#i just haven’t been struck with what that is yet

[poetskings]

@jegulus-microfic | June 12: challenge | 1.8k

Regulus gets a date.

Regulus Black doesn’t date.

He’s notorious on campus for not taking anyone up on offers of dates, dismissing them without even really considering them. And it’s not like he doesn’t get offers; with his raven curls and storm-tinted eyes, he’s a certifiable catch.

There are rumours about it, as there always will be; that he’s secretly engaged, or that he’s sworn off dating, but no one can figure out exactly why it is that Regulus Black doesn’t date.

He’s been here three years and still hasn’t gone on a single date, to the point where it’s become a challenge for final years; the first person to take Regulus on a date wins.

It started with Barty Crouch in first year; they were sat next to each other in their Approaches to History course, mindlessly working their way through a ‘get to know your partner’ exercise when Barty blurted out the question that would come to define Regulus Black for the first time.

‘Do you want to go out sometime?’

Regulus let out a bark of laughter, only shaking his head before turning back to the sheet of paper and asking Barty for a fun fact about himself.

The two ended up attached at the hip, but they’ve both clarified that there’s nothing romantic between them; solidified when Barty started dating Evan Rosier at the start of their second year.

There were rumours about why Regulus rejected Barty; of course there were, but then it happened to Emmeline Vance, and again to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern and people started to catch onto the fact that Regulus Black didn’t date.

Once a pattern was established, people got more persistent – who would be the person to take Regulus on a date? – but the rejections persisted, all through second and third year.

There are only a handful of people left on campus who haven’t asked Regulus out, but chief among them is James Potter.

And look, it’s not like he doesn’t want to. He’s spent the past three years watching Regulus get prettier and smarter and more aloof and he wants, but there’s the small matter of Sirius Black, Regulus’ older brother and James’ best friend.

So he watches from afar as Regulus sits on the green with Evan and Dorcas, laughing at something Evan’s said, head thrown back and long line of his neck exposed. A second-year approaches the trio, twisting his hands nervously, and James knows what’s about to happen, but he watches anyway.

The second-year shuffles on his feet a bit, head down as he mumbles out what can only be a request for a date. Regulus only shakes his head, muttering yet another rejection and turning back to Dorcas, not even bothering to watch the second-year walk away.

James bites back a smile, the same way he always does when Regulus rejects someone. And it’s not like he has a chance, but it’s nice to be able to delude himself into thinking he does.

He’s drawn out of his daydreaming by a slap to the back of his head.

‘Ow, Pads, what the fuck was that for?!’ James exclaims, rubbing his head where Sirius struck.

‘You were stuck in your own world somewhere and I’m bored,’ he gripes, and James can only roll his eyes affectionately.

‘Fine, what do you want from me today?’ James asks, turning away from the younger Black to focus on his older brother instead.

‘You saw Regulus rejecting that second-year right?’ Sirius asks, shifting to sit cross-legged across from James.

‘I think we all saw that – what’s your point?’

‘Reggie still won’t tell me why he doesn’t date, so I want you to ask him out to figure out why it is that he rejects everyone,’ Sirius states, like it’s obvious, like it’s no big deal.

James freezes for a moment, trying to process the fact that Sirius has just asked James to ask Regulus out.

He’s wanted this for far too long and Sirius is just going to hand it to him, like it means nothing.

‘Shit, Pads, are you sure you don’t just want to watch me get rejected?’ James cocks an eyebrow, trying to bring some normalcy back to the situation.

‘Jaaaaaames,’ he drawls, ‘I just want to know why Reggie doesn’t date, and I’m sure he’d at least tell you his reasoning when he rejects you.’

James sighs, muttering out a hesitant ‘fine.’

‘So? When are you going to ask?’ Sirius is basically bouncing where he sits, and James knows that he’s not patient, and Sirius wants James to ask Regulus now, but shit, James has wanted to ask Regulus out for three years, and he’s never been one to half-ass things, so he’s going to do this right.

‘Give me a week, yeah?’ He turns back to his books, trying to re-focus on his essay preparation. He can feel Sirius’ eyes boring into him, but he refuses to look up.

‘Yeah, alright then, Prongs.’

And that’s the end of that.

James spends the next week planning out how best to ask Regulus on a date. He knows that Regulus doesn’t like a public spectacle, and that he spends most of his time in the library. He knows that Regulus is on the university archery team, and trains for that three days a week. He knows that Regulus likes old books and older music and loves the charity shop a ten-minute walk away from campus.

He knows all this but he doesn’t know how to ask Regulus Black out.

The days pass and James is nervous; his self-imposed deadline is fast approaching and he still doesn’t know what to do. He decides to go to From the Ground Up, figuring that caffeine will help clear his head. It’s a short walk; only ten minutes, and James needs the fresh air.

The coffee shop is a home away from home, ambient jazz playing in the background, accompanying the sounds of keyboards clacking as students work on seminar notes. James greets Pandora, the barista he’s become familiar with, before ordering his usual; a strawberry frappe with caramel syrup and whipped cream.

He zones out while Pandora makes his drink; the sounds of the machines a comforting background tune, taking his drink as she slides it across the counter and slurping shamelessly.

‘Got enough sugar there, Potter?’

And shit, there he is, and it’s too soon and James isn’t prepared. He chokes on his drink, strawberry frappe streaming out of his nose and it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He struggles to clean himself while also holding his drink, and he’s sure there’s drool on his chin and frappe spilling out of the glass and this is a mess. He’s flustered and he can’t think straight and Regulus is right there and-

Oh.

There’s a hand on his chin and James’ brain stops.

Regulus takes the frappe, placing it on the counter before moving to wipe James’ face off, his chin still held in Regulus’ hands as he runs the napkin over his mouth and James can’t stop staring.

Regulus is treating him like he’s something special, something breakable, and the words are out before James has fully registered them.

‘Willyougoonadatewithme?’ It comes out jumbled and far too fast and there’s a flush creeping up James’ neck and this wasn’t how he wanted to ask Regulus; he wanted it to be perfect but he’s covered in strawberry frappe and he’s making such a mess-

‘Okay James, I’ll go on a date with you.’ Regulus smiles softly, and James thinks his world shifts on its axis, realigning itself to orbit around Regulus Black.

‘Oh, that’s- I mean- um, that’s- thanks.’ James is malfunctioning, splitting apart at the seams, because Regulus Black said yes.

The boy in question chuckles softly, moving the napkin away from James’ face and taking his hand instead, despite the fact that it’s covered in frappe.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can discuss this date,’ Regulus says, guiding James to the bathroom, and James is powerless to do anything other than follow him, nodding dumbly.

It’s soft and tender and James has never been looked at like this before. He’s half-convinced that this is a fever dream, that Regulus Black would never say yes to a date with him, let alone when he’s covered in strawberry frappe.

Regulus draws his hands over to the sink, running the tap and cleaning in between his fingers with so much care that doesn’t quite know how to process.

It feels like the start of something much bigger than James could have imagined; something that will consume him whole.

He thinks he’ll let it.

‘Why did you say yes to me? You’ve got a reputation, you know, and I didn’t think you’d say yes,’ He mumbles, because Regulus said yes to him, and he can’t quite wrap his head around that.

‘Oh, I was waiting for you to ask,’ Regulus says, like it’s obvious, like it’s no big deal.

James feels too big for his skin, feels like he’s going to explode, feels too much, but Regulus is still holding his hand and looking at him like he’s the only person in the universe and James has never wanted something so badly.

‘Can I kiss you,’ he blurts out, and Regulus blooms, a blush painting his cheeks a delicate pink as a smile draws itself across his face.

‘I was waiting for you to ask that, too.’ James is a goner, helpless to do anything other than press his lips to Regulus’.

It’s not what he had in mind; they’re in a coffee shop bathroom and James is still covered in strawberry frappe but Regulus’ lips are soft and he tastes like black coffee and his hands are winding into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly, and James wants to stay here forever.

They break apart and it could have been seconds or minutes or hours or days but James can only think of Regulus; his entire universe narrowed down to a focal point in Regulus Black’s eyes.

They go on their first date later that day; James follows Regulus round his favourite charity shop, and he still smells of strawberry frappe but Regulus is talking to him about the importance of sustainable fashion and he thinks it’s perfect anyway.

They tell Sirius that evening, and he threatens James and threatens Regulus but he can’t hide the grin on his face, and they both know he loves them, and is happy for them.

They hold hands on campus the next week. The rumour mill responds accordingly, asking how James Potter of all people got lucky enough to secure a date with undateable Regulus Black.

Turns out that Regulus Black does date. He was just waiting for James Potter to ask him out.

[charlotteharlatan]

A list (non-exhaustive) of why the 1941 flashback scenes are haunting both me and The Narrative, Part 1:

1. Both S1 and S2 have scenes that take place that night - THAT CERTAIN NIGHT - in 1941. It is specifically revisited in S2, which leads the audience to believe that night was of particular importance, both to Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship and to the overall plot of the show.

2. In the same vein of things that are referenced more than once, the song “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” was first released in 1940, and it’s entirely plausible that they both heard it for the first time in 1941 while in each other’s company.

All evidence points to the song being personally significant to Aziraphale and Crowley. We know it as Their Song, and they seem to think of it that way as well - otherwise Crowley’s “no nightingales” comment in the last 15 minutes of S2ep6 would not have struck Aziraphale so hard; we can see by his expression that the words affect him. With that statement, Crowley seems to be referencing not only the song itself, but possibly also a specific memory they share that involves that song.

At first, one might assume he means the occasion at the Ritz at the end of S1, because that song is indeed playing in that scene. However, I think that scene itself is also partially a reference back to 1941, which I’ll get to in a later item.

3. When examined closely, many scenes and plot elements from the rest of the show may be nodding to 1941. When Crowley and Aziraphale discuss ways that humans fall in love in the pub scene in S2ep2, Crowley references being caught under an awning in the rain, a very transparent callback to Eden when they huddled under Aziraphale’s wing.

So, Crowley’s contribution harkens back to Eden, but what does Aziraphale mention? What is called to his mind when he thinks of falling in love? Cotillion balls. Music and dancing. Things he’s read about in Jane Austen novels, the moments therein where the protagonists realize they’re in love. On its surface, Aziraphale’s idea of falling in love seems more like an abstraction than something the angel has experienced himself. Except: perhaps he has. Perhaps, just like with almost everything Aziraphale says and does, we should be looking at it much deeper than surface level.

Maybe he’s projecting just like Crowley is, just in a less straightforward, more opaque sort of way, which you have to admit would be very in-character of him. Maybe he’s thinking of a moment we have not directly seen yet, a moment that has only been gestured to. In other words, “a joke the paleontologists haven’t seen yet,” the paleontologists in this case being, well, us. We know Aziraphale is actually capable of sleight of hand in the right circumstances, so maybe him talking about a ball is only a feint, a flamboyantly waving hand as a distraction to keep our attention away from what the other hand is doing. Maybe he is also recalling a specific memory of himself and Crowley, one that involved music and dancing, and the realization that the feeling between them was love.

So with all that in mind, what moment from the show do we have great reason to believe was Aziraphale’s realization of his own feelings, and to an extent, Crowley’s as well? Yup, you’ve got it: 1941 again. The aftermath of Crowley rescuing him at the church and saving his books. The face that launched a ship. (Sorry.)

4. Backtracking slightly to the topic of music and dancing and The Ball, let’s talk about this: just like Crowley “did a rainstorm” to try to get Nina and Crowley to fall for each other the same way he fell for Aziraphale, The Ball may have been Aziraphale’s effort to recreate the occasion on which he realized he’d fallen for Crowley. Perhaps it was intended to be a “do-over” of past events where they almost connected, with the aim of finally reaching each other this time. We’re all aware by now that while Aziraphale did fully intend to get Maggie and Nina together, he also threw a ball specifically to dance with Crowley.

It does initially seem odd that he thinks Crowley will respond well to such a big, ostentatious party, but perhaps Aziraphale has tried the subtle route before to little avail. Like when, you may well ask?

5. Well, for one: their rendezvous in 2008, right after the Antichrist arrives on Earth, in S1ep1. Crowley has been unsuccessful in convincing Aziraphale to help him avert the apocalypse, but the angel has fewer qualms about a lunch date at the Ritz.

After the Ritz, they go back to the bookshop, with Aziraphale telling Crowley he still has some Chateauneuf du Pape left “for special occasions,” which is an interesting comment - the reason why this is a special occasion to Aziraphale is never named, as Crowley glosses over it in favor of pointing out that nobody will be having any wine anymore if Heaven wins the upcoming war. Aziraphale reiterates his refusal to engage with that topic, and ushers Crowley into the shop.

All this leaves the vague impression that Aziraphale has his own agenda for the evening (because all appearances of passivity aside, the angel almost always has his own agenda). And Crowley, not noticing this or perhaps choosing to not notice it, is throwing a spanner in the works of said agenda by continuing to bring up the apocalypse. And so, stuck at this stalemate, they drink the ‘special occasion’ wine in the shop, and listen to music, and get very drunk. It’s a small detail, but we know the music is coming from the gramophone because it’s the same record Aziraphale was listening to when Crowley called him the night prior.

So, wine and music. Why are these elements significant? It isn’t named, but in S2ep4 when Aziraphale and Crowley have returned to the bookshop after the magic show, the bottle of wine they share in the back room is the same kind, Chateauneuf du Pape.

And while there is noticeably no music playing when the two of them are sitting in the quiet, private, candlelit back room of the shop, the gramophone can be seen over Aziraphale’s shoulder in many parts of the scene, looming over their conversation like a musical Chekhov’s gun.

And here’s the real kicker: the gramophone, as it happens, is normally positioned facing the opposite direction. In bookshop scenes from the rest of S2, even earlier on in that very same episode, we see it facing the usual way, in the direction of Aziraphale’s desk.

This means that it was intentionally turned so that the “mouth” of the gramophone would be visible in this scene, and turned towards Aziraphale and Crowley. You may well ask: “the background of this scene is dark and out of focus, how can you tell for sure which way the gramophone is facing?” If you look closely, you can see the gramophone’s crank is on the right side, visible in some shots past the lip of the wine bottle. If the gramophone were facing in its usual direction, the crank would be on the left and invisible in these shots.

And, to add another layer to it, we know how important cranks are as a symbolic object in this series, how much power these objects can hold in the hands of the correct wielder. Crowley turns a crank to prime the engine of the universe - in other words, to begin the music of the spheres; and much later, he uses the Bentley’s crank when he restarts time on the Tadfield airbase. What if the gramophone’s crank was used in a similar way in 1941, to temporally create a little universe of their own, either metaphorically or literally?

Great care was taken in planning every aspect, every little detail of this show; almost nothing is a coincidence; staging scenes especially is done with the utmost degree of care. All of this to say, we as the audience seem to be meant to relate the scenes from 1941, 2008, and 2023 narratively, even though they take place decades apart. Throughout the years, Aziraphale may be trying - subtly at first, but then less so - to recreate the events of 1941.

Okay, that’s items 1 through 5. I definitely have more but I hit the limit for gifs and images for posting via the mobile app, so I’m going to have to post the rest in at least two more parts. Because I still have ghosts in my head and I must write about it. Hauntings are easier to handle if there’s someone in the house with you who sees the ghosts too.

[ajournalingtrex]

sometimes you sit and just stare. maybe you’re somewhere, maybe you’re listening to music, but your perpetual state of motion has ceased for a few minutes. and there’s something at the top of your chest and just below your throat.

it’s not a piece, not yet, but it’s a feeling. it’s heavy. dark but not in a menacing way. a lot of the time, it’s green or purple.

the heavy feeling hasn’t risen up and blanketed your brain yet. it hasn’t forced the words out onto a google doc or a blank note page until your brain’s weight evens itself out into something light and airy and then you’re back to just sitting with thoughts hastily typed all over the page.

i like this part better than after it’s written, i think. sure it’s lopsided and i hate the feeling, but i know why it’s lopsided, which is somewhat liberating. it’s a promising kind of feeling. like once it’s here there’s no turning back. something Will happen with this

[gojonanami]

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD - NANAMI KENTO

✴︎ summary: aka nanami is totally fine and alive. after shibuya, nanami lets you tend to his burns and have an honest discussion about what happened there and what it means for your future. ✴︎ contents: hurt/comfort, fluff, spoilers/discussions of what happens to nanami in shibuya, and of course he survives, he's fine (copium), nanami being a girl dad (b/c you know he would be the best dad - i mean he is already). ✴︎ wc: 1,469

Refusals came first when it came to Kento. 

“Ieiri can take care of it—” 

Especially when it came to taking care of him. 

“But I want to, Kento,” you say softly, burn kit prepared by you and Ieiri in hand, your fingers curling tighter around the handle, “I don’t want to push you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, but I want to help,” for all of the times that you couldn’t. 

It has been a month since Shibuya. A month since Gojo had been sealed. A month since all hell had broken loose. 

How has it only been a month? 

And it had been only two weeks since Kento had been allowed home, to rest, allowed to be extracted from Shibuya from Shoko’s treatment area. His eye was unsalvageable — destroyed in that octopus special grade’s domain, and his body — burned severely by that volcano special grade. He would have to wear an eyepatch for the rest of his life. And reverse cursed technique only did so much, but they couldn’t heal burn marks.

Half of his body is wrapped in bandages — if you hadn’t been lucky enough to get Kento out of that situation with the curse you now knew as Mahito — you don’t know what could have happened. 

You were lucky. Lucky to have found him after being split off. Lucky you knew how to get to Shoko quickly. Lucky that she was able to save him. 

Luck. Luck. Luck. 

Was this really luck? To make it out half burned and half alive? Was it luck that you saved him or would it have been kinder to leave him? But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You were selfish — you needed him, you wanted your future with him, you wanted him to live. 

You couldn’t let him go. Not yet. 

It wasn’t time. It wasn’t his time. 

He only sighs at your words, “Okay,” he relents, sitting up on the bed. 

“First we have to remove your bandages, and then I’m going to inspect the burns to make sure they haven’t been infected or—” 

“You don’t have to tell me everything, sweetheart, I know what you have to do,” he says softly, and you swallow thickly, nodding.

Your fingers are gentle as you undo the bandages, first starting with his hand and arm, before moving to his shoulder, and then finally his face. Nasty raised burns marred his skin, raised and ruined marks that clawed over his smooth flesh. The marks ravaged half of his body — the other half he was barely able to protect with cursed energy. 

You hid your frown as you looked at them — why was it him? That question kept replaying in your mind. It was pointless to ask. It was asking why tragedy struck one person rather than another — it was chance, it was happenstance, it was fate. 

But you wished fate had chosen another — hell, you wished fate had chosen you. 

Your hands are washed and gloved as you examine him for any signs of infection — discharge, abnormal discoloration, and the last sign — warmth, “I’m going to just check some areas of your skin for any warmth — okay?” and Kento nods, his gaze downward. Your fingers are gentle — a featherlight touch as you check, fingers tracing his hand and up his arm, across his shoulder blade and back, until you reach his neck and face. Your fingers end up caressing his face, cupping it as you stare at him. 

He’s so beautiful. 

Each scar is a reminder of how hard he fought — even against monsters beyond any of any sorcerer’s imaginations, defended his comrades, protected students, and somehow had never given up. Even when it would have been understandable to do so. He still stood on his two feet, unwavering in his determination to live — and it wasn’t even for himself. Sorcery was an individual sport, sure, but sorcerers pass the baton all the time, and they choose to fight for one another, as well as themselves — if only to make the next fight easier for their fellow sorcerers. And you knew he was fighting, fighting to come home to you. 

How did you ever get so lucky?

“I understand,” Kento says, drawing you from your reverie, “I understand if you feel differently about my appearance — it will be harder for me to be mobile, the burns could constrict me and my eye as well. I understand even, even if it changes how you feel,” his tone was forced evenness, but he couldn’t hide the slight waver from you — Kento only ever wavered when it came to himself. 

You pause for a moment, “It does change how I feel,” and his eye slides to meet yours, hardened and accepting, “it makes me only love you more,” and Kento blinks, ocean blues filled with water, “Kento, these scars, your injuries, they show how much you fought to come back to me — how much you fought to protect our students — how much you sacrificed just to keep fighting,” your voice cracks, “how could I ever see you as less than for that? I love you so much, Kento — I just wish I could have done more for you,” 

His fingers find yours, curling around them, “Done more? You saved my life—” 

“Did you want to be saved?” and your question makes him pause, and your words tumble out of you, a confession you never wanted to make, “Yuji heard you — heard you say how tired you were — asking yourself if you’ve done enough, did I just put you in more pain by making you stay—” 

And he’s covering your mouth gently with his palm, making you stop, your tears streaming across his knuckles as you cried, “I never wanted to stop fighting to come home to you. I’m grateful you saved me,” he said softly, “every moment of pain is worth it, worth it because I get to be here with you. I get to have more time with you, with Itadori, with Ino, with everyone else,” he gives a terse chuckle, “I am tired, tired of jujutsu, tired of risking my life, tired of seeing those I love risk my life — but I came back for a reason, and I came back for you,” his lips curl into a smile, “and you, I could never be tired of.” 

You can’t stop crying now, tears falling from your eyes, as you wipe them, “I’m going to have to change my gloves now,” and he laughs, pressing a kiss to your gloved hand. 

“Change them, I’ll be here,” and you have to hold yourself back from hugging him — you need to put his ointments and lotions on and then bandage him up, and then — then you could hug him. But for now you settled with pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then cupping it. 

“I love you,” and you didn’t know, but he knew, he knew then, more than ever, that he wanted to marry you. And he would ask — but not now. 

So he smiles instead, “I know, I love you too.” 

“We’re going to be late!” you wait outside, arms crossed, “Kento?” 

“Don’t worry, we’re here,” and he’s stepping out, daughter in his arms, as you raise an eyebrow, “Mio wanted me to carry her.” 

“You’re going to spoil her rotten,” you roll your eyes, walking over to your husband and one year old daughter,  “she’s going to be daddy’s little princess at this rate — aren’t you, baby?” you kiss her cheek, as Kento watches you. 

“Like mother, like daughter,” and you gape at him, as his lips curl, as he carries his daughter to the car to strap her into her carseat, “are you coming?” 

You step over to the car, standing as he finishes buckling Mio in, and he turns to face you — the scars on his body remained, but healing with each day — his other eye hidden away under an eyepatch, but he still looked just as handsome the day you met him at Jujutsu High for the first time, if not more so (it was definitely more so, you often teased him, that emo haircut was definitely not attractive). 

“Sweethe—” he raises an eyebrow, before you lean up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and he melts into the kiss, brow furrowed as you pull away, “what was that for?” 

And you shrug, “Just because, now come on,” you climb into the seat beside your daughter. 

“If we’re late for this meeting at Jujutsu Tech, it will be because of your kiss,” he warns, catching your eye with a smile in the rearview mirror as he starts the car. 

You only grin back, as your fingers find Mio’s tiny ones, “Don’t worry, we have time.” 

And you did — you had all the time in the world. 

✴︎ a/n: so this is some hardcore copium that @laneysmusings claimed i owed after the five times nanami fic. and who am i to deny? but also nanami is fineeeee. just a little scratch.

✴︎ tag list: @ghost-with-a-teacup, @itsseaberri, @himboelover, @sampam0260, @tiredkitten, @angelltheninth, @kateshappyplants, @neon-crow, @akaashi-todorki, @juniperjunpei, @what-the-stories-have-foretold, @purplecandygerl, @trenchcoat-idiots, @crimsonstarrr, @tirouxdreemurr, @dazaifungus, @the-apple-rose, @just1nee, @weirdanddorkyrambling, @goatlings-world

[sunonyoreface]

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

 Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

 According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

 My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

 In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

 One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

 Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

 Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

 Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

 His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

 However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

 He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

 “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

 “Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

 But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

 “What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

 “Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

 “Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

 “Negative.”

 “Are you sure beca-“

 “Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

 Fine. I won’t try to help.

 I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

 When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

 Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

 Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

 He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

 I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

 I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

 When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

 It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

 On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

 “What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

 When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

 I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

 I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

 “Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

 Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

 I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

 At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

 I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

 As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

 The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

 I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

 The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

 Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

 Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

 It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

 Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

 I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

 I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

 “If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

 “Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

 “Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

 “That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

 It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

 “I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

 “C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

 The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

 I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

 “Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

 As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

 Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

 Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

 Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

 I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

 For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

[earthtooz]

…u mentioned rin. what do u think about unofficial bf rin seeing u in another guy’s jacket cs when u asked him for his he said he’s too cold to give it to u.

the itoshi rin writer within me coming alive for seven be like...

gn!reader who is the assistant manager for rin's team, pro!player itoshi rin, playful y/n, situationship between rin and reader, rin is jealous bc this is how i celebrate the end of an itoshi rin drought in the manga, unedited + apologies for bad writing

A hand slaps down on the table in front of you, the harsh sound of skin meeting wood softened only by a mere jersey. The sudden interruption rips you from the paperwork you had been assigned at the start of the day, ripped from the world of sporting brand deals and competition contracts by a certain grump you have the pleasure of dealing with. 

“Put this on.” Itoshi Rin demands, cold voice rocky with conflict.

“What?” You ask, mind dazed and eyes sore from reading so many words. 

“Put this on.” Rin seethes through his teeth, practically waving his jersey in your face. 

“Why?”

“Because you need it.” 

“Not anymore, I’m not. Isagi gave me his jacket.”

“I can see that. That’s why you should put. This. On.” 

“Hey, you were the one that was cold!” You counter, capping your pen and pointing it at him. “Remember? You were like ‘why didn’t you bring your own, you idiot. Warm-ups haven’t started yet, so I can’t give it to you’.” 

It irks him how you imitate him with a sneer that he swears he doesn’t have, or how you deadpan your tone to match his, but what irks him even more is the fact that you’re wearing Isagi’s jersey instead of his. Rin has half a mind to burn it instead of returning it to the dark-haired when he gets his hand on it.

“Just- just take it!” He demands, pushing his neatly-folded jersey even closer to you.

“Don’t want it anymore,” you resist, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “People are gonna get the wrong idea.”

“And that is?”

“That we’re romantically involved,” you tease and Rin swears he feels his eye twitch. Sometimes he asks himself why, that out of all people, you were the one to capture his heart. You’re playful, understanding, and maybe a little too cunning for his own good, but he can’t find it himself to want you to change, and that is when he knew love-dipped arrows had struck him through the heart.

Accepting love’s toxins is why Rin finds himself completely exasperated, staring you down; the physical manifestation of everything he adores and simultaneously drives him crazy. After months of denying his feelings for you, and this is what he gets in return?

“Why would those idiots get ‘the wrong idea’?” He asks, deciding to play into your hands.

“Being seen in public with each other is a big step, y'know, especially if I’m wearing your jersey.”

“What the- so why can you wear Isagi’s jersey?”

You tap your pen against the table at a metronomic pace. “Because Isagi and I are just friends!”

Itoshi Rin can feel a migraine materialising. “I don’t care anymore, just, put this on already.”

“Your teammates may begin to speculate.”

“They’ve seen us kiss, what is there to ‘speculate’?” the athlete asks.

“We’ve never held hands in front of them, though,” you contest. “Me wearing this is kind of like you asking me to be your partner so-”

“So put on the damn jersey!”

With a hidden smile, you finally accept his gift, holding onto the soft fabric with a delicate grip. After months of dancing around being an ‘official’ or ‘unofficial’ couple, triumph settles in your stomach when you pull the collar of his jersey over your head. The expensive smell of his cologne invades your senses, distracting you from the satisfied look in his teal gaze.

A hand finds yours and effortlessly pulls you out of your office chair to be almost chest-to-chest with Itoshi Rin. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, snatching Isagi’s jersey as he drags you to the pitch, never letting you stray one inch from him.

He wants his teammates to get the 'wrong' idea, after all.

wrong idea as in you are romantically evolved, you're welcome xx

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[apdreadful]

I’ve decided that from here forward I’m writing Tommy and Buck/Evan as long term canon. In the words of Buck himself “Who cares?!”

I get the feeling that Tommy is difficult to get really angry. Mostly based on his past. And his general roll with the punches attitude thus far. So I don’t foresee a lot of strife or fighting in his future with Buck. Except the first time Tommy experiences the after of that big marshmallow Evan Buckley doing something really dangerous and reckless..again.

And Tommy who never gets angry, who never shouts at Buck, who flew a helicopter into a goddamn hurricane in the middle of the ocean, really loses his shit this time because Buck cannot understand why Tommy is so upset that he dropped into a dangerous situation against orders AGAIN.

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose to keep from shouting “Bobby told you not to go in. He told you not to risk it. That the floors were too unstable”

“There could have been someone left” Buck replies “Someone needed to check. It had to be me”

“Why? Because you’re fucking super human? The great Buck Buckley from the 118 who scoffs at danger, has survived a tsunami, getting trapped beneath a fire truck, throwing a blood clot, and was officially dead for three minutes after getting struck by FUCKING LIGHTNING!”

“How do you know about all of that?”

“That isn’t what matters”

“I think it is” Buck takes a step toward Tommy “Have you been stalking me babe?”

Noticing the mischievous smile Tommy shakes his head “Oh no no no. You are not going to adorable your way out of this”

Bucks shoulders sag and he sighs “I’m ok Tommy. Not even a scratch”

“I can see that” Tommy lets out a deep exhale “I understand the risks of the job. I’m not like your exes who would get all distraught over you removing a cat from a tree. But for fucks sake, you are worse than the EOD guys when I was in Afghanistan with the walking - or in your case running or jumping- right into the worst case scenario with no thought of your own safety” Rubbing his forehead he continues “Evan. You’ve got a savior complex and it’s noble and selfless..”

Buck cuts him off “It’s not a savior complex. I’m not stupid. I understand that sometimes no matter what you do you can’t save them. But sometimes maybe you can, and in those cases, I just make the most sense”

Tommy crosses his arms to keep from strangling him or kissing him stupid again to shut him up “How is that? How does you possibly dying make any sense?”

“They all have people that need them. They all have someone they belong to and..” he trails off with a small shrug

And Tommy hears the words he doesn’t say. He is…expendable. And just like that all of the anger drains out of Tommy to be replaced by a something else. “Evan” he says softly.

“I know” Buck interjects “I know that people love me and they would be sad, especially Maddie. And I don’t want to die. But I don’t want someone who has someone they need, and that needs them, to die either. I couldn’t live with that”

Tommy closes his eyes. This man..How can he be so adorable and selfless, yet so completely stubborn and a pain in the ass about his own safety?

Once he calms his thoughts and finds the words he wants to say, he opens his eyes to see Evan looking at him calmly. Like he expects Tommy to see the sense in what he said.

“Evan. I know we haven’t really put a label on this. On us. But that’s because I don’t want to pressure you. I’m the first man you’ve been with and you’re still figuring out who you are, and I understand that. But let me clarify something for you. I need you to come back to me. Ok?”

Buck blinks “Huh”

“I need you to come back to me” he repeats “Like Bobby needs Athena, and Karen needs Hen, and yes like Maddie needs Chimney.

“And Jee-un. Jee-yun needs her dad”

“Yes, and in that same vein, Christopher needs Eddie” he agrees, trying not to give in to his exasperation. “I need you. I am that person who needs you to come home Evan”

Evan stops whatever he was about to say. Startled awareness creeping into his eyes..Tommy sees a mix of emotions flit across his face. Surprise, joy, fear, everything just races across that expressive face and then Evan sinks onto the barstool at his kitchen island. His hands coming up to cover his face.

Tommy’s stomach clench’s. He pushed too hard, too soon “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I do care and want you to come home but..”

Buck looks up at him “Don’t you dare take that back”

“I’m not taking it back. I just don’t want to push you”

Something else crosses Evans face at that..but he tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “You aren’t pushing. You aren’t pressuring me. I am in this just as much as you. I just don’t know how to say what I want to say without it sounding lame and emo as shit”

“Did you just hear me? You can say anything to me Evan. Whatever it is”

Buck rolls his bottom lip between his teeth again. “I’ve never questioned why I do this…I mean it’s the whole reason I was born. To save my brother. To save Daniel. That’s what I do, that’s who I am. It’s why I became a firefighter. To be the one who saves people. The 118 is my family. And I would do anything to protect them from harm”

“I’m not asking you to stop. I would never ask that. I just want to remind you that you matter to a lot of people, and you also have someone who is waiting for you”

Bucks voice is thick “I know that. I get that. But…Nobody has ever. I have never belonged to anyone, like that”

In a sense of deja vu Tommy closes the short distance to Buck. Tipping his face up, he kisses him. Not soft and gentle like their first kiss in this kitchen. But bold and deep. Branding Evan with his mouth. Pulling back he says fiercely “You belong to me like that. For as long as you want..you belong to me and I belong to you, like that”

“I will ALWAYS need you to come back to me Evan”

ao3 like per request

[maxineryx]

Seeing Dazai without bandages is like winning the lottery, getting struck by lightning, seeing a blue moon, or managing to buy the first three volumes of your favourite manga from the bookstore.

It's a chance close to zero.

Well, none of those things have happened to you yet, including seeing Dazai without bandages. Though, you believe this was even rarer than all those other things listed above because every time you spotted him unwrapping them in the bathroom, he softly shooed you out, or closed the door. You never got an explanation for why, but you had a solid idea of what it might have been.

You weren’t a stranger to Osamu’s past. You knew of all the things he did and who he was, but he was given a second chance, so naturally you put that all behind you and never asked any questions. And of course, most of the things you’ve heard weren’t actually from him. He’s never gone into depth about what used to happen in the Port Mafia. Nor has he ever mentioned any battles, or any struggles he might have faced. However, you were sure that there were some stories to tell under those bandages.

You were also sure that those ‘stories’ might not be as pleasing to hear or to tell, so you never pressured him to talk.

Although, sometimes you just wished he confided in you, because you were together, after all. He knew many secrets of yours, pleasant and unpleasant, and you knew that none of those secrets were even comparable to what he must have gone through.

You just wanted him to tell you, to show you, even if it was a little so that you could lift that guilt off his caring heart to make him feel better.

You and Osamu came home from work a couple of hours ago, when the sun was already set, stars twinkling above. It was dark inside your shared home, the only light source being the bright, white lights around the rectangular-shaped mirror, as you sat on the counter, already showered and face taken care of.

You were watching Dazai apply some moisturizer to his face. His long coat was gone, along with all his other clothes that hid his top half. The only thing stopping you from seeing his skin were the bandages.

“You like to stare, don’t you?” He asked in his usual, playful tone, pausing to take a glance at you before resuming his skincare. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I’m breathtaking.”

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’, to which he started tickling you, your laughter echoing throughout the house.

“It’s getting late. You should go to bed, I’ll join you in a few minutes.” Osamu said, kissing the tip of your nose.

You frowned. “I don’t feel tired at all,” you started, smiling, hoping he’d agree for the first time, “I’ll wait for you, I mean, how long can it take?”

He sighed, though it wasn’t an annoyed sigh. He helped you get off the counter, gently grabbing your arms, before walking you out. You stopped in your tracks, earning a confused expression from him.

“Osamu… why do you never let me stay? Every night, you push me out without giving me an explanation.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He put a hand softly atop your head. “You know I don’t want you to see what’s under these bandages…I don’t want to scare you.”

“You’ll never scare me, no matter what I’ll see. I thought you knew that.” You replied, not breaking eye contact. You could start seeing the unease in his eyes as he averted his gaze.

“It’s not that.” He whispered, “You haven’t seen me in the Port Mafia. You didn’t know the Port Mafia executive, Dazai Osamu, because you only know the new Dazai Osamu. And even though I am him, my body still represents the Port Mafia executive, and it always will. I want you to know what I am now, not what I was back then.”

There was a lengthy silence as he removed his hand from your head.

“‘samu,” Instantly, you cup his cheeks, bringing his head down a little so that you could stare into his eyes intensely. Dazai’s eyes flashed with uncertainty and slight shame, something you’d never seen him feel before.

“You’re right. I didn’t know Dazai Osamu from the Port Mafia, but I’ve heard of him. You’re the man I love, ‘samu, nothing could make me fear you, or walk away from you. You were given a second chance and second chances aren’t common in life. Even if your body carries horrible memories, it doesn’t mean that that’s the person you are. The man I love is caring, loving, protective, charming, amazing… and all the other positive words I could use forever.

So please, let me care for you.”

His hands were holding your wrists as you never let go of his face. Tears were bubbling up in your eyes, heart racing from all the emotions. His bottom lip was slightly trembling as he looked at the floor, before letting go of your wrists and turning around, walking back into the bathroom. He didn’t ask you to leave.

And this time, it was you who was unbandaging him as he sat patiently, though averting his gaze for most of the time. It would take time to get him to be comfortable, but you were more than happy to go slow if it meant that he wouldn’t feel as much guilt as before.

So no, you didn’t win the lottery, get struck by lightning, see a blue moon, or manage to buy the first three volumes of your favourite manga at the bookstore, but you did get to see Dazai without bandages. All those things couldn’t even compare to that.

————————

A:N - I’m back after a looooong writing break… just a lil thingy to warm myself up before writing anything longer

[bruisedboys]

can I request eddie and shy!reader with reader’s first kiss?! I imagine he’d be so gentle with her!

I want him to be my first kiss so bad!! waiting for him to be real so he can kiss me tbh

summary: eddie gives shy!you your first kiss

shy!fem!reader 0.9k words

Eddie thinks you look really pretty.

He’d tell you so but he’s already told you twice tonight, and he’s pretty sure if he says it again you’ll burst into flames on the spot. You’re quite shy — it’s endearing and very adorable but it also means Eddie has to be more careful of what he says and does. He wouldn’t want to scare you off.

He watches you pore over a book, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He badly wants to tell you how lovely you look. In a t-shirt that’s too big for you and a pair of sweatpants. Your hair all messy pretty and tucked behind your ears. He holds his tongue, turning back to the old band tee he’s hacking the sleeves off on his bedroom floor.

“Eddie?”

Your voice breaks the comfortable silence you and Eddie had been sitting in. Eddie puts down his scissors and looks up. He likes the way you’ve said his name, like he’s the only person ever. He’s sure he sounds similar when he says your name. He smiles at you.

“Yeah?”

You shuffle forwards on his bed, sliding to the edge until your legs dangle off. Eddie’s struck, yet again, by how beautiful you are. It takes all the breath out of his chest.

“Um.” You pause then, and get this nervous look on your face. Eddie knows it well. You’re often nervous around him.

He sits up straighter. By the looks of it you’re wanting to tell him something. Or ask him something. “Yeah, honey?”

Your eyes flick to Eddie and then back to your hands where they’re twisted in your lap. Eddie sees the tap tap tap of your foot, the wringing of your hands. He shuffles forward on the floor and gets a hand on your knee, fingers curling around the bottom of your thigh.

“What is it?” He asks softly.

When you answer your staring at your lap, determined to avoid Eddie’s eyes.

“Well … I just. I was reading that part in The Princess Bride, the bit about the five kisses? And I just wondering …” You reach up and scrub the back of your neck awkwardly. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?”

Eddie balks. He was not expecting that. It’s a big question — for you to ask and for Eddie to answer. He has his own reasons. The biggest one being he’s afraid to scare you off, to mess up maybe the best thing in his life right now. Not only that, but he knows how tentative you are about relationship stuff. It’s all new to you.

The silence stretches too long. Eddie rushes to break it before you think he’s gone and backed out on you.

“Oh.” He says, more flustered than he’s ever been with you. Normally you’re the flustered one. He’s realising now how hard it is being on the receiving end. “Well, um. I … I guess—“

“Do you not want to?” You ask quietly, interrupting Eddie’s rambling.

Eddie stops short. “What?” He stares up at you. He can hardly believe you think that. Of course he wants to kiss you — he’d kind of thought you wouldn’t want him to. “No. No, sweetheart, that’s not it. I just. Well, I just wanted to wait until you were ready … “ He pauses, catches the look on your face, like you’re waiting for something to happen. “Are you ready?”

You bite your lip. Not for the first time, Eddie wonders what it would be like to kiss your lips. You nod very slowly.

“I think so,” you say. You’re staring at his mouth now.

Eddie nods so quick he almost snaps his neck. He hardly cares.

“Okay,” he says earnestly. He scrambles to his feet and then moves to stand in front of you, your knees pressing into his legs.

You blink up at him. Eddie can’t resist taking your face in his hands. Your skin is hot to touch. He imagines his face would feel the same.

“You’re really pretty,” he says despite himself. Even though he’d promised not to tell you again until at least tomorrow.

“Eddie,” you chide softly.

Eddie just grins. “Are you sure you want to?” He asks you, struggling to hear himself over the thump of his heart in his ears. He very much wants to give you a Princess Bride worthy kiss right now.

You nod around his hands. “I’m sure,” you say.

Eddie leans in then. His hands on your face, pulling you gently towards him. His eyelids fluttering shut. It feels different but it feels right. He’s about half a second away from kissing you when you say,

“Wait.”

Eddie opens his eyes. You’re so close he could count your eyelashes.

“What?” He whispers back.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say. Your breath fans over Eddie’s mouth, your lips ghosting over his. It takes all his might not to kiss you right then and there. “I don’t know how,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” Eddie tells you. It is okay. And he’s maybe a lot more honoured than he should be that he’s gonna be your first kiss. “You’ll learn.”

“You’ll teach me?”

Eddie looks at you and thinks yeah, he’ll teach you. He’ll do literally anything you could ever ask of him. “Of course, angel.”

“Okay,” you say. You smile and Eddie thinks if he doesn’t kiss you now he might pass out.

He kisses you. He doesn’t pass out but he comes pretty close.

-

[avocad1s]

Trial By Combat - 2

Requested By: No One. Original Work.

CW: Impostor SAGAU, Mentions of Punishment, Angst,

Summary: Fontaine fears for your fate.

Note: You all really loved the first part and a lot of people wanted a continuation so I shall provide

If you haven’t finished the Fontaine Archon quest, please exit stage left.

Part One Part Three Part Four

Ever since the day of the duel, it has been raining nonstop in Fontaine.

It was as if the entire nation came to a standstill; many shops refused to open their doors, no trials were being held, and the Hydro Archon hadn't been seen since she falsely accused the Creator of Teyvat.

As doctors quickly carried you away with Clorinde following quickly behind, citizens waited impatiently for any news of your recovery, this sight of you bleeding profusely still plaguing their minds.

The Champion Duelist refused to leave your side even after doctors did everything they could, she sat in the chair waiting for the moment you open your eyes. She wonders what you will do once you do wake up, could you find it in your heart to forgive her? To forgive Fontaine entirely? Regardless what you decide, she is ready to accept it graciously.

Clorinde looks down at her gloved hands, the white cloth that was stained with your golden blood only a week ago. This was the second time she had struck down an innocent, was this the justice she was fighting for? Even if it meant painting the floor with her Creator’s blood? She lets out a sigh as she looks back at your sleeping form, the pattering of rain on the window doing nothing to ease the swirl of emotions within her chest.

-

Although everyone was praying for you to have a speedy recovery, there were some people who demanded answers from their Archon.

“She is supposed to be the God of Justice.”

“How could she not recognize the Creator themselves?”

Focalors refused to show her face in public, she had no answers for her actions, this wasn’t something she could lie about until everyone believed her. This was something that could have true consequences, she couldn’t even be angry if her fellow Archons came to stike her down due to her transgressions.

Only during the dark of night is when she went outside, even though Clorinde had been watching over you this entire time, she had to see how you were doing with her own eyes. Furina kneels by your bed and grasps your hand, she weeps out heartfelt apologies until she couldn’t any longer.

Suddenly she picks her head up, she wipes the wetness from her cheeks as she looks at your face.

“Your Grace?” She says softly, the exaggerated tone no where to be found.

Your hand moves slightly in hers and now she knows she wasn’t hallucinating, “are you awake?” Your eyes open slowly causing the Archon to cry even more as she stands to look at you better.

The door to the room opens as Clorinde and Neuvillette enter, their eyes just as wide as their Archons. The two rush to your side as you try to sit up in bed a rush of pain coursing through your body.

“You should be careful Your Grace,” Clorinde mutters, “we don’t want you to tear open your stitches.”

“Why am I here?” You manage to rasp out gazing at all of their faces. Neuvillette grabs the glass of water next to your bed handing it to you, the water was room temperature, but it was still refreshing to drink.

Furina, who was the most expressive out of the three furrows her eyebrows, “huh? What do you mean?”

“I should’ve died out there..” you mumble. Clorinde looks down in shame.

“I’m apologize Your Grace,” Furina says still holding your hand, “I am a fool, I should’ve recognized you the second you entered Fontaine but instead I…” she trails off.

You stare at her, the look on her face showing just how remorseful she felt, but you couldn’t forgive her. You couldn’t forgive any of them. Not yet at least.

“You gave me no chance to explain myself, I was guilty in your eyes the second I entered your nation.” You pull your hand out of hers causing her to frown slightly.

“I thought that something was amiss but-“

“Then why didn’t you come to my defense? You knew there was no way I could win but you still did nothing. You made no attempt to stop the fight.” You interrupt Neuvillette.

He stops mid-sentence, his nonchalant expression never changing as he fails to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

You throw the blanket off your body, the cold air causing goosebumps to appear on your exposed legs.

“Your Grace it’s not a good idea to stand! Your wounds are still healing.”

You ignore Clorinde’s warnings as you stumble to your feet, your hand rests on your torso to ease the throbbing sensation in it.

“All of you leave, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” You say coldly.

“Please allow us to help you back in bed.” Furina reaches out to place her hand on your shoulder.

“I can take care of myself, just get out.” You snap.

The Archon flinches slightly but she nods and sighs. Without any other objections, Clorinde and Neuvillette leave the room. Furina trails slowly behind them, as she reaches the threshold she looks back at you one last time before whispering, "I will return to see you in the morning, I hope that's okay."

Once the door clicks you turn your gaze to the window noticing that it was still raining, maybe even harder than before. You exhale as you sit on the windowsill resting your body against the glass as you watch the droplets race down onto the ledge outside.

‘Hmm, doesn't look like the rain is gonna stop anytime soon…’ you think to yourself.

-

© avocad1s 2023

Tagging: @bittersweetorpheus @esthelily

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 !! ✩࿐

pairings: albedo, alhaitham, childe, cyno, heizou, kazuha, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, very light angst in xiao’s and childe’s (they still ends with fluff though), kissing, established relationship

summary: in which your boyfriend tells you that he loves you, but instead of returning his sentiments, you decide to mess with him by not saying it back.

a/n: i said that i’d post soon like two weeks ago... oops. nonetheless, i hope you have fun reading this!

₊˚ପ ALBEDO

“What’s the matter?” Albedo asks, tilting his head slightly as the words fall from the tip of his tongue. Vivid teal eyes fill with hints of concern that dance through his irises loftily in a flurry of iridescent petals.

Albedo is worried, but he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. For now, he’ll test the waters of an unexplored ocean and scope out the situation, hoping that he’s just reading too much into things.

“Nothing,” you answer, tilting your head innocently as if you don’t have a clue what Albedo’s talking about.

Your boyfriend is perplexed, but he’s not an idiot. He’s often been regarded as a genius, and he’s spent almost as much time reading the sentimental words engraved into your heart as he has conducting his experiments. Albedo is absolutely captivated by you because you never fail to leave him fascinated and awe-struck. So naturally, he’s managed to pick up on all your subtle habits and all your strange quirks.

And right now, the expression on your face tells him that something is off. A missing brushstroke on a panoramic painting. A sour note in an otherwise enchanting composition. A sparkling daydream where you feel just a little too lucid.

You know exactly what he’s talking about. You’re just feigning ignorance.

Now all Albedo has to do is figure out why.

“I see,” he whispers under his breath in a tone so soft that even a light breeze would whisk his words off to neverland.

Albedo’s gaze remains fixated on you, his eyebrows scrunched and eyes narrowed.

Then a barely-audible chuckle leaves your lips. You stifle it in an instant, but Albedo has committed the melodic sound of your laugh to memory.

And suddenly everything makes sense.

You’re trying to get a reaction out of him, but sadly for you, you seem to have forgotten one key detail. Albedo is used to solving issues in a calm manner, his temperament akin to aquatic drafts that gently caress the surface of a crystal ocean. Cool and controlled.

“Ah, I understand now,” he says, and your eyes widen. The expression on your face rivals the beauty of a night sky dotted with various asterisms. You’re utterly ethereal. The corners of Albedo’s lips turn up, graced with a smile that shines with the light of a million stars. “You thought you could fool me, but unfortunately, you just gave yourself away.”

A pause. The tension within the air thaws, and the atmosphere becomes light-hearted once more.

“I’m not mad,” he clarifies, staring you dead in the eye, “but I would, however, appreciate it if you could make it up to me.”

₊˚ପ ALHAITHAM

Alhaitham is unfazed.

He sees right through you. You didn’t seriously think this was going to work on him, right? It didn’t take him long to get used to your antics when you first got together, and although you haven’t tried to play as many pranks on him as of late, it’s difficult to erase the devious grin you don whenever you’re up to something from his mind. Nor has the sly look in your eyes slipped from his memory.

Your boyfriend’s ability to read you is almost prophetic — a prediction of the future, yet no stars are read and no omens are required. He makes his predictions based on logic and logic alone.

And unfortunately for you, you don’t possess the same capabilities.

When you ignore Alhaitham’s honeyed words, turning your back to walk away with a coldness reminiscent of the farthest outreaches of the galaxy, he simply shrugs it off and heads to your living room to read a book. He sinks comfortably into a plush armchair, knowing full well that you’ll be back in no time.

Just four pages in, and Alhaitham hears the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallways, filling your shared home with a familiar sort of music. It’s only a few more seconds before he feels a tap on his shoulder — a touch that brings him back to reality entirely, away from the realm of scholarly pursuits.

“Is there anything you need?” Alhaitham asks, meeting your gaze with eyes tinted a turquoise found only in the most pristine of diamond waters. He remains as stoic as ever, not allowing so much as a single hint of emotion to show through his front.

You stare at him, dumbfound, for a few moments. Alhaitham knows what you’re thinking. He’s normally so observant — nothing ever slips past him, and yet this time, he failed to acknowledge the fact that you didn’t respond to his ‘I love you’. Besides that, it’s rather rare for Alhaitham to allow those words to leave his lips in the first place. He prefers to reserve them for tender moments, times where it feels like the only beings present in the vast universe are the two of you. You expected him to be more alert, and yet, Alhaitham has subverted all your expectations.

And it’s all part of his plan.

But then your eyes widen, filling with a light signaling that you’ve just experienced an epiphany. Alhaitham can tell that you’ve realized what he’s up to, and that your little scheme has backfired entirely.

“About earlier,” you start, assuming that Alhaitham already knows what you’re referring to.

Alhaitham smiles.

“What about it?” he questions you, acting oblivious even though both of you know Alhaitham would never be that clueless.

“You acted like you didn’t notice on purpose, didn’t you?” You’re pouting, but your irritation is clearly feigned. Alhaitham knows you like the back of his hand, and although messing with you produces some entertaining results, he would never go so far as to hurt you.

A rare smile graces Alhaitham’s face, as stunning as vivid ribbons of celestial light that compose an illustrious aurora. He’s not typically one to express emotion, but he can’t help himself. You’re just far too irresistible, and if there’s one thing he has a soft spot for, it’s you.

“My apologies,” he speaks in his usual calm tone. “I just couldn’t help myself — not when I knew I’d be able to bear witness to such an adorable display of anger.”

₊˚ପ CHILDE

The silence that hangs in the air is tangible — a thick veil of unspoken words, all consolidated into glacial fractals that cause the atmosphere to glaze over. An icy sort of tension permeates the moment, crystallizing the ambience and morphing it into something fragile.

And everything shatters when your boyfriend speaks.

“[Name],” he frowns, gazing at you with periwinkle hues devoid of illumination. He sighs, swallowing his pride. “Say it back. Please.”

A blank look fills your eyes, morphing once-lively galaxies into monochromatic jumbles of nonsense. For once, Childe can’t tell what you’re thinking, and that scares him. Either you’re messing with him, and you’re an exceptionally good actor, or you’re being serious.

“Say what back?” you say, cluelessness filling your tone filling your tone.

Childe is dumbfounded. It’s true that he tells you he loves you quite often, but he didn’t think that you’d become so accustomed to it that his words would no longer hold any weight. Although he finds it slightly odd, he supposes that even the most precious of glittering gemstones becomes mundane when fortune is the norm. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less disappointed.

“You really can’t tell?” he sighs yet again. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere but at you.

You shake your heart, and yet as you do, he catches a subtle flash of gilded lightning flash through your irises, setting your expression ablaze with hints of mischief. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but Childe knows what he saw. The initial melancholy that gripped his heart with cold fingers borne of frost dissipates, and in its place, amusement arises.

Silence. Shock. Disbelief.

And then he bursts out in a fit of sonorous laughter, the sheer volume of each chuckle rivalling that of an intense tempest.

Your eyes widen. It seems that you didn’t expect to be found out, but Childe has known you for long enough to be able to read your emotions. He’s spent an eternity exploring every nuance of your personality — every subtlety and every quirk, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And he loves every part of you.

That’s why he never fails to express his adoration whenever the opportunity is presented in evanescent moments like these. Although times like these sound like they’d be rare, they’re not when he’s by your side. Every second is filled with bliss, and despite the instances where azure skies are painted a dull grey and sapphire oceans turn tumultuous, he always knows that everything will be alright.

“I should have known,” he says. “You were just teasing me.”

Busted.

In less than a minute, your boyfriend has exposed all your plans, and you have no choice but to admit defeat.

“I was,” you admit, hanging your head.

Childe laughs, but once he settles down, he cups your chin in one hand and lifts your head to meet his gaze. With a surprising amount of tenderness, he closes the distance between your lips. Inch by inch.

You lean in as well. Time slows, and he forgets how to breathe. Even though he was the one who initiated the kiss, he finds you utterly enchanting. The beating of his heart speeds up, becoming erratic, desperate for the sensation of your soft lips pressed against his.

And then it happens. Although Childe had been looking for a verbal affirmation of love, this is even better. Fireworks seem to burst in the edges of his vision, painting the world in vivid shades of phosphorescent crimson and rose.

₊˚ପ CYNO

“Say it back. There’s no need to continue on with this prank of yours because cy-no you’re only joking,” he says. His voice is as monotone as ever, as tranquil as cerulean seas beneath a sky dotted with snowy white clouds.

His words provoke no response from you. You simply stare at him, too shocked to speak.

“Do you get it? Because Cyno is my name, and ‘cy’ sounds a little bit like ‘I’ while ‘no’ sounds like ‘know’.”

Cyno watches as your features scrunch in a twist of disbelief, embarrassment, and fear. He internally chuckles, secretly delighting in the adorable expression adorning your face.

Your reactions are always priceless, worth more than the most precious of gold and the most luxurious of diamonds. Because basking in the splendor of your smile is true opulence.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle, the embers of mischief within your eyes flickering, “you win. Please stop with the puns. I can’t take it anymore.” Your tone is playful, light.

The corners of Cyno’s lips turn up slightly as a smile graces his features. He’s well aware that your exasperation is feigned — nothing more than an exaggeration fabricated in order to tease him a little. Besides, if you didn’t like his sense of humour, you wouldn’t even be dating him right now.

“Victory is mine,” Cyno speaks triumphantly in a tone full of a hyperbolic sort of grandeur.

He feels light-hearted for the first time in a while, and it’s in that moment, that fraction of a second, that Cyno realizes something.

Your presence is liberating.

When he’s with you, he’s free from the troubles of daily life. With you, the responsibilities that go hand-in-hand with his status are put on hold, allowing him some time to truly experience what it’s like to be unburdened. With you, he’s not the General Mahamatra, one of the most renowned figures within Sumeru. 

He’s just Cyno.

He feels his grin widen as he opens his mouth to speak once more.

“I love you,” he repeats his words from earlier, his tone one of pure adoration and bliss. The beating of his heart picks up, setting a new tempo that seems just right for the moment, a perfect backing for a myriad of silent declarations.

That seems to do the trick because you admit defeat without hesitation and utter the same words back with an extra one following in tandem.

“I love you too.”

₊˚ପ HEIZOU

“Oh? Do you not love me anymore?” Heizou confronts the problem head-on, feigning sadness. A smirk spreads across his face when he sees your confused expression, but he manages to erase it in an instant, deceiving even the eyes of his partner.

You should have known better than to play a prank of this sort on him. After all, Heizou’s always been one to turn your tricks against you.

As soon as your eyes widen and your jaw drops, Heizou knows that he’s won. To his relief, you don’t notice the way his verdant pools of peridot sparkle with mischief. You’re too absorbed in your panic to sense that anything is off.

He has to continuously stifle bouts of laughter. Heizou finds your reactions slightly too cute.

“N-No! I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurt out in a tone laced with desperation. “I’m sorry. I should have known that you would have noticed something was off. You’re always so perceptive,” you speak sheepishly, averting your gaze. “I just wanted to see how you’d react if I didn’t say it back…”

Heizou chuckles.

“You’re too cute, darling,” he muses, staring you straight in the eyes. “Fortunately for you, my intuition told me that you were just messing with me.”

You groan.

“Of course you figured it out,” you sigh.

Heizou can’t help but mentally agree. He’s already used to solving mysteries, and the fact that the two of you are so close doesn’t quite work to your advantage. Your boyfriend knows you like the back of his hand, and unfortunately for you, he enjoys the thrill of piecing together the puzzles you craft in an attempt to elicit reactions from him.

“I think I deserve a reward for cracking this case,” he says, pointing a finger at his lips.

When Heizou sees your eyes light up, glowing with the opalescent radiance of a nebula, he knows he’s about to get what he wants.

With one quick movement, you lean in nervously to place a shy kiss on Heizou’s lips, clearly still embarrassed by your failure. When you pull away, you take a few steps backwards before gazing deep into your boyfriend’s eyes. In that moment, Heizou realizes that the sentiments swirling through your irises — feelings embodied by the warm hues of a dying sunset — are nothing but sincere.

₊˚ପ KAZUHA

Kazuha knows you’re teasing him. From the subtle grin you’re trying to hide to the mischievous light dancing within your star-flecked irises, it’s not difficult to discern that you’re teasing him.

But despite everything, he decides to play along.

“I love you,” he repeats, gently taking your hand in his. He plants a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, a charming habit more than a calculated measure.

Kazuha glances up at you and smiles — a gentle expression that lights up your day with rays of golden sunshine. In a single flash, your cheekiness vanishes, and instead, an awestruck gaze paints itself across your face.

Kazuha suppresses a giggle. Far too often, he finds himself enamoured with you, especially when you’re flustered. He attempts to memorize the sight before him, engraving every dip and curve of your facial features into his memories.

You’re just far too endearing for him to resist, and besides, you’re his muse. Kazuha isn’t exactly sure how he knows it, but somehow, he’s certain that someday this moment will undergo a metamorphosis within a hall of crystallized memories, transforming from a fond recollection of the past to strings of eloquently phrased words — a haiku.

You look absolutely captivated by him, and although he didn’t intentionally try to send your heart into a frenzy of vivid daydreams and rose-tinted adoration, he’s glad you find him so attractive. A few seconds pass before you give in.

“I love you too,” you whisper breathlessly, grinning at Kazuha before leaving for the day. As soon as you’re out the door, Kazuha chuckles, eyes containing the essence of autumn mingling with a bright moonglow, swirling with amusement.

“I love you more.”

₊˚ପ SCARAMOUCHE

Scaramouche is confused, but he tries his best not to show it. He’s fairly certain that the two of you haven’t argued recently, so why is it that you’re not reciprocating his affections?

Although Scaramouche acts like he doesn’t care sometimes, he knows all your small habits. And as your lover, he finds it odd that you aren’t uttering those three powerful words back. That coupled with the fact that it’s rather difficult for him to express his feelings makes him desperate for a response.

“Are you forgetting something?” he grumbles, not wanting to seem too desperate. Deep down, his emotions cause whirlwinds of conflicting thoughts to swirl in his mind.

He watches as you blink — slowly, gradually as if you want to stretch seconds into eons. A frown etches itself into his forehead, and he feels irritation begin to overtake his heart. Storm clouds, tinted an ominous grey, overwhelm the ambience.

Finally, after what feels like forever, you shake your head.

“I don’t think so,” you tell him.

Scaramouche’s features twist into a pout, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. Yet at the same time, your boyfriend is embarrassed beyond measure. He feels his cheeks heating up, and he’s absolutely sure that shades of pink reminiscent of a sunrise have begun to dust his pale cheeks.

“Fine,” he breathes out, rolling his eyes and turning away. “Forget it. I’ll see you tonight.” Scaramouche tries to brush it off casually, attempting to erase the odd experience from memory.

He want nothing more than to hear you say those three words back, but he’s far too proud to admit it.

He nearly walks away before he feels a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Wait,” you say. “I was just kidding.”

Scaramouche groans. He turns around in order to face you.

“How irritating,” he sighs. He brushes his hair, silken strands spun of midnight, away from in front of his eyes. Scaramouche can’t believe you were able to sense his vulnerability.

You giggle upon seeing Scaramouche’s grumpy face.

“You owe me for this,” he states.

“I know,” you whisper, stepping closer to him and leaning in.

Scaramouche feels his breath hitch, and before he knows what’s happening, the sensation of your warm lips against his overwhelms his senses. Sparks fly in the edges of his vision, and soon enough, a passionate fire is set ablaze in a grand display of crimson elation.

Although you didn’t say anything in response when he told you he loved you, your wordless exchange of adoration speaks volumes.

I love you.

₊˚ପ XIAO

Xiao sucks in a quiet breath as you turn away from him. It’s not often that he expresses his affection verbally, and the fact that you’re barely responding to his declaration of love is unnerving.

He looks down, strands of seafoam obscuring his gaze, blocking eyes of honeyed amber from your line of sight. However, he raises his head after only a few seconds, attempting to ignore the feeling of unease creeping up on him, freezing his very being with a subtle chill. It’s barely there — a pain nowhere near the sting of a frostbite — yet it still eats away at him, reminding him again and again that something is wrong.

But although Xiao wants to ask you if anything’s bothering you or if he did something to upset you, he can’t. Translating his emotions into words feels far too difficult, especially because in all honestly, this situation is probably no big deal — or so he tells himself. Your nonchalance contrasts with his overthinking, causing doubt to well up within his mind.

In the end, he allows you to leave, wallowing within an aquamarine sea of thoughts. The world has been painted a watercolour blue. Although he refuses to admit it, melancholy overtakes Xiao’s heart, as he’s now both confused and lost.

Did he upset you?

The idea doesn’t seem too outlandish. Xiao’s never been good at interpreting emotions or expressing them, and it’s one of his greatest insecurities as your boyfriend. He’s gotten better over time, but there are times where he still worries about being too oblivious to your feelings.

Unfortunately for Xiao, you’re out for the day, so there’s plenty of time for negative thoughts to ruminate in his mind, festering until they reach the point of becoming a soulless black hole, draining every bit of confidence from him.

As the skies outside the glass windows of your shared home begin to tint with a rosy blush, and a golden light paints the world in shades of ephemeral warmth, Xiao becomes restless. You’ll be back any moment, and then, he’ll have to face you. Anticipation causes his heart to beat in a frenzy as the minute of your arrival approaches.

And sure enough, you return at the exact time you always do.

As soon as you walk through the door, Xiao walks over to greet you, gauging your reactions. When you see him, the corners of your lips turn up in an ethereal smile, and the rest of your face lights up.

Your delighted expression takes Xiao aback. He didn’t expect such a pleasant greeting after the events of this morning, but he brushes it off, allowing a grin to dance across his features in tandem, reciprocating your look of absolute adoration.

“I missed you,” he whispers, stepping closer to you in order to gently take your hand in his.

To assure himself that you’re here in the moment. That nothing’s wrong.

He sighs contently when you don’t pull away. The solace of your intertwined fingers is akin to the tidings of a viridescent spring after countless days of pure white dusting a panoramic landscape. It’s a breath of fresh air after eons spent hyperventilating in the frigidness of a crystallized wasteland, silently fading away amongst seas of sparkling snow.

Xiao can finally breathe again.

And when he laters asks why you didn’t return the three precious words he uttered under his breath earlier that day, as the sun had just begun bathing the world in aureate light, your answer causes his face to heat up.

It was nothing more than a prank.

disappearing back into my gremlin cave for another fifty years now!! thank you so much for reading!

[sxcretricciardo]

F1 Hit Couple

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

You are now sitting in front of the cameras for the Netflix series Drive to Survive. You’re already a pro, being here since the first season, this is easy for you. But, this is gonna be the first time that you and Daniel get both interviewed as a couple.

You’re scrolling trough instagram on your phone when the door opens and Daniel steps in.

“Sorry for being late, mate” Danny says to the producer. You swear you fall in love with his Australian accent everyday. The team mics him up and then he sits beside you and gives you a passionate kiss. You haven’t seen each other in a week since he had to go to Australia because of his mother.

“It’s okay, Daniel. Well, we can get started then.” The producer says, smiling and the cameras start rolling.

“So, how did you guys meet?” The producer asks.

“Well, I had just entered the F1 joining Renault for the 2017 season. I had just came from F2 where I was champion and Renault took a chance with me and I happily accepted. I knew the team was expecting the best of me and I made sure to not let them down. Daniel was the second one to meet me, the first was Nico, obviously” You say, laughing. The crew laughed alongside you. “And he came down to our garage to meet the new driver. I guess everyone was expecting a guy, since Renault kept our contract a secret until the last minute, very few people knew that it was me joining the team. Once Daniel looked at me, and I still remember this very well, his face was of pure shock.”

“It wasn’t shock, really. I knew it was going to be a woman driver, and I was really excited to meet you because we never had a female driver before, and I wanted to make sure that you were welcomed with open arms. And the moment I laid eyes on you, I was star struck.” Danny confesses.

“What was your first thought when you saw Y/N?” The producer asks.

“That she was really beautiful and the second I got to know her the more, I knew that she had an even more beautiful personality. On top of that, she’s the funniest person I’ve ever met.” Danny says. You start blushing.

“That’s why you’re both called the funniest duo on the grid.” The producer says.

“Really? I didn’t know that!” You say, laughing.

“Really? I thought that was pretty obvious.” Danny says.

“How does competing alongside your partner in Formula 1 affect your personal relationship? Is it a positive or negative influence?” The producer asks.

“I think it’s very positive. Having someone that understands you and motivates you. We both know the sacrifices that we have to make to be in this sport and it helps a lot that we’re both in it because we get to spend a lot of time together.” You say.

“Yeah, I agree. I see the guys on the grid saying they’re missing their girlfriends and talking to them on the phone and I’m just ‘don’t mind me, I’m just gonna walk next door and kiss mine’ you know?” Danny says, laughing.

“What about summer break, do you also spend it together?” The producer asks.

“In the first two weeks Daniel flies to Australia to meet his family and I fly to see mine. Then, we spend the rest of the following days together.” You say.

“Do you ever give each other strategic advice during races?” The producer asks.

“Yeah, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t take the best out of Daniel’s advices. He has the experience and wisdom that I don’t have yet. He’s been trough a lot in his career and he’s my go to guy when it comes to advices.” You sincerely say.

From the corner of your eye you see Daniel smiling.

“Does Daniel go to you to get advices?” The producer asks.

“Sometimes, yeah.” You say.

“She sees the track with other eyes, you know? She has a completely bold strategy and I sometimes I really need to be bold.” Danny says.

“Daniel, what do you think are Y/N best individual strengths and weaknesses?”

“She’s fearless when it comes to driving that car. She doesn’t care about the risks when her eyes are only set on one goal, set on winning. She takes decisions that most of us wouldn’t have the balls to do so. And sometimes that can make her reckless and make poor decisions too and I think she has already realized this.” Danny says.

“Yeah, that’s true. I remember that in my first year of Formula 1 I would make poor decisions and as in result I had to retire the car because of that. Then, after those races, I would go to Daniel and ask what did I do wrong and he was brutally honest. I needed that.” You say.

“And what about Daniel? What is his best individual strengths and weaknesses?”

“He’s wise. He knows the tracks like the palm of his hands and knows the best strategies to basically fly through them. His weakness is that he thinks too much. Sometimes he has to take some risks in order to win.” You say.

“When one of you gets the podium and the other doesn’t, how do you guys react to that?”

“Well, it’s a mix of feelings. Of course you’re happy for your partner when they get the podium but, it’s undeniable that you’re also disappointed with yourself for not being there too. You need to separate the worlds. When Y/N is on the podium, you need to be the supportive partner and celebrate her, because there will be plenty of time to think about a strategy to beat her next.” He says and laughs.

“We agreed to separate the track from our personal lives since we started dating. And we’ve done that beautifully.” You say.

“Has ever been arguments about that?” The producer asks.

“Never!” You say.

“Let’s talk about a more sensitive matter.” The producer says.

“Love those.” Danny ironically says.

“Spa 2020.” The producer says.

“Ugh, I knew this was coming.” You laugh nervously.

“What happened?” The producer asks.

“I was on P4 when suddenly Grosjean’s car looses control and crashes into mine and we both hit the barricade at 200 miles per hour. I passed out for a few moments and when I woke up, I could only see fire around me. That’s when my fight or flight mode turned on and I try to get out of that car the fastest I can. When I go reach my seatbelt I find out that it’s stuck and it takes me a whole minute to get it out. Once I’m able to finally get out of the car, I only remember walking like a meter or so and then everything goes black.” You say, remembering the almost tragic day. “I only remember waking up in the hospital after that with a burned hand and getting some oxygen out into me because I breathed in too much smoke while I was trying to get out, that’s why I passed out.”

You feel Daniel’s hand on your lap, as a gesture of reassurance.

“That was a fun day.” You say, laughing to revive the mood of the room.

“It really wasn’t.” Daniel says, letting out a nervous laugh.

“How was it like for you?” The producer asks Danny.

“As soon as my engineer told me that was a red flag, I had this really bad feeling. I remember asking what happened and to who it happened and there was radio silence, I knew it was Y/N. And as soon as we all stopped in the paddock I remember getting out of the car and looking for Y/N. That was when they gave me the news that she had crashed and it was bad. My instinct was to immediately run to where she was and no one could stop me. When I got there, the paramedics told me that she was going to be okay and I got so relieved.” He lets out a nervous laugh and continues “I was not going to continue the race, all I wanted was to be with her but she was the one telling me to continue and remember me that in that track we’re drivers and that I needed to win that race. And that’s what I did.”

“You finally got P1 in that season.” The producer says.

“Yeah, but I didn’t really enjoy it. All I wanted was to get down that podium and run to the hospital, to be with her.” He says.

“There’s a lot of highs about dating when you’re in Formula 1 but the lows can be really low. Your instinct is to be with your significant other when they crash or have to retire the car but you know you need to race, it’s your job and you can’t get away with it. All you can do is win to have something to celebrate about. Deep down you know they are in the right hands.” You say.

“When covid hit, where were you guys?” The producer asks.

“We were living our lives, you know? We took that time off the track to really align ourselves with each other, to connect even more.” Danny says and you smile.

“And made the decision to get our own place. So, Covid for us was all about house hunting.” You say, laughing.

“What are your goals for the future in Formula 1?” The producer asks.

“Well, the championship is always my goal, it will always be. And I’m going to make sure that I win it next year.” Daniel says.

“And for you, Y/N?” The producer asks.

“Well, this past year was amazing for me. I got my championship and I’m really happy about that. But, next year I won’t be racing in the F1.” You say and look at Daniel who nods.

“And why is that?” The producer asks.

“I’m have to take a break for some time because I’m pregnant.” You say, smiling from ear to ear.

Everyone on the crew congratulates you and Danny.

You stand up and lift of your shirt just enough to show your little bump on camera. Danny gently presses his hand on your belly.

“Daniel Ricciardo Jr. is cooking in there.” He says, laughing.

“Well, if it’s a boy we’re definitely not calling him that.” You say as you sit down.

“Do you want a boy or a girl, Daniel?” The producer asks.

“I just want him or her to come healthy so it doesn’t really matter, mate.” He says.

“Well, next week we’ll know for sure.” You say and smile.

You feel realized. You have an amazing career, and amazing boyfriend and now you’re gonna have your little family. It’s heaven on earth.

[yandere-kokeshi]

yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost

— His Prey

Pairing: yandere childhood friend Simon x gn reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, slight spoilers for the comics; if you haven’t read it yet, I’d highly recommend reading it - stalking, implied family abuse, kidnapping(?), mentions of alcohol, hinting that the reader is slightly older, and smut.

Smut tags: dubcon, public sex(?), size kink, creampie (wrap it before you tap it!!), messy aftercare(?), and kidnapping?

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. This took so long and this is probably my favorite one. But I may take a break from smut, idk 🤷‍♂️

GIF IS NOT MINE || BELONGS TO @/sgt-gaz

You had been missing for years. Decades that seemed to last for millions for Ghost. As a kid, he’d imagine marriage and having kids - something that every kid admires at least once. 

It’s true, he did love you, you always took care of him and helped clean him up after every time he had himself a fuck up. Be it romance problems, money problems, or even family problems. You always struck out your head for him. So, why wouldn’t he look for you?

Your family gave up on you, for reasons that are now beyond him. For reasons that disgusted and angered him. 

On his fair share, he could understand what you had gone through. His family was also a mess, specifically his father - always screaming at anyone, especially at you whenever you came to visit. It was a mess. Just like he was and still is. 

But, when he got the news that you ran away; your loyal image distorted and tainted by your family’s grief and anger.

He was angry. He remembers jumping over fences, ignoring the pouring rain, and running to your home - not believing the words of his father, but when he knocked frantically, your drunken father answering with slurring words and the smell of cigarettes strong, he knew you had left.

Asking where you had gone, all your father did was shrug his shoulders. Talking down to you as a ‘pent-up bitch who deserved to leave’.

Those few nights in jail weren’t fun. He can still feel the blood on his knuckles. The bruises cracked his skin and made them bleed. To Simon, he was a lucky bastard to even still breathe. 

It hurts to be left behind, but Simon soon understood. For your own safety and happiness, you had to escape. He knew in his heart and soul that he’d find you again sooner or later. 

And when he did, he’d feel your hands hug him tightly. Hear that pretty voice of yours that was addicting to listen to, even if he didn’t know what you were talking about. Those times in your garage, listening to heavy rock and dancing to the embarrassing beats as you pulled him into a messy kiss. 

Those memories were precious to him. 

You two went your own ways. But now… he grasps the nice times he had with you. Comforting and safe times with you. The ones where he could run to your home - knocking on your window at midnight, covered in sweat from how fast he ran. Your embrace was the best for him.

Tightening his hold on the film in his hands, the one where you two are hugging from his graduation, days before you had left. He sighed; inhaling through his tight teeth, he jumped out of his truck and started walking towards the diner he knew so much about. 

You are his mission, for now, and until he dies. 

Ghost had gathered enough information about your cold trail to find you. Found a friendly woman on the way, one that was quite nice and oblivious to the dangers - a nice and gentle lady who had offered to give him the location where she had last seen you a few weeks ago. 

A sad but comforting word of, love goes a long way. I hope you find them. 

Thudding his worn boots against the pavement, he admired the morbidly dead-beat town; a few people passing by him, eyes staring at him as if he was an alien. But, what was weirder was that no kids were running around - no music or loud beeping of cars could be heard. 

Only the occasional noises of crickets and wind blowing against the covering of his hoodie. It was uncomfortable. 

Approaching the recognizable diner, the lights were flickering. The run-down neon lights of spotted letters buzzed ever so slightly, the humming could be easily mistaken as a wasp nest. The letters were barely hanging on, only having support from the strings above the window; swinging left to right as if it was a lullaby.  

The D and R had shut down completely, making the rest of entire letters seem bigger, a series of flickering flashes that made it as though threatening. 

But threatening didn‘t scare him. Not anymore at least. It was something he was used to it.

Coming inside, the loud but nostalgic ding! Was nice to hear. His eyes follow the insides of the booth, looking at the familiar retro commercials playing on the TVs and people munching on the greasy food, chugging cheap beer down their throats, and jazzed music playing in the background. 

The heavy smell of oily french fries and vanilla milkshakes burned into his nose. A familiar chase of reminiscent, made him shut his eyes as he sighed, stupidly.

What if you weren’t here? What if… all of this was a dream and he was still a beat-up kid? It was something he didn’t wanna think about, but with everything that’s happened - his family, his home, his mind a fucked up place; everything was possible.

Taking a deep but swift sigh, he reopened them, revealing a familiar face on the opposite side of the counter. It didn’t even take a second for him to know who it was. 

It’s you. Look at you…

Walking about, doing your job as you unknowingly noticed the man in a giant hoodie. He watched you walk from table to table - seeing your little notepad and the recognizable clicky pen you’ve somehow kept. The black and orange lines on it have yet faded. Didn’t he give you that in high school? 

You’ve… grown. Still cute as a darlin’. Addicting as ever. 

He saw you smile at your coworker - their voice going into the abyss of his mind. Your smile is so pretty. It still is. Your laugh too. It was way too genuine for this crappy and unsafe place; a place you shouldn’t even call home.

It gave him the chills. The way your voice was nothing but a gift. Such a gentle smile and laugh. Just like in the old times.

The memories hit him like a train. The photos and slow moments of spending most of the summer with you, running away from old men who were yelling at you for stealing candies at 7/11 - you were facetious and flirty, somehow always grabbing his hands, pulling him along to your mischievous plans. Then, it was fun. 

After all, in his mind, you were still the gorgeous partner he so loved. A love grew into need. A need that turned into years of searching and trying to find you again. 

But looking at you now, Ghost betted a few hundred bucks - that you’d look really nice with his tattooed arm around your throat - those lips promising to be good and treat him well. 

You always tasted amazing. Even whilst sweating or crying. 

Tonight, you were exactly what he was looking for: his soulmate. Sure, he didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, but he knew you were meant for him. You were everything he could ask for. 

Besides, with that adorable smile of yours, you were practically begging to be manhandled and thrust up against the brick walls behind the diner. For now, all he had to do was wait till you were off. And again, you were his mission after all. And he takes them very seriously. 

“Night, Rebecca!” You yelled, shutting the door behind you as you started walking towards your apartment. Pulling your jacket more into your figure, you cursed out loud. Jeez, did today have to be more exhausting? 

Maybe I could stop at the wine shop. It is Friday after all, you thought. As you continued to walk down the similar path to your apartment, you never noticed the large figure following right behind you. 

Though, you were always a bit naïve. Somethin’ that drew Simon in like a rope around a horse.

Suddenly, whilst you were walking, your phone slipped out of your pocket. The brutal hit of your phone screen smacking onto the concrete made you cringe. Your heart banged out of your chest as you immediately let out a wild yelp.

“Shit!” You blurted out, crouching down to pick it up. Though, as you went down, there was a rush of wind and suddenly you were hoisted by hands grabbing you by the waist. You screamed, trying to kick and hit whatever was behind you, whilst trying your best to ignore the anxiety spiraling in your chest and down your body.

The back of your head smacked against the stone of the wall. But before you could react, a hand was placed over your mouth as the stench of incense and light booze crawled into your nostrils; letting you take in the large yet dark figure in front of you which was leveled with the sight of a black hoodie and muscular arms. 

“Shh,” a gritty voice growled in your ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

Is this where you’re gonna die? Where the Fox News makes a case for your murder in cold blood?

It was then that you noticed the nature of the voice, the familiar smell of comfort waving in. Home. It smelled like home. 

Preparing yourself, you peeked up at the tall and masked man, barely reassuring yourself as the adrenaline of fright from being thrown into a dark alleyway and being held against the bricked wall was starting to sit in.

Though connecting eyes with the man, you released a gasp. Looking into those recognizable brown eyes you could remember anywhere.  

“Simon?”

It’s his eyes. Black holes. No stars. The face paint around his eyes burned into them like ash.

He could feel his heartbeat in his hands, a sudden reminder of his given name, sitting nearly forgotten at his hidden identity; whipped away with ‘Ghost’ and ‘The most Brutal Soldier’. 

Simon was no longer Simon. He was Ghost. A hulking behemoth of a man. Nothing but pumped full of adrenaline, a dexterity for killing. A cover-up from his messed up, a shit show of the past. 

“Holy shit…”

Your gaze made his heart ache. Watching how tears swelled up into them, how blown wide they were. All he wanted was to wipe those away and kiss them better. Comfort you the times you did to him when he’d come to you crying - feeling your small hands wrap around him and kiss his neck affectionately.

“I thought… your family and you–”

Your hands were shaking - fists clenching and unclenching as his hoodie near his chest. Your voice was shaking, almost like a doe-eyed deer trying to escape its predator; thriving at its very last breath as it tried to talk. But, nothing was coming out. All that was heard were hiccups and the slight pounder of cars driving by.

You sniffled, eyes flashing. The sweet look of concern on your adorable face. 

His hand went down, pulling away at his gloves before wiping your tears as more came down. Your hands, always delicate and soft, ascended to hover above his face, barely touching his skulled balaclava. He could feel his throat tighten - like a noose was secured around it. Threatening to yang the weapon if he dared to speak.

“Can… I pull it down?”

You expected a harsh no. A quiet negative answer. You could tell he was wearing it for a reason. Hiding something that he didn’t want you or anyone else to see. It squeezed your heart - uncertainty piling into your stomach. 

Though, when his fingers curled around the bottom of the balaclava - pulling up and off the mask, your throat went dry.

So much has changed since you were kids, the Simon you once knew: the soft chubbed cheek and rounded smile was now scarred. Everything on his face was bumped, unmetrical. Dry and harsh. Something you’d never expect from your Simon. 

“H-how…” You asked, reaching him to touch his warm cheek - your fingers grazing over his littered cheek of scars. He almost didn’t look like the Simon you knew years ago. His eyes and hair stayed the same. But the rest of him didn’t. The tattoos, his demeanor, the scars, the littered marks all over his body and hands that were once soft and hot to touch. Instead of being the scrawny kid he once was, he was now… big and intimidating. 

“I know. Not the proudest moment to introduce again,” He chuckled, his giant hands grabbing yours and tightening his hold. He pulled them up to his lips, taking a moment to look into your eyes before kissing your knuckles.

“I won’t let anything hurt ya’ anymore, okay?” He stated, his hand letting go of yours and wrapping them around the curves of your hips, pulling you closer towards him as he pushed his face into your hair, inhaling a sharp sigh. 

“Simon. How did you…?” You ushered out, laying your forehead on his chest as you waited for his answer.  Simon — took an agonizingly long minute to reply, his hands tightening around your hips as you wrapped your arms around his lower back, feeling more tears rolling down your face. 

“It’s a long story, doll.” He stated, digging his face deeper into your hair as you felt your stomach twist and turn into butterflies. 

You detach yourself from his chest, looking up at him as your lips quivered. “I- don’t understand Simon. How are you…?”

“How what, sweetheart?” He looked down at you, his hand going up to your chin, quickly wiping the tears that fell as he patiently waited for your answer. 

“Your father- he…”

Suddenly, Simon growled out. His grip on your hips tightened, making you grimace loudly. “Don’t. He doesn’t matter. What… happened years ago doesn’t matter right now.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Shh- it’s fine. Jus’... You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He danced his fingers up your chest, making their way to your sternum. Slowly he unbuttoned your shirt, making sure to take his time as his lips attached to your neck, leaving a few marks that he intends to stay. 

“S-imon,” Your words were a little above a whisper, peppered with high-pitched gasps that seemed to be enjoyed by the man in front of you; his lips kissing your ear, jaw, and neck. Slowly making his way down to your stomach.

“I know. Me too,” He chuckled, fully unbuttoning your shirt, and pulling it off as it fell onto the floor. “Been waitin’ the right time, for you to become mine again. I promise I won’t be too mean.” 

A whine blanked your mind, feeling his hands knead at your soft skin, cupping your arse under his fingers as he dropped your pants onto the floor. “Fuck, n-not here please.” Though, Simon’s answer was a harsh one as you felt something hard poking you on your thigh.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fast then we can leave, yah’?” His chest touched yours, and with his strong hands, he gripped your thighs and hiked you up onto his hips, knocking your knees together which prompted you to wrap and tighten your legs around his waist. 

Your hands fisted his hoodie on his shoulder, “What are you—!” 

A moan was let out as you felt his fingers dip beneath your briefs, teasing your core as you cried out; feeling him hit that spot that made your knees go weak. “Oh gosh-” you gasped.

Simon drew his face closer to yours and kissed you. The taste of alcohol and tangy smoke blended in with your breath as he kissed you so sweet that you never wanted it to end - your moan being muffled as his tongue explored your cave. 

Your fingers traveled from his shoulders up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you two hungrily fought for a truce; fighting the urge to smile as he groaned from your sly fingers. 

Finally, you two separated for air - heaving deeply as you two looked into each other’s eyes. Suddenly, you felt his fingers push up inside you in a twirling motion. You groaned and writhed beneath him, and as you did, your thigh pushed against his groin.

His harsh breath that blew onto you had goosebumps rise across your skin.

“I need you.” he rasped. 

You reached your hand down to slide your hand inside his pants to grip his erect cock. You swallow the words that wanted to come out, feeling how your fingers barely touch around the width of him. Jesus, how could anyone have this size? 

You rub your thumb over the tip. He’s leaking pre-cum and when your nails grazed his sensitive head, he shivered. By the time you had removed your fingers, bringing them up to your lips, his hands were already finishing unbuttoning his belt and undoing his zipper; freeing his cock.

He was thick, with a bulbous base. He had building veins. Some on the underlining of his cock, outlining the leaking pre-come, rolling down the length of his cock. He also had a happy trail, a sagittal one that was very attractive. 

You ached to feel him inside you, but when you reached down, he shook his head. “Let me taste ya’ first.”

Taking a minute, you nodded, and he took your hips in both of his giant hands; adjusting your position up onto his shoulders, letting your legs hang off them. He then lowered his mouth to your body, kissing and nipping down to your V-line, then worked his tongue and teeth to pull down your undergarment as he came to the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis. 

He kissed you there sweetly, breathing in your tainted-sweat skin and scent. Infuriatingly ignoring where you wanted to be touched most. 

He groans out your name. Spilling it out like a love spell.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he started to work his tongue over and around you. Circling, sucking, caressing. Taking in your taste like a wolf with its mate.

At first, Simon only kept his left hand on your thigh, watching you unravel from his mouth — bucking upwards into his mouth, seeing you moan out as he growled against you, sending vibrations to your core. His nails dug deeply into your thighs, adding a counterpoint to the intense sensations of his tongue and lips as he made sure you whined out.

It took you a pretty short time before he brought you breathless, pushing you over to the edge with his tongue and hands. The rough fingers of his, the depth of penetration of his tongue, and the wet noises made you go boneless. 

Yet, he still didn’t move the heat of his mouth from your hole while you came, admiring how your body clung to the concrete wall and his head for support as your shouts echoed throughout the alleyway. He cleaned you more with his tongue — relishing the taste of you.

“Fucking hell.” he grunts.

He departed himself from the mess he had caused - giving you a quick peck before he hiked you back onto his hips, moving your legs around his lower back as he lowered his slick cock between your parted legs, breathing hard.

“I need you, darlin’,” He growled in your ear.

You panted, nodding slowly as your vision was barely picking up - already overstimulated from how long it has been since anyone else has made you cum quite violently. 

His breath was hot. Breathing directly down to your collarbone as he nudged the hot tip of his cock against your entrance. He’s too big, his blunt head snags against your entrance. You breathe through your nose, brow furrowing as you tighten your eyes closed. 

“Jesus Christ,” He hissed as he bucks, clearly impatient, needing more as he feels the clutch of your sex. 

“Easy.. please,” You try, feeling him draw your forehead against his, the sweaty skin rubbing against each other as you two share the love you two once shared - an act of surface, awaiting till it boils over.

“Fuck,” he mutters in your ear. 

You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. He’s so big and you’re so full, packed to the very brim as his cock drags against your sensitive walls; you feel his nose press into your cheek, his mouth sliding against your jaw as he grinds into you.

“Ss’good,” he utters quietly, “Fuck, I love ya’ so much.”

You cried out in pleasure - clenching down at his shoulders as you bit your finger. His hips and cock punching against the furthest part of your core. He releases a deep groan of pleasure at your sheer tightness.

“More!” You rasped out, grabbing his cheek and kissing him. He parted his lips and let your tongue taste his mouth. You tasted yourself - but you didn’t mind. All you cared about was Simon. Your Simon. 

He plants his feet deeper into the concrete, beginning to really fuck you. Positioning his hips and slamming up inside you until the sound of only your soaked hole swallowing him repeatedly along with slapping skin bouncing off the walls.

It’s overwhelming. The heavy smell of rain. The smell of sex and the sounds of raspy groans. Squelchy noises of your hole being brutally hit as your thighs are turning raw. It’s rasp and chafe. But you were enjoying it. Enjoying every bit of it.  

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hushed out, his hips snapping more. “Feels so good.”

He began to move deeper, harder, sharper. You clutched at his giant arms, your legs tightening around his waist as his hips cracked more. You felt his muscles tighten, a slight warning of him crashing down to his peak. 

Your toes curled. Entwining up with the sensations spreading all over your body, pounding at your sensitive ears. You could hear everything. Feel everything. Taste everything. 

He’s reclaiming you. His hips fully abusing your hips and thighs. His groans and tightened jaw were a sight to see. His eyes shut closed as his body tightened up. 

“Come for me.” he says, “I know you need to, love.” 

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. Yet another pleasure crash came over you, consuming you again, and at that, with a bellow that shook to your very core, your orgasm took you by surprise with a scream.

His voice lowers down. His hips sped up even more as your toes curled and head rolled back - eyes seeing white. Your nails dug into his back. 

You felt Simon stiffen. The warmth of his spent filling you. His hips spasmed and jerked, his jaw clenching with a long groan, his eyes screwed shut as you felt hot liquid rush inside you, stuffing you full. Even as he pressed his hips tightly against yours, still grinding at the pleasure, you were a moaning mess. 

When he finished, he let out a soft sigh. Still sitting inside you, he prepped kisses all over your neck, sliding his tongue with your sweaty skin and dug his nose into it. You felt him mumble some words, but you paid no attention. 

Slowly pulling back, making sure to not overwhelm you, he let you back on the ground. Simon had his hands on your waist, ensuring you were still there - almost as if he loosened his grip, even by a grain of salt, you’d disappear. 

“That was…” You went to say something, but with dopamine and adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your brain was left blank - possibly melting. 

Simon chuckled, leaning over to kiss your forehead before looking you directly in the eye. “You okay?” 

You nodded, “Jus’ tired and cold.”

He nodded, adjusting his pants and getting dressed. Belting his pants back up before crouching down to grab your clothes that were thrown on the floor. Standing back up, he handed them to you.

“You should get dressed,” He said. 

“Not in the mood to stain my clothes,” You laughed, running your fingertips over your collarbone that was stained with sweat. Simon looked down between your legs, before looking behind you as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“You need to get dressed.” He grabbed the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it off of him as he prompted you to raise your arms. Nonetheless, Simon’s smell gave you an undying amount of comfort. Shoving your arms through the sleeves, he helped you get your head through the top hole before adjusting the bottom of the fabric, making sure it covered you whole. 

And that it did. You marvel at how large the damn hoodie is, your fingertips barely peeking at the ends of the sleeves and the end of the hoodie covering most of your thighs. It was astonishing.

“Hey, where’s my—!” Before you could finish the question about your phone, you yelped - feeling yourself get picked off the ground. You were picked up by Ghost, being rested in his arms as he held you with such care. Making sure you were comfortable before resting your head on his chest. 

You could feel his heart thumping - picking a beat at the sound of drums. Like tapping your fingers at your desk as you studied a book scenario. It was comforting.  

“Why– where are we going?” You asked, looking up at him with a face of confusion as he adjusted his mask; his eyes peering down at you from the balaclava.  

“M’ taking you home.” He stated, his hands curling more around your body. 

You blinked at him, surprised. 

“Home? You don’t even know where my apartment is. How would you—?”

“—You’re gonna stay with me,” he clarifies, ducking his head as the both of you started walking away from the alleyway. Slight embarrassment rises in your cheeks as you realized you just fucked in an alleyway. Not the first time with him.

You huffed out an annoyed sigh, you replied with a quick answer, “That’s not what I meant. Where are we going?”

There was only silence after that, and you had worried that maybe you pushed too far. Possibly angered him. After calling his name twice and no answer coming forward, you decided to quit asking. 

You slid your arms around his neck, paying no attention to your surroundings. Unintentionally, you dug your face into his shoulder, taking a deep inhale before you listened to the wind; admiring how quiet it was.

Surely, you could see a smug smirk trail against Simon’s face - but you paid no attention. You were tired. Exhausted at best.

Suddenly, you heard a car; a truck gets unlocked from behind you. You were prompted to look, but when you got sight of the black Chevy truck, suddenly the door being opened by Simon and you being placed in the passenger seat beside the driver, you slumped into the seat.

You waited for him to climb in. Hearing the backdoor to your left open and shut loudly before you heard him get in. He shuffled in his seat, reaching over to buckle in his seatbelt before looking in your direction.

“Here.”

You looked at his hand, a huge white wool blanket being handed to you. You grabbed it, the fabric practically melting into your fingers. It was so soft. And smelled like him too.

You heard Simon chuckle at your reaction before starting up the truck, turning down the radio to ensure you were comfortable. He put on the heaters - readjusting the way of direction to blow so it could puff directly at you.

“Tomorrow, we’ll stop and get your stuff. From now on, you’ll stay with me.”

You nodded. Not saying anything. But when you tucked into the blanket around your form, making sure it covered your shoulders and legs, you felt his hand move over, gripping your thigh as he squeezed three times; his way of saying, ‘I love you’. 

It made you smile. Turning your sight over to look into the side mirror, you watched as your town got further away. The lights turned into small gusts of balls as you watched the road become thinner and thinner. Before turning into nothing but a small pan of memories. 

You lay there a long time, just listening to the sound of the music and the occasional blinking of the car to signal changing lanes. It was until you found yourself slipping into sleep right after a few minutes. Turned out you’d missed the contact as much as he had. It was probably for the best, that you stayed with him for a while. 

Not that he’d let you go.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[moonstruckme]

hello! I spent a whole day reading your marauder fics and I am obsessed with them and your writing. I was wondering (if you’re still taking requests) if you could write one with poly!marauders with a slytherin!reader where she acts cold and tough with everyone else but turns soft for the boys and they tease her about it but only because they LOVE it.

hope that’s enough! ❤️

Thank you lovely!!

cw: takes place in the infirmary, our poor lovely Jamie is hurt </3

poly!marauders x slytherin!reader ♡ 931 words

“I’m fine.” You stalk down the hallway, batting away the hands of your friends like mosquitos. “I’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt. Sod off.” 

The door to the infirmary opens, a familiar head of black hair peeking out. He says your name. 

Something in you slackens reflexively. “I’ll meet up with you later,” you tell your pursuers, darting inside. 

You find yourself pressed against Sirius’ chest, his hand covering the back of your head protectively. You don’t try to free yourself from the embrace, but you do angle your head on his shoulder, trying to see the bed behind him. 

“Is James okay?” 

“He is,” comes James’ overly upbeat voice, and you finally get a view of him. He’s sitting upright in bed, his right arm in a sling, looking a bit bedraggled but not much worse for wear. You were terrified he’d be all bloody and broken. Remus sits next to him. His brow is all sewn together, worry flying off him in every direction, and you know he’d be right there with Sirius if his hand weren’t so thoroughly attached to James’ knee. You don’t blame him; you’d only been hit, whereas James had been hit and then fallen thirty feet. 

You’d been watching the Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch match from the stands when a wayward bludger had flown toward you, catching you in the shoulder and knocking you clean over. You’d been too busy getting your bearings to see what happened next, but reportedly a Slytherin beater (who you will be having some heated words with in the common room later) took advantage of James’ distraction to send another bludger his way. He came completely off his broom, and though Sirius had been quick with a spell to slow his descent, you can’t imagine the impact with the pitch was pleasant.

“Are you okay?” Remus turns your question back around on you. 

You nod your head into Sirius’ shoulder, giving him a fierce squeeze around the middle before wriggling out of his grasp. 

“You didn’t hit your head?” you ask James, stealing a chair from another bed and sitting beside him. You burrow your fingers into his curls to feel for yourself. 

“Nope,” he says, catching your wrist with his uninjured hand and kissing the inside. “I’m good, sweetheart. Just dislocated my shoulder s’all.” 

“S’all?” Your voice is incredulous. You feel your face scrunch woefully as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Jamie, I’m so sorry.” 

His eyebrows fly up. “I don’t see what you’d be apologizing for.” 

You grimace, your good shoulder coming up sheepishly. “I distracted you…” 

“You didn’t ask to take a crack from a bludger,” Remus says, quiet but stern. His eyes dip to your shoulder, where the cursed thing had struck. “Let’s see it.” 

You sigh and pull down the sleeve of your jumper. You hadn’t been expecting it to bruise yet, but the red mark is already starting to darken around the edges. James hisses through his teeth as Sirius rounds you, crouching beside your chair to get a better look. 

“Shit,” he says, frowning as he touches the mark gingerly with the tip of his thumb, “are you sure you haven’t knocked your shoulder out too?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, somewhat quietly. Being at the center of your boyfriends’ combined concern is a disaster for your nerves; it makes you as timid as a first year. 

James pouts at you, taking the hand closest to him and pressing a wet smooch to your palm. 

“I heard you sniping at your friends in the hallway,” Sirius says. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, doll.”

You look at him through your lashes, sheepish. “It does,” you admit. 

He and James coo, and you roll your eyes, turning away from them both. 

Remus’ eyebrows pull up in the middle, his gaze gentle on yours. It softens you considerably. “Think you ought to have it looked at?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” James says brightly, “we could match.” 

Remus’ frown deepens at the reminder, his hand rubbing sympathetically at James’ knee. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay.” You give James a weary smile, but his eyes narrow behind his glasses. 

“You want something,” he says. 

You blink. “No, I don’t.” 

He studies you a second longer, then nods. “Yeah you do,” he decides. “Out with it.” 

You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes, but he waits. You can’t quite look at any of them as you say, “I just sort of want a hug.” 

“Aww,” Sirius croons, all but pushing himself into you as he engulfs you in his arms. “The ice queen melts at last, huh?” 

“Don’t tell anyone,” you mumble wryly, and James laughs, giving your fingers a loving squeeze. “Anyway, I’m not the one who wound up in the infirmary.” 

“Only because Jamie’s smart enough to go.” Remus gives you a meaningful look, but there’s enough softness in it to let you know he’s not really cross with you. Still, you muffle your apology into Sirius’ shoulder. 

He holds you tighter. Digs his fingertips greedily into the material of your jumper. 

“Don’t hurt her shoulder,” James says fretfully. 

“I’m not,” Sirius replies, but he loosens his grip a bit. “I’m not, right?” You hum your agreement, and he’s pressing in on you again, biceps flexing. “You’re our lovebug,” he tells you, teasing undercut by an uncharacteristic firmness. “You know you don’t have to be tough around us, yeah?” 

You grasp the tops of his shoulders in response, an affection so huge it pains you rising in your throat. “Yeah,” you say. 

[addisonnie]

Baptize in Your Thighs

summary: Ellie doesn’t go to church. But when she does, it’s for the preacher’s daughter.

warnings: swearing, SMUT, fingering, oral, daddy kink (SORRY,) lowkey mean!ellie, dom/sub, religious mentions, talks of god, slight mentions of homophobia but hardly, let me know if I missed anything ALSO not proofread per usual sorry can’t be bothered!

an: surprise you dirty little dogs. im also a dirty little dog because what the FUCK is this. what did i just do? anyways time to do my homework now! enjoy you filthy little sluts

—————

Ellie doesn’t particularly believe in God. She doesn’t read the Bible, she doesn’t pray, and she certainly doesn’t go to church.

Yet, here she is.

The stained glass windows cast a rainbow haze over her skin, the freckles dotting her face twinkle under the glow. People slowly begin to fill in the pews surrounding her and she plays with the mini Bible placed in the wooden pocket of the seat in front of her. She looks out of place, feels out of place. People like her are usually struck by lightning the second they walk through those goddamn wooden doors— probably not the best time to use the Lord’s name in vain.

She’s gay, she’s grumpy, she’s occasionally mean. So, why is she here?

You. The preacher’s sweeter-than-a-peach daughter. Your smile is contagious, your laugh is precious, and Jesus Christ—again, not the best time— you have got to be one of the most alluring girls Ellie has ever seen. A floral dress hugs your waist beautifully and stops right above the middle of your supple thighs, tan pantyhose run up your legs and Ellie coughs into her hand when she accidentally makes eye contact with you.

You smile, of course you do. It’s nothing more than a formality your family forced upon you to keep raking in more church-goers—because who wants to attend a church run by an asshole family. Ellie smiles back before looking at her hands splayed across her thighs. She notices the click-clack of your kitten heels as you approach her pew, refusing to look up, she plays with the rip in her jeans.

“Is someone sitting here? With you.” Your saccharine voice floats through Ellie’s ears and wraps around her eardrum like a vice.

“No, go ahead.” She nods toward the open space next to her and you smile before sitting down and sliding closer to her. Your small hands smooth over your dress before you turn to face her, “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you a new member?”

Ellie has to hold back an eye roll—‘member?’ What is this? A cult?

“Just decided to finally come today. I usually don’t like getting up early on my days off.” You laugh and smile brightly at her, “I’m the same way. My daddy has to practically kick my door down to get me awake Sunday mornings.”

You’ve got a sweet little southern accent and Ellie feels herself growing aroused at the innocent aura weaved in every word you speak. She wonders if you’ve ever been aroused like this before.

Ellie notices you’re about to speak again before your father walks up onto the stage and begins his sermon. Immediately, your attention is brought to him and she sighs at the loss. The pastor is droning on about sinners and that those who are lost in the darkness should look for the light, Christ.

She doesn’t care. Ellie is much more focused on the fact that your dress has ridden much farther up your thighs due to the fact that you’ve crossed your legs. Her eyes trail up and down your pantyhose-covered legs and she shivers, drawing your attention back to her.

“Are you alright?”

Ellie’s eyes dart to your face, “just feeling overwhelmed, is all.”

You nod before pursing your lips and squinting, Ellie panics for a moment, thinking you’ve seen straight through her.

“Come with me.” You stand up in the pew and reach your hand out for Ellie to grab, quickly dragging her through the row and to the front doors of the church.

Your mother stands there, hands on her hips.

“Now, just where do you think you’re going? Your father is not going to be pleased that you’re skipping his sermon.” A whine escapes your lips and you tug on Ellie’s hand.

“Mama, this is Ellie. She’s feeling a little overwhelmed. I think the Holy Ghost is reaching out to her! I’m gonna take her to the house and let her have one of our spare bibles. You’re the one always saying we should help those that are lost!”

Your mother curtly nods at you before turning to face Ellie, “well, Miss. Ellie. You’re in good hands! I hope my daughter helps you work through your feelings. It’ll only lead to a healthier relationship with Christ.”

Ellie smiles and thanks her, in her head she’s rolling her eyes and telling your mom to fuck off. If anything, you’re the one in good hands. Ellie wants nothing more than to coax another whine from your plump, glossy lips.

Your hand is grasped in Ellie’s while you drag her across the dirt-filled church parking lot and into an old Victorian style home about a yard away from the side of the church. A couple cats sunbathe on the front porch and you happily greet them as you drag Ellie up the stairs and into your house.

It smells really nice. It’s creepy as fuck, though. The only thing she can really focus on are the abundance of crosses littering the walls. Who needs that many crosses? Do you beat intruders with them? Do they keep the demons away? Ellie shudders when she realizes that she’s probably the very thing they want casted out of her house.

“We can head up to my room, I’ve got a couple bibles there. You can have one, if you’d like!” There’s that sweet little voice again.

You pull her up the stairs and quickly lead her to your room. It’s exactly what Ellie expected. Pink toile wallpaper, a precious white bed frame, and a fluffy white comforter topped with way too many decorative pillows. A Bible lay open atop your bed, colorful markings and annotations scatter across the pages.

“Sorry! S’a bit of a mess, I don’t usually have people in my room. Mama and daddy don’t like it.”

Your mom and dad won’t like what Ellie is thinking about doing, either.

The two of you sit criss-cross on the bed and your nimble fingers quickly reach out to grasp at your Bible, “so, today my daddy’s sermon was meant to be about temptation. We can start there.”

How ironic. Temptation.

“How do you keep from giving into it? Temptation, that is?” Ellie leans in to be closer to your body, you look at her with wide eyes.

“I just—I usually just pray.”

Ellie smirks, “yeah? Does that make it go away?”

You push a stray strand of hair behind your ear and frown slightly, confused.

“Make what go away?”

God, you look so innocent like this. Big doe eyes staring up into Ellie’s, your legs crossed out in front of you. It’s sinful.

“Those butterflies you get in your tummy. The ones that make you feel funny.” She’s trying to dance around the topic of general horniness rather than just straight up asking if you touch yourself. Speaking to you about this is difficult, you’re a butterfly on a stray flower, and if Ellie jumps in too quickly, she’ll startle you and run you off.

“I—I don’t know what you mean.” You’re wiggling under her intense stare and a soft blush begins to bloom over the apples of your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, I think you do. Tell me what you do when you get that feeling.” Ellie leans in much closer to you, her minty breath fans over your face and she doesn’t miss the part when you clench your soft thighs together.

“Hebrews 13:4.” Ellie scoffs and swats at your knee, “that’s not what I’m asking you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and huff out a breath, “Ellie. I’m trying to help you here. You wanna know what I do? I read the Bible and pray that God will rid me of those sinful feelings.”

And then Ellie is leaning closer, both her hands resting on your thighs, “are you going to pray right now? Ask God to get rid of that wet feeling in your panties? Ask him to smite me where I stand, hm?”

A bright red blush spans across your cheeks and you can’t bear to look at Ellie. She tuts, “look at me, angel.”

It’s ironic that she’s calling you angel when you feel like the complete opposite. The feeling of your cotton panties sliding against your sticky folds is enough to make you feel like the spawn of Satan himself. And to feel this way about a woman? You don’t even want to think about the repercussions of that.

“I touch myself. At night—after they’re asleep.” Ellie grins and squeezes your flesh between her fingers, “you’re a bad girl. What else do you do?”

A whine escapes your lips while you shove at Ellie’s calloused hands, “I can’t.”

Her face drops and she moves a hand up to squeeze your jaw in between her fingers, “you can. Tell me—better yet, why don’t you show me, angel?”

A gasp slides out of your mouth and your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, “I—what! No! Ellie, I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Her unoccupied hand slowly trails toward the hem of your dress, “I thought you were supposed to be a good girl? Sweet little pastor’s daughter can’t follow simple instructions?”

You whimper, “M’a good girl.”

“Then act like one.”

Her hand releases your jaw and she smirks when she watches you inch backward on your bed until you’re resting against the headboard. Your legs are crossed in front of you and Ellie gives you a moment to uncross them before she grabs your ankles to spread your legs.

“Go on, then.”

Your fingers slowly raise the hem of your dress until it pools around your tummy and Ellie sucks in a breath when she sees your flowery pink panties underneath your pantyhose. One hand travels underneath the elastic of your underwear and a soft whimper leaves your parted lips when the pad of your fingertip ghosts over your clit.

Ellie can’t see your pussy through your undergarments but she can clearly make out the little wet spot growing between your legs. She watches while your finger swirls in a circular motion under your panties and feels her own growing damper when you let out a soft moan.

“More, sweet girl. I know you can.” Ellie is leaning back on her hands while she watches your hand speed up, you choke out a pathetic whine while looking at her, “can’t, Ellie!”

A deep frown settles across Ellie’s face after your outward denial, “fucking pathetic. Do I have to do it for you? Hm? Is that what you want?”

Your hand slides out from under your panties and you shimmy down on the bed and spread your legs to be bent on either side of her body.

“Does your daddy know how much of a filthy little slut you are?” She’s crawling up the bed until she’s sitting on her knees in front of you, one arm on either side of your head. You whimper and jut your hips out toward her.

A simple phrase passes through her lips, one that has you sucking in a breath and squeezing your eyes shut, “beg.”

“Please.” It’s a pathetic attempt at begging, but you were raised to always be polite, at least you said please.

She leans forward on her hands and quickly moves one of her legs forward to shove straight into your core, grinding roughly onto your puffy clit.

You let out a soft moan and clutch onto her bicep, “I said fucking beg. I wanna hear you pray for me like the good little church girl you are.”

She surges forward and immediately presses her lips onto yours in a messy kiss. Her lips are soft yet chapped, a clear juxtaposition to the supple, cherry-flavored skin of your pouty lips. Ellie doesn’t even give you a chance to deny her tongue before she’s prying your mouth open with her lips, immediately sliding the wet muscle into your awaiting mouth. The harshness of her jeans continually ruts into your clit and she doesn’t plan on giving you any more until she hears that prayer fall from your lips. Fingers are digging into her biceps and she has half a mind to complain when you finally pull back, “please touch me. Please, please. I’ll be a good girl—fuck. Please.”

Hearing the naughty word slip from your sweet lips has Ellie chuckling, “atta girl.”

She immediately sits back on her knees before running her hands up and down your spread thighs, the wet spot on your panties only growing more prominent. Her fingers reach your core and you whimper for the thousandth time, she bunches the material of your pantyhose and rips the fabric apart at the seam, leaving an open hole directly to your underwear.

“Ellie!” She grunts and gives you a sour look before attaching her lips to yours again. Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears while Ellie kisses you, spit is trailing down your chin and onto the valley of your breasts as Ellie fumbles with the soft material of your panties.

Sliding them to the side, she runs the pad of her pointer finger along your cunt, eliciting a gasp from you. Her finger dances over your folds and circles around your clit a few times before she trails back down to your hole, slowly pressing a finger inside.

“Oh—fuck! Ellie, please.”

She moves to kiss down the column of your throat while she slowly pulls her finger out, pushing it back in again.

“Better than your tiny fingers, hm, baby?” You nod and move a hand down to tug at her wrist, “more.”

Ellie moves her head away from your neck and scowls, “where have your manners gone?”

Tears are beginning to fill your doe eyes and for a minute Ellie feels bad for having such an attitude with you, but not bad enough to stop.

“Please. I want more of you.” That’s enough for her it seems, she slides her second finger in knuckle deep moans at the feeling of you digging your nails into her toned arms.

Her fingers quickly move in and out of your pussy, scissoring and twisting inside of you. You’re moaning, but quietly; Ellie doesn’t like that.

“Let me fucking hear you, sweet girl. Don’t be shy.” She speeds up the movement of her fingers and soon slides in a third finger, twisting her wrist around to hit you at a different angle. Her other arm moves to lift your leg onto her shoulder and the new angle has you releasing a borderline pornographic moan. It’s loud, and for a second you’re worried the church across the driveway heard it.

Her thumb repositions to quickly swipe over and circle at your clit. Your toes curl over Ellie’s shoulder and she listens to you squeak and cry out from under her. Teeth sink into your calf resting upon her shoulder and another loud moan slides from your parted lips when you feel Ellie harshly bite down on the skin and slide her tongue across the indention.

She feels you clenching religiously around her fingers and watches in awe as your wetness seeps into the palm of her hand and puddles on your pristine comforter.

“Close, baby?”

You whine in response and Ellie quickly halts her motions and slides her fingers out, “too bad.”

Your soft eyes full with tears and you slam your head backwards onto the pillow behind you, “fuck! Just—please, Ellie! Please please please—“

A harsh slap onto your pussy sends your hips jolting upward and your head flying forward. You whimper from the pain “m���sorry.”

“Rule number one. You only cum when I say you can. Got it, slut?” She delivers another harsh slap onto your clit and you arch your back in an attempt to be closer to her, “yes.”

She tuts, “yes, what?”

A confused look crosses your sweet face and you whine, shuffling your hips downward in hopes of some form of contact, “yes, Ellie?”

Another slap to your cunt, “ah—fuck! Yes! Yes, daddy!”

She smirks before lifting your other leg to rest on her shoulder, moving down on the bed until her face is settled in between your thighs.

“What are you doing?” You sound genuinely confused, which only confuses Ellie. Certainly you know what head is, right?

“M’gonna eat this pretty little pussy, baby. You want that?” She can practically hear you gulp. Your head nods and both of your hands slide to rest on top of her head.

Ellie leans in to pull your panties further to the side, pressing a chaste kiss right onto your clit, “oh my—“ you cut yourself off before you can say His name.

She smirks, “say it.”

And then she’s licking a long stripe up the expanse of your cunt, only stopping to suckle at your clit. Her tongue darts around in several circles before she finally fully takes your clit into her mouth and sucks harshly, “oh my God!”

She smirks into your pussy before moving her hand back up to slide knuckle-deep into your cunt again. Her long fingers piston in and out of your slick core while she hums and sucks on your clit. Fingers are digging into her scalp and yanking at her hair, your heels are digging into her back, and ear-shattering moans are diving out of your mouth.

Ellie does believe in God, because this, this is heaven.

She feels you constricting so hard around her fingers that it’s starting to get difficult to continually fuck in and out of you, her bicep is burning from the amount of effort she’s putting into getting you there.

“Daddy—fuck, please. M’so close. Please please please.” You’re babbling at this point, and Ellie is pretty sure you’ve literally never came before because she didn’t even edge you for that long and you’ve already got tears streaming down your round cheeks and onto your neck.

She moans onto your clit before slightly pulling away, “good girl, you can come.”

That’s all it takes, the vibration of Ellie’s words send shockwaves through your clit and immediately you’re seeing stars, clenching down onto Ellie’s fingers like a vice. She fucks you through it, she doesn’t stop, either.

Her mouth continues to suck on your clit long after you’ve come, and her fingers are still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Oh! Please—please, can’t do more.”

Her teeth graze over your puffy clit, “yes you fucking can, roll over.”

She pulls away just long enough for you to roll over onto your tummy, “face down. Gonna have you on your knees praying for me to stop.”

Your face is mashed into the pillows and Ellie uses her knee to shove your legs further apart, her large hands immediately move to spread your pussy apart and she licks a long stripe from your clit to your tighter hole.

“Fucking shit! Fuck fuck fuck!” The filthy words pass through your lips like nothing, and Ellie almost laughs at the idea of the sweetest girl in the world having such a foul mouth. She moves back down to stuff her tongue into your pussy, sliding the wet muscle in and out, licking and sucking on your folds like a woman starved.

You’re babbling and sobbing into your pillowcase, begging for literally anything. Ellie keeps her mouth connected to your pussy, but moves both of her hands to grip the globes of your ass and quickly spreads them. One hand stays planted on your ass, the other trails upward until her thumb rests over your tight hole, pressing in slightly before circling around it. She uses her previous spit as lube before slowly sliding her thumb into your ass, leaving it there while she licks on your cunt.

A sob erupts from your lips and immediately you’re rocking back and forth on her face, “good fucking girl. Use me, baby.”

Her thumb slides farther into your ass and before you know it, she’s sliding her other hand to meet it. She presses in her second thumb and you squeal, clenching around her fingers.

With one last lick to your clit, your orgasm hits like a truck. Your juices leak down Ellie’s chin and spurt out onto her cheeks, effectively covering her face with you. It’s deliciously sweet and Ellie happily laps up everything that drips from your pussy lips, slurping and gurgling like a feral animal.

She pulls away from your cunt and turns her face to the side, rubbing your juices onto her clothed shoulder. Her thumbs stay planted in your ass and she lightly pulls her thumbs apart, spreading you open.

“Fuck—fuck. No more. No!”

Ellie chuckles and decides to remove her fingers. She watches your knees buckle and you drop fully onto your bed, shaking and whimpering, “oh my God. Oh my God.”

You keep repeating it. Over and over.

“It’s actually Ellie. But, I told you I’d have you praying for me instead.”

You grunt into the pillow case and Ellie laughs, moving to rub her hand soothingly up and down the expanse of your back. She presses a kiss between your shoulder blades and helps you slide your shredded pantyhose down your legs along with your underwear.

Your dress is still bunched up around your chest and Ellie rugs the fabric down to cover your ass after pressing a kiss to the plump skin.

Just as she slides your dress fully back down, a knock sounds at your bedroom door, “honey? It’s dad. The sermon is over and I’m heading back to the church for the potluck. Are you coming?”

Ellie squeezes the flesh of your thighs in warning, “no, daddy. I’m staying here, don’t feel—ah, don’t feel good.”

Her fingers drift over your puffy lips while she listens to you answer your father outside the door, “okay, honey.”

His footsteps clank down the stairs and Ellie waits to hear the front door slam before she whispers in your ear, “I don’t think I’m done with my sermon yet.”

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 2: Hair Pulling(So lovely, it feels so right...)

warnings/kinks: jealousy, hair pulling, creampies, unprotected sex, mentions of breeding, impregnation, reader is married to Kyojuro, mentions/allusions to drinking, vaginal fingering, biting. word count: 1.1k pairings: Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Slayer!Reader teaser: “What I do with my wife has nothing to do with you! I thought we could have a nice meal in peace, but of course, you had to go and get drunk.” Kyojuro barks at his father, a look of disgust on his face. taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic @butterflieskeepcominback

It’s your wedding anniversary and you and Kyojuro have decided to head to his family home for dinner. You’ve been planning this dinner for months, knowing that it will bring joy to his father and his brother. While you and Kyojuro are quite busy being Hashira in the demon slayer corp, his father and brother live a good life at home.

You and Kyojuro had been childhood friends, and slowly became sweethearts. It just became so easy for you two to fall in love with one another, and with the terrifying incident that almost cost Kyojuro his life, you two decided to tie the knot after that. It just seemed natural for you two to get married so that you could forever preserve your love.

Tonight was the two year anniversary of your marriage. You didn’t have any children yet, but you knew that soon Kyojuro would be wanting for the two of you to officially settle down and have kids. It just never seemed like the right time. But you begin to wonder if maybe tonight that Kyojuro might make the announcement of the two of you settling down.

As you both enter the Rengoku home, you’re quickly greeted by the sweet face of Senjuro. The in-home maid, Ichiko, is in the kitchen putting the final touches on dinner. Shinjuro seems almost nowhere to be seen, and you hope he’ll be on his best behavior tonight. You know how much it would mean to Kyojuro to have his father be sober for this celebration.

“Senjuro, where is father?” Kyojuro asks as he guides you and him into the home.

Senjuro frowns, “Well, he was in the kitchen about thirty minutes ago, but he’s not here now.”

You all know what this means. Shinjuro definitely went to get drunk. You sigh as you realize that this could have disastrous effects on this wonderful celebration you had planned.

And oh boy, did it turn badly…

“Why haven’t you impregnated your wife?” Shinjuro booms from the head of the table, a sour look on his face.

You nearly spit out your drink, “Father…please, Kyojuro and I are quite busy with being Hashira.”

Shinjuro grunts, “That’s no matter. You should have at least a few children by now! I impregnated Ruka the night we consummated our marriage.”

Your husband, who’s been quite calm this entire meal, slams his fists against the table and stands up. You’re startled by his demeanor, which is usually calm and collected, but clearly his father has struck a nerve.

“What I do with my wife has nothing to do with you! I thought we could have a nice meal in peace, but of course, you had to go and get drunk.” Kyojuro barks at his father, a look of disgust on his face.

Shinjuro scoffs, “Pfft, I’m the one who should be angry. You’re a disgrace of a son.”

That’s when you stand up and you take your husband’s hand and you lead him away. Both of his and his father’s tempers are so dangerous right now, so you know it’s best to just pull Kyojuro away from the scenario and have him calm down. Shinjuro doesn’t always mean the nasty things he says.

Once inside the private room, Kyojuro has you pinned against the wall. His kisses are heated and passionate, but you try to push him off so you can take a breather. This is all so intense and you know it’s because tensions are high.

“Kyojuro,” you moan between his fiery kisses.

He growls and you feel his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you even closer to him. You whine at the sudden pain, but it’s making you so aroused. He’s never really this rough with you, so you know it’s because he thinks he’s got a point to prove.

“Gonna get you fucking pregnant,” Kyojuro mutters between your kisses. “Don’t care if he fucking hears me,”

These words resonate deep inside you and make you realize that his father’s words have really struck a nerve. Your cheeks heat up when you realize just how serious he is about all of this. With you pinned against the wall, Kyojuro pushes your skirt up over your hips, and he’s so quick to rip your little panties to shreds.

“Listen to me, little flame,” Kyojuro says as he presses wet kisses to your jawline and neck. “You will be pregnant once I’m done with you.”

“Kyo…” you whine, but he’s not having any of this protest.

With his long fingers still tangled in your tresses, you know that he’s not going to be taking this easy with you. He’s going to be so rough and leave bruises and marks so that he can prove to his father that he is more than just an adequate lover. 

Your eyes roll back as you feel his teeth sinking into the flesh of your neck. You never knew that he could be this animalistic, but you were enjoying every step of this. Your heart is pounding in your chest as he tugs harder on your hair, pulling your head to one side so he has better access to your neck.

“Oh my little flame,” Kyojuro grunts, “you’re so precious to me.”

 With one of his hands still tangled in your hair, the other one shoves itself between your thighs. You let out a surprised yelp as he pushes two of his long fingers into you, barely giving you any time to adjust to all of this.

“You’re so wet, my little flame. I think you like it when your husband is rough with you, yeah?”

His words are affecting you more than you’d like to let on, but there’s no sense hiding it from the man you adore so much. You nod at his words, and this is rewarded by another harsh tug of your hair.

“No, say the words,”

You swallow hard, taking a deep breath. You look into his beautiful eyes and you know there’s absolutely no malice there. Only heated passion and true love. 

“I like it when you’re rough with me.”

The words almost seem strange on your tongue, but it’s the utter truth. You enjoy this so much. It’s exciting like nothing else. Kyojuro has always been a passionate lover, but he’s never really this rough. So this change of pace has you wetter than most times.

His fingers pump in and out at a rapid pace, making you moan and squirm under his hold on you. Kyojuro watches carefully at your reactions, and once more he’s pulling on your hair. You let out a loud moan and you clench around his fingers, making him smirk.

“I think you’re prepared enough, sweetheart.”

He hoists you up on the table in the room, and he undoes his pants. Without another word, Kyojuro enters you roughly. His hands tangle in your beautiful hair, keeping you so close to him as he begins pounding himself into you.

“You’re not leaving this room until you’re dripping with my cum…”