worry." You squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"No, y/n, I—I need to tell you something, please—"

"Jenna." You sighed, noticing how it wasn't out of annoyance but out of concern. "Your voice is cracking, you're stuttering, you're in a higher pitch than you are normally. And more importantly, you have tears in your eyes." You would sooner or later interlock your fingers with Jenna's offering another reassuring squeeze. "I'll protect you. You're safe with me, don't worry, please, Jenna."

Oh.

. . .

You know, people think sex is intimacy, the highest form of intimacy there is.

But they're wrong.

It’s being able to realize something heartbreaking, something that cuts you deep in your soul to the point where no amount of bandages will help. But somehow, someway, someone so special could heal it with their words.

It’s where you can be vulnerable with someone, be happy, be sad, be angry, be every emotion you’re afraid surrendering to. They will wrap their arms around you and whisper to you that they’re there for you. You’re safe with them.

It’s when you realize that heaven couldn’t be real if it isn’t with them.

It's when you realize that everyone got it wrong in perceiving them, noticing how you're the only one who truly understands them.

It’s when you realize every living and late poet was wrong in their writings, in their words, in their books. Love wasn’t an emotion, it wasn’t a choice. It was someone. Someone special.

It’s when you realize if ever you’ve completely turned the whole world against you, the time where you’ve devastated everyone in turn for your own selfish needs. Yet you will find yourself standing in front of them. Realizing you’ve spared them from your wrath.

You expect them to hurt you. To break you, to do everything within and over their power to make you experience the same pain you’ve inflicted.

Yet they will show no betrayal.

They will simply show understanding, awe even. Love. They will catch if you if you fall from the top you’ve tore and exhausted yourself. They will sing to you if you feel every melody has nothing. They will do everything, they will accept you, not only because of you, but because of what you carry, what you’re pretending not to be.

Love was never easy, Jenna knew that. You don’t listen to Pat Benatar or The Cascades to not know what true love does to someone; It will shatter you, then mend your now fragile heart like its nothing. It will let you experience grief, then peace. It will let you feel nothing, then everything. It’s not simple, never is. It’s complicated, it’s fucked up. It’s terrifying. So fucking terrifying.

But if Jenna was going to experience everything she’s thinking of right now; Agonizing heartache that feels like mercy isn’t even an option, and peace she had never felt before, it was going to be with you.

. . .

"Jenna? Jenna are you—"

She had never really truly felt luxury in a while until she let her trembling hands reach up to cup your cheeks, stealing one glance away from your eyes before closing her own and softly pressing her lips against yours.

What do you say to a friend you realized you’ve fallen in love with now?

Maybe you’d kiss them, like what Jenna is doing now. Let yourself bring peace in your world that is full of unjust morals—let them be a light, be something that felt half as right as loving the taste of their lips on yours.

Maybe you'd let them into your world. Remind them of how they're the only ones in this life were worth devoting your entire life to, how being in their presence was an experience of a life time.

Maybe you'd let them care about your entire being. Let yourself be vulnerable, be free within their arms. Let them tell you that they're going no where but to where you're headed, that peace only belongs to a place where you're present.

Maybe you’d tell them how you like the way they look at their belongings like it was their favorite part of the day? Tell them how they make you feel that everything is possible, how you knew that you’ll be living as much as they would be smiling.

Or maybe, Jenna would say this,

"Y/n," she broke off the kiss, her hands returning to her lap and intertwining with yours. "I'm sorry. I couldn't give a proper reaction to your confession earlier. It was so stupid of me I—"

You laughed. Fuck, your laugh was beautiful.

"Don't worry, Jenna. You don't really feel the same way as I do, and that's fine. I just—I just hope it won't ruin our friendship, you know?"

Jenna scoffed, eyebrows creasing, "No, y/n, give me time to talk, please." She laughed, then took a deep breath.

"I love you, y/n. I never really realized that, I mistook them for something lesser. Mostly because love wasn’t the right term to describe it. Love is simple, fast, overused, something tossed around so carelessly that it couldn't be something I'd say to you; you don’t deserve such a weak word that has no meaning but tarnished from other people. It’s not complex, like how you’re represented in my soul, how you grown ivy around my heart as if I’m trapped in your unbearable love, yet why do I accept such an idea that is only a metaphor that I wish it were true? It's clear that no one knows me greater than you have. It happens more often than not that people will see right through me, only to find a barricade of walls that reflects repressed emotions that keep them from entering. But you tell a different story, different words that people don’t use to tear at my heart. You whisper something so precious that I wish to hear again but I shouldn't before I fall. You unravel my soul with a gentleness that defies everything, that makes me wonder where pure tenderness comes from if it isn't from you. I've known you for long enough to know what the sound of your voice is in, whether your anxious or joyful, how your voice is the sole reason why I sleep without your arms wrapped around my body. I want nothing but to hold you in my arms, to lie beside you in nothing but eternal slumber then rise again if you are ever disturbed. I want to fear nothing, to be afraid of nothing, to have death be a mere word unless your name is next towards it. My name is always associated with me being an actress, a talented one, someone who would no longer be a name hidden in the dust but someone who would rise to the top. A glamorous world is what they would tell me, everything I would want is granted. But why aren't you there in the vision they see? The lover that I yearn for, a home that would finally bring me peace, the home that I wouldn't escape from with bare melodies that lay emotions that I couldn't voice. I just—Fuck, I love you, y/n. Through a decade we've been together, it's only now that I realize that life without you is simply a life worth killing myself to. Death shouldn't be an option when you're around me, it should be something we'll defy, an afterlife that would fail in making us part ways from eachother. I love you. Really. I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to say or do, but I love you. I've realized that."

The silence was unbearable, only now did she realize she blurted out a confession only those who're dead can say in a sentence without stuttering.

"No, no Jenna…" You pushed her hands away from yours, the action stinging her own hands as you stepped back, putting unfamiliar distance between the two of you.

"Y/n, what?" She scoffed, her voice betraying her of a flat tone, "What do you mean, I thought—" Jenna immediately reached out for your arm, her words were faltering, her fingers now trembling as they threatened to brush against your skin.

She was expecting to get yelled at to leave, to never show her face to yours ever again. But as she looked into your eyes, she was met with tears that dared to glisten your gaze. "Are you… are you crying?"

You chuckled, "You know… You know I can't compete with that confession, Jenna. It's unfair to those who don't have a habit of staying up late and writing poems." You brought your hands up to your eyes and wiping away the tears that fell on your cheek, only to be replaced by warm ones.

Jenna cupped your face, her thumb caressing the gentle touch and warmth of your skin, feeling how you leaned into her touch almost immediately. "Oh, you're awful. You had me worrying that I said something wrong or you changed your mind."

"Oh, no, never." You laughed it away, shrugging the tears that continue to stain your face. Then, without a word, you reached up to cradle her own face in your hands, letting her place them down on your lap and close the remaining distance of the two of you that were seated far too apart from eachother.

"I never really thought that you'd say yes. Or say something too poetic." You whispered to her, daring yourself to not drown in her pool of brown eyes that threatened to kill you if you looked too closely.

"I never really thought that I would truly love someone, and look at that turned out."

"Like what?"

"Like I never wanted to love someone more than I loved everything." She tilted her head, leaning forward and closing the distance between your lips and hers. A soft but gentle press to your own, yet it was fervent.

She pulled away, only so slightly that your lips never touched eachother again before they fall into the same predicament as addiction. But close that she could feel your heartbeat, your warm breath against hers, everything that made you you.

"So, this is love?" She whispered.

"Dangerously attractive in a form of a human?" You smirked, winking even, before Jenna rolled her eyes.

She scoffed, "I was going to take you out to dinner, but you are awful at charming someone."

"Take me out to dinner and I'll never make that statement again."

"Deal. I'd splurge a shit ton of money for you not to repeat it ever again."

"You pain me. I love you."

"I love you too."

And then she kissed you, holding you tight as if reminding you're more than just a friend.

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

a/n: i'm in a desperate need of a girlfriend. also in the span of my 1 week break ive written only 2 stories. its such a low number damn 😭😭😭 (+ then he kissed by by the crystals reference at the end!)

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x femreader #jenna ortega x female reader

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noideasforausername · 5 months ago

Text

crumpled letter.

description: sirius black x literally whoever (self-insert or existing character, anything works)

word count: 0.7k

warnings: angst? (basically all I write is angst are we even surprised at this point)

───────────

Sirius was used to being on the receiving end of an absurd number of letters – written confessions – on the regular. It had been admittedly entertaining at first, grown rapidly concerning and ended up becoming quite bothersome. By his sixth year, he’d taken the habit of simply throwing them away: the dizzying shades of pink an eyesore, particularly first thing in the morning.

Blue, black, red and occasionally gold ink, all conveying one clear message through their various deviations from the boring “I like you” (that is, of course, with one singular and minuscule heart over each individual i).

That particular morning, things were about as outwardly ordinary as possible: the nauseatingly colourful pile dropped next to Sirius’ goblet a testament to this statement.

It seemed that the owls’ brief period of strike was over – for Hogwarts had seen this rare phenomenon earlier that year, the animals having reached abnormally high levels of annoyance with the repetitive act of carrying the garish mail to a less-than-grateful black-haired student.

Sirius had half a mind to leave them there. Maybe that would give his faceless – and nameless in some cases – admirers a hint. But he didn’t. Instead, he crumpled them all up with a flick of his wand, a motion he knew by heart, and stuffed them in his pocket (the waiting room before they’d inevitably find their home in the depths of the nearest trash can.)

Amongst them, a white envelope. One so ordinary it should have stood out from the pile. Black ink on a standard piece of parchment.

“Here it goes. I have tried writing this with flourish and charm, but this is my last piece of parchment and I fear I will chicken out if I do not send this now.

I’m aware the chances of you reading this are slim. Perhaps that’s why I decided to write you in the first place. But I have tried everything. And being a small speck in the sandstorm that causes that frown to appear on your forehead every morning seemed a fair price to pay.

Let me start, or better yet continue, by clarifying one thing: this is not a love letter. I am not writing to beg for a chance of your eyes meeting mine in anything more than a passing coincidence. Instead, I hope that this will end up at the bottom of your pocket, and that the rage I hold will burn a hole right through that expensive black silk, setting the rest of the letters aflame and silencing the voices you crush daily with the barest swish of the wrist.

You, Sirius Orion Black, are infuriating. Your face is irksome. Your grin is positively maddening. The curve of your cheekbones, the angle of your jawline, the glint in your eyes, the way you so effortlessly carry yourself – as if taking up space is what you were born to do. I’ve come to believe that you are taunting me indirectly.

And I wish you would stop. Or maybe what’s even more aggravating is that I can’t picture a life in which you do. It is unfair, that we are unable to look at the sun for too long without being blinded, and yet no matter how long my eyes rest on you, my vision stays intact.

I have made it my mission to ignore you. But not only has this proven impossible, my stubborn nature has blown this situation out of proportions, resulting in a pair of invisible, unmovable binoculars that constantly seek you out having replaced my eyes.

I have no explanation, no enchantment ever recorded matches the effect you seem to have on me. This slow, torturous, pit in my stomach knowing that somewhere between these walls, your chest is rising and falling in rhythm with my own.

I have many more insults to throw your way, but I am running out of paper. All that to say, though you may believe you dispose only of devoted admirers, there is someone in this very castle whose life has been thrown off its axis for no apparent reason other than your very existence. I hope that getting this off my chest and sending it your way will break this unbearable cycle. If not, this is my formal way of telling you to fuck off Sirius Black. Fuck off and put my life back the way it was.”

#marauders #marauders angst #padfoot #sirius black #sirius black x reader angst #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black fic #sirius black angst #marauders era #marauders x reader #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar fic #wolfstar angst #sirius black blurb #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n

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hisui-dreamer · 1 year ago

Note

CONGRATS ON 1K RINNAAAA :((( YOU WERE ONE OF MY FIRST MOOTS EVER AND ITS MAKES ME SO HAPPY AND PROUD THAT YOU HIT THIS MILESTONE!! THANK YOU FOR BEING ONE OF THE MOST WARM AND WELCOMING PEOPLE IVE MET IN THIS FANDOM <33 YOURE SUCH A GIFT ITS INSANE!!!!!

IM SURE THIS DOESNT SURPRISE YOU BUT!!! for the 1k event i was thinking soulmate au with azul (HEHE) except its the doodle one? LIKE WHERE YOU DOODLE ON YOUR BODY AND YOUR SOULMATES GETS THE SAME MARKINGS YK

and i have a habit of doodling sea creatures like octopi and morays on my arms and hands so i think it'd be cute for him to like, take his gloves off one day and just see a little eel on the back of his hand :((( squishy guy <3333

headcanons or a drabble is totally fine, whichever one is easier for you!!!! thank you for easing me into this fandom :(( i will never be able to thank you enough for making my anxious ass WAY less nervous <3 and no pressure if this doesnt inspire you ofc hehe you're never obligated to write anything !!! :D

the doodles that drew us together

Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x gn!reader

Synopsis: Azul thought all his life he didn't have a soulmate...

Tags: soulmates au (doodling), reader is yuu, fluff, comfort, reader likes sea creatures, bot proofread

Word count: 591

Notes: aubbie thank you so much!!! I'm so glad we became moots, you're one of my closest friends and everything I see something azul related I think of you haha! I hope you'll enjoy this azul soulmate au ♪⁠ヽ⁠(⁠･⁠ˇ⁠∀⁠ˇ⁠･⁠ゞ⁠)

Masterlist

Azul had been fascinated by the idea of soulmates as a young mer

it was something that gave him hope, that despite all the other mean mers who would make fun of him, there was someone out there who would understand him and love him

and so he kept drawing on his arm, doodles of shells and other fish that caught his eye

but there wasn't any response.

maybe his doodles were too ugly and his soulmate didn't like them?

and so he learned to draw better, drawing again and again, hoping he would get a response

but still not a single mark would appear on him

it had been a tough blow to him, but he eventually accepted that he didn't have a soulmate

if he was going to be alone for all his life, then he had to take care of himself (because nobody would)

he became super greedy and selfish, always prioritising himself and his materialistic needs

although he also had a friendship with the tweels, he really only befriended them because they could help him out (but he did get attached to them over time)

and so, he opened the mostro lounge and became the sly businessman that we all know

on the first day of his second year, as he was going over documents after closing the lounge, he felt a slight tingle in his hand

Azul's eyebrow rose in response to an unexpected sensation. A peculiar warmth, like a gentle caress, emanated from the back of his gloved hand. Intrigued, he swiftly removed his gloves, revealing smooth, pale skin. A gasp of astonishment escaped his lips as his eyes fell upon a minuscule masterpiece, a tiny, adorable octopus delicately inked in pen.

"Is this...real?" Azul murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. A surge of hope surged through his entire being, dispelling the weight that had burdened him for far too long.

With a trembling hand, he grasped his own pen and cautiously began to sketch his own octopus upon his wrist, with one tentacle reaching out, holding hands with your octopus.

And he can't stop he smile that graces his lips when a little heart appears between the two octopi.

What a hectic day it had been! For a magicless student to arrive in NRC and for him to finally connect with his soulmate!

...?

Oh. Azul had to speak to said magicless student as soon as possible.

when the two of you start being a couple, Azul does everything and anything for you

when you're in exams and your nervously doodling sea creatures, he'll draw some flowers nearby to help calm you down

no he doesn't help you cheat by writing you the answers, he's already given you the perfect study materials, you shoud put in some effort too

he gets jealous if you draw other sea creatures too much though, especially moray eels

he lets you work at the lounge with a very high pay, making sure you're not working too hard, and always offers to tutor you if you're struggling

his soulmate had to go to a different world just to find him, you'll be sure he helps to settle in and hopefully never leave again

Insert clingy octopus wrapping his tentacles all around you because he can't bare to let you go

when you have dates and appointments, he'll help remind you by writing on his arm

this man has waited for you his entire life, he's ready to lay the world down at your feet if you ask him to

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧1k! another life✦#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x reader #✧auburn🐙✦

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lathalea · 1 year ago

Text

Wild Strawberries

Moodboard by @linasofia 😍

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Thorin x f!OC Warnings: smut, pure smut, so help me Mahal Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Several years after Erebor is reclaimed, Thorin decides to celebrate his beloved wife's birthday... and is very enthusiastic about it. A/N: This story is a birthday gift for @legolasbadass from Linasofia and yours truly. Once again HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LB! 🎉🎁🎈

You can find this fic on AO3.

Khuzdul: Bunnelê - my treasure of treasures

Leaving the northmost spur of the Lonely Mountain behind him, Thorin entered the forest at its foot. The lush, dark emerald sea of pine trees surrounded him; each of them at least as tall as two grown Men—their rapid growth being the result of the magic the elves of the Woodland Realm bestowed upon this land in exchange for goods only Erebor could provide them with. It was a bright summer day and the sun speckled the undergrowth of the forest with gold, as if someone scattered countless coins across it. A small smile curved up Thorin’s lips at the recollection of that very profitable agreement with the Elves and the role his clever wife played in hammering it out a couple of years ago. Anila… Ah, his sweet Anila and her talent of finding useful information in ancient tomes and musty treaties. Then, her cunning negotiation tactics side-blinded the Sylvan negotiator, driving every single clause home. The precedent she found—dating five hundred years ago—was instrumental in cornering the Elves and making them agree to their conditions. There was nothing better than the taste of flawless victory… especially if followed by a private but intense celebration that took place in his marital bed.

Taking in a deep breath, Thorin allowed himself to close his eyes and feel the tension leave his body. Being the king of a prosperous Dwarvish kingdom was a great privilege, but also a sizable burden; one that could have felt almost unbearable at times—if not for the assistance of his royal consort. Thank Mahal for the ancient tradition that required the king to take a wife. At first, this was to be an arranged marriage but one day spent in Anila’s company when they met for the first time, a year after Erebor was reclaimed, was enough for Thorin to know this would be an union of both hearts and minds.

Today was a special day: his wife’s birthday. Thorin’s most trusted companions and aides were working deep in the mountain, at the shore of the underground lake, preparing the celebrations for the evening: there were hundreds of candles to be lit and put onto minuscule boats that would float on the lake; countless flowers to decorate the caverns; dozens of dishes to be served, music and dances to be planned, and many other surprise attractions to be planned. Thorin’s task was to divert Anila’s attention until it was time for the celebrations—and diverting his lovely wife’s attention happened to be one of his favourite pastimes.

And so he found himself on the forest path, with a full picnic basket in his hand, on his way to Anila’s favourite hideout. From time to time, she would disappear with a thick roll of parchments and a quill and then return hours later with a mysterious smile on her face and ink-stained fingers. Thorin would take her hand into his, place an ardent kiss over her knuckles and ask what she had been up to. The smile on her delicious lips would widen, she would hide that roll of parchments behind her back, rise up on her tiptoes, peck his cheek, and murmur into his ear, “It is a secret of the state, my king.” The sultry tones in her voice would make his blood sing in his veins—that was a clear invitation to flirt, and with Anila, that game two of them played often ended with their clothes scattered all around, and them panting, their bodies entangled, in the most unusual places of the Mountain.

That was his Anila, an incandescent mix of fire and tenderness.

Today, she mysteriously disappeared before he woke, and now he was finally on her trail. He took a few more steps ahead among the brambles, careful not to make any noise, when he saw a familiar silhouette sitting on a blanket. It was Anila; her back was turned towards him, but he would recognize the dress she wore, one of her favourites, and the silky waves of her beautiful hair everywhere, dark as smoky quartz, the braids that adorned it, and the marriage beads with the sigil of his house he offered her over the marriage anvil on the day of their wedding. Her hair was side-swept to the right, uncovering the column of her neck, and Thorin licked his lips at the sight, wanting to press them against that smooth skin and taste it.

Later, he scolded himself. He was on a mission, after all.

After slowly placing the basket on the ground, he soundlessly kneeled inches behind her. Whatever Anila was doing, she was clearly focused, so much so that she did not notice his approach. Only when his hands covered her eyes from behind, she squeaked in surprise.

“Guess who…” Thorin murmured straight into her ear, his voice low and sensual. He was very much aware of the effect his voice had on her and he was determined to make a good use of it today.

“Thorin…! You scared me!” she chuckled, looking anything but frightened. Anila turned her face back towards him, taking his hands into hers and lowering them onto her lap. He still held her in an embrace and did not plan to let her go.

“Have I?” He lifted his eyebrow in amusement, moving his lips closer to hers. “May I remedy it somehow?”

Anila blinked, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“That would depend on the remedy, my king,” she offered.

He brushed his lips oh-so-lightly against hers. They were as soft as he remembered, and she smelled like those blue flowers he never remembered the name of, so sweet and innocent, like the break of a new day. When she held her breath as their lips joined for a few heartbeats, a sign that he had her full attention, Thorin deepened the kiss with as much tenderness as he could muster, his hand delving into her cascading hair, until he felt her body pressing against him in anticipation for more. A large part of him wanted to continue, coaxed by her dizzying closeness and that little sigh she gave, but he needed to follow his plan. It was his wife’s birthday and this day needed to be perfect—just like her.

He moved back slightly, giving her cheek a slight caress with his fingertips and trying to ignore the wave of arousal he felt looking at her slightly swollen lips, like fresh raspberries, her shining eyes, and her heaving bosom. She wore a green dress, one of her favourites, that happened to be one of his favourite garments of hers as well due to a generously revealing neckline. Mahal, this plan of his was more difficult to carry out than he thought. He was supposed to be the one offering distraction, not the other way around.

“I brought the remedy with me, my queen,” he hummed, placing the heavy basket between them and sitting down beside it. It contained the best delicacies the royal kitchens had to offer.

“A lunch?” she peeked under the colourfully embroidered piece of cloth that covered the basket. “It smells lovely.”

“I cannot allow my wife to starve, can I?” Thorin replied, taking in the way she looked at that moment—with a playful smile and golden specks of sun kissing her face, one of them dancing at the tip of her nose. He wondered whether his plan of having a romantic midday meal with his wife would be ruined if he was to kiss that very spot now.

“You are a very attentive husband. Let us eat, then!” Anila decided, putting away a stack of parchments from her lap to the side. Her fingers were stained with ink.

“May I ask what you were working on?” Thorin said, taking out all kinds of food from the basket. Freshly baked bread, three kinds of cheese straight from Dale, white radishes, a jar of honey, hazelnuts and a bottle of good wine from his private cellar.

“You may,” Anila reached for the bread. “But I will not tell you. Not yet, at least. It is not yet finished.”

“So it is as I feared. You are writing a memoir of our scandalous marriage,” Thorin crunched on a radish with gusto.

He adored making her laugh and the way her laughter found its way to her eyes.

“I doubt Erebor is ready for such a read,” she uttered between giggles. “Besides, technically speaking, the events pertaining to our marriage are a state secret and therefore cannot be made public.”

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not think I would be happy if our whole kingdom would know of my wife’s talents,” he cast her a meaningful glance. “I would rather keep to myself the things you can do with your… ouch!”

A piece of bread hit him right in the middle of his chest as Anila cleared her throat loudly.

“... brilliant mind. I meant your brilliant mind!” Thorin explained, trying to make his words sound as sincere as he could.

“Truly? Is that what you are thinking about at this very moment?” she teased.

“What else? I am still in awe about the way you handled those envoys from Minas Tirith,” Thorin hoped he looked like an embodiment of innocence at the moment.

“Oh? Remind me?” Anila tilted her head and gracefully licked her honey-covered fingers. It made Thorin swallow hard. That vixen. She knew very well what she was doing to him, but he was going to be strong and so he continued this charade.

“That expression of shock on their faces when they understood they would be discussing matters of state with a woman! And the realisation that you completely outwitted them!” Thorin could not help himself but chuckle at the memory.

“Ah yes, I seem to remember something along these lines,” she admitted, lazily taking another bite of bread and looking into his eyes. A drop of honey landed on her shapely bosom, making Thorin lick his lips as it glistened in the sun.

“And so you should, bunnelê. You used their greatest weakness against them marvellously. I will never understand why the People of Men underestimate their women so,” he reached out to take her hand and placed a kiss on it. Not over the knuckles, oh no, his lips found the centre of her palm and pressed against her skin. She smelled like flowers in bloom and tasted like honey. Despite the food they ate, his hunger was far from satiated.

“Cultural differences, my love,” Anila replied, cupping his bearded jaw before freeing her hand from his. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers brushing against his beard. “One of our greatest assets when dealing with Men.”

“Exactly as I said, brilliant mind,” he gave her a playful smirk that coaxed a silvery burst of laughter from Anila.

This atmosphere—and their mutual teasing—reigned throughout the whole meal, accompanied by the twittering of the forest birds and gentle rustling of trees. You are a lucky Dwarf, thought Thorin, enjoying the feeling of content, laying on his side, his body weight resting on his elbow as he admired the sight in front of him. A beautiful day spent with a companion who is not only beautiful but also smart… to the point of putting your willpower to a test with her merciless teasing. And she happens to be your wife. Just look at her, the way the summer breeze plays with her hair, the way she takes a sip of wine, her sensual lips wrapping over the edge of her cup, or the way her fingers seem to dance in the air as she explains something about that newest decree on mining safety. And the way she speaks your name, with so much feeling and softness in her eyes. Is she not perfect? The true queen of your heart?

Thorin would never put these thoughts into words, of course. His wife would surely think him ridiculously mawkish and overly sentimental. The king of the Khazad of the Lonely Mountain should be anything but ridiculous. The best course of action was to keep such maudlin thoughts to himself.

“I think a dessert is in order,” he decided after a few more moments of his reverie.

“A dessert? I feel so full, I do not think I can eat even a bit more,” Anila sighed.

Thorin simply said, “Wild strawberries.”

“What?” she gasped.

He placed a small woven basket in front of her, its contents covered with peppermint leaves.

“How…? This forest is too young for wild strawberries…” she whispered to herself, removing the leaves and seeing small, oblong ruby-red shapes laid out in layers. “They smell delicious. It has to be magic!”

“Try one and see for yourself,” Thorin gave her a triumphant smile. Surprising his wife was something he never had enough of. Perhaps it was also partially because of the enthusiastic way she showed their gratitude, but even a king could be self-indulgent from time to time, he decided.

“A rider from the Woodland Realm brought them at the break of dawn,” he divulged his secret, admiring the way his wife put one of the berries into her mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed approvingly.

“You asked King Thranduil for a handful of the first wild strawberries of the season?” she then asked.

“Aye.”

“And he agreed?”

“Aye.”

“And sent a messenger to you in the middle of the night?”

“As you can see,” he pointed at the berries in front of them.

“Are you truly telling me you had a peaceful conversation with Thranduil during which you agreed on something? Without shouting and cursing each other’s ancestors five generations back? I think I will go with the ‘magic’ explanation,” Anila shook her head, but Thorin noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes.

“I did not say there was no shouting involved,” he humoured her.

“If you say so,” she chuckled and took another berry. “Mmmm… They are very sweet. Have you tasted them yet?”

Thorin shook his head.

Without a word, she put the berry into his mouth and let him close his lips over her lingering fingers a moment before she retreated them.

“Very sweet indeed,” he admitted, still feeling her caress against his skin. “Just like you.”

Now it was his turn to take a berry and offer it to Anila. Her lips opened a bit and she gently took it between her lips, the tip of her tongue brushing against his fingertips. A wave of heat passed through him, a multitude of thoughts flooded his mind, but not a single one of them was mawkish.

Before he had a chance to react, she put another berry into his mouth and sealed it with hers. A low purr escaped him when their lips met, her kiss even sweeter than the fruit, and he tasted her to his heart’s content. There was tenderness and gentleness in that kiss, but the song of her supple lips dancing against his spoke of fire kindling inside her—and in his mind, Thorin agreed that it was time for another kind of distraction. He covered her cheeks with a myriad of feather-light kisses, whispering words of adoration into her ear as her fingers ran through his hair, caressing his scalp, eliciting a groan of pleasure out of him. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss, revelling in the way she responded to him, their bodies pressed against each other, their lips on fire. Then his lips traced a smooth trail along the line of her jaw, and found the way to her neck. Each of his kisses aimed at claiming her skin, every single inch of it. She tilted her head back invitingly and he continued his explorations, his lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear, and then adorning that place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder with kisses, precisely the way she liked it. When she rewarded him with a moan, he felt her body tremble in anticipation. Thorin was still hungry, hungry for her, even hungrier than before, and he refused to restrict himself any longer. Not on a day like this.

He lay her on the blanket, her eyes shining, her cheeks slightly flushed, the round peaks of her breasts rising and falling, her hair scattered around her head, glowing in the sun like a halo or richly veined marble, and he found himself in need of stealing yet another kiss.

“Anila,” he murmured, “you are breathtaking.”

She did not reply—busy with stealing a kiss from him this time and wrapping her arms around his neck—while his hand travelled down until he felt that round, supple softness under his palm and the warmth that seeped through the thin fabric of her gown. He played with the idea of simply ripping her bodice—her whole gown—apart and feasting on her naked body until dusk and beyond… and then wrapping her in his cloak and smuggling her back into the mountain for a long and eventful bath, the birthday celebrations be damned, but this tempting plan had to wait. Instead, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze and proceeded to undo the front of her bodice while his lips slipped down her neck and found the sweet spot on her left breast that tasted like honey.

“The High Council…” Anila gasped as his tongue swirled over her skin and then his lips closed over the spot again. “That meeting tomorrow… They will be scandalized when they see that hickey, my love…”

“We both know they will not say a word about it,” he chuckled. “Just as it happened last month, remember?”

“I forget what a clever strategist you are. Yes, I remember, Master Finulv was speechless, Balin pretended not to notice anything, and you could barely keep awake during that council meeting. That high collar doublet suited you very well, by the way,” she admitted, helping herself to the buttons of his tunic.

“It was my attempt at covering the proof of my wife’s fiery temperament,” he smirked, observing Anila’s nimble fingers at work. “I do not think I was successful. Master Bragi did not dare to lift his gaze from his notes even once.”

His wife’s only response was a chuckle just before she covered his lips with hers.

Among the kisses and caresses generously bestowed upon each other, among their whispers and sighs, they eagerly shed most of their clothes. Thorin gave out a satisfied hum, admiring Anila’s sun-speckled skin, the alluring curves of her body glowing as if imbued with the light of thousands of Ereborean diamonds. He was certain there were words that could describe this vision of ethereal beauty before him, but he could not find any.

“My king seems to be lost in thoughts,” he heard her say playfully. “Allow me to help you.”

Anila lowered herself in front of him and her hands started roaming his body, releasing him from his trousers. Her kisses burning a bold path on his lower abdomen, and he found himself unable to take his eyes off her; of her nimble fingers wrapping around his already hardened manhood; of her hair like silk between his fingers, of her lovely lips that closed over his tip, of her sultry gaze, of the soft heat he was delving into, of her palm that…

“Anila… Mahal…” His wife knew him so well and she knew exactly what would please him, but today was not about him. “Allow me to take care of you first.”

“I was under the impression that you were in the mood for dessert,” she looked up at him innocently, licking her lips. Vixen. Merciless vixen. And he wanted more of her.

“Oh yes, I do,” he smiled, moving towards her.

“A dessert…” she gave out a chuckle when his lips greedily closed over her nipple, lavishing it with attention. Between the gentle nibbles and soft kisses scattered over her rosy peaks, among her sighs and his praising murmurs, his hands painted devout patterns along her body, in an act of physical worship. Thorin did not wish to stop; he craved to cover all off her body with his kisses, to bedeck it with his caresses, to offer his queen endless ecstasy. He wanted to offer her as much pleasure as he could and revel in her rapture. Soon she was stretched beneath him, pleading for more, her fingers entangled with his hair as his tongue drew spirals around her navel, his lips covered the softness of her lower belly, his hands caressed the roundness of her hips.

When his kisses finally moved to her thighs, and his hot breath skimmed the mound between them, Anila whispered, “Have mercy...”

“What do you wish for, my queen?” He lifted his gaze to her face, her eyes hooded with pleasure, her lips slightly parted, her breathing fast, her fingers playing with her nipple. What a beguiling view it was.

“I want you to please me, Thorin,” she whispered, parting her legs slightly. This was the only invitation he needed.

“Your word is my command,” he replied. Settling himself between her legs, he cupped her bottom, enjoying its round firmness. It fit perfectly in his large hands and he lifted her slightly. Anila moaned in delight when he eagerly buried his mouth between her thighs, his beard brushing against them. She writhed beneath him as he showered her most intimate places with kisses and caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His tongue explored the folds of her womanhood. The taste of her arousal made him even harder than before, made him dizzy with desire for her, but that had to wait. Now he was intent on pleasing her this way and so his lips found the most sensitive point on her body, tenderly tugging on the silky bud, and then started sucking on it. He heard her whimpers, her incoherent mewling spurring him on, and he continued his ministrations, pleasing his queen.

He gripped her thighs firmly when his tongue sank rhythmically into her, evoking waves of elation, one after another, each of them stronger than the previous one. Thorin recognized the signs all too well, and he drove her further and further, among the heights of pleasure, bringing her closer towards the very peak of ecstasy with every caress. Purring into her flesh, he caressed her swollen nub with his thumb, feeling how she arched against him as waves of pleasure sent tremors of ecstasy through her body, and he relentlessly kept on taking her even higher until her blissful moans and praises echoed through the forest. He stopped only after Anila went completely limp beneath him, one of her hands letting go of the fistful of the blanket.

Thorin moved up towards her, pressing his lips to her shoulder, and then brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Her eyes were shut, her face flushed, her long eyelashes casting small shadows on her cheeks, beads of sweat covering her forehead. His caress caused a small smile to bloom on her lips, but her eyelids remained closed.

“Is my queen pleased?”

“A little bit…” she muttered, smiling still. “But I wouldn’t mind a second… no, that would be a third course.”

“Insatiable woman,” he whispered teasingly, kissing her collarbone. His fingers busied themselves in lining out the shapes of her breasts and unhurriedly following the curves of her ribs. Then his tongue joined in, exploring new, exciting paths on her body, each of them punctuated by her moan. Mahal was a great architect indeed, creating such wonders as this woman beside him. Compared with the elegant lines of her body, he felt like a block of unhewn stone; and yet when she lay so close against him, it felt as if they were made from the same piece of rock. Perhaps the Creator put all of his energy into making Thorin’s life companion perfect and decided it was enough. In fact, she was more than he could ever hope for. Absent-mindedly, he took Anila’s hand into his and placed a tender kiss onto her wrist.

Anila gave out a content sigh and opened her eyes, oblivious to his thoughts.

“Insatiable? It is because you have spoiled me rotten,” she stated. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, coaxing him closer to her, and when she closed the distance between their lips, he hummed approvingly. A new fire woke in her and there was hunger in her kiss, the same hunger that had been wreaking havoc through his body since the moment he saw her alone in this place. Her hip brushed against his erect member and he let out a low growl-like moan. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Anila found his hand and placed it over her breasts.

“Make love to me, Thorin,” the words were simple, but the timbre of her voice brought a much deeper meaning with them. And the desire in her eyes met with tenderness in her gaze.

“My queen,” he murmured, offering her an affectionate kiss, the softness of her lips giving him a promise he was eager to see fulfilled.

His kisses were careful, measured, and yet thorough, each of them aiming at telling her things he was unable to say with words. One of his hands caressed her body, eliciting sweet little sighs from her, until it found the secret trail that led his fingers to the treasure she hid between her legs. The moans that filled his ears in response to his feather-light caresses sounded like music.

“Is this to your liking, my queen?” he asked while his fingers explored her boldly, dancing in circles around all her sensitive spots and enticing even more moans from her. This, combined with feeling how aroused she still was, caused his manhood to throb even more in anticipation. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself.

“You know it is very much to my liking,” she admitted, bestowing a smile upon him. “But I need more.”

Thorin could not stop himself any longer. Taking his manhood in his hand, he growled with arousal, feeling her wetness against him. Anila tilted her hips, offering herself to him and he cast her a satisfied look, devouring her with his gaze. It was not long before he pressed his tip to the heat of her core. An unhurried thrust of his hips brought him home, his torments rewarded at last. He lowered himself over her and repeated the movement, studying her face as she bit her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yes, Thorin, more,” she whispered, taking deep breaths.

As he covered her body with his, Anila seemed so small under him, almost fragile, and yet she was perfect. He knew he needed to be gentle with her at first, and he did that gladly, anticipating the bliss that awaited them both. He could feel how snug she was around him, how an occasional tremble of pleasure came from deep within her as he carefully moved another inch forward.

As her body accommodated to his hardness, he gave another slow thrust, filling her completely. Her breath hitched and she welcomed him with a small cry of pleasure.

“My lovely, lovely Anila,” Thorin whispered, unmoving, his lips brushing against her forehead, his thumb running across her cheek. He knew his size was a challenge for her, but every single time she took him in with passionate eagerness that multiplied his arousal. “We fit so well together, do we not?”

“We do,” her melodic, dreamy voice reached him, her breath wafting against his sensitive earlobe. “I don’t think I will be able to let you go.”

With these teasing words, she wrapped her legs around him, lifting her hips slightly. That made him burrow himself even deeper into the dewy paradise of her womanhood.

“Then don’t,” he rasped out. “We can stay like this for as long as you like. Only say a word, my queen.”

“Then take all the time in the world with me,” she decided.

And so he did. With his movements slow and measured, his eyes remained on her face, revelling in the growing signs of ecstasy he noticed. Anila, his wife, his queen, deserved all he could give her—and more. Her first (or rather third) peak of ecstasy came soon, just after he changed the pace, murmuring seductive promises into her ear. Her lengthy moan rang out in the air as her body trembled with ecstasy. It took all of his resolve not to follow her over the edge at that very moment, but Thorin denied himself that pleasure. He was not finished with her, there was more he wanted to give. He paused, cradling her face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on her burning hot lips, waiting for her to recover, but Anila’s affectionate gaze once again rested on him as she asked for more.

Soon he found himself finding the perfect rhythm, sinking inside her for what seemed forever. As he drowned in Anila’s eyes, their moans intertwined, celebrating the union of their bodies. They were drifting away together on the sea of their shared passion. Every thrust was a promise of endless joy Thorin would offer her, every caress was imbued with his adoration, echoed by his whispers until they came together as one. She clung to him, responding to his every move, her nails sinking in his back, driving him forward, demanding more, and he gave it to her in a series of rapid thrusts, the waves of their bliss growing higher to finally wash over them in pure rapture.

***

“Happy birthday, sweet Anila,” he murmured as he rolled on his back, his arm wrapped around her, but she only hummed something incoherent in response and cuddled up closer to him under the clear blue sky above.

They remained in a sweet, languid embrace for an eternity—or perhaps minutes—Anila’s head resting on Thorin’s chest, her arm limp across his stomach, her hair scattered across his body, his nose full of her flowery scent. Their breaths evened out and the only sounds around them came from the birds in the trees and he found himself drifting off to sleep.

“Thorin…” Anila breathed into his skin after a longer while.

“Hmmm?” He opened one eye reluctantly.

“You are as wild as these berries,” she pointed towards the forgotten fruits, now scattered among the grass.

“Am I?” He hummed into her hair.

“I think I will have to personally thank King Thranduil for your fervour,” she replied with a smirk.

“Don’t you dare, wife… unless you’d like to be spanked,” Thorin protested.

She chuckled and he felt her hand travelling down his abdomen, “Is that a promise, my king?”

“Insatiable woman,” he managed to say before her lips stopped him from talking for a very long time. For perhaps all the time in the world.

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