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javierpena-inatacvest · 9 months ago

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Sunday Naps

Summary: It's Sunday, which means it's time for your favorite weekend activity- an afternoon nap with Frankie. But when Frankie finds himself awake before you with an interesting problem, he knows just the way to wake you up, too.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 2.6K (The self restraint on this was UNREAL)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), VERY CONSENSUAL Somnophilia, oral sex (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, this is porn with no plot, reader has no physical descriptions (but pls let me know if I missed any!!)Frankie being a menace but also literally the sweetest man alive, Frankie's a Tampa Bay Buc's fan (idk, if he lives in Florida, this makes the most sense to me, I will not elaborate), napping during football bc me too, girl

A/N: This is my first time writing somno so pls be nice, I am NERVY😭 I hope y'all enjoy, Frankie Morales is forever making me swoon, and I just know in my heart that this man absolutely loves to nap and is the world's biggest snuggler 🥺💕 not beta'd bc that's just how I roll

Before you had met Frankie, Sunday was arguably the worst of the weekend days- looming stress of the work week ahead, mettled with to-do’s and other chores before Monday got the best of you. There were very few times that you had found yourself anxiously awaiting a Sunday, but since Frankie? Sundays had easily become one of your favorite days of the week.

Slow and easy going mornings where Frankie brought you coffee as the sun rose before tangling your bodies between the sheets in a mess of soft and unrushed sex, followed by cuddling and leisurely making your way out of bed for breakfast, awaiting a relaxing day ahead of you.

Now that it was fall, it also meant football season, and while you didn’t really care either way about the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, you enjoyed any time that you got to spend cuddled up next to Frankie on the couch, considering more often than not, it normally resulted in the two of you fucking during half-time, followed by you promptly napping wrapped in Frankie’s arms for the better part of the 2nd half.

This Sunday was no different, you and Frankie had found yourself happily snuggled on your couch under your favorite fluffy blanket, Buccaneers game on in the background, Frankie’s arm draped around you as you leaned against his chest, soaking in the familiar warmth and scent of him radiating from the worn cotton of his t-shirt as you felt your eyelids slowly begin to droop heavier and heavier. With the way Frankie had been mindlessly rubbing soft, gentle circles against your back, his thumb dancing in swirling patterns across your skin, it wasn’t long before the comfort of being held in Frankie’s arms had completely washed over you, and you had found yourself fast asleep well before the start of the second quarter.

What you hadn’t realized, was that Frankie had fallen asleep not long after you, the weight of your body pressed against his, along with the long week he’d had from work and the symphony of melodic snores now roaring from your parted lips and knocked him out almost equally as fast, leaving the two of you in a blissfully happy pile of nap on another lazy Sunday afternoon.

That was, until, Frankie found himself wide awake well before you with a very curious problem.

He was hard as a fucking rock.

Some way or another in your sleepy, napping state, the both of you had rolled over on your sides, Frankie now spooning you with his arm draped over your middle and your ass pressed firmly against his crotch, quickly solving the mystery to the hardon straining at the fabric of his sweatpants.

But if just your ass nestled against your dick wasn’t enough, Frankie looked over to see that you were definitely also dreaming, and the type of dream you were having wasn’t hard to decipher based on the way you were quietly moaning in your sleep and subtly grinding your hips into Frankie’s lap.

“Mmmmmmm… Frankie…..” You quietly whimpered, your voice groggy with sleep as you stirred in Frankie’s arms, now finding himself almost unbearably hard at the sight that he’d awoken to, especially now knowing that the dream you were having was definitely about him. Frankie let out a deep, shaky exhale, now more awake than ever as you continued to gently squirmed your bottom half against him, biting down at his bottom lip as you moaned again.

“Frankie… Oh fuck…..”

“Fuck…” Frankie whispered, now raging an internal war in his head as he debated what to do next, knowing you were clearly turned on by whatever was happening in your slumber, his cock aching with each second that passed with you spooned against him.

Should he just try to get up and jerk off before you woke up? Wake you up and then ask if you wanted to fuck? Or maybe… Maybe, he’d wake you up a different way.

Although he hadn’t done it often, you had made it abundantly clear to Frankie that it had been more than okay to wake you up to sex, and every time he had, you’d absolutely loved it. Frankie had been hesitant at first, never wanting to do anything without your consent, or do anything that would ever make you feel even remotely uncomfortable, but after you had insisted and he had worked up the courage, he knew he had the green light from that point on- And given the state that you were in right now, Frankie was about to make good on your outstanding offer.

Carefully shifting his body out from behind you, Frankie let you gently fall so your back was resting against the couch, caging his broad body over yours as he worked his way down to the waistband of your pants, gently sliding them off your hips before tugging at your underwear and leaving your bottom half bare for him.

Frankie sat back on his knees, in shock and awe of the glistening, wet mess your pussy had already become in your sleep just dreaming of him, arousal coating your folds and inside of your thighs as you lazily shifted in your sleep, your legs seeming to instinctually fall open, just for him.

“Fuck me, baby girl…” He whispered to himself under his breath, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he audibly gulped, his eyes going wide as he locked on to your cunt, already dripping and aching for him. Settling down to lay on his stomach, he carefully lifted up your legs to rest over his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your hips while he settled himself face to face with your heat.

With one long, flat press of his tongue, Frankie dragged himself across your clit, savoring the sweet tang of the juices that had been dripping from your hole, lapping them up with one more lengthy lick, before pulling his mouth away just enough to see how you’d react to the new presence between your legs.

As if Frankie wasn’t already turned on enough, your reaction was clearly aiding his cause.

After just one lick of his tongue through your folds, you were already incredibly responsive, your hips instinctively jerking towards his face as a breathy whine escaped from your lips, as if you were already begging for more without having to say a word. A slight smirk began to spread across Frankie’s face as he dove back in again, this time, working himself along your cunt in easy, languid strokes, feeling your body begin to twitch even more with the way he was working his mouth.

“Mmmmmmm…. Yeah…..” You muttered, still sleeping as you kept bucking your bottom half against his face, only encouraging Frankie to give you more with his tongue, beginning to change his pattern to swirl deliberate, steady circles around your clit, putting more and more pressure into each movement.

“Frankie….”

“That’s it, sweet girl…” Frankie hummed, his words rumbling in his chest as his hot breath danced against your core, continuing to coax you out of your slumber, working through your folds and at your sensitive bud with intensifying pace.

It wasn’t long until Frankie’s careful and meticulous work slowly began to turn more sloppy and desperate, feeling the wet mess you were becoming under his tongue driving him insane, wanting, no needing, to make you cum, to wake you up with pleasure flowing through your veins, turning your sleepy mumbles into cries of his name over and over again.

Letting one arm untangle around your leg, he brought the hand to your pussy, gently slipping one finger into your aching core, sucking him in with your warm, wet walls, only giving it a few pumps before realizing you could easily take a second, slipping it in to meet the first and curling the pair to brush against the soft and spongy spot inside you he knew drove you absolutely mad. Almost instantly, he could feel your cunt beginning to clench in response, your tell tale sign that you were getting closer and closer to reaching your high and completely coming undone around him.

“C’mon, querida, I’ve got you, baby.”

Suddenly, your eyes shot open, your heart racing as you felt a familiar feeling building in your belly, the coil inside you already wound so tightly as you let out a ragged moan, lifting your head up to see Frankie nestled between your legs, drinking you up like a man starved.

“Oh fuck, Frankie, fuck- baby, fuck, don’t stop” You whimpered, shooting your hand down to burry it in the messy, dark curls of his hair, tugging at his locks for any sort of relief as you had awoken to the savory sensation shooting down your spine and through your core from Frankie’s lips latched around your clit and fingers pulsing in and out of your cunt.

Frankie had barely any time to register that you were now awake, but as you grasped firmer at his hair and let out a ragged moan as you came, clenching around his fingers and gushing with your arousal, it had become very clear to Frankie that he had done his job, and done it well.

“There’s my good girl. Damelo (Give it to me), Hermosa, fucking soak my face.” Frankie smirked, pulling away to reveal the shiny slick covering his beard, still gently rocking his fingers in the warm, wet walls of your heat as you came down from your high, you chest heaving in low, shallow breaths, mouth hanging open as you let a moan of pure ecstasy fall from your lips.

“Frankie… Holy Fuck…”

“Good morning.” Frankie mewled, pulling his fingers out of your pussy, making you hiss at the loss as he laid himself on top of you, swallowing your whimpers in an electric kiss, the tangy taste of you still lingering on his lips as his tongue swiped across your mouth, silently begging for more. “Must have been some good dreams you were having, querida. You were so fucking wet for me, baby. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Frankie, please, I need you. Fuck- Fuck, I need you to fuck me, Frankie, please. Need you inside me.”

“Needy girl. I’ve got you, Hermosa. Don’t worry. Woke up so fucking hard for you, baby. Didn’t stand a fucking chance with that pretty ass all pressed up against me. Fuck, you’re so perfect.” Frankie sighed, reaching down to shuffle his sweatpants and boxers down off his hips, revealing his painfully hard cock, his tip red and weeping with precum, aching to be buried inside you from the moment he had woken up.

Wrapping his hand around his length, he stroked himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, the two of you letting out a heavy sigh of relief as Frankie pushed inside you, slowly filling you up inch by inch until his tip was kissing your cervix, taking a few moments to let you adjust to the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness.

His forehead dropped to rest against yours, the shimmering sheen of his sweat making his dark curls stick to him and brush against your skin, his broad palm cupping your cheek as he let your lips lock onto yours again for another tender kiss as he slowly began to thrust in and out of you, taking his sweet time with each stroke.

“Fuck, you’re so wet and tight, queirda.” Frankie grunted, gritting his teeth as his hips rutted into you, the weight of his body draped overtop of you sending your mind reeling, loving every second of being engulfed in his broadness. “What were you dreaming about, baby, hmm? What were you dreaming about that had you all worked up?”

Suddenly, Frankie’s arm was wrapping under your legs, pressing your knees to your chest to stretch you open even further, the new position making you breathless as he began to pound into you with more intensity, the room now filling with a mix of your moans and skin slapping against each other.

“I was dreaming- oh fuck- Fuck, I was dreaming about you, Frankie. Shit- dreaming about you fucking me like this, how good you make me feel.” You whined, Frankie’s grip in the soft flesh of your thighs growing tighter as you locked eyes with him, the dark, chocolate brown pooling with lust watching the wrecked mess you were quickly becoming as your cunt began to clench tighter, and the all too familiar tingle in your spine once again began to creep through your body.

Your response elicited a low hum in Frankie’s chest, rutting his hips into you with more intensity as he felt your pussy starting to flutter around his cock, freeing one of his hands to snake between your legs, the pads of his fingers putting just the right amount of pressure on your clit to have you screaming out his name as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to your second orgasm.

“Fuck me. That’s all I want baby, just wanna make you feel good. You gonna be a good girl and give me one more, Hermosa? Cum all over my cock before I fill you up?”

Frankie could feel his own high slowly approaching now too, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and frantic as he pounded against your g-spot and circled your clit, determined to make sure you came again before he did.

“Mmmmmhhhmmmm.” You whimpered, your brain barely even able to form a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence, given how your eyes were practically rolling in the back of your head as Frankie’s punishing pace split you open in the best way possible, your legs beginning to tremble while you could feel the knot tightening in your core quickly building up to the point of snapping. “Oh fuck, fuck, Frankie, fuckfuckfuckfuck I’m so close, fuck, I’m gonna-ahhhhhh.”

Before you could even finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed through you, euphoria flowing through your veins as you came, every inch of you filling with pleasure as your cunt clamped around Frankie’s length, soaking him in your arousal. Watching you cum was all Frankie needed to follow suit, gritting his teeth as a ragged groan rumbled deep in his chest, pumping a few more times into your heat before burying himself in your warm, wet walls, and milking himself of every last drop as he came, the mix of his spend and your slick leaking and coating the inside of your thighs

Letting his body collapse into yours, he draped himself on top of you, your chests rising and falling in sync with heavy, heaving breaths, the both of you trying your best to regain your composure before Frankie gently pulled himself out, making you hiss at the loss of his fullness as he flopped over next to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips as lay his arm across your stomach, pulling you into him.

“Jesus Christ, Frankie… That’s one way to wake up from a nap.” You giggled softly, raising your eyebrows at him, softly biting down on your lip.

“Was that okay?” Frankie asked, shifting his hand up to gently cup your face, stroking his thumb in lazy circles around your cheek, staring back at you with his sweet puppy dog gaze. “I know I’ve done it before but I just always wanna make sure you feel good and-”

You caught the rest of his sentence in your mouth, swallowing his words in another long, and tender kiss, pulling away from his plush lips to peck a tiny kiss on the tip of his nose, giggling once again.

“God, I love you. What did I ever do to deserve you, Fransisco Morales? Yes, baby it was more than okay. So okay that in fact,” You huffed, wrapping your arm around Frankie’s waist and letting your head fall to lay on his chest, “I think I need another nap.”

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @jaciejay13 @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @lola8888673 @persephone-girl @copperhalfcent @innerpersonunknown @messinadresss @devineconjuring @endlessthxxghts @cool-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @messinadress @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @ilovepedro @pascalscoffin @missladym1981 @ilovepedro @itsokbbygrl

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landhoe-norris · 21 days ago

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anyways, my favorite driver has grown so much this past year, and it’s honestly amazing to watch. from battling in midfield— and sometimes just plain terrible— cars for five seasons, he’s now broken through with his first win (and second and third), seven poles, and has established himself as a true championship contender. and this isn’t just any championship fight—it’s the closest one we’ve seen since 2021. lando’s gone from fighting for points to fighting for the title, and it’s clear he’s taken everything he’s learned over the years to get here (unlike some other drivers).

f1 isn’t just about raw talent and pure pace (although he has plenty of both). it’s about resilience, patience, and never losing your drive, even when the results aren’t there. there have been so many moments where he could have let setbacks get to him, but he didn’t. he’s kept his focus, his sense of humor, and has put in the work to get better every single season. that first win? it was a huge moment, not just because it was overdue, but because it represented years of fighting for every single point in every race.

this year has shown that lando’s got the skill, consistency, and maturity to hold his own in a title race. he’s proven he can learn and adapt, even under intense pressure, and now he’s rightfully being recognized as a real threat, at least by people who do not have blinders on or irrational hatred for him, and can actually admit his talents.

as a fan, seeing him grow—not only as a driver but as a team leader—has been such a privilege. this season feels like it’s just the beginning of an incredible new chapter for him, and i couldn’t be prouder to support him.

#f1 #lando norris

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aromacaque · 3 months ago

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Quick S5 Analysis and Theory

I AM GOING TO RAMBLE ANALYSIS BECAUSE THEY ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY

I cannot stop thinking about the way Wukong reacts to Macaque when he goes "oh no 'gee thanks for saving me macaque!...'" cause if this were before the S5E2, he would have snapped back at him, like he always does.

We know Macaque does this solely to rile Wukong up. It's how we're introduced to his character in S1E9 and he does it throughout the series. This is why he did it here too (or at least partially), BUT WUKONG DOESN'T TAKE THE BAIT THIS TIME.

While he's obviously still reeling from seeing the memory of their fight he was forced to watch,

you can still see that, for a split second, Wukong almost does snap back, but he instantly rethinks that and decides to be passive

Macaque, again, pokes at him trying to get a reaction, but this time Wukong doesn't even think about snapping back. He simply responds casually/lightly (before then realizing that MK is in danger)

This tells us possibly two really important things

Macaque sacrificing himself in S5E2 was a turning point for Wukong's perception of him. An increase in personal trust/faith/etc.

2. Seeing the memory of their fight made him rethink his behavior toward Macaque

For the rest of the season, they don't get a lot of moments because of, well, Everything, but we see Wukong is not only more willing to show concern for his wellbeing, but also seems to be more open/emotionally vulnerable in front of him than before (in little moments, anyway).

Granted that has been building up since S4E11, arguably before that but I'm not going to deep dive analyze season 3. He's being more communicative with Macaque in S5E1 about MK too. In other words, not completely shutting him out or pushing him away, which seems like their natural progression from S4E11 as well.

All of that being said, this brings me to The Scene. Which I am completely normal about because there's so much to unpack about it and I am so normal about that. Evidently.

First of all, they wanted to hold hands during their final moments. MK and Macaque are the two most important people in Wukong's life, I feel like that speaks for itself.

BUT it's Wukong who reaches out here.

This is Wukong's first major attempt to bridge the gap between them, at least in such a direct way. In my opinion, it's almost a wordless forgiveness on top of acknowledging how Macaque has changed and improved himself, as well as his reciprocation of that behavior. He wants to fix their relationship too, just as he has seen Macaque willing to do the same.

This moment being interrupted was actually a good thing. It's a good visual reminder that, despite them both wanting to reconcile, they aren't Quite there yet. There's still a lot left unsaid between these two, most importantly Macaque's death. (I'LL GET TO THAT. HOLD THAT IN YOUR BRAIN)

For macaque, this moment has another important meaning.

AND NOW I GET TO TALK ABOUT ONE OF MY FAVORITE WRITING TOOLS HELLO PARALLELS!!!!

In S2E7 we are introduced to this shot of Wukong on a pedestal over Macaque, turning his back on him and abandoning him. This is firmly established in that episode as one of the main reasons Macaque resents Wukong.

He is also portrayed as above him, subsequently nodding at Macaque feeling inferior to him.

In S4E11, we actually watch how this dynamic destroys their friendship. It is a MAJOR reason for their falling out. Macaque feels neglected, overlooked, ignored. Promises are broken and trust is lost. To him, Wukong is selfish, self-righteous, egotistical, uncaring, etc.

Obviously we as the audience are aware Macaque has a rather skewed perception of Wukong that seems to be influenced by his projection of his own insecurities, but that is a whole other analysis for a different time.

In S5E10, this shot is paralleled. Visually demonstrating that Wukong isn't forgetting about him this time. He looks for him. Macaque is being considered in a way he had previously believed was lacking in their friendship.

Not only that, but they are on level ground. Balanced and equal.

Macaque is reluctant to reach back out. His trust in Wukong is practically non-existent, has been for a while (understandably), so it's a little hard for him, but he reciprocates because, like Wukong, he's acknowledging that he has changed. He wants to try to fix this too.

TO RECAP!

They know they both want to fix things

They can see and have acknowledged changes in their behavior on both sides

Wukong seems to be less prone to arguing back, which will most likely make Macaque less likely to try and provoke him. All in all, they will be more civil with each other and most likely argue much less.

They are being held back by things left unsaid.

WHICH LEADS ME TOO...

WHERE DOES THIS LEAD THEM IN S6?

The obvious is they need to address Macaque's death. If they don't do it in this season it's bad writing and they are dragging it out for too long. It's the obvious natural progression here.

This is where they will have an actual, long overdue constructive conversation. It is literally singlehandedly the only thing preventing them from reconciling at this point.

Now, the problem, is how this would happen. Because we all know neither of them are going to randomly apologize out of nowhere. It's gonna take something to push them into that direction. And that should be how it happens otherwise it'd most likely feel forced in the script.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO A THEORY. A GAME THEO-

I'm not going to get into the nitty-gritty details of this particular theory, but just know that I am a firm believer in the "Macaque was consumed by his own powers and that's what killed him" theory. I do think Wukong played a substantial role in his death, enough for Macaque to reasonably believe Wukong killed him, but ultimately it was less Wukong directly killing him and more indirectly causing it and not saving him.

That being said, Wukong and Macaque's relationship is a major subplot in this show with a considerable amount of focus. They have been slowly building to their inevitable mending relationship since Macaque's first episode, which means that they're going to want to reach that climax in a pivotal emotional moment. Not a random conversation smacked into an episode.

And what is going to be plot-relevant next season??

MACAQUE'S CHAOS POWERS.

S5 built up to Macaque being an established member of the group

(Also the VO here being "change can be terrifying" is absolutely foreshadowing to some degree)

Now, there's also something else I need to address. Macaque has gone out of his way 3 separate times, 4 if you count the LBD fight, to save Wukong. On the other hand, Wukong obviously cares about Macaque, but ultimately hasn't had many opportunities or reasons to try to save him specifically.

With all of those details in mind, I think Wukong will need to take direct action by either saving him/protecting him/etc. because I think it would be a high-stakes moment that inevitably kickstarts an apology/conversation between them. Maybe it's something that reminds Wukong of their fight or that macaque can die (hence the chaos powers potentially harming Macaque in some manner or maybe a potential difficulty controlling them reminds Wukong of their fight, something along these lines).

Why this route?

Macaque has regained Wukong's trust. He basically says as much in S5E2. And while it's fairly obvious with Macaque's behavior and choices that he has learned from his past mistakes and is working on his faults, he definitely needs to acknowledge his wrongdoings. However, I think that would naturally happen during any conversation they may have (or the aftermath) regarding his death and their feelings.

That leaves Wukong because he made a promise to Macaque that they’d spend eternity together and that he would protect him and their home. A promise he broke multiple times and has not made up for yet. He needs to mend that and make it right to solidly regain Macaque's trust in order to reconcile.

#lego monkie kid #shadowpeach #sun wukong #macaque

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theotherpacman · 2 months ago

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got s1 is really a very faithful adaptation of agot, with only minor divergences. sometimes I really love the little details in the book that the show doesn't have room for, but sometimes I like the decisions the show made differently.

things I appreciate about the book:

the fact that jon is 14 makes his naivete regarding the wall hit so much harder. he's just a little boy and he's willing to sign his whole life away bc he believes he can be a part of something noble... neither his father nor his uncle nor anyone else tells him that to take the black is a grim sentence steeped in shame

ned hearing that bran's direwolf saved his life and being like "holy shit I killed one of them... what the fuck did I do"

sandor just whole ass traumadumping on 11-year-old sansa completely unprompted and then when he realizes he's just made himself vulnerable for literally no reason he goes "if you tell anyone about this I'll fucking kill you"

mormont thinks jon will be disappointed that bran is now a cripple but jon is so ecstatic bran's alive that he picks up tyrion lannister and spins him around (tyrion is startled by this) and then proceeds to cheerfully make friends with a guy who hates his guts bc jon kicked his absolute ass in training

tyrion and bronn starting to become friends on the way to the vale <3

THAT SINGER BITCH i love him

"whatever you may believe of me, lady stark, I promise you this -- I never bet against my family" screaming crying throwing up

jon going to maester aemon and convincing him to let sam take his vows!!!! using the metaphor of the maester's chain to make his point about how just bc sam is different that doesn't mean he's useless!!!!!!!

TYRION FIGHTING IN THE BATTLE AGAINST ROBB'S MEN!!!!! THE SHOW DID HIM SO FUCKING DIRTY i get that they didn't have as big a budget back then but come on man ToT

"when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. when your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. then he will return, and not before." LET THE BARRENNESS BE PART OF THE CURSE why did they cut that

when tywin says "because you are my son" tyrion fucking Hates him for that bc he knows that if jaime were he tywin wouldn't spare him a second glance, he's only Tywin's Son now that jaime is prisoner and might die at the hands of the starks

things I appreciate about the show:

arya shooting a bullseye from behind bran. queen

jaime being a dick to everyone all the time for no reason. just going around starting shit. also that scene outside robert's bedroom where he talks to jory. jaime in general

ROS!!!!! MY GIRL ROS MY ABSOLUTE QUEEN ROS

"she's our guest." "she's our prisoner." "do you find the two to be mutually exclusive in your experience, my lord?" lmaooooo get his ass maester luwin

"sometimes possession,,,,, is an abstract concept"

THE DRINKING GAME!!!! first of all it gives us more insight into shae as a person who is so different from tyrion's established worldviews, secondly tyrion is always going around saying offensive shit and he thinks nothing of it bc a) people say offensive shit to him all the time and that's one of the ways he deals with it and b) he's usually right BUT when he makes all those assumptions about shae he's totally wrong and she stands up for herself, but my favorite part of that scene is that tyrion is hesitant to share this traumatic story from his past but he's just made bronn and shae confront their traumas so now he has to share too. and I think that's beautiful

all of varys and petyr's bitchy conversations when they're alone in the throne room

this only covers the first book/season I might make more of these as I keep reading

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zhongrin · 2 years ago

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cium aku dong?

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, wanderer, cyno, al haitham, tighnari, xiao, ayato, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, kaveh, thoma, dottore, pantalone

◇ tags ◇ fluff, domestic, established relationship, kisses. LOTS of kisses (duh), slight angst (kaeya i'm so sorry), slight suggestiveness on some, slight possessiveness on some

◇ a/n ◇ [en] “kiss me please?” aka the ways they ask for a kiss <3 uh? what... what do you mean i clearly have favorites? i-i don't..... *nervous sweating* ANYWAY. merry xmas yall!! we all deserve fluff this holiday season so enjoy <3

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

“can i have my special tea?”

“darling, may i?”

zhongli is a natural at pulling you in for a kiss; most of the time he doesn’t expect you to kiss back, but he would be over the moon if you do.

you’re passing each other in the hallway of your house? he just leans towards you to place a fleeting kiss on your shoulder. you’re doing something and he passes behind you? he leans over to place a kiss on the top of your head and goes off his way. you sit beside him and plop your head on his shoulder? he smiles and scratches your scalp and places a sweet kiss on your forehead.

unfortunately (for you), on some occasions when he’s feeling a little playful, he might become a little tease; kissing you everywhere but your lips until you protest. to which he’ll chuckle fondly before finally giving in, pressing a soft fleeting kiss that promises you more when the curtains close for the day.

“kiss meeeeeeeee!!!!”

“[name]…. who was that person....?”

childe is a master of surprise kisses! he makes use of his skill to erase his presence to sneak up on you when you’re relaxing, before suddenly tackling you into a hug and kissing you all over your face.

when he’s in the mood for kisses, he becomes a ravenous kissing monster who can only be satiated after at least fifty proper kisses. or perhaps a few rounds of long, drawn-out make-out sessions.

just don’t deny him of his kisses because then he’ll brood and it’ll be his poor subordinates who get the burnt of his frustration. and if you get gifts on your doorstep with a recruit insignia badge, you probably should storm your boyfriend’s office before he actually kills someone.

“what? what’s that look for? heh, if you wanted a kiss you could’ve just asked. i~diot.” *cue the heart-piercing, soul-ascending blep*

“hey. come here.”

wanderer is either endlessly taunting you for the whole day, or being very blunt (while blushing furiously) as he motions you to come over. there’s no in-between.

you either kiss him, which will result in a smug smirk and perhaps a haughty ‘hmph, knew you can’t get enough of me’. or you just don’t… which means you’ve indirectly signed an agreement for him to be a total brat™️ for the day until he’s satisfied.

ohhh how unfortunate, your favorite scarf is blown away by the wind. ooooh, seems like it’s raining and there’s no shelter, too bad you don’t have a hat that can function as an umbrella. ooooo, what’s that? you want a hug?

ha.

in. your. dreams.

and yet when you kiss him he melts into you within 0.001 seconds.

“[name], did you know? sloths never kiss on the first date…… they take it slow.”

“can i… hold you? just for a bit?”

when the kiss puns start to drop left right and center, you know it’s cyno’s way to ask for a kiss.

... the man uses his jokes to get people to be less way of them instead of saying it out loud, what did you expect?

he might not realize it, but he stares at you especially hard on these occasions. if it were others, they would have feared for your life, but you know this is cyno’s version of the infamous wet puppy eyes. personally, you think it’s very adorable because it’s so very him, so you can’t help but pretend you don't understand just to tease him more.

the population thinks you must be some kind of a beast tamer in your past life, seeing as how the general mahamatra always faithfully follows behind you and always back down as soon as your touch descends upon him.

“you’re here. come sit. now kiss me.”

“i need to kiss you so you can testify to kaveh that i am, in fact, not an amateur when it comes to kissing. it would also be good if you can rate your satisfaction on a scale of one to ten- [name], where are you going?”

at the early stages of your relationship, al haitham isn't as insufferable; he takes what he gets, and he’s taking the time to get used to the idea of how he practically has the right to kiss you now.

but when that realization fully, truly sinks in?

oh boy.

he’ll be blunt, straight to the point, and unashamed. he might be blushing the first few times when he asked for your permission for a kiss. but seeing how much you got into it, hearing the breathless way you whisper his name, and witnessing the dopey smile after he’s done with you…

aha. eureka. it appears his expertise extends to kissing too. but of course, he is, as the youngsters these days say, ‘built different’, after all.

so why would he shy away from the activity?

now come kiss him.

“did you know that fennec foxes go through withdrawals when they don’t receive at least ten kisses per day? it’s true, i have conducted extensive research on it. with me as the research subject, of course, so i know the result is 99.99% reliable.”

“there, i gave you headpats. now will you give me kisses?”

always so dramatic and sassy. tighnari loves seeing the embarrassed look that crosses your face and the adorable giggles that escapes you whenever he tries to initiate the activity.

the fox hybrid likes to pat your head and lean forward so you can press a thank you kiss to his face. he doesn’t even mind where your kiss will land.

nose? kinda ticklish, but that’s very cute of you. cheek? adorable, why thank you. lips? hmmm… do that again.

“……….. what? i-i wasn’t staring!”

“[name], just a moment…. stay still.”

please just save xiao the embarrassment and kiss him regularly.

although your boyfriend might not look like he enjoys affection, he actually does. he’s just… not used to it and has no idea how to react, much less initiate physical affection. it’s something that he needs a lot of time to get used to, especially with his condition and background.

your protector yaksha is always so gentle when he asks for your loving touches - and most of the time he doesn’t even dare to ask - but the signs are there. you’ll really have to squint your eyes and tilt your head and maybe do a handstand before you realize ‘oh he wants a kiss’.

just. cuddle and kiss him darn it.

“my, what a fine morning, don’t you agree, sweetheart? it would be even more perfect if i had a morning kiss from my lovely partner, don’t you think?”

“there you are. lock the door for me, darling. now, why don't you make yourself comfortable?”

teasing words here and there, his hand touching your arm more than usual, him stopping when you pass each other in the hallway to make some insignificant small talk even though he’s clearly hurrying to a meeting…

yeah, your overworked man is in dire need of some loving.

if you give in and pull ayato for a quick kiss, he will skip over to his next appointment with a permanent smile. once again, you’ve saved the day of everyone in kamisato estate. great work, you! pat yourself on the back because you deserved it!

but continue to ignore him and you might find yourself being called to his office just to sit on his lap for hours (which, trust me, it gets boring after a while) without kisses or any sort of affection whatsoever... so pick your actions carefully.

“i know i should be working. but i wanted to… take a break.”

“love, your lips… n-no. it's just that. um. they look dry. here, use my chapstick.”

diluc? taking a break from work??

that diluc???

either he is very sick, or he is very much starved for your love. kindly think back on your day and check when was the last time you gave him a proper kiss, please.

what's that? you gave him a forehead kiss this morning to wake him up? oh. i’m sorry to say this but that’s just not enough. how dare you starve this man for four hours with no kisses. no wonder he’s unable to focus on his documents. please fulfill his lovesick daydream by barging into his office and distracting him from work with your wonderful, soft lips….

... please?

“work? mmm…. unfortunately my battery is near-empty… o kind, beautiful soul, would you help this poor man back to his feet?”

“hello my love, i came by because your lips look lonely.”

kaeya is very obviously a teasing flirt when he’s needy or bored. mostly he adores the embarrassed look on your face; he thinks it's very adorable and endearing. it's a sight he wishes to treasure and forever imprint in his mind, to peruse when doubt and darker thoughts attack him at night.

but let me tell you a secret.

yank his stupid coat and pull him into a kiss before he can use that sultry voice to tease you. kabedon him when you have the chance to, while you’re at it. watch the cavalry captain become putty in your hands. you’re welcome <3

“my dove, would you be so kind to quench this wandering man’s thirst for your sweet kisses?”

“it’s rather windy today… there you go, all set. ah, it's okay, i'm not cold. oh, i forgot. just one more thing- *kiss*…. hehe, i can see that you’re warming up already.”

longing looks and poetic words. kazuha kisses you like it’s a stray wind brushing gently on your lips, light and dreamy and leaving you wanting for more. his ruby eyes will droop with affection as you whine and pull him back for more contact. well, who is he to reject your generous invitation?

soon enough one peck becomes two, two becomes three, and then it turns into a soft makeout session and- oh is that beidou yelling at you both to get a room? haha, it seems like it’s time to change locations…

“[name] look, i finished the blueprint for our dream house! huh? oh, yeah this is the… what, fifth blueprint? well, i can’t help it! we should have at least seven houses in all seven nations- eh? t-the mora? uhhhhh…”

“i need… i need inspiration… my muse… i need my muse…”

you know it’s bad bad when kaveh trudges onto your side like a zombie that’s been out running after people’s brains for far too long.

he slumps onto you completely (good luck supporting a claymore user) and basks in your presence, arms wound tight on your middle section. it seems like you’ve deprived him of kisses for far too long. he’ll recover faster if you hug him back and run your fingers through his silky locks. when he pulls back slightly to pout at you, and you place a sweet kiss on his lips, it’s like you’ve flipped a switch.

the legendary architect's eyes widen and his downturned lips flip upside down. he kisses you back with vigor and runs back to his drawing room shouting about some new calculations and other kind of materials he could use. what a dork.

“[name]….” *insert the most adorable, heart-wrenching, chest-squeezing, wet puppy eyes here*

“i’ll be going now. have a good day, okay? i love you!”

like a faithful shiba inu, thoma beams and stares at you expectantly near the front door of your shared residence, waiting for that kiss you never fail to give him every single time he’s about to head out to work in the mornings.

will you ignore him and risk getting ayaka to visit you because ‘thoma seems very sad and distracted today, did you have a fight? why don’t you talk it out, i know you both treasure each other', or will you be an angel and make him start his day with the loveliest gift you can bestow your loyal lover?

“based on the monitoring data of your hormones over the past few hours, it seems that you’re in need of kisses. what? me, lying? making up facts? listen to me. who’s the doctor in this relationship?”

“it appears another segment of mine has been granted the privilege of a kiss, so i demand equal treatment.”

sure, doc. hormones screaming for a kiss. will experience lethargy for the rest of the day if not fulfilled. immediate treatment is preferred as he does not want to be stuck with a grumpy, needy lover for the rest of the day, blah blah blah-

look. i'll translate for you.

he wants a kiss. dottore wants a kiss. just give the mad doctor a kiss.

huh? which segment do you give a kiss to?

….. it seems like all of them want a kiss. you know, just to be fair.

good luck.

“good day, darling. i see that you’re wearing the necklace i bought you yesterday. you look ravishing indeed.”

“come here, love. i won’t ask twice.”

with every compliment directed your way and with every piece of new jewels added to your collections, pantalone expects you to give back some sort of affection. naturally. everything is a give-and-take, no? he provides you with all the luxuries and convenience a normal civilian can only dream of, and you provide him with what he asks for.

he’s not even asking for much - just don’t look at other men, focus on him and his needs, and pull him into a kiss every fifteen minutes. it's not hard of a task at all. surely you can fulfill it? otherwise, perhaps some disciplinary sessions are in order...

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birinboom · 4 months ago

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One Moment of Forever

Todoroki Shouto x ReaderWord count: 1,786 Summary: When Shouto is forced to take a break from work due to a quirk injury, the two of you decide to go on a camping trip to your favorite lakeside spot.

Genre: Fluff, established relationships, camping, nature therapy, pet names (love) Note: My entry for andypantsx3’s pretty boy summer collab. This fic is also a part of the @ficsforgaza initiative - thank you so much to those who sponsored it!! 💖💖💖 Check out my list of WIP's here! This is my first time writing Shouto, not sure I got him exactly right…

Your oar slips through the water, near-silent. The air is full of the song of birds. A couple take off from a tree, weaving between each other in a dance, their wings skirting the water of the river before they land in a tree on the opposite bank. You can’t help but smile at the scene.

Water laps at the bow of the canoe. Behind you, Shouto is quiet. Content with just sitting in silence, enjoying the early morning. It’s one of the things you love about him. He’s just as happy in a comfortable silence as he is listening to you talk. He doesn’t mind either way.

Leaves rustle on the riverbank and a doe steps out from the undergrowth, moving towards the river to drink. You suck in a quiet breath as first one fawn, then a second, follow the doe. They’re small, their legs still unmanageable, white spots bright against tawny fur. You can’t imagine them being more than a few days old.

Shouto shifts behind you, steering the canoe further towards the opposite bank in an attempt to keep the doe from bolting. Your head swivels as you slowly drift by, watching the fawns nurse, their little tails wiggling happily. When you deem them at a safe distance, you turn fully, beaming at Shouto.

“So cute!” you whisper.

He responds with a soft smile. “Very.”

You look at him for a moment. It’s early enough that the sky is still a gorgeous display of orange and pink, rising sun hidden behind the trees. The light limns him with gold. Despite having lived together for years, you are still occasionally struck by just how beautiful he is. Especially at moments like this, outlined in soft morning gold, a gentle breeze playing with his hair. He looks ethereal, like some immortal being from a fairytale.

Shouto tilts his head, puzzled.

“Is everything alright, love?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah. Just admiring the view.”

You have Bakugou to thank for this experience, you reflect as you pull the canoe onto the narrow strip of sand surrounding the lake. He was the one who introduced Shouto to camping long before the two of you met; and he was the one who introduced both of you to this campsite. It’s one of your favorite places to spend a few days off with Shouto. It’s small, but very well kept. Top tier amenities. And being a campsite specifically for pro heroes and their families, it requires reservations, meaning it’s never crowded. Any heroes you’ve run into on your previous stays would do a brief smile and nod -at most a moment of small talk- before they move on. They want to relax and unwind just as much as the two of you do. No one wants to talk about work.

This time, though, the campsite is empty except for you and Shouto. You were lucky -so to speak- that Shouto’s quirk-strain happened during the off season or the place would’ve been fully booked. He’s on strict orders to only use his quirk for emergencies and to spend his time off in rest and relaxation. And this campsite is the most relaxing vacation spot you’ve come across so far.

Clouds blow in later in the morning, the gentle pitter-patter of rain steady against your tent. Shouto has dozed off while you read, his breathing soft and even. Every breath weaves together with the sound of the rain, with the smell of petrichor. You find it difficult to keep your eyes open. Then Shouto rolls onto his side, one arm draping around your middle. He pulls you closer, face pressing into your neck. His body is sleep-warm, his arm laying heavily over you.

You can’t resist anymore. “Fine!” you mumble, putting your book away and settling in for a nap.

Shouto mumbles something in reply, pressing a gentle kiss against your throat.

The rain has stopped by the time you wake. Shouto is still asleep, molded against your back, clinging to you as he usually does. He once confessed while only half awake that he worried you would leave. That someone would steal you away. The confession happened years ago; you’ve shown him time and again that you’re not going anywhere, that this unknown someone would have to drag you away kicking and screaming. And still he clings to you like a burr while asleep. You don’t really mind, though. If that is what he needs to sleep peacefully, then you’re more than happy to relax into his warm embrace. It makes you feel treasured and safe. And you’ve grown so accustomed to Shouto’s arms around you that you find it difficult to sleep when he isn’t next to you.

Shouto stirs. You more feel than hear the soft groan he lets out as he wakes. Almost as if his body is fighting to stay asleep. He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“What time is it?” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep.

“About 2,” you reply, rolling over to press your face into Shouto’s neck. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“No,” he replies, sounding more awake. “If I do, I will be unable to sleep tonight. I would rather spend my time with you.”

You spend a while cuddling, talking, basking in each others’ company. Something you both feel doesn’t happen nearly often enough in your daily lives. Then you carry on with your day.

The ground is slick under your feet. Each step you take is carefully measured. You’d forgotten just how steep part of the trail looping around the lake is. A hike right after a rainfall wasn’t your brightest idea. Still, the view is amazing.

You pause at the top of the last hill, wiping your brow. The lake spreads out in front of you, waters reflecting the gray skies. You can see your tent by the beach, a splash of red amongst green. It reminds you of the first ripe berry on a bush.

The thought of berries makes your stomach growl. It’s almost time for dinner.

You turn to Shouto. He looks completely unbothered by the ascent, not a hint of a flush on his face, his breathing calm and even. It’s unfair sometimes, how effortless physical exertion can be for him. At the same time you’re quite satisfied not having to fight villains on a regular basis.

“Ready for the last stretch?” you ask.

Shouto just nods.

You start down the hill, every step careful. Turning your head, to take one last peek at the view.

And then you slip.

Your back instantly collides with Shouto’s chest, his arms coming up to steady you. He seems as solid as a boulder, waiting patiently as you get your feet back under you. You have half a mind to just sag in his arms and demand he carry you back down the trail. You know he would do it in a heartbeat. But he’s meant to rest.

“Are you alright, love?” he asks when you don’t move.

You sigh in defeat, finally standing up straight. “I’m fine,” you say, looking back at him. “Just surprised.”

Shouto returns your gaze, lips pressed tight with silent concern. You look at him for a moment, before your eyes flick to the sky behind him. The clouds are the same steely-gray hue as his right eye. You can almost see them roll as they’re blown away. The sky should be clear soon.

The sun breaks out almost as if on cue, slanted early-evening rays highlighting the soft waves on the lake, the water sparkling. You point it out to Shouto.

“A quick dip before dinner?” you ask.

Shouto just looks at you for a moment. “It will not be too cold for you?”

You scoff. “Only one way to find out!”

You stare into the glowing embers of the campfire, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

The dip in the lake was a less-than-great idea. Despite being heated from the hike, and despite making sure your hair stayed dry, you can still feel the chill of the water. It wasn’t too bad as long as you kept moving. Still, you’re happy that the two of you decided on spicy curry for dinner tonight.

Shouto shifts next to you.

“How are you feeling, love?” he asks.

“Better,” you reply. “Still a bit cold, but the hot food is helping.”

“Would you like to come on a brief walk with me?” he asks.

You look at him for a moment. “To where? It’s almost dark.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Shouto’s lips. “To the store by the office. I thought an after dinner treat might be in order.”

You stand, beginning to put out the fire. “Better hurry then, they close soon.”

The little store run by the office is stocked with a few necessities and of course snacks. But you notice something you haven’t seen before on your way to the till. Fireworks.

You stop, tugging on Shouto’s sleeve. Pointing at the small display, you ask, “Wanna get some sparklers?”

The two of you take the sparklers down to the beach, and -much to your protest- Shouto lights them with his quirk, claiming that such a small effort it would be no hindrance in his recovery.

You both crouch on the sand, watching the sparklers burn. Peeking at Shouto for a moment, you find his focus trained on the sparkler in his hand, the sparks reflecting in his eyes. You look away again, trying your best to curb your laughter. He is like a little kid sometimes, behaving like he is experiencing something for the very first time. It’s one of the many things you love about him.

You sit still long after the last sparkler has died out, pressed against Shouto’s warmer side, his arm looped around your back. The lake is quiet, the reflections of stars bobbing on its soft waves. You turn your face skyward, a silent breath escaping you at the beauty above. Turning to Shouto, you see the stars reflected in his eyes, much like the sparklers did earlier.

Burrowing closer against him, you press a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m happy we came here,” you say, laying your head on his shoulder, “even if it was because of your injury.”

Shouto hum in agreement, then you feel his lips brush against the top of your head.

The two of you sit for a while longer, watching the stars, enjoying the quiet night.

We should make sure to spend more time like this, you think. The two of you enjoying each other’s company. Watching the world go by.

One moment of forever with him.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks (on and off anon) are always greatly appreciated! If you like, you can check out my other works here. Love, Em 💖

#prettyboysummercollab #fics for gaza #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #todoroki #shouto #shoto #x reader #x you #x gn!reader #gn!reader #fluff #established relationship #nature therapy

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idyllic-ghost · 7 months ago

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title: To Choose A Mortal Life

pairing: Vernon x gn!reader

genre: fluff, comfort, established relationship

warnings: mentions of having a bad day

synopsis: you've just finished watching your favorite film trilogy, and Vernon has the nerve to insult your favorite character.

wordcount: 1k

taglist: @enhacolor, @shuabby1994, @junhui-recs, @dkakapizzaboy, @just-here-to-read-01, @loviehan, @userjunhuii, @novalpha, @bubblymoon, @aaniag, @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @seunghancore, @woozixo, @niktwazny303, @lllucere, @uniq-tastic, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @cali-snow, @pearlygraysky, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang

rating: PG 13

a/n: yes, this is self-indulgent leave me alone. got this thought last night and had to write it out this morning, so this is for all of the nerds and vernon lovers who follow me

join my taglist

masterlists

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Vernon looked over at you as soon as the credits rolled, a content smile on his lips. You, on the other hand, were gripping the edge of the blanket like your life depended on it - tears staining your cheeks as you sniffled. Although he didn't mean to, Vernon couldn't help but laugh. It was quick, barely noticeable really, but you heard him. You whipped your head towards him with a glare that could kill a man.

"I'm sorry-"

"Why are you laughing?" you whined. "That was beautiful!"

Vernon let out another laugh as the tears came rolling down your cheeks again. The two of you hadn't been sitting far apart, but for the sake of your well-being, Vernon moved a little closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Babe," he whispered, "you've already seen this movie... a lot."

"Because it's good! You think so too, right? Why aren't you crying?" you whaled, and Vernon couldn't help but laugh again.

"I've also seen it-"

You buried your face in your chest, and Vernon grinned as he wrapped his arms around your frame. His unwillingness to cry only made you more upset. It was cute, really. Then he saw a name on the credits that he recognized and something he had been trying to figure out clicked.

"Oh. Now I remember where I've seen him before," he said, referring to earlier in the movie where he had tried to figure out one of the actor's filmography from memory. "He's that guy in the second season of Stranger Things."

Your sniffles stopped, your body stopped quivering, and Vernon knew he had said something wrong. He let you go as you tried to get out of his grip, and when you looked at him you were met with a cheesy smile that screamed "Please forgive me!"

"Sam did not carry Frodo up Mount Doom to be known as 'that guy from Stranger Things!'" you exclaimed.

Vernon threw his head back with laughter as you tried your best to argue with him - it was impossible, he was laughing so hard that he could barely catch his breath let alone answer you. He had spent the majority of your rewatch of the Lord of the Rings trilogy trying to figure out where he had seen Sam before. It wasn't anything he had thought of before, so of course he wanted to know. You had asked him to not go on his phone, watching the movies was very serious for you - even if you frequently talked over the movie to explain certain things. That was allowed, of course. Vernon didn't complain, he enjoyed watching you be so enamored with a movie. He was just happy that you had finally started to relax after your hard day at work.

"I'm sorry," he said in between snickering. "I just saw the actor's name on the credits, I didn't mean to offend Sam."

You looked at him with a pout, your eyes still glossy from crying and the skin around them slightly puffy. You looked like a mess, but Vernon still thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. His grin never faltered; eventually, it got you to break into a smile. You cuddled up next to him again, and he wrapped his arms around you. The credits kept rolling, but neither of you felt like moving to turn them off.

"I still don't understand why Arwen was dying," Vernon mumbled.

"She chose a mortal life," you murmured, "And since she was opposed to Sauron, she would've died if he got the ring back. They all would have."

Vernon nodded at your explanation. You were tired; he could tell from the way you yawned and the fact that you didn't go into a full-blown explanation of why Arwen was dying towards the end of the trilogy. He placed one of his hands on the top of your head, letting you take the other in your hands and play with his fingers.

"Would you choose a mortal life for me?" he asked.

"Yeah." You intertwined your fingers with his, looking at them as if you were studying the way his hand fit in yours. Usually, you would've teased him for asking such a question - called him lame, and maybe flicked his forehead, but not tonight.

"Even if I called Sam 'that actor from Stranger Things?'"

"You're pushing it." You looked up at him with a teasing grin. "But yeah."

"Thanks," he said with a grin that matched yours.

You pursed your lips at him, silently asking him for a kiss, and he obliged. It was short and chaste, almost just a peck. His lips were slightly chapped and tasted like salty popcorn, but you didn't care. When you pulled back from him, his eyes were still closed as if he was trying to savor the moment. You put your head back on his chest without saying a word, even though you had plenty of ideas on ways to tease him floating around in your mind.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he asked after some time of silence.

"Could we just stay here for a moment?" you asked. "I'm comfortable here."

"Sure."

Even though one of Vernon's legs was falling asleep, even though he actually needed to go to the bathroom, and even though he was so tired from watching Lord of the Rings for nine hours straight, he wasn't going to move. Because you were comfortable because you were relaxed. If you felt this safe with him, that you could yell at him for not respecting your favorite film character enough and that you could fall asleep in his arms just a moment later, he was going to do everything in his power to let you keep sleeping. Maybe he wasn't as brave or as good with a sword as Aragorn, but he still wanted to protect you at all costs. He wrapped his arms around you tightly. As cheesy as it was, he really would choose one lifetime with you over facing forever alone.

#svt #seventeen #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop writer #fanfic #svt fluff #vernon imagines #vernon chwe #vernon #vernon x you #vernon x reader #vernon x y/n #vernon scenarios #vernon fluff #bee buzzed εїз✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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konigbabe · 2 years ago

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Leon S. Kennedy headcanons

Random headcanons of Leon S. Kennedy that's been stuck in my head for what feels like forever. There's a small NSFW section under the divider 18+.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags/warnings: fluff; established relationship; smut; oral sex; gender-neutral reader; no y/n

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

He loves kissing.

This man is so touch-starved that kissing is sacred to him. He loves kissing; lives for it – but only with the right person. Someone who holds his heart in their hand. Soft kisses, unhurried and so indulgent. Leon’s kisses are a devotion of their own; they don’t necessarily lead to something more. He just enjoys the feeling of your lips on his. Knows when to add the right pressure, when and how to use his tongue…

He’s also a really, really good kisser (don’t fight me on this); loves to bite your lip as well.

His love language is physical touch.

(–or acts of service.)

Anyway; Leon adores physical touch whether it's inside or outside the safety of your shared space. If you join him on missions, you’ll always find him close – his hand brushing yours, palm on your back guiding you forward, making sure you're always within his line of sight. And if you ever get hurt, his hands gently grasp your body, checking to make sure you're okay.

At home, he just loves to touch you randomly – kiss on your temple carrying multiple meanings (‘thank you’, ‘you’re welcome’, ‘I love you’, ‘good morning’ and so on), arms sneaking around you to enclose in a bear hug. Or having his exhausted body to just lay on top of you, using you as his own personal pillow…

He struggles with the L word.

The words “I love you” lingered in the back of Leon’s throat for a long time; not because he wasn’t sure of it but because once spoken, they become real and tangible. Acknowledged. Something he can’t take back.

He secretly enjoys cooking and has a few signature dishes that he’s really proud of.

Leon isn’t really a chef. Often opting for rather simple meals but even those bring him joy. Solace lies in the simplicity of it all. As a man who has had little control in his life since childhood, the act of cooking provides a sense of control and satisfaction that he rarely experiences elsewhere; having his own space, doing something so insignificant that it becomes significant in its own way.

He’s definitely someone who would say something along the lines “Made with love, not skill.”

He’s a workaholic.

Leon cares about you; loves you. There’s no lie in the fact that he wants to spend every second possible with you. Every fibre of his being yearns to be close to you, to protect you from harm. However, as a seasoned agent, adrenaline courses through his veins. It’s a part of him, as natural as breathing. He craves the thrill of danger, the rush of a mission, even though it tears him away from you. Leon’s already learned to accept that his calling for epinephrine is as much a part of his as his love for you.

He has a bit of a sweet tooth and loves all kinds of desserts.

Leon's sweet tooth is undeniable. He simply cannot resist the allure of sugary treats, and desserts hold a special place in his heart. From gooey chocolate cakes to creamy fruit tarts, he loves them all. He is not shy about indulging in his favorite treats, often having multiple servings or even ordering dessert before his meal.

He’s a romantic at heart.

Love letters that tug at your heartstrings, make you feel as if he’s by your side instead of fighting the infected and all the bad guys that team up on him. Testaments of his affection towards you. Morning messages a gentle reminder that he’s still here for you, whenever you need him. He believes that every moment in a relationship should be cherished, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, and he relishes in each one spent with you.

He let’s you braid his hair.

(He’s blond; I stand firmly by his game's looks.)

Sitting on the carpet, back comfortably resting against the sofa cushions as you throw your legs over his broad shoulders, feeling the taunt muscle underneath your thighs. Letting out soft sighs of contentment as you gently thread your fingers through the silky hair; braiding the sides or simply brushing it clean. His fingers wrapped around your ankle, drawing lazy shapes over the thin skin there while enjoying the tender scrape of your fingernails against his scalp.

He's socially awkward.

Outside the people that know him or the people he's forced into close proximity with (*cough* Luis *cough*), Leon is not a social butterfly. Not big on conversations, rather short and snappy answers. Oftentimes at a loss for words. Socializing exhausts him. His desire lies to be left alone; or with one person at a time but it has to be someone he's already familiar with.

He loves cuddling more than sex.

Don’t be fooled, Leon’s definitely sex-crazed around you. Loves to be buried deep inside you; feel your warmth, the velvety squeeze when his cock hits that sweet spot inside – but cuddling makes him happier. It’s his way to show you how devoted he is to you. That feeling of emotional security provided by your cuddles gives him pleasure far greater than the way your body responds to his cock.

He’s a switch.

Leon’s a curious creature – relishing in both submission and domination; intrigued by the duality of power exchange. While the daddy/mommy kink doesn't quite capture his attention, that doesn't mean he can't submit to your every whim, yearning to appease your deepest desires. The mood of the moment guides his actions, emotions dictating the course.

Leon’s a foreplay master and a teaser.

Absolutely addicted to the way your body reacts to his touches, to his kisses. Some days, he’s even capable of making the foreplay longer than the actual sex; having you writhing, begging with teary eyes to finally put his cock inside you. Leon’s certainly going to tease every cell in your body, setting it on fire, letting it burn until you’re nothing but a mere ember.

He loves oral.

Receiving or giving — he doesn’t really hold a preference. It’s not important whether he’s the one on his knees or you; Leon is someone who finds his own pleasure deep within yours, just feeling you react to his tongue, to his fingers. This goes the other way around, having your lips around his cock, feeling the tightness of your throat…makes him a mess.

He’s an ass man.

Leon can't help but love ass in every way imaginable. He runs his hands over the supple globes of your flesh, his teeth sinking into the softness. Pressed tightly against him, you can feel his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants, yearning to be set free. He stares at it, touches it, spanks it, and bites it every chance he gets. It's predictable that he'll have you in various positions, pounding away while admiring your delicious curves - doggy, reverse cowgirl, and so much more.

He’s loud.

(– and he moans.)

There’s no denying that Leon will grunt, growl, groan, whimper and moan during the whole night. Very expressive nature. He’s not really extremely loud to the point someone might hear you through the walls; yet the room is always filled with the sounds of his own pleasure, only adding to that fire deep inside you.

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stargirl-int3rlud3 · 8 months ago

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𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

yuji itadori x fem! reader

🗯️! minor injury, established relationship, kissing!

synopsis; it’s finally warm out in japan, so as a treat yuji takes you on a sweet date to go strawberry picking — ♡

Finally the winter-y cold months had past and it was now time for spring. The air smelled fresh as you soak up the sun’s warm rays. You couldn’t deny it, spring was your favorite season, the fresh fruit, the warm sundress worthy days, the light drizzling of rain. It was all perfect to you. Almost as perfect as your perfect boyfriend, Yuji Itadori. The sweetest sweetheart you’d ever had the graces of laying your eyes upon. As you stood outside your dorm enjoying the sun and watching Yuji make his way towards you. He was wearing a light brown, sandy, pair of shorts and a yellow t-shirt with a cute smiling sun in the middle. The second he saw you were staring at him he sprinted at you like a happy puppy seeing their owner after they get back from work. Yuji scoops you up and twirls you two around making the both of you laugh wholeheartedly. The feeling of your chest pressed up against Yuji’s chest and the quick rise and fall of it from his laughter makes you shy as you hide your face in your hands. With the most care anyone’s ever touched you with, Yuji pulls your hands away from your face so he can admire the pink hue spread across your features, smiles as soft giggles fill in the space between you two. Yuji let’s out a loving sigh, one that makes you want to pass out right on the spot. You were internally squealing as he reaches his rough, calloused hands to your face. Lightly he grazes his middle finger across your smile lines. Your heart becomes heavy as a lovesick feeling dwells in your stomach. Yuji’s lips finally make contact with yours , that’s when you can taste your own vanilla chapstick on his lips. You push his lips off yours and raise one of your eyebrows.

“Yuji Itadori, why are you wearing my chapstick?”

“Oh! You left it at my dorm the last time you were over and i thought it’d be cute if I wore some and we kissed. Is it weird?”

You wrap your arms around Yuji’s neck as his hands softly lay on your hips, “It’s not weird, it’s really cute, the cutest”

“Nah, you’re the cutest” His presses a soft, butterfly kiss to your nose.

He interlocks his hand with yours walking with your to the bushel’s of strawberry plants that were acres upon acres long. He swore they went on for an eternity, but he really wouldn’t mind if he got to spend an eternity picking strawberries with you. You crouch down and start picking away and fro a few seconds Yuji just stares. He stated at you a lot, like you were the most interesting thing he has ever seen. Of course it made you shy sometimes, but you appreciated the sentiment.

You realize he just stood their, so you look up from your spot at your boyfriend, but the sun’s too bright so you shade it with your hand to clearly see Yuji smiling with heart eyes practically protruding out of their sockets.

“Yu? Are you alright, handsome?”

Blinking himself out of his trance, “Huh? Oh! yeah, sorry”

His shy smile as he rubs his neck makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild in your stomach. He crouches down beside you filling his basket with strawberries similar to what you were doing.

As 2 hours pass, you decide that it’s time to go back to your dorm so you could start making jams and other sweet treats. Once you’re back at your dorm, you try one of the strawberries.

At least half of the strawberry is in your mouth when Yuji asks, “Can I have one?”

You hand him one but he puts it back in basket leaving you confused, before you can pull the starwberry out of your mouth Yuji pulls off the green leaves with one quick yank as he sinks his teeth in the other side of your strawberry. A bright red hue covers your face, too distracted by your boyfriend staring into your soul merely centimeters away from you, you accidentally bite your tongue.

You pull away from the strawberry leaving it to Yuji, “Ouch..”

“Oh my goodness! Love, I didn’t mean to are you okay?”

“Mm..” You frown at the metal-y taste now forming in your mouth.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Yet another wave of red coloring floods to your face at his words.

You look at him, a sly smile kissing his lips. You push him away from you.

“Jerk” you mumble with a small smile.

“Aw, I’m sorry, what do I have to do to have you forgive me? I’ll do anything” Yuji asks with a sincere look in his eyes.

“I just want you” Is all you say, resulting in Yuji kissing your forehead and laying his head on top of yours.

☆ | GAHHHHHH i love writing fluff it makes me so happy and joyous!!

#luv₊˚꒰🩰꒱‧#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #yuji itadori x reader #itadori x reader #yuji x reader #itadori yuji #character x reader #x female reader #fem reader #x reader #female reader

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ishallgivehimupforever · 3 months ago

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Here We go again Bellarke warriors, if you can hear me, it's been about 1680 days since I stopped caring (or so I thought)

I hadn't been to tumblr in years, before I decided to give the 100 a rewatch in June of this year, as I had given up somewhere around the start of season 5 (I remember hating the LONG ass timeskip teased at the end of S4, I guess some other media must have swallowed me during hiatus, and when I tried to give that season a chance I vividly remember 1) I couldn't see shit on my screen 2) I hated what the timeskip did to the established relationships) and so I dropped it for good, looking back I almost can't believe I could just...not finish it like that because let me tell you I did NOT fuck about Clarke and Bellamy, and Raven, and Monty, and probably some other characters back in 2015-2016. I think I maybe did not appreciate season 4 enough at the time it was airing (because I think binge-watching is very flattering for that season, watching it live I remember it was frustrating to watch the characters go on side quests in 4A) but now knowing what the character arcs are and where it was going makes it my second-favorite season. BUT, I digress, wow. This is meant to be a rambling, incohisive love letter to the compelling relationship between Bellamy and Clarke. I warn you, they truly do not fucking leave you as it turns out. I would go to the trenches for them back in my fandom days in 2015-17, and I realised, after binge-waching the show over 4 sleepless nights (seasons 1-6, which are the only seasons in existence, obviously)that I STILL just FUCKING CARE SO MUCH. I NEVER CARED ABOUT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS SO MUCH AS CARE FOR THESE TWO SEPARATELY, AND AS SOULMATES. Because let me tell you, Clarke and Bellamy, they fucking love each. Like actual, happens-only-in-romances LOVE. It is frankly INSANE how JRoth, K*m Shum and other managed to gaslight me over some of the bellarke scenes in S2-S3 as to make me think it's in my (and thousand's of fans') head WHEN IT IS SO FUCKING OBVIOUS FROM SCORE, EDITING CHOICES, LONGING LOOK SHOTS, HANDS SHOTS, LINES, AND FINALLY, ACTING AND DIRECTION THAT THESE TWO ARE LOVERS.

I have never, ever, before or since, followed two characters who were so compatible, so equal, so trusting in each other, so open with one another, so mindful of the other's emotions and needs, so so so made for each other, that it is no surprise to me that they are top 10 F/M pairing on AO3. Because Bellamy and Clarke would fall in love in every imaginable scenario, in every universe, across time. I am not usually that cheesy or cringy, but it is true. I could not put my finger on why they are my absolute favorite to read fanfic for and then it occurred to me. That as long as the hands of fate put these two in proximity of each other, it;s a done deal. That chemistry transcends the limits of a single tv show. The depth with how Clarke and Bellamy love each other honestly makes me pause for breath sometimes. It is not just the iconic, famous bellarke scenes, but also the quiet moments.

Like in 6x05 or 6x06 (cant remember) when Clarke's body was stolen by Josephine after her one-night stand with Cillian. (stay with me) Bellamy, unaware that Clarke isn't herself at that point, comes over to chat, he's clearly at least a bit jealous over her sleeping with Cillian, and yet he says "happiness looks good on you" with that wide, earnest smile. And just wow. How must he love her, to be so utterly happy for her own happiness that has in that instance nothing to do with him. so selfless. well, selfless is basically Bellamy's middle name.

Or how in season 4, after a lot of the characters and at times the narrative wanted to push this idea on Clarke that she is the sole leader of her people, gets right back on track to her co-leader dynamic with Bellamy, constantly checking with him, considering his input, and respecting choices that she herself would maybe not make (releasing the ensalved arkadians and grounders vs ensuring they get a machine necessary to generate water) but always understanding that these choices agree with his core values, and she loves him for it.

This post is way too long. I love Bellamy. I love Clarke. People often use the 'MY PARENTS" about ships on twitter, and you know what, in my case that's kinda true with bellarke. I met these characters when I was 15. I am 25 now, and with an adult perspective to my surprise I found their relationship even more profound then I remembered, and I was insanse about them already. They are truly THE power couple of all time. I miss the 100, If you wanna ramble about it together, feel welcome to send me ask, I'd love to have an excuse to share some of my (sometimes unpopular) opinions lol.

#bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #the 100

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neobomb · 1 year ago

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give into things i (dont) want to [lee jeno]

(yandere ish) creep/stalker! popular fuckboy/badboy!jeno x christian!reader, hints of shy boy! (kinda dumb) naive! christian!mark x reader. Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Warnings: mature themes, toxic behaviour, manipulation, stalking, forcing??, inappropriate behaviour, choking, menstions of perv behaviour, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Jeno is on a mission: to assist his friend Mark in getting with you. But is he genuinely helping Mark or leading him down a questionable path? © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

“Would you really do that for me?” Mark's eyes sparkle with hope. The excitement bubbling within him was palpable, but Jeno knew he had to temper it. For the longest time, Mark has had a crush on you, yet never mustered the courage to approach you. It was heart-wrenching to see, truly pathetic.

“Don’t worry, you can trust me.” Jeno assures with unwavering confidence. “She will be head over heels for you if you just do as I say.”

Mark is overly trusting to believe that Jeno, of all people, will help him get with you. You, L/N Y/N, the one Jeno has been hopelessly in love with over the years, the one who captured the heart of THE fuckboy Lee Jeno. Jeno's deep feelings for you are something he'll never confess. He's vowed to himself to admire you from a distance, never allowing himself to get close. Jeno understood his nature, believing that a pure, innocent soul like you shouldn't be entangled with a bad boy like him. However, that doesn't mean he'll let anyone else get near you, especially not Mark.

“I trust you, Jeno. You’re the rizz king after all.” Indeed, Jeno had been with more girls than most guys his age. With his captivating looks, undeniable charisma, and seasoned charm, he can enchant just about anyone he desires. Flirting was second nature to him. For Jeno, it was not just about the sex; it was a way to establish himself as the school's most sought-after boy. A simple power move.

“I’m just… a bit uncomfortable with some of your suggestions.” Mark says, sounding skeptical as he scratches his head. “It just seems a bit… odd… maybe creepy even.”

“I promise you, girls love that shit.” Jeno takes a step closer to the clueless boy. “Haven’t you read Twilight and all those cliché romance novels that girls love? Girls are fucked up enough to eat that shit up.”

"You're right." Mark concedes, deciding to place his trust in Jeno. After all, Jeno has no reason to lead him astray, does he?

"Let's do it then," Jeno says, extending his hand towards Mark for a handshake, to which Mark readily reciprocates with a firm handshake.

The deal has been sealed. Jeno has Mark right where he wants him. Mark was just dumb and naive enough to believe the bullshit Jeno has been telling him.

—

A handwritten note was attached to the string of the bouquet with tape.

Dear Y/N, Not a day goes by that you don't cross my mind.�� Your lover, lee.

It began innocently enough – with sweet intentions and harmless beginnings.

Then there were the photographs — snapshots capturing moments in your bedroom, some pictures intimate, others harmless.

new message from lover lee: new image has been sent

Then, items began to vanish — your favorite cherry-flavored chapstick, your bra and your panties were the first to go.

What started innocently has now morphed into something more ominous.

In your room, a place that is supposed to be your safe haven. An unsettling feeling grips you—a paranoia over who might be watching. A faceless someone, so infatuated that they'd shadow your every move. You find yourself overly aware of your surroundings, constantly casting a discreet glance over your shoulder, wishing for no one to be standing right behind you. Thankfully, it is clear. It always was.

It's become so unnerving that sleep eludes you. Night after night, you retreat to the corner of your room, ensuring every window is securely fastened, window blinds down, your gaze fixed intently on the doorway that separates your sanctuary from the main hallway. Clasping your cross necklace close to your heart, you'd whisper prayers, hoping fervently that no one lurked nearby. It had become a routine at this point.

–

The bell chimed resonantly through the corridors. Finally, a reprieve from these tedious classes, Jeno mused. He strides down the hallway, eyes darting to the windows of each classroom, searching for a glimpse of you.

There you are, seated at a desk away from the windows, with sun rays casting a gentle glow on your delicate cheek while you hold a book. To him, you are the epitome of beauty, with an innocence in your eyes that captivates as you survey your surroundings. You appear deeply fatigued, as though you haven't had a moment's rest in the past month.

“Y/N, I’ve noticed that you look very tired lately. Is everything ok?” Lifting your gaze from your desk, you find Jeno looking at you with evident concern.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Just some trouble sleeping," you reply, your voice carrying a hint of surprise at the sudden attention from Jeno, the school's renowned handsome bad boy. You rack your brain, realizing you haven't actually spoken to him since preschool days.

"Hey, Y/N," Mark says, appearing behind you with a wide smile that briefly startles you. "I noticed you at church last Sunday. I didn't want to intrude… you seemed deeply engaged in prayer…. as one should be..." Mark winces slightly at his own awkwardness. Your presence has a way of making him momentarily lose his grasp on social cues.

“Anyways…” Mark casts a meaningful glance at Jeno, hinting that he should give the two of you some space. “I’ve been wanting to ask you… if… you might want to… maybe… go… uhm…. I’ve been wanting to tell you something and it’s very important.”

“Uhm… ok” you respond in a confused tone, looking back at Jeno. “I want to do it somewhere, preferably more private… uhm… maybe dinner at Kun’s… this evening…” Mark stumbles over his words, stuttering through the simple sentences.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" you clarify, boiling his words down to their clear intent. “Yes…” the shy boy confirms.

Mark is undeniably cute — a devoted Christian, diligent, yet reserved. You have always had a little crush on Mark, but you never anticipated that he would make a move. The realm of dating had always seemed uneventful to you; you felt as if you were invisible to boys. But not until this very moment. Going out with Mark couldn't be harmful, could it? At the very least, it might provide a welcome distraction from your current stalker situation.

“Yes, I would love to.” you answer with a radiant smile, sending the timid boy into cloud nine.

Mission one complete. And so Mark thought…

–

On this typical Friday evening, the restaurant buzzed with activity, patrons streaming in and out. Amidst the bustle, you notice Mark seated at a table tucked away from the main dining area.

"Hi there," he greets, rising to envelop you in a friendly hug. "I got here a bit early and took the liberty of ordering for us — Peking roasted duck… I hope that's alright… it's your favorite from the menu." His remark piques your curiosity. It's oddly specific knowledge for him to have. You have barely talked to Mark. How did he know your preferred dish? Strange.

"Please, have a seat," he offers, pulling out the chair for you. With a moment of hesitation, you take the offered seat.

“I’m curious about what you’ve been wanting to tell me. Seems like you were very eager to spill it out.” Perhaps it was premature to confront him, but your curiosity was too strong to resist. But with your question, you can almost feel Mark's panic. His hands tremble slightly as he opens his can of soda.

He inhales deeply, steadying himself before he responds to your question: “I have to confess something. Uhm… I wanted to … uhm tell you … that I’m … lee, your lover”

You stare at him in stunned horror, mustering all your composure to prevent yourself from trembling with fear and revulsion. The revelation hits you like a thunderclap — Mark Lee, the same person sitting across from you, is the stalker who has been haunting your nights with fear.

“I can’t fucking believe it. You scared me shitless.” You immediately rise from your seat, getting yourself ready to leave the restaurant.

“What do you mean?” Mark says in a confused tone.

“The letters, flowers, …. the creepy text messages, … the photos of me in my room, … my fucking missing underwear, constantly feel like I’m being followed, it’s all you??” Struggling to keep your voice level, the sense of betrayal washing over you was unparalleled.

“What?” Mark yelled in question “What do you mean photos?? missing underwear? All I did was send you secret letters.”

“I swear to God it’s not me, Y/N.” Mark pleaded with you, his eyes imploring, begging you to believe him.

“Nothing you say can change what I’ve heard.” You declare, swiftly collecting your belongings before storming out of the restaurant.

It had never crossed your mind that Mark, the quiet, church-going boy who seemed devoted to his faith, could be capable of taking such extreme actions. The revelation seemed surreal, almost too contrived to be true.

—

A few months have passed since the unsettling discovery of Mark's unsettling behavior. Every ounce of your bravery has been summoned just to face him at school each day. Whenever he attempts to draw near, desperately trying to weave a tapestry of excuses, you fend him off with the threat of a restraining order. There's nothing he could say now to sway your resolve.

In the span of those tumultuous weeks, you found solace in Jeno. As the days passed, you and Jeno grew increasingly close, an unforeseen twist given that the popular boy had seemingly never noticed you before — or so it had seemed. But his kindness and understanding provided comfort, especially when others doubted your account of events.

"Thanks for walking me home from church, Jeno. You really don’t have to do it again. I promise you this will be the first and last time." you say, casting a wary glance at Mark, who lingers near the church entrance. Having Jeno's company is a source of comfort amidst the chaos, even if your home is just a two-minute stroll from the church.

"Of course, it's the least I can do to ensure you feel secure." Jeno says, casually draping an arm around your shoulders while guiding his bike with his free hand. His steps seem confident, almost familiar with the path to your home, despite the fact that in all the years of your acquaintance, he has never once been at your house, or even close to it. You try to dismiss the peculiar sense that he knows the way a little too well, reminding yourself that he's never been invited over, but the thought lingers, troubling in its implications. Strange, you thought.

Just as you near your house, the skies open up, unleashing a sudden downpour. You urge Jeno to come inside, suggesting he wait out the torrential rain before he ventures back home. To pass the time and since Jeno had never been to your place before, you decided to give him a tour.

"Oh here is your favorite place to sit and read" remarks Jeno, his tone carrying a hint of familiarity as he observes the cozy corner of your living room. How did he know it was your favorite reading spot? His ease within your home is uncanny, almost as if he's retracing well-known steps rather than discovering them for the first time, inadvertently reversing the roles of guest and guide. Strange.

The final stop of the tour is your room. Pointing to a large photo album, you say, "Here are snapshots from my childhood," and you flip it open to share a visual journey through your past. You point to a cherished childhood photograph, depicting a younger you, grinning with abandon, your face comically smeared with Peking duck sauce, as you gleefully twirl noodles around your chopsticks.

“Oh you looked so adorable while eating peking roasted duck. Must have been your favorite dish for quite some time. I guess some things never change.” He smiles at a particular photograph of you. It was a response that strikes you as odd. You hadn't mentioned your favorite dish to him before. Strange.

“How did you know about my favorite dish? I’m pretty sure I haven’t told you about it.” you query, attempting to piece together the perplexing puzzle that has been preoccupying your thoughts. Upon hearing your question, a shadow flickers across Jeno's features, replacing the cheerful, lively demeanor of moments ago with something more somber. The spark in his eyes dims, giving way to a serious, almost foreboding intensity.

“What do you mean?” He inquires, his lips curling into an uneasy, almost disconcerting smirk.

“I… I just think you’re acting a bit… uhm… strange. It’s the first time you’ve ever walked me home, and you seem oddly familiar with the area I live in…. and you seem to know my house like you've already been here before … uhm … and you pick up on these small things I haven’t told you about before.” As you address his odd demeanor, a growing sense of regret takes hold with each passing second; his eyes darken, casting a shadow of menace that chills you to the bone.

In that instance, Jeno aggressively pins you down onto your bed. One hand holding your wrist, the other at your throat.

“You know too much, Y/N. You should’ve just kept your pretty little mouth shut.” He whispers in your ear before tightening his grip around your neck until you are no longer registering his words. His voice faded into a muffled echo as your thoughts withdrew into a separate reality. Your hands clutch at his wrist, attempting to loosen his hold, while your eyes nearly close from the sheer force of the moment. His grip on your neck slackened, and he watched as you sucked in breath, your complexion regaining its normal hue as vitality slowly reclaimed your shaken form. As you caught your breath, Jeno abruptly pressed his lips against yours. The fervor of the kiss was overwhelming. Saying hello to lee, you did.

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neiptune · 2 years ago

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easier

c/w: 2k wc, barely proofread, established relationship, nagi needs a fucking break from existing, i need to get all the love i have for him out of my system somehow

Something is wrong and it didn’t exactly take Reo screaming bloody murder in your ear for the past fifteen minutes to notice.

It was already evident by the slight slump of his shoulders, the lukewarm greeting when you arrived at his apartment, by the way he excused himself after lunch with a kiss to the crown of your head and some mumbling about feeling tired. You know better than to follow him upstairs and pressure him to talk, sometimes he just needs to close in himself and be alone with his thoughts for a while. A concept Reo is not really familiar with.

Although you have achieved your fair share of successes throughout the years (he has stopped sending Nagi venmo transactions whenever he complains about feeling demotivated, he no longer shows up at your apartment unannounced and he finally broke the habit of buying you stock trading books for your birthday), you are still unable to control his anxiety and sheer panic that inevitably turn into scenes of biblical proportions every single time things get out of his control. Like today, which apparently marks a week since his best friend has not only been skipping practice but has also stopped picking up his calls.

Calls being an occurrance that takes place approximately twenty to thirty-five times per day.

So you had to spend half an hour babying him on the phone, promising that no shimmering football dream is collapsing, that yes they are still going to win the world cup and no he will not be abandoned by his best friend right at the beginning of their “very fucking promising” careers.

“You have to talk to him because he won’t talk to me”

“I’m on it chief, just relax”

“Don’t tell me to relax, he’s about to throw his talent away and live a miserable life as an office worker or some shit!”

“Reo, just take a deep breath and leave him be. I’ll talk to him if he wants to talk to me, maybe he just needs some t—”

“I swear to fuck if you’re about to say he needs time—”

“Bye, Reo”

It’s a good relationship, the one you have with Nagi. Just a little too crowded, every now and then.

So you take your time, get comfortable on the couch and scroll away on social media, finding it hilarious how your boyfriend and his friends always manage to come up on your feed in suggested posts and reels. You don’t follow any of their fan accounts but are guilty of having liked one or two fancams and the algorithm has not left you alone since. Which is fine, as it gives you the chance to forward some of the juicy content to the interested parties (mostly Chigiri: he’s the one who will get the most annoyed, has already typed back several send me another one of these cuffing season edits and I’ll block you forever). Isagi usually just replies with blushing emojis, the only one who always indulges you and adds to the fun is Meguru. You’ll send him a video and he’ll like it, leave an inappropriate comment and share it in his stories all in the span of ten seconds.

When you get up and head upstairs at last, a reasonable amount of time punctuated by a non reasonable amount of texts from Reo has passed. You half expect Nagi to be napping but it’s not entirely surprising to find him sprawled on his bed with a gaming headset and a laptop balanced on his lap instead. As you lean against the doorway with a little smile tugging at your lips, his eyes dart to you right away. He pats the empty spot next to him and mouths a quiet just one more game but you shake your head in reassurance as you climb onto the king size bed: you’re not there to rush him or demand his attention.

You make sure not to prevent his hands and arms from moving freely when you rest your head on his shoulder. You recognize the game as it’s one of his favorites, he always plays Ikaruga or any other STG when he’s stressed out. The ship turns white and Nagi moves it around skillfully to absorb as many white bullets as possible to store their power, in preparation for his special laser attack. At the same time, he does his best to avoid all the black bullets fired by enemies and succeeds in destroying an opponent with the same polarity as his ship but ends up changing polarities too quickly and ultimately fails to prevent new bullets from destroying his ship. With a sharp sigh, he takes off his headphones, shuts the laptop and roughly places it on his empty nightstand before the mocking game over writing can even have the chance to flash before his eyes.

“Sorry” he mutters, head tilted back to rest against the wall, one arm finding its way around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“For losing? I forgive you, it’s a hard game” you chuckle and his quiet huff tickles your forehead.

“For Reo. He’s been on my ass for a week and now he’s tormenting you”

“That was taken into account when we started dating, you two are kind of a package deal”

He doesn’t laugh, the stubborn silence following your joke prompting you to peer up at him.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Nagi looks down and meets your gaze.

“About what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind”

He shuts his eyes for a second. Doesn’t question how you know something’s actually up and he’s not just being his usual, lazy self.

“Need a hug” he mumbles and tightens his arm around you, annoyed at how you simply reach over to his shoulder with your other arm “no, s’not enough, closer” you can practically hear the pout as you hum and position yourself in his lap, legs wrapping around his waist the way you know he likes it. Nagi closes his arms around you and buries his face in the curve of your shoulder, nose grazing your neck and thick, white hair tickling your cheek. Your nails gently scrape his nape, fingers playing with the softer locks at the base as your lips press to the side of his head.

“Would you still love me if I stopped playin’?” the question is so hushed you can barely discern the words whispered into your very soul from how hard he’s pressing himself to you.

“Hmm” you fake hesitation “you mean if you didn’t have to be gone all the time? If I could see you every day and you wouldn’t collapse on me from how tired you are when we’re watching a movie together? I think I’d make the effort, yeah”

Again, he doesn’t laugh, but you’re not Reo. You’re not gonna panic about a scenario you know it’s nothing more than an innocent, naive fantasy.

“Lately everything’s such a fucking pain. They’re all on my back, all the time. If I score a goal and it’s not genius enough, if I don’t stay the evening for extra training, if I don’t give enough interviews, if my talent is just blind luck. Maybe I should just stop”

You let the words sink in for a moment, frustration bubbling in the pit of your stomach at the unfairness of it all. Soccer is the only true passion he’s ever discovered and yes, it may have happened purely by chance, but it still had awakened him. He’s started playing out of boredom and has then found a whole world of prodigies passionate enough to be willing to dedicate their entire lives to the game. He’s allowed their passion to motivate him enough to discover his own. Nagi has become someone who actually cares and strives to set new limits always meant to be overcome. He’s only truly alive when he’s on the field, doing what he actually loves and is talented enough to pursue for the rest of his life. You can’t forgive anyone who is slowly dimming that light of his, you won’t allow them to extinguish that blaze.

“Sei” you slowly pull back because you want him to look at you “yes, you are lucky to be so insanely talented, but may I remind you just how much quite frankly obsessive work you have put into it ever since you came out of Ego’s fucked up dungeon?”

He pinches your hip and you flinch, but don’t mirror his little smile.

“It’s been years, stop calling it a fucked up dungeon”

You roll your eyes.

“What I'm hearing is, you stopped having fun. Don’t let them ruin soccer for you, Sei. Every goal you score is a genius goal to me, never forget how proud I am of you. Just start having fun again, yeah? You should enjoy it, I want to see you enjoy it”

“Sometimes I’m scared I’ll just get sick of it” he leans into your touch as you stroke his cheek “m'not good at anything else”

“You don’t love anything else. They locked you up in a lair full of lunatics and instead of getting sick of it, you became one of them. You can do whatever you want with your life but would you love anything as much as you love soccer?”

Nagi furrows his brows as his features morph into a sarcastic expression.

“I love you. Even if you just called me a lunatic” as your hand is still on his cheek, he turns his head slightly to softly nibble at your wrist, which you retract with a giggle.

“The point being, I believe in you. Chase that excitement again, have fun, tell Reo to shut the fuck up and let you have a break when you need one. Don’t let them drain you, okay?” cautiously, you bring your hand up again to brush some hair away from his forehead. He shuts his eyes again, gentle exhale slipping past his parted lips.

“I have practice in an hour. I know you get bored—”

“I’ll come. If I can wear your jersey”

Nagi opens his eyes again, a slight blush already tinting the tips of his ears.

“But that’s embarrassing”

With fake outrage, your mouth hangs open in an “o” shape.

“Embarrassing? Wow, maybe you’ll get sick of me before you get sick of footb—”

“Never” he’s so quick to cut you off and take your face in his big hands, you don’t really have time to react. His grip is still tight, even as nimble fingers brush hair away from your face, eyes so intently focused on you your pulse taps a little quicker against your skin. “So pretty” he cocks his head a little, inching forward enough for the tip of his nose to gently nudge yours one time, two times “the prettiest. And all mine” he whispers against your lips as he wets his own with the tip of his tongue, still keeping you in place to have complete control. You’re easily deceived by the first, soft touch of his mouth, nothing more than a reminder of how how gentle his love can be. But then his lips chase yours again and it’s wet, messy, pads of fingers sinking into the flesh of your cheeks and jaw, the whimper easing from your throat stretching his pretty mouth in a smirk right before he gently nips at your bottom lip.

“Thanks for loving me” Nagi hooks a finger underneath your chin and lifts your face nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just kissed all the wind out of your lungs “I know how much work that is”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way” you attempt a smile, still busy catching your breath.

Truth is, loving Seishiro does require some work. Sleepless nights, long trips, petty arguments when he’s too tired and takes it out on you, navigating disappointing championships, a mindset so stubborn and frustrating it has you clenching your fists, nails digging into your palms to keep you from exploding.

But at the end of the day, he’s always, always the Sei that melts underneath your touch and presses your body impossibly closer to his. The Sei that runs to hug you at the end of every single game, before entire stadiums. The Sei that will have your favorite flowers randomly delivered to you just because, no matter if he’s in his room or halfway around the world.

At the end of the day, he makes it easy. So, as you press your lips to his forehead and his arms tighten around you once more, you hope you get to make it all a little easier for him, too.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi #blue lock fic #bllk #bllk x reader #this was ALSO supposed to be short but you know what #idgaf #I am coping with a desperate crush leave me be pls

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reduxulousoctopus · 7 months ago

Text

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

#x men #wolverine #morph #morpherine #my stuff

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