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heartepub · 2 days ago

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if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask.

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread.

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash.

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.”

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.”

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red.

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless.

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke.

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom.

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you.

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightley finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen.

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind.

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you.

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you.

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment.

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfiction #wonwoo fanfic #seventeen imagines #svt fanfiction #.dive site

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iri-desky · 2 days ago

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NEW ART CHALLENGE

Draw your favorite wlw ship, your favorite mlm ship, and/or your favorite straight ship in each of these respective, iconic screenshot trios from alien stage.

Preferably, try and make drawings for all three series.

(Also, not required to do the challenge, but please tag me if any of you all do this!)

#Finally... we have them all #Alien stage #Alnst #Mizisua #Ivantill #Hyuluka #I won't tag all the characters though #Art challenge #Digital art #Traditional art #(?)#IriTheYapper💬#Drawing challenge #Shipping

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ghost-in-the-stalls · 2 days ago

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I was going to put this in the tags but it's long enough and a direct response that I think I should just add it here.

Yes, to all of this, unironically and unhesitatingly.

For what it's worth for everything I'm about to say, I am a licensed social worker and am currently employed as a mental health clinician. But I have not done any research on this personally and don't have sources at the moment to back this theory up (im going to look into that today actually. I'm curious to see what I find.) This is just all speculation from a professional, so take that for what it's worth. I'll try to add some sources later when I'm not on mobile.

See I agree with what was stated up above about anxiety and depression. I also think its possible it could apply to diagnoses considered less "general," like adhd.

Example. I was recently diagnosed with adhd. The only reason I bothered to pursue the diagnosis was because it was impacting my ability to function throughout my day, and I wanted to try medication. (Personally, I think those are the only times you really should pursue a professional diagnosis, but that's a separate conversation...)

The most notable complaints I had about what I was experiencing were:

- struggling to focus on one task instead of bouncing around between everything on my to do list

- getting overwhelmed and paralyzed from the amount of thoughts and tasks that were in front of me

- struggling to stay on a task that requires my full focus (like reading) because I simply can't give that task my full attention

- conversely, going too long engaging in one task (usually a preferred relaxation task) and neglecting other parts of my life. This typically happens for me on weekends, when I'm trying to play video games instead of think about work.

There are other symptoms that I qualify with, like interrupting people (or struggling not to), being physically jittery and fidgety, being easily angered when certain things happen, etc.

For me, a lot of this ties back to - and was made most clear by - the amount of tasks I have to regularly engage in in my life, and my difficulty keeping up with it all and functioning effectively through it.

Now on one hand, the DSM V is written with a focus on symptoms that interfere with life functioning. And things that stop necessary tasks from being completed tend to fuck our lives up more than something that makes us a little too talkative or fidgety.

But also. And I will say this again and again and again.

A diagnosis is a tool and label. Not a law of the universe. Not a cause. It is a human attempt at categorization of known symptoms, with the intention of relating to effective treatments.

(And that^^^ is something you'll learn from any decent psych 101 class. Mine wasn't decent and I had to go a few classes beyond before we actually started framing it that way.)

With that in mind. Here's a question.

Is my adhd just innate within me, and something that would have been there, regardless of what my life looked like? Is it a specific way my brain deviates from the "norm," and something that, with the right technology and testing, could have been detected and diagnosed without my even noticing any symptoms? Something that exists in a vaccuum without touching my other diagnoses of anxiety and depression?

Or. Is it maybe just a quick and easy way of saying "this person cannot keep up with the stimuli in their life without becoming overwhelmed. And it is effecting their functioning to a notable degree"

That second option is a gross oversimplification, but I hope you take a second to sit with how much the first option sounds like eugenics. If the problem is innate within you, then if we just improve our technology enough to detect it in everyone who has it and separate them from the "norm," then we can weed out the problem, right? Okay, Elon.

How much of my adhd could be a culmination of the fact that I'm overwhelmed with stimuli 24/7 and have lost my ability to focus effectively because of it? How much of my clients' adhd could be a result of the same, possibly combined with the fact that many of them have experienced or are currently experiencing trauma? Which is known to impact ability to focus on tasks, as well as create a hyperactive body system?

This isn't to say adhd is a bogus diagnosis. The same way that the anxiety and depression we experience within our current world state is also not a bogus diagnosis. We're still experiencing it. We still fit the diagnostic criteria. And treatment still helps.

My point of all this is, yes to what's above. And also, maybe it would be good to reframe the ways we view diagnosis in general, to take it a step further, and to recognize the very clear and present causes of what a lot of people are experiencing nowadays. In my opinion, it goes beyond anxiety and depression.

(Also. For the people saying you'll go nuts if you aren't busy. Take a look at why that is. Is that a sustainable way of living? Are you comfortable just existing as yourself? Are you trying to distract yourself from something, or avoiding something uncomfortable? Have you possibly adapted well to the pressure of being constantly busy? Think about it from a different angle)

#this is pre-8am rambling so take that for what it is #and i know i didnt provide any sources #frankly a lot of this is stuff i got from conversation and lecture in school #as well as conversation with other professionals #i have no doubt there is literature out there that discusses it and backs it up #but ill be honest i havent read it since college #and im not about to link something i havent read #nor am i about to read a whole book on it today because its saturday and i dont want to work. thats what the week is for #the adhd thing tho #im gonna see if theres studies that have connected the increase in adhd diagnoses to the evolution of social media or something #if i find something ill link it #anyway a lot of this is meant to be provoking philosophical conversation about how we view ourselves and the world thru a psychological len #not necessarily a research backed explanation for What Is #i just want people to think a bit #if an academic source for this is that important for you to find #theyre out there. shouldnt take you long. go for it #professional opinion: focus less on diagnosis and more on actual cause. treat the causes #thats not something you really need a source for tbqh

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explorevenus · 2 days ago

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fit for duty ♡ wolf hybrids!chreon/puppy hybrid!f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 6.1 k

tags/warnings: wolf hybrid chris, wolf hybrid leon, chreon being sneaky/manipulative together, puppy/mutt hybrid reader, cringefail reader, pet names, brief daddy kink mention, abuse of power, drugging (kinda), reader gets forced into heat, breeding, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, vaginal double penetration, knotting

description: you used to be the government's best tracking hybrid, until a chemical agent fried your sense of smell. chris and leon find a better use for you than the battlefield.

a/n: as commissioned by my darling kennykins <3 @dollfacefantasy happy valentine's day >:)) :Kyle:

divider by @strangergraphics

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

"Poor thing," Chris observed with a heavy sigh, tilting his head to look at Leon as they stood at one end of the track, watching you bumble your way through your training course on two left feet. "She was not built for active duty."

Leon's ear twitched with mild amusement, the wiry grey fur losing its contrast by the day against his dark blond head of hair-- he almost could've sworn that worrying about you was aging him quicker. "Not even slightly," he agreed, "I'm gonna lose my shit if they try to send her out there."

Typically Chris would have discouraged Leon from losing his shit, but even he couldn't argue with that sentiment. Arms crossed, they continued to stand back and watch, trying not to let the pity show on their faces.

You were once the U.S. government's most prized and expensive sniffer dog, a hybrid born of the most ideal combination of breeds for the job. You were highly effective and devastatingly accurate, lent out to the FBI, CIA, DEA, DHS, DSO, so many acronyms you lost count, tracking down bombs and drugs and cadavers and counterfeit currency, and anything else under the sun that left a minuscule scent behind.

Until eight months ago, when you were victimized in an ambush attack involving an aerosol respiratory agent that absolutely fried your sense of smell. No expense was spared trying to get you good and recovered, but it soon became obvious that the damage was irreversible. Without any other kind of training, that revelation just rendered you the country's most costly, sentient paperweight. That's where Chris and Leon came in.

By all metrics-- and whether they liked it or not-- Chris Redfield and Leon Kennedy were the poster children of their field in the hybrid program. Their canine genetics weren't distilled from domestic breeds, but instead from wolves. Unmatched in their strength, agility, and stamina, their tracking abilities second-to-none now that you were out of the game…

If anyone would be capable of training you from a soft puppy into a tactical canine, it would be Chris and Leon, and yet here you were, just a few weeks from graduating basic and barely meeting your marks.

You weren't particularly fast, you weren't very strong, and you were so used to relying on scent to guide you that you had a hard time gaining awareness of your surroundings outside of the ground beneath your non-functioning nose. They did everything they could, they really tried your best with you, but you really, really just weren't cut out for this. It was downright painful to sit here and watch you flounder.

As you finally reached the end of your training course several minutes behind your peers, Chris and Leon shared a pitiful, fed-up, communicative look; whatever it might take, they weren’t letting you flounder anymore.

If Chris and Leon had learned anything over their years of service to the government, it would be the value of good relations in high places, the value of a single strategic phone call, the value of being owed favors. Of course both men usually preferred to go about things the right way, but when the right way wasn’t working, what else were they to do but carve an alternative path of their own?

You weren’t just any little whelp, after all, you were more than worth the effort. They’d grown dangerously fond of you over the course of your time together. You were so earnest and sweet, so pretty and kind and so very lost, like a fallen angel. Looking after you became an unbreakable habit, and it awakened something in them that they hadn’t felt since they were… well, your age.

You awakened in them the urge to protect, the urge to claim, the urge to compete for the right to pin you down and mark you up with their teeth, the urge to retire, to build a home for you, and to spend the rest of their days breeding you up with litters to fill every room.

The urge to keep you all to themselves.

It wasn’t their fault that you smelled so good. Hell, it wasn’t even your fault. In your condition, you didn’t know. You were oblivious to how rich your own scent became during your heat, and you didn’t seem to react to the heady musk of their ruts, either. Maybe if your nose actually worked, you’d have long since caught on to their increasingly unprofessional interest in you, but for better or for worse, you appeared to be clueless as always.

That, and your painfully poor performance today, worked well to their advantage. Chris took out his phone as you trudged off into the locker room, and one call was all it took.

One call, and your career as a field agent was finished. You had been swiftly and quietly reassigned before you even got out of the shower.

"Hey," Chris caught your attention as soon as you stepped out of the locker room, arms crossed casually over his beefy chest even as his sudden appearance caused you to jump a little. Both him and Leon were leaning against either side of the doorway just waiting for you to come out, like two hunks in some cheesy movie. "C'mon, let's go get some dinner. We need to talk to you."

If it weren't for how calmly he spoke, the mere words 'we need to talk to you' would have sent your ears flat against your head and your tail between your legs, but as your eyes cast between the two of them in curiosity, you realized their expressions were less disappointed than you expected, given your performance today. They almost looked mischievous.

"Okay, sure… dinner sounds good," You reluctantly agreed, scrutinizing them now.

Leon reached out to take your athletic bag for you without even asking. Chris draped his arm around you and pulled you into his side while the three of you walked, his hand spanning across the entire width of your lower back to guide you. Their tails were swinging wide enough to brush with yours, and each other's.

Oh, they were definitely up to something.

“Why are you guys being weird?” You asked bluntly, nudging Leon with your elbow. If you were going to get either one of them to crack, it would more likely be Leon. “Am I in trouble or something? Look, I know my times were shit today, but I was honestly trying, and I swear I’m gonna get it eventually—“

“Relax,” Leon interjected, pinching your butt just to watch you jump. “You’re not in trouble, pup. Take a deep breath, or you’re gonna pop a blood vessel.”

Rolling your eyes, you took a deep breath and kept walking. “You didn’t answer my question all the way,” you huffed dramatically.

“I said we wanted to talk to you, didn’t I?” Chris spoke up, raising a brow at you in that subtle look of near-disapproval that almost always straightened you out immediately. “We’re gonna take you home, we’re gonna have some dinner, and we’re gonna talk. Just be patient.”

Just be patient. Hmph. That was a tall ask for you and they knew it, but you conceded anyway for fear of pushing their buttons. Despite your outwardly playful demeanor, you weren’t feeling great about yourself in the wake of today’s results.

Plummeting from the height of your profession due to circumstances outside your control, deemed irreparably broken after several weeks in and out of experimental surgeries, training your ass off for months just to continue to fail and fail and fail… You were getting exhausted, your optimism was wearing paper thin, and these days it was starting to feel like the only people who believed in you, let alone cared about you, were Chris and Leon. You appreciated them deeply of course, but at this point, something had to give.

Something had to give, or, like Leon said, you’d pop a blood vessel.

Chris and Leon’s shared apartment, thankfully, was something of a sanctuary for you. You always felt protected and cared for within these walls, and the only thing you didn’t like about it was that you couldn’t smell anything, but that wasn’t their fault.

The pair all but ordered you to relax on the couch while they convened in the kitchen to make dinner, and as you sank lazily into the cushions, you wished you could bury your nose into the navy blue fleece thrown over the arm and breathe in their scent, or even the faintest hint of detergent, cologne, sweat, something. Sure, thousands of people live completely normal lives with no sense of smell, but how many of them were canine hybrids like you? Scent wasn’t just your career, it was your compass in so many aspects of your life.

Scent was what told you if you could trust someone. Scent was what told you if a building was safe. Scent was what told you when you were home. There was so much more to it than just wishing you could fully taste certain flavors again, or catch a fresh autumn breeze, or enjoy a fragrant candle. You felt completely detached from the world as you were genetically engineered to experience it.

“Alright, pumpkin, dinner’s just about ready. Come set the table,” Leon poked his head out from the kitchen, the low vibration of his voice working like a charm to soothe the tides of your anxious mind. You could practically already hear him ratting you out to Chris for being too hard on yourself— a big no-no— and that was more than enough to redirect your train of thought for now.

So you popped up from the couch with a nod and followed in his footsteps, thoughtfully setting the table with silverware, plates, and water glasses, humming a little tune to yourself while you worked. It was your adorable mannerisms like this that made Chris and Leon love you so much in the first place. You couldn’t be any more precious if you tried.

Unless you were to be waddling around the house with a bellyful of puppies, of course, but they were working on that. All in due time.

Dinner was relatively simple, but hearty, a hot bowl of soup with crusty slices of bread to go with it, sure to replenish all you’d lost after a long day of physical exertion. With your back turned while you set the table, it didn’t require much sleight of hand for Chris to stir a little something extra into your portion to help the process along, just a few supplements to promote fertility and prepare you for what was to come.

Both men joined you in the dining room to serve the meal, and now that you were all sat, the air in the room went immediately tense as you stared at them in anticipation.

The dining room was quiet aside from the faint sound of the TV in the other room, and the dull clicking of silverware. It would have been peaceful if you weren’t so eager to hear what they wanted to talk to you about. Sitting here wondering made you feel like you were going to explode.

“C’mon, pup, eat,” Chris ordered gently, nodding to the bowl in front of you. “You had a very busy day today.”

Stubbornly, you groaned, picking up your spoon to take a few bites. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, of course, you were just anxious, and they knew that. Your mannerisms were almost laughably simple to read, which made them feel a bit bad, but hey, they couldn’t just let you leave your dinner going cold. It was made special just for you.

“You’re killing me,” you whined, scooping up a bite of soup with your bread nonetheless, always with the dramatics.

Leon chuckled at your display, ears flicking with amusement, and while Chris was usually the one to call the shots, the blond chose to step in and offer you a compromise. “Three more bites and we’ll talk, okay? And no cheating, I mean real bites.”

That seemed to work, and you nodded, albeit with a bit of grumbling at his pulling the plug on any potential cheating before you even had a chance to try to get away with it. The two wolves shared a silent look of understanding while your attention was captured by the meal in front of you, and once you were finished with those three agreed upon bites, it was Chris who accepted the responsibility of starting the conversation.

“You’re not such a big fan of field work, are you, sweetheart?” He asked, tone delicate so as not to freak you out— you weren’t in trouble, far from it. “All the shooting and fighting and running around?”

Looking down at the table, your ears laid low, you gave a half-shrug and mumbled, “I don’t mind the running around part.”

Both men cracked a little smile at this, their own ears flicking with amusement.

“Of course you don’t mind that part, silly baby,” Leon teased, “but, honey, the rest of it… it makes you miserable, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t respond for a beat, gaze still fixed down at the table while you tried to gather the right words, idly stirring your spoon through your bowl just to fidget. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint them. They’d put so much work into preparing you for this final evaluation, so much time and effort into helping you learn the ins and outs of field operation, and you didn’t want to just give up.

But they saw the conflict raging in you and they knew what you were thinking, and it wasn’t fair, not to you, not at all.

“Hey… it’s okay if you don’t like it, puppy. No one’s mad at you, no one’s disappointed, no one’s in trouble,” Chris reassured you, reaching across the table to gently tilt your chin up with one curled knuckle. “That’s actually why we wanted to talk.”

Heat crept up the column of your neck as you met his eyes, recognizing the kindness and care in them, feeling him disarm you in real time. What you didn’t know was just how carefully Chris was trying to phrase this, that Leon was squeezing the meat of his thigh under the table to ground him and encourage him.

It was much harder to navigate breaking the news to you than they forethought.

“Listen, sweetheart, me and Leon and some of the higher-ups have been thinking that field operation might not be a good fit for you,” he continued delicately, the pad of his thumb swiping gently back and forth, caressing the curve of your jaw. “We were… informed today that you’ve been reassigned.”

Chris did feel rather guilty in the back of his mind for phrasing it that way, like it wasn’t their idea in the first place, but they were in too deep to turn back now, and he was already getting a little bricked up thinking about fucking you after dinner. He’d beg for your forgiveness later if he had to.

Your expression went through a series of emotions— first shock, then guilt, then questioning— and for as reassuring as Chris and Leon were being right now, it was hard not to feel utterly lost again. As far as you knew, reassignment meant you’d probably never see them again, just like the team you used to work with before you were injured. To be taken away from Chris and Leon as a result of your own failure to perform would kill you.

“D-Does that mean I won’t get to be with you anymore?” You asked hesitantly, voice weak and quiet due to your thinking you already knew the answer.

And that’s where Leon stepped in.

“Actually, pup, it means the opposite,” he interjected, all too happy to be the one to give you the good news part of this. “You get to be with us all the time now, and we get to take care of you forever. No more training, no more guns, no more worrying for your life or for ours. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Your breath hitched and your brows pinched together in sudden confusion, that deep sense of grief and devastation that was preparing to descend upon you just… halting for a moment, paused in the tunnel of your throat.

It did sound nice, but it sounded too nice, like there was more to it that they weren’t telling you, another shoe left yet to drop, and surely there had to be. You’d been branded a sunk cost enough times to know that the government didn’t like to fund things it wouldn’t be seeing a return on, and you were far too young to retire, so what was the deal?

Reading the look on your face with impressive accuracy, Chris couldn’t stand to watch any longer as you sat there clearly fearing the worst, so he chose to speak plainly.

“They’re thinking we’d make some good, healthy litters together, sweet girl,” he said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “That’s a nice idea, isn’t it? Settling down, havin’ our pups…”

Consciously or not, your ears perked up halfway at this, flicking with interest. You wished you could say you hadn’t really put any thought into something like this before, but come on, that would be a lie. You liked Chris and Leon a lot, they were so sweet to you, and so very handsome— it was only natural that you’d dream girlishly from time to time about playing house with them, what your babies might look like, what Chris and Leon might be like as fathers…

And how big their cocks are, and how amazing it would feel to take them both at once…

Now wasn’t the time to be dreaming, however, with both of them watching so closely for your reaction. You nearly let a drop of drool slip past your lips before you snapped out of it, hand flying up to wipe your mouth. Smooth.

A smug look of knowing washed over Leon’s features, his fingers drumming on the table to coax your attention on him, his sharp left canine bared in a lopsided smirk. “Oh, you really like that idea, don’t you, little one?” He drawled, reaching across the table to nudge your hand away so he could swipe the pad of his thumb along your plush bottom lip, tempted to dip it in and make you suck on it, but he wanted to get you squirming a little more first.

“L-Leon—”

“Don’t lie to me… you like it a lot, baby, I can see it on your face,” he cut you off, intent upon not letting you deny it. “You were never built to be out there fighting and risking your life, were you, pup? You were never ‘sposed to be put in danger like that, our poor, precious girl… It’s no wonder it didn’t work out for you, huh? You didn’t do anything wrong, you just knew deep down that you were always meant to be a mommy…”

Your wide eyes darted up to look at Chris as if you were begging him to step in without being able to form the actual words, a timid whine making its way out instead, but unfortunately for you, he wasn’t interested in cutting you a break. Why would he? Leon had made such good progress.

“Leon’s right, you know… you smell so fertile, I’ll bet we could get at least two pups out of you on your very first litter…”

“Just two?” Leon puffed, “I’m shooting for three.”

“Yeah, right, old man, all you’re shooting is blanks,” Chris countered with a playful growl, turning to nip at Leon’s nose with his teeth, the movement allowing him a decent moment of cover to readjust his pants under the table. Just as soon, though, he made no effort to conceal the path his hand took from his own lap to the crotch of Leon’s jeans, palming his partner’s stiffening sex through the denim.

Leon’s head tilted back with an airy groan and his tail beat dumbly against the frame of his chair, hips bucking up slightly. Your jaw was stuck open now and you shifted in your seat, the movement bringing your attention to just how slick you were, standard issue cotton growing sticky and warm beneath your athletic leggings.

Dinner sat long forgotten on the table in front of you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t affected by what Chris gave you. To witness this would have flustered you regardless, but right now you were flushed red and practically dripping— with every passing moment, you were losing your ability to think straight, almost like you were going into heat. Swiping your hair away from your face with shaking hands, your lips parted for oxygen, drinking in slow, shallow breaths in an attempt to regain control of yourself, but every lungful of air you breathed was teeming with their pheromones. You were only getting dizzier.

And they were loving every second of it. Grinning slyly as he continued to knead Leon through his jeans, Chris couldn’t help himself, “You’re lookin’ a little flushed there, puppy. Maybe you should go lay down.”

Your eyes locked with his, and within what felt like only a single moment, Leon was up from his chair and circling the table to tug you out of yours. Before you could fully register the movement, let alone respond to it, he was tossing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carrying you deeper into the apartment.

“Chris!” You yelped out of habit, but once again, the older wolf had no interest in lending you a hand. He was following right along with you both, and once you crossed the threshold into the bedroom, he shut the door behind you all with a decisive click.

Leon tossed you down upon the center of the bed less than gracefully, immediately caging you in so he could bury his face into your throat, breathing you in with desperation between needy kisses and possessive bites. Positioning himself at the head of the bed just above you, Chris guided your head up to rest in his lap as Leon’s attention crept lower and lower down your body, until his strong nose was pressed to your navel.

Heaven, Leon thought to himself, this must be what heaven is like.

Your scent was peppery and sweet, creamy with fertility. His hands balled up into fists clutching the fabric of your shirt and he tore it off of you without a second thought. Encouraged by the revealed expanse of bare skin— and your failure to protest— your leggings were similarly ripped apart directly thereafter. Without missing a beat, Leon grabbed you at the thighs and spread your legs so he could situate himself between them, head ducking forward to huff wantonly at the sodden fabric of your undies, tongue darting out to taste them.

Reaching down to flick him in the forehead, Chris scolded him playfully, “You plan on coming up for air anytime soon, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Leon responded with a humorless grunt, clearly just as lost in the throes of hormonal lustfulness as you were. Nonetheless, he acquiesced, nipping at the crotch of your panties with his teeth before sitting up to his haunches and countering, “We gotta make sure she’s prepared first. Don’t wanna break her on your knot.”

You tensed a bit upon hearing this, but Chris quickly shushed you, scratching behind your ears reassuringly. “We’re not gonna break you, honey.”

He scooped you up beneath your arms to pull you up into more of a sitting position in his lap, and only now did you notice he’d already undressed. While you were busy ogling every rippling inch of his tanned skin, Leon was stripping too, the temperature in the room rising exponentially. Try as they might to remain cool, Chris and Leon were panting just as much as you were.

You could feel the weight of Chris’ stiff cock pressed up against your lower back, making you whine and squirm to get closer, intoxicated by the idea of sitting on it. But you knew Leon was right— you had no hope of taking even one knot comfortably without more preparation, no matter how wet you were.

“F-Fingers, fingers, please,” you all but babbled, taking it upon yourself to shimmy your panties down to mid-thigh. You were desperate for something thick and warm to claim the empty space between your walls, a void that felt like it was only carving deeper into the pit of you.

From the start of your very first cycle, the doctors were always timely with your monthly inhibitor— it didn’t negate the symptoms associated with going into heat entirely, but it absolutely did dampen them. You’d never felt your heat with such intensity before, and that was by careful design— a pinch of cinnamon among the additives to your meal was all it took to counteract your inhibitor, which was nearing the end of its four-week lifespan anyway.

Maybe Chris and Leon would even luck out and, moving forward, you’d subconsciously associate the intensity of your heat with them.

“Shh, shh, alright, baby,” Chris cooed in your ear as he worked in tandem with Leon to tug your panties off the rest of the way. His massive palm then sank down between your legs, fingers spreading apart your slippery folds, and with a subtle nod to Leon over your head, he added in a sultry murmur, “Let’s get you good and taken care of.”

Leon was on you in a second, prints pressing deep into your hips as he rutted into the mattress and lapped at your sweetness, tail swinging back and forth in a haphazard pendulum of dumb weight. Through the incomprehensible horny fog that hung over his head, Leon was determined to commit the taste of you to memory so that he could discover how it might change once you were finally pregnant.

Sucking your clit between his lips with a low moan, Leon took advantage of your surprise to push his index finger past your tight little hole, his other hand keeping your hips steady so you wouldn’t accidentally hurt yourself when you bucked. A sharp whine pushed up from your throat but it wasn’t one of displeasure. Far from it. You were clenching around him like you were trying to suck him in, and what kind of gentleman would he be if he didn’t oblige?

“Mm, there you go, good girl,” he groaned, flattening his tongue on you to lick a broad stripe from your hole to your puffy clit. “Takin’ daddy’s fingers like a fuckin’ dream…”

“Yeah, you are,” Chris agreed without hesitation, gently stroking the boundaries of your cunt in a soothing motion that spread you open wider, allowing Leon to sneak a second finger in with the first. “Gonna take our knots with no problem at all, aren’t you, pretty girl? ‘Til you’re all fucked full…”

The way you squirmed and twitched in Chris’ lap only worked more blood to his dick, but thankfully he was a much more patient man than Leon, whose hand was plunging in and out of you at a measured but shaky pace. You were dripping like a faucet and kicking your legs out over his shoulders, clutching the portion of grey-blond hair between his wiry ears in a white-knuckled fist.

Leon only unlatched from your cunt to breathe, dragging in a series of heavy breaths before his teeth sank deep into the plush, creamy flesh at the inside of your right thigh, marking you. The sting of it was quickly followed by Chris’ own claim bite where your tender neck met your left shoulder.

The sharp sensation rushed through you and forced goosebumps to rise along your skin, head falling back against Chris’ chest as you whined and convulsed around Leon’s fingers, tumbling over the cusp of an intense and unexpected orgasm. But it didn’t dampen that heat in you, it didn’t offer any relief— if anything, as the tides began to calm, you were only left wanting more. More and more and more, want turning quickly to need.

As Leon withdrew his slick fingers from you, your head was spinning, upper half falling forward as you braced yourself on your elbows, spine sloping down to the mattress in a languid arch to present yourself to Chris. You could feel the cool air of the room chilling the arousal that leaked out from between your soft lips, hole pulsing and squeezing around the mere idea of his length.

“Please, please, please,” you whimpered, tail curled up to the base and wagging timidly side-to-side, like it was just beckoning him to sink into you. “Gimme pups, gimme pups, please—”

You couldn’t see his expression, but Chris was sweating, caressing your hip with one hand while the other tugged at his aching cock, already sticky and leaking down his clenched knuckles. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “look at that pretty pussy… you showin’ off?”

Nodding dumbly into the bedding, you felt Leon’s hand come forward to card through your hair, making your eyes flutter comfortably shut. He was stroking himself too, every pump of his hand signified by a subtle schlicking sound of his own pre marrying together with the mess you’d made on his fingers.

Chris started with two fingers first. His were just a little bit shorter than Leon’s, but much thicker, stretching you out more. It was just so adorable, the way you gasped and mewled and rutted back into him while he carefully scissored your hole further open. The anticipation that vibrated through you only ramped up their own.

“You’re gonna look so pretty knotted up, aren’t you?” Leon smiled down at your flushed form. “And even prettier with a bellyful of puppies…”

You drew in a breath to respond but didn’t have much of a chance before Chris replaced his fingers with the heavy head of his cock, each and every rigid inch sliding in without resistance. As his hips rutted forward to become flush with your bottom, the air was punched from your lungs and expressed in a needy cry. Heat bloomed through your middle as he went still for a short moment, but you didn’t need still, you needed babies.

So you shifted beneath him and began to fuck yourself on Chris’ dick, working up to a fervent pace where every twitch of your thighs felt like lightning, but it didn’t stop you. It thrust you forward. All your mushy little brain could think to do right now was fuck and fuck and fuck until you couldn’t move anymore, until you couldn’t even keep your eyes open. Lucky for you, that was the only outcome that would stop them, too.

Chris gripped you at the waist to hold you steady so he could truly start pounding into you, losing himself in your silky cunt. You were squeezing him so perfectly and he couldn’t look away, pupils blown open wide as he watched you suck him in deep, dripping creamy white along the length of his shaft.

“You’re perfect, pup, just… j-just perfect,” he rumbled in your ear, leaning over your back to kiss and nip at your throat between gasps for breath. “Perfect little puppy, such a good girl… swear I could fuck you forever…”

Losing his patience by the minute, Leon had to stop touching himself just to keep from blowing his load early, but he was throbbing with the need to penetrate you. He could already imagine how good you must feel just by the look on Chris’ face.

“C-Chris, Chris… fuck, I’m… gonna fuckin’ bust,” he shuddered, “please…”

And Chris could tell by the look on Leon’s face that he wasn’t joking. His meaty hands printed into your skin with the effort it took for him to slow down, one hand sliding up the length of your spine to tug you up by the back of your neck like a little baby whelp.

“Think you can handle that right now, princess?” He asked in a breathy whisper, lips ghosting along the curve of your slack jaw.

Once more, you were nodding like a bobble-head, bleary eyes catching between the sight of Leon’s cock, and the sight of Chris’ hammering up beneath the soft skin of your belly. You didn’t have much capacity to wonder if you could handle them both right now, because you just so desperately wanted to anyway.

“Alright, then,” he replied in something of an affectionately patronizing tone, like he didn’t fully believe you, but he gestured for Leon to join you regardless.

Leon scrambled forward on his knees, spreading your legs open as wide as they could comfortably rest so that he had a good, clear path to you. Hooking one leg over Chris’ hip until you were upright and sandwiched between them at the head of the bed, Leon ground himself up against you, carefully angling his tip until it caught on your hole. All three of you buckled at the feeling, your breath caught in your throat and tears leaking down your chin as Leon bucked up into you, tongue lapping at every stray teardrop in a series of stilted, needy puppy kisses.

The gruff wolf was all but whimpering and whining against your skin until his head fell back in pleasure, teeth gnashing at his own lip just to maintain focus while Chris gradually approached his earlier pace, if not a bit shaky now with the added friction of Leon’s firm, swollen sex dragging back and forth alongside his own. They could feel every little dip and ridge of one another, every throb of each other’s veins, and while they knew they had a long night ahead of them in terms of helping you through your heat, they were getting dangerously close already.

In the midst of everything, you were pretty sure you came twice more just in the time it took Leon to push into you too, and your body wasn’t giving you any signs of stopping soon. You were wetter than ever and twice as incoherent, babbling complete and utter nonsense into the hot, heavy air just to cope.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so cute like this,” Chris growled against the crown of your head, trying his best to hold off for as long as he could, but it was all just too much— balls drawing up tight, he grunted, “You ready?”

All it took was the first semblance of please making its way past your lips for him to lose it, holding you down firmly in his lap. Rope after rope of his cum flooded into you, finally sating some of that burning emptiness you felt. You went all but limp between their firm bodies, shivering and twitching and crying in ecstasy, in relief, yet another wave of near-overwhelming rapture licking over exposed nerves.

And then his knot began to swell. You jerked in surprise at first, but he just shushed you, nuzzling against the nape of your neck while he continued to hold you still. The weight of your clenching walls and the slickness of Chris’ spend sent Leon over the edge too, while you were distracted, and with two baseball-sized knots expanding to fill any and all empty space in your poor little cunt, you quickly realized you wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

“O-Oh, ow,” you wept, trying to squirm a bit, but they wouldn’t let you.

They were mindful to check that you were okay, of course, because as much as it would have killed them to risk wasting any cum that could otherwise be getting you pregnant, they weren’t going to keep you knotted tonight unless you really wanted them to— this was presumably your first time, and would be considered a lot for anyone’s first time.

But you just clung to them. Any little adjustment they made was met with your grabbing hands pulling them close again, and a quiet, tearful whine. Splaying his hand out, Leon delicately rubbed your tummy to help you relax while Chris kissed you all over and massaged some of the tension from your trembling thighs, bucking gently up into you just to hear you squeak.

“You did so good, puppy,” Chris mused, “gonna make such a pretty mama.”

“Mhm, so good, and so pretty,” Leon was eager to agree, already chubbing up again at the mere thought of your belly beginning to bloom where his hand laid now. “Fuck active duty, you’re staying right here.”

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candysims4 · 3 days ago

Text

AMOR EARRINGS

TEEN TO ELDER

BASE GAME COMPATIBLE

MADE FOR FEMALE FRAME

DISALLOWED FOR RANDOM

1.336 POLYGONS

55 SWATCH COLORS - All plain colors

YOU WILL FIND IN ACCESSORIES/EARRINGS

THUMBNAIL (HOSTED IN IMGUR)

MY SITE (NO AD.FLY)

As it's a gift, I have preferred to maintain the same link for everyone, so the download link for these earrings is exclusively on my site; that's the host of all my cc that are already available for free.

I posted on Patreon only to inform my patrons about this new item. If you want to, you can find the post here.

Thanks to all the cc creators that I used in the pic. And thanks to @maxismatchccworld, @s4library, @wewantmods, and everybody who reblog this post!

If you’re a cc finds and want to be tagged when I post, please, let me know. You can send me an ask or in DM.

With your help, more people can know about my work! 💖 Love you all, XOXO 💖

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cece693 · 2 days ago

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My Vampire

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: reader is a vampire, takes place after they fall off the cliff, nursing back to health, hannigram feel jealous, but everything is resolved, just something silly I came up with

You’d never planned on crossing paths with Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. In truth, you avoided humans whenever possible, preferring the deep shadows of the forest and the quiet hours of the night to any bustling crowds. But that unspoken, secret life you lead—sustained by blood and centuries of solitude—proved itself impossible to hide when you found the two men collapsed at the rocky bottom of a steep cliff.

In the silvery glow of the moon, you saw them: Hannibal, impeccably dressed even in disarray, and Will, painfully crumpled, a halo of curly hair matted with blood. They had fallen—or been driven—off the edge. Your acute hearing picked up the faint beating of two frantic hearts. Against your better judgment, you acted swiftly.

The moonlight guided you as you carried both unconscious men to the safety of your home, deep in the forest. Turning on the lights revealed modest furniture, shelves of ancient texts, and the paraphernalia you’d collected over centuries: strange artifacts, historical relics, a few odd trinkets you found comforting in your long life.

You prepared beds for them in separate rooms. First, you stabilized Hannibal—a fractured rib, sprained wrist, cuts along his temple. More concerning was Will: several bruises, probable concussion, shock. With careful touches, you cleaned and dressed their wounds. Under the same roof with two delicate, thrumming pulses—it took everything in you to keep a tight leash on your most primal instinct. But you did. You always did.

Their condition demanded something more than standard human medication. You whispered ancient incantations under your breath, letting the faint threads of supernatural energy flow from your fingertips to their broken bones. Even as your thirst roared, you continued your strange, secretive healing, pressing over bruises and fractures with hands that never seemed to warm.

Days passed. You listened to the soft stutter of Will’s pulse and the steady cadence of Hannibal’s. At first, they roused only in fleeting moments, eyes glassy, speech slurred. You offered them water and soups thick with herbs that carried subtle restorative properties. They ate without protest, too weak to question anything. Eventually, Hannibal’s eyes found yours in the dimness of his room.

“You saved us,” he murmured, voice quiet yet controlled. There was a ripple of curiosity beneath the gratitude. You simply gave a small bow of your head, your lips curving in a gentle, almost secretive smile. He studied you: your unnaturally still posture, the unearthly pallor of your skin that seemed to glow faintly in the low light. You turned away from his searching gaze, easing a blanket higher over his chest with a careful gesture. There were questions you expected, but for now, Hannibal simply closed his eyes, content to rest in your presence.

Will took longer to regain consciousness, drifting in and out of feverish dreams. When he finally startled awake, he looked around with wide blue eyes, instantly on edge. You carefully stepped forward so he could see you—a kind face, arms raised in a gesture of peace.

“It’s all right,” you soothed, voice soft and resonant. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze flickered around, searching. “Hannibal?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

“He’s here as well,” you reassured him, stepping aside so he could see the figure through the open doorway. “He’s recovering.”

Will’s tension ebbed, replaced by relief. He slumped back onto the bed, nodding to himself. Then, quietly: “You saved our lives.”

You nodded, pressing a cloth damp with cool water against his forehead. “I did what needed to be done.”

Over the next several days, you stayed close, quietly tending to their needs. You brought them more comforting meals, teas laced with your own subtle magic, and changed their bandages as their injuries healed at a pace slightly faster than normal humans—your clandestine influence, though you never openly acknowledged it. As Hannibal and Will grew stronger, the two men observed you in unspoken unison. They’d share glances from across a room, as though exchanging telepathic notes about you. Eventually, curiosity overcame them.

One afternoon, while preparing more of your herb-laced soup in the cabin’s small kitchen, you found yourself under Hannibal’s direct stare. The man approached with a measured step, Will close behind. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hannibal started, voice like velvet, “but I must admit, your hospitality is extraordinary.”

You allowed a smile to cross your lips. “I live alone. I have the space to share, and you needed help.”

Will glanced around at the eclectic collections on the walls and shelves—maps older than any living memory, candelabras that looked straight out of an antique store from centuries past, and your library of old texts. “You’ve traveled a lot?” he guessed.

“I’ve wandered,” you answered enigmatically. The silence that followed was taut.

“We’re grateful,” Will said softly. “We want you to know that.” In return, you simply nodded. You didn’t expect anything from them beyond eventual departure. Yet something stirred in your chest—an unaccustomed warmth of companionship you hadn’t felt in decades.

The days slipped by like dusk over water. You found yourself engaging in quiet conversations with Will in the evenings, while Hannibal read through your old tomes. Sometimes, you’d glance up to catch both men looking at you with an intensity that made your long-dead heart flutter in a dangerously human way. One night, you were startled when you heard Hannibal and Will murmuring to each other by the fireplace:

“He’s different,” Will said. “I can feel it.”

Hannibal’s voice was thoughtful. “Yes, there’s a presence to him. A calm and hunger, perhaps. Subtle, but there.”

Hunger. You swallowed. The faint thirst you spent centuries controlling was, indeed, always present. They were so perceptive.

Soon, little signs around the cabin began to raise suspicions: the heavy, iron-bound chest in a dark corner that you never let them open, the wine bottles you kept in a locked cupboard (though the contents were not wine at all). Once, Hannibal caught sight of you striding silently across the moonlit porch late at night, eyes glinting, your form almost inhumanly poised. Then there was the evening Will found a solitary pale figure in the forest, sipping from a small deer’s wound. You vanished before he fully comprehended the sight.

But what truly fueled their jealousy—though it blossomed in them before they knew the truth—were the small hints of a partner. A second set of clothing in a trunk, a pair of shoes that didn’t quite match yours, an engraving on a ring hidden in a wooden box. They caught glimpses of these things and exchanged wary looks, uncertain if you belonged to someone else. And why did you keep such personal belongings locked away?

Neither man dared to confront you outright. Yet their longing to be near you, to share these stolen pockets of tenderness, was obvious in every word, every gesture. When you approached either of them—asking about their injuries, smoothing the hair from their faces, offering small, tender assurances—you could feel their hearts quicken.

It happened one late evening, on the porch overlooking the forest. The sky was clear, starlight bright. You stood beside Hannibal and Will, who were both healed enough to walk carefully outside. They sipped from porcelain cups of your herbal tea, scanning the tree line where the moon gilded every branch.

Hannibal spoke first, voice low and calm, “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Will added gently. “We owe you so much. But we can’t keep burdening you.”

A pang flitted through you at the idea of them leaving. In them, you felt the pull of companionship, even desire. You’d seen the way their gazes lingered on you, felt the gentle brush of their hands when you passed something between them. They were drawn to you in ways neither had dared say.

“You don’t have to leave,” you murmured. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.” You paused, eyes searching the forest. “My home is safe if you need it.”

Hannibal watched you closely, seeing something in your eyes. “There’s more to you than kind hospitality, isn’t there?”

A fleeting grin tugged at your lips, an age-old secret behind your eyes. “I’m not like you,” you admitted softly. “I’m something else.”

Will shifted, the memory of seeing you in the woods late at night still burning in his mind. “I’ve seen glimpses,” he ventured. “But I—I don’t understand.” You inhaled, feeling your chest tighten with apprehension. Never, in all your years, had you willingly revealed your nature to humans. Yet these men—there was something about them that felt like an inevitability.

“I was born human once,” you started quietly, “but that was a long time ago.” You steeled yourself. “I’ve lived many lifetimes since. Surviving on blood, fighting the thirst, wandering from place to place.”

Hannibal’s expression was one of fascination rather than fear. “A vampire?” His tone lacked the disbelief you’d grown used to. Instead, it was curious, tinged with admiration.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Will set aside his cup, stepping closer, his eyes flicking over your face. The moonlight made him look almost otherworldly himself. “You saved us from that cliff. You healed us. And you never...took our blood?”

“I’m not a monster,” you whispered. “And I found your lives worth preserving.” You paused, swallowing the remnants of your fear. “The items you found—those things that made you think I had a partner—are old memories of someone I lost centuries ago. Not a current lover.”

Hannibal and Will exchanged glances, a faint bloom of relief apparent in both their eyes. Will exhaled a soft laugh, pushing a nervous hand through his curls. “We thought…We weren’t sure.”

Hannibal’s refined voice cut in, “We may have been jealous.” There was a wry, knowing smile curving his lips. “A foolish notion, given your generosity.”

Heat—or the memory of it—rose to your cheeks. “There’s no one else now,” you said quietly.

As the truth came to light, the shift in your relationship was palpable. Neither man showed fear or disgust. Instead, an unexpected acceptance lingered, twining you closer. Will still found you in the kitchen late at night, but now he’d quietly slide in beside you, leaning against the counter, eyes full of curiosity. He’d ask about your life in hushed tones: your travels, the centuries of knowledge you’d collected. You answered in half-truths or occasional full confessions, depending on what you felt ready to share.

Hannibal, too, found ways to join you in your quiet moments. He appreciated your old texts, marveled at the archaic languages you could read. Something in his own brilliant mind was stimulated by the very notion of a creature who had lived through so many eras. He’d ask you sophisticated questions with an almost reverent tone, and you’d see the faint glint of desire flicker across his features—desire, not just for your body, but your timelessness.

And between them, there was a synergy you’d never witnessed among humans. You caught it in how Will would pass Hannibal a knowing look or in how Hannibal’s fingers would gently skim the small of Will’s back. They were bound to each other, yet somehow, they extended that bond to include you.

After dinner one evening, the three of you lingered around the fireplace, sharing a bottle of fine wine Hannibal had found in your cellar (the real wine, not the blood you kept hidden). The conversation drifted, warmth glowed across your faces. Will was the first to break the comfortable silence. “We’ve been talking—Hannibal and I.”

“Oh?” you prompted, resting your forearms on your knees.

“We feel drawn to you,” Hannibal continued, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “When you saved us, nursed us, you offered an unspoken intimacy. We have begun to care for you in ways that aren’t entirely platonic.”

You set the wine glass aside, heart beating in a way you hadn’t felt in ages. “I care for you both as well,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I was prepared to let you go, if that was what you wanted.”

Hannibal’s hand slid across the small couch to cover yours. Even after all your time in the darkness, the tender heat of a human touch could still set your veins aflame. You felt the weight of both men’s gazes, their presence so near, so achingly real.

Hannibal’s voice was a low murmur, “We have no intention of running away from this…from you.”

Will’s shoulder brushed yours, and you turned to see him looking at you as if you were some delicate miracle. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Let us stay with you.”

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mistyresolve · 1 day ago

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| Valentines Day - Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader

Word Count - 1.7K

Summary - What a valentines with Simon might look like.

Tags/Warnings - Established relations, Mentions of the narsty and some heavy petting, interrupted

A/N - welp...it was supposed to be a valentines post but uhhh...I got busy

Masterlist ❤︎

You and Simon had a routine for the mornings. There was an unspoken agreement that the first person to get out of bed was to make breakfast. Since you were both early risers, it was usually a 50/50 chance that you’d be the one making breakfast. Although, you liked it more when Simon cooked. He would die if you told the rest of the 141, but he was a good cook. It was never anything fancy or over the top, but everything he made was delicious. His go-to was the regular bacon, eggs, and toast. He made your eggs just how you liked them—Crispy around the edges and the yolk runny enough to dip your toast into it.

The clock on your bedside table read 07:17. It was later than you usually woke up, but you and Simon were up late the night before. An “early Valentine's gift,” he had said, before he took you into the bedroom and worshiped your body. Made you a quivering mess beneath him.

Looking at his sleeping form, you could tell he put his all into it. Into you.

You couldn’t help the soft smile from your mouth as you brushed his hair back from his face. It was the longest you’d ever seen it, curling at the tips of his ears and furling down his neck. There was no real reason for him to follow the mandatory military cut since no one ever saw it. Although, he claimed he preferred it short because it was more comfortable underneath the mask.

He looked so calm when he was asleep. Younger even. The worries and stresses that drew lines between his brows didn’t follow him into sleep. Not tonight, anyway. However, no amount of rest would ever be able to erase the dark shadows under his eyes, a permanent mark of exhaustion.

You slid out from his embrace with utmost care to not stir him awake. He huffed a sigh and shoved his now-empty hand underneath the pillow, subconsciously searching for a new source of warmth, but he didn't wake. You tip-toed into the ensuite, clicking the door shut behind you to quiet the noises of you getting ready for the day. You had a quick shower, washing away the remnants of last night, albeit reluctantly.

By the time you entered the room again, Simon was sitting over the edge of the bed. Still half asleep and only managing to keep one eye open. He must have opened the curtains at some point because the room was now basking in the morning light. The sunlight climbed up the bed and warmed the sheets.

“Good morning,” you said as you made your way to stand in front of him. He immediately reached out for you, pulling you between his legs and letting his face rest on your chest. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and cradled his head into you. With nimble fingers, you combed into his hair. He breathed deeply, groaning, inhaling your fresh, clean scent.

You stayed like that for a while. Long enough to think he fell back asleep like this, with his arms wrapped around you. You scratched playfully at his scalp to get his attention, “What are you wanting for breakfast?”

He looked up at you with bleary eyes and shook his head, “I’ll cook this morning. It’s valentines.”

You leaned back to get a better look at him. “I got up first, and you’ve already given me my gift.”

“Mhm,” he straightened and came to life at the hint of a dispute, “That wasn’t all I was intending to give you.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “I’m serious–”

He stood and put a hand over your mouth to keep you from arguing further, “I’m serious.”

You pulled your head from his grasp. “Okay,” you said, searching for a compromise he would accept. “What if you make the food and I make the coffee?”

He played with the still-wet strands of your hair, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a curl, “Hmm, sure.”

You padded after him into the kitchen, oogling his bare, muscled back all the way. Noting the symmetrical red lines that were etched into his back. Something akin to pride burned in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep a smile from spreading across your face.

You press a single button on the coffee machine and let it run. Then, you sit at the island and watch as Simon starts breakfast.

He moved with the same grace he did with everything. Every move was thoughtful and calculated, even for something as simple as cracking an egg.

A devious idea popped into your head. You weren’t that hungry for food.

“I love it when you moan,” you sighed, pretending the statement was innocent.

He froze at the stove before spinning on a heel to look at you. His eyes were wide with shock and confusion, “Pardon me?” he said incredulously.

“You know when my legs are wrapped around your waist, and you're pounding into me,” you slid off the chair and walked around the island, his dark eyes following you, “When you say the dirtiest thing to me, and I tighten around you.”

His graze flashed from you to the stove, then back to you, and narrowed, “What are you doing?”

You took a step forward, locked your fingers behind your back, and pushed your chest up towards him. “I can stop,” you said, tilting your head up to him. He was so tall, and you loved it. If you could climb this man like a tree, you would.

You could practically see his resolve disintegrating, and he fought to keep his eyes drifting from yours.

With fingers chilled from the morning air, you slid them up this barren skin. The corded muscle of his abs tightened under your touch, and he tried to cover up his surprise with a chuckle. Only it came out more nervous than he had intended it to.

He responded to your advances with an enthusiasm that knocked your breath from your lungs. He had his fingers wrapped around the back of your knees, making a noise to signal you to jump up. He gracefully placed you on the island and nestled his hips between yours. With an experimental roll of your hips, you felt his arousal.

His mouth slanted over yours, and he pulled the hair at the base of your neck to maneuver your head how he needed to. He nipped at your bottom lip before working his way down your neck. You sighed in bliss at the feel of him.

Behind him, a familiar smell of char wafted from the pan. You were so engrossed in each other that you missed the first few signs of burning food. At the same time, you looked over his shoulder as flames from the propane stove started to lick up the side of the pan.

Faster than you’d ever seen him move, he was flicking on the fan above the stove and pulling the pan from the heat. You were jumping off the counter and rushing to open the patio door for him. Without a doubt, you were going to brag to everyone who would listen, the scary calm demeanour with which he placed the pan on the concrete stairs.

He straightened and stared down at the pan. His face was unreadable, and his hands resting on his waist was a comedic scene. He was still shirtless, and his shorts sat low enough on his hips that you could see the waistband of his briefs underneath.

“Baby,” you said slowly, trying to hide the humour. You walk to stand in front of him and obscure the view on the pan. “It’s okay. I didn’t really want eggs anyway.”

The pan had followed you and been by your side throughout your college days. It had been the only pan you had for years after. A go-to. It made perfectly crispy chicken and the most incredible sauces.

“It’s okay,” you patted his chest and pressed a chaste kiss to one of the myriad scars that scattered across his skin. “We’ve got leftovers." You couldn’t help but smile at him.

As you reach the fridge, the tips of his ears turn bright red—a telltale sign of embarrassment, rare as it is. You pause, your suspicions rising at his reaction. “What?”

He just shook his head and pursed his mouth, gesturing with his hand for you to open the fridge.

Confused, you slowly opened the door, the light from inside flipping on.

A bouquet. A very large bouquet that took up half of the bottom shelf. You noticed he must have had to shift the shelves above it to fit it in there without damaging any stems or petals. It was a breathtaking arrangement of white and light purple flowers and an assortment of greenery.

”Simon,” you whispered in awe, reaching for the vase.

”I-uhh,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “Yesterday was the only time I could pick it up. But I wanted to have something to give you today, so the florist told me to find a fridge to put them in to keep them as fresh as possible. I was going to give them to you after breakfast was done. " He jerked his chin to the patio. Well, it is done. I done it to death, actually.”

You set them out on the island, and the sun crawling across the marble made the colours pop. You clamped your mouth shut, realizing you were gapping. You had never received such a large bouquet before. Spinning the vase to fully examine the flowers, you found the card nestled into the greenery.

A little card, and all he had written on it was ‘Simon’

Not ‘Love, Simon’ or ‘Happy Valentin’s’.

Just ‘Simon’

You turned back to him and grabbed his face before diving in for one last kiss, “My god, I love you.”

Masterlist

A/N - Happy late valentines

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #taskforce 141 #simon ghost fluff #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley fluff #cod fluff

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venomliker · 2 days ago

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actually i won't keep this in my tags.

i know ppl who used it because they were badly groomed and sexually assaulted in the past by multiple rpers (i'm including larping in this). they've been badly traumatized by this to the point where they can't even rp with friends so i understand where they're coming from, and i think it's unfair to lump them in with everyone else who uses it. they've moved to one that runs on their computer locally using their computer's resources instead of a mass database, i think it was called backyard ai or something.

anyways, i think there's nuance to this conversation because there are people who have dealt with predators and deserve an alternative to rping that keeps them safe. i generally don't like character ai for personal preferences and the ethical issues but i think SA and grooming victims deserve an alternative, and instead of blanket shaming everyone who uses them you can provide alternatives that run offline using their own computer's resources.

c.ai users say "u dont understand guyss.s....people online....so means to me.......so i have to go use the robot that runs off the machine that siphons water from freshwater lakes......yu dont understnad online is scariessss!!!! i cant bear to actually search ffor an online community myself?? :(((" and really expect you to put your hand on their shoulder and be like noo baby its okay here ill hold your hand? like oh my god be so forreal

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messrsrarchives · 3 days ago

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mini yap but i think the big thing about the censorship discussions is that to a lot of people, they seem really hypothetical and conceptual. like some distant far aware threat but really you can't open a comment section about snape/regulus/barty/DE characters on tiktok without seeing at least three comments calling the creator a facist or a nazi sympathiser. no grey space, no understanding, no critical thought just "snape post? you're a massive racist facist"

and of course, there's personal preference! you can say you don't want to engage with these characters,,, but censorship isn't some far away monster - it's already here.

it isn't just incest or teacher/student or any of the other things people complain about, it's all these smaller examples of you not being able to separate fiction from reality and immediately assuming that those engaging with this content are idiots who also can't do this separation.

we also have this same movement against period-typical attitudes. where a marauders fic writer will include misogyny in their fic set in the 70s, and their ask box/comments will be flooded with people saying they hate women and that the text was so misogynistic. "this line was so misogynisti-" it was meant to be. that's why the period-typical attitudes tag is there.

i beggeth you to understand how important these talks are??? like yes, we're writing about wizards but if you ignore that and break it down to the crux of the issue: you are saying that we are awful people for writing and engaging with these things, whilst books like the handmaid's tale and 1984 are pulled off of shelves. you are saying that these things shouldn't be in literature. something that has always been and will always be political, and you don't think the political things should be in it? in a time where these are on the rise and our education of them is being restricted?

we Need to be able to write about these things. politically and historically, we NEED to be able to write about these things, we need to be able to write about discrimination. about hierarchies, about awful morals and hideous acts. that's irrefutable - we need that evidence and that exploration and that critical analysis of society.

and you need to be able to separate fiction from reality. because censorship isn't some metaphorical threat, it's here and you can get on your moral high horse and say it's just the "really bad things" you want gone, but (1) no one is every going to agree because there's no universal morality or legality and (2) it's not just that. and it never will be.

you are in a queer space, i beggeth you to understand censorship will find its way back to your ships, no matter how "morally right" you feel for starting these talks.

#robrauders yap #its so frustrating like #'we only mean inces-' NO YOU DONT !!!#and it doesnt matter if you do!!!#because it wont end there and it hasnt ended there

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frickingnerd · 1 day ago

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dating the seven

pairing: percy jackson x jason grace x leo valdez x frank zhang x gn!reader x annabeth chase x piper mclean x hazel levesque

tags: polyamorous relationship, percabeth frazel & jiper, wholesome fluff, physical affection, protective!seven

while your seven partners are very protective of you and would do anything to keep you out of harm's way, they do let you go on their quest with you! they honestly prefer to have you around, so they can assure your safety themselves!

out of the seven of them, percy, jason and annabeth are the most protective ones! percy and jason always throw themselves into any danger to keep you safe, while annabeth's protectiveness over you also takes place outside of battles

percy also takes on the spot of the most affectionate one out of the group, with only leo being more affectionate than him! those two boys constantly brag about dating you and have their hands all over you whenever they can!

in comparison, frank and hazel both enjoy physical affection as well, but they aren't big on public displays of affection, so those two only cuddle with you or kiss you when they're alone with you

the seven don't just date you, but there are also a few pairings amongst each other! for one, percy and annabeth are the couple that has been around for the longest time now

but frank and hazel, as well and piper and jason also are dating not just you but each other as well! and with how open your relationship is and how close you all are already, it wouldn't be a surprise if certain other pairings ended up happening eventually, like jason and leo or piper and annabeth…

speaking of piper and annabeth, the two of them dote on you the most! they certainly have a soft side for you that they often get teased about by percy and leo!

while traveling to fulfill the prophecy, you function as an emotional support to your seven significant others. things were never planned that way, but without you around, they are certain they would've lost their sanity by now

you always try to lend a hand or an ear to them, wherever they need help right now! being part of a big prophecy isn't easy, but you want to make any part you can of this journey easier for them! even if all you can offer is a hug and a reminder that you love them, that'll be enough!

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blubunz · 15 hours ago

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OBSESSION, INFATUATION, CONFESSION

— leon s. kennedy x gn! reader

Tags: the title says it all actually.

A/N: I'll work on other fics and stuff later I promise! Been busy lately and my period does not help lmao grah omg,, so I only have a short little thing for you guys :(

Leon who views himself as tainted, a hollow shell of a man, a weapon only to serve the government and protecting other tainted people.

He's got no right view of the typical romance he'd read or seen. Those typical rom-coms and books are just fictional to him. Well, in his line of work, he doesn't have the mind to view the world as a silly rom-com.

But, he knows what he wants when he sees you. Just a quick meeting, no deep conversation whatsoever yet somehow you have managed to make Leon think he was in highschool again by how his heart is thumping loud and palms sweaty from nervousness.

He doesn't let it show, obviously. But the moment you were gone, his knees crumbled and he has to lean on a wall nearby to steady himself.

God, he's already past his 20s. He's not that young, certainly doesn't look the part. But you make him feel like a teenager, a boy who only worries about impressing his crush rather than bioterrorism.

Day after day, Leon sees you even more radiant, like an angel. He might as well worship you and kiss the ground you walk on. He has to resist that urge, to fall on his knees, begging you to be with him, to hug you and feel your bright aura as he take the wings off to keep you forever with him.

To him, you are everything. Even if his everything should be his job, typically his life depends on it. But not to how Leon sees it. To him, you're providing him air to breathe when you're near. You're giving him a purpose to live his days even more productive, not just throwing himself carelessly here and there just to get things over with.

To you, however, you're not...that special. And you aren't. You're just like anyone else. You're not some hero in a movie, or some angel sent from heaven. You're you. A human with feelings and thoughts about simple things like what to eat, or just getting annoyed at something during your work.

You're aware you're not that crazy, big, admirable figure that everyone knows. Just a nice person doing their best throughout the days.

Yet, Leon's absolutely infatuated with you.

You never noticed it during your usual meetings, but you grow to realise how big of an impact you have on Leon when he's ticked off by the knowledge that you had troubled at work, caused by someone he doesn't even know. It's normal to you, annoying, but normal, everyone has to have a few bad experiences at work. But Leon's fuming, like it was him experiencing it and not you.

And on some random days, you would receive gifts. It's not consistent, but not entirely rare. Seeing a box by your desk every now and then with his initials written on the box. Each time, it was something different, but what they all have in common is that they're all expensive. You already have enough perfume and jewelries by now, with more than enough clothes that you don't need to go shopping anymore. You're slightly scared of how Leon knows your size and what your preferences are.

Nonetheless, you embrace it, and Leon can't be happier. He's an absolute gentleman, doing everything for you as much as he could and treating you to fancy dinners.

He does all of them so easily, but when he finds the perfect time to properly confess to you, he's shaking like a leaf. Leon wants to slap himself at how similar he is to a schoolboy, with you standing before him with a curious expression, and him sweating bullets with a whole paragraph well-constructed in his mind.

His first few words are heavy and shaky. You're almost concerned he'd just cry and run off, but Leon holds himself still, trying to speak his heart out to you.

He freezes when you smile. Honestly, you've predicted it. No one's just nice enough to give you expensive gifts and treating you out like a royal.

“So, is...is it a yes...?”

“Yes, Leon, it is.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #— barbwire writes #gn reader

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bluestrd · 3 days ago

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thank you for the tags @catharticconsolation + @dollishvie <33

10 tags for 10 people i'd like to know better...

last song- hair down, kendrick lamar + SiR

favorite color- dark navy blue, dark red

last book- guys i lowkey don't read actual books anymore </3 so it was definitely my government textbook

last film- companion

last tv show- succession

sweet/savory/spicy- all! with preference to spicy

relationship status- single and yearning

current obsessions- aaron hotchner, "hey drake 😼" , djo

last thing i googled- "what color ink should i use to help memorize my notes quicker"

looking forward to- spring break!! being done with this funky ass semester!!!

no pressure tags + sorry if you've been tagged: @s0ftcobra @diyasgarden @voidsuites @crimsonvamps @faiszt

10 things for 10(ish) people you'd like to know better

thanks for the tag bestie! @without-energy-always

last song: illit- tick tack

favourite colour: pastel pink

last book: japanese tourism: spaces, places and structures (for an essay...)

last film: harry potter and the goblet of fire

last tv show: squid game season 2

sweet/savoury/spicy: savoury yum

relationship status: engaged

last thing i googled: 'scallion pancake' lmao

current obsession: call of duty

looking forward to: going on vacation zzz

tags: @mhmmhmmhm777 @codnasties @souls-for-fandoms @shadowcompanygirl @thechaoticcheese @gaz-oline @insertcoolcharactername @sai-int @guhbwuh

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gorbo-longstocking · 2 days ago

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Do Not Blame the Sea - Chapter 7

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: No matter where you went, Caracalla was there. He would not leave you alone, not for a second! In your attempt to escape his near constant presence, you run into Geta, who, after a mild — for him — interrogation, he takes it upon himself to teach you how to ride a horse. You should have assumed this would end poorly.

Tags: Caracalla’s ceaseless physical contact and flirting, Geta being a prick, my poor attempts at writing a horse riding scene while having zero knowledge of horses, internal fears of experiencing transphobia and misogyny in the future

Word Count: 8.6k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Caracalla would not leave you alone. After that night in the gardens — or perhaps it started before that, you couldn’t quite remember — he may as well have been attached to your hip. It was endearing, in a way, and you would be lying if you said the attention wasn’t flattering. No one had ever been so enamored with you before. Not like this, at least. Everywhere you went, there was Caracalla, walking so close to you that your sides were brushing. He talked incessantly, mostly about some minor inconvenience in his day, only stopping to gauge your reaction. More often than not, it was an awkward grunt or a strained smile. Once he was certain you were listening, he would begin again. As strange as his new found obsession with you was, you couldn’t help but feel your own pinch of affection for him.

You had seen a new side of him that night in his room. Terrified and screaming, it was you who had calmed him, and then when you were pulling apart at the seams, it was him who talked sense into you. Aelius had told you he was bloodthirsty and cruel, he had warned you that, out of either brother, Caracalla was the one to fear with his unpredictability. You weren’t a fool, you were still wary, but there was a sweetness to him that you hadn’t expected. He had no obligation to pull you out of your own head, and, even if he did, he wouldn’t have unless he wanted to. That was what drew you in, the fact that he wanted to make you feel better. That, in his clumsy, self-centered attempts, he had tried. All of that, for you.

This was only more proof that your heart was never a hard one. It was soft enough to bleed from the slightest touch.

Still, despite this fondness you found growing in your chest, you preferred your time alone. You enjoyed picking apart your thoughts in the comfort of solitude. Quietly, you would analyze the happenings of the day, and with expert precision as you continued with your notes, you would delve into how you could excell at your job as physician. Only once the moon was high, would you turn in for the night. Sometimes, when you were particularly enraptured with a medical scroll, you would stay up the entire night. It was a nice routine, one you had gotten used to since your arrival at Palatine Hill.

Unfortunately, Caracalla threw a wrench in these plans. He would shirk his imperial duties, laying on a lectus in your clinic, to spend his time complaining about how boring you were being. It was hard to focus with him whining in the background, and even harder when he got particularly stubborn and began to get physical with you. He would stand over you before resting his chin on your shoulder, which would descend into him sniffing you, his nose buried in the crook of your neck. The worst was when he would kiss you, lips hot against whatever inch of skin he could find. Each time, you would shriek, unused to such intimate contact, and duck away from him, and each time he would laugh. At your expense, mostly.

“You are worse than a virgin,” He had said with an air of judgement, though his eyes shined at the prospect.

It didn’t mean anything, you knew that much. You were simply a new toy, and Caracalla’s lustful nature was no secret. More than once, you had walked in on him in the middle of a liaison with a concubine, or two — or three, or four — in an attempt to give him his nightly medicine. He seemed to find your embarrassment amusing as he would call for you to join while you slid his chamomile tea through his cracked door so as not to see more than you already had.

Today, you had managed to give Caracalla the slip. He wasn’t hard to trick. You said this with every bit of affection you held for him: Caracalla was not a smart man. All it took was a few loops around the barracks, and then ducking into an adjacent hall, to leave him floundering to find you. It wasn’t the first time you had done this, and it likely wouldn’t be the last, though it made you feel a bit guilty. All Caracalla wanted was to spend time with you. Unfortunately for him, however, you needed to be left alone for at least an hour a day lest you got twitchy.

This would buy you maybe thirty minutes of free time before he found you. You turned the corner, your strides long in an effort to beat him to your clinic.

There was one time you managed to hide from him for an entire day. However, none of that time was spent relaxing. You hid behind columns, and once, inside of a laundry basket, because, in the end, if Caracalla was one thing, it was persistent.

When he found you, he was angry, that was a given. There was no pretending that you weren’t hiding from him on purpose, not when he found you on your hands and knees under a table. After a thorough tongue lashing — “How dare you hide from me! When your emperor calls you to his side, you come!” — in order to repay him, you had to join him during his imperial duties the following day. Usually, Geta took care of more official matters. Every so often, however, Caracalla was expected to make an appearance with his brother, and you were unceremoniously dragged along.

How either emperor did it was beyond you. You had never been so bored in your life. Caracalla entertained himself by staring at you from afar, not a single bit of his attention on what the senators and patricians said. He was so distracted that, after all was said and done, Geta forbade you from being present again. He tacked on a condition that when Caracalla was conducting himself in an imperial fashion, you were not to be within a decempeda pertica of him. Not until he managed to find his focus when you were around. Despite the fact that this was entirely Caracalla’s fault, Geta had turned his frustration on you, and by the time he was done, you felt scolded enough to drag your feet on your way back to your quarters.

It was strange. When you first heard about the emperors, they sounded like terrifying despots. Well, they were terrifying despots, as far as you were aware. You didn’t know much about the political climate of Rome outside of the palace where everyone was terrified to speak even a single criticism about the twins out of fear of retribution, which, in of itself, said a lot. You also knew enough to recognize that if Caracalla caught you treating Marianus, he would react explosively — it was a good thing he slept in late. In spite of all of this, though, you were forced to confront the fact that Geta and Caracalla were people.

Two very unstable, very damaged people, with all the power in the world at their fingertips. Power enough to make you take a sip from a cup full of saliva, or beat a man bloody for the crime of not standing up to the previous emperor. It was terrifying what these two could do with a wave of their hand, but as the days passed with Caracalla nuzzling his cheek against yours, and Geta skulking in the background, unable to hide the relief that came from not having go be his brother’s sole keeper, you couldn’t help the desire to ease their burden. That traitorous flicker of warmth in your gut when you thought about either of them burned brighter each day.

They didn’t deserve it, you told yourself.

It didn’t change the fact that was what you wanted to give.

An irritated huff puffed from your nostrils as you slipped into your clinic, closing the door behind you. Caracalla would be able to sniff you out in no time. In fact, knowing him, your clinic was going to be the first place he checked. If only the door had a lock like your bedroom did. That was probably the only reason he hadn’t crawled into your bed in the dead of night.

Yet. It was only a matter of time before he found his way in, which was a problem for future you.

Right now, you had an even bigger problem.

At the edge of your desk, with one of your wax tablets in his hand, stood Geta. He was examining your notes, one eyebrow quirked as he took in the unfamiliar language you wrote in. It must have looked strange to him. An alphabet that he recognized, save for a few letters, with words that were both familiar and not, carved into the wax. Sunlight shone in through the arching windows behind him, making his hair seem like fire atop his head. When he saw you, he snapped the tablet shut and threw it back onto your desk with a carelessness befitting of an emperor. Or, perhaps, a carelessness that Geta bestowed to all objects that didn’t belong to him.

Surprised, an ungraceful laugh tumbled from between your lips, “Caesar, you are not due for an appointment. Is there something ailing you?”

“What language do you write in?” It was an innocent question, though his tone made your hair stand on end. Geta began to rifle through the tablets and papers strewn about your desk before he found the one he was looking for. You recognized it instantly. It was the one where you had written down the emperors’ first physical. He must have recognized his and his brother’s names among the unfamiliar words. With one hand, he held up the tablet, an accusatory glint in his eyes. “What is written in this, Alga?”

When you tried to let out a breath, it got caught in your throat. You didn’t know where this anxiety came from, it wasn’t as if you had any incriminating information written anywhere. There were no schemes or plots jotted down where anyone could see them. If you were going to be that stupid, you may as well jump out the window yourself. At least then, your death would be quick. The only problem was that it was written in English, a language Geta didn’t understand, and thus, a language he was suspicious of.

There were enough similarities between Latin and English that if you explained the contents on the wax tablet, Geta would be able to parse what was written. It wouldn’t be hard to turn his frustration into something else. Maybe pride when it came to your linguistic abilities, as far fetched as that sounded. In the end, though, his disapproval chilled you to the bone. All the way down to your marrow, shards of ice pinched and splintered into your muscles, almost as bad as when your parents looked at you like this.

You shuffled over to him, trying to keep your chin high so you didn’t feel more like a child than you already did. “Those are my notes on you and Emperor Caracalla’s health written in the language of my country.”

“Why did you not write them in Latin?” Geta took a step closer to you. His presence always seemed to fill the room he was in, and right now, so close to you, it was suffocating. “Are you hiding something, Alga?”

The way he said your nickname was slow, each syllable chewed and spit at your feet. As much security as you felt from earning Caracalla’s favor, you knew Geta could remove you from the picture without a second thought. Blood was thicker than water, after all. Caracalla would move on eventually, perhaps with the new physician Geta would hire to take your place. The concept shouldn’t make you feel as sick as it did.

“Of course not, Caesar!” With shaking hands, you began to fidget with your fingers in front of your chest. Geta’s anger, like his brother’s, was nerve wracking. Where Caracalla was hot, stormy, and quick to bite, Geta was frigid and calculated. “It is simply my first language, so I am able to write my more complex thoughts with ease.”

Geta held the tablet close to your face and tapped the numbers you had written for his, and Caracalla’s, heights and weights. “And these sigils? What do they mean?”

“They are numbers, Caesar,” You said, some strange cross between exasperated and terrified. “Those are you, and Emperor Caracalla’s, measurements.”

Unconvinced, Geta turned the tablet back to himself. He examined your writing with furrowed brows. “They are like no numerals I have ever seen before,” He mused aloud before drawing himself back up to face you. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth, medicus?”

You let out a sigh. Geta’s paranoia was an interesting tidbit in regards to his mental health that you filed away for later, though you could understand where he was coming from. Here you were, a foreign physician, who allegedly brought a man back to life, then arrived to bewitch his fellow emperor, and brother, with your dastardly basic human kindness. It would look bad to anyone. The fact that he hadn’t had you crucified to begin with was either a testament to how much he was beginning to trust you, or just how much Caracalla’s attachment to you meant.

“You do not,” Came your soft reply. Gently, and without touching him, you took the tablet from his hand and set it on your desk. He watched you with narrowed eyes as you picked up another to hand to him. “If it would help you to trust me more, Caesar, I will translate all of my notes and writings to you. For as long as you want, and for as long as it will take.”

Geta paused, his pupils darting across your features as he searched for the lie he was so convinced you were weaving. “And these translations… How will I know they are accurate?”

“I am sure you have noticed, Caesar, but my language and your language are very similar. You have recognized words, correct?” You waited for him to nod before you continued. “If you read along with me, then you will see I am translating accurately. I will even teach you my language if it will—”

Geta cut you off with a wave of his hand. “I have no interest in learning your barbarian tongue. However, I will take you up on your offer to translate.” With a small hum, he side-eyed you as he opened a scroll. “You are right, our languages are very similar. I cannot help but wonder why.”

Swallowing a grimace, all you could do was give him a small shrug. “I have noticed that too. I have my theories on the fact that my language is based heavily on Latin, even without contact with my country and your empire, Caesar.”

“And those theories are?”

“The gods work in mysterious ways, Caesar. Some topics are too complex for mortal minds to comprehend.”

Geta huffed out a small laugh, his lips twitching. “Wise words, foreigner. However, I feel I must remind you that you are in the presence of the divine, even now.”

“Yes, of course, Caesar.” It was hard to keep your tone amicable in the face of a god complex, yet, somehow, you managed. You had forgotten that the emperors, and the people who they served, saw themselves as vessels of divinity. As for yourself, you couldn’t help but see Geta as a mere mortal. Maybe that was why you felt your lips quirk into a teasing smile. “I am far more respectful in your presence than any other man’s. I am certain you have noticed.”

“If this is what you call respectful, I shudder to think what disrespect is to you,” Geta grumbled as he thumbed through the papers on your desk. It dawned on him late that your tone was playful, causing him to freeze. He slowly turned to you and gave you an irritated glare. “Watch your tone, medicus.”

You ducked your head, properly deferential, if only to hide your grin. It was silent for a moment as Geta pawed through your notes. To your surprise, it was him who broke it. “My brother is very enamored with you.”

“I am aware, Caesar,” You couldn’t keep the aggravation from your tone, no matter how fond. Geta picked up on it, though he kept his face turned away from you so you couldn't see his expression.

“Does it frustrate you?”

Feeling awkward under his line if questioning, because it did bother you, if only a little, you waved your hands in the air. “Frustrate? No! It is very flattering, and I… I do not dislike Emperor Caracalla’s company. Most times, it is nice to be near another person.”

“Most times?” There was an edge of warning in Geta’s tone, though you knew you had to respond. There was no wheedling your way out of this conversation. A bit of sweat dampened your temples.

You would almost prefer Caracalla’s blunt rage to what Geta was doing during this, for lack of a better word, interrogation. “I am simply unused to such attention. For most of my life, I have been alone, having another so close by, so often, is strange. He will grow tired of me eventually.”

Geta hummed noncommittally. “If that is what you believe.”

Some part of what you had said seemed to have, once again, calmed his suspicions. With a loud crack, he shut the wax tablet he was reading and tossed it down on your desk. There was already a mess atop its surface, though you had a feeling that, even if it was organized, he would have left it in disarray all the same.

“My schedule is clear for the rest of the day. Sit, medicus. Translate for me.”

His request made you pause. Unable to help it, your mouth gaped, opening and closing like a fish as you fought the urge to protest. Geta may not have plans, but you did. Aelius, along with a few acquaintances he had made in the praetorian guard, were supposed to teach you how to ride a horse this afternoon. Judging by the position of the sun, you were fast approaching the time you were supposed to meet them.

It wasn’t an easy lesson to reschedule, either. You had to ask Aelius to get permission from a praetorian, who had to get permission from the head praetorian, who then had to ask the stablemaster. Eventually, it all came down to whichever emperor was available to ask if the horses could be used by the guard. You wondered if Geta remembered agreeing because you were certain it wasn’t Caracalla. He had been glued to your side, so you would know.

“Caesar, forgive me, but, I, uh…” You trailed off, unsure if you should resign yourself to fate or not.

Geta looked up, mildly annoyed. “Spit it out.”

“I have plans for this afternoon.”

His face split into a scowl, his eyebrows knit and his lips dipped into a frown. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he said, “Consider them cancelled, Alga. You will be spending your afternoon with me.” He paused before adding, “And my brother, once he finds you.”

You swallowed hard. It would be stupid to continue to argue, you knew that. If you voiced your desires, contrary to Geta’s own, you would only earn his ire, more than you already have.

Behind you, the door to your clinic opened, the familiar creak drawing your attention. You knew who it was. Even while trying to be sneaky, you recognized his footsteps. Geta’s eyes darted around you, another factor giving away Caracalla’s presence. A bit of relief filled you, making your fingers tingle. If Geta wouldn’t let you go to your lessons, surely, Caracalla would.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist and you yelped, stumbling forward a few steps, when Caracalla nipped your earlobe. “I found you, dulcissimus.”

“Caesar! Please stop biting me,” You snapped on instinct, rubbing your ear as a splotchy flush heated your cheeks.

Caracalla let go of you and crossed his arms, his playfulness devolving into annoyance. “Do not pretend that you don’t deserve to be bitten, Alga. You keep slipping away from me.” His eyes narrowed even further when he saw Geta standing by your desk. “Do you find my brother’s company more enticing?”

What a loaded question. One with a, thankfully, simple answer. You lowered your voice into a whisper, leaning close to Caracalla until your lips barely brushed against his cheek.

“You are my favorite, Emperor Caracalla.”

A giddy giggle rumbled in his chest, though he tried to swallow it. Mirroring you, he kept his voice low, a triumphant shine in his eyes when he glanced at Geta, who had flopped into your chair to focus on reading your notes. “Prove it to me.”

“Emperor Geta is trying to stick me with doing boring translations all day.” This was a poor idea, but it was too late to go back now. Pitting Caracalla’s affection for you against Geta’s iron will seemed as though it would only end in disaster. Still, you supposed it couldn’t be worse than getting your eyes plucked out with a needle. “I was supposed to learn how to ride a horse, but I guess it was not meant to be.”

Caracalla’s eyes glimmered with cruel amusement, a contrast to how he gently ran his knuckle over your cheek. He spoke at a normal volume now, earning Geta’s attention. “Our genius medicus does not know how to ride a horse?”

Geta let out a scoff, one leg crossed over the other. “Even slaves know how to ride a horse.”

“My parents didn’t consider it relevant to my education,” You tried to defend yourself, quick to discover neither was listening. While you had expected a poor reaction to testing the waters of how far you could manipulate Caracalla — there was always the chance you were simply very, very bad at it — you didn’t think they’d both decide to make fun of you. Given their penchant for doing so these past few weeks, you figured you were the fool here.

“Irrelevant to your education?” Geta sounded scandalized by your parent’s perceived stupidity. “How did they expect you to travel?”

“Traveling using horses has been rendered obsolete in my country,” You said without thinking. As soon as you spoke, you snapped your jaw shut.

Caracalla pressed himself against you, his arm winding around yours. Genuine curiosity gleamed in his blue eyes. “You said your country was large. Without horses, how was travel possible? Surely, you didn’t walk everywhere like plebeians.”

Explaining what a car was to these two would be an effort in futility, let alone a train, or heaven forbid, a plane. Caracalla wouldn’t understand and would ask you questions you didn’t know the answers to, while Geta likely wouldn’t believe a word you said. Your nostrils flared as your breathing picked up, a bit of heat rising to your cheeks as you fought for what to say.

Luckily, it was Geta who saved you with a snide remark, “On winged shoes gifted to them by Mercury himself, Caracalla. I think our medicus is making up stories in an effort to save face.”

Caracalla, to his credit, didn’t seem angry over the prospect of you lying. Instead, his lips curled into a mocking grin, playful in a way you didn’t see him get with anyone other than Geta, as he leaned closer against you. The scent of lavender, mingled with his body heat, made any coherent thoughts waver.

“Well, Alga, I think it’s cute you don’t know how to ride a horse,” He purred. One of his hands trailed up your spin, causing you to shiver, before it tangled in your hair. “My medicus is so talented, except for when it comes to the most simple of tasks.”

“Only hobbyists know how to ride…” Though the argument only came out of you in a breathy murmur as Caracalla continued to run his fingers across your skin. The effect he had on you only seemed to spur him on, his flush matching your own.

Geta looked to the stack on your desk, then to you, flustered and blushing under Caracalla’s attention. His cheek twitched, betraying his amusement.

“And you are no hobbyist?” Despite knowing the answer, Geta tilted his head to the side. “You truly have never ridden horseback before, Alga? Not even with another at the reins?”

Carefully, you tried to peel yourself out of Caracalla’s grip — his hands were wandering far too much for your liking. While he had stopped trying to pinch your ass through your tunic, he decided leaning his cheek on your shoulder and watching you with a cat-like grin would suffice. “No, never. It is a great impediment to not know how to ride in your empire, Caesar. It is why I am so set on learning today. You were the one to agree to it, after all.”

Geta blinked, taken off guard for once. “Ah, so that was what the stablemaster was on about.” Quieter now, he muttered, “I was only half-listening to him.”

“It would be fun to see how Alga handles failure, brother,” Caracalla piped up. His fingers toyed with the fine hair at the nape of your neck. “We could have our palanquins brought out so we can watch him learn in comfort.” Laughing to himself, he nuzzled his nose against your cheek. “As punishment for hiding from me today, I get to see you make a fool of yourself. Every rider falls on their first time.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the contact, even with the harshness that accompanied it. That was simply how Caracalla was, you could accept that, even if it was usually at your expense. There was this allure about him that made him easy to forgive, or perhaps you were more touch starved than you previously thought. Your eyes flickered to Geta, who was no longer smiling. It was gone before you could truly process it, but, for a moment, you thought you saw jealousy in his frown.

“Caesar, I am not going to fall. I am a genius in my own right, I can handle a horse.” Confident in your abilities, you gave each emperor a stiff nod. “This will not take long at all.”

Two hours later, you found yourself, once again, face first in the dirt. You wheezed as you tried to inhale, winded from your fall. From afar, you could hear Caracalla’s hyena’s cackle echo through the open air. Above you, the Roman sun relentlessly beat down on your sweat drenched body, and the horse that had thrown you off whinnied. Damnable creature.

Aelius helped you to your feet, his hand clasped around your forearm as he pulled you up. When you were certain neither emperor was looking, you shot a glare in their direction, only to make eye contact with Geta. You quickly turned your eyes to the clouds in an attempt to act nonchalant.

As it turned out, riding a horse was hard. How were you supposed to know?

“This would be easier if you would learn with a saddle first,” Aelius said with a shake of his head.

You scowled and brushed the dirt from your tunic. Considering how stained it was, it was more out of habit than any real effort to get clean. “Not every horse will have a saddle! I must learn the hard way before the easy way, or I will not learn at all!” Planting your feet on the ground, you gave the horse your worst glower. It continued to nibble on the grass undeterred. “I will conquer you, creature! We ride again!”

One of the nearby praetorians muttered, “Stubborn medicus,” under his breath, but you paid him no mind. It was true, you were painfully hard-headed, so you didn’t find the comment one to get upset about. Aelius, on the other hand, looked about to tie you to a tree just to get you to sit.

“My friend, I think you should take a break. We have been at this for hours.” He cast a nervous look towards the emperors, who were lounging in their litters, drinking wine and eating grapes as they enjoyed your little show. Even Geta seemed amused, though nowhere near the level that Caracalla was. Every time you fell, he would erupt into laughter.

You let out a childish growl, clenching your fists at your sides. “And we will be at this for hours more, if I have anything to say about it.” Calmer now, you turned your imploring gaze onto Aelius. “This is important. I am the only person in Rome who doesn’t know how to ride. What if I come upon trouble and a horse is my only way to escape?”

Aelius paused, his eyebrows drawing together. “Do you think about these scenarios often?”

“Nevermind that!” You waved him off. “I need to try again.”

With a small sigh, he knelt next to the horse so you could use his thigh as a step to mount her. You were able to settle easily against her back, though she knickered with discontent when you grabbed her reigns. Clenching your legs together, you tried not to slide off her side like you did the first time, resulting in uproarious laughter from even the other praetorians watching. It wasn’t until you were comfortable did you feel a warmth behind you.

“Here, I will help you learn. It will be faster this way,” Aelius said as he placed his hands over yours on the reins. Your back was pressed against his chest, and his legs were entangled with yours so that you could feel the way he moved and mimic the motion yourself.

A broad smile bloomed on your face, one you directed over your shoulder at your friend. This was perfect, you learned best with a hands on approach, and this was as ‘hands on’ as it could get. “Great idea!”

As you turned your attention on the horizon, you felt Aelius stiffen. Before you could ask, he leaned down to whisper, “I fear you have caught the attention of wolves, my friend.”

It wasn’t until the praetorian stood at attention with sharply barked, ‘Caesar!’s did you realize that Geta had left his palanquin to join you. He didn’t seem happy to do so, his gaze fixated on you, glaring as if you had offended him so severely, he would have to punish you. If you weren’t so high above him, you were almost certain he would smack you upside the head.

“Get down from the horse, soldier!” Geta removed the elegant cloak from his tunic, leaving him more undressed than you had ever seen him, and handed it to a nearby praetorian. Usually, he wore billowing robes that made him seem bigger than he was. Now, though, he was only in an ornately embroidered red and gold tunic, cinched at the waist with a golden belt. It drew attention to how skinny his frame was, almost willowy, especially in comparison to Caracalla’s softness.

Aelius didn’t need to be told twice. The speed at which he dismounted nearly took you down with him. You wrapped your arms around the horse’s neck, your front almost flat against her fur, in an effort to stay on.

“Yes, Caesar,” Aelius gave Geta a respectful nod, to which he barely got a grunt back as a response. His attention was almost entirely on you and the milky white steed you were perched on.

You barely had time to blink before Geta mounted the horse behind you, taking Aelius’ position with ease. He was warm against you, his hands sliding up your arms in an effort to pry your grip from around the horse’s neck.

“The reins, Alga,” He bit out, sounding far more irritated than the gentle way he wrapped himself around you belied.

All you could do was gape dumbly at Aelius who was avoiding your gaze like the plague.

With an irritated huff, Geta’s legs snaked around yours, and while his body hair was only visible when the sun hit it, you could feel the softness brush against you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours made your breath catch in your throat, so different than Aelius’ touch, though no less innocent. When you didn’t obey fast enough, Geta huffed, his breath hot against the back of your neck, and wrenched you upright by your collar. Once he was satisfied, he straightened your posture until you mimicked his own, ramrod and regal. His hands clasped your own, his lithe fingers intertwined with your own against the reins.

You always took care not to touch Geta. Unlike Caracalla, it didn’t seem that physicality was something that brought him comfort. Quite the contrary, it only seemed to make him uncomfortable. So, to have him draped over you like this was so entirely out of character, an irrational part of you was worried that Geta had been possessed by a demon. Once your more logical side came back, you came to the conclusion that Emperor Geta was, in simple terms, an enigma to you. A puzzle you could never hope to solve. You felt his legs around you twitch as he pushed your heels into the horse’s side, causing her to trot around the fenced portion of the stables.

“That is how you get her to move, medicus,” Geta instructed, his voice low. You were close enough to him that you could feel his chest vibrate with every word. It was enough to make your skull feel like it was stuffed with cotton.

“I understand,” Was all you could bring yourself to say. Your voice sounded as shaky as you felt. It wasn’t until now, so close you could almost feel his heartbeat, did you realize that Geta’s laughter was nothing more than a short, choppy bark in the back of his throat.

“And, this—” Geta began, his tone taking on that familiar edge of cruelty. “— Is how you ride, Alga!”

That was the only warning you got before Geta instructed the horse to take off, his grip tightening on you like a vice. He pushed his body lower, practically smushing you against the horse until your bodies were almost at an acute angle. The wind whipped around your head, and a few strands of hair flew into your mouth.

“Caesar?!” The wooden fence that bordered the pen you were practicing in was fast approaching. Your heart hammered wildly when Geta showed no signs of slowing. Now, your voice was shrill, “Caesar, please!”

All you could do was scream as Geta clicked his tongue and the horse jumped the fence to speed off into the verdant greenery that surrounded the palace. Behind you, the praetorian shouted, and distantly, you could hear Caracalla’s outrage, but it was all drowned out by thundering hoofbeats and your own shrieking.

“Caesar, please slow down! If I fall at this speed, I’ll die!” You were holding on for dear life, your entire body taut as Geta veered to the right. With his upper arms clenched around your shoulders, he forced your body to follow his.

“Cease your incessant noise, medicus, I won’t let you fall.” Unlike your high-pitched yelling, Geta’s voice was low, only audible because of your proximity to him. “Do as I do and all will be fine.”

Unfortunately for both you and Geta, you were far too preoccupied with trying not to start sobbing to focus on the subtle movements of his body. You inhaled a shuddering breath, a few tears leaking down your cheeks. “Please, can we go back, Caesar? I beg you to slow down!”

Geta released you to swipe his palm across your face. When he began to wipe your tears off on his tunic, you felt yourself begin to slip. “Geta!”

All it took was to cry his name for him to hold you again, carefully righting your position. For a moment, you believed he would slow down, only for him to dig your heels into the horse’s side. She sped up even more with a startled whinny, only serving to make you let out your own warbling noise.

“I am not ‘Geta’ to you, Alga, I am your Imperator!” The stables were nothing but a distant sight on the horizon as he took you around the outskirts palace. You wondered what Aelius was thinking right now. He wouldn’t treat you like this, even if the feeling of him against your back didn’t give you goosebumps like Geta did. “Imperator! Say it!”

“Imperator!” You cried, voice cracking with anxiety. Unconsciously, your fingers curled tighter against the reins, and tighter around Geta’s.

“Again! Roll your ‘r’s, medicus! A true Roman does not speak so flatly!”

“Imperator, imperator, imperator!” By now, your eyes were squeezed shut, body curled so tight around him in preparation for your inevitable fall. “Slow down, Imperator!”

“Say please,” Geta crooned, too much mocking laughter in his tone for you to believe any of the sweetness was genuine. The sudden shift in his voice made your heart tighten.

“For fuck’s sake, please!” You shouted in English, causing Geta to snicker.

“So high-strung for a physician. I frightened you enough for you to devolve into your mother tongue. Normally, I would punish such behavior, but I’ve had my fun.”

Thankfully, blessedly, finally Geta pulled the reins and clicked his tongue, causing the horse to slow from a sprint, back to a canter. You felt your muscles unclench, only for you to begin sliding off. He removed his hand from yours to wrap his arm around your middle to hold you tight against him.

“Don’t relax now, medicus, we still have a ways to go back to the stables.”

“We wouldn’t have ‘a ways to go’ if you hadn’t taken me on a mad dash,” You snipped, ego a tad bruised.

“You are like a child, crying over a perceived danger, then snapping at the real one.” The horse started downhill, and with his fingers splayed against your stomach, he pulled you back with him. “Lean with me, medicus.”

Despite your frustration, you obliged, and realized it was easier to keep balance this way. Now that you were moving at a pace you were more comfortable with, you were faster to notice the minute twitches of Geta’s body that the horse took as cues. She moved in the direction where he looked, and once he was sure you would continue to obey his instructions, he released you to retake the reins.

“Faster, now,” He said.

This time, you knocked your heels at her sides of your own volition. It must have been too hard because she sped up far more than you intended. An embarrassing squeal ripped from your throat as Geta let out a long suffering sigh, pulling at the reins to get her to slow down.

“I will not always be here to save you, medicus, you must learn how to control her on your own.” Releasing the reins, he decided it was better to grip your hips and allow you to have full control, though his legs were still tangled with yours. “Not all horses have the same temperament, though mine have all been trained to perfection. This horse is one of mine.”

“S— She’s very sweet, Caesar,” You managed to stammer. Not only was your life in your hands, but an emperor’s as well. Now you really wanted to vomit.

Geta let out another hum, that you were quickly realizing was him trying to cover up a laugh. “Gods, your accent is terrible. If you are to speak in public with me and my brother, you must work on this. Repeat after me…”

The rest of the ride was spent with you desperately trying to steer the horse, all while moving your mouth in a way to mimic Geta’s. Your accent wouldn’t be so easily fixed, not after only thirty minutes on the back of a horse, where half of your attention was on not falling off. To your surprise, instead of becoming more and more irate at your failed attempts to copy how he spoke, Geta only seemed amused. Every so often, he would squeeze your hips. You weren’t sure if he realized he was doing it.

“Circus” You carefully copied the way he said it, the Latin sounding ungainly from your throat. After a beat, a giggle made your body shake against his.

Geta pinched below your ribcage, and your giggle turned into a yelp. He did it on purpose, this time, you were sure. “What’s so funny?”

“We have the same word in my language, but it’s pronounced differently. Very different.”

“How so?” When you said ‘circus’ aloud in English, Geta let out a squawk of indignation. “Ser-kis? How ridiculous. The Latin way is obviously the right way.” He went quiet for a moment, and as he thought, his thumb rubbed against your side. You tried not to shiver. “Ser-kis and See-zer, are all c’s pronounced softly in your language?”

You tried to focus on answering rather than the oppressive heat that Geta was producing. Or, was that the sun? It could very well be both. “No, not all of them. Some sounds are soft, some are hard, like in Latin. It depends on the word.”

Satisfied with your answer, Geta nodded, his chin knocking your shoulder with the motion. The two of you were almost impossibly close, it was getting hard to think about anything else. A sigh of relief made your body slacken an inch when you saw the stables in the distance. Without thinking much of it, you had the horse speed up a bit.

“Excited to finish your lessons?” Geta chuffed another laugh. “If it wasn’t for me, we would be out here all night.”

“You and Emperor Caracalla could leave whenever you wanted,” You muttered under your breath.

Alas, the two of you were too close for it to go unnoticed. “And miss you making a fool of yourself?”

“I appreciate your kindness, Caesar,” You remarked, sarcasm dripping from your words.

“Tone,” Geta reminded, though he didn’t sound particularly miffed.

It would only take a few minutes for you to reach the stables, and there was one question burning in the back of your mind. You were certain it was an innocent one, but Geta’s temper was so hair-trigger, you didn’t know what would set him off. With a deep breath, you decided to say, “You are better at riding than I expected, Caesar.”

“Am I now?” Behind you, Geta shifted, seemingly uncomfortable. You felt his breath ghost against the back of your neck, and for a moment, you believed that was it. That was all he was going to say. He proved you wrong. “When I was younger, I would wait out pater’s moods by riding. Rain or sun, I would be on horseback for hours, praying to the gods that by the time I was done, it would be safe to go back inside.”

You regretted asking. Hearing about either emperor’s shared childhood made your heart throb with empathy. No child deserved to live in fear like that, and while you had only seen first hand the effects the abuse had on Caracalla, there was no doubt in your mind that Geta also carried scars.

“Caesar, forgive my bluntness, but…” When you trailed off, Geta pinched your side again, hard enough to bruise. A pained groan rumbled in your throat, and you fought the urge to release the reins to rub the sore spot. There was no backing out of what you were going to say now. “You did not deserve that. Any of it. You, or Emperor Caracalla. The two of you were children, and I am certain there is nothing you could have done to warrant such abus—”

“Alga,” Geta cut you off. Though his voice was low against the shell of your ear, his tone wavered in barely contained anger. “It would do you well to hold your tongue when it comes to matters you don’t understand.”

A shudder ran up your spine. The rest of the ride was spent in dead, suffocating silence that you would rather have in comparison to the prospect of Geta screaming at you while this close. Once you were back at the fence you jumped not long before, Aelius came around to greet you. He took one look at your sweaty complexion and the metaphorical storm cloud that had formed over Geta’s head, and blanched. Never in your life had you been more thankful to see a friend.

It took about a minute for him to lead the horse, and subsequently, you and Geta, back to the stables. Caracalla was waiting for the two of you, his arms crossed and expression furious, though all of that was aimed at his brother rather than you. Thankfully. If you had to deal with two irate emperors, you would sleep with the horses rather than go back to the palace for at least a week.

“Brother,” Caracalla snarled. His lips were pulled back to show off his teeth. “Did you have fun with my medicus?”

Geta dismounted the horse without a word. Once his feet were on the ground, he didn’t bother putting his cloak back on. Instead, he brushed past the praetorian holding it, disappearing back into the palace, a dark aura following him all the way. Caracalla’s scowl smoothed into satisfaction at the display. It softened even further when he glanced up at you on the horse.

“It seems you put my brother in a foul mood. I suppose that gives me an excuse to avoid him for the time being.” Palm up, he held his hand out to you. “Hop down, melimelum Come to your Caesar.”

Even as used to Caracalla’s penchant for treating you like a dog as you were, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Nor could you help the fond smile pulling at your lips. Once your fingers brushed yours, he jerked forward to wrap around your wrist and pull you down. With a yelp, you tumbled off the horse, into a heap on the ground. Above you, Caracalla laughed, high-pitched and sharp, his delicate hand still wrapped around you in a tight grip.

Once he was done laughing, he looked down at you, a flicker of desire in his features when he saw you sitting before him, your face level with his crotch. “Hello, melimelum, do you like the view?”

You responded with a withering glare that only made Caracalla laugh again. In turn with his own grasp, you gripped his wrist and used him as leverage to pull yourself to your feet. Your knees shook and your legs were sore. In order to stay upright, you had to grasp Caracalla’s shoulder and lean against him, much to his pleasure.

“You are like a newborn fawn,” He cooed as he wrapped his arms around you to help you stand. Caracalla held you close, somehow even closer than you had been to Geta earlier. Rocking you from side to side, he buried his nose in your hair and took in a deep inhale. Not even a second later, he frowned, jealousy darkening his blue eyes. “You smell like Geta.”

“It is not my fault,” You wheezed. Caracalla’s grip was growing tighter and tighter, squeezing the air from your lungs. “Aelius was meant to be the one to teach me.”

“Then you would smell like him when you are meant to smell like me.” When his face slackened from anger, his lips pursed onto a ‘o’ shape, you felt resignation grow in your chest. You recognized that look, and it was only when a smile bloomed on his face, did you feel yourself slump. Caracalla had an idea, one you would be forced into whether you liked it or not. “How are the baths, Alga?”

They were harrowing, though you kept that to yourself. Most of the time, you bathed in your clinic, and only when you were certain you were alone. With a rag, a bucket of water, and your ever dwindling supply of soap, you washed yourself as quickly as possible. So far, you had been assumed to be a man — which you were, even if you had anatomy that would give people pause — and you would like to keep it that way. You were certain your top surgery scars would go unnoticed, but your lack of a penis would not. This was the ancient past you were in, and you would rather not have to deal with explaining the intricate concept of your gender with people who would understand less than people in the future. Being a man afforded you with certain privileges, and you feared that having a vagina would make people assume you were a woman pretending to be a man. The thought made a bit of nausea roil in your gut.

“They are fine,” You finally said.

Caracalla grinned at you, triumphant even when you didn’t know what he’d request. Both you and him knew you wouldn’t — couldn’t — say no. “Use the imperial baths today. I want my medicus to pamper himself.”

You felt your blood run cold. If you bathed in the twins’ personal baths, there was no doubt in your mind that Caracalla wouldn’t take the opportunity to join you. “No, I shouldn’t. Those baths are for you and your brother only.”

“I insist! I can’t have my medicus smelling like a hound.” With his arm wrapped around your shoulders, he began to half help, half drag you in the direction he wanted.

There was no getting out of this. Once Caracalla had his mind made up, he would have what he wanted. And, right now, he wanted you in the imperial baths, naked and vulnerable to discovery in a way he didn’t understand. It wasn’t only the soreness in your legs that made you shake now. “I want to take a bath alone. Only alone.”

“So shy.” Caracalla grinned at you, his eyes absolutely ablaze. “The hot water will help soothe your aches. You should know this, medicus.”

A desperate cry left you as you reached towards Aelius in the stables, quietly begging him to save you. All you got in return was a mouthed apology and a grimace.

Your life was a goddamn horror movie.

A/N: Omg hi, happy Valentine’s Day to everyone! Originally, this chapter was going to be posted tomorrow, but I managed to finish today before work! So, here I am, with a holiday surprise. Praying this posts properly while I’m at work, I don’t have cell service in the building anymore for some reason. I can and will shirk my duties in order to post this!

This chapter was more slice of lifey than the others, and the next one will be too, methinks. As promised, major Geta scenes galore in this chapter, but Caracalla kept popping in like a jack-in-the-box. Give your brother the spotlight for five seconds little man!!! I just couldn’t help it, he’s too pookie. Besides, he’s clingy. It’s in character for him to show up like a poltergeist every so often. These chapters Latin petnames include ‘melimelum’ which means ‘honey apple’ and ‘dulcissimus’ which translates to ‘sweetest.’ Also, if you notice me not conjugating ‘pater’s’ into the possessive, ignore it, I’m lazy and I think it’d be harder to understand if I did.

The imperator scene was fun to write! If your curious what the difference between Caesar and Imperator is, as far as I can tell, Imperator is more a military title. It existed before Augustus rose to power, and basically translates to ‘he who commands.’ What Geta was doing in that scene is a deeply insane and roundabout way to build Alga’s confidence into being the one to command the horse, but he’s a fucking freak. And was also probably, deep, deep down, kind of horny about the whole thing. Tbh, I had to ask a few friends if that scene was kind of horny coded or if I just wrote it at midnight. Get back to me on that chat.

Lastly, I dunno if anyone’s noticed, but Geta and Caracalla use Alga differently from each other. Pay attention to when and why they use Alga vs medicus vs petname. Hehe. I’ll tell y’all the lore there next chapter, but I’m curious as to what y’all think!

That’s really it!!! Thank you all for reading and just being wonderful about this fic, it really, truly warms my heart. I would kill for you random reader! Bet on it! Obligatory leave a comment if you enjoyed sentence, though, ultimately, I’m just happy you’re reading. Stay frosty!

Tag list: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra @001mon

#emperor caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x you #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x y/n #emperor caracalla x y/n #gladiator ii fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfiction

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dawn-moths · 3 days ago

Text

"our shadows glitter on the snow"

dabi/touya x female reader

word count: 5,700+

(you and touya enjoy an impromptu snow day together, but even amongst the cold, things always have the chance to get heated...)

tags: 18+ content! minors dni! takes place in my cerulean gaze au, established relationship, mostly fluff with smut the end, size difference, teasing and foreplay, brief moments of rough sex, aftercare and bathing together.

❆❆❆

the freshly fallen snow lays over the city like a glittering blanket, so much white shining through the frost-kissed windows, illuminating your cozy little apartment and causing you to blink open your bleary eyes earlier than you’re used to.

the cold seeps in through the glass and you shift closer to touya, nuzzling against him, trying to steal some of his ever present warmth. in response, he pulls you closer, wrapping both his wiry, ink-covered arms around your dozing form, murmuring out some sleepy, incoherent nonsense as you lay your head against his chest, listening to his heart, the steady rhythm of it lulling you back to sleep. he takes a deep breath, chest expanding against you before retreating back again. you snuggle even nearer to him, chasing after this closeness that you've come to rely on so much.

“so cold…” you eventually mumble, shifting yet again and stirring touya further awake, until you finally lift your head to gaze out the bedroom window, squinting as the winter’s sharp brightness fills your vision to the brim. at first, you’re confused, wondering why the world beyond the bedroom is flooded with so much white, but then you remember the weather forecast you’d heard in passing last night while you and touya had been cooking dinner together and it hits you.

"touya..." you whisper following a small, excited gasp, gently trying to shake him further awake. "touya— look, look!"

grumbling upon being forced the rest of the way awake, he lifts his head, hair all tousled and thrown into even more disarray than usual as he cranes his neck to see out the window.

when he doesn't seem to engage in the same enthusiasm as you do, you say, "it snowed!" as if he's missing the point and you're helping him understand. as if something truly unbelievable— something extraordinary— occurred in the night and you're the first living soul to discover it.

touya mumbles something you don't quite catch (though, in hindsight, sounded a lot like "congratulations" frosted over with thick, slurred sarcasm) as he flops his head back down against his pillow and turns onto his side, making it clear he'd like at least another half an hour of rest before rising for the day.

you both have today off from work, after all.

it's not very often that you get to indulge in sleeping in together.

so you let him have his extra thirty minutes, forcing yourself to return to cuddling up to his side, this time being the one to wrap your arms around him from behind and breathing in deep as the familiar scent of his skin fills your brain with a calming haze. touya reaches to where one of your little hands is resting over his waist and gently grasps it in his own, shifting your arm's position so that it's draped over his bare chest after placing a soft kiss to the back of your knuckles, seeming much more content once he feels your body relaxing against his own once more.

in the end, you both take an extra hour before finally feeling ready to roll out of bed, touya quickly slipping on a hoodie as soon as the covers are gone to shield him from the biting cold he loathes so much. meanwhile, you saunter over to the thermostat and turn it up a few degrees before heading for your quaint little kitchen and putting the coffee on.

"thanks, baby," touya says, the rasp in his voice even more prominent at this time of the morning, as you pass him his coffee, having prepared it in his favorite mug. normally it's him who's in charge of the beloved morning ritual, but now that both of you have learned each other's desired preferences to perfection, touya trusts you to prepare his for him on occasion.

with your own hot drink in hand, you join him on the couch, unable to peel your gaze from the cityscape beyond the window, the rooftops and roads dazzling in the mid-morning's light. meanwhile, touya absentmindedly flips through the channels until he finds the news, which has nearly concluded, only enough airtime left on the scheduled program to catch the end of the week's weather report.

"well, it seems the snow's here to stay," the meteorologist remarks in a chipper tone. "at least, for the remainder of the week..." as he begins to dive into the predicted forecast and temperatures, touya's attention wanders back to you.

"what is it?" he asks. you've been gazing out the window the entire time, your mug clutched between your warmed hands, and you start a little once you realize he's talking to you.

"what? oh—" you hide a small grin behind the cautious sip you take from your mug, buying yourself a moment before answering, "i was just thinking..." touya slightly tilts his head at you, curious. "when was the last time you went out in the snow?"

touya's expression shifts. "went out in the snow...?" he repeats. "well, it snowed last year, didn't it?"

you let out a gentle, tired chuckle and lean forward to set your mug on the coffee table before making yourself more comfortable tucked against his side. "no, i mean, like, really went out in it? like played in it?"

now it's touya's turn to let some minor amusement slip though, one side of his lips quirking up into a crooked smirk. "played in it..." he takes a moment to think.

most of his childhood is a watercolor blur, one memory fading into another and another and another until most of the images are warped and smudged, colors that were once soft and pale soon streaked over with stark crimson and onyx, leaving behind only the feeling. the fear. the trauma. the rage.

his teenage years are slightly more vivid, but so much of it consists of physical sensations, of bruises and beatings and broken ribs, of sharp needles piercing and marking his skin one scar at a time. the danger. the noise. the chaos.

and of course there's the fire, too. the heat. the flames. the fury at which so much of it had burned.

there's the taste of bitter ash and blood in the back of his mouth.

there's the cigarettes and dry pills that stuck in his throat.

there's the words he spit with venom. the threats, the vows of vengeance.

and then, suddenly, after so many tumultuous, terrifying storms, the clouds seemed to part to let in a single ray of light.

suddenly, just when he'd begun to believe all his life would ever be was suffering and the vicious solitude that came with it, then came you.

but, to your question, there is one memory he thinks he can recall. one that's pulled from so far back that he even thinks the other figure present to accompany him in it is his mother, though, now, he can hardly remember her face. he can only recall the color of her hair, as pure white as the freshly fallen snow, and hear her laugh when he'd stumbled and fell into the powdery fluff that came up to his waist at the time, the sound as clear and joyous as a windchime's jingle.

"hmmm... can't remember," he lies with a casual shrug.

one day, he'll tell you everything he can remember about her. but, for now, he'd like to keep such a sacred memory to himself.

another hour comes to pass as reruns of an old reality show you used to love plays on the tv, touya giving a rather amusing, as well as sardonic, commentary as a first-time viewer. by the end of the next episode you both find yourselves in desperate need of breakfast, so you cook together and eat on the couch, continuing with the reality show's throwback marathon, your boyfriend begrudgingly becoming more invested with every episode, despite the fact that he tries to play it off like everyone on the program is stupid in some way, shape or form.

"just admit it," you tease him. "you love to hate it."

"well, yeah," he smirks, guilty as charged. "isn't that kinda the point?"

you chuckle to yourself, glad that he's beginning to see the appeal of trash reality tv. it's fun to criticize the dumb decisions of other people, to say things like "if that was me i would..." or "i can't believe she..." as if you'd ever be in half of the ridiculous situations these people find themselves in. but touya's full of jokes and banter this morning, setting the tone for a good, lighthearted day, even if it's just going to be a lazy one spent inside. but then that feeling tugs at you again, and so you ask touya if he might be willing to indulge you for a walk around the neighbourhood anytime soon.

"why? so you can slip on the ice and sprain your ankle so i have to carry you all the way home?" he sarcastically jokes, only teasing you further when you seem to take offense that he'd think you'd be that careless or clumsy.

you insist you won't slip, that you'll walk slow, that you just want to enjoy the scenery before it's severely trodden over and salted out by the city. besides, the world never seems more quiet or magical than after it's just snowed. even if it's fleeting, you take comfort in that small dose of mystical, childlike whimsy.

so touya gives in. he can't help it, not when you look at him with so much sincerity. after the end of the current episode you guys are watching, you both slip into your snow boots, zip yourselves up into warm, puffy coats, grab your scarves, hats, and mittens, and then it's out into the cold you and touya go.

❆❆❆

despite hating the winter with such a burning passion, touya is actually able to find a few small joys in accompanying you this afternoon. because walking amidst the freezing temperature means getting to hold your hand the entire time. it means getting to watch your face light up when you point out the cute little snow sculptures people have already left near benches or beside storefronts, your cheeks all rosy and eyes sparkling with genuine delight that someone, whether a shop owner or a child, took the time to leave a frosty little friend behind for all those who passed by to admire while the winter’s kiss still lingered on the pavement's lips.

clutching tight to touya every so often so you don’t slip, you make your way to the park where the icicles cling to the statue dancing at the center of the fountain that lies in the heart of the park, her billowing dress of smooth stone sparkling like diamonds beneath the midday glow, a crystal fringe hanging from the hem of her skirt. the water that lies beneath her is frozen solid this time of year, all the coins that have been tossed in and wished upon during the warmer seasons taunting those who come close enough to peer down into the surface.

around the central hub, where buskers will sing come summer and local cafes and bakeries will set up food stalls on weekends in the spring, there are a few different sculptures made of snow scattered about. It looks like so far the miss-mashed little family consists of a dog, a turtle, several misshapen snow-children, and perhaps a bigger, older parental figure of some sort.

you ask touya if you guys should add to the family, and at first he seems hesitant, making a joke about how he thinks the snow-being in charge of so many other, littler snow-babies must have a lot on their plate already.

“then let’s make us!” you say, so genuine in your suggestion that touya doesn't have the heart to turn the idea down. it reminds him how, despite everything he put you through way back when, you were still so innocent after it all. how you haven’t lost those delicate, wondrous parts of yourself that played such a big part in the reason he'd fallen in love with you in the first place.

so, for the next hour or so, the two of you get to work at creating snow-likenesses of each other.

“ok, my hair doesn’t look like that,” touya comments with a chuckle when he looks over to check on your process with his snow figure.

“what do you mean? yes it does.” you respond, unable to contain your laughter as you stick another big icicle into the top of the snowman’s head. you take a peek at his work and then say, now bursting out with a laugh, “and what about me? you didn't even give me any hair!"

he shoots back, saying he just hadn't gotten to it yet, and you pick up some loose snow and fling it towards him, causing him to toss a small, lightly packed snowball your way, which in turn earns him an even bigger one right back, and you both decide to call it quits before things can get too out of hand and your snow people end up caught in the crossfire.

"alright..." touya finally declares, trudging over to you and pulling you into his arms, hugging you tight to his chest as he continues to walk a few lazy paces, making you feel as if you might tumble backwards, though he'd never let you fall. you look up at him, the stark darkness of his inky hair sticking out from the electric blue beanie you'd bought for him last winter standing out against the grey-white sky above. he flashes you one of those devilishly charming smirks before letting you go, yet still makes sure to keep you close. "whad'ya say we go 'n get some hot chocolate or somethin'?"

you reply with a beam and a nod, knowing hot chocolate would hit the spot right about now, and the two of you head downtown to your favorite cafe— touya's cafe, the one he's been working at since leaving his old life behind and beginning this new one with you— where one of his boisterous co-workers, jin, greets the two of you as soon as you walk in and the bell above the door chimes.

"sup!" the older blonde man exclaims as soon as he slides the next hot to-go cup of black coffee towards the edge of the pickup counter and shouts out the name "aizawa", at which point a slightly disheveled and tired looking dark-haired man shuffles forward to claim it as he slips a small tip into the jar next to the cash register. "how you guys doin'?! wha'cha been up to?"

you tell jin, who you've become decently familiar with over the past year, that you and touya went to the park and made snowmen together. jin leans forward over the counter and shifts his gaze from you to touya, who still has the evidence of being hit by a snowball or two clinging to his coat, then back to you again as he whispers, "did you hit touya with a snowball for me?"

playing along, you lean in and whisper mischievously back, "oh yeah, he didn't even see it coming..."

touya and jin exchange some lighthearted smalltalk for a few minutes before jin glances at the clock and says, "y'know what. it's my break. why don't we grab a table for a few?" as he unties his apron and rounds the counter.

there doesn't appear to be anyone else around to cover him, but when you bring this up he assures you that it's been a slow day anyway so it's not a big deal. the three of you chat, banter, and laugh until the afternoon rush begins to pick up and forces jin back to his station behind the counter. he makes you a hot chocolate to go and swears it's on the house when touya tries to pay him for it.

"thank you, jin!" you smile as he slides the paper cup your way before moving on to serve the next customer approaching the counter, warning you that he made it extra hot, just the way you like it.

"see you tomorrow!" jin calls to touya as the two of you prepare to exit the cafe.

"yeah... bright n' early..." touya drones with defined dismay, clearly already dreading having to wake up to an alarm tomorrow morning.

but with that, you and touya head home, you cupping your hot chocolate between your mittened hands, sipping at it cautiously as you walk beside touya, one of his arms slung loosely around your waist, the tracks of your boots nearly overlapping over one another as they follow behind you in the snow.

❆❆❆

once the two of you were home, you'd changed out of your big, puffy coats, hats, scarves, and heavy snow boots, and into more comfortable clothes. it wasn't even dark out yet, was barely four pm, but with the winter weighing the sun down quicker than usual this time of year, you knew it wouldn't be long until the sky began to fade to an even drearier shade, forcing you to fall drowsy soon after dinner.

"pajamas?" touya remarked with a somewhat teasing tone when he saw you pulling your favorite pair of sleep sweatpants from one of the dresser drawers. he was leaning in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest, the wild spikes of his hair only somewhat tamed flat in certain areas from where his beanie had fought to wrestle them down. "hope you're not plannin' on tappin' out on me already."

you shot him a playful smirk from over your shoulder and hummed out a mischievous little note before turning from the dresser and beginning to peel off the several layers of your outdoor clothes. "course not..." you replied, though, you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't give in to the urge to rest your eyes if you found yourself cuddled up to him on the couch later, which was, as you both knew, fully inevitable.

he watched as you pulled one shirt over your head, then another, not even trying to hide the way those striking blues scanned the exposed skin of your half-bare body, his gaze half-lidded and hungry. you could sense it in him, could guess what sorts of ideas were playing through his head right about now, but you forced yourself to act none the wiser. at least, for the time being.

"can i borrow one of your t-shirts, pleeeeeaaaaase?" you asked with a sugary lilt to your voice as you sat on the edge of the bed to pull down your jeans and slip on the oversized sweatpants. and, god, the pure, perfected sweetness that dripped from your voice made him crazy. he liked it when you played just as dirty as he did, don't get him wrong, but there was something about the feeling of corrupting such a seemingly innocent, good girl like yourself that never failed to rile him up even more.

touya's throat bobbed with a particularly hard swallow, taking a beat to admire you looking over at him from the edge of the bed, half-dressed, doe-eyed, before pushing off from the doorway and heading to the drawer where he kept his t-shirts, shifting through a few of them before pulling out the one he knew you loved most.

"thank yoooou..." you said, sing-song like, as he approached you to hand it over. he was closer now, his silence only punctuating the fact that he currently saw all of this as one of the many forms of domestic foreplay the two of you had participated in before.

and you, also being well versed in these kind of slow, savoring games you and him had grown accustomed to practicing, only did more to tease him, knowing that, the more you withheld now, the more he would give you later. so you slipped his t-shirt over your head, shaking out your hair from the neck of it, and reached up the back to unclasp your bra, pull it out from underneath, and toss it aside.

why hand over the view you knew he craved when it would be so much more fun to make him work for it a little harder?

"movie?" touya then asked, the insinuation the husky lowness of his voice implied betraying the casual inquiry.

"mm-hmm," you nodded, once again falling into his orbit, magnetized to his touch.

so, while you cued up a film and touya reheated last night's takeout leftovers for the two of you, you also got to work crafting the pillows and blankets on the couch into the coziest arrangement. while you waited for him, already settled into your little nook, you held the fabric of his t-shirt to your nose, the scent of him clinging to it, soothing you, lulling you.

who were you kidding.

once he was beside you, you weren't going to stand a chance at staying awake.

unless he had something to say about it, of couse.

halfway through the movie, you'd finished snacking on the leftovers, calling it an early dinner since you had a feeling after such an eventful day you were going to want to seek the refuge of your bed early tonight, and since it was a film the two of you had seen before, you didn't feel too bad about indulging in the aforementioned resting of your eyes.

it didn't take long for touya to catch onto this, and so he decided it was time to let out some of those pent up ideas he'd begun scheming about earlier...

his hand, which had been resting against the dip of your waist from under the t-shirt, snaked further around your body, taking his time to trace your soft skin with his calloused fingertips, the roughness of them causing a trail of goosebumps to raise over your ribs.

inhaling a long, deep breath, your tired eyes fluttered back open, pupils blown wide with relaxation, even as you squinted at him and muttered with that deviously playful lilt, "touyaaa... what are you doing?"

your boyfriend tried to keep a straight face but one of those up-to-no-good smirks still peeked through, there and then gone again like a wink of light glinting off a sharp object. "nothing..." he lied, the word upturning with blatant mischief. "just close your eyes," he told you, lowering his voice back to a soothing murmur.

you stared at him for a few more seconds, his gaze not moving from the tv as the final act of the film began to play. touya's hand hadn't so much as twitched from where it rested on you now, his warm palm splayed over the area just below your breast, lying in wait until you inevitably let your guard down again.

before long, the sounds from the tv all began to fade into a hazy, incoherent blur of noise as you felt your body sink heavy with oncoming sleep. touya could tell the exact moment that you were falling under, could feel the change in your breathing with your body pressed so close against his. slowly, gently, as if not to wake you, his hand inched further up under your borrowed t-shirt, cupping your breast in his hand, savoring the familiar, soft weight of it.

he was perhaps able to get away with that maneuver for a good ten seconds before you were stirring back awake, at which point you spoke his name in another one of those fake-warning tones, though not before you pressed yourself just that much further into his welcome touch.

once he knew you were fully awake, he became more bold in his ministrations, taking one of the tender buds between his thumb and forefinger, teasing it until it hardened and peaked. you gasped and sighed at the sensation, feeling the warm, pleasant buzz of arousal coming to life at the core of you, shifting slightly to turn from your side onto your back for him, a wordless surrender.

touya was still watching the movie, or at least half watching, only flicking his eyes to you here and there momentarily to gauge your reactions.

he intended to make you work for his attention today, too, it seemed.

it isn't until you let out a soft, delicate whine when he pinches just a little too hard that he locks eyes with you, the blue of his gaze so startlingly striking at times that it still nearly takes your breath away.

"please, touya..." you whimper, face flushed hot and insides flooded with honey-sweet pleasure. "please, i need you to—"

but he's already pulling you up to straddle his lap, handling you like he's the sculptor and you're the clay, like he knows he can mould you any which way he pleases and all you can do is follow his lead and trust the process. only, there's one problem...

"these gotta go," he says, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your oversized sweatpants. while he's confident there's more than enough room for his hands to work within the confines of them, he'd much rather have options.

but he doesn't have to say anything else. you're peeling them off before he's even finished the sentence to leave them in a puddle of grey, fleecey fabric on the floor. now, in his t-shirt and your panties, these ones of a pale periwinkle lace, one of touya's favorites, the artist can get to work.

the blanket stays curled halfway around your waist, close to joining your sweatpants at the foot of the couch until touya readjusts it, wanting to keep his baby comfortable and warm, watching as a wave of chills raises over your exposed thighs, wispy hairs standing on end.

you lean in to kiss him first but soon he's the one in control. with a strong but careful grip he pulls you closer still, coaxing your legs further apart until your core is pressed hard against the shameless bulge that's quickly formed beneath his own cozy sweatpants.

feeling a spark of pleasure, you whine, touya licking into your mouth to taste the delicious little sound. with one hand secure at the small of your back, the other finds its way between your bodies, grazes against where he can feel you're already wet for him, periwinkle lace unable to hide your want, your need.

"christ..." he breaths, dragging a lithe finger along your pulsing center, feeling you shiver and jolt at such a simple touch.

when his mouth pulls back slightly for your own, you chase after him, your little fingers carding through the inky tufts at the base of his neck, the gentle motions both satiating him and spurring him on.

"don't stop," you nearly gasp as he slips two fingers into the side of the ruined lace, the pleasure so much more saccharine without a barrier, no matter how thin, between you and his skillful touch.

"don't worry..." he nearly growls, every ounce of possessiveness and adoration and impatience and protectiveness colliding inside of him. "i won't."

just like always, it's ecstasy, and he has you coming undone before he's so much as slipped one finger inside of you, your voice clipping off on a wanton moan, the film on the tv all but forgotten. you shudder and tense and a whispered swear is punched out of him at the sight of you, at the feeling of how readily you coat his fingers in glistening slick.

"fuck, baby..." he breathes into your neck. "are you—"

but you cut him off with another kiss, body still buzzing with euphoria before the comedown truly kicks in. after a few moments, touya takes your action as an invitation to keep going, slipping two of his fingers into your soaking cunt with ease, swallowing another one of the sweet little sounds you let out when he begins to stretch you.

as he preps you, taking his time, paying attention to every shudder, twitch, or sigh your body gives him in response, you begin sucking little bruises against his neck, soon having an entire colony of them running up his throat. he's sure jin will tease him about it at work tomorrow and if his boss is around he might give him hell, but it'll be worth it. when it's you, it's always worth it.

touya groans, and you can feel the vibration of it against your lips, nipping him here or there just to keep him on his toes. when you bite, he scissors his fingers just that much wider inside of you, making you whine or wince. it's yet another little game the two of you play; trading pleasure for pleasure and pain for pain, maintaining a sense of balance.

then he's losing his cool, pulling his fingers from you, leaving you painfully empty, but only long enough to push you onto your back and pin you to the couch, impatiently reaching into the waistband of his sweatpants to pull his aching cock free.

you let out a loud, needy moan as he glides his velvety length along your overstimulated core, and all you can do to anchor yourself is to wrap your legs around his waist, locking the two of you in.

touya only intensifies this when he lines himself up with your tight little hole, tells you in a loving whisper to breathe in, then, once you follow his next instructions to breathe out, he buries himself down to the hilt with one harsh thrust and you choke out a sharp cry.

"i know, baby. i know, i know—" he mutters, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your temple, all the while massaging soft little circles against your hip to help ease the sudden pain. "god— but you're so good for me..." he continues, biting back a moan as your silky walls squeeze tight around him. "so, so good for me..."

he doesn't wait much longer to start moving. can't, really. he's fought so hard to contain himself that he knows it's not going to take much to have all his own desire spilling over. as his pace begins to pick up speed, you cling to him, wanting him as close as possible to you in every way, and he tries his best to abide by this unspoken request. eventually, every thrust of his hips has your moans crawling higher and higher in pitch, and then you're constricting his cock so hard he nearly stops dead in his tracks, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he lets out a growling whimper, coming mere moments after you do.

and it's so warm here, with him, like this, your two bodies interlocked and tangled together like they never want to be apart again. so you let him stay inside you, paying no mind to the mess between your legs or how there's a slight throbbing ache when he first pulls out.

touya will take care of you, like he always does. before, during, and after.

❆❆❆

the bath runs hot, steam drifting up from the surface, the room fogged over with the scent of the shea butter and vanilla from your bodywash and the candle that was burning. touya ran a wet washcloth gently along your shoulders and back as you leaned forward in the tub, legs hugged into your chest, eyes fluttering closed as you exhale a long, deep breath, sleep once again begging to claim you. it would be so easy to doze off when everything was so warm, so calm.

but you fought to stay awake. at least, until you and touya were cuddled up in bed, ending the day just as it began.

he slowly combed his fingers through your wet hair, carefully tugging a few loose knots free. when he was done, you leaned back to rest against his chest again, taking one of his hands in your own, studying the inked patterns, shapes, and images that ran across his skin as your steady heartbeat fell into time with his. his hands were so big, so beautiful, both slender and rough, long, thin fingers with calloused tips, pale skin stretched taught to show the bones shifting beneath.

eventually, his grip folds over yours, the gentle strength of it only doing more to urge you to let your eyes fall closed, to let his protection envelope you, to trust that he'd watch over you always, no matter what.

but when the water began to run tepid, touya made the executive decision that it was time to get out, dry off, and tuck his baby into bed beside him.

you lay facing each other, limbs loosely tangled beneath the sheets, murmuring the day's final words to one another before submitting to the night.

"touya...?" you muttered, your voice soft and sweet with oncoming sleep.

"what is it, babe?" he asked, his own tone weighed down with drowsiness.

nuzzling in closer to him, you reflected on the day— the brightness of the morning and the excitement it had brought, that childlike wonder that made anything feel possible. the spontaneity of the afternoon,

"nothing..." you grinned, your thoughts fading further and further away. "i just love you, is all..."

touya couldn't help but grin through the dark, smoothing away a few strands of your damp hair before pressing his lips to your forehead. "i love you too, baby..." he sighed, allowing his usually on-guard nature to rest only once you were curled up next to him at the end of the day.

he'd never admit this to you, but sometimes he still had dreams about it all. nightmares. visions his subconscious would torture him with that resulted in a world where he hadn't been able to save you. hadn't been quick enough. hadn't been brave enough. strong enough. smart enough. lucky enough.

he'd jolt awake in the night, heart racing until he felt you warm and breathing, alive and safe beside him.

sometimes you still had nightmares, too.

but, when you dreamed tonight, it would be of pine trees frosted with fluffy, sparkling white and streets painted over with a blanket of powdery down. it would be of the warm hand that held your own, and how your shadows had glittered on the snow.

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