#not sure they appreciate that knowledge lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aurumalatus · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟓]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.1k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, reader is mentioned to be wearing a dress, descriptions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. the slow burn is burning... kinich is a little slow to the punch though LOL. this chapter talks about turnfire night, i took a lot of ~artistic liberty~ with the banquet and such so don't hate on me pls. there's a bit of angst in the next few chapters, i'm sorry HAHAHA. pls lmk what you guys think, it's very motivating! i hope you enjoy <3 reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗥𝗢𝗢𝗠 (𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘)

At some point, the flowers start to speak your name.

Kinich isn’t sure when the idea took root in his mind—it had been slow for sure, a snail crawling over a branch. Living together makes you a perpetual presence in his life, a certainty like the rise of the sun and the glint of the stars. He finds comfort in that knowledge, but rarely thinks on it more than that.

The day he realizes it, the sun is a bright yolk in the sky, honey-yellow and shining dutifully upon his back. A layer of sweat plasters itself to his forehead, and he scrubs it away with his wrist, panting. For as many years as he’s been a farmer, the work hardly gets easier; it still leaves him sore and aching every day.

Across the field, the front door of your home swings open—it’s you that peeks out, waving. Kinich nods back in reply, gathering the vegetables in his basket and jogging back over to you. He frowns when he notices a dark spot on one of his carrots, vaguely noting that he should toss that one out later.

“I ran you a bath,” you offer, leaning halfway out the doorway. Kinich extends a half-smile in gratitude.

“Thanks,” he replies, holding the harvest out to you. You take the basket with a small ‘thank you’, placing it down on your feet. Usually, you would take the vegetables inside right away to wash and cut them, but today, you’re lingering—there’s something on your mind.

But Kinich is nothing if not patient, so he merely waits, arching a brow.

“It’s Turnfire Night,” you finally admit, hands clasped behind your back. “Elder Leik invited us to the banquet, if you’re keen on going.”

Surprised, Kinich glances over his crops. He’s just about done here for the day, and he doesn’t have anything on the to-do list for tonight anyway.

“Do you want to?”

You’re hesitating, likely out of shyness—he watches you rock back and forth on your heels.

“I think it’d be nice,” you reply, short.

You’re trying not to force him, he realizes. You know how much he hates crowded things like that. And usually, you would be right, but he thinks back on the last time he’d visited the village. It’s been long enough, he decides, and one day wouldn’t kill him.

“Sure, we can go.”

Your disposition brightens instantly, nearly ascending with joy.

“Really?” you squeak, hands drawing to your chest. He smiles and nods, shaking his head with amusement when you disappear back inside, cheering. You’re easy to please in a lot of ways.

Kinich takes you up on your offer of a warm bath, then prepares one for you as well. Gone are the days that the two of you washed up in the river—a nicer bathtub had been one of your earlier investments, and Kinich had grown to appreciate the blessings of a warm place to wash at the end of a long day. It does wonders for his aching muscles.

Over the years, Kinich’s house had slowly grown into a home, right under his nose. Your presence had been a driving force in that process.

While his hair dries, he’s in the kitchen organizing a few of the cupboards when you emerge from your bath, footsteps quietly padding against the floor. You call his name, voice thin and uncertain. When he turns, his heart squeezes.

You’re wearing a lovely dress, a forest green with golden accents—he briefly notes that it matches his eyes, then wonders if you had chosen that on purpose. The thought leaves his head foggy.

“What do you think?” you ask shyly, giving a small twirl. Kinich’s gaze follows the flow of your skirt, the liveliness of it. He’s never seen you dressed up like this in all his years of knowing you, and the sight makes something take root in his chest. “I bought it at the market a while ago, just in case.”

There’s a beat of silence, but it doesn’t sit for long.

“It looks nice,” is all that crawls from his throat, thick. The words sound awkward from his lips, he thinks harshly. A heated flush surges up his neck, curling around his ears and resting there. You practically glow at his response, clapping to yourself.

“I got something for you too,” you sing, disappearing into the bedroom. Kinich waits patiently until you return, gesturing for him to close his eyes. He indulges you, and it’s a few seconds before something soft brushes at his forehead, pushing his bangs aside.

A bandana.

When his vision returns, you’re standing inches away from his face—his breath hitches at the proximity. Your gaze is searching as it meets his, your lip twitching at the edge. The excitement nearly pours off of you in waves.

You’re staring.

Kinich’s fingers brush his own cheek, self-conscious. “What is it?”

You lean impossibly closer.

“Nothing,” you hum, happy as a clam. “I just think it makes your eyes look even prettier.”

You’ve always told him how much you love his eyes, the starburst of jade and gold. You have a tendency to notice things about him that no one else does.

“Does it look nice?” he asks quietly, thumbing at the cloth. He would recognize a product of your weaving anywhere—you must’ve been working on this for a while now. He wonders when you found the time, or even how you managed to do it without him noticing.

You nod, a fond smile gracing your face. “You look really handsome.”

Kinich feels a touch of jealousy at the ease with which the words seem to fall from your lips. Sometimes, he wishes he could speak his mind the way you do. He doesn’t usually hold back in his words—most people he interacts with can attest to that—but when it comes to you, his tongue grows heavy in his mouth.

Still, the idea that you think he looks handsome is…nice.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

You turn and skip back into the bedroom, calling over your shoulder about how the two of you should leave soon. He watches you leave, the dress flowing like silk over your form. He swallows.

It’s really, really nice.

Later on, Kinich holds you close as the two of you grapple toward the village, mountains and trees racing past you. Your giggles are warm against his ear; you love traveling like this, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. Winking dots of light are already visible in the distance, a rousing cheer reaching your ears—the festivities have already started.

He lands neatly on one of the wooden walkways, taking in the scenery. The village is decorated with bright streamers and vases of blooming flowers, crowds of people maneuvering around the party. You maintain your grip on Kinich’s hand, unwilling to lose him in the crowd.

Two taller figures emerge from the swathe of people, greeting you by name.

“Have you two been taking care?” Elder Leik asks warmly, Chief Wayna smiling at his side. The elders are concerned for the two of you, Kinich knows; they’ve tried many times to convince you to move back to the village. Their efforts slowly ceased as the two of you grew older—you’ve always been steadfast in your independence.

You nod enthusiastically. “We’ve been doing really well! Everyone’s seeking out Kinich’s work.”

Your compliment makes him feel a bit embarrassed—he feels an urge to deny it, but the elders only laugh and congratulate him, ruffling at his hair. He does feel a bit satisfied that they recognize his strength.

“That’s great,” Chief Wayna replies, genuine. “Just remember you can always come to us if you ever need anything. But also make sure you enjoy the party!”

He leaves the two of you with a wink, fading into the crowd, and you take the opportunity to grasp at Kinich’s hand, pulling him along. You’re the most excited person there, truly in awe of everything.

Kinich indulges in some of the food, laughing at the gusto with which you scarf down your own—he chuckles as he wipes crumbs away from your cheeks. Everyone’s spirits are high; the music is loud and roaring, an electrifying song that Kinich can feel in his veins. You perk up at the sound.

“Kin, can we dance?” you beg, eyes bright and lips pouted.

He glances around. Really, he doesn’t want to, especially not in front of all of these people. But the music is slowing, and Kinich can never say no to you, so he sighs, pulling you close and placing a cursory hand at your waist.

“Is this good?” he asks, a murmur. You hum in content, resting your head at his shoulder.

“It’s great.”

A permanent grin seems to have plastered itself over your lips. Kinich absently thinks that it makes you look so much more beautiful—a flower in bloom.

“You’re really happy today,” he comments.

Your eyes flutter shut, delighted.

“I’m happy you wanted to come with me. And I was happy that you liked my dress, and that you liked the headband I wove for you. I’m just happy.”

A deep yearning fills Kinich’s chest at the feather-softness of your voice—he feels an urge to hide you away. Somehow, he wants this side of you to only be for him.

“I did really like it,” he confirms. “The headband, and…everything else.”

He likes spending time with you, he likes your dress, and he likes the warmth that permeates his body when you hold him like this. Everything else seems to fade into nothingness.

For a while, the two of you talk about nothing and everything. It’s a truly peaceful existence. Kinich tries to remember if he’s ever been to a Turnfire Night like this before; the last time he’d attended, he’d likely been too young to even remember the event. You just have a way of replacing his darker memories with pleasant ones.

The beat of the music picks up again, and Kinich feels an instant chill when you lift your head from his shoulder. Still, he sways to the music with you, smiling when you start to sing along to the energetic song.

“You’re a good dancer,” you observe, in awe. Kinich shrugs, smoothly spinning you again.

“It’s not that hard.”

Dancing with you is actually fun, he realizes despite his initial hesitation. Your laughter fades with the passing wind, dissipating into the night, and he can’t help but stare at the way the torchlight glimmers against your skin.

The two of you celebrate until the music dies to silence, until people start to yawn and retire to bed. By this time, the sun is already peeking in the distance, barely a whisper of light reaching you.

Kinich carries you home, soft snores echoing from your place on his back—he decides he won’t tease you about it later.

Instead, he promises himself that he’ll keep taking you to Turnfire Night every year after.

(Then, he promises himself that he’ll always protect your smile.)

By the time he cries for the first time, Kinich is fifteen.

He feels that he knows the way the world works now—those with strength, with value, survive. It’s not that he has any interest in being one of the rich ones with towering houses that line the cliffside. Really, all he needs to be satisfied is a comfortable life with you at the foot of the mountain. And his needs—things like clothes and food—come with Mora, so he makes Mora. It’s a simple existence.

He spends more time with you. Slowly but surely, he starts to bring you on jobs and hunts with him. You’re eager to learn about the work he does, and even more excited to help—your medical knowledge does tend to make things go faster. Still, he feels extra layers of anxiety whenever he knows you’re coming along, his grip drawing tighter around his sword.

It comes on a day like any other.

At first, it doesn’t seem like a particularly difficult job—it’s a run-of-the-mill request, to subdue a Saurian that’s been attacking travelers near the village. Even still, Kinich is as thorough as always in the days leading up to the job, and you let him take the lead. He’s strict about these things when you come along, and you know better than to distract him.

The day of, the two of you encounter the Saurian in a clearing adjacent to the road. It’s sick, you mention quietly, hidden in the foliage nearby—it’s foaming at the mouth, erratic in its movements. Kinich mumbles back his agreement.

It starts to peck at the poisoned berries he’d left for it, movements slowing. He counts down the minutes—at this point, it should be incapacitated enough for the kill.

It’s only when Kinich creeps up behind it, greatsword in hand, that he realizes he’d been wrong. The Saurian seems to switch at the last second, beady eyes burning as it poises to strike. Kinich barely blocks the attack with the flat of his blade, teeth gritted.

“Kinich!” you cry out, running to his side. The Saurian perks up at the sound, tense.

Kinich’s eyes widen. “Wait, don’t come—”

It’s too late. The Saurian’s claw catches you in the stomach as it whips around, sending you flying.

A sickening crack echoes when your back smacks against a rock—you crumple to the dirt, hunched over. A cold breath hisses between Kinich’s teeth as he screams your name.

The Saurian doesn’t last much longer than that, not that he really remembers any of it. He swings his sword, cutting and slicing, sounds of battle piercing the air. It’s only when he sprints to your side that he returns to his senses.

A harsh gash is ripped through your shirt and the skin beneath, a pool of crimson already gathering on your stomach. The sight brings bile crawling up his throat.

“Kin…”

Your voice is weak, and Kinich hushes you quickly, an urge to save your strength. A striking fear has his blood freezing in his veins—he remembers his father’s corpse. Terror hovers over his body, leaving him breathless. He intertwines his fingers with yours, pressing the back of your hand to his lips.

“That hurt,” you mumble, a touch of humor in your tone even now. “I’m tired.”

Your eyelids are heavy, stare unfocused.

“Don’t close your eyes!” he demands. He palms at your cheek lightly, willing you to stay awake. It’s unlike him, the desperation in his voice. “Didn’t you say you’d always be by my side?”

You chuckle, a line of blood dripping down your chin. Kinich thumbs it away.

“I said that when we were kids, silly.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. Your eyes follow the motion unconsciously.

“We’re still kids.”

His voice cracks as he says it, like his words can’t bear the brunt of their meaning. Your heart pulses, a burst of adrenaline coursing through you at his rare show of emotion. It’s only a moment, because the pain returns milliseconds later and a groan escapes your chest.

Quickly, Kinich pulls his headband off, sliding it between his teeth to hold while he pulls the flask of water from his belt. He sets about cleaning your wound, gentle, but the stress is evident in his expression. His hands are shaking; you can feel the tremble against your skin as he eases your shirt up.

“It’ll be okay,” he breathes. Even he is unsure if he’s speaking to you or himself. You nod weakly.

“It’ll be okay, Kin.” You cough, and something in Kinich’s chest snaps when a spray of blood splatters over the hem of his shirt. A spray of your blood. “Don’t worry, okay?”

He can’t even really hear you anymore. He’s staring at the crimson mist, wondering how this had even happened. He’d assumed he was strong enough—strong enough to do this job, strong enough to protect you—and he had been wrong. There must’ve been an error in his calculations, or maybe he hadn’t prepared enough.

He fastens his headband around your wound, stemming the blood flow. It’s almost an out-of-body experience—he hardly even recognizes the hands as his.

He’d gotten too comfortable, and you had paid the price.

Those with strength survive, but that day brings a sobering realization—Kinich is far weaker than he thought.

A cold tear slides down his cheek as he carries you home.

You’re sniffling in pain at each step, the movement irritating your wound, and Kinich feels truly helpless. All he can do is whisper promises and apologies, that he’s sorry it happened and that he promises everything will be okay. It almost feels worse that you don’t seem to blame him at all—you’re apologizing too, telling him you’re sorry for being a burden on his job.

“You’re never a burden,” he spits. It comes out harsher than intended, so he sighs, softening. “You could never be a burden to me.”

You don’t reply.

A thick lump lodges itself in his throat as he feels your blood soak through the back of his shirt. It all almost feels unreal—he feels like he could return home to your warmth and smile and everything would be okay. You have a way of making everything okay.

“We’re almost there, okay?” he murmurs. You’re sweating from the pain, sticky against his skin. “Just stay with me.”

The house feels unnaturally cold when he kicks the door open.

By the time he has your wound properly wrapped, the sun is gone, a distant memory. He sets you down in bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin—you’re already asleep, but your expression is unpleasant, tortured. You must be in pain, even in your dreams.

The thought makes him sick.

With a sigh, he stumbles out of the bedroom, collapsing onto the couch. His hands are still shaking from overuse and exhaustion. He’s not used to the tedious movements anymore like you are—you’re always the one patching him up these days.

A vase sits on the table. It’s full of Saurian Claw Succulents—you’d planted them yourself, cheery at the prospect of decorating the house a bit more. Kinich plucks one of the flowers from the vase by the thin stem, vacantly inspecting each petal.

He wonders what he has to change.

Those with strength survive. Kinich wants to survive. He wants to survive and live his days out with you.

But he’s not strong enough. If you can’t smile at his side, what good is he at all?

Your labored breathing is audible from the other room, the sound grating against his ears. If he had a Vision, or some other kind of power, things might’ve been different. If he had just been stronger—

He thinks back on his younger self, on his innocence, on his weakness. He’d discarded that side of himself long ago in favor of something more powerful, in favor of someone who could protect and take care of you.

There’s no turning back now, he thinks.

The stem snaps under his fingers, under the weight of it all, previous gentleness gone.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin impact imagines #kinich x you #adeptus ink

440 notes · View notes

b14augrana · 5 months ago

Text

Open Arms

Two players, one last name. Only one of you is suffering from the legacy attached to it

Alexia Putellas x sister!reader

masterlist

Warnings: angst and/or hurt + bit of an inconclusive ending lol not happy or sad kinda just… 🫠

A/N: more alexia angst in the place of aapa pt. 4! heavily inspired by open arms by sza, and i highly recommend that you listen to it because this will make a whole lot more sense if you do + it’s amazing. this song is so dear to my heart and honestly one of my favourites ever, so i had to write something inspired by it because the meaning is so deep and interpretable in many ways. this is just one of them :)

You thought that playing for Barcelona was your lifelong dream.

It was a picturesque scene; two players sharing the same last name stepping onto the pitch in the same jersey. It had been your dream at one point, until you realised the influence of your sister was leading you to believe that.

This set something off in you, like it triggered a chain reaction of thoughts and epiphanies that led up to the inevitable.

It was so hard to shine as your own individual self, when all you were credited for was the name on your back and the uncanny resemblance you had to Alexia. You were good, you were so good, but nobody ever noticed. You knew it would stay like this forever if you didn’t do something for yourself.

You could remember your hometown of Mollet de Vallès to be a place that was rife with FC Barcelona pride; it would’ve been the ultimate betrayal to your neighbourhood if you hadn’t elected to play for the club. It would be the ultimate betrayal to leave them, as well.

You were born and raised in Barcelona. The culture, the people, the club, all of it was surely intertwined into your soul. That wouldn’t stop you from running away from every bit of it and breaking out of the manacles this city held you in.

If it wasn’t for your sister and the fact that all your years spent at the club was deeply rooted in the love you had for her, you would’ve been gone ages ago.

At first, you thought you were just having one of those days when nothing felt like it was going your way, but the feelings persisted and you became more acutely aware of the real problem — you were staying for Alexia, and her feelings were beginning to come above your career and self-esteem.

You could only spend so much time in the dark before you started craving the light. Living in her shadow was simply not good enough. You had spent enough of your life feeling hopeless.

Being on the same team as her meant that the closest you’d ever get to being called good is comparisons to your sister. Alexia was La Reina. Alexia was everything. You? Well… you were barely anything if not Alexia’s little sister, the other less impressive Putellas.

Talks with your agent made the decision you had to make crystal clear; you could continue to be downplayed as long as you stay at Barcelona, or you could leave the club and feel what it’s like to be appreciated for the skill you possess instead of your relations to Alexia.

The hardest part of this entire thing? Telling her.

You could pack your things and book your plane tickets, call your agent and tell him to start negotiating with clubs, let the board know that you’re leaving for good and never turning back, but breaking the news to Alexia was easier said than done.

When you were in her kitchen one night, bearing a burden on your shoulders, you hesitated to speak. The knowledge of your career at Barça coming to an end after one more match was severing your tongue, preventing you from speaking, and eventually you’d cave beneath it and keep it all to yourself until Alexia found out in the worst way possible. The deal was done, you put pen to paper, and you were set to join Bayern Munich. All that was left to do was tell Alexia.

Bayern Munich, so far away from Barcelona, it was perfect. You could restart and build a name for yourself, completely separated from your family name. Even if Alexia did get angry, you would be in Germany within the next month (give or take a week), so what did it matter?

Part of you had faith that she’d understand, recognise your intentions and not take it to heart. The entirety of you hoped and prayed for that.

“Alexia,” you started, turning around in your seat at the dining table to look at her while she poured herself a glass of water. She hummed in response to you, as to indicate that she was listening.

“I’m leaving the club. I’ve signed it — the contract — and it’s done. I’m going to Bayern.”

She turned off the faucet suddenly, standing at the sink with her back to you. Her grip on the glass tightened ever so slightly, and you could hear the deep breath she took.

“What?” she mumbled, turning around to look at you with eyes narrowed in disbelief. You glared at the table, nodding your head slightly.

“I’m going to Bayern,” you repeated, looking up to meet her now widened eyes as she placed her glass down. “I’m leaving Barça.”

She glanced at you, her eyes softening for a moment, and you could tell that she was barely registering the news.

“You can’t,” she responded, “Barça is your home, we belong here, both of us–”

There went any chances of her understanding you. That other part of you that knew she wouldn’t be rational about this, had been proven right. “You belong here, Alexia. I don’t,” you shot back, pointing at her with an almost accusing finger.

“What’s wrong with the club?” Alexia snapped. You glared at her, your angered façade crumbling away to reveal the true sadness that remained behind it.

“This club is your dream, (Y/N). I mean, I don’t get it,” she laughed, her expression seeping with disbelief, “You love it here, I love you here– don’t you remember? We used to talk about retiring here together, assisting each other and scoring from each other’s passes. Remember how you’ve always wanted to score a bicycle kick off one of my corners? Why do you want to leave, when we haven’t done all this, when there’s still so much for us to achieve?”

It wasn’t her fault that everyone kept you in the dark. Alexia would never want you at Barça if she knew this was going to happen. Still, you couldn’t cave now. There was no use in regretting anything, because it was done. Maybe if you had told her about your plans to leave, you would’ve felt this regret earlier, and things would’ve been different. Empty ‘what-ifs’ only reminded you that it was too late.

But still, her plea to make you stay was solely built on whatever regarded her. Not a single thing about what you wanted to do was taken into consideration.

“Tell me what made you want to leave, and I’ll make them change it. Just don’t ruin your career by leaving,” she continued.

“You know what?” you started, standing up so you were eye-to-eye with your sister, “I thought you out of all people would understand, but no. You’re selfish, Alexia. This is what’s best for me, I can’t stay here if I want to be any good!”

You were yelling, and you never liked to yell, but it felt like the only way to properly convey your feelings to the woman.

“I’m not even second best to you. Sometimes I feel like I’m only kept at this club to make you look good, and I am so, so sick of it. For years I’ve– I have no confidence left, no sense of pride in myself, I barely ever feel happy wearing this jersey because it’s always been your dream, not mine! I’m not the Putellas that belongs here, everyone knows that, so don’t try to make me stay because this is my only chance to be great. I want to be great, Alexia, and you should know better than anyone what it’s like to want that.”

It was only normal that you began to tear up amidst your words, and they trembled on your waterline as you spoke.

Alexia looked defeated.

More than anything, she felt unbridled amounts of guilt running rife through her. She wanted to reach out to you, hug you, tell you that everything would be alright and she never looked at you as a dim light that made hers look brighter, but she was glued to the spot, her muscles twitching and urging her to step forward with no avail.

“I love you, and I’ve stayed all this time for you. Honestly, I never even wanted to stay. You’re the only one that’s holding me down.” It was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and in its place sat a mix of relief and guilt.

Alexia stayed silent, only a singular tear slipping down her cheek, the start of many that she would shed behind closed doors that night. It was more than just losing a teammate to her, and she wasn’t so emotional because her sister was leaving; it was the realisation that she didn’t know you very well in the first place, and the culpability of realising that she really had been holding you down.

That conversation was one of the last you had with Alexia in person. You played one last match for the Blaugrana, and then you left for Germany the following week.

Even weeks of knowing prior to your final match couldn’t soften the blow as Alexia stood on the pitch, clapping for you as you waved goodbye to the fans and teammates alike, tears brimming in your eyes that were akin to the ones rolling down her cheeks.

She walked up to you, and she embraced you like she never has before, like you were disappearing into nothingness instead of another country. You gripped her tightly, savouring the hug and trying to memorise the feeling, and when she pulled away, she had a pensive smile on her face.

“If you ever want to come back to me, I’ll always be right here with open arms. Cuídate, hermana.”

#fcb femení x reader #fcbfemeni #fcb femení #woso #woso angst #woso imagines #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fc barcelona femeni #fc barcelona x reader #fcb femeni

485 notes · View notes

youraverageaemondsimp · 11 months ago

Text

Ruinous Fixation // Stalker!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader || MODERN AU.

Valentine's special 💕

Summary: Aemond had been stalking you for a while after an encounter with you in the past, when you found out, you should've been creeped out and called the police, but you didn't, he intrigued you, and so, you pursued him.

WARNINGS: mdni, dark themes, stalker!aemond, afab!reader, unprotected p in v sex, cunnilingus, oral (f. receiving), body worshipping, teasing, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering, multiple orgasms, reader is fucked in the mind too, consensual impregnation(?), voyuerism (to aemond that's watching through cameras), lmk if I forgot + not proofread

WC: 2.5k

A/N: ah yes, valentines special, surely the fic will be something sweet and fluffy, lol sike, it's just two mentally ill ppl getting together 😍, don't let the header fool u guys. // divider credits @cafekitsune

Perhaps it was too much.

Perhaps it wasn't.

Maybe following you home without your knowledge, leaving you presents not signed with a name, instilling secret cameras into the gifts he had given to you — which you've naively kept in your room — could be considered stalking.

But Aemond doesn't feel that way, whether he is ashamed to admit or is in pure denial is unknown to himself, he justifies all of those actions by simple reasoning, ‘to make sure you were safe.’ which is way far-fetched than it should be.

You did not know Aemond, but he knew you, a obsession developed through the course of an year when you had first defended him in something, nobody ever took his side since he was a child, so seeing you step up in his defence, when he was mocked because of his eye, really ignited something in him.

You of course had forgotten about the encounter and moved on, he didn't, he cherished that memory like it was a tiny water droplet amongst the vast desert, he didn't want it to evaporate.

At first he just appreciated you, but then he got curious, of what kind of person you were, and then he got attached and now? well now he's far too in deep to leave, he knows everything about you, the outfit you like, what you do after coming home, your favourite food, what song you blast while getting ready, every miniscule thing, and he prepares his gifts accordingly.

Aemond thought you'd throw his gifts away, but you didn't, he would drop off your favourite flowers which you'd keep in your vase, he was confused why you weren't creeped out by this type of behaviour, an unknown person leaving gifts should make you be fully alert right?

The thing is, you knew.

How can you not? He was way too fully obvious, you had only ever pretended that you did not remember him, but you recognized him, he was unique after all, you'd often catch him staring in your direction, and the gifts and letters he leaves you? How can you not recognize the handwriting when you're both in the same English class? When you've read countless handwritten essays by him?

You knew he was stalking you, you knew it was fucked up, but there was some deep subconscious part of you that liked it, to see someone be obsessed over you to the point of stalking or having their whole life revolve around you was like a stroke to your ego, maybe you're allowing it because you liked the guy? he wasn't a bad person, and neither does he behave like a total creep.

His behaviour is indeed creepy, but not completely creepy or anything — is what you justified your non-repulsiveness about him with

However you had gotten tired, tired of waiting for him to make a move, so you got ahold of his schedule to see when he's free and that's when you decided you'd strike him yourself.

You walk through the hallways in search of him, immediately smiling when you find him coming out of the class, you neutralise your expression and begin walking at full speed towards him, eventually ‘accidentally’ bumping into him, causing your belongings to fall down.

“Watch where you're—Oh are you okay?” He takes a moment to recognize you, and you nod slightly, picking up your things slowly, waiting for him to help you, which he does, but when he's about to touch something – and item that he himself had gifted – you grabbed it in a rush, hiding it from him and he raises his eyebrow at that while he picks up your other things.

He then hands over all the collected stuff, “Sorry for being, that was just an important thing someone had gifted me, I cherish it a lot.” You tell slowly, and smile up at him, you watch the way he shifts in his position, as his eyebrows relax and his mouth slightly curls up in a smile, “No problem.” He tells you and you both part your ways.

That wasn't enough however.

Because Aemond still did not strike, and it made you anxious to no end, so you began planning your guys’ accidental meetings until you eventually became friends with him, Aemond did not expect any of this but he enjoyed every moment, thinking his efforts paid off, well they technically did.

You found out about the camera in the eye of a comforting bed plushie he had gifted you accidentally, it made you shocked to know that he was keeping his eye on you like this, but you didn't care at that point because you too were so obsessed about him.

It's fucked up.

And then, an idea struck up in your head.

You invited Aemond for a coffee date, if you could call it that, and spent time together, preparing for English, he's actually very smart when his life isn't revolving around you, and you liked him even more because of his intelligence.

After a few hours together, you guys ended the date and went back home, you knew he'd be watching you through the camera so you decided to put on a show for him, you laid on the bed, breathing heavily as you imagined Aemond.

You closed your eyes, imagining that your hands were his and you began touching yourself, the way his hands would squeeze your breasts, play with your njpples, you mimicked as your imagery began to go wild.

Aemond was watching all this happen, it's not like he hadn't watched you masturbate before, or hump the plushie he had given you, but this time he for an odd reason, knew it was different.

You hand slowly pulled your panties down, pretending it was him before you slowly spread your legs apart and cupped your own cunt, before rubbing small circles onto your clit.

The pleasure and tension slowly began to rise as you picked up the pace, quickly growing desperate. You knew he was probably watching so you began to make noises hoping he'd hear you, and then an idea struck through you.

Maybe you should give a point of view if he is indeed watching.

You stared at the plush for a second before committing to that, you grabbed it and positioned it between your legs and took off your shirt, so you were completely naked now.

Aemond was unbearably hard at the sight, he massaged his balls to ease the tension before unbuckling his pants pulled his cock out and wrapped his hand around it.

You rutted against the plush, bouncing up and down to create friction inbetween your legs that provided pleasure, Aemond threw his head back, trying to match your pace with his hand, imagining that it was your cunt wrapped around him instead of his hand.

Your orgasm was drawing nearer and you desperately moved your hips back and forth, letting out gasps and whines, squeezing your breasts and pretending it was Aemond's hands.

The band that tightened in your core snapped with a warning, and you closed your eyes shut at the intensity it hit you with, you came with a loud moan of his name, “Fuck— Aemond.” you gasped.

Aemond finished right then there when he heard you say out his name, he grunted as he finished all over his hands. He breathed heavily gazing through the screen as you plopped down onto the bed tiredly, “Mhm Aemond.” You whined sleepily as your tiredness finally caught up to you, and you slowly drifted off to sleep, your breaths slowing down.

Aemond couldn't sleep that night.

——————

“Are you alright?” You teasingly ask him the next morning at class and he stares at you for a moment before nodding. He decided that since you had liked him back, there should be nothing stopping him right?

“Y/N, I have something to say.” He begins

‘Finally,’ you think.

“I'm in love with you, and I don't know if this will ruin the friendship between us but I really do.” He finally confesses and you smile.

“I know Aemond, I loved all of your gifts.” you tell him

And before he could process what you had said, the professor had come in and silenced the class, even after class he didn't get a chance to talk to you, you were always whisked away by something and he grew more frustrated.

So after the college had ended, you both walked home, and he thought it was better to discuss it in private rather than in public, to which you nodded and allowed him into your house. You dropped your bag on the couch before undoing your shoes and throwing them off, before making your way into the kitchen, fetching some water and bringing it for Aemond, while he sat on the couch.

“What do you mean by that you liked my gifts?” He questioned before gulping down some water and placed it on the table right in front of the sofa. You wasted no time and got on his lap, straddling him as you wrapped your arms around him and gazed into his eye.

“I know about everything, Aemond.” You mutter and his eye widens, “Since when?” he queried and you smirked, “Months ago, our meeting wasn't a coincidence.” You cup his cheek, caressing his scar with your thumb. “I hope you liked my show last night, I was waiting for this moment.” You whisper seductively before connecting your lips with his and he lets out a satisfied hum at how soft your lips feel against his, he immediately succumbs into your kiss, grabbing you by your waste and chasing your lips with his, the kiss becomes heated as well as passionate while you grip his head and push your tongue into his mouth.

You pull away to catch your breath and stare into his eye, you push a strand of his hair behind his ear before you lean in, “Take me to the bedroom and fuck me in the bed, Aemond.” You demand and he immediately obeys, holding you tightly against him as he carries you to your bedroom, before gently throwing you on the bed.

And you sit up on your elbows as he crawls up the bed towards you, pawing at your clothes and trying to pull them off, which you assist him with, he kisses your shoulders and your neck, all the way down towards your breasts and to your stomach before pressing a loving kiss on flesh of your cunt.

“You're so fucking wet.” He says amused, and your face heats up at that comment, “All for me, yes?” He looks at you and you nod, “All for you, Aemond.” You reaffirm and he smirks, you felt warmth creep up in your stomach at his expression, giving you butterflies.

He wets his fingers with his spit before pushing one inside humming in satisfaction as your cunt swallows his finger as though it was waiting for him, he slowly begins to thrust in and out, growing more restless and hot as he watches his finger move in and out, hoping that would be his cock soon.

He adds another finger and you whine at the delicious stretch, bucking your hips upwards to which he huts at and presses them back down, his hot breaths fan against your clitoris, causing you to twitch and look at him desperately, and he immediately knows what you want.

His lips wrap around the neglected bud before he begins to suckle on it, twirling his tongue around the pearl whilst you throw your head back at the amplified pleasure he was bestowing you with.

Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, gently pulling against his scalp as you writhe and squirm because of him, your orgasm hits you before you could even process it, making you moan his name out loud as your vision turns white as well as make your ears ring loudly.

He pulls away with a wet pop and pulls his fingers out before cleaning them up with his mouth, he licks his fingers – that was covered in your juices – squeaky clean before and hovers above you and kisses you. You wince at the tangy taste of yourself but nonetheless still kiss him back.

You tug at his pants and shirt, “Take them off.” You command, but in a pleading voice and he gladly does as you say, you watch as he pulls off his shirt and unbuckles his pants.

The sight of his body was divine, from his chest muscles to his defined arms, you began becoming more aroused as he fully undressed, and hovered above you once again, positioning himself between your legs.

“I don't have a condom.” He bites his lower lip nervously, but you cup his cheek and pull the lower lip from between his teeth, before you gazed up at him, “I don't fucking care, take me raw Aemond, I just want you to fuck me right now.” You admit unashamedly to which he chuckles lightly at before pressing his lips against yours once more.

He breaks the kiss and guides his hand towards his cock, gripping it and lining it up with your entrance, Aemond suddenly sits back so he isn't hovering over you anymore and pulls your legs over his shoulders, holding them in place as he pushes his cock inside.

He begins to thrust in and out, fucking you with a slow and gentle pace to gently stretch you out so you can adjust to his cock, and soon begins to move a faster pace than before.

However that still wasn't enough, so you begged for him to go faster; “Faster Aemond! Fuck, fuck me harder—” You are cut off by your own gasp when he sets his pace even faster than before, his thighs slapping against your butt.

Lewd noises fill the room, the scent of sex permeates the room while your body jolts up and down your bed as he restlessly pounds into you, all you could hear was your own moans matching with his as he too experiences the pleasure of this act.

“I'm cumming— fuck.” He warns you and tries to pull out but you pull your legs off his shoulders and wrap them around his waist, locking him in place, “Impregnate me like you desired, Aemond.” you tell him and he gasps as he hits his high at your words, shooting his seed inside of you.

He stimulates your clit while riding off his high which causes you to peak as well, making your walls to grip his cock tightly as they spasm around it.

He immediately plops down next to you, and you pull him to your chest, caressing his hair as he nuzzles his face in between your tits.

“I found your diary, you know, this morning.” You begin to speak as he catches his breath, “And I've found all the deepest and darkest desires you've written about me.”

His heartbeat rises and he stares up at you.

“I'd love for you to do those to me, Aemond.” you tell him.

“How are you okay with all of this? A normal person would be creeped out.” He questions and you smirk.

“I'm not so normal after all.” You kiss him on the head.

— ! ݈݇- thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated greatly ♡

#aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond x reader smut #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #x reader #x reader smut #reader insert #hotd aemond #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon smut #aemond targaryen #aemond

996 notes · View notes

ooffmlsorry · 1 year ago

Text

OP Men Dating a "Girly Girl"

A/N: sorry this took so long and I haven't posted anything original in a minute my life is mess and I'm so very tired jfc...I know this isn't more than my usual group but I was just gonna stop at Luffy and then decided to add Ace and Sabo as a thank you because writing these and putting them on Tumblr has been really good for me, so thank you for always being here to indulge me 🥲 ❤️

Sanji, Zoro, Law, Luffy, Ace, Sabo

Sanji

Let's be honest, girly-girls drive Sanji craaaazzzzyy (not that all women don't, but he's definitely more partial to the feminine ones) Your make-up, pretty skirts and dresses, jewelry, and manicure, he can't help fawn over you constantly 😍Although you do it because you enjoy it, it's nice that your efforts are so appreciated!!

He spoils you soooo baaaddd!! He literally can't help himself when he sees something pretty or cute that reminds him of you, he has to get it for you. You're drowning in squishmallows at this point.

A river of blood shoots from him every time you show off a new outfit. You're going to kill him and he'll thank you for it.

Dressing up in nice outfits together, especially on date night, is a shared activity that you love to do together. Y'all are living your best happily ever after lives.

Ya'll definitely have scheduled self-care nights. You put on some slow music, open a bottle of wine, draw a bubble bath, all that.

He's utterly useless when it comes to helping you pick your outfits or makeup if you're stuck because he loves you in everything, it's too hard for him to pick. You're his perfect, beautiful Y/N-swaaaaan 😍💖💖✨

He does love to see you in pink or red though so he might default to those colors

Don't try to test your makeup on him lol, you're going to re-awaken the gender identity crisis...I mean Kamabakka trauma

Listen...I'm not saying Sanji has a mommy kink...I'm not even at Whole Cake Island so idk wtf is going on there. All I'm saying is if you give this man a bath, wrap him in a towel to dry him off, and rub him down with luxurious lotions and oils, you might awaken something...that's all...👀

ZORO

He has no clue wtf you're doing. If it weren't for the fact that there's no proof that witches exist in this world, he'd think you are one

He looks at your vanity full of serums, creams, scrubs, lotions, etc, not to mention the makeup and he's like "??????" Just completely baffled

But what do you expect? This man would use that five-in-one Irish Spring soap if he could.

Just because he doesn't understand it doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate and admire the fact that you have extensive knowledge in something he can't even comprehend

He knows you like nice shiny things, and again, while he doesn't get it, he does think it's really, really cute when you go starry-eyed over a necklace or an outfit in a store.

In the same vein, he knows how much you love cute things and animals. He has absolutely found a cute animal in the jungle, picked it up, and brought it to you just to show you because he knew you'd love it.

Sometimes in his own gruff way he'll agree with you that it's pretty cute. Thank you for helping this manly man admit things are cute and that's okay.

Other times, he's the one making sure you don't get distracted because it's so cute

Unfortunately and fortunately, you're pretty to him no matter what you do to yourself so it's all kind of a moot point to him.

You can try to ask him about which 'x' to wear, sometimes it's helpful because he'll throw out a really practical answer and then other times he's like "How 'bout you just go naked" 😏.

He'll wear a face mask with you like...twice a year. And he's going to bitch and moan about it but he does it because he loves you. The entire process is like trying to give a cat a bath "WHY IS IT SO COLD? THIS STAYS ON MY FACE FOR HOW LONG???"

Exfoliate this man at your own risk...I'm dead serious that water is going to be brown

LAW

I need you to know right now this man will let you paint his nails!!! I mean, not like gel or acrylics or anything, but he'll let you paint them any color as long as it's a dark shade of that color. You once designed Bepo on his middle fingers. He did in fact flip people off a lot more often when he had them.

Let's you wear a pastel boiler suit because you he loves you and wants to see you happy

Much like Zoro, he's got no clue what you're doing. He'll stand back and watch you while making the exact same face as the gif above.

He thinks he's being stealthy peaking around a corner to watch your morning or night routine, but you quickly catch on. Please please pleeaaassee ask him if he has any questions because he does. He's just really curious why you're doing what you're doing and what it does. It's basically skin medicine and he's really fascinated.

Knowing that you like shiny things makes his life admittedly a little easier, it's not that he doesn't think of what to gift you, he puts A LOT of thought into what he gives you, but knowing that earrings, necklaces, and bracelets always make you happy is great just in case of analysis paralysis or he forgets. Sorry.

Also you wearing the jewelry he gets you does something to him, especially a necklace he can pull on a little, mmhhm you're making this man struggle with impure thoughts.

You both love cute things, it's something y'all connect on. It's really good that you help him access that very neglected inner child of his and encourage him to coo and fawn over adorable animals with zero reservation.

He'll do skincare with you too when he's not super busy. He can admit it's kind of nice to sit in bed with a book, glass of wine, and a face mask and just bask for a minute

He acts like he hates when you rub serums across his face and use a derma roller on him but he loves it

Law doesn't really pay attention to your clothes, but when you really go all out he breaks out in a sweat and he can't keep his eyes off you.

LUFFY

I'm not saying he thinks it's stupid, it just...why have an hours long care routine when you could be going on adventure with him??? 😭😭😭

He will help you pick out your makeup but don't expect it to look good. You're gonna end up with neon orange eyeshadow and green lipstick. Like literally every "My Boyfriend Does My Makeup" youtube video.

Plays around with your stuff but that's because he has no idea what all these strange contraptions are. The moment you try to explain his eyes glaze over and next thing you know he's whisking you away to go do something more fun.

He likes the shiny bright stuff (highlighter), makeup probably is the only part he even remotely engages in because it's

Explain how contour works to this man and watch him lose his fucking mind, he thinks you're a shape shifter now (honestly this applies to all of them except Law and maybe Sanji)

He never notices what you wear, Nami is gonna have smack him on the back of the head to get him to realize you put on something fancy

Luffy points out everything, it just so happens that things he points out sometime happen to be cute animals

Hides in all the stuffed animals and squishmallows in your room to surprise attack hug you

*throws mud at you* "Is this the kind of mud you like, Y/N??" He really means well though.

You know those hair masks with all natural ingredients like honey and banana? Yeah, he's gonna start sucking on your hair like spaghetti...I'm so sorry.

He'll bathe with you but that's because he wants to be close to you, it's definitely not about being pampered or relaxing.

Try to put a face mask on him or something else and it'll just become a game of tag around the Sunny. You can't catch him and he's having a great time outrunning and outwitting you.

He knows this is all important to you so even though he doesn't get it he'd never make fun of you for it and the moment someone calls you "extra," he's kicking their ass.

ACE

Maybe all the glam is a little silly to him but that just makes you extra cute!

He will also absolutely let you paint his nails. Hell, he'll let you do a full beat on him just for fun and he'll wear it for the whole day because he's so unserious lol

...As long as he gets to do your makeup after...Much like Luffy you're gonna be covered in neon colors that don't even remotely match, but you guys have a great time lol

Admittedly likes to be pampered by you when he gets back from a long mission.

Please take a bubble bath with this man, it's not like the water is ever going to get cold!

I'm pretty sure you'd legitimately lead to Ace taking better care of himself. Got this man out here talking about his cuticles and shit lol

Honestly, it's really good for him because self care leads to self love and Ace needs a lot of help with that.

He tells Pops about all the stuff you do 1.) because he loves you and 2.) he hopes some of it will help Whitebeard heal a little, god bless him 😢

All of your hardwork doesn't go unnoticed, he legitimately gets kind of misty eyed when you really dress up because he's so so so lucky. He swears he doesn't deserve you.

He always brings back some kind of gift even whether it's a cute plushie or something exotic to wear from all of his long travels

I need to stress how much this means to him, everyone of these things is like a little proposal because he already knows you're it. Every little gift is leading up to a ring from this man.

He's also just genuinely impressed by the skill it takes to do your makeup so well, especially after he tries doing it on you

Much like his little brother unfortunately, he does play with all the little contraptions in your vanity, especially in the beginning because have you seen an eyelash curler? He's so confused lol

SABO

Sabo and Ace truly are his brothers because he really don't get all the effort lol

Admittedly, a lot of that is because he thinks you're so hot already what's the point???

Once he gets this is just how you are he's less confused, he's probably the most normal out everyone. He lets you do your thing, although he's really curious how you managed to always look amazing while being in the fucking revolutionary army!!?? Where are you getting the time???

If someone were to intrude on y'all on a free afternoon you're both in fluffy robes with face masks on and Sabo loves to pretend to act like a bitch when he's in selfcare mode with you lol

"Are you seriously bothering us right now, ugh! I can't even right now!!" And then you both break out in laughter

He really thinks you should teach others how to contour and do makeup because it has great applications for disguises and infiltration.

And brags about your skills to everyone

Wonders how many of your makeup supplies could actively be used as a weapon *eye roll* jfc Sabo

There's a part of you that secretly worries all your boujieness will remind him of his blood relatives, but he assures you that it doesn't because you have a good heart and he never doubts that

Besides, being a little extra with him helps him associate those things he used to associate with his blood relatives with you instead so it's even better

He spoils you so bad, but with a Sabo-flair, ie. stealing from shitty people and bringing it back to you because you're oh so more deserving of nice things let's be honest

He gets jealous of the cute animals that you squeal over hehehe, please hug him when he starts pouting

He'll always wear a little pink just for you ❤️

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x reader headcanon #luffy x reader #law x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #ace x reader #sabo x reader

1K notes · View notes

meanbossart · 25 days ago

Note

Drizzt Do’Urden s basically a thing from the podcast/live dnd thing that Astarion's player/Voice actor made. Drizzt is a hella famous Drow singer/bard that Astarion is a huge fan boy of and made fanfiction for

EDIT: I know that Drizzt Do'Urden wasn't created for the podcast. I know that he's a ranger. I know that there are 80 books written about him. Good lord.

Was scrolling down my inbox (I'm still taking a little blog break until the new year, I appreciate everyone's patience) but I won't lie this one has been on my mind ever since the topic came up. Do I think the live DnD games are canonical? No, of course not. Neil isn't Astarion's writer and his knowledge about the character is limited to his interactions with said writer in the studio, and otherwise pretty much as valid as anyone else's whos played the game... HOWEVER.

Astarion did have 200 years worth of down-time whenever he wasn't seducing drunks at the pub or getting skinned and prodded on the dungeon floor. I doubt that the guy had the opportunity to hone in crafts or enjoy his hobbies, but Cazador couldn't keep all of them occupied 24 hours a day EVERY day. Astarion was exposed to common culture through the people he interacted with at the bars, he obviously knows who Drizzt Do'Urden is, as showcased in the game itself (he runs a dumb Drizzt joke through himself like a crazy person if you click his portrait enough.)

Anyway, my point is; either before, after, or throughout the process of working through the God's catalogue and begging salvation to each and every one, would Astarion indulge in a little escapism? News, books, folk tales, heroic figures...? Probably. I think most people would. And while he doesn't reveal much about his personal taste in partners, drow seems to be a race that he's fond of, at least aesthetically. He's also mentioned prince-like figures and youth.

I'm just picturing a poor, downtrodden Astarion collapsed in his stinky bunk-bed at night and fantasizing about a deep-voiced, charismatic drow and his big cat, who somehow hear word of the horrific injustices taking place inside a gothic abomination of a palace in the high-town of Baldur's Gate shortly before breaking through Cazador's stained-glass windows, lacerating him in ways far too gory to be in the man's character, before shortly sweeping him off his feet once taken by his unspeakable beauty. I don't think he imagines much of what happens past that point, I doubt Astarion finds himself and Drizzt Do'Urden to have much in common... But he sure has heard that he's handsome.

Would he have run this scenario - however thinly-veiled as a joke - through Dalyria in a particularly slow night, fully expecting her to laugh it off so he could continue saving face, only to instead be met to the most accidentally-patronizing little coo and "You know it's good to stay hopeful!" out of her that made Astarion want to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her in the middle of that pub? Probably. Did she casually try opening up conversation with him about Drizzt' antics whenever she heard something new about the folk hero? Occasionally. Is it cute? Only as much as it's horrifically sad, LOL.

Anyway. I bet she had a laugh after he brought Do'Urden's juiced up cousin home to meet the family. He's going to hear about this for the rest of eternity.

DU drow gets the "It's just an inside joke that got out of hand" version of the story, and he believes it! Because what about Drizzt Do'Urden could POSSIBLY appeal to his lover, after all.

#ask #astarion #du drow and astarion #I have no idea what just happened #I just blacked out for 10 minutes but Im sure its good.

254 notes · View notes

lenaswritingandstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Right again • Tom Riddle x f!reader

Requested: No

Pairing: Tom Riddle x f!reader (+ SPOILER x f!reader)

Summary: Tom, who always thought relationships were meaningless, changed his mind when he met y/n. He plans on telling her how he feels, however, it doesn't go as planned, and he finds himself to be right - again.

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: Fluff; angst; English is not my first language.

A/N: It wasn't supposed to be this long lmao. I will write the same plot with Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theo in the future - hopefully with a better title lol. PLEASE PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP OR YOU WON'T SEE ME ON HERE AGAIN LOL. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it! xx

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist

Tom Riddle was in his dorm, one of the only places in Hogwarts where he could be by himself, and where he could be doing the things he enjoyed the most - studying and reading, both in silence. But, despite being currently sitting on his desk - always perfectly arranged -, he was not currently reading a book or studying. Instead, he was doing something he never thought he would do and was feeling something he never thought he would feel: thinking about a girl, and being nervous about a girl.

Contrary to Mattheo and his friends, Tom has never cared for relationships - he could barely bear being around Mattheo’s friends if serious, meaningful discussions or activities weren’t involved. Sure, he cared for Mattheo, more than he cared to admit, because they were of the same blood. And for Tom, blood was one of the things that mattered the most, alongside loyalty, knowledge and influence.

And y/n.

Tom had always thought Mattheo was the only person he could ever care for - after all, they needed to have some sort of loyalty towards each other if they wanted to have a chance to fight their father - but, just like he was surprised to learn he did not want to follow his father in his quest for tyranny, Tom was surprised to find himself caring for y/n.

Just like he had never cared for friendship, Tom had never cared for love. He did not think it was a weakness as his father did, but he did think it was not as important as people made it out to be. And, also, why care for love when something terrible, something that would likely cost lives was being prepared?

But then again, y/n challenged that idea. Despite being in the same house and the same year, it took Tom several years to properly notice her. He knew she was one of Mattheo’s close friends outside of his usual group, and that gave them occasions to spend time together. Strangely, Tom had first found her company more tolerable than the others - she seemed to understand his will for silence, deep conversations and his interests, seemed to have the same thirst for knowledge. She was kind as well, having what people called “a heart of gold”, always ready to help anybody in need. She was also warm and funny, two things she shared with Mattheo, and it usually didn’t take people enough to want to be her friend. Tom had considered y/n the closest thing he had to a friend, and he thought he would stay that way until, one day, he saw her and Mattheo sitting closer to each other than usual, and he felt something strange, something he didn’t expect to feel, and something he struggled to understand - jealousy. He didn’t think it was that at first, but it became obvious it indeed was jealousy when he found himself wishing that he was the one sitting next to her, and not Mattheo.

From that moment, he kept thinking about y/n in ways he had never done before - how beautiful she was, how he loved her smile, how he wanted to hold her hand, to smell her addictive perfume, to be the person who mattered most to her… how he wanted to hold and kiss her. He had considered those thoughts as foolish at first and tried to not have them, but everytime he was with y/n, they came back running, and he sometimes had to restrain himself from sitting closer to her just to smell her perfume when they were in class, or to hold her hand when they were studying in the library. He didn’t have anybody to ask questions to - Mattheo would laugh at him - so, like he always did, Tom gave himself the answer: it was love. At first, he thought it was only temporary and it didn’t even cross his mind to tell her about it, but he was forced to admit that, instead of disappearing, those feelings became stronger with each day passing. The idea displeased him, and he tried to avoid y/n so these feelings would go away, but it was in vain, and only made him miss y/n - and made him love her more. But one day, as he was sitting on his desk busy thinking about her instead of studying, the idea of just telling her how he felt seemed right. Of course, the idea of rejection secretly terrified him, but he would accept simply being her friend. y/n deserved a loyal, sincere friend and that is what Tom was. All she had to do was give him a chance he could be the boyfriend - the word seemed so meaningless compared to what he felt - she deserved, a boyfriend who would be loyal, caring, sincere, and who would put her and her needs and safety first.

Thus, he got her favorite flowers, and, having thought about what to say to her for hours, decided to go and ask her to have a moment of her time. And now the time had come. He grabbed the bouquet, and, trying to pull himself together, left his dorm. At that hour, y/n should be in the common room. With a bit of luck, she would be alone. Tom headed for the common room, which was nearly empty except for two first years laughing. He started looking for y/n, and his heart, which had started to beat faster with nervosity and hope, almost broke.

y/n was indeed here, standing in a corner of the room - kissing Mattheo, who had a hand on her waist and the other in her hair. He broke the kiss, looked at her in a way Tom had never seen him and y/n had a smile before Mattheo pressed his lips on hers like he couldn’t help it.

Tom took a step back, and the only thing that stopped him from dropping the bouquet was the noise he knew it would make. He turned around and quickly yet silently went back to his dorm - where the flowers finally met the ground. His back against the door, he almost wanted to laugh now. How could he have been so foolish? It should have been obvious to him from the start that y/n, warm and kind y/n, would prefere Mattheo, Mattheo would everybody loved or at least fond of, who had no problems making friends and be with people, Mattheo who had never been anything like their father. Mattheo, who people didn’t intimidate or rightfully found cold and strange.

You’ve won, brother.

As always, Tom Riddle found he had been right. Love was meaningless, and he should never have cared for it - should have never cared for her - in the first place.

He was right, but for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t.

Want to be on the permanent tag-list or for specific characters/fandoms? Feel free to use my Ask-Box!

Next projects

Masterlist

209 notes · View notes

voidsuites · 2 months ago

Text

WINTER BOT RELEASE !!! (12/6/24) ⌢⠀ ❄️ .ᐟ

art and patrick ・゜゜・．black friday busts. after the two of them were unsuccessful in snagging an extremely-discounted flat-screen for their room in the frat house, art and patrick have yet to stop reminding you of that fact with all of their moping and whining. however, you've managed to get your hands on one— only god knows the lengths you went through to get it— and you're all-too-happy to make both boys' christmas even more special than they'd expected. if only they knew how to reward your kindness and sacrifice...

michael berzatto ・゜゜・．a bear-able holiday. christmas is here once again, carmy's finally home from copenhagen, and mikey's taking it upon himself to play mediator between him and you because heaven forbid his two youngest siblings get along for one night... even if he's still a bit annoyed at carmy for leaving. he's the eldest and the man of the house; someone's gotta make sure their whole christmas dinner doesn't fall apart before food even reaches the dinner table.

richie jerimovich ・゜゜・．precious cargo. it's practically common knowledge that spending the holidays at with the berzattos is bound to end in disarray— donna alone's a ticking time bomb, and there's always someone running their mouth that leads to arguments and fights— but richie's on high alert now that he and you are expecting and you're due within the next few months. he'd almost stuck arould to help mikey calm down after his altercation with lee, but donna driving her sedan through the living room wall changed all of that. he can't have you stressed; not if it means risking baby eva and your health.

steve harrington ・゜゜・．sweater weather. it's finally snowing outside, hawkins is decorated from top-to-bottom with decorations, and steve's taken it upon himself to steal you away for the day to see all the lights... if he can manage to wrangle you away from dustin first). but of course you're quick to freeze, and that just won't do. if it takes him loaning you a sweater and holding your hands the entire time to keep them warm, then that's just what he's going to have to do (and he'd do it happily).

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 6K! so ready for christmas, cold weather, fall quarter ending... the holidays never cease to be magical and i really do love this time of year. always thinking of what i'm grateful for and for all of the wonderful people in my life. so mushy (i know) but i just can't help it! lol enjoy these bots... need to get started on my gladiator ii ones ASAP those men have been living rent-free in my head for too long. love u guys sm!!!!!

FYI: this is a part 1 of my winter release; hoping to do a post for steve and for bruce soon! also c.ai shadowbanned my bruce wayne/selina kyle bots so i am going to try and troubleshoot that in the coming days. thank you so much for being patient with me guys i really appreciate it :)

157 notes · View notes

sulumuns-dootah · 3 months ago

Note

Hello again! Hope you are having a wonderful day!

If it isn’t much trouble, I would love to request something! Could you please do the Kings + Pyong, Paimon, and Bimet with an MC who is a skilled anime style artist and makes their own characters? Including hentai lmao

I hope this isn’t too much! Idk if I have already sent a request that you haven’t answered yet so if I have you can ignore this one lol

I wish you a Happy Halloween! 🧡🖤🎃

WHB kings (+ Ppyong, Paimon & Bimet) w/ Anime/Manga artist

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! Hope you enjoyed your Halloween too and got a lot of tricks and/or treats! ^^

Characters: Satan, Paimon, Ppyong, Mammon, Bimet, Leviathan, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Lucifer

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan for some reason loves posing for you as a reference (even for the NSFW works)

Maybe because you get to appreciate every muscle on his body?

Definitelly would ask you to draw him in your style

I've seen bikers have photos of their s/o stuck to their bike mirrors so I think Satan would stick your drawing of the two of you there

Now, when it comes to your hentai stuff... Are you sure that position between those two characters would work?

There's only one way to find out!

And let's be honest... After Satan tries a certain position out with you, drawing is the last thing on your mind by then

༺☆༻

Paimon is your fan no.1!

If you're okay with monetising your art, they'll happily handle your Etsy store with stickers, prints and pins

But if you don't want to, they're fine with that too

They're just happy they have such a talented s/o!

Similarly to Satan, they'll love to pose for your art

Paimon also loves to help you out with color palettes

They do tend to steer you towards pastels, but if that's not your style, they'll try to keep within your color schemes

༺☆༻

*gasp* Draw him!

Now draw him in his human from!

And now his human form hanging out with Minhyeok!

Ppyong loves seeing your creations come to life and even offer insight

Oop, Ppyong is off to human world to get some human energy! Could you draw something for Minhyeok?

Don't worry, Ppyong will make sure to save some chocolate for you for your hard work ^^

Oh, but you might wanna hide your NSFW art a secret

Especially if you sometimes draw other demons without their knowledge

Or they'll know very soon since Ppyong can't keep a secret for the life of him

༺☆༻

Oh, you're an artist?

Okay, here's a set of some of the most expensive art supplies you might need

Also, here are the keys to your new gallery

If you don't want your art display, that's okay too...

You can just turn the space into your studio

Mammon is happy to have such a talent around him

He's secretly hoping you'll draw him too, but doesn't want to outright ask because he understands you can't force art

Seriously though, if you need anything, he'll do his research and get you the best stuff out there

༺☆༻

If you don't make money from your art, then Bimet will make you to

Open commissions, sell merch, auction your stuff off...

Only a idiot wouldn't be selling their art when it's this good

Congratulations, you've got yourself an agent

No discussions!

And go to bed early tonight! You have a showcase tomorrow and it needs to be installed as early as possible!

Also, take a week off for the next Tartaros Con! You'll be having a booth there!

You might be complaining now, but once the money starts rolling in, you'll have Bimet all putty in your hands

At some point, even Mammon might get jealous of how much attention you're getting from Bimet

༺☆༻

Just like with anything else, Leviathan will pretend to not be bothered

But on the inside, he's kinda jealous

How dare you have a talent he doesn't?

A great way to make him warm up to you in that regard would be "accidentally" forgeting a study of him somewhere where he finds it

From that point on, he'll be more okay with you and sometimes would even ask to see your creations

Just maybe, ask for permission the next time you want to draw him

What if you accidentally draw him on a day when his outfit isn't as nice or hair doesn't stay as it should?

Asking him also has the added bonus of being able to draw him naked :)

༺☆༻

Wait, that means you can draw anything, right?

Okay, how about you draw Bael in a funny outfit?

Hm... How about Princess Leviathan in a tall tower and the brave knight Beel coming to save her?

I know you expected Beel asking you to draw something NSFW, but nope

This man is an endless shitpost generator and there's so much stuff he can come up with before he even gets to anything remotely dirty

R.I.P. to you if those drawings get leaked though

Now you've got some angry kings and nobles banging at your door and that lovable bastard is gone as always

༺☆༻

Yes, Asmo loves your NSFW artwork

Still, I can also imagine him also appreciating your SFW works

And it's not even in the 'haha you're so funny, let's fuck' kind of way

I'd kinda like to believe that showing him your art would flip on the 'best dad' switch and he'll want to put it up on a fridge

Oh, but maybe you might wanna practice drawing bodies to help you with different angles and such?

Yep, here it is...

The Asmo we expected will now wear even less of his sheet so you have a nice view of his muscles and body to get a good idea of how they work

Also, good luck showing him your hentai art, because he will suggest more pleasurable positions fro your characters

And yes, he will try to show you in praxis

༺☆༻

Oh hey, that's cool! Belphie loves anime!

If he sometimes gets an interesting dream, he'll share it with you and maybe you can base a story on it

Whenever he wakes up, feel free to share what you've created in the meantime

Belphie will give you his honest opinion and what you could improve - if there is anything

If there's a convention happening and he's going there, he'll take you with him and even encourage you to set up a booth

Also, if you draw you two together, he'll have Beleth frame it and put it up on a wall soemwhere where he can see it whenever he wakes up

༺☆༻

Proud dad just like Asmo

You have a talent and you should show it

Another king who will give you a space to either turn into a gallery or your very own studio

If you're not against it, Luci would also like you to hold art therapy sessions in the psychiatric ward of the hospital

Oh, also one of your biggest fans becomes Gamigin once he sees you draw Lucifer as he's posing for your studies

You better learn how to draw dragons fast :D

Also, yes, Jjok is gonna be as annoying as Ppyong when it comes to your drawing

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb satan #whb ppyong #whb paimon #whb mammon #whb bimet #whb leviathan #whb beelzebub #whb belphegor #whb asmodeus #whb lucifer

152 notes · View notes

withleeknow · 5 months ago

Text

wishful thinking. (7.5)

chapter 7.5: limbo

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; minho's pov; non-explicit smut, kissing, grinding, implied unprotected sex; alcohol consumption, non-linear storytelling (jumps around a few random scenes before we get back to the present that picks up from the end of chapter 7), cursing, the final line :-?; not that unedited i am so so sorry lol word count: 5.6k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / series masterpost / taglist

Wishing fountains, we pray for change in the dark Moving mountains, we end up right where we start The world’s not falling apart But you and I, baby we are

Wishing Fountains - Bad Suns

“What does it say?” Minho asks.

You sigh, your eyes trailing the words on the small piece of paper in your hands before you shove one half of the fortune cookie in your mouth. It seems dry; you look like you can barely swallow it.

“Bullshit,” you say simply, a little bitter before you hide behind a mask of indifference, turning to him as you ask, “Yours?”

He breaks his own fortune cookie in half, pulling out a similar piece of paper that reads, “‘Jeg elsker deg’ means ‘I love you’ in Norwegian.”

You're both lying on a fluffy rug on the floor of your bedroom, with an empty bottle of rosé sitting somewhere near your head. “That’s... random,” you say, casting your eyes to the ceiling. “But I mean, at least it’s kind of educational. Now you know a phrase in Norwegian.”

“Sure,” Minho laughs, testing out the syllables in his mouth and butchering them in the process. “Who would I even say it to?”

“Impress your future girlfriend with your worldly knowledge. Or say it to Hyunjin, I’m sure he’ll swoon and blush like a schoolgirl.”

“That’s the last thing I want. He’s already clingy enough as it is.”

“Alright. Well, your loss then.”

He only hums in response. “You’re really not gonna tell me what yours is?”

“I told you. It’s bullshit.”

“Wanna tell me why the fortune cookie is evil at least? I’ll fight it for you.”

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder with a playful scoff. “It just got me thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

It takes a minute for you to gather your thoughts into one semi-cohesive pile.

“Just… reminds me how I don’t really fit into anyone’s life,” you start, your voice coming out a little small and timid before you seem to let the alcohol give you enough confidence to say what you want. “I don’t feel like I’m worth anyone’s time. Everyone’s going to outgrow me eventually, if they haven’t already. Their lives will only get bigger and bigger, and they’ll have to leave me behind at some point. All that space but none for me.

“I think I’ll be stuck like this forever, in this fucking… limbo. And I know it’s dramatic because we’re still young and we’ve got our whole lives in front of us and whatever else that people say. But it feels like wherever I go and whatever I do, my life will always be this small while you all move on. Chan and Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, Felix, even Hyunjin and Jisung when they’re not too busy being idiots. Everyone’s got everything all planned out, and they have other things to fall back on if those plans don’t work out. If I fall, I think I’ll just keep falling until I hit rock bottom.

“And you… you’re gonna do great things too. You’re gonna live your life and it’s going to be a good one, and you’ll forget about me too. A few years from now, when everyone’s already moved on, I’ll just be a girl that you used to know. I’m just a stop along the way.”

Then you pause, and the laugh you let out afterward is choked up and not at all sincere. You rub your hands down your face, groaning a little when you say, “Ugh, that was depressing. Sorry, it’s the wine. Forget I said anything.”

You have beautiful eyes, that’s what Minho has always thought, the kind that holds all the universe’s sparkles and all its sadness too, a bittersweet balance. The kind that makes one want to stop and admire for a while. He loves when they light up before the joy gradually spreads across your face, like watching the sun peak over the horizon before it colors the sky with ethereal pinks and purples and blues. You’re a wonderful sunrise, his favorite part of every day.

He even loves your faraway gaze when you’re here but you’re elsewhere simultaneously, hiding in your eyes musings that are privy to nobody else. You’d stare into the distance and he’d watch you the whole time, wondering if any of the thoughts that occupy your mind are about him.

Minho has an urge to take you into his arms and hold you tight and tell you that everything’s going to be okay. That no one’s going to forget about you because you’re not someone who can be forgotten so easily, let alone be forgotten by him. That he isn’t going anywhere if it’s not by your side, that he wants to be in your life until you decide you’re sick of him, not the other way around.

He wants to tell you he loves you because that’s the truth. He was gone the minute he saw you at that stupid party years ago when you had walked in shyly with Chan and Jess. You had tried to make yourself smaller in a roomful of strangers, but you’ve always been the only one Minho could find in a crowd.

Years and years from now, when he thinks back to his youth, the highlight reel that will pop up in his mind will be of his idiot friends and the good memories they’ve shared with one another. How they laughed and cried, how they fell and got back up together time and time again.

And at the center of it all will be you. Green grass, blue skies, his golden days and you, the focal point of his youth.

He loves you. Would it help, or would it scare you?

He doesn’t let himself debate that question for long. Regardless of what the answer is, now isn’t the right time. So instead, he says, “For what it’s worth, everyone’s just taking it one day at a time, even if they seem like they have it all planned out. You’re not falling behind. You’re going at your own pace, who cares about other people?”

You turn your head to stare at him, your cheeks flushed with a rosy tint from the wine you had shared and a pensive look on your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but he holds your gaze anyway.

“And I can’t speak for anyone else, but you’ll always have me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

A quiet moment passes. If Minho focuses hard enough, he thinks he might be able to hear the faint beats of your heart.

His gaze flickers to your lips for barely a second before it returns to your eyes, quick enough for it to escape your notice.

Then, you’re holding yourself up on one elbow and shuffling into his orbit until you’re right by his side. He doesn’t move a single inch; he only watches as you get closer, and closer, and closer until there’s no more space between the two of you. He blinks, and in that split second he misses the way you let your eyes shut as you lean down to press your lips to his.

He’s surprised, but pleasantly so.

You taste like rosé, like something he’s always known that he wants to chase.

It stuns him enough that he forgets to respond, his mind focused solely on the feeling of your soft lips on him, the scent of your jasmine perfume and how you’re so warm pressed against him like this.

Maybe it’s the stillness of his body that shocks you out of it, because you pull away after a few seconds with an instant look of mortification in your eyes, trying to scramble back to your original spot on the rug like you’ve just committed an unspeakable sin. Running away, he thinks, is your first instinct.

But Minho is just a tad quicker than you are. He doesn’t let you stray very far when he props himself up to cup your face with one hand and bring you back to him.

He’s kissing you again and for a brief moment, he feels like he could die.

You don’t break from him this time. Instead, you’re kissing him back just as deeply. You let him lower you back to the floor as he holds himself up above you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips while his thumb strokes your cheek softly, keeping you there in his loose hold so you could still run if that’s what you want to do.

But you stay with him, your hands trailing up the expanse of his chest to find purchase on his shoulders, your legs parting so he could perfectly slot himself into the space that you’ve allowed him.

When he rocks his hips into you experimentally, you bite on his bottom lip, a whining sound from your throat comes out muffled against his mouth.

He strays just long enough and far enough so he could look into your eyes, with your pupils blown much darker than they had been at the start of the evening.

He says your name, the gentlest sound in the world, then a question. “What do you want?”

Minho half expects you to overthink your answer and come back to your senses, to choose flight because it would be the easier option.

But you don’t. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you lock onto him, and there’s something underneath the pool of lust in your gaze that leaves him breathless and wondering.

“You,” you say quietly, “I want you.”

And it’s with this simple answer that you pull him back to you again, not the other way around. You kiss him more fervently than before if that’s even possible. When he slides his arm around your waist, you let him pick you up to cross the few steps it takes to get to your bed, his lips never leaving you even after he has laid you onto the mattress. They follow the path where your jawline leads down to your neck, then where your neck meets your collarbone, and he savors every little whimper that you make for him even though he’s barely touched you yet. There’s hardly any patch of skin that he leaves unkissed, and when he reaches where your shirt begins to hide the rest of you from him, he only looks up at you, quietly asking for more permission.

You don’t give him a verbal answer. You take matters into your own hands, lifting your top over your head and flinging it somewhere on the floor.

Then your bra follows to join your shirt, wherever it may be. Minho assumes they’ve landed on the bottle of rosé, only guessing by the sound of the glass being knocked over and rolling around. He’s not sure but he doesn’t care about it enough to look, not when he’s got you right here under him, so beautiful and so willing that it makes his head spin.

He’s imagined this before, just a few times whenever he's drunk enough to let his mind wander without the guilt that comes with it when he’s sober. He has wondered before what it would feel like to kiss you breathless and have you kiss him back, to touch you in ways that no one else ever has, to taste how sweet you are and feel your warmth. None of it is appropriate, not at all platonic. He’s well aware of it.

It's been years, ever since Minho met you at that party when he was 19 and you had been too awkward to start a conversation. Years of walking with you in the rain after class, sharing umbrellas that are too small to shield the both of you but it’s okay, because he doesn’t mind leaving half of his body exposed to the harsh weather as long as the rain doesn’t get on you. Years of making sure you get home safely after nights out with your friends, years of insisting that he sees you walk inside your building and up to your floor whether it's 11PM or 4:30AM. Years of lingering glances, of pretending he isn’t bothered whenever Felix offers to introduce you to someone, of smiles sent your way that are far too endeared to mean nothing at all.

Years of loving you in silence because he’s your friend first and foremost, and his friendship with you means more to him than the feelings he has for you.

And yet...

He’s here in your bed, watching you with mesmerized eyes as you take off the rest of your clothes before helping him discard his, as you kiss him just as deeply as he’s wanted to kiss you for the longest time, as you keep pulling him into you even when he’s already as close to you as humanly possible. His lips on yours, his heart pressed against the other side of yours. His fingers intertwined with yours when he slips inside of you, and how your hands stay interlocked the entire time you’re wrapped together. You cling to him so tightly, as though it would hurt you if he were to ever let go.

It’s the way you look at him, like he’s the only person that exists in your universe. It’s the broken moans that you give him, the nonsense babbles that make his chest swell with pride at the knowledge that he’s making you feel so good that the only thing you know how to say coherently is his name. It’s the heaven between your thighs, absolutely divine and infinitely better than any fantasy that he could ever let himself indulge in.

Just for tonight, Minho can pretend that you're his, even though he knows that he’s already been yours since the first time you met. He’s been yours for as long as he can remember, even if you don’t know it yet.

Later on, when he’s collapsed next to you on the bed, there’s a safe distance between your tired bodies and a certain tension in the air that’s heavy with the consequences of your actions. When he takes your hand, the one that’s shaking as you grip the sheets between your fingers, it alleviates some of that anxiety.

“The fortune cookie, what did it say?” he asks, like you’re simply continuing the conversation from before.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Seriously?”

He gives you a lopsided smile, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Seriously.”

You purse your lips as you look at him for another second before you cast your eyes to the ceiling again, like you’d done just an hour ago. “It said ‘You’ll be loved.’”

You are, he thinks to himself. You’re loved.

“Open wide.”

You give him a look, to which he only responds with a shrug and a sly grin.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say, but you take the spoonful of chicken soup that he offers you anyway. You can’t focus on the taste but it’s warm and the relief you feel is instant when it soothes your throat.

You’ve practically been on bedrest for the past three days, slowly rotting away in your apartment with a bad strain of the seasonal flu until Minho came over and unleashed his inner mama bear on you. Now here you are, wrapped up like a burrito on the couch (Minho insisted; he wouldn’t have it any other way) while he spoon feeds you homemade chicken soup.

You were stubborn about it at first, as one could probably imagine. When you told the group chat that you wouldn’t make it to movie night at Chan’s place last weekend, you were adamant that you would be able to sleep it off and bounce back in no time, despite Minho offering to make you some food and bring over some meds and cough drops.

The symptoms worsened overnight though, and you developed a fever along with a cough that’s worse than any you’ve ever experienced. When Minho called you to make sure you were still alive, you could barely even speak.

He hates your cavalier attitude when it comes to taking care of yourself. He hates himself even more for believing in your nonchalance and not bulldozing his way over sooner.

“I’m enjoying this because I was right,” he says, feeding you more of the soup. “I told you instant ramyeon wouldn’t cure you.”

He lets his I told you so triumph go easily, even though he suspects that you have much more to bite back at him if you could get through half a sentence without wanting to hack your lungs out. You make a noise, and he isn’t really sure if it’s one of agreement or protest but it’s most likely the latter. He thinks it’s cute that you close your eyes after every spoonful, lazily eating like one of his cats back home whenever they’ve run out of energy. You’re probably tired and can’t wait to get into bed.

When the soup is finished, Minho fetches you your meds and a glass of warm water. He doesn’t know if the scrunched up face you make after every pill is because you hate the bitter taste or if the tablets keep dragging against your already sensitive throat on their way down, but he strokes your hair all the while you wash it down with water, a gentle hand on your head as if to say You’re doing well.

He tucks you in bed not long after, despite your weak protests as he carries you to your bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you had managed to croak out. “I’m not that helpless.”

“I know,” came his response and a teasing smile. “Just let me take care of you for once.”

You’re pliant once you’re laid gently on the mattress though, idly watching Minho as he wraps the duvet around your shoulders and fluffs your pillows just the way you like. This is awfully domestic, he notes, and he can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to your forehead, not when he’s absolutely endeared by the way your tired eyes try to keep themselves open just so you could look at him.

When his lips leave your warm skin, he thinks he might’ve imagined the blush that colors your cheeks.

But he blinks, and you’re still flushed, your lips slightly parted as you stare at him, mild surprise evident in your drowsy gaze.

Something passes over the two of you, a kind of silence that he isn’t accustomed to when he’s with you. It isn’t bad, it’s just… strange.

One beat, then another. “Want me to stay with you?” he asks.

He knows you’d say no, and yet he can’t help the disappointment when you tell him, “You don’t have to. Go home, Min. Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“You sure? I can take the couch. It’s fine.”

“I’m sure. Chan and Jess said they’re coming to check on me in the morning.”

Minho lets out a hum, and purses his lips.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you look like you want to.��

“Just… y’know,” he starts, gauging your reaction all the while, for any signs of physical discomfort or otherwise, “I like you like this. You’re not hiding when you’re like this.”

“You like me frail and on the verge of death?”

He rolls his eyes, pretends to flick at your forehead. “You know what I mean.”

When you giggle, it’s immediately followed by a wince, like the movement is hurting your sensitive throat. “Do I hide when I’m with you?”

“Sometimes.” He moves his hand to caress your face, gentle fingertips tracing the apple of your cheek. Surprisingly, you let him, if only for a little while. “It feels like you’re always ready to leave.”

“Are you worried I’m gonna run away?” you ask, covering your hand over his to move it away, but you still let his touch linger when you only lower his hand to your neck, where he starts twiddling your hair between his fingers. It feels like you want him close, close enough that it matters, close in a way that still lets you have control over how it matters. “I physically can’t. I’m sick.”

“Does that mean you’ll run away when you get better?”

You seem to ponder the question for a moment. You’re holding onto his wrist and Minho is almost certain that you can feel his pulse. He would do so many things for you if only you’d let him.

When you answer him, you keep things light but your tone is soft, gentle in a way that tells him your sentiment means more than the words you cherry pick on the surface.

“No, I have finals in two weeks.”

The first time that Minho gets to wake up next to you, nothing feels real. Not the pleasant scent of your shampoo greeting him the minute he opens his eyes, not your soft breath fanning his bare collarbone where you lay with your head tucked into the crook of his neck, not even the feeling of you in his arms, safe and warm, as though this is where you’re meant to be. None of it seems like anything other than a dream.

When memories of the previous night come rushing to the surface, it also brings back the annoyance he felt watching Yeonjun openly flirt with you at the party, and the bitter feeling that accompanied the reminder that Minho couldn’t even really do anything about it but stand idly by.

But you stir in his arms, and all of the annoyance and bitterness goes away. Because you’re here with him and not anybody else. There’s a certain ego boost knowing that he’s the one you kiss, the only one you allow in your most personal space. To know you is a privilege, and it’s one that you grant no one else but him.

Last night, something happened. Something changed, he felt it when you were the one who asked him to stay. You let him put his shirt on you, let him hold you as you slept, even welcomed his embrace and snuggled further into his body in a way that you’ve never done before.

How you kissed him just hours prior, how you looked at him… God, he thinks he could just spill all of his secrets if you did it again.

But when you open your eyes, Minho is already pretending to be asleep again. How would you react? He’s curious to know. Would you scramble away the second the realization kicks in that you let him break your rule? Would you leave his side and act all nonchalant about it when you inevitably have to face each other later? He’s willing to bet that you would.

But you surprise him again. He feels you watching him for a moment, then your touch ghosts upon his features. It almost makes him falter in his act, your gentle fingers tracing his temple, his cheekbones, the slope of his nose down to his lips. There’s a sigh that you exhale, and he misses your touch the very second it leaves his skin. He itches to bring you closer to him again.

So that’s what he does. Minho keeps the facade going, pretending like he’s now just waking up with his limbs stretching out. You stiffen when he hugs you tighter, but you soon relax after he starts stroking your hair.

Nothing has changed for him, but can you say the same?

“Dude!”

Minho flinches into action when a voice calls his name right by the car window, loud enough to startle him even through the thick layer of glass. When he turns his head, he finds Changbin’s face all pressed up against the window, struggling to hold three bags full of supplies that are threatening to spill out. “Help me with these!” his friend says.

It’s the week of Jisung, Felix and Seungmin’s birthdays; you lot tends to go all out for the quadruple birthday bash every year (Chan’s birthday is only 11 days later after all). Seungmin’s family has a lakeside cabin a couple hours from the city, that’s where everyone goes to unwind for a long weekend with plenty of food and even more drinks. This year, it’s no different.

Minho and Changbin are on drinks duty, tasked with picking up all of the alcohol and refreshments for the weekend ahead. He doesn’t really know what the rest are doing, just that you and Jeongin are babysitting Hyunjin to make sure the latter doesn’t deviate from the proposed budget and go way overboard when getting snacks and decorations. You sent Minho a text a while ago, a video of you facepalming and rolling your eyes before you flip the camera over to show Hyunjin and Jeongin bickering like children over a mega pack of chips.

Once everything is in the car – cases of beer safely loaded into the trunk, bottles of water and soft drinks set in their designated plastic bags in the backseat, Changbin comments from the driver’s seat, “You looked weird. You were smiling.”

Minho only stares at him for a moment, a neutral expression on his face as he blinks those typical Minho blinks, before he turns his head to the other side to lean against the window.

He was thinking about the first time your tradition started, the first year Jess had to drag you on the trip. She used to do it often; you were shy in the beginning.

He’s got a favorite memory of you, and it wasn’t you and him sitting together on the bank of the river during the sunset, while the others were in the water, splashing around and having the time of your lives (you two were the only ones who couldn’t swim, but it was okay, you didn’t feel like you missed out on anything because at least you had each other).

His favorite memory of you wasn’t running into you in the middle of the night when he went into the kitchen for some water and you were out by yourself on the adjacent balcony, sitting with your chin resting on your folded knees and the crescent moon for company. He stayed there for a moment, dazed, wondering if he was still dreaming or if it was just you. When Minho finally made his presence known, you told him you couldn’t sleep and he suggested that you break into Hyunjin’s secret ramyeon stash, because going to bed with a full stomach always made him feel better whenever he was restless. 1:58AM, you ended up almost burning your hand on the stove, too busy trying to keep your giggles down when he made a stupid joke.

Minho’s favorite memory wasn’t of you falling asleep on his shoulder on the drive back either, with you squished in the backseat between him and Felix, and your light snores reminded him of Soonie whenever the cat would doze off on his chest. It wasn’t any of these moments, even though he thinks he might’ve loved you in every instance.

His favorite memory of you was the evening before that trip had to come to an end, the last night you all spent together before you had to leave your safe little bubble. It was after dinner and some drinks, everyone was buzzed and the air was crisp, chilly every now and then. When you were gathered on the dock overlooking the lake, each holding a sparkler that Jisung had prepared, you were laughing. Everyone else was laughing too, but yours was the only sound Minho could focus on.

“Be quiet. I’m gonna take a nap,” he tells Changbin, ignoring the comment entirely as he closes his eyes. “Wake me when we get to Chan’s.”

The lights, and your friends, and the moon hanging high up in the sky like a guardian angel back then.

You were watching how it all reflected so beautifully in the rippling waters below. He was watching you.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

His question hangs in the awful silence as you stare at him. Minho can see your nails digging into your palms where your fists are clenched, your glassy eyes and the frown between your brows, like you’re trying your hardest to hold back tears. Why else would you be so upset?

He’s known about it for a while, or at the very least, he’s had an inkling of how you feel about him. He knows he isn’t in over his head when he says there’s a certain glow that radiates from within you when you’re together, a side of you that’s tender and at peace, one that he’s never seen you show anyone else. The way you look at him, it’s the same way that he looks at you even if you don’t realize it yet, or maybe you just don’t want to admit it out loud.

It hasn’t been one sided for at least some time now, he knows it.

But it’s frustrating to watch you try so hard to fight it. He’s the only one holding on, and you’ve been willing to let go at every turn.

“See what?” you challenge.

This isn’t how he planned to ever say these words, but the moment is here whether he likes it or not. It’s staring at you both in the face even if you are doing your best to hide from it.

Minho holds your gaze for a few seconds before he steps toward you again. This time, you stand your ground.

“You asked me if things changed for me and I said no. That was the truth, I never lied to you. We’re friends but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen you as something more from the beginning.”

He pauses there, watches your eyes and how you take it in. They soften a little, filling up some more as you process his words. There’s surprise in the look that you wear, sure. A little confusion, yes. But most of all, you just look sad. When you call out his name, he can tell by your tone that it’s a warning, that you’re about to run away for real this time if he presses on, and yet he can’t stop until he says his piece.

“If you want me to spell it out for you, I’ve had feelings for you since we first met. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for so long that I can’t remember what it feels like not to love you, and it drives me crazy that you don’t see any of it. The thing that makes me even crazier, do you know what it is? I think you feel something for me too, but you won’t admit it to yourself and you always resort to shutting down instead of facing your feelings. How much longer are you going to run away from me?”

When the first tear unintentionally spills over from the corner of your eye, Minho knows he’s struck a nerve. He wants to reach out and wipe away the tiny stream that rolls down your face but you beat him to it, wiping at your cheek in angry motions.

“You’re wrong.” Your voice is tight when you tell him, “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s the only thing that you address.

Sometimes, he searches for your answer at the bottom of a glass, or on the other end of looks that seem to linger just a beat too long. But as he’s standing here, right now, he finds it in your hesitation to speak, in the lie you give him when you finally do.

It’s the answer he’s always wanted and yet, the knowledge brings him no satisfaction at all. It only lodges a lump in his throat, an overwhelming sense of dejection when he sees how hard you’re trying to fight this.

“I know you,” he sighs after a moment, a little defeated. “I know when you’re lying.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well after all.”

You’re stubborn. You’ve always been stubborn.

Minho takes another step forward. It feels like it’s a step closer to the end as you both know it, because how else is your relationship going to come back from this? He sees the slight shake in your shoulders that you try to suppress, but he’ll always be the one to notice.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he says quietly, his final resort. A challenge but it sounds an awful lot like a plea. He doesn’t understand how it’s possible that things can take a turn for the worse in just two weeks’ time. The last time you both were here, you’d kissed his endeared smile and held him so impossibly close to you. Now, everything is falling apart, the seams coming undone one by one. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Minho meant what he said, about how loving you drives him crazy sometimes. Even when you’re breaking his heart, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. A noticeable sting settles in between the cracks of his ribcage at the sight of your quivering bottom lip, your balled up fists and his own reflection in your glassy eyes.

“Do you want me to say it so badly?” you ask, and he can only stare at you when your voice comes out harsher than it was before, though it cracks toward the end as you try to keep up with the facade. “Fine, I’ll say it.”

It’s not what he asked, but it’s confirmation nonetheless. It’s acceptance but not how he wants it to be. Acceptance that you do love him, and yet, you say it in a way that he’s never expected to hear from you.

“I don’t want to love you.”

312 notes · View notes