#that said. there’s more if you want it 👀

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU (part 2) ───── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕)

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur — Madrid, the match, the rush of it all. Of course, someone caught you at the match — there was no way that wasn’t happening. You were you, after all, a Grammy-winning artist sitting in VIP seats at the Bernabéu, very much in the camera’s line of sight. The picture had already made its rounds on social media: you, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, watching the game with full concentration. Another showed you mid-cheer after Aurélien’s assist, your excitement unmistakable.

The comments on The Shade Room were a mess.

"Why is [Your Name] at the Bernabéu??" "She watching soccer now? 👀" "Ain’t no way she just ‘watching’ — look at that smile." "She’s a Madridista now? Elite taste." "I know she was there for Tchouaméni. Be serious."

You scrolled through the discourse with a grin, but the real entertainment was happening on Tumblr. Unlike the rest of the internet, your little tchouamenithoughts page was an anonymous safe haven, a place where you could be as shamelessly down bad as you wanted. And the girlies were going through it.

moot1: she’s cute. good for him i guess moot2: the way he’s been playing lately... yeah he’s in love moot3: it’s giving soft launch. moot4: imagine being the muse for that one song she wrote... bc I KNOW it’s about him.

You had to stifle a laugh reading that one. It was already too weird, and you knew — God forbid — if Aurélien ever found out about this little corner of the internet, you’d have to disappear into the abyss.

You then reblogged a gifset of Aurélien’s highlights from the match, tagged "captain of my heart" before clicking into the inbox.

Anonymous asked: "Bro tell me you saw [Your Name] at the match? She was going feral for our man Tchouaméni just like us. Respect."

You snorted and reblogged it with a simple: "As she should."

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you away from the mess you’d been consuming like your own personal reality show.

Auré: Did you make it home safe?

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest.

You: I did. Tired though.

Auré: You should rest. You’ll need your energy for when I see you again.

You bit your lip, shaking your head at the audacity.

You: Oh? And when’s that?

Auré: Soon. I told you, I’m doing the chasing now.

Your stomach flipped. God help you.

You locked your phone and sighed, leaning back against your pillows, your laptop still open to the mess of your moots spiraling in real-time. Yeah, this Tumblr was going to have to go soon.

But for now? You had a little more time to kiki.

***************************************************

Aurélien meant it when he said he wanted to do the rest and chase you.

The next morning, a delivery arrived at your apartment in LA. A massive bouquet — white and blush pink roses, accented with baby’s breath. It smelled incredible, and the little card tucked inside made your stomach flip.

"Since I didn’t get to be the first one in your DMs, let me be the first to send you flowers. –AT"

You bit your lip, rereading the message at least three times before setting the card down. The man was serious.

And the thing was — he wasn’t doing too much. You’d been courted before, had men try to win you over with grand gestures that felt more about them than you. But this? This was just Aurélien being him. Smooth, intentional. Never overstepping, just reminding you that he was right there.

His texts came consistently, never letting a day pass without checking in. Some were sweet. Some were very much not sweet.

Auré: Did you sleep well?

You: Mhm. You?

Auré: Not really. Kept thinking about how you looked in my bed.

Whew.

Other times, he was just ridiculous.

Auré: Hypothetically, if someone wanted to know your coffee order…

You: Hypothetically, they should just ask.

Auré: I am asking. But I wanted to see if you'd be difficult first.

You: Vanilla oat milk latte, extra shot. Now tell me why you’re asking like you’re sending a gift card.

Auré: I might be.

You: Aurélien.

And sure enough, an hour later, an email from Starbucks: [Your Name], you’ve received a gift from Aurélien Tchouaméni.

You couldn’t even be mad.

Then came the FaceTimes. Usually at night, when he knew you were home. It started casual — just him, shirtless (because of course), leaning back against his headboard while you sat on your couch, notebook open, laptop playing beats softly in the background.

"What are you working on?" he asked one night, eyes flicking to your scribbled lyrics.

"Music."

"No shit," he teased, smirking. "But what kind?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook. "Just some ideas."

His brows lifted. "For me?"

You snorted. "No. Not everything is about you."

"Shame." He stretched, flexing way too much for someone who was supposedly relaxing. "But you’ll write another one about me eventually."

"You think?"

"I know."

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, focusing back on your lyrics. Until—

"You work too much," he murmured.

You glanced up. "And you run too much. What’s your point?"

His smirk deepened. "That I’m gonna fix that. When are you coming back to Madrid?"

You blinked. “Oh, you’re just assuming I’m coming?”

"Yeah." He looked so sure, so smug, you wanted to reach through the screen and wipe that smirk off his face.

"I have work."

"I have work too,” he countered easily. "But I make time for what I want."

That shut you up for a second. You clicked your tongue. "That’s a cute line."

He grinned. "It’s not a line, bébé. It’s a fact."

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the next morning, another email delivery. This time? A plane ticket. First class, LAX to Madrid, one week from now.

No note. Just that.

And the man had the audacity to text: See you soon.

******************************************************

You told yourself you weren’t really considering it.

You weren’t impulsive like this. You had rules. Checklists. Boundaries.

But when Carmen barely batted an eye after you double-checked your schedule and when your best friend damn near screamed in your ear after you mentioned Madrid again?

"Are you insane? You just got back!"

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear. "First of all, lower your voice—"

"No! Because this man has already had you in a chokehold, and now you’re just willingly running back?"

You sighed, switching the phone to your other ear. "It’s not like that.”

"What’s it like then?"

Silence.

Exactly.

Because what were you really gonna say? That you were working backwards? That the whole 'I have standards thing' was already a joke because you’d skipped about fifteen steps when you slept with him and now you were just here like some lovestruck fool?

Because you were.

"Yeah," your best friend scoffed when you stayed quiet. "That’s what I thought."

Still, none of that stopped you from breezing through TSA a few days later, sunglasses on, hoodie pulled low, boarding a first-class flight back to Madrid. Because somehow, in less than two weeks, you had gone from watching him on your screen to meeting him in person for your video shoot, and now you were sipping champagne, heading straight back to him.

You were supposed to be working — laptop open, beats playing, lyrics scattered across your notebook — but all you could do was stare at your phone, rereading his last message.

Auré: See you soon, bébé.

A slow exhale left your lips.

You weren’t even there yet, and he already had you spiraling.

The moment you exited arrivals, he was waiting.

Leaning up against his car, hands in his pockets, looking stupidly good in a fitted tee, Rhude shorts that made everything look right, snapback cap, and another Cuban link around his neck. His eyes locked on you like he’d been counting the seconds.

Your stomach flipped.

This man…

"You’re early," you said, trying to keep your voice even.

He smirked. "So are you."

Fair.

"C’mere."

You barely had time to react before his arms were around you, pulling you into him. His scent wrapped around you — warm, familiar, distracting — and suddenly, everything about this felt like a terrible idea.

If he was this good just holding you, how the hell were you supposed to handle anything else? Especially at the rate he was going?

"You miss me?" he murmured, lips at your ear.

You pulled back, schooling your face. "Did you?"

No hesitation. "Yeah."

Your heart betrayed you, but you kept your expression neutral.

"Hmm," you teased. "Was it the inside jokes? The deep conversations?"

He chuckled, dark and knowing. "The way you sound when I—"

"Aurélien."

His grin widened as he stepped back, opening the passenger door. "Get in, bébé."

And just like that, you were gone all over again.

The drive to his place was quiet.

Not the awkward kind — never that with him.

It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with anticipation. The kind where every glance, every shift in your seat, said more than words could. Aurélien drove one-handed, his other hand resting on your thigh like it belonged there, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

Like he was reminding you exactly why you were here.

The low hum of Afrobeats filled the car, blending with the occasional ping of a text on his phone. You ignored it, focusing instead on the way his fingers tightened slightly when you moved, the barely-there smirk on his lips.

"You good?" His voice was smooth, teasing.

You exhaled. "Fine."

A low chuckle. "Lying already?"

You shot him a look, but it was useless. He knew. He always knew.

By the time you reached his house, you were already on edge.

And then there was Ocho.

The massive Belgian Malinois greeted you at the door with an excited bark, nearly knocking you over in his eagerness.

"Damn, you remember me?" You laughed, scratching behind his ears as he licked at your wrist.

Aurélien chuckled behind you, setting your bag down near the stairs. "He doesn’t forget people he likes."

You glanced up, finding him watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

The air between you shifted.

You swallowed, turning away to take in the space — the same high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, the same sleek yet lived-in warmth from the last time you were here. But this time, there was something different.

This time, you knew what it felt like to be pressed against that couch, to have his mouth on your skin, to hear your own voice echoing against these walls.

And, of course, there were the flowers.

You huffed a laugh, finally spotting the massive bouquet of white lilies and soft pink roses in a crystal vase on the marble countertop.

"You really do this, huh?" you murmured, fingers ghosting over the petals of the bouquet before turning to face him.

Aurélien leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach tighten. "Do what?"

"This whole…" You gestured vaguely at the flowers, the way he had you standing in his kitchen, feeling like you’d stepped into something inevitable. "Seduction thing."

"I told you," he said, pushing off the counter to come to you, voice low as his fingers found your waist. "I wanted the chase."

Your breath caught as his chain moved gently against his collarbone.

"And now that I have you here?" His lips hovered over yours, his hands already moving, already claiming. "I’m not letting up."

Your breath hitched as his hand splayed against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You were already in too deep, already fighting a losing battle against the warmth curling in your stomach, against the way he smelled — clean, like cedarwood and something distinctly him.

"Aurélien—"

He kissed you before you could finish, tilting your chin up, his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring you, mapping you out. The hand at your waist gripped tighter, and he made a sound in the back of his throat when your fingers found the nape of his neck, threading into the soft curls there.

You felt him smile against your mouth.

"What?" you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You taste smug," he muttered.

You arched a brow. "And what does smug taste like?"

His lips twitched. "Like someone who knew she was coming back to me."

Your stomach flipped.

You weren’t going to entertain that — not right now, not when his voice was doing that and his hands were still tracing over your body like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

So you deflected. "Ocho knew too, apparently."

Aurélien huffed a quiet laugh. "Ocho is a good judge of character."

You snorted, shaking your head, but the moment you tried to step back, his grip on your waist tightened.

"You’re not going anywhere, bébé," he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t just talking about right now.

And he knew you knew it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy with promise. His thumb was still tracing patterns on your skin, each touch deliberate, like he was writing his intentions into your flesh. The kitchen's warm lighting caught the angles of his face just right, making his dark skin glow golden, and that fade you'd written countless posts about was perfect for running your fingers through.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, ducking his head to press his lips to your neck. His chain brushed cold against you, making you shiver.

"Hard not to," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady as his teeth grazed that spot below your ear. "When you're being all…" you gestured vaguely at him, at this whole situation.

He huffed a laugh against your skin. "All what?"

"You know what."

"Mm," his hands slid lower, grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. "Tell me anyway."

The command in his voice - that same tone he used directing the midfield - had your knees weak. But two could play this game.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, watching them darken as your fingers traced the chain around his neck. "All confident," you said softly.

His responding smile was dangerous. "Didn't you write a whole song about it?"

"That's not—"

"About how I control the game?" His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping lower. "About how I read the field?"

Your heart was absolutely betraying you, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

"You really memorized those lyrics, huh?" you tried to tease, but your voice came out breathier than intended.

He pulled back to look at you properly, and the intensity in his gaze had you forgetting how to breathe. The same focus you'd watched him apply to matches, to training, to everything he did - all of it was directed at you now.

"I memorized everything about you," he said simply, like he wasn't completely ruining your ability to think straight. "The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. How your eyes follow me during matches."

Ocho's tags jingled as he trotted past, heading for his bed in the corner, completely unbothered by the way his owner was systematically dismantling your composure.

"You're impossible," you muttered, even as your hands traveled up his arms, feeling the muscles shift under your touch.

"You like impossible," he countered, and before you could argue, his mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. Less controlled. Like maybe you weren't the only one affected here.

Your back hit the counter, and his hands gripped your hips to lift you onto it. The marble was cold through your clothes but he was burning hot, all solid muscle and sure touches as he stepped between your legs.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, but his hands were already sliding under your shirt, already knew your answer.

You tangled your fingers in his chain instead, using it to pull him closer. "No."

His answering laugh was all satisfaction, all victory. "Good girl."

*******************************************************

You woke up to Madrid sunlight filtering through his expensive blackout curtains that clearly weren't doing their job. His bed was still unfairly comfortable, sheets soft against your skin, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under your cheek was threatening to lull you back to sleep.

Jetlag had hit you hard after... activities, leading to what was supposed to be a quick power nap but wasn’t. That kitchen counter definitely needed disinfecting though.

Multiple times.

Now the afternoon light was painting patterns on his dark skin, and you were finding it hard to care about time zones at all. When he woke up to slip away to the bathroom, you grabbed your phone, checking the damage.

Surprisingly, your Tumblr mutuals hadn't caught wind of your return to Madrid yet. But you knew better - it would only take one fan with a good camera angle to set everything off again. You heard the sink running, and then Aurélien padded back to bed, all sleep-warm skin and low-slung sweats. He lay beside you for a moment before that hand found your waist, tugging you closer.

"C'mere," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. You went willingly, settling against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. That same dopey ass smile from last time spread across your face as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "How long are you staying?" he asked, playing with your hair.

You tilted your head up to look at him. "How long do you want me?"

His answering smirk was knowing as he bit his lip, considering. "A long time."

"Can't do that," you laughed softly. "But... two weeks?"

"Two weeks is good," he hummed, fingers still moving against your skin. "We can have fun, go on proper dates... maybe take a trip somewhere."

You propped yourself up on his chest. "Trips? Already planning baecations?"

"Mm," his hand slid lower on your back. "Gotta pull out all the stops. Could do Mallorca, Ibiza..." his smile turned dangerous. "Or maybe Paris?"

"Paris?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but the way his fingers were still tracing patterns on your skin was distracting. "That's a lot for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is it? When I've been catching you like those highlights at 3 AM?"

You pushed up to look at him properly. "Still can't believe that you noticed that. "

"Bébé," his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, "You should know that I notice everything. Why did you think I said yes to the video?"

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "Because I'm a three-time Grammy winner and it'd be good PR?"

The look he gave you was almost pitying. "You really think that's why? Still?"

Before you could answer, he moved - that athletic grace you'd watched on the field now used to flip you onto your back, hovering over you with that dangerous smile.

"I said yes," he murmured, chain dangling between you, "because I wanted to see if you were as beautiful up close as you were in those award show pictures I kept saving."

Your breath caught. "You what?"

"Mm." His lips found your neck. "Want to see my camera roll? All those screenshots of you performing? The ones where you're wearing that dress at the VMAs?"

"Aurélien—"

"The way you move on stage," he continued, voice dropping lower, "the way you command attention…"

You couldn't process this - him admitting to essentially doing the same thing you'd been doing, collecting pieces of each other from afar.

"So this," he said, pulling back to look at you with those eyes that saw too much, "is just the beginning. I told you - I'm the lion." His hand slid down your side, grip possessive. "And I chase what I want."

"And what do you want?" Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

That smile should be illegal. "Right now?" His lips brushed yours. "For you to stop thinking so much and let me show you exactly why I memorized every word of that song you wrote about me."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, all intensity and purpose, and yeah - two weeks definitely wasn't going to be enough.

***************************************************

The Madrid morning light painted his bedroom in honey-gold streaks, warming the spaces he'd left cold when he left for training. His kiss goodbye still lingered on your forehead, along with his casual "take the other car if you want to go out" - like lending you a hundred-thousand euro vehicle was as simple as sharing coffee.

But after last night (and the night before that, and the increasingly blurred hours in between), you were content to exist in the aftermath of him. Every room held echoes - the way he'd pressed you against that wall, how his chain had caught the light as he'd lifted you onto that counter, the sound of his laugh when you'd almost knocked over that probably-expensive vase.

He'd been attentive in a way that made your chest ache, all careful questions and watching eyes. The same precision you'd analyzed in countless match footage translated to how he touched you - deliberate, focused, like every response was data to be cataloged. His perfectionist tendencies apparently extended far beyond the pitch, and you had the marks to prove it.

Speaking of Tumblr... you scrolled through your dash one last time. The theories were still flying, the thirst posts still abundant, but it felt really wrong now. Here was Aurélien making actual time for you, being intentional about pursuing you, and you had a whole account dedicated to thirsting over him? The cognitive dissonance was too much.

You wrote a quick post about "digital wellness" and noted taking a break then deleted the app. You'd properly nuke the account later - right now, you had a house to explore.

Ocho followed you through the house, his tags jingling as he padded along faithfully. The home gym where he'd filmed all those workout videos that had sent your mutuals into chaos was impressive, but seeing that motivational quote wall in the flesh? You clutched your imaginary pearls. And the mural of what looked like the 1960s Real Madrid team in the hallway? Yeah, if this was heading where you thought it was heading, you were definitely calling an interior decorator.

The media room spoke more to his age - all premium gaming setups and theater-quality everything. But the real winner was the backyard. The pool area was something out of a luxury resort catalog, and the Madrid sun hit just right on the loungers.

You settled into one, Ocho flopping at your feet, and tried to process everything. Two boyfriends in your entire life, and now here was Aurélien Tchouaméni - six feet two inches of pure "god took his time" - sliding into position to be number three? The universe was really out here making dreams come true.

Your phone lit up:

Auré: Missing you already. Dinner tonight? Unless you're too tired…

Your cheeks heated, remembering exactly why you might be tired. The way he'd switched between languages when he was too far gone to think straight, how that chain had felt cold against your heated skin, the sound he'd made when—

Another message:

Auré: I can feel you thinking about last night from here 😏

The smile that spread across your face was embarrassing. Those Tumblr manifestations had worked almost too well - your mutual followers had no idea they were manifesting their own thirsting out of existence.

******************************************************

"Aurélien," you warned, trying to keep your hand steady as you applied eyeliner, "I swear to god—"

"Mm?" His voice was all fake innocence, but his hands on your hips were anything but, squeezing your ass appreciatively as he pressed against your back. "I'm not doing anything."

The bathroom counter was cool under your palms as you leaned forward, attempting to focus on your reflection instead of how his chain was brushing against your shoulder, how his fingers were tracing the curve of your—

"I'm trying to get ready," you protested, but it came out embarrassingly breathy. "We have dinner reservations."

"We do," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck that definitely threatened your carefully applied foundation. "In an hour."

"Which means I need to finish my face and—" you inhaled sharply as his hands slid lower, gripping more firmly. "Aurélien."

You caught his reflection in the mirror - that dangerous smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to maintain composure. The fresh fade and fitted shirt were doing criminal things for his already unfair looks.

"You look perfect already," he murmured, and the sincerity in his voice almost distracted you from how his thumbs were now tracing maddening circles.

"You're impossible," you managed, but you were already leaning back against him, makeup brush forgotten.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You like impossible."

"Get out," you laughed, pushing at his chest. "Let me finish getting ready in peace."

His pout was criminally effective, but he retreated to the bedroom. Through the mirror, you watched him settle on the edge of the bed, scrolling through TikTok with casual grace. The moment you spritzed your setting spray though, he stood up like it was Pavlov's bell.

Interesting.

You filed that reaction away for later research.

It was becoming clear that Aurélien had downloaded the Complete Boyfriend Experience somewhere between your time apart. His manners were even more impeccable, his timing perfect, his attention to detail almost suspicious.

He took your hand as you descended the stairs together - another discovery about the man your mutuals had analyzed endlessly. Physical touch was definitely high on his love language list, contrary to Maha's whole dissertation about him being an acts of service guy. (The smugness of proving a mutual wrong? Unmatched.)

The stilettos made you grateful for his steady presence, his hand warm and secure in yours. At the door, he turned to Ocho, voice dropping into that French that still did things to you both in and out of the bedroom.

"Sois sage, protège la maison," he murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears. The simple command shouldn't sound that good, but here you were swooning.

He led you to the car, opening the passenger door with that fluid grace that made everything look choreographed. But there, sitting in your seat, was a red gift bag.

"Aurélien…" you breathed, picking it up before sliding in.

That smile played on his lips as he made his way to the driver's side, starting the car with practiced ease. The dopey ass grin was back on your face before you could stop it as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Are you going to open it?" he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other found its usual spot on your thigh. The Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets on his wrist caught the streetlights, and you couldn't help staring at how right his large hand looked there, fingers splayed possessively across your skin.

The gift bag sat in your lap, full of promise. Whatever was inside - expensive or not - didn't really matter. The fact that he'd thought to get you anything at all had your heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

You pulled out the tissue paper slowly, dragging out the moment. Aurélien's thumb traced circles on your thigh as he navigated through Madrid's evening traffic, but you could feel his attention split between the road and your reaction.

Inside was a small velvet box that made your heart stop for a second before common sense kicked in. Too soon for that kind of box. Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

"I saw you looking at it the other day," he said softly, as you lifted out the delicate Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet - a match to one of his. "Thought we could coordinate."

The way he said it so casually, like matching thousand euro jewelry was just something you did now. Like this wasn't him essentially marking his territory in the most expensive way possible.

"You're ridiculous," you managed, but you were already holding out your wrist for him to fasten it at the next red light.

His fingers lingered on your pulse point. "You like ridiculous."

"Maybe," you admitted, watching the bracelet catch the streetlights. It looked right next to his hand on your thigh, like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

His answering smile was knowing. "Only maybe?"

You were saved from responding by his phone lighting up with a call from Jude. He answered through the car's Bluetooth, and you settled back to listen to him switch effortlessly between English and French, discussing tactics for their next match. The way authority wrapped around his words, how naturally he took command of the conversation - yeah, you were definitely going to need to write another song.

His hand never left your thigh during the entire call, thumb still tracing those maddening patterns that made focusing on anything else impossible. The bracelet glinted with each movement, a constant reminder of how quickly this was all moving.

Two weeks suddenly felt like both forever and not nearly enough time at all.

The restaurant was exactly the kind of place you'd expect Aurélien to know about — tucked away in a historic part of Madrid, all warm lighting and exposed brick walls. Private enough that phones stayed in pockets, exclusive enough that no one batted an eye when he led you to a corner table with his hand on your lower back.

"You're staring," he murmured as you settled into your seat, that knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"You clean up nice," you shrugged, trying for casual like you hadn't been watching him all evening. The black button-down was doing criminal things for his shoulders, and the way he'd rolled up the sleeves to show off those bracelets felt deliberately calculated to drive you crazy.

"Just nice?" His eyes glinted as he reached for his water glass, chain catching the light with the movement.

"Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

His laugh was low, private. "No? After the way you were liking my training videos? Or maybe my posts?"

The waiter's arrival saved you from having to form a coherent response to that. Aurélien ordered for both of you in perfect Spanish - another language that had no business sounding that good rolling off his tongue. You were starting to think he could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy.

"So," he said once the waiter left, his fingers finding yours across the table, "about Paris..."

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "What about it?"

"I was thinking," his thumb traced your new bracelet, "maybe we start there. Then Côte d'Azur, maybe Monaco..."

"That's a lot of planning for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago," you echoed your words from the other day, but this time they carried a different weight.

His eyes met yours, all intensity and promise. "I told you - I'm chasing. Properly."

The way he said it, like it was just that simple. Like planning European getaways and matching jewelry and looking at you like that was the most natural progression in the world.

"You're good," you said softly, watching his bracelets catch the light as he played with your fingers.

"At what?"

"This whole..." you gestured vaguely between you. "Boyfriend thing."

His smile turned dangerous. "Is that what this is?"

You tried to pull your hand back but he held firm, that grin widening. "I mean- I didn't mean to assume-"

"No?" He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "After I've been marking my territory so obviously?"

Your breath caught. "The bracelet–"

"The bracelet," he agreed, then his eyes got that glint that usually meant trouble. "Maybe next time we'll talk about a key. Make it easier than me having to come home from training to let you in."

His phone lit up with another call - Camavinga this time - but he declined it, attention still focused entirely on you.

"You can take it," you offered, but he was already shaking his head.

"They can wait." His thumb traced your pulse point again, right below the new bracelet. "I'm busy chasing."

The waiter came back with a bottle wine and poured some in both of your glasses. You took a sip quickly, trying to calm your nerves.

"You know," he said after taking his own sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours, "I'm going to ask you properly. To be my girlfriend."

Your heart did a backflip. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm." That dangerous smile was back. "Not yet though. Want to do it right."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're really out here making men look bad, you know that?"

"How so?"

"All this," you gestured between you, at the bracelet, at everything. "The chasing, the dating, the whole... intentional thing. In 2024? In this economy?"

His thumb was still tracing patterns on your wrist, just below where the Van Cleef caught the light. "You think I'd do any less? After watching you for months?"

He made it seem like putting in effort was the most natural thing in the world (and it was). Like taking time to court properly, to build something real, wasn't a dying art. Here you were, living through dating horror stories from friends about situationships and breadcrumbing and 50/50 and men who couldn't even send proper texts, and Aurélien Tchouaméni was out here planning European trips and buying matching jewelry and talking about asking you to be his girlfriend "properly."

"You're kind of unreal, you know that?"

That smile should really be illegal. "Good unreal?"

"Don't fish for compliments," you said, but you were grinning. "Your ego is big enough."

"My ego?" He leaned forward slightly, chain catching the light. "Says the one who wrote a whole song about me?"

Your cheeks heated. "That's different."

"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, more private. "Because I have some thoughts about those lyrics..."

The look in his eyes promised you'd be hearing those thoughts in detail later.

The meal passed in a haze of excellent food and better company, but dessert? That was when Aurélien decided to be truly unfair.

He moved your chair closer to his, the scraping noise against the floor making you wince - but he didn't seem to care, too focused on closing the distance between you. The chocolate something-or-other looked incredible, but the way he picked up the spoon, eyes locked on yours? That was what had your pulse jumping.

Every movement was deliberate as he gathered a perfect bite, holding it up with the kind of precision he usually reserved for perfectly weighted passes. His eyes never left yours as you leaned forward, and the intensity in his gaze as he watched you take the bite had heat crawling up your neck.

You dabbed at your mouth with your napkin, hyper-aware of how he tracked the movement.

"Is it good?" His voice had dropped to that register that did dangerous things to your composure.

"Very–" was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, tongue sweeping in to taste the chocolate himself. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, and maybe you should've been embarrassed about kissing like this in public, but with Aurélien? All bets were off.

Those full lips of his really were criminal, and the way his stupidly handsome face looked when he finally pulled back, pupils blown and that satisfied smirk playing at his mouth? Yeah, public decency was overrated.

"Let's go back to my place," he murmured against your lips, and something in his tone had your stomach doing somersaults.

The waiter appeared almost instantly at his gesture, and you watched Aurélien handle everything with that easy command he carried on the field — getting the dessert boxed, settling the bill, all while keeping one hand on the small of your back like he couldn't bear to break contact.

The night air hit cool against your heated skin as he guided you out, his touch steady and possessive. The valet had his car waiting in minutes, perks of being Madrid royalty, you supposed. He opened your door first, naturally, and the way his eyes tracked down your body as you slid in had you feeling like prey in the best way.

The moment he settled into the driver's seat, Brent Faiyaz's voice filled the car — something about one night, about pleasure, about giving in. The universe really was testing you tonight.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to ebb off your arousal, but then his hand found your leg again. Those fingers splayed possessively across your skin, squeezing just enough to let you know he noticed your movement. Every few seconds his eyes would flick over to you, dark with promise, and the way he bit his lip when you shifted under his touch had you counting the minutes until you reached his place.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough, and the smirk playing at his lips said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah."

The fact that he could still drive this well while systematically dismantling your self-control was honestly impressive.

The drive felt endless but somehow too quick at the same time. Aurélien's hand never left your thigh, and by the time he pulled into his driveway, the tension in the car was thick enough to cut.

He moved with that controlled grace of his as he came around to open your door, but there was something darker in his eyes now, something that had your pulse racing. His chain caught the security lights as he helped you out, and the way he pulled you close — enough to feel how his chest rose and fell a bit faster than normal — had you forgetting basic motor functions.

You barely registered Ocho's excited greeting at the door, too focused on how Aurélien's hand had slid from your back to your waist, how he was looking at you like he was planning exactly how to ruin your carefully applied makeup.

"Va te coucher, Ocho," he commanded softly to the dog, and honestly? French really should not sound that good. The way the words rolled off his tongue, all authority and promise...

The door clicked shut behind you.

His hands found your hips, turning you to face him. The "AT" pendant glinted in the dim light as he leaned down, stopping just shy of your lips.

"Now," he murmured, "where were we?"

Your breath caught, heart hammering as Aurélien’s fingers dug just a little deeper into your waist. His touch was steady, deliberate — like he was taking his time, savoring the way you melted into him.

"Right about here," you murmured, tilting your chin up, letting your lips brush his just slightly. Just enough to tease.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

His grip tightened, yanking you that last inch forward until there was nothing between you but heat. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was all possession — slow, deep, unapologetically hungry.

Ocho let out a soft chuff before trotting off, uninterested in whatever was unfolding. You, however? You were done for.

How you made it up the stairs, you didn’t know. You were only aware of the way he guided you with ease, like he owned every move you made together. By the time you reached his bedroom, your back met the closed door the moment the door clicked shut behind you. His breath warm against your skin, his hands dragging up your sides, over the fabric of your dress.

"You knew how tonight was ending," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, fingers already working the zipper down.

You swallowed hard, exhaling shakily as the dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. "Maybe," you admitted, voice breathy.

He smirked, the expression dark and knowing.

Then he stepped back just enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing the broad stretch of his shoulders, the sharp cut of his abs — skin warm, golden, flawless. Your breath hitched at the sight, because God, you’d seen him like this before, but it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs.

You never got tired of seeing him naked.

He was too beautiful.

Aurélien knew it too, the way he watched you watching him, his smirk deepening as he worked the belt from his pants.

Your own breathing was uneven by the time you were both bare, and then he was leading you to the bed, his hands firm on your hips, guiding you onto the mattress with a touch that felt reverent despite the heat simmering beneath it.

He leaned back against the headboard, toned thighs spread slightly as he reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed as he tore it open, sliding it on with practiced efficiency.

Then he looked at you.

His gaze was heavy, filled with promise.

"Come here," he murmured.

You crawled over to him, straddling his lap as his hands found your waist, steadying you as you settled over him. His skin was warm beneath your touch, muscles tense under your fingertips as you traced up his chest.

Aurélien pulled you closer, lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, his tongue teasing against yours as his hands roamed your back. You could feel him hard against you, the sensation making your breath hitch.

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then lower, trailing heat down your neck until he reached your chest. He took his time, lips and tongue tracing over the swell of your breasts before wrapping around a nipple. The sensation sent a shudder through you, a soft moan slipping past your lips as he sucked, his other hand palming your other breast, thumb circling the hardened peak.

"Aurélien," you breathed, threading your fingers through his curls.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. He switched to the other nipple, flicking his tongue before sucking again, his hands gripping your hips as he ground you down against him.

You whimpered at the friction, the growing ache between your thighs making you restless.

He looked up at you then, dark eyes heavy with want, lips glistening as he murmured, "Ride me."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, at the low rasp of his voice.

You reached between you, aligning him with your entrance before sinking down slowly, gasping at the stretch, at how perfectly he filled you. Aurélien groaned, hands tightening on your waist as you took him inch by inch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, head tilting back slightly, his grip firm as he helped guide you down. "Always so tight, bébé."

You moaned at the praise, at the delicious burn of him inside you.

He gave you a moment, fingers kneading your hips before urging you to move. You rolled your hips experimentally, exhaling sharply at the friction, at the way he stretched you just right.

"That’s it," he murmured, watching you through hooded eyes. "Take me just like that."

You set a rhythm, lifting and sinking down onto him, each roll of your hips making you both unravel a little more. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as he thrust up to meet your movements.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with breathy moans and curses in both English and French.

Aurélien’s eyes stayed on you, dark and hungry as he murmured, "Look at you… made for me, yeah?"

You whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him, the movement messy and desperate, all tongue. It reminded you of the first night you were together, when you had barely been able to keep your hands off each other, drowning in the sheer intensity of it all.

He groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass as he helped you move faster, deeper.

"Fuck, bébé," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You feel so good."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, chasing that high, loving how perfectly your bodies fit together — his deep brown skin against yours, slightly darker but complementing you like a missing puzzle piece.

You moaned his name, head tilting back as the pleasure built, and Aurélien took the opportunity to kiss your throat, teeth grazing your pulse.

His grip on your hips tightened before he lifted you effortlessly, his strength making your breath hitch. He shifted positions, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs, the heat of his body making you shiver in anticipation.

Aurélien’s hands slid down your legs, spreading them wider, and you hissed at the stretch. He paused, eyes flickering up to yours.

"I got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your knee before he lifted one of your legs to rest over his shoulder. "Relax for me, bébé."

You exhaled, forcing yourself to melt into the mattress just as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself deep in one smooth thrust.

Your gasp was swallowed by his groan, the new angle sending pleasure spiking through your veins like electricity.

"Aurélien—"

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you clutching at the sheets, at his arms, at anything that could anchor you. The bedframe creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each deep stroke.

"You take me so well," he gritted out, watching where your bodies met, mesmerized by the way you stretched around him. His free hand slid down to press against your lower stomach, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. "Feel that? How deep I am?"

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as pleasure wracked through you.

"That’s my girl," he praised, leaning forward just enough to kiss your ankle before snapping his hips even harder, making you cry out.

The sensations were overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as that familiar ache coiled tight in your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as you teetered on the edge.

Aurélien’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you mercilessly. "Come for me," he urged, voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your body clenched around him, your cry of release muffled by his mouth as he kissed you through it.

"Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep one last time before stilling, his body shuddering above you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your bodies still tangled together as you both came down from the high.

Aurélien kissed you once, slow and languid, before pulling out carefully. He slid off the bed, disposing of the condom before returning, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulled you into his chest.

You let him, curling against his warmth as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

And in that moment, as his lips pressed against your forehead and his arm tightened around your waist, you realized something.

Whatever this man wanted, whatever he needed —you were going to give it to him.

No questions asked.

……………tbd

[the-reader-insert-gazette]

Thanks for taking this on when I dmed you separately. The open comm you had and how you checked in w me regarding the ideas you were considering was appreciated! I'm super looking forward to reading this based on what we discussed! If you want to post with the request I'll put it here for context: Jing Yuan from HSR if he saw fem readers scars (some self-inflicted, others work-related) for the first time despite knowing her for a while + some implied spice and funnies 👀

The Scars You Carry - F!Reader x Jing Yuan

Featured Column - Honkai Star Rail

Reader never talked about her past, and despite their emotional involvement, Jing Yuan had never asked. But when an unguarded moment reveals the scars she’s carried for years, he can’t help but reach out. What begins as a quiet touch spirals into something deeper.

TW: Mentions of injuries/self-harm scars, touching without explicit verbal consent/implied consent, mild nudity/implied intimacy, possible undertones of existing PTSD

The scent of incense clung to the air, mingling with the faintest traces of mist from outside. It was a humid but otherwise cool and quiet evening in the Cloud Knights' chambers. It was the type of night that wrapped the Luofu in a false illusion of peace.

[Name] rolled her shoulder, testing the joint as she peeled off the top layer of her uniform. The fabric had stiffened from dried sweat, the aftermath of yet another long, grueling day at work. Being a medical examiner was her secondary role within the Cloud Knight beyond defending again abundance abominations, though this secondary role demanded more than simply identifying causes of death. Least to say, she had a habit of ending her nights here, half-draped over a chair in her private quarters, too exhausted to do more than breathe.

A breeze stirred as the balcony doors behind her clicked open. She barely reacted to the sound of footsteps behind her. “You’re late,” she murmured.

"Am I?" Jing Yuan’s voice was the same as ever—deep, smooth, tinged with amusement. “I thought I was arriving precisely when I meant to.”

She scoffed, but it lacked heat. He always did this. Jing Yuan rarely made his entrances known, but she had long since learned to expect him. The general carried a sort of unshakable patience, the kind that let him sit at a board for hours, moving his pieces at his own pace, certain the game would end in his favor. [Name] knew because she played the same way.

Tonight, though, she was too tired to match his wit.

“You shouldn’t keep a woman waiting,” she muttered, pulling out the pins that kept her sleeves in place. The last one slipped free, and the linen fell away, baring the jagged remains of old wounds across her back. Wounds, that she let few see, including Jing Yuan until this moment.

Jing Yuan, who had already been strolling toward the lacquered table near the balcony, stilled.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then, ever so quietly, he asked, “Why did you never mention these?”

[Name] paused, her fingers still curled around a cuff. The question was not unexpected, but the way he asked it—gentle, but weighted—caught her off guard.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You never asked.”

That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? She was used to questions, to prodding, to those who thought they had the right to dissect her past. She had spent years perfecting the art of redirection, of smirks and well-placed jabs to keep people from looking too closely. But Jing Yuan had never asked.

He had never needed to until now.

His gaze flickered over the old scars, tracing the uneven ridges with something unreadable in his golden eyes.

[Name] turned back around, feigning nonchalance. “They’re old,” she said. “Not worth your concern.”

Jing Yuan sighed. She heard the rustle of fabric, then, before she could predict his next move, his fingers brushed against her shoulder blade.

The touch was featherlight. A mere press of fingertips.

It should not have startled her as much as it did.

She didn’t flinch. She had long since trained herself out of such things. But Jing Yuan had a way of tilting the battlefield when she least expected it. He never moved aggressively, never pushed when it wasn’t warranted.

She could feel the warmth of his hand, just barely there, lingering over the deepest scar, the one that stretched from the base of her neck to the middle of her spine. It was old, healed over many years, but the history in it remained.

“Did this one hurt?” he asked, voice unreadable.

[Name] exhaled through her nose. “The most, for sure.”

His fingers moved again, tracing another mark along her side.

“This one?”

“No.”

His touch ghosted over a smaller scar near her ribs.

“This one?”

She swallowed. “…Not at the time.”

Jing Yuan hummed, as if he had already known the answer before she spoke it aloud.

His hand lingered. Not pressing, not demanding—just existing in that space between her past and present.

After a moment, he spoke again. “You never told me you carried such ghosts.”

[Name] let out a quiet breath. “You never told me you cared.”

That made him laugh, soft and knowing.

“Oh, [Name],” he murmured, his fingers finally leaving her skin, though the warmth remained. “I would have thought that was obvious by now.”

She turned to face him fully, searching his expression for any hint of insincerity. But there was none.

Jing Yuan was many things: calculating, reserved, infuriatingly patient, but he was never insincere.

[Name] tilted her head. “And if I told you I don’t need your pity?”

His smile was lazy, but his eyes were sharp. “Who said anything about pity?”

There was a shift between them, subtle but undeniable. A moment stretched between heartbeats, something fragile yet unyielding settling into the space they shared.

[Name] could have said something then. Could have teased him, could have thrown up her walls, could have done anything to disrupt the way he was looking at her.

But for once, she let the silence be.

Jing Yuan, ever patient, waited.

And when she finally, carefully, let her fingers brush against his own, letting herself take, just this once, and he did not pull away.

The moment hung between them, [Name] wasn’t sure who had moved first, if she had leaned in, or if Jing Yuan had closed the space between them, but the warmth of his fingers curled lightly over her wrist sent something deep in her chest thrumming.

She had spent years evading questions, slipping through fingers that tried to hold her still long enough to dig beneath the surface. But Jing Yuan did not dig. He did not prod or demand. He simply…

Waited.

And it was that patience that undid her.

[Name] swallowed hard, tilting her chin up just slightly. “If you’re expecting some dramatic confession, you’re wasting your time.”

Jing Yuan smiled—that slow, knowing smile that always made her want to either punch him or kiss him, depending on the day. “No confessions, then.” His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, tracing the faint scars there. An old wound, self-inflicted in her youth, when the world had seemed too big and she had felt too small to hold her place in it.

His thumb skimmed over her pulse. Steady. Measured. Jing Yuan, for all his posturing as the lazy, dozing general, was a man who knew the weight of touch. He was not careless with his hands.

[Name] exhaled, shaking her head. “You’re not going to start spouting poetic nonsense, are you?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, low and amused. “Would you prefer something crude? I can oblige, if you’d like.”

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away.

“Surprised?” he murmured.

She tilted her head, considering. “Not really. I always figured you had a bleeding heart somewhere on that sleeve of yours.”

Jing Yuan sighed, though it was more indulgent than exasperated. “If I have a bleeding heart, then what do you call yourself, [Name]?”

“Efficient,” she said without hesitation.

His laughter was warm, and she hated that it made something in her chest tighten. “Ah. Efficiency. Of course. And it’s efficient to keep things bottled up?”

“I never said that,” she shot back. “But there’s no point dragging people into things they don’t need to carry.”

Jing Yuan hummed, clearly unconvinced. His fingers finally left her wrist, only to trace a slow path up her forearm. “And yet,” he mused, “you let me see.”

[Name] stilled. He wasn’t wrong. She had let him see. She hadn’t covered up, hadn’t hidden, hadn’t laughed it off as she might have with anyone else.

She should have been annoyed that he noticed.

Instead, she found herself exhaling, shoulders dropping in something dangerously close to relief.

“You have an irritating habit of getting under my skin,” she muttered.

Jing Yuan smiled, not the usual lazy thing, but something softer. He reached up, brushing an errant strand of her hair away from her face. “Likewise,” he admitted.

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was something deeper, but [Name] leaned into his touch, just barely. It was reckless. A gamble.

Jing Yuan, ever the tactician, did not waste the opportunity.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw before resting just beneath her chin, tilting her face up toward his. Not forcing, not demanding—just waiting, always waiting, to see if she would move first.

[Name] was tired of waiting.

So she closed the space between them.

It was not the kind of kiss that belonged in sentimental stories. There was nothing tentative about it, nothing shy. She kissed him like she was proving a point, like she was testing him, like she was daring him to make the next move.

Jing Yuan, to his credit, did not disappoint.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, pressing just enough to remind her that he was here, that he was present. His lips curved against hers, a smirk just barely there before he deepened the kiss, slow and devastatingly thorough.

He kissed like he fought—measured, strategic, never rushing but never hesitating either.

[Name] felt the warmth of his hand against one of her deeper scars, the one that ran along her ribs, and despite herself, she shivered.

Jing Yuan pulled back just enough to murmur, “Still think I’m wasting my time?”

[Name] exhaled a laugh, breathless. “Oh, shut up.”

She kissed him again.

And this time, neither of them pulled away.

The taste of incense lingered between them—static in the air, the scent of mist clinging to their breath. [Name] didn’t think about what it meant to be here, pressed against Jing Yuan with the warm weight of his hands anchoring her in place. She didn’t think about the scars under his fingers, nor about the years of silence she had wrapped around them like armor.

She just let herself take.

Jing Yuan, ever the patient tactician, met her halfway. He always had a way of turning things on their head, of guiding the tempo without forcing it. The way he kissed her now—slow, unhurried, teasing—made it clear he intended to enjoy every second of this.

She almost wanted to fight him for control. Almost.

Then he traced a slow line along her spine, fingertips grazing old wounds with such absent-minded reverence that [Name] felt something shift in her chest. The tension she carried, the tight coil of self-preservation—he was unwinding it, piece by piece, and she hated how easy he made it seem.

She broke the kiss first, if only to breathe. Her forehead rested against his, their breath mingling in the dim light of the chamber. The balcony doors remained open, letting the night air cool the warmth threatening to spiral out of control.

Jing Yuan exhaled a quiet chuckle. “You’re full of surprises.”

[Name] huffed. “That’s what people say when they realize they’ve underestimated me.”

“Oh, I never underestimated you.” His fingers, still trailing over her skin, pressed just slightly—a silent acknowledgment, nothing more. “I always knew you were dangerous.”

She scoffed, but before she could fire back some quip, his lips brushed the corner of her jaw, the motion lazy and deliberate. “You really enjoy hearing yourself talk, huh?”

Jing Yuan hummed in mock consideration. “I do. But tonight, I think I’d rather listen.”

His fingers curled around her waist, his lips trailing back to hers, and [Name]—reckless, tired, and utterly done pretending—let herself forget about the rest of the world for a while.

[Name] laid stretched across the silk-draped lounge chair near the balcony, the cool night air tracing across her skin. The warm glow of lanterns cast soft shadows across the chamber, their flickering light just enough to catch the faint glimmer of silver strands in the disheveled cascade of Jing Yuan’s hair.

He sat next to her, one arm draped lazily over the back of a chair, golden eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

Comfort, perhaps. Satisfaction, most definitely.

She huffed a soft laugh, tilting her head to look at him. “You’re staring.”

Jing Yuan smirked, resting his chin against his palm. “Can you blame me?”

[Name] exhaled through her nose, amused. She stretched, languid and unhurried, rolling her shoulder where his hand had once rested. There was a quiet soreness there, a reminder of their earlier activities.

This was… new.

Not unpleasant. But new.

She wasn’t sure what to do with that realization, so instead, she deflected. “You’re a menace, you know.”

Jing Yuan leaned back, utterly unbothered. “I believe you said that earlier.”

“Yeah, and it bears repeating.”

He chuckled. “If I recall, you weren’t exactly protesting.”

[Name] turned her head, meeting his gaze with something sharper, something knowing. “Neither were you.”

Jing Yuan hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching as if debating whether to press his advantage or let her have the final word. Eventually, he relented. “I suppose I wasn’t.”

The quiet stretched between them, comfortable in a way [Name] rarely allowed herself to experience. It was a dangerous thing, this kind of ease.

But for tonight, she let herself have it.

Just this once.

[Name] was awake before him, which wasn’t surprising. Jing Yuan had perfected the art of sleeping in as though it were a divine mandate. She laid still for a moment, eyes half-lidded as she listened to his even breathing. His hold on her had shifted sometime during the night, after they made it back into the bed, one hand now resting against her hip, his other arm tucked beneath the pillow.

She would have let him sleep a little longer—really, she would have.

But fate, or rather, a very loud teenager, had other plans.

The doors burst open with no ceremony whatsoever.

“GENERAL! YOU—”

Yanqing’s voice cut off abruptly.

[Name], still tangled in the sheets with Jing Yuan’s arm loosely around her waist, turned her head just enough to stare at the young lieutenant standing in the doorway. His expression flickered rapidly between confusion, horror, and dawning realization.

Jing Yuan, in a true show of shamelessness, did not stir.

Yanqing’s grip on his sword tightened as if he were considering using it to gouge his own eyes out. “Are you kidding me?!”

[Name] sighed, rubbing her temple. “Do you knock?”

Yanqing made a strangled noise. “I wasn’t expecting to need to!”

Jing Yuan finally stirred, stretching like a lazy cat before cracking one eye open. His voice was thick with sleep, utterly unbothered. “Ah… morning already?”

Yanqing looked like he wanted to throw either him or himself out the window.

“You—! You promised morning training! I got up at dawn! I waited! And then I hear the other Cloud Knights gossiping about where you were, and I—” His face scrunched up as if the very memory pained him. “—I should’ve never come here.”

Jing Yuan yawned, stretching his arms over his head before resting one lazily back over [Name]’s waist. “Mm, my apologies. I must’ve lost track of time.”

[Name], feeling very little sympathy for him, pinched his arm. “You knew you had training with him.”

“Did I?” Jing Yuan murmured. He sounded entirely too pleased with himself.

Yanqing, in the doorway, was losing his mind. “YES! YOU DID!”

[Name] sighed, pushing herself up, making sure she was covered. Jing Yuan sighed letting his arm slide away from her but made no move to leave the bed.

Yanqing groaned into his hands. “This is so unprofessional.”

[Name], despite herself, smirked. “Well, General, shouldn’t you set a better example?”

Jing Yuan chuckled, sitting up at an unhurried pace. “Ah, but an important lesson can be learned here, Yanqing.”

The lieutenant glared. “What lesson?”

Jing Yuan stretched, far too pleased with himself. “That patience is a virtue.”

Yanqing looked seconds away from quitting. Moments later, he stormed off, muttering under his breath about irresponsible generals and unnecessary mental scarring.

[Name] turned back to Jing Yuan, who was watching her with that infuriating, lazy amusement.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

He smirked, reaching for her wrist to pull her back toward him. “Always.”

She sighed but didn’t resist.

They could afford a few more minutes.

Editor's Note: Hey "anon", not a problem, I'm glad we were able to collab on ideas for this, I messaged separately already but I hope you enjoyed~ Also thanks for encouraging me to get out of my comfort zone with this.

[poisonf0rest]

Around what time (like event/card) do you think MC and Rafayel hopped to bed first time together? 👀Asking for scientific reasons obviously

Apologies for how long this took, love. I put on my detective glasses and went HUNTING.

So let's break it down shall we? I used https://www.tumblr.com/irandial/754337410204254208/god-bless-strong-soldiers-doing-all-the-hard-work?source=share this timeline.

For this analysis I'm only staying within the "modern/current" timeline since I can't call the sea god mc and current mc the same, but she better have fucked sea god raf too before she died or else I'll riot, so technically that would be "first." Also there's debate on whether Abysswalker is the the past/future (or alternate reality) so we also won't touch those cards.

Before Sunrise 5S - Rafayel says it's his "first time sharing a bed" so we know this is the starting point, although safe to say nothing happened during that card.

Affinity 35 - They're all domestic, definitely edging closer to the line but I still think the most blatantly romantic thing that's happened is a few heated gazes and accidental touches.

Your Fragrance 5S - Controversially, I don't think this is the one. I think after Raf corners mc in the bathroom they definitely make out but Rafayel does say "I'm not going to do anything to you" and mc wouldn't take advantage of him like this. This bursts the "just friends" bubble though and makes it clear they want each other.

Tipsy Invitation 5S - So much flirting, lots of glances, drunk confessions. HOW HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS ONE BEFORE, HE ALREADY HAS A SHIBARI/BONDAGE CARD??? After rewatching absolutely nothing Rafayel said was subtle, they definitely fucked as soon as that screen faded to black (raf was a power bottom giving instructions the whole time). So we have a winner, but I feel like this would've been much further in the timeline?? At least Affinity 80, and way after the Ebb and Flow scene.

Rapid fire: Not Ebb and Flow I feel like it's what finally solidified their relationship with Rafayel's vulnerability and showing more of his past. Not Private Trip 5S "if you try anything I'll scream" and him asking if mc is "willing to form a bond with me" tells me they haven't done the devil's tango yet but are def dating.

Fiery Undercurrents - Yup this is it. They definitely fucked after this one, we have a winner folks.

So overall, fishie waited until Affinity 80-82

[thollandsgirl2013]

Can I please request one with touch starved reader??

Okay, so I got a little carried away with this request, but I really enjoyed writing it! 👀 I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with smut, so there’s a warning before it starts. Happy reading!

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮*

Parings → Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings → SMUT!! 18+, unprotected sex (pls don't do it), language, a bit bossy! Reader

Summary → The reader is touch starved after spending a week without Peter.

The apartment felt emptier without Peter. A whole week had passed since he left for a mission, and it had been torture. The phone calls at night were nice, but they weren’t enough. Hearing his voice through the speaker didn’t compare to feeling him—his warmth, his hands on your waist, his fingers tangled in your hair.

You weren’t usually this needy, but something about this week had been unbearable. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the way you had to fall asleep every night without him pulling you close. Maybe it was just that you were touch-starved to hell and back.

But finally, finally, he was coming home tonight.

You had been pacing the living room for the past thirty minutes, heart hammering in anticipation. You didn’t even bother with distractions—there was no way you could focus on a movie or a book when Peter was almost home.

Then, the sound of keys jingling outside.

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest at the sound.

The lock turned, the door creaked open—and there he was.

Peter stood in the doorway, his backpack slung over one shoulder, hair messier than usual. He looked exhausted but so, so good. His soft brown eyes met yours, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Hey, bab—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your entire body against him. Peter let out a startled laugh as he stumbled back against the door, his hands immediately coming up to grip your waist.

“Whoa—hi to you too,” he chuckled, his voice warm with amusement.

You buried your face in his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelled like faded cologne, a little sweat, and home. “You were gone forever.”

Peter’s hands tightened around you. “It was a week, sweetheart.”

“Exactly.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in every little detail of his face—the way his lashes brushed against his cheeks, the slight stubble on his jaw, the tired but happy glint in his eyes.

Then, you kissed him.

Peter made a surprised noise, but he quickly melted into it, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head. The kiss started slow, a soft press of lips, but that wasn’t enough. You tilted your head, deepening it, fingers gripping the fabric of his t-shirt.

Peter groaned against your mouth, his fingers digging into your waist.

“Missed me much?” He teased against your lips.

You glared. “I’m actually mad at you for leaving me alone for a week.”

“Oh yeah?” His grin was smug. “Doesn’t seem like you’re mad.”

You huffed. “I am mad. Very mad.”

“Sure,” he smirked.

“I am, Peter.” You pulled him into another kiss. This one was messier, more desperate, your hands moving to his shoulders. You felt the tension in them, the lingering exhaustion in his body, and you wanted to erase it.

“God,” he murmured as you pulled back for a breath. “Missed you too, baby.”

You pulled away breathlessly, eyes dark. “Bedroom. Now.”

Peter laughed softly against your lips. “Not even a snack first? A shower? Anything? ”

“No,” you murmured, kissing along his jaw, nipping at his skin just enough to make him sigh. “You left me alone for a whole week, Parker.”

“I know, I know,” he said, exhaling sharply when you kissed beneath his ear. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. “Make it up to me.”

Peter swallowed hard, his pupils blowing wide. “Y-Yeah, okay.”

Smut starting below 👇

You didn’t even give him a chance to process before you were dragging him toward the bedroom. Peter stumbled after you, still laughing under his breath.

“I feel like I should be worried,” he teased, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you.

You pushed him onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, and Peter’s hands immediately found your thighs. His touch was warm, grounding, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re being clingy,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes. “You love it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, sliding his hands up your back. “I really do.”

You tugged his t-shirt up, fingers grazing his stomach. His breath hitched.

“Off,” you demanded.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s bossy tonight.”

“Peter.”

He grinned but obeyed, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Your eyes swept over him—his lean but toned body, the faint scars from old fights, the way his chest rose and fell a little faster under your gaze.

Then, you leaned in, kissing him again.

Peter groaned, gripping your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper. He flipped you onto your back, pressing his weight against you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he murmured against your skin.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly. “Then show me.”

Peter pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with heat.

“Oh, I will.”

And he was more than happy to oblige.

Peter’s lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his muscles as he pinned you beneath him. His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your hips, then sliding under your shirt, palms warm against your stomach.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Take it off,” you murmured against his lips, tugging at your shirt.

Peter grinned, nipping at your bottom lip before helping you pull it over your head. His eyes darkened as he took you in, hands skimming over your exposed skin.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

You tugged him down by the back of his neck, lips brushing against his. “Less talking. More working.”

Peter groaned, his fingers trailing up your sides before slipping behind your back to unclasp your bra. He kissed his way down your jaw, across your collarbone, then lower, his lips exploring every inch of newly exposed skin. Your back arched as he worshipped your body with his mouth, teasing, tasting, taking his time.

But you were impatient today.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him back up. “Peter.”

He smirked. “Yes, ma’am?”

You shot him a glare. “I need you.”

Peter’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating. “Yeah?”

“Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His hands moved to your jeans, undoing the button and dragging them down your legs, his touch slow and deliberate. He tossed them aside, leaving you in just your underwear. His body pressed flush against yours, the rough fabric of his jeans teasing your bare skin. Even through his jeans, you could feel every inch of him—his warmth, his hardness, the absolute need crackling between you two.

Peter dipped his head, kissing you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, stealing every breath, every thought, until all you could focus on was him—his hands, his touch, the heat radiating off his body. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, teasing the edge of your underwear before retreating, making you squirm beneath him.

He was enjoying this. Drawing things out, taking his time.

But you were feeling bold today.

With a frustrated huff, you grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand lower, pressing it exactly where you needed him the most. Your legs squeezed around his hips, silently demanding he stop playing around.

“No teasing,” you ordered, your voice breathless yet firm.

Peter’s lips curled into a smirk against your skin. He pressed a lingering kiss to your jaw, his breath warm as he murmured, “You’re really not in the mood for patience, huh?”

You narrowed your eyes, fingers tightening around his wrist. “Do I look like I am?”

Peter exhaled sharply, the teasing glint in his eyes flickering into something darker, needier. He loved when you got like this—so demanding, so desperate for him that you couldn’t stand to wait another second.

“Bossy,” he murmured, but he obeyed.

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, the first touch sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your head fell back, a gasp tumbling from your lips as he started working you over with slow, precise movements.

“Good?” He whispered, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every reaction.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, hips lifting into his touch. “More,” you demanded, your voice almost a plea.

Peter bit his lip, his other hand gripping your thigh, anchoring you down as he picked up the pace, his fingers sliding against you in all the right ways. He curled them just right, finding that spot that made you arch off the bed, a choked moan escaping your lips.

He groaned at the sight, at the way you fell apart under his touch. “Fuck, baby… you’re so sensitive.”

Your breathing hitched, a fresh wave of pleasure surging through you. Your thighs trembled, your grip on him tightening as you felt yourself climbing higher, nearing the edge, your entire body burning with need.

Peter wasn’t letting up. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his tongue flicking against your pulse, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his fingers never slowing, never stopping. “Let go for me.”

And you did.

A broken cry left your lips as pleasure crashed over you, your body shaking, your fingers digging into his skin. Peter worked you through it, his pace only slowing when he felt you start to relax beneath him. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his hand still lazily stroking your thigh, grounding you.

When you finally caught your breath, you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted, his expression utterly wrecked with desire.

You smirked.

“My turn.”

Peter barely had time to process your words before you flipped him onto his back, straddling his waist in one smooth motion. His breath hitched, hands instinctively flying to grip your hips, his eyes wide with surprise and something much darker.

“You really are feeling bossy today,” he rasped, his voice thick with admiration and arousal.

You leaned down, your lips hovering just over his, teasing. “Got a problem with that?”

Peter swallowed hard, his fingers tightening their grip on you. “Not at all.”

A smirk tugged at your lips before you kissed him—deep, slow, deliberate. You took your time, savoring the way he melted beneath you, the way his hands roamed your back, your thighs, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you the most. You rocked against him, earning a sharp inhale, his body tensing beneath you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breaking the kiss just to look at you, to watch the way you moved above him.

You dragged your fingers down his chest, nails scratching lightly over his skin as you slowly traced the lines of his abdomen. "You're so perfect," you murmured, your voice low and filled with desire.

Peter's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling under your touch. He tilted his head back, his hands gripping the sheets as he watched you.

You grinned, loving how easily you could drive him crazy. Your fingers continued their slow, teasing path, tracing every ridge, every scar, your touch light but purposeful.

His breath came out ragged. “You’re killing me, babe.”

You grinned, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down to his collarbone, your hands trailing lower, lower—

“Payback,” you whispered against his skin.

Peter let out a strained laugh, though it quickly turned into a groan as you palmed him through his jeans. His head fell back against the pillows, his hips bucking up into your touch.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You really—” His breath hitched as you popped the button of his jeans. “You’re really gonna do this to me, huh?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Do what?”

Peter narrowed his eyes at you, but the effect was ruined by the way his lips parted when you slowly dragged down his zipper, the way his chest heaved as you peeled his jeans off. He was already hard, the outline of him straining against the fabric of his boxers, and you could tell he was barely holding on to his restraint.

“God,” he breathed when you pressed a teasing kiss to his lower abdomen. His fingers tangled in your hair, his jaw clenched. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shot him a smug smile before finally slipping his boxers down, freeing him completely. He let out a shaky exhale as you wrapped your fingers around him, giving a slow, experimental stroke.

Peter’s reaction was instant—his head tilted back, a deep groan tearing from his throat, his grip on your thigh tightening like he was already on the edge.

“Baby,” he gritted out, his hips jerking into your touch. “You—fuck—you’re so in control tonight.”

You grinned, placing a kiss just above his navel, deliberately teasing, watching as his stomach tensed beneath your lips. Peter’s fingers twitched against your thighs, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he exhaled a shaky breath.

“You’re torturing me,” he muttered, voice rough, eyes hazy with need.

You dragged your lips lower, just barely brushing against where he needed you most before pulling away, savoring the way he groaned in frustration.

“Patience, Spidey,” you teased, running your fingers along his length in slow, deliberate strokes.

Peter let out a strangled laugh, his head falling back against the pillows. “That’s rich coming from you.”

You smirked but didn’t respond, instead focusing on driving him to the brink, reveling in the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath hitched every time you moved just right. His body was like a live wire beneath you, every little reaction making you feel more powerful, more in control.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, lifting his head to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You hummed, leaning up to press a lingering kiss to his lips, your hand still working him over. “Maybe.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh against your mouth, but it quickly turned into a groan when you changed your pace, drawing another curse from his lips.

His hands slid up your waist, gripping firmly before flipping you onto your back in one swift motion. Your breath hitched as he hovered over you, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

“My turn now,” he smirked at you.

A shiver ran down your spine at the shift in his tone, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. Before you could say anything, his lips were on your neck, trailing down, his hands roaming over your body like he was memorizing every inch of you.

You gasped as his fingers hooked into your underwear, dragging them down with agonizing slowness. “Peter—”

“I know,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I got you.”

Peter pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, his fingers gripping your hips to keep you still as you squirmed beneath him. His touch was teasing, deliberate, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He was savoring this—you—as if he had all the time in the world.

“You were so bossy a minute ago,” he mused, his voice thick with amusement and desire. His lips ghosted over your skin, making you jolt. “What happened to all that attitude?”

You tugged at his curls, frustration curling in your stomach. “Shut up.”

Peter chuckled, the vibrations sending another spark of pleasure through you. His grip on your hips tightened just enough to keep you in place, his thumbs tracing slow, teasing circles into your skin.

“As you wish,” he murmured before finally giving you what you needed.

The first press of his lips to your folds had your breath stuttering, the sensation electric. His tongue flicked out, tracing along your sensitive bud, teasing, tasting. A deep groan rumbled in his throat as he settled between your thighs, his hands splaying across them, holding you steady.

Your back arched off the mattress as a sharp gasp escaped your lips, fingers twisting in his hair. Peter hummed in satisfaction, the sound vibrating against you, making your entire body shudder.

He was slow, methodical, taking his time to explore, his tongue moving in deliberate strokes, circling, pressing, teasing. His lips sealed over your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, only to pull back and do it all over again. His hands slid up your thighs, his grip firm, thumbs pressing into your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted.

“Peter—” His name fell from your lips, breathless and needy, your fingers tugging at his curls.

He hummed again, clearly enjoying himself, the vibrations making your thighs tremble. He licked into you, his tongue pressing exactly where you needed it before his lips closed around the spot, sucking just hard enough to send a sharp pulse of pleasure through you.

You jerked, a strangled moan escaping you. “Peter—”

He pulled back just slightly, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he gazed up at you. “You taste so good,” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. “Missed this. Missed you.”

Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, a mix of frustration and pleasure coursing through you. “Then don’t stop,” you breathed.

His lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then, he doubled down, his grip tightening, his tongue moving with even more purpose. He licked into you, slow at first, then faster, finding a rhythm that had your breath hitching, your thighs trembling. He alternated between long, teasing strokes and short, precise flicks, his mouth working you over with devastating skill.

His tongue circled your sensitive bud before flicking against it in rapid succession, the sensation making you whimper, your legs tensing. When he sucked at just the right spot, your vision went white, your body tightening, pleasure coiling low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter with every passing second.

Peter felt it, the way you were unraveling, the way your breath hitched and your legs trembled. His fingers dug into your hips as he looked up at you through dark lashes, his voice a low rasp.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

You let out a broken moan, nodding frantically, too lost in sensation to form words.

Peter smirked against your skin, his lips pressing one last, lingering kiss before sealing his mouth around you, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. That was all it took.

You shattered, your back arching, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your body shaking as you tumbled into bliss.

Even then, Peter didn’t let up immediately. He eased you through it, his tongue still flicking lazily, his lips pressing gentle kisses against sensitive skin as he made his way back up.

You blinked up at him, still dazed, your breathing uneven, your body boneless against the mattress.

Peter smirked down at you, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Bossy still?”

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers sliding into his hair as you pulled him down into a deep, lazy kiss. “Shut up and fuck me, Parker.”

His pupils dilated, his breath catching in his throat. Then, in one smooth movement, he positioned himself between your legs, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Peter didn’t waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, his body pressing flush against you as he lined himself up. The anticipation had you trembling beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“You sure you can handle this?” He teased, his voice rough, teasing but breathless.

You narrowed your eyes. “Peter, if you don’t—”

He didn’t let you finish. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed into you, filling you inch by inch. Your mouth fell open, a sharp gasp escaping as your body stretched to accommodate him.

Peter let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he gritted out, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel so good.”

Your fingers curled around his biceps, holding onto him like a lifeline as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling with restraint.

“Move,” you whispered, lifting your hips slightly in encouragement.

Peter let out a shaky breath before drawing back, then sinking into you again, deeper this time. You moaned, arching into him, and that was all the permission he needed.

His pace started slow, controlled, dragging out every sensation, every sound you made. He was savoring you, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck, whispering sweet praises between gasps and groans.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Missed this—Fuck, you feel so perfect.”

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging him down for a messy, desperate kiss. The week apart had built up a hunger in you, a longing that couldn’t be satisfied with just slow and sweet. You needed more.

“Faster, Peter,” you demanded against his lips, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts.

Peter let out a low chuckle, but there was no hesitation in the way he obeyed. His pace quickened, his grip on you turning bruising as he drove into you harder, deeper. The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with gasps and moans, the headboard softly knocking against the wall.

Your mind was a blur, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the way Peter filled every inch of you, hitting the perfect spot with every thrust. Your nails raked down his back, and he let out a strangled moan, his rhythm faltering for just a second.

“Shit, baby—” His voice was wrecked, his breath hot against your skin.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, needing more. “Peter—”

“I got you,” he promised, voice strained, his body moving in sync with yours, his hips snapping against yours at a perfect, desperate pace.

You felt yourself unraveling again, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, the edge creeping closer and closer. Peter felt it too, the way your body clenched around him, the way your moans turned breathier, needier.

His hand slipped between you, his fingers finding your most sensitive spot, circling, teasing, pushing you over the edge.

You cried out his name as pleasure crashed over you, your entire body tensing before unraveling beneath him. Peter groaned, his rhythm stuttering as your release pulled him right along with you.

His lips found yours in a messy, desperate kiss as he spilled into you, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, both of you clinging to each other as you slowly came down from the high.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the warmth of Peter’s body still pressed against yours.

Then, after a beat, Peter chuckled, breathless. “So, uh… I take it you really missed me?”

You huffed out a laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “Shut up and hold me.”

Peter grinned as he slowly pulled out, a satisfied hum escaping his lips. Rolling onto his side, he immediately pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a warm, secure embrace. His fingers traced lazy circles along your back as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Bossy and clingy,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “I love it.”

You just nuzzled closer, content in the warmth of his arms, finally having everything you needed.

Peter’s lips brushed against your ear as he pulled you closer, his chest rising and falling with each breath. “You came three times, babe,” he teased, his voice low and full of satisfaction.

You groaned, half embarrassed, half amused, rolling your eyes as you buried your face in his chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice muffled..

He chuckled, his fingers threading through your hair as he kissed the top of your head. “I’m just saying,” he whispered with a grin, “you’re fucking incredible.”

You looked up at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. “You better be careful, Parker, or I'll boss you around more.”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you gently, his lips warm and soft against yours. “I think I’ll be okay with that.”

And with that, you let the peaceful silence take over, content in each other’s arms, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ��

[squidwriting]

#4: Guilty

✁ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

⇥ Masterlist

⇥ Taglist (hope they're all working!) @ferrari-curse, @solarisstarrsolomonsbeloved, @robertthehoover, @annasnape7, @menabuser16, @swthrtbyeol, @foulbreadpaenut, @earphonejack09, @namelesslosers, @pearl-pool, @ameagrice, @ayyylol, @honeynanamin, @ninglovr, @beebeechaos, @gracesworks, @muscrat112, @androgynous-lady

⇥ Pairing Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

⇥ Warnings Spoilers for Season 1 & 2, angst, violence, graphic descriptions of injuries & death

⇥ A/N: Almost got emotional there. 👀😂

⇥ [#3] | [#5]

✁ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"How could you?"

Gi-hun's voice was low as you approached the small group that hat once again gathered at their usual spot after collecting their small dinner. "We lost by one vote. One vote. If you had pressed the red button, then-"

"Wow, stop right there," you cut him off, raising your hand. "First off, I don't need to tell you why. Second, if you want to give someone shit for this... give it to Jung-bae, your twice-as-righteous friend. I've had an O on my chest since the beginning. He changed his vote."

In-ho listened silently, biting back a smirk. Despite everything that had happened to you, you had not lost your confidence and quick-wittedness.

"Fine," you sighed in response to Gi-hun's glare. "I'll keep my distance."

"Don't," In-ho answered quickly, grabbing your wrist to keep you from leaving. "There's no use in arguing about our votes anyway. Let's just... focus on whatever is going to happen next. Okay?"

Dae-ho pulled Jung-bae back as well. The older man stumbled over his words, apologizing and explaining his vote, hoping to make the whole situation less awkward. You sighed and sat down, unpacking your food slowly. It was not much, but it would be enough to not have anyone go to bed hungry.

Silence settled over the five of you; a thick and suffocating silence, only interrupted by the occasional argument being thrown around the dormitory. You swallowed thickly, contemplating whether or not you should break the silence. It was risky to pry, but part of you was either curious... or just desperate to talk to your husband.

"I'm sorry you can't go to your wife now," you said quietly, taking another bite of your bread. You felt like shit saying those words - but the silence had been even worse.

"Not to worry," he answered after a short moment, a strange sense of melancholy seeping into his words. "She wouldn't know anyway."

Before you could say anything, the already well-known female voice announced the end of the day through the speakers. Gi-hun had suggested that you would all stay together from now on, even during the night, taking turns in keeping watch. All of you settled in quickly. By the times the lights went out, the dormitory was eerily silent.

Dae-ho was fast asleep.

Jung-bae and Gi-hun talked and laughed quietly about something.

In-ho was quietly staring at the ceiling.

And you were quietly staring at In-ho.

"Will watching me help you fall asleep?" He smirked, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. You were unable to suppress a small smile. "Maybe," you whispered, rolling onto your side. "Compared to everyone else around here, you always seem so calm and collected. Like a haven of peace."

He chuckled quietly, before a deep sigh escaped him. "That's what my wife used to call me, too."

"What happened," you asked, scooting a bit closer to him, "if... you don't mind me asking?"

In-ho stayed silent, his eyes finding the distant ceiling again, as he drifted deeper and deeper into his memories.

"It was... a warm, sunny day in late July. I was just finishing up some paperwork for my boss, so I could leave early. That day.... we had been married 15 years. I had planned a surprise for her. And then... I got a call from the hospital."

You swallowed thickly, settling into a more comfortable position. You knew your story obviously... but you never heard In-ho's side of it. Part of you was curious - the other part terrified.

"She got hit by a truck. Didn't even see it coming."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, biting back words of protest. Like a mantra, you reminded yourself to not interrupt or correct him. Let him talk. You know nothing.

"And... she's still in the hospital? Four months later?" 

In-ho nodded slowly. "It's a severe case of retrograde amnesia. She doesn't remember anything that happened before the accident. The doctors are doing everything they can," he inhaled shakily. In the dim light, you could see tears welling up in his eyes. "But there's only so much they can do, and they're not... too optimistic anymore."

"Damn," you whispered, rolling onto your back. 

"If only I had taken the day off."

In-ho's words barely reached your ears. His voice was small, too small for a man of his caliber. "What?" you looked at him, confused by his statement. He huffed lightly before speaking up again. 

"I promised her on our last anniversary. I promised to take the day off. I didn't. If I had, she wouldn't have been out on the road, getting run over like that." 

You took a deep breath, collecting your thoughts. Memories - long forgotten - flooded your consciousness. "My god..." you whispered, remembering the fight you and In-ho had the year before your accident. What was supposed to be an amazing anniversary for you two, ended in one of the loudest and nastiest fights you two ever had - in all those years you had known each other. 

A realization hit you as more new found memories came to light slowly. 

"You two had a fight on the day of the accident, didn't you...?" 

A single tear escaped In-ho's eye, glistening in the soft light. 

 "That's why I need that money," he whispered, slowly looking over at you, "to get her the best possible treatment. When she gets her memory back - even if she doesn't want me anymore - I need to tell her-"

Another tear rolled down his cheek, and a heavy lump in his throat kept him from talking. Your heart clenched painfully. Had he carried this heaviness, this unnecessary guilt with him all these years? 

Had he not told anybody?

Or had no one told him how cruel he was being to himself by beating himself up over something that was not his fault? 

In a moment of unexpected boldness, you reached out and gently wiped his tears off with your fingers. It was electrifying to touch him like this again - after all these long years. The tips of your fingers tingled pleasantly, and you could not keep yourself from cupping his cheek gently. 

"You shouldn't carry this weight on your shoulders," you whispered, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. "I'm sure... your wife wouldn't want that. Take it from someone who lost her memory as well," you chuckled lightly, "we don't worry about the bad things that happened before the incidents. We wonder about all the great things we have forgotten. We long to remember the happy times, the joyous things that made us who we are, and that formed our bonds and relationships."

"And you should, too. Why beat yourself up over something that was out of your control? The only thing you messed up was to not stick to your promise... which, I guess, would have been resolved with an apology, flowers, chocolates, dinner in her favorite restaurant, and great sex. In that particular order." 

In-ho was unable to suppress a small chuckle at your words. 

"Everything else was not your fault... was it?" 

Slowly, you pulled your hand away again. You were treading on dangerous territory now, the urge to tell him everything growing with each passing minute. But who knew how he would react? 

How would you deal with the situation going forward anyway? You could not live a lie forever, even if you made it through the last remaining days in this facility. 

"Thank you," he whispered after a few long moments. 

Once more, silence settled over the two of you - but it was not as heavy and tense as before. 

"Try to sleep," he mumbled, carefully scooting a bit closer to you. "I'll keep watch."

You hummed, curling up on your side. "Jung-bae and Gi-hun already do. You should catch some sleep as well."

"It's fine," he smiled, "I'm not tired anyway." 

Surprisingly, you drifted off to sleep fairly quickly. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the familiar feeling of sleeping next to your husband that you had come to miss over the past months. 

Whatever it was, when soft lips placed a gentle, loving kiss on your forehead, you were already fast asleep.

"Sleep well, my love," In-ho whispered, nuzzling against you carefully, inhaling your scent. The storm brewing within his heart and mind was still raging.

But with you so close to him, he did not hear the roaring thunders and howling winds. 

[skyward-floored]

IAU requests you say? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

okay okay hmmmmm what about some bby Hyrule angst? as he's adjusting to living with the others? :3

- hero-of-the-wolf

@hero-of-the-wolf I hope you don’t mind I mixed these two asks together a bit to write this! I couldn’t resist the allure of a sickfic lol. This also fits with today’s febuwhump prompt, which is “holding back tears”, heh.

This takes place not long after Hyrule comes along, maybe a month or two. Little guy is still very much adjusting 😔

Warning for some throwing up, and some mentions of past child abuse.

————————————————————

It started with a twinge, a tiny ache.

Hyrule’s heart sank the moment he woke up and felt it, a little sting when he swallowed, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hurriedly brushed it aside when Four gave him a curious look, and went downstairs for breakfast, trying to tell himself it was only his imagination. He was fine.

It got harder to ignore as the day went on though, the lump in his stomach turning to nausea, the sting in his throat a true ache. But Hyrule kept ignoring it, trying to act normal, making sure he did anything that was asked of him without any complaint. He did the bit of handwriting Malon had started him on, helped sweep the floor, healed Wind’s scraped knee when he came to him crying, and despite the shake in his legs and the buzz in his head that only got worse, he kept it up.

Being sick made things harder, but Hyrule knew complaining only made it worse. Somewhere in his head he knew his new family wasn’t like any of his old caretakers, wouldn’t scream at him for slowing down or healing less intensely than normal, but Hyrule had still only been with them a little while now.

Who was to say what they thought about being sick? He couldn’t be useful if he was sick. What if they kicked him out when they realized?

Hyrule’s heart skipped a beat. No. It was safer to hide it. Even if they didn’t kick him out, whining about a little dizziness and nausea would only be an annoyance. He would just ignore it, and wait for it to go away like he always did.

Or, that was the plan, anyway.

Hyrule had forced himself to eat dinner that night, knowing Malon and Time didn’t like it when he left food on his plate. His stomach felt way worse after he finished, but he ignored it, and managed to get through the rest of the evening without any incidents. He got ready for bed promptly, avoided Twilight’s nose that seemed to sniff out everything, dodged Wild and Legend who were wrestling in the bathroom, and finally curled up in bed with a sigh. He felt better lying down at least.

He lightly dozed until Malon came in to tuck Wind and Four in bed, and he watched her quietly as she read them a story, then settled them in bed. Would Malon really be mad if he was sick? She was always so nice, and when he’d still had his cough from the fire, she hadn’t been annoyed then.

But...

“You worthless brat!”

Hyrule sighed and lowered his head as his stomach rolled. He didn’t know.

Time came in and said goodnight to them all before leaving again, busy with something with work, and Malon came over to Hyrule, having finished with Wind and Four. She tucked him in and kissed his head, but then she hesitated a moment when she drew back, looking at him with a slight squint.

“Is everything okay, hon?” she asked. Hyrule’s stomach seemed to churn more sharply at the question, but he quickly nodded, trying his best to look healthy.

Malon still looked a little suspicious, her brows furrowed, but she nodded in turn and stood up.

“Okay, if you’re sure. Goodnight sweetie,” she said, and Hyrule said goodnight back to her, curling up as she left the room and trying to ignore his stomach so he could sleep.

Sleep didn’t seem to want to come though. He was plenty tired, but his nausea rolled through him in a way that made it impossible to sleep. Hyrule would just manage to doze off a little when his stomach would churn, and he’d have to reposition himself before trying to sleep again.

There was a pressing on his throat now too, one that only lessened a little when he swallowed, and Hyrule tried desperately to ignore it. He even tried using a little spurt of his powers on himself, hoping it would help something, but all it served to do was make him dizzier. It must have been the middle of the night by now, and he’d barely slept a wink.

Hyrule rolled over again, clutching his blanket to himself as he bit his tongue.

I’m fine. It’s just a stomachache. Go to sleep.

Hyrule’s stomach rumbled in a bad way, and he curled in tighter on himself.

It’s okay, it’s just an ache, you’re fine.

His stomach rolled more sharply. The pressing on his throat grew worse, and Hyrule whimpered.

You’re fine you’re fine you’re fineyou’refineyou’refine—

His stomach lurched, the pressing on his throat reaching the point of no return, and Hyrule stumbled out of bed, holding his hand over his mouth as he scrambled for the bathroom.

He only made it about halfway down the hallway before he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Hyrule stumbled over and vomited all over the floor, unable to stop himself. Tears pricked at his eyes as he threw up, his throat burning, and all he could do was retch for several moments, all while trying to be as quiet as possible.

Finally his stomach finished rebelling, and Hyrule sank down to his knees, a ragged hiccup escaping him. He hated throwing up. And he didn’t even feel any better than he had before.

Hyrule let out a soft moan, clutching at his stomach, then braced himself before opening his eyes. It was even worse than he’d been expecting, and Hyrule began to shake as he stared at the mess of what used to be his dinner on the floor, mind whirling with dizziness and sudden terror.

He’d thrown up all over the floor, and a rug.

No no no no you ruined it you wrecked their things they’re going to punish you—

Hyrule nearly threw up again as memories lodged in his head of other sicknesses, voices screeching in his ears, head spinning. Being yelled at for daring to throw up, told to clean up his own mess, berated for being too weak to heal and kicked around one time when he just couldn’t make his trembling body move—

Hyrule clutched at his hair, and tried to take in steadying breaths.

No. No, he would figure this out. He would clean it up, and nobody would even know. There had to be cleaning supplies around somewhere, right? He knew where Malon kept a few things, but not stuff that would helpful for this. But surely the bathroom had cleaners somewhere?

He’d start there.

Hyrule swallowed back the burn in his throat, and dizzily stumbled to his feet, hurrying on shaking legs to the bathroom. Nobody was using it thank goodness, and despite how his head hurt even more as he flicked the light on, he firmly ignored it, looking carefully in the cabinet and drawers. His hands shook as he dug around, trying not to disturb anything too much, and the tight feeling in his stomach only increased, due to both nausea and emotion.

You’ll clean it up it’ll be fine you’ll clean it up and nobody will know and nothing will happen.

Hyrule finally found an old towel next to some sponges, one obviously used to clean with. Hyrule sagged in relief and snatched it up, heading back to the hallway. His vomit was obvious in the faint moonlight from the window, and Hyrule swallowed as he looked at it, stomach lurching as the smell hit him.

No no no, get it together. You’ve got to clean it up.

Hyrule breathed in harshly through his nose, turning away to get fresh air, then turned back once he felt his stomach was settled enough. He could do this. He wasn’t going to make even more of a mess.

Hyrule swallowed, the action hurting his throat, and started mopping up the mess, trying to hold his breath. The towel only sort of worked, his sick thick enough that he was mostly just spreading it around, and after a few moments Hyrule stopped with an anxious tap of his fingers. What else could he do? And even when he did manage to clean up the mess, where was he going to put it?

Hyrule stared dumbly at the vomit, feeling gross in multiple senses of the word.

He didn’t want to be sitting here next to his sick, trying to figure out how to clean it up while his head ached and his stomach twisted and his hands shook with fear.

He just wanted to go back to bed.

Hyrule bit his lip to stop himself from crying again, and tried to calm down. Maybe he should look for something he could throw out? That would be the easiest way to get rid of it. There were lunch bags downstairs... that might work. How was he going to get the mess into the bag though?

Hyrule stared at it again, trying to get his exhausted brain to think, but nothing was coming to mind.

And then he heard the floor creak.

Hyrule froze, his hearing seeming to sharpen at that single noise. Another creak rang out from the direction of Time and Malon’s room only a few paces away, and Hyrule’s breath caught, panic making his stomach lurch.

They’re going to see.

They woke up they’re going to see they’re going hate me they—

A shield flickered around him without his permission, making Hyrule’s dizziness worse as he quickly dropped it again. The pressing feeling came back into his throat, panic making him shake, fear pounding in his chest and squeezing so tight his lungs hurt.

His stomach lurched, and as the door opened, Hyrule threw up again right beside where he had before.

“Oh— good grief kiddo—”

Hyrule’s retching mixed with sobs he couldn’t hold back, and he barely heard the footsteps over his heart pounding in his ears, terror freezing him in place. A hand settled on his back, and Hyrule nearly choked, only crying harder as it began to rub.

“Just get it out Hyrule, it’s okay,” a voice said, and he let out a miserable noise, trying desperately to stop throwing up. There was barely anything in his stomach now, but things kept coming up anyway, bile burning as it went up his throat.

Finally he got his heaving under control, and Hyrule trembled as he looked up, feeling sick and disgusting and terrified.

Time knelt beside him, face creased, and Hyrule shrank in on himself, trying to hurriedly wipe his tears away. Crying always made it worse.

It didn’t here, a voice whispered in his head, reminding him of comforting arms wrapped around him while he sobbed, but the memory was lost in his headache and twisting stomach and weight of worse memories.

“Are you finished?” Time asked softly, and Hyrule sniffled, managing to nod. “Hyrule, what happened?”

“I w-was— I was t-trying to get to the bathroom, b-but I couldn’t do it— and I was trying t-to clean it, but— I’m sorry,” he choked out, more tears welling in his eyes.

Time looked at him with what might have been concern, but then Malon appeared in the doorway, and Hyrule’s gaze flicked to her. She looked... disgusted.

“Oh sweetie,” Malon sighed as she looked at the mess, and Hyrule was sure that meant she was mad. She flicked the light on so they could see better, then knelt down beside him and Time, taking in his trembling, disgusting, teary form. “Have you felt sick all day?”

Hyrule gave a tiny nod, and Malon sighed again, Hyrule flinching at the sound.

“Were you trying to clean this up by yourself?” Time questioned, and Hyrule bit his lip.

“Yes. I’m sorry I-I woke you,” he croaked, looking down at the floor as more tears dripped down his face. “I’ll— I’ll clean it. I’ll be quiet, I w-won’t bother you anymore.”

“Hyrule, you— honey, goodness, you don’t need to clean this up, we’ll handle it,” Malon said worriedly, and Hyrule stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

“But I made th-the mess, it’s my fault, I should clean it—”

“Link, you’re sick. Your job right now is to rest,” Time said patiently, leaning over and picking up the towel Hyrule had attempted to clean with. Time and Malon briefly met eyes, and he gave a small nod. “We’ll take care of it.”

Hyrule blinked at him, beyond confused. “But I... I ruined the rug,” he whispered, shrinking into himself while he expected a yell or smack.

To his surprise, Time laughed.

“Hyrule, this rug has had plenty of things happen to it, a little vomit will hardly ruin it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not even the first kid to throw up on it.”

“I’m not?” Hyrule peeped, and Time nodded.

“You’re not. And even if you were, it’s just a rug,” Malon assured, then gently took his hand. “You look pretty rough, sweetie. What do you say we get you cleaned up?”

Hyrule hesitated, still extremely confused, but finally nodded. He didn’t have to clean it up? They weren’t mad?

That just... didn’t make any sense.

A trick?

Hyrule swallowed. He would maybe question it more, but he still felt terrible and too tired to argue. If it was a trick, he didn’t have the energy to try and get out of it. So he let Malon gently tug him back to the bathroom, fetching him some clean pajamas and cleaning the vomit from his chin and hands.

At some point while she cleaned him up he realized he was crying again, but he didn’t even know why. He was just exhausted. Malon gently wiped his tears away too, and once he was all cleaned up, Hyrule let her put her arm around him.

He sniffled, still feeling sick and dizzy, but... better, with the contact.

Maybe... maybe it wasn’t a trick.

Malon rubbed his back for a few moments, then picked him up, Hyrule resting a shaky head on her shoulder. They left the bathroom, and passed Time cleaning up in the hallway, Hyrule feeling that horrible shrivel of guilt and fear in his stomach again. But Time only kept cleaning, and Malon carried Hyrule back to his room, sitting down on the bed with him as she brushed sweaty hair from his forehead.

“You don’t feel too warm... does your stomach still hurt?” Malon asked softly so as not to wake anyone else in the room, and Hyrule gave a little nod. “Would you like to try some ginger ale? That seems to help your brothers when they’re nauseous.”

The mere idea of drinking anything only made his stomach hurt more, and Hyrule quickly shook his head.

“Okay. Maybe we can try some in the morning,” Malon said, and silence fell over them, Hyrule still letting out an occasional soft sniffle.

He still didn’t know what to think about all this, and was too exhausted to puzzle through it anymore. He was completely sure that Malon had been disgusted by his throw up, but she’d still cleaned it off of him. He’d interrupted Time’s sleep while he was especially busy with work, but he’d still rubbed his back while he was being sick and was cleaning up his mess.

He didn’t understand. He just didn’t understand.

Malon covered up a small yawn, still running a hand over his head, and looked down when Hyrule sniffled again.

“You don’t have to hide when you’re sick, Hyrule,” Malon began quietly, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to look at her. “I know it’s hard to tell us when something is wrong. But we want to help you, and we can’t do that if we don’t know that there’s a problem.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Malon sighed again.

“And you don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. We’re all still figuring this out. And you can’t help being sick, it’s just one of those things,” she said gently. “You feel okay enough to go back to sleep? You look like you could use it.”

Hyrule gave a tiny shrug. He didn’t know. His stomach still hurt a lot, and even though he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up again right now, his throat and head both hurt, and he felt dizzy when he moved too fast. He didn’t know if sleep was going to happen.

Time walked in while he was thinking, and Hyrule looked up, blinking at the pail he was holding.

“Here we go. If you feel like you can’t make it to the bathroom, you can throw up in here,” Time explained, setting the bucket by the bed. “Then you don’t have to worry about making a run for it.”

“Is there anything else you need?” Malon asked.

Both of them looked at him, expressions worried, and Hyrule felt his eyes sting again, lip trembling.

The last time he’d been sick like this, he’d had a bucket thrown at him and been told to keep the noise to a minimum, then been essentially left alone for a week. It had been all he could do just to drag himself to the bathroom when he needed it, to say less of the day his healing had been needed in the middle of everything.

But this time... it had just...

Hyrule buried his face in Malon’s shoulder, his tears back again for a different reason, and she made a worried noise, holding him tighter.

“I-I’m— I don’t n-need anything,” Hyrule managed to hiccup out through his sobs, voice muffled by Malon’s shirt. “I— thanks.”

His voice broke into an embarrassing squeak, and he rubbed at his eyes, still puffy from his earlier tears. He just couldn’t stop crying tonight.

He hated being sick. He hated it so much.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Try to calm down a little,” Malon soothed, and Time sat down next to her, setting a hand on Hyrule’s back again. “Take some deep breaths. It’s okay.”

Malon began to hum the song Hyrule had heard her sing around the house before, one that he really liked. Time stayed quiet, but he didn’t move his hand from Hyrule’s back, and it felt warm where it rested near his shoulder. They both felt warm and safe, safe like wisps of memory Hyrule could barely recall, safe like the night they told him they loved him, and wanted him to stay.

Safe like being told he was family.

Hyrule shakily breathed in, then out, relaxing into their hold. His tears began to slow, then stop, leaving him even more exhausted than before, even with the tiredness from being sick. A blanket got set over him at some point, and his eyes drifted closed, the terrified feelings he’d been trying to overcome all day finally easing.

His stomach still hurt, he still felt sick, but it was less extreme, and he felt... better. In more than one way.

Hyrule finally relaxed, safe in the arms around him, and drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge he would be taken care of when he woke back up.

[consistencynevermether]

Role Reversal (Ais x gn! reader) (touchstarved)

content: gn reader, cannon typical swearing and violence, sfw, 1.5k words

A/N: ok here me out. When Ais caught Mc from falling into the sea spring in the demo? What if we returned the favor 👀. Also, me posting twice in one day??? never happened before. anyways i wanted to try writing ais with this little idea thats been in my mind for a while. hope yall enjoy!

You could feel sweat drip down your chin as your chest heaved. When Ais said he would train you to fight against the best, you had no idea just how hard he was going to beat you to a pulp. 

The worst part? He hadn’t even broken a sweat in the 2 hours you had been training. Probably because you hadn’t managed to land a single. Damn. Hit.

You weren’t incompetent. You knew how to fight. But god damn fighting against a monster was a completely different ballgame. 

Even if you did manage to get a hit in, you're not sure how much damage it would do. Needless to say, you felt completely outclassed.

“Break time.” Ais deadpanned, looking at your tired form.

“Wait,” you managed to gasp out. “Just one more round.” 

Ais simply shrugged and raised his fists in a fighting stance. At least he had the decency to take you seriously when training.

Well sometimes. Mainly he was a smartass about everything

You steadied yourself and charged, intent on trying to sneak through his blind spot and landing a hit that way.

The next thing you knew, you were looking up at the ceiling of the seaspring. Damnit. 

Ais let out a light chuckle and gracefully sat down next to your sprawled out form. 

“Good attempt sparrow.” He smiled.

“Don’t lie.” You huffed, flipping him off as you sat upright.

“I’m not. You’ve improved. Slightly.”

You turned your head to see a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Bastard. 

You gratefully took the waterskin Ais handed to you. In all honesty, you enjoyed training with Ais. It was a nice escape from the crowded streets of Eridia and the noise of the wick. Not to mention you enjoyed your time with Ais. a part of you loved to compete with him, no matter how many times you lost. He was just so insufferable about every win without saying a single word, it made you crave victory all the more. 

Though today didn't seem to be the day you would accomplish your win. You knew you were improving because of Ais’s training sessions, but you were still not a match for him. That worried you, in the back of your mind. Just how outclassed you were in this strange new city where danger thrived. 

You didn't dwell on these thoughts for long though, because you had your own personal emotional support soulless, princess. 

The second you and Ais had stopped sparring, she had hopped over to rest on your legs, looking up at you desperately wanting some pets, which you gladly gave. 

You caught Ais looking at you and princess from the corner of your eye.

“What? Jealous she likes me best?” you teased.

Ais raised one eyebrow and let out a low whistle, and princess left your lap to stand beside Ais, awaiting orders. 

“Hey! That's not fair.” you exclaimed.

“Seems like I'm still her favorite. Sorry sparrow.” he smirked.

“Well-” you began as you tried to get princesses attention, “she'll always be my favorite and one day she’ll love me most. It's my great plan, you see. The real reason I come out here and spend time with you is all for the love of princess.” you joked.

Ais gave princess a look and stood up, offering you a hand as well. You took it and Ais pulled you to your feet. 

“One more round?” you asked. 

Admittedly it was probably a better idea to leave now, before the sun set. You knew you were safe in Ais’s territory, but you needed to head home eventually. The last thing you wanted was a repeat of your first night in Eridia. Especially since you knew Mhin wouldn't be there to save your ass this time around. 

You were just about to voice this course of action when Ais tossed a bag of some sort of dried meat at you. 

“For princess.” he said, then began putting his outer Kimono back on. Looks like you were done training.

You looked down by his feet and saw princess’s tail was wagging at a rapid speed, desperately waiting for you to dispense a treat. 

You took a piece of dried meat and tossed it up in the air, and princess snapped it up before it even began to fall. She looked back up at you, begging for just one more. 

You heard something that might be a laugh from Ais as he leaned against one of the pillars by the edge of the waters of the seaspring. He seemed to be sipping tea (or potentially alcohol) while watching you throw pieces of meat for princess that she would snap up and then run back to beg for just one more. 

What happened next, was a little bit of everyone's fault. 

You had thrown a treat up in the air just a little too close to Ais. 

Not a big deal usually right? While unfortunately the universe decided to align perfectly with this one thoughtless toss. Ais hadn't been paying attention, taking exactly this moment to take a deep drink out of his cup. And princess, ecstatic to get a little treat, launched herself at full force towards the meat.

This culminated in a split second where you saw Ais’s balance falter as he was pushed into the seaspring by princess. In the months you had gotten to know him, you had never seen a shocked look on Ais’s face, until just now.

To be clear, Ais was never in any danger. Taking a dip wouldnt have an effect on him the same way it would have on you. And if he wanted too, he could probably catch himself before he fell in. That's probably what would have happened. 

But for the first time in your stay here, you reacted faster than Ais. Within half a second you were by his side, and without even thinking you had reached down, wrapped your arm around his waist, and were now holding him over the seaspring. 

For a good 15 seconds neither of you moved, both stunned to silence by your actions.

Quite a role reversal from your first meeting with him. 

Then you realized what was happening. For the first time ever, you had the upper hand. 

Ais watched as realization dawned on your face, followed by the most shit-eating, condescending, sleazy smile your face could possibly make. 

He couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter as he wrapped his arms around your neck and smirked up at you. 

You then realized he was still dangling over the seaspring, only the edge of one of his boots still on the platform, and you quickly pulled him up. 

“Thanks.” he smiled.

“I win.” You returned his smile.

“Is that right?” Ais began to remove his Kimono again. “Let's do one more round.”

One more round turned into about seven, just so Ais could ensure your singular win was long forgotten. 

Though, with every loss, you were staying up longer. You weren't any closer to beating him, but you could stay in the fight longer. You were starting to be able to predict his moves and actually dodge some of them.

Which of course meant you now had more time to fuck with him. 

Hey, if you weren't going to win, might as well make it fun. 

On one of the rounds you dodged right and rolled behind him, standing up, you brushed his hair to the side and blew on his neck, causing him to shiver. You cackled as he caught you before you could retreat once again. 

“Someones full of mischief today.” Ais stated, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you in place. 

“Someone can't stop losing to me.” you singsonged, just to be annoying. 

Ais huffed before finally releasing you, clearly amused. 

“You'll sleep here tonight, it's too dark out.” he declared.

“Do I at least get a blanket?” you questioned, still riding the high of the day. 

“Annoying tricksters don't get blankets.”

“So I’ll get a blanket then, right?”

Ais did not respond, he simply tossed a blanket over his shoulder which you caught with ease. 

“Goodnight princess” you cooed. 

“Night Ais.” you said as you waved him off while he walked into his room, princess by his side.

“Goodnight sparrow.” he responded before heading off to bed himself. 

Maybe tomorrow the two of you would spar more. But for now you settled into the small guest room Ais had made up for you when it was evident you were determined to learn more about the seaspring a few months ago. 

If you had stayed awake a little longer, you might have noticed a pair of red eyes lingering at your door, waiting to ensure you were able to sleep. Never intruding on your space, but instead simply watching over you.

[slimepuparibaba]

What do you think about the set-up for Skyhaven? Physically, because I'm having trouble putting it together.

It's a floating island on top of Linkon City. We know this, but how do you get in and off of it?

Everything I've read on the cards talks about trains, but what if there's an emergency? Do they move in their little flying cars? I haven't seen like a highway connecting the two. If it existed, it'd kill the aesthetic and remoteness of Skyhaven, and honestly, I think Linkon is a little behind in terms of technology to allow a jet to just park wherever.

What if Caleb needs to get to MC fast?

The only thing I've got at the moment is him straight up jumping off Skyhaven with his evol. Of course, the overprotective yearning jock would probably do it, but it seems like a reach. There must be a better way.

What do you think? 👀

Wait, this is actually so interesting. Thank you so much for the question, lemme cook for a second--

Okay, so here's my current understanding of Skyhaven as of current:

Skyhaven is a floating island above Linkon. Best way to get there is via skyrail / train. An example of a skytrain exists in the graphic of Lucid Dreams, Caleb's Myth, as that seems to be a skytrain to a Skyhaven Amusement Park. There is also good chance that an airport for Skyhaven also exists if someone doesn't want to take the train, since... you know, Skyhaven in the sky. Doesn't seem like there's any flying cars that exist in the 2048, which is interesting. Haven't heard a lick of a mention of a flying car, and Caleb also drives a lambo that doesn't fly so.

I would imagine if there was an emergency in Skyhaven, the Farspace Fleet has evacuation vehicles. Since they're such a big faction in Skyhaven, they will have the technology to create ships or other kinds of jets, planes, etc that allow for safety evacuation. But from what it sounds, majority of the time, Skyhaven only needs to be under lock down (no one can leave Skyhaven, there may be curfew, etc) and them Fleet will take care of things. Also it is very likely (and by likely I mean pretty obvious) the Fleet has backing from Ever so they will absolutely have the means necessary to take care of emergencies. If anything, the emergencies are likely just orchestrated emergencies. But that's just me--

What IS interesting is that Caleb's "house" isn't actually a house, but said to be more than just a house. Place is a gigantic island that's floating around, it's huge, it's gigantic. Also man has a personal landing dock for his jet. Which is insane by the way.

With this in mind, this is what me and my sister think would happen if there was an emergency Caleb and he had to immediately get to you. We got three possibilities.

Man is actively breaking the fucking sound barrier with his private jet to get to you. He's the Farspace Fleet Captain, he's flying to you almost immediately. While Linkon may be slightly behind in terms of technology, there will probably still be landing pads, ESPECIALLY considering the Farspace Fleet seems to be a pretty influential faction that even the World Evol Government has to abide to, and Wanderers are such a common occurence that I wouldn't put it past them to have multiple landing strips somewhere. He will find somewhere to land, hell he'd land in the fucking forest and bolt to you fast as possible. Doesn't matter. If he has to kill someone to get to you, he will. He's above the law in that moment.

The chance of Caleb being ten steps ahead of you is also very likely. Him being Colonel allows him more chances for him to keep an eye on you, to watch your every move. What's more, he doesn't seem above being extremely over protective of you. Man is very perceptive. He would very likely lock you up before the problem even happens. But assuming that the problem was sudden and not even he could catch wind of it, if anyone gets in his way, he will kill them and rush to your side as fast as possible. When you're hurt, he has extreme tunnel vision.

And now, crack theory territory: Caleb will somehow be able to use the Spatium Core to his advantage. That specific Aether Core is held together via gravitational pull, and can manipulate space freely. The Main Story does show how this Aether Core can come into play, and there is a good chance Caleb will be able to properly figure out how to wield it and manipulate it. The moment MC is in danger in the future, I wouldn't be surprised if we find out a Spatium Core is with him and he starts to use its power.

And I'm just saying, Caleb can do a lot with his Evol. If he's somehow able to manipulate it HIMSELF to teleport to her, I also would not be surprised. Do I know how gravity works? No. But man can make blackholes, stop the rain from moving... damn it all if I can't see it happening where by some miracle happens and he can make fucking PORTALS using gravity and spacetime.

[naomijoestar]

I see requests are open 🙏 and first of all, omfg I absolutely loved your response to my nonchalant reader confessing to Bucci gang+Trish 😭❤️ tho it left me wondering what if 👀👀 nonchalant reader is not taken seriously, so they double down with their confession by doing the exact opposite of sth casual because now they do something more elaborated, extravagant or/and even obnoxious (like fancy dinner, a big boquet of flowers, heartshaped chocolates or maybe even balloons) to make their point clear and sure to get across this time. Like !!! I meant it, I am in love with you!! but this time doing the grand gestures gets Nonchalant Reader flustered when repeating outloud that they love them

Masterlist here <3

I love this so much!!! I seriously had so much fun writing this and I hope you enjoy <3

Og post of the confession here <3

Bruno Bucciarati

The first confession over breakfast had left Bruno intrigued, but you could tell he thought you were joking. So now, you’re sitting across from him at a ridiculously fancy restaurant with chandeliers, classical music, and a waiter in a tux pouring sparkling water into crystal glasses

Bruno, ever composed, places his napkin neatly in his lap, a polite smile on his lips. “This is… unexpected,” he says smoothly. “Special occasion?”

You fidget with the edge of your menu, trying to maintain your nonchalant facade despite your flushed cheeks. “Yeah. I, uh… wanted to clarify something.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Oh?”

The words catch in your throat, but you force them out anyway. “I meant what I said. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

Bruno leans forward slightly, eyes softening, but your nerves hit like a freight train. “Like, actually,” you blurt, voice a bit too loud. “Not some breakfast joke. I got a whole table reservation and—”

The waiter appears, placing an elaborate bouquet of roses between you. You stare at it in mortification

Bruno hides a smile behind his hand. “I’m beginning to see that.”

“I panicked!” you hiss

Bruno’s laugh is warm, genuine. “You’re charming when you panic, did you know that?”

Narancia Ghirga

The first confession during video games had left Narancia completely flustered, but clearly, he thought you were messing with him. Time to up the ante

So now, you’re standing outside his window with a boombox blaring cheesy love songs, dressed way too nicely for no reason

Narancia sticks his head out the window, eyes wide. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

“I LOVE YOU!” you yell over the music, face burning but fully committed. “LIKE, FOR REAL!”

The neighbors are already peeking through their windows, and you’re regretting every second of this decision

Narancia bursts out laughing, leaning on the windowsill. “Wait, you’re serious?! Oh my god, you’re insane!”

“I KNOW!” you yell back, hands shaking as you fumble with the boombox to turn it off. “But I meant it!”

He grins so wide it makes your embarrassment almost worth it. “You didn’t have to do all this, dummy. I already like you too.”

You freeze. “…Oh?”

“Yeah! But this was awesome.”

Guido Mista

The kitchen confession had gone over way too casually. So now, you’ve decided to go full drama mode—heart-shaped chocolates, flowers, and a cheesy handwritten card are all set on the table

Mista walks in, blinks at the sight, then bursts out laughing. “What’s all this? Valentine’s Day come early?”

You groan, already regretting this. “I’m trying to be serious here, Mista.”

He grins, picking up the card. “Aw, you even wrote me a love letter?” He reads it aloud with way too much enthusiasm

You slap a hand over your face, cheeks burning. “Okay, okay, stop.”

Mista cackles, setting the card down. “You’re so flustered, it’s kinda cute.”

You glare at him. “I’m in love with you, idiot.”

His teasing expression falters for just a second before softening. “Yeah, I know,” he says, smiling warmly now. “I just wanted to see you get all worked up first.”

Fugo Pannacotta

Fugo’s intense logical nature means your first confession barely registered. So now, you’re standing in front of him holding a massive bouquet of flowers, wearing an outfit that makes you feel like an awkward rom-com protagonist

He blinks at you, visibly confused. “What is this?”

“I’m clarifying my previous statement,” you say stiffly, shoving the bouquet toward him

He cautiously takes it, looking between you and the flowers like you’ve just handed him a bomb. “Why?”

“Because,” you mutter, shifting on your feet, “you didn’t believe me. I meant it, Fugo. I’m in love with you.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you force the words out. Fugo’s expression shifts from confusion to realization, and his ears turn bright red

“You didn’t need to do all this,” he mutters, looking away

“Well, you weren’t getting it,” you snap, embarrassed

He glances back at you, a rare, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I get it now.”

Giorno Giovanna

The garden confession had been brushed off too smoothly, so now you’ve set up a full candlelit dinner. Roses, soft music, and a carefully plated meal—the works

Giorno enters, visibly surprised but composed as ever. “This is… elaborate.”

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, pulling out a chair for him. “Needed to make a point.”

He sits gracefully, watching you with amusement. “And that point is?”

You sit across from him, heart racing. “I love you,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “Like, really love you. Not just some random garden comment.”

His eyes soften, and a small smile graces his lips. “You’ve certainly made your feelings clear.”

“Good,” you mutter, poking at your food

He reaches across the table, taking your hand gently. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I was never confused—just waiting for you to realize how much this means to you.”

Leone Abbacchio

After your nonchalant confession was brushed off, you decided to go all out. Now, you’re standing awkwardly in front of Abbacchio with a gift bag and a bottle of expensive wine

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A… grand gesture,” you say, voice cracking slightly

He crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You feeling okay?”

“No,” you grumble. “This is stupid. I don’t know why I—whatever, here.” You shove the gift bag toward him

He takes it reluctantly, pulling out a small, heart-shaped card. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Seriously?”

“I love you,” you blurt out, feeling like you might actually combust. “Happy now?”

He stares at you for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. “You really went all out, huh?”

“I panicked,” you admit miserably

“Well,” he says, smirking, “I guess I’m flattered.”

Trish Una

After your casual confession, Trish had brushed it off with disbelief. So now, you’re standing outside her dressing room with balloons, chocolates, and a handwritten love letter

She opens the door, takes one look at you, and blinks. “What is this?”

“I’m making a point,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “I meant it. I’m in love with you.”

Trish raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You’re blushing.”

“I know,” you groan. “This is embarrassing, okay?”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So you really love me, huh?”

“Yes!” you snap. “God, don’t make me say it again.”

Trish laughs, stepping closer. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect this. But I guess it’s kind of cute.”

“Great. Glad you’re entertained.”

She grins. “I’ll take the chocolates, though. And maybe we can talk about this over dinner—my treat.”

If you’d like any tweaks let me know! I hope you enjoyed this cz I found it so cute <3

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

[haredjarris]

I am getting absolutely entirely too carried away by my own problematic pairing fic that I will not share anywhere. Like I made myself sad with my imaginary nonsense. So sorry to the like 3 people I have dared to inflict this misery on.

[willowser]

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skull, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

[timelessbian]

the way that so much love and passion went into literally every detail of this show i genuinely need a sec,, i love the art of storytelling!!!

[coldshrugs]

hi Azia! since I'll probably never play FFXIV but want to gobble up everything you've ever written or will write for Io and Estinien, I was wondering if you could kind of summarize or describe the context for their relationship in the canon universe. what do I need to understand about their history in order to better appreciate the way they fit? how do they meet and what brings them together? are there some universal truths for each WoL that heavily contribute to who Io is (kind of like how Hawke in DA2 loses half their family, or every Shepard in Mass Effect is deadish for two years)?

no pressure to answer if you don't have the time/energy or just plain don't want to! ok thanks love you bye 💙

🧍

Hi Ells. I am so sorry....

Understanding Estinio

General World Lore: The story of XIV begins five years after a Calamity (an event of large-scale devastation that leaves the land and people struggling to recover). This is the seventh Calamity over a period of 13,000 years. Other notable world happenings are:

the Dragonsong War: a war between man and dragon that has raged in and around Ishgard for one thousand years

the more recent advancement of the Garlean Empire: Garlemald is a technologically advanced nation seeking to "unite" the world under its rule

Warrior of Light Things: The player character is almost a completely blank slate. Their appearance and combat proclivities are entirely up to the player! Their backstory is not really mentioned, and the only thing we know about them from the start is that they're an Adventurer, which in this setting is someone who wanders here and there, helping with whatever odd jobs they can in hopes of earning a living and maybe some local fame too. A little network of unionized Hometown Heroes. But some things hold true for most WoLs (headcanons notwithstanding):

They have a gift called The Echo. A few other characters have the gift, but it can manifest differently from person to person. The WoL's Echo allows them to visit scenes from the past, sometimes through the eyes of another and sometimes as a kind of bodiless spectator, usually triggered by high emotion from a person or place. It also has a few other functions.

They join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization that's a bit of an open secret, determined to stop Primal summoning (Primals are replications of gods, the will of a people made manifest, and they are powerful and destructive. If most people venture too close, they become enthralled). Recruited for their prowess in combat (or healing, maybe, if you're not Io) and apparent inability to be tempered by Primals, they, of course, become the team's most powerful asset.

Io Laithe is my WoL, a viera born in the Garlean-occupied region of Dalmasca. When she was 19/20, her home village suffered a violent raid, and her family was lost. She managed to escape and flee far to the west. At the beginning, she's around 29 and an accomplished archer, among other things. Io endures more loss over her story, friends and lovers, and she blames herself over and over. She struggles to lay down her grief and represses her anger for so long that she almost loses herself to it at one point, but she claws her way back with the help of her friends. She's soft-spoken, and reserved, but is also deeply kind and surprisingly funny. (This paragraph is short but I feel like I talk about her so much lmao. Trying not to gush too hard)

Estinien Varlineau was born to a family of sheepherders, in a small farming community outside Ishgard. When he was 12, his village was razed to the ground in a dragon attack. He found the charred remains of his parents outside his home (his dad had tried to shield his mom from the dragon fire). His younger brother was inside, trapped under a collapsed beam but already gone. He was the only survivor, and was taken in by a man named Alberic who held the title of Azure Dragoon (the most powerful lance-wielder in the land, but I'll spare you the specifics. There's dragon-y magic and a literal dragon eye that gives them powers. This was supposed to be quick omfg). Estinien swore to avenge the deaths of his family and trained with Alberic, eventually becoming the next Azure Dragoon. Eventually, he gets his vengeance, but the cost is so much more than he expects. At the end of it, he is begging for his own death, but his friends (the WoL included) refuse to let him go out like that and save him. He's since been on a journey of self-discovery; who is he without the drive to avenge those he lost, without his duty or his post? In personality, Estinien is blunt and abrasive, he cannot read a room (but he would like to leave it). He has a sharp sense of humor and often teases his few friends, he's extremely sentimental, he's very protective of the people he cares for, and can't stop himself from helping a kid in need.

Relationship Summary

They overlook each other at first. Io finds Estinien too harsh and rude. He thinks (since she is seeing Haurchefant at the time, who is... affiliated with a noble house of Ishgard) that Io is another pretty girl grabbing at coattails--surely not the "great warrior" he's heard about. And it takes a journey into dragon country for them to warm up to each other, when he learns she can easily hold her own, and she sees how protective and kind he can be to their traveling companions. They become friends and it's easier than either of them expected. They don't talk about their loss with each other though, not for a long time. Both hear the other's story from someone else, and it endears them to each other, an unspoken, invisible bond in addition to what they've already faced together. Just as Io saved him at the end of the Dragonsong War, Estinien saves her when she faces off against the might of Garlemald and almost dies. It's a long time before she gets to thank him for that, but when she does, it's around the time he agrees to join the Scions too. They spend more time together, and they become almost inseparable. And as the world hangs on the brink of what seems to be another Calamity, they quietly fall in love and almost lose each other again. Neither confesses to the other until things have settled down. But once the confessions are out of the way, they easily fall into warm domesticity. They spend the better part of a year mostly in one place, living together, working together, making the smaller trips they need to but always returning to a home base. Now, there's the itch to travel again. They just pulled a stint of traveling separately but ended up in the same place. He very much wants to continue roaming, and Io does too, but part of her is starting to think about a family. I haven't decided when or if they talk about this lmao. They love each other so much, but both have a strong streak of wanderlust, and both are legendary heroes who belong to the world as much as they belong to each other.

Why they compel me:

I don't know if you guys know this about me but I love to think about grief :> It's the shared trauma, the love transformed into anger, and how new bonds can heal someone. I did not plan for Io's backstory to be so similar to Estinien's, and even before I shipped them, their friendship was a highlight for me. I love that they do most of their recovery on their own. I love that they always come back to each other. Big fan of people who might not appear outwardly soft all the time, but are just SO mushy for their partner.

They are both symbols of hope for their people, for better or worse. They understand that about each other, what it's like to have some of your personhood stripped away so you can embody an ideal.

Estinien is impulsive and straightforward, Io is cautious and thoughtful. He pushes her, and she grounds him. They both relish the peace the company of the other brings, and they are more certain of the other's ability and resolve than they are of themselves. They are best friends, they are family, and they admire each other.

Some key reads, chronologically:

close quarters | oh no, she's hot…

oblivious | a mutual friend notices io and estinien seem… different.

what i see in you, i hope you find in me | io realizes she is not in love with zenos

pang | estinien has his own realization

see you in the morning | the night before they depart towards unknown danger, estinien tries to soothe a worried io

in this state | io is unconscious, estinien keeps watch

mustering | estinien tells io about his brother, the first time he's talked about him in decades

take another step off the edge | FIRST KISS!!!!

And then their tag is filled with gposes I've made, art I've commissioned, writing prompt fills, fics from the two AUs I've written for them, and tons of quotes or poems that fit their vibe. I'd share a playlist but I don't have a playlist... there are five now T^T BYE!! 💗

[deus-ex-mona]

regardless of honeypre’s canonicity, i love how the fact that lxl have canonically gone on a(t least one) honeymoon is absolutely undeniable

[allmyandroids]

Raymond Reddington

In Season 4 Episode 2 - Mato

[sharpsuite]

It's kinda funny how nervous i feel just sending unprompted things without an inbox call. Because like, I'm ALWAYS delighted when I see a spontaneous ask in my inbox, I don't know anyone who isn't thrilled to get unprompted asks when muses just feel like bugging others. I'm going to work more on that this year. Although, of course, I'll still post inbox calls too & if it's ever too much do feel free to let me know. In the same vein, please know you're always, always welcomed to send unprompted things or 1000000 memes.