#i know this is very long and i hope i don’t sound too pompous for babbling about how i designed my character but hopefully explaining certai

[devildom-moss]

Mephisto's performance

(Mephisto x gn!MC)

(NSFW) (angst) (NSFW tags: very slight dom!top!Mephisto and bottom!MC; "office" sex, semi-public/risky, no condom, creampie, hate-fucking, "use me" dynamic, consent - but with a lot of regret so maybe dubious?, slight degradation with backhanded praise, Mephisto calling MC a whore and a slut, so slutshaming, pain, slapping, fingering light bondage, half-clothed, no orgasm for MC sorry)

(other tags: religious undertones, one-sided enemies to ?who knows?, sad/bittersweet ending)

Word Count: +2,200

To say you admired Mephistopheles was an understatement; you were absolutely smitten. Granted, he had a reputation for being a pompous asshole whose presence left a bitter taste in Lucifer’s mouth – the same mouth that warned you about spending time with the likes of Mephisto and questioned your recent attention to “a demon whose attitude and pride might be excusable if it was offset by actual wit and usefulness.”

Clearly, Lucifer either hadn’t seen the version of Mephisto that you had – the small slips in his bitter façade – or he had, and Lucifer simply refused to acknowledge it. You didn’t care what anyone else said about Mephisto. He had watched over Luke when he fell asleep in common places multiple times. As much as he protested, when you really needed him, he offered his assistance in whatever form he could – especially when it would aid Diavolo. If nothing else, Lucifer should have remembered that Mephisto was right there with Diavolo and Barbatos, tending to him and his brothers on the day they fell. You knew better. Mephisto was sweet.

He was adorable. You remembered the precious smile he had on his face while staring up at the new blossoms forming on the trees one early morning. It wasn’t the only time you had caught his face softening, entranced by some natural beauty. Mephisto still blushed when you would pay him a genuine compliment, covering his mouth with a gloved hand.

Sweet. Adorable. And so, so sexy.

Lust and affection had motivated you to pay Mephisto a visit in the RAD Newspaper Club room – another attempt to get on his good side. This time, you brought gifts to appease the bitter old demon: hot coffee and sweets that you and Luke had baked yesterday. However, the second you walked through that door, Mephisto let out an annoyed sigh.

“Why are you bothering me?” he asked, sparing you a second glance – but not a third.

“I wanted to cheer you up,” you admitted, setting your offering on his desk. “Diavolo told me that he had seen you working nonstop in preparation for the upcoming event. I figured that might be why you’ve been frowning every time I’ve seen you all week. I brought you coffee and sweets that Luke and I made.”

Part of you had an inkling that Mephisto actually enjoyed your company more than he let on. Maybe you were just clinging to a deeply engraved hope that he wanted you. Maybe you read into signs of his kindness towards you. Perhaps wishful thinking turned a two-second glance – maybe even a judgmental glare – into a longing stare. You wanted to break through his defenses if he’d let you. Well, you had certainly broken something.

Your act of kindness pushed Mephisto over the edge, and he looked up from his work and raised his voice at you. “I have too much on my plate to keep drilling this into that thick, fucking skull of yours. I don’t like you, you won’t change my mind, and that pathetic hopeful look on your face infuriates me.”

You didn’t fully believe him – as desperate as that may sound. Perhaps it was selfish, but you didn’t want to leave him alone in that room.

Mephisto waited for you to turn around and walk away, but you didn’t budge. He sighed and got to his feet. “What? Why are you still here? Why are you bringing me things hours before any of your classes even start? What do you want?”

Most classes hadn’t started yet, but if you hadn’t arrived before everyone else, you wouldn’t have been able to see Mephisto alone. Barbatos had mentioned that Mephisto was an early riser in passing once, so you figured you would find him overworking himself that morning. As for what you wanted, you wished it was more obvious to him.

“I want you to love me,” you confessed. Mephisto circled his desk so he could sandwich you between himself and the desk, blocking your path to the exit.

“How do you want me to love you? With my boot on your neck? With my fingers buried inside of you? With my hips pressed against you? What do you want? How do you expect me to love you? I could ruin you, but love?”

You shuddered. Was this a rejection or an invitation? You forced the words, and they fell out in a clumsy mess. “I don’t expect it – you loving me. I just want it, but you could ruin me instead if you wanted.”

Mephisto’s eyes widened; he retreated slightly before narrowing his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Use me – if you really can’t love me.” Shame burned in your cheeks, but you continued. You were determined to call his bluff. “Take out your anger and hatred on my body. Do whatever you want.”

Maybe he truly hated you. Maybe he would be disgusted by your offer. Maybe he would refuse because he did love you. Or maybe he would agree to use you – to ruin you – without a trace of affection. Even then, at least you would finally get to be with him for however long you could manage to be entertaining. The possibilities ran through your head, just quick enough to fill the brief moment before Mephisto responded.

“Turn around,” he demanded. His voice was cold. In truth, you hadn’t expected him to take you up on your offer. Your heart sank as you watched Mephisto remove his tie. A low, growling sigh left him when you remained immobile. He took your arm and forced you to turn. “You offered. So, do as you’re told.”

Your voice caught in your throat. Mephisto made quick work of knotting his tie around your wrists and up your forearms, binding them behind your back. Fear washed over your body as you felt Mephisto tug your pants and underwear down to your ankles. Was this really what you wanted?

Mephisto reached over you, pressing his chest firmly against your back as he did, and pulled a bottle of lube from his top desk drawer. You didn’t question why he had it there, but you did have a question for him: “Why are you using that on me?”

The answer was obvious, but you were begging for some kind of affection from him, wishing for the words “I don’t want to hurt you” to leave his lips with enough sweetness to sate you, but they didn’t come. Instead, Mephisto removed his glove; tugged on his tie, bringing you closer; and shoved his glove into your mouth to shut you up. You felt one cool, lubricated finger plunge into you – quickly followed by a second. You bit down on his glove as he began to stretch you out.

“To answer your question, I’d be in a world of trouble if anyone found out that I hurt you. Everyone seems to think that you’re so fucking precious. Besides,” Mephisto paused, using the last word to soften the spite in his voice before he continued, “you’ll feel better if I do this first.”

You couldn’t tell if he meant that you would feel better for him or if he wanted you to feel some kind of pleasure from this too, but you hoped. However, that hope wasn’t enough to ease the heavy aching in your chest. Even through the bits of pleasure you felt when Mephisto’s long fingers curled into your body, you knew that this wasn’t how you wanted it. That truth sat rancid in your gagged mouth – somehow more unsavory than anything. Even the realization that you would die (for good) one day was less distasteful than this.

It was almost a comfort when Mephisto pulled his fingers out. You heard his pants drop before he tugged you violently towards him. Your ass was flush against him. There was a filthy relief in knowing that he was hard. At least you had aroused him a bit, then, right? You wished you could have suppressed the dirty, joyous hope you felt. Maybe he wanted you just as badly.

Mephisto entered you slowly. It almost felt intimate: the way he ran his gloved hand through your hair before tugging at it, the way his lips found your neck before it was all teeth and marks, the way his hips rocked slowly into you before he stopped holding back. He almost made this feel like affection before the poison left his mouth between panting and groans. “Not so useless anymore, are you?”

How did he know exactly how to give you a gentle touch that left you hoping before he stripped it from you? He said he didn’t want anyone to know he hurt you, so of course he would figure out how to break your heart. At least that was a pain you could never show anyone. It would live in you – and he would be the only other person who knew that such a haunting beast was hiding inside.

You choked back tears as his thrusting picked up speed and intensity, forcing your thighs against his desk repeatedly with each buck of his hips. This was going to bruise. It was just enough to slosh some of the coffee out of the cup you had brought him earlier. A small puddle pooled towards the edge of the desk until it grazed your thigh, burning for a moment before all you could feel was a numb ache – a small punishment for your foolishness.

This time, you couldn’t hold back a groan. You had tried so hard to disguise any sign of pain or pleasure, but this was too much. Your muffled noise alerted Mephisto to the mess you had both made. It was a small one with no casualties. It hadn’t even reached any of his documents. The only thing left damaged was you, and yet Mephisto dragged you back by the tie around your arms, his cock still buried in you, with an angry, “fuck.”

Did he not want you to get hurt? No.

Mephisto tugged your hair up until you were standing upright – as upright as you could be when you were still impaled on him. He took his glove out of your mouth before he forcefully bent you over towards the edge of the desk. “Lick up the mess, whore.”

You did as he told you. The coffee was still hot, and it stung on your tongue, but you were distracted by a firm slap to your ass. When you managed to clean up the mess, Mephisto brought you upright again with a rough tug and shoved his glove back into your mouth.

“There’s a good little slut,” Mephisto chuckled before he continued to fuck you – even more violently than before. He called you good, at least.

You were choking back tears when he snaked his gloved hand tenderly around your neck. Mephisto used his index finger to guide your chin up. Staring at the ceiling, with your eyes to heaven, you felt that you owed something – someone – a prayer. You wanted to thank some god that Mephisto’s hand was there around your throat – as if the slight pressure was the only thing keeping the sobs and moans inside of you. No. It wasn’t a god that you were grateful to. It was Mephisto. Even as he used you for his amusement, your desire still burned. Your love blazed steadily. Through the pain and emptiness, you still adored him. How pathetic.

Even more pathetic was the contentment you felt as Mephisto sunk his teeth into your shoulder, muffling his moans as he came inside of you. He didn’t pleasure you enough for you to cum; you got the smallest taste of it, and somehow you were content.

Mephisto was quick to pull out of you and get his pants back up. You stood there, trying to reel yourself back into your body – too slowly for Mephisto’s liking. He tugged your pants and underwear back up for you. His glove slipped from your mouth and onto the floor as you attempted to protest with a feeble, “wait.”

His cum had already started to leak out, and the feeling of it sickened you – a shameful sickness. This felt awful and wrong and disgusting, but the most resentful part of you quietly wanted him to bend you back over his desk and fill you up all over again.

Mephisto pulled you in by his tie around your arms and leaned close to your ear. “Keep it in you. I want that sensation to stick with you all day and remind you how much I despise you. Now get out of my sight.”

You felt his tie slip from around your arms. Mephisto dragged you towards the door and shoved you out into the hallway. You heard the distinct sound of the door locking behind you.

Mephisto waited for your hesitant footsteps to fade away down the hall before he sunk his teeth into the back of his ungloved hand. Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees on the floor. Had he finally given you a convincing performance – persuaded you to stay away from him?  

In that dim room on a dark Devildom morning, on his knees, Mephisto felt that he owed something – someone – a prayer. Unsure if he was even allowed – or who would hear it – he prayed that he had finally shown you what a monster he was. The cruel, wicked beast he housed had spit its parasitic DNA into you and waited to consume you. He was a demon, with his hands clasped so tightly together that they trembled, brought to his knees. His prayer – half-confession – found no purchase. It lived only inside of him, and even you would never know. It was a small, lenient punishment.

[imsfire2]

WIP whenever meme

I'd not come across this one before and don't know the rules, so apologies if I'm doing it wrong! Tagged by the lovely @captastra and I am assuming from the name that this is about posting a piece of a WIP at some stage in its development at some point.

So, hoping I've got that right, and thanks for the tag!! and here's the opening of my long-half-finished summer cricket league story.

Setting is in the Guau-guau 'verse, which features the Rogue One crew as everyday people in west London. This is for @thenewleeland by the way; long-promised, maybe one day soon to be delivered!

The cricket match

In Re. yr. interest in local club league, the email was titled.  Bodhi blinked at his phone screen.  In Re. yr.  He tried to remember when he’d last seen a wording like that.  Informal in a way, but the informality of – what – his grandparents’ generation?  It made him weirdly uncomfortable.

As he opened the email, Luke came into the sitting room of their flat carrying the tea tray and Jyn began hastily sweeping papers and books off the table.  Bodhi read quickly and started to swear under his breath, and they both looked round.

“What the - Bo, are you okay?” Luke sounded completely taken aback by the strong language. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Bodhi said again. “I’ve made a total cock-up.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he could undo the impulsive action of a few days ago that had led to this.

“Why, what’s going on?” Jyn asked. “Is something wrong at flight school?”

“What?  Oh no, nothing like that.  It’s about cricket.”

“You’re dropping f-bombs over the cricket?” Luke smiled. “Aww, honey, it’s just a game.”

“It’s about our little team.  I think I – I think I may have got us in deep shit.”

His fiancé and sister exchanged a glance and blinked at one another, like actors in a comedy, before Jyn came over and sat down beside him on the sofa. “Talk to me, Bodhi.  Is it Ealing council?  If we’re in trouble for paying ball games in the park or something, remember that’s on all of us, not just you.  No-one told us it was against the rules.”

“We didn’t ask,” Luke pointed out.

“Yeah, well, everyone plays sports there all the time so I don’t see why we should have to ask when—"

“It’s not the council,” Bodhi interrupted. “It’s – it’s all my fault.  Remember we were talking about if we could maybe join the local club league next year, if we could get a full team together?  I – I contacted them.  Just to ask.  It’s about that.  It’s a formal invitation.  From the captain of the current title holders.  To a, to a, like, a challenge match, to test if we’re good enough.”

“Blimey,” Jyn said. “A challenge?  Straight off the bat, if you’ll pardon the phrase?  That’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?”

“He suggests we have a friendly limited-over match one weekend.  And then he goes into all the details about requirements and allocated drinks breaks and whatnot and it all gets terribly formal and oh shit, it’s just - I’ve really fucked up so badly.  I should never have asked.”

He handed her the phone and she read while Luke poured him tea, and opened the biscuits.

“So,” Jyn said, accepting a mug and then a hobnob “this WH Tarkin brackets Captain close brackets wants to have a 40-over match one Saturday between his team from – Empire Gyms, hah! – and us.  The sides to provide one umpire each and tea to be at Empire Gyms’ expense as being the senior team.  Crikey, how ridiculously formal.  He makes it sound like a duel.  Okay, who’re we going to field then?  Bags I bat at number four.”

“Jyn, come on, we’re no way ready to play a formal match, we’ve just been knocking a ball about and having a laugh.”

“We’ve been challenged,” Jyn retorted. “By some pompous old buffer who thinks the local club league is his baby.  Talk about a big fish in a small pond.  He sounds so smug.  Someone should show him the little folks can play too, thank you very much Mr Tarkin.”

“Jyn, no…” 

“Jyn yes.  Seriously.  We can’t just get all British and embarrassed and say we didn’t mean it.  We’ve been challenged to a fight, we have to turn up at least.  Bodhi, come on!”

“Tell her she’s nuts,” Bodhi implored; but Luke was grinning at his future sister-in-law’s excitement.

“If we don’t even show up, then for sure, we’ll never get into the league,” Jyn went on. “If we give it a bash then at least we’ve taken a chance and had a go.”

She passed the phone to Luke. “Read it.  Tell me I’m not over-reacting.  This bloke sounds so bloody old-school, and really possessive.  It’s like all local cricket is his domain and none shall enter the realm without his say-so.  I want to punch his nose already and I haven’t even met him.”

[ducktracy]

Do you happen to have any character design tips or tricks? I have a folder full of model sheets and scans from funny animal comics and cartoons that I look at for inspiration, but I fear that might be making my designs too derivative. I'm starting to think there might be only so many ways to draw a toon wolf haha.

WELL… your method is the exact same as mine LMAO. so the first thing i’d say is don’t worry about being too derivative or not derivative enough! it’s GREAT to be conscious about the decisions in your designs, and very important too! but it can get stifling if it’s all you focus on. be derivative—you have time to change things later if you’d like!

i’m like you, i hoard anything i take inspiration in (and sometimes don’t look at it ever again because i get so caught up in the hoarding over applying HAHA), and that’s a great start. your mind is a bank—the more you store, the more you have to use from. expand from your horizons and search in corners you may not think to look, because you may find something you want to incorporate!

it’s no secret i don’t draw much original art, which is something i aim to fix this year. it’s not on purpose, i just have so much that i want to draw and not enough time to do it that i try to prioritize what i want to see the most, and my own characters aren’t the highest on that list

(but it’s growing… the reason i’ve been relatively quiet on here outside of work is because i reset my Animal Crossing island and plan to put my characters in it so i have motivation to keep the island HAHA so i’ve been preoccupied with that. Bluebear says hi)

IN ANY CASE, i think the importance of shape language does get a little too much exposure; i don’t like sticking to the formula of men are stocky strong squares women are futile hourglass figures etc etc etc, i strongly encourage breaking those old stereotypes and drawing the way you want, BUT with my own designs i do like to incorporate the importance of shapes.

to self advertise i’ll use my character Tyson as an example since she came from Me Own Brain and has been with me for awhile. below is Ye Old Evolution, from 2016-2021:

almost all of these designs are VERY derivative in some form, and her current design is purposefully derivative! the second and third were heavily inspired by Camp Lazlo, Ren and Stimpy, SpongeBob, and Chowder, and it shows (i just straight up stole Chowder’s nose and Ren’s eye colors)—the fourth was post-LT, where my own style was coming into play. slightly more constructed and less stylized/flat

the last two are purposefully “generic”, so to speak—i referenced drawings by Otto Messmer and Jim Tyer and tried to incorporate what i liked about them in her design. i aim to make a webcomic with her and the rest of the characters, and my goal is to make it look as close to an actual comic book from 70-80 years ago as much as i can.

as a result, i borrowed a lot of design clues; i simplified her leopard spots to be generic, opaque circles, matching with the “funny animal” style of leopards, but also to make people instantly say “okay, that’s a leopard”. same with the cat ears—she looks much more like a kitten than a leopard, which is also slightly intentional. i felt the triangular ears also gave her a bit more energy as opposed to the soft, circular ears—diagonal angles convey energy and movement, but i rounded them out to still make her seem young and “soft”.

Tyson’s current design is very purposeful. leopards are quiet, elusive, good at blending in with their surroundings. i wanted Tyson to be the total opposite—she’s a brash, hyperactive overly optimistic kid who has a big heart but loves to get into trouble. she tries to make friends with everyone she meets and is undoubtedly annoying. so, to reflect her antithetical nature, i made her bright red, social, and loud, purposefully contradicting everything leopards are not. she’s the odd one out and isn’t ashamed of it for a second.

i made her uniform baggy and dirty to make her seem a little naïve, inexperienced, out of place while unafraid of getting down and dirty. she’s the only character on the team without shoes to make her seem more “wild”. it’s hard to see with the raised cheeks, but (for now) i have her eyes slightly angled off, with round tops but a flat, squared off bottom, like a tall half circle shape. i feel it gives her more rigidity and energy, and taps into certain design trends of yesteryear

THIS IS SO LONG AND I AM SO SORRY. here i am dumping about my characters when it’s the last thing you asked. the truth is—i’m not exactly sure! because you’re method is mine as well. but taking inspiration and keeping a vast reference of things you enjoy will help you wonderfully, and you can always change your designs however you see fit. while i think shapes shouldn’t purely dictate the personality of the characters (seeing as it can lead to certain tropes or stereotypes), i do like to do it in little doses as an “easter egg” of sorts. i don’t expect people to point out everything i just said when i show my designs, but it’s something i CAN mention when discussing them, and it’s certainly something i will mention when introducing my other characters.

in my case, having an end goal certainly helped—i purposefully want to mimic the look of funny animal comics and draw inspiration from them constantly, so that’s an easier situation for me when i’m purposefully trying to be derivative, but i also try to make them my own. take it from me personally—your style will develop naturally. you ask yourself how and how and how and why and it’s not developing and this is stupid the internet lies to me, and all of a sudden you have a style. you can change it anytime you like. sticking to one style of drawing is very limiting and suffocating. but it WILL happen and you will find a method that works for you.

if at all possible, try to enjoy the process more than focusing on if you’re doing something right or wrong! the more you draw and more you surround yourself in things that inspire you, the clearer things will be.

[hhhecates]

Modern AU! Genshin College Boys HCs pt 2

# — pairings: kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha

# — summary: second part of our college headcanons, this time featuring kazuha (and some more quick doodles of this pretty boy at the end).  Here you can read part 1 and part 3 if you’d like.^^

# — warnings: none I think, just fluff, teasing cause kazuha is a menace, playful arguing, this came out so long I’m so sorry

# — tags: hc format, whole lot of fluff, strangers to rivals to friends to lovers kinda dynamic, college au, canon divergence

# — notes: And here we are to the next part of this series! I hope you’ll enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it. Next up is probably xiao, though if you’d like to see someone else, feel free to tell me^^

- he's a theater major with a knack for play-writing. If you thought of him as a creative writing major, you'd be partially right. He actually was double majoring in both, but he dropped creative writing because he's way too picky and whimsical with his works. He hates having to mold his writing to fit assignments criteria, even more so since while he's a very dutiful student, he also only ever writes when inspiration strikes. Kazuha knows he can't force himself to, otherwise he will never be satisfied with the product, and he's known to be a perfectionist to a degree, so that simply won't do. So now he just sticks to theater; - fun fact, his major started out as an inside joke of sorts, Tomo would always point out that Kazuha was a super dramatic person, with his impromptu lines of poetry threw here and there and his smooth and calm behavior even in the most frantic circumstances; - it peaked one day, Tomo was so done with his shit, he just went "Archons Kazuha, since when you're so much of a comedian?" raising an annoyed eyebrow at him. Kazuha just looked at him, a concoction of amusement and challenge brewing in the red of his eyes "Since now." he shrugged, clicking a few more keys on the keyboard of his laptop before looking back at Tomo with a self-satisfied smile and turning off his computer; - now, Tomo has known Kazuha only for a few years, but he knows, he knows how Kazuha can be way too well. It didn't help that they were just discussing their options for college a few minutes before; - "Kazuha, what did you do?" but Kazuha didn't answer, he merely glanced back at him with sympathetic eyes, you don't need his voice to add ‘wouldn't you like to know?’ because his gaze speaks loud enough; - if you think that's how Kazuha chose to take up theater in college, you'd be very right. Did he ever regret it? Not one bit. Kazuha is not known for his impulsivity. That, he could never be. He'd rather call it,,, spontaneousness (is it even a word?). Which he quite often indulges, but Kazuha also reckons that those kind of decisions always turn out to be the best ones he's ever taken. So you could say that he is pretty confident of his choice in theater. Looking back now, he never regretted it either, and he's actually quite grateful to that little ‘argument’ he had with Tomo and how it led to his situation now; - not that he'd ever admit it either if he didn't like it, Kazuha is (unexpectedly) petty like that, and he'd probably see it through even if he didn't like it. Out of spite to Tomo who would be just waiting for a "I told you so" moment (since Kazuha is usually the one who chides him)? Yes. - Kazuha is also a literature minor. In particular Japanese and German literature; - it used to be Japanese and French literature, cause he really loves the language, Kazuha thinks it sounds so elegant and suave. But he came to really dislike how pompous and over the top its literature can be. Doesn't help that he wholeheartedly despises Parnassianism, all that ‘l'art pour l'art’ bullshit. Kazuha hates poetry and art generally speaking whose purpose is just to look pretty and show off. Don't even get him started on la Préciosité, because Kazuha could write a whole theater play mocking it just for the hell of it. He actually thought of doing it, thinks of it as his own little revamp of 'Les Préciouses Ridicules' of Molière, he loves the dude. (This is literally canon since when Beidou asked him to perform poetry for the crew he said “only if the mood takes me, of course. Poetry for poetry's sake tends to lack meaning." and since then, mind full of Kazuha getting huffy at the mere mention of Parnasse and Wilde and such); - he now switched to German literature. He didn't think he would have liked the language as much, but he actually finds it really charming. Also German poetry is right up his alley: blunt and straight to the point, but with burning, strong metaphors and oh so prettily crafted lines. He finds law and order that give him balance but also a pawing sense of freedom and desire of understanding woven in it, something he deeply enjoys and that never fails to leave him all giddy and craving for more; - Kazuha is the kind of person that dresses in this super sophisticated light academia aesthetic. Soft neutral colours, and sometimes just a dash of a dignified red hue that could make him stand out in a crowd of thousands. Brown polished shoes always shining, big over-sized blazers he probably got in some thrift store (dragging you along with him), pretty flowy blouses and fluffy scarves that cocoon him and make him look even softer. His long hair unfailingly swept in a casual but somehow still orderly ponytail; - people look at him and they know that he is the embodiment of a humanities/literature student, like come on, he looks like he's straight out of one of those novels he loves so much; - Kazuha is legitimately everyone's crush at university, and how could you blame them? No matter that he's quite the introvert, he would still offer a polite smile and a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement to everyone on campus. He's always so polite and eager to help, lending a hand to the old librarian to sort out all the books in the literature section and so graciously offering to close up for her on the days she needs to get home early to take care of her nephews. Kazuha who stops every time he sees someone struggling to carry a heavy pile of books or bags, immediately sweeps in and carries them in their stead, his effortless kindness always managing to make him late to his own appointments, but who could be mad at him and his sheepish smile? - you. That's who. You refuse to fall for his tricks. Well- let's back track a little, shall we? You don't have anything against Kazuha, no no, absolutely not. Nope. Aside from the fact that half of your friends have an annoyingly obvious crush on him and basically give him heart eyes every time he sits in three rows of vicinity to where you're sitting during lectures. You and Kazuha share your German Lit class, and again, while being quite the introvert, Kazuha never wastes an opportunity to swoop right in and make his opinions everyone's problem known whenever the professor asks if someone would like to add something. And of course, local pretty boy has always something to say; - and today is no different. You usually don't mind too much, you actually enjoy an output that's not only your professor's, helps you see things in a different perspective and more often than not you find yourself nodding along as a bunch of students discuss about a poem or give their different interpretation of a particular metaphor and jottle down some notes for yourself. But it can become really frustrating when the sheer stubbornness of one student can stall the entire lecture until they have it their way. And of course the student in question is Kazuha. You nearly pull your hair put of your scalp as Kazuha refutes yet again one of your poor fellow classmates trying to defend the purpose of ‘die neue Sprache’ of German Symbolism in this one poem you're trying, keyword, trying to analyse;

- you're not the kind of student that brazenly takes the word to rebuke someone else, sure you have your own opinions, stand firmly behind them and would never back down if questioned, but you never felt the need to put yourself under the spotlight, expose your ideas on a silver platter for another say 100 students to turn their heads and listen to you and you only. But you also have really been looking forward to German Symbolism, one of your favourite authors was in program today, but Kazuha is still picking apart at the poem on hand, explaining in the most polite and reverent way how stupid it was for the author to write a poem about a belt buckle and compare it to words and languages (if you know this one poem, know that I love you); - so when your professor heavens a sigh and asks if there's someone else who would like to intervene (and try to shake Kazuha's unyielding opinion), you stand up from your seat, eager to wipe the expectant smirk on his face, and you start your own apologia. Two can play this game; - you end up going back and fort for the rest of the lecture, both of you refusing to back down, to give in to the other. Kazuha's known to be like that, sweet words turning sly and biting whenever he argues, though he would hardly refer to it as such, it's fun to him. And you can tell, it's fun to him to cradle words close to him and also to pry and break them open, to find a contradiction, hesitation in your thoughts. But you don't give him the satisfaction to. Kazuha is a little of the teacher's pet as well. It's not even his fault really, he's just so good that professors can't help but adore him. It's hard to come on par with someone like him. Honestly though, you just want to get your damn lecture over with, and if that's going to entail having to shut Kazuha up, then you'll gladly oblige; - after awhile, that one poem you started with, and whose name you've long forgotten, isn't even a point in your discussion at all, it's just an excuse, you know, hell, everyone knows it, because both of you are ignited in sheer competitiveness. It's a matter of pride and misery, of tattered words and unspoken stubbornness, like the entire class is your stage, for you to take, for the other students to behold, be your audience in this weird and brash dance. Heads are turning from one side to the other bemusedly, probably the students at the far back are snickering and betting on who's going to win this. Even your professor looks beyond amused. But you don't see it, don't see anything of it, you only see Kazuha, still standing from his seat across the room, in the firsts rows; - the sound of the bell, telltale of the end of the lesson, is the only thing that manages to stop you and Kazuha right in your tracks. You hold your breath, see him do the same as you throw one last glance at him before sitting back down and starting to pack up your stuff; - your little stunt isn't forgotten quite easily, next week you see some students exchanging knowing glances as they look at you taking a seat in German lit class. You're starting to regret your actions. Even more so when the professor announces a group project and purposely, because you know she did it on purpose, pairs you and Kazuha together. You groan and bang your head on the desk, so much for keeping a low profile and just following your classes; - on the bright side, the poet you are assigned is your absolute favourite. On the other hand, he's also the greatest symbolist poet in German literature, so you're going to have a field trip with Kazuha and his apparent dislike for Symbolism; - so when lecture is over, you don't waste your time trying to talk it out with Kazuha, and you bolt straight for the library, convinced on getting the project done by yourself; - it's exactly in the library that you meet him, while trying to balance three different volumes about the author of your project while reaching out for for another book of french poetry (that one just out of your own whim) on the highest shelf; - "There you are." you shriek and almost let the book fall straight on your head if it weren't for Kazuha's sharp reflexes. He swipes right in, gently takes the volume in his own hands, though when he turns it around and inspects the title, his brows furrow in obvious distaste; - he tuts disapprovingly, and you swear you're this close to let the other books fall on his feet and leave him there; - "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse." that does get your attention, you quickly snatch the book right back, cradle it protectively against your chest, so much that Kazuha almost apologizes at the sight of you looking so fondly at a mere collection of words and paper. You could very much stomp away and never talk to him ever again, ask your professor to pair you up with someone else for this stupid project, or just notify her that you'd like to do it on your own altogether. You don't owe Kazuha anything, you could leave him there and he'd probably take the hint and don't bother you again. You could. But you don't. It's too easy, something in the back of your mind says. So you unexpectedly grab his wrist, soon receiving a questioning look from Kazuha himself, your eyes are harsh and challenging, a hint of annoyance that makes Kazuha's skin tingle, but your grip on him instead is gentle and unsure, asking for consent, he subconsciously nods his head at you, and you proceed to dragging him along to one of the tables of the library where he spots your backpack occupying one of the seats; - you don't even give him time to ask questions, and you don't question his apparent dislike for French literature either, as soon as he's sitting down, you slam open the poetry book like you know its contents by heart and present him with a poem by Pierre de Ronsard; - "Mignonne, allons voir si la rose..." he mumbles out half distracted, you can tell even in a few words, his accent is much more fluid than you anticipated, he might not like French literature, but you can tell that he at least gave it a chance, and that makes you respect him a little more; - "How quaint." he chuckles, and he doesn't say it outright, but you know what he means ‘how banal’, "Are roses your favourite flower? Is that why you like this poem so much?" his sonorous voice mocks. Ode structure, octosyllabes (typical for French poetry in that period), four verses of sixteen lines each. Metaphor of beauty through roses. Kazuha wrinkles his nose in distaste. He's seen too much of this, and pristine structures and empty pretty words just aren't his thing; - "No." you say, he looks back at you, one inquisitive brow raised "I quite dislike roses too. But when I read this poem, it makes me wonder if maybe they are my favourite flower after all." that does get his attention, he discards the book in favor for you instead, you almost shy away under his gaze, but you will yourself not to crumble. You don't answer him, again (Kazuha doesn't know if frustration or anticipation that takes over him). Instead, you present him with a new poem, one from the author you were assigned to for your project, and from the crease of his brows he probably already knows it. You try to take no offence in the way he's looking at you favourite poem of all times. 'Ich fürchte mich vor der menschen Wort', 'I am afraid of human words', admittedly, one of the poems Kazuha despites the most, to be expected really, given his affinity towards words themselves. Though he'd never admit that he never bothered reading the thing, the title was enough to keep him away. You don't ask him to read it, you just point at one of the lines in the middle of the whole poem. Kazuha wants to say there's no point in taking few words out of their pretty scheme and try to make sense of them, but he doesn't have the time to think, doesn't have the time to rebut. "Start from here. 'Ihr Garten und Gut grenzt grade an Gott.' " you recite verbatim without even looking at the page. 'You put your own 'God' to stand between 'garden' and 'good' '. Kazuha shivers, and he doesn't know if it's the desperation of your voice when you recite poetry to him, or the poetry itself, he only knows that he's suddenly afraid of the answer; - the project goes surprisingly very well from then, you'd dare say you made Kazuha change his mind from his previous stance on Symbolism, but the thought alone sounds quite preposterous. Really? Kazuha?; - after handing the final project in, you heave a breath of relief, thinking of finally going back to before Kazuha; - but you quickly find that there's no 'before Kazuha' no more. That boy simply won't leave you alone; - Kazuha who slips cheeky poetry lines in your textbooks that make your eyes widen and your cheeks heat up while he brazenly smiles at you from across the hall (how the hell did he even get access to your stuff, to this day this is still beyond you); - he gets you hooked on Japanese literature too, shows you all his favourites, recites Hokushi's haikus to you, Experimenting I hung the moon on various branches of the Pine. And he looks at you, like you are the one who hung the moon for him. Whispers to you dan 69 of the Ise Monogatari like it's you and him who share a tale of forbidden love. If you stare for too long you might just think that he's true; - Kazuha who takes you by the hand, ignoring your half-hearted protests, drags you through narrow streets, shows you the best sights, best bakeries (where he insists on buying you the pastries you have, not so secretly, been eyeing), still holding your hand as he ushers you in his favourite vintage shops, chuckling at the way your mouth gapes at the sight of so many antiques, excitedly brings you to the book section just to see your eyes sparkle at the sight of old french poetry books. He tugs on your fingers "Let's play a game, I'll buy a book that reminds me of you. You buy a book that reminds you of me, then we’ll gift it to each other." and before you can say anything, he has already disappeared behind the many shelves; - Kazuha who invites you at his dorm more often than not, whines and complains if you try to come up with excuses. He's always so much softer in the privacy of his own room, hair more often than not let down from his signature ponytail, he bleats and grumbles about how his scalp hurts from all the tugging. You card your fingers through his hair to offer him some relief, and he quickly melts into your touch, leaning heavily in your hands before completely dropping down you lap and nuzzling into you. He reminds you of the white cat his roommate Tomo is so fond of. He closes his eyes and sighs contentedly, hums when you gently scrape at his nape, his own way of silently telling you not to stop, that still doesn't help how hot your cheeks feel, but he doesn't need to know that; - it's while brushing his hair and tracing your fingers along the many piercings adorning his ears (a couple of low helix, one standard lobe piercing per ear, one of which occasionally sports a fun dangly earring that suits him way too well) that you find the tattoo sitting gracefully at the back of his neck, it's a simple maple leaf in soft hues that remind you of watercolours for the way they blend with his skin, you can't help the strangled noise that escapes your throat; - "You have a tattoo?!" you're not even guilty of the accusatory tone of your voice. Kazuha clicks his tongue, probably displeased of the fact that your fingers stopped their work on his scalp. He looks at you, one inch away from sleep. He's all slurry and cute when he's sleepy (you'd know from the ungodly amount of times he asked you to 'sleep over because it has gotten too late for you to be out') but sleepy Kazuha also happens to lose all his filters and thus be even cheekier than usual (you don't even know how that's possible to begin with); - he chuckles, deeper than his usual tone, his gaze is nothing but teasing as he looks up at you "I didn't know it was something that would find you so interested." you hand still rested in his hair, you give it a little tug for good measure as a response to his taunting, but your chiding action quickly backfires on you when Kazuha gasps breathlessly. Archons, he's going to kill you one day, one very close day if he keeps this up; - "It's just,,, something I didn't know about you." you shrug lamely, he fully laughs at that, you feel his trembling against you. "There are quite a few things that you don't know about me." he croons, hand coming to cup your chin, he had recently took up the habit to brush his thumb over your bottom lip, a gesture meant to pacify you, but really, again, he's going to kill you if he keeps this up; - "Like,,," you take a brief pause for a more dramatic effect "That you play the saxophone?" he looks at you, eyes wide in surprise, now it's your turn to laugh "You have a saxophone case in the corner of your room, and quite the stack of music sheets too. Though those seem to be written for piano." you muse, tapping your chin. The grin he offers you in response is nothing but proud at your keen observation "Good." he praises "I do in fact play both of those instruments. Though the music sheets are only for piano because I'm in a band and therefore tend to prioritize it."; - you let the information sit for awhile before speaking again. "Will you let me hear?" he hums appreciatively, turns his head to bury it in your stomach. "Do you want to?" you just nod at him, unable to conceal your excitement. He chuckles. It sounds like a promise.

Here’s some lil doodles for college kazuha^^ 

I got so carried away writing this-- I’m so sorry. I get like this when literature is involved. I miss taking French and German literature in high school so much ahh. Also excuse my lack of detailing when it came to Japanese literature, I’m quite rusty on that. 

[fairestwriting]

Iebejejwwj I love your writing first of all its just 😙👌 don't suppose you could do the nrc staffs reaction to finding out that yuu doesn't want to go home because one or both of their parents are just straight up arseholes. I know that if I was in yuu's position I'd see crowley as a father so as long as it includes him im not overly bothered what you do with this in just kinda intrested as to what you can do with it, obviously you don't have to do it lol

~ xoxo

yuu has just gained 3 new dads- i didnt do sam for this bc he has so little content i couldnt think of anything, hope thats ok >_<

+ ko-fi link, if anyone feels like financially supporting my writing

Dire Crowley

He’s giving them a friendly little push on the shoulder as they stand in front of the Mirror -- Come on, he’s finally found a way to take them home, aren’t they excited? They’ll get to meet all the people that they have missed for so long!

He looks like he’s kicking them out for a moment lol-

“What’s wrong, now? I’ve finally found a way to take you home, aren’t I so kind for doing that?” He asks in that pompous voice of his, but deflates a bit when he notices the grim expression on their face.

Well, they didn’t think they would have gotten to the point where they’d actually have to go home, now this was just... -- They look down, and mumble that they don’t want to go.

Crowley is confused, quick to question them. Why not? Anyone else would have loved to be able to see their home again!

Awkwardly, they explain the issues they used to face at home before coming here. It’s the first time they mentioned it since arriving at the school, all the stories about how awful their parents are feel...wrenched out of them. It hurts to talk about it.

Crowley immediately goes quiet upon listening to them. All of his lighthearted act is just gone for a moment. He’s careless, usually, but this was just... too much to ignore.

“Then, would you prefer to stay?” He asks, sounding a bit gentler. “You’re already enrolled here, after all.”

It’s not an issue to just close up the Mirror and call it a day. They’re a student already, they can just go back to their activities -- But after hearing about all of this Crowley feels wrong leaving them alone too much, he’ll make sure they’re doing alright. The chores given to them decrease in quantity very soon.

Mozus Trein

“You’re not supposed to still be here.” Trein points out as soon as he enters the room with the Mirror, seeing as the odd transfer student hadn’t gone home yet, even after the headmaster found a way to take them there. “Is the Mirror not working properly?”

Yuu flinches when the teacher shows up -- They’d been alone in the room for a while, after having told Crowley they’d get into the Mirror soon, but since then they’d just been stalling...

Trein is someone who’s pretty intimidating, and that gets to them now, specifically. They’re unsure of what to say, so they just look down, feeling cornered... before they admit that, actually, they don’t want to go.

Trein has a scolding ready at the tip of his tongue, but when they blurt out about their parents being bad to them, all the words leave his mind.

So, he’s pretty strict and seems unapproachable to his students, right -- But he’s also a father himself, he raised his own two daughters all alone since his wife passed away, and he was doing his utmost best when they were Yuu’s age. Hearing that someone’s parents can act this way just breaks his heart.

“Then you’ll not be going back.” He just decides, placing a hand on their shoulder. He’d talk this out with Crowley, there’s no way he’s letting this kid go back into their bad situation. He refuses to let something like this happen.

Also reminds them, before he leaves, that in any worst case scenario, his home’s doors are open to them. He can't believe some parents just act like this, no kid deserves to be treated poorly by the ones supposed to love them.

Divus Crewel

"What are you doing just lounging around here?" He asks, the sound of his heels' clack filling the silent room, where Yuu was staring at the mirror. "Crowley told me you were supposed to be home, now."

Yikes, caught red-handed. Yuu knew they'd have to do something about this sooner or later, they couldn't just stay in front of the Mirror and delay coming home or explaining that they don't want to do that, but being caught by Crewel as they did it felt like a worst case scenario.

Like Trein, he's another teacher that seems scary and unapproachable because of how demanding they are, Crewel has that presentation stick tapping against his palm as he stares at them, Yuu is just certain that they're screwed.

Might as well get it over with, since Crewel would end up pushing them to leave anyway, since this was what the headmaster ordered now -- So they tell him, in hurried mumbles, that they didn't want to go home because of how their parents treated them. They'd rather stay here, even if that meant they couldn't see the other people they loved.

Surprisingly, Crewel is the one who visibly softens the most, the stick on his hand going still, his stern expression fading in an instant.

He asks them, tentatively, about what their parents had been doing before, assuring that if they don't want to tell him about it, they don't have to. If they decide to open up about it, he'll listen to every detail attentively.

When they’re done, he’s shaking his head, sighing. He doesn’t have children of his own, but he cares about his students’ safety a lot, and to find out one of them have been going through this and he had no idea...

“Do you want me to talk to Crowley about this? I don’t think forcing you to go home would be a good idea.” He’ll suggest. The conversation stays in his mind, too, and if he notices they’re upset in his class, he’ll be more prone to asking them if anything’s wrong.

[snelbz]

Aisle Twenty-Two

A/N: A short fluffy Elorcan piece @tacmc and I wrote a few weeks back, based on the following tweet. Enjoy!

It had been a long day and to top it off, Elide was not looking forward to stopping at the grocery store. But she was out of milk, needed to buy cat food, and was almost out of wine.

If it weren’t for the wine, she would have waited until tomorrow, but that was the only thing that would keep her going for the rest of the week. If she had any hope of making it to Friday, she’d need to go tonight.

She was halfway down the chip aisle when she heard a familiar laugh that had her halting in place.

The sound alone had chills creeping down the back of her neck, her palms starting to sweat on the bar of the cart.

“Elide Lochan?”

That voice. She loathed that voice.

Ignore, ignore, ignore. Elide turned to the long shelf of bagged chips, looking as if her only thoughts were on the bags and the labels that covered them.

Chips.

The only decision she had to make was of chips.

“Hey, Elide?”

The voice grew closer and she grabbed the first bag she could get her hands on and moved her cart along, hurrying for the aisle that housed her favorite beverages.

She didn’t hear him approach until there was a hand on her shoulder. She turned and found blonde hair, the bluest of eyes and a dashing smile staring down at her.

“I thought that was you,” he said, that grin growing. “It’s been a while.”

Not nearly long enough, she thought, but forced an awkward smile. “Roland, hey. Sorry, I’ve got…a lot on my mind.”

There was nothing but horrible memories from her short relationship with Roland Haviliard. He was a pompous, stuck up prick. He was all about appearances and his reputation, which Elide had apparently not fit into.

And yet, the smile on his face told her otherwise. “You look great.”

“So do you.” The lie rolled off her tongue too easily.

“Shopping?” he asked, as Elide went to roll her cart off to the next aisle.

Are you kidding me? She wanted to say. Obviously, she was shopping. What else would she be doing in a grocery store?

“Have to eat,” she said, matter-of-factly. But then she added, “We have to eat.”

Roland blinked, obviously catching the hint she was dishing out. We. “You’re with someone?”

“Yeah,” she said, smoothly, hoping he didn’t notice the way her eyes flicked behind him, searching for someone, anyone. “He’s grabbing a few things for himself and meeting me before we check out.”

It was clear from the look in his eyes that Roland didn’t believe her. He glanced down at her cart.

Cat food, chips, ice cream.

The most quintessential single girl shopping list.

“I’ve been meaning to call you, but didn’t know if you had the same number,” he said, placing a hand on her cart, effectively keeping her where she stood. “Things kind of…went to shit for us. I hate how things ended.”

You mean, how you dumped me and then left me with the bill for our very expensive dinner, she thought, eyes narrowing slightly.

“No, new number,” she lied, smoothly. She’d had the same number since she was sixteen. “Lost all of my contacts, too.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied. “You could text me sometime.”

“I said I’m with someone, Roland,” she snapped, an edge to her tone.

Roland snorted. “Really, Elide? Come on, just let me have your number.”

Before she could say anything more, a tall, muscular figure rounded the corner. His shoulders were broad, his arms covered in tattoos. His shoulder-length hair was tied back, his jaw set hard as he pushed his cart through the aisle.

Elain lost all control of her impulsive decision making skills. “Babe! Hey, grab me a bottle of...that moscato, please?”

His dark eyebrows raised as he realized she was talking to him. Roland’s did as well, especially as he turned to see the hulking, mass of a man she’d spoken to.

The man’s dark eyes connected with hers and she tried to convey her panic and desperation in just a few seconds, with no words, before Roland turned back to her.

The smile that split the handsome man’s features was terrifying. She couldn’t tell if he was about to go along with her plan or rat her out, and she held her breath as he began to walk closer.

But then he grabbed the big bottle of white wine and she let out a quiet, relieved sigh.

“Here you go, babe,” he said, setting the bottle in her basket. She expected that to be that, and to be left to her own devices again, when the man surprised her by extending his hand towards Roland. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Lorcan.”

“Yeah, this is Lorcan,” Elide repeated, turning to Roland.

Roland looked back and forth between Lorcan and Elide before clearing his throat. “Hey, I’m Roland.”

“Roland and I used to be…friends,” Elide said, looking up at the handsome brute of a man.

He truly was handsome.

“We used to date,” Roland clarified, his words clipped.

The man - Lorcan, Elide amended in her head - sucked on a tooth and nodded. “I think used to are the operative words here, so if you’ll excuse us, we need to finish our grocery shopping so we can grab dinner.”

Elide could have sworn she saw Roland’s face change three shades, but compared to Lorcan, he was scrawny.

Lorcan turned to her and asked, “Ready, babe?”

“Definitely,” she sighed, and turned to Roland. “Nice to see you.”

She pushed her cart away and turned, walking down a few more aisles, before pausing and letting out a deep breath.

She heard another cart stop behind her and turned to find Lorcan there.

Her cheeks burned red. “I’m so sorry for roping you into that, but I needed an escape. He had me cornered and I couldn’t get away.”

“I get it,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He looked like an asshole, anyway.”

“He is,” Elide said, before she could think better of it.

Lorcan chuckled. “That’s fair. Glad I could help. I’m Lorcan, by the way.”

“Elide,” she said, holding out her hand.

Lorcan shook it, that little, conniving smile remaining. “Wine is on me, by the way.”

“What?” Elide asked, brow raised.

“Moscato,” he said, nodding toward the bottle of white wine. “It’s on me.”

She blinked. “You…don’t have to do that.”

“What if I want to? I think you owe me,” he said, crossing her arms across his broad chest.

“I owe you so you want to buy me wine?” She asked, laughing quietly.

He shrugged. “I could buy you dinner instead. Since we just told your douchey ex we were getting dinner anyways.”

Elide was stunned into silence. “You want to buy me dinner?”

“Most people would call it a date,” he replied, smirking. The smirk faded. “Unless you have a boyfriend and we’re just looking for a momentary escape.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she replied, far too quickly, if the smirk returning to his handsome face was any indication.

“So, dinner then?” he asked, that grin remaining. “Or, just the wine?”

Elide nibbled on her lip.

This was insane. She had just met this man. She knew nothing about this man. This man, this random man, who was asking her to dinner.

This random, handsome man.

“How do I know that you’re not a serial killer?” Elide asked, at last.

Lorcan snorted. “You’re the one that came onto me, remember? How do I know that you’re not a serial killer?”

“I’m fairly sure you could overpower me if I tried to kill you,” she said, chuckling.

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, his eyebrows raising. Elide laughed, which made Lorcan smile.

“Dinner sounds nice,” she admitted, tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

“So it’s a date?” He asked, smirking down at her.

She smiled, feeling butterflies in her stomach for the first time in a long time. “It’s a date.”

[saiqherrr]

.could not be tainted (s. getou)

.pairing suguru getou x fem!reader

.content warning gojo’s past arc / jjk vol. 0 manga spoilers, angst, manipulation, mind-break, nsfw, non-con, dub-con, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, mentions of death, rough sex, choking, break-up, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!receiving), pregnancy

.synopsis "at this moment you accepted that he had done something terrible and his soul had become wretched, but again, cursed yourself for still loving him. your love for him was unconstrained. shamefully, your perception of his disposition could not be tainted. this would remain your first and only love. he was your everything, your entire world."

.a/n i just want to make it very clear that i do not want this fic to be romanticized in any way at all. some aspects of this are written from experiences and about guys i’ve dealt with in my life. (85% is just me writing angst just to cope about suguru lol). this is not the life you want to live or fantasize about. these are very real feelings i want to express and this is the best way i could do it. thank you for understanding.

.wc 4.k

WHY DID IT HAPPEN? why? why? why? when? how? you couldn’t grasp it. you were panicking, you were still in shock. you still couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. even if it were to happen right in front of you, you probably would still deny it. this was a thing that the two of you used to joke about together, yet it seems now that those jokes were simple warnings - no, a divination of the future.

still, you couldn’t fathom that suguru would ever do such a thing. an entire village? you knew you couldn’t deny it when satoru could barely look at you without flinching when his default, pompous grin wasn’t on his face when his voice broke and he looked away so that you couldn’t see him cry. that’s it, you thought to yourself. that’s how fast that lifestyle could break people.

you saw it coming now that you were thinking about it with your face covered in your grasp, sitting on the couch, shuddering with pulverization, outrage, and dread. your hands were damp from the tears that had run along your cheeks. suguru stopped smiling. he was excessively profound into his brain and at whatever point you broke him out of it, he’d bring his absent eyes to you and feign an artificial smile on his face. he stopped eating and the only one who pointed it out was satoru. his face was paler than it already was, he was getting fatigued quicker. he didn’t want to have sex with you, yet, he kept tasting you, feasting on your core some nights, and one night, you swore you heard him whisper “i’m sorry” once, but it slipped your mind seconds later.

why did you ignore it? why didn’t you ask him? why didn’t you talk to satoru? you couldn’t answer your own questions. regardless of his inert, distorted thoughts, he was still showering you with love. he was still tucking you into bed when he came home. he was still kissing you goodbye when he’d leave. he was still saying “i love you”. he was still asking you if you were alright. he was still suguru, the beautiful boy with long black locks that fell into his face whenever he’d laugh too hard. the boy that smiled simply because you were breathing. the boy that’d reach around for you at night, just to make sure you were beside him. the boy that would tell you he loves you each possibility he got simply to ensure that those were his final words in case of anything. your boy, he was your boy. your beautiful boy.

he was your boy yet you couldn’t keep him safe. you couldn’t shield him from the traumatic experiences that he inevitably faced as a sorcerer. you couldn’t reassure him that he was doing the best he could when everyone else expected him to do better. there was nothing you could do to aid him, to guide him, to protect him.

i failed, you thought. i failed to save you, my love.

where do we go from here? you thought. were you supposed to leave? were you supposed to stay with him? join him? end your own life? end his life?

your heart sunk and your body went still as you heard the door handle shaking behind you. you stood up from the love seat and went to approach the front door. the stifled sound of keys outside of the door had your heart dashing almost too fast to measure. finally, the door opened slowly, creaking loudly and he walked in.

“y/n-”

you didn’t know how you managed to move so quickly. suguru couldn’t even process it himself. but you cut him off, wrapping your arms around his body, fastening onto him as if he was trying to run anyway. he didn’t return the embrace, he was breathing quite heavily.

you pull away yet your hand lay on his chest, steadily grasping his shirt in your hands as you looked up at him with glossy eyes. the crying didn’t have to build - you just cried, warm tears liberated from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks.

“suguru, please tell me it’s not true,” you sobbed desperately. you brought a hand up to his cheek, scouring your thumb beneath his eye. “please...”

suguru’s jaw clenched, looking at you with deadpan eyes before he, oddly enough, smiles. it was almost frightening how he beamed at you, yet showed nothing in those dark eyes of his. his calloused hands are placed on your cheeks and he kisses you. it was so soft, yet so intense. he pulls away before you could even situate yourself with the kiss. your crying subsided.

as though the kiss didn't occur, he leaves and goes to the room that you two shared. you followed behind him.

“suguru...”

he didn’t respond to you. he looked into the mirror and rubbed his eyes. he was evidently tired. “suguru,” you called out to him again as you leaned against the door frame. he continued to ignore you and proceeded to remove his clothes from his body in an unusually slow manner.

“it’s true,” he finally speaks as he gets to the last button on his shirt and pulls it off of his arms.

your eyebrows curve upwards and your lips tremble once again and the tears started to stream. “t-then why did you come home...?”

suguru turned around to look at you. “just because i’ve lost my mind, does not mean i do not love you.” he walks closer to you and tilts your head up by pushing his fingers underneath your chin. “you understand that, right?”

“what does that mean?” you asked him in a small voice. he didn’t answer quick enough for you. “what does that mean, suguru?”

rather than giving you a verbal reaction, he snatches your face and kisses you covetously. it was messy and off-kilter and you didn’t enjoy it. this wasn’t a problem that he could kiss you through as he did in other situations. you pried his fingers off of your face and stepped back, shutting your mouth so his tongue just licked your face until he quit, taking a gander at you with a risky desire.

“i don’t want to kiss right now, suguru...” his nostrils flared at your words and his hand snaked up to the back of your neck. you drove his hand away again in which he quickly snatched you by the throat and pushed you into a wall. “su-sugu...” you struggled to speak and felt your face tightening. your fingers scratched at his flexed hand in an attempt to pry his fingers from your throat, however, you didn't succeed.

“i’ve lost my mind, y/n,” he growls, gazing at you with a profound, threatening glare. “i hope that doesn’t mean you don’t love me.” he let go of your throat but pushed you into the wall again, making you hit your head.

you wheezed for air and slid to the ground, urgently attempting to breathe once more. tears settled in the outer corners of your eyes. what happened? your beautiful boy had warped into something evil, something greedy. he had never touched you like this before and it terrified you, it frightened you so awful that you could hurl. he watched you struggle instead of coming to the rescue the way he’d normally do. he was so comfortable seeing you in pain at this moment. his words replayed in your head like a broken record. you pressed your forehead into the middle of your palm as you tried to get it to stop, screwing your eyes shut.

“i still love you...” you uttered in a feeble voice. you couldn’t find the courage to bring your eyes to his. you’d rather die than be glared upon like this by him. “i still love you, suguru,” you repeated. and you meant it.

his ears perked at the sound of your voice. despite the way he had just choked you for the suspicion that you didn’t love him anymore, he didn’t want to hear the words come out of your mouth. he knew he had committed an unforgivable crime, one, not even you would stay with him for. he knew that you were afraid and, with much guilt, he wanted it to stay that way. he didn’t want you to keep loving him for the sake of your safety, your own heart. but he needed to have you one last time before he walked out of that door. he needed to have you one last time before everything fell to shit. one could argue that things already did. 

he leans down and picks you up bridal style, bringing you to the bed that the two of you shared. he laid you down, caressing your cheek with a somber expression on his face.

“please stop loving me after tonight, y/n,” he whispers in your ear as he inclined down and began to kiss your earlobe, moving to your cheek and then your neck. your eyes augment at his sudden words. no. he anticipated your guarding hands and once they lifted to push him off, he was already grabbing them, pinning them above your head.

“suguru, please-” you interjected but he cut you off with another one of those messy kisses. You tucked your lips and turned your head left and right, trying to block it.

“stop fighting it,” he tells you in a warning tone. “please, just stop.”

you were tenacious. you tried kicking him, however, you just kneed his abdomen multiple times. “suguru, i don’t want to do this right now...i want to talk!” you started hysterically crying, wishing the entirety of this would stop. the suguru you knew wouldn't try to do this to you. he was a man of his word. he regarded you. he cherished you. this wasn't love. this was an evil longing.

realizing that you weren’t going to give up any time soon, he let go of your wrists and turned your body over. he placed his hand on the back of your head and pushed your face into the bed. your blood-curdling screams were muffled, your tears soaked into the sheets and your body trembled with immense fear.

he yanked your head up, your screams no longer suppressed and they echoed throughout the room. they were soon replaced by wheezing. “p-please-”

“promise me you’re not going to fight it...i don’t want to go any harder on you.” you gulped at the sound of his intimidating voice. you hated that you couldn’t see his face.

“i-i won’t f-fight it,” you stammered.

he finally let your hair go and gravity pulled you down on your stomach, collapsing on the bed. his hands caressed your ass, spreading his fingers over the expanse of each cheek before gripping it as if he was savoring the plushy feeling. for the first time in forever, you felt disgusted by his touch. you killed people with these hands. he pulled down your shorts, revealing your black, cotton underwear that hid underneath it.

he decided that, now, he wanted to see your face. he rolled you over onto your back and paused the subsequent he saw your face. he didn’t know what he was expecting, but you had completely shut down. you looked as if you had died. you figured that this was the solitary way you could go through with this - be numb to it all. you absentmindedly stared at the ceiling. your face was that of a cadaver. in an - almost - real sense, you let your psyche wander somewhere else and forfeited your body to him. 

suguru flinched when your eyes had finally moved. they darted to his face, taking a gander at him with an undeniable look. they then shifted to the ceiling. “do what you want, suguru.” your voice was dry and feeble. you had given up. there was nothing you could do to save him or yourself.

despite the fact that you had shut down in front of him, he still wanted to fuck you. the clunking of his buckle made your ears twitch as he unfastened his belt. once he unbuttoned his pants and unzipped the fly, they fell around his ankles and he stepped out of them. your eyes caught a glimpse of his prominent print in his underwear. he took his underwear off as swiftly as he did his pants and he held his veiny cock in his hand, stroking it slowly before rubbing it against your warmth, the only thing separating his length from your core were your panties. you gulped, terrified as you were unnerved of what move he’d make next.

instead of taking off your panties, he slides them aside, your breath hitching once your clit was met with cold air. to suguru’s disappointment, you weren’t aroused, yet he wasn’t surprised. but that didn’t stop him from pushing two, long fingers inside of you. you grimaced at the feeling of the burning sensation as his fingers forcefully and uncomfortably pushed into your walls. realizing he was getting nowhere, he grunts with irritation and rips off your panties. his head makes a plunge between your legs, his tongue frantically flicking at your clit. 

no.

your back wildly curved a smidgen and you squeezed your lips tight to cover the moans that needed to be urgently liberated from your lips. your stomach uncontrollably tucked in and out. your body formed a layer of sweat as your body temperature steadily rose higher and higher. he devoured you sporadically, no pattern, no steady pace. he wanted you wet. he wanted you gushing. he just wanted to feel comfortable inside of you.

against your own will, you gave him want he wanted. at the point when your lips at long last abandoned keeping down your groans, they came out stressed and weak. when his tongue had come in contact with your increasing slick, he lifted his head again. you deplorably became lascivious - craving him, needing him, and wanting him. you loathed yourself for it, how quickly he could make you lose yourself. this was most likely the last chance you’d get to touch him...feel him. no matter what, you couldn’t open your eyes. you had to pretend like this was all a dream. the man in front of you wasn’t a murderer, he was the loving guy he had always been. he liked getting his hair brushed before bed. he liked making you breakfast if he ever woke up before you. he liked taking showers with you, washing every last trace of your body while also getting a chance to admire it, to praise it. suguru liked kissing you in public, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. he liked making love to you after a hot bath. he liked asking if you were comfortable between each movement he made. he liked entwining fingers when he was ready to cum inside your tight cunt. he liked kissing you after he was done releasing, falling close to you, and murmuring “i love you.”

that’s the suguru that was touching you, right? right?

“no...” you whispered out loud as a response to your own psyche.

you hadn’t even realized he was scouring your wet warmth with his fingers and you regrettably had to open your eyes, only to be hit with the painful reality of things. you were too lost in this imaginary fantasy that the man in front of you was the same man a couple of days before. he simply was not. this was not the suguru that you fell in love with. but tonight, you had to make the best out of what you had right now.

“kiss me...”

“huh?” a perplexed look spreads across his face.

“kiss me.” you plead louder, hoping that the old suguru inside this man in front of you would hear you. and he did.

suguru brings himself down, crashing his lips into yours with passion, with regret. his tip unintentionally teased your entrance as he was hunched over you, making you squirm. he breaks away from the kiss and positions himself in front of your opening. you swore your soul left your body when you felt his calloused hands hassle with your dank fingers, finally settling in the free space between them. they locked in place and that was the moment you felt his love again, his comfort. you were taking so much time to process that he was holding your hands that it distracted you from the fact that he was entering you, stretching your opening.

you gasped, your eyes flitting rapidly before they eventually closed. you squeezed his hands as he continued to push the entirety of his length inside of you. your body jolted at the sudden feeling of his lips on your neck. contrary to what you expected, his thrusts were slow, steady, and amorous. tender kisses were scattered on your skin, his lips sucked on sweet spots that only he knew. the pretty moans that flew from your lips were out of your control. you were addled, trying to make sense of his actions that completely contradicted his demeanor from before. as he quickened his pace you could hear him inhaling every time he pulled back and exhaling every time his hips went forward to meet your groin. your eyebrows furrowed when you heard those breaths stutter. he was breathing spasmodically - he was silently sobbing.

at this point, he couldn’t hide it anymore. he thrusted into you harder as he got more overwhelmed. when he finally lifted his head, that’s when you saw it, his grief. his eyes were tightly shut, he was biting on his bottom lip, and tears, real tears, had rolled down his gaunt cheeks and met at this chin. your lips part as a look of despair came across your face. the sight was jarring, it was unusual. you wanted to hold him, kiss him, caress him, something. your hands still felt comfortable in the finger embrace, so you squeezed his hand as tight as you could, feeling like your bones would rip out of your skin.

suguru, i’m here.

at this moment you accepted that he had done something terrible and his soul had become wretched, but again, cursed yourself for still loving him. your love for him was unconstrained. shamefully, your perception of his disposition could not be tainted. this would remain your first and only love. he was your everything, your entire world.

and he knew this.

he knew this because he feels the same way about you. every feeling between the two of you is always reciprocated. there was complete equilibrium between this connection. both of you felt blessed by god himself to be able to experience a love like this, a love that many people cannot acquire. a love that everyone else coveted.

he kissed you feverishly, sniffling as he continued to move his hips, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the room. you found the strength to wriggle your fingers away from his and place your small hands onto his back to hold him close to you. he would die in your arms if he could right now. still, he hated the way you kept showing him affection at a time like this, but it’s not like he was making it easy for you to despise him.

it just kept bothering him. it was bothering him because he knew couldn’t have you like this anymore after tonight. he didn't lament his contemptible decisions, yet he was enduring inside on the grounds that he had allowed himself to get so attached to you, and he let you get so attached to him. he wished he could tell you how much he loved you, how sorry he was. he wished that he didn’t succumb so deep into his own madness. he wished he could embrace you and tell you everything was okay. he wished he had just left the country instead of coming back here to you. he wanted you to be happy. he wanted you to live your life without him. he wanted you to be safe, yet, he wanted to be there to watch you prosper, to watch you find yourself, to watch you smile, to watch you cry. he couldn’t be here to watch you live out the rest of your long life. he wanted to kiss you. he wanted to hold you. he wanted to sleep with you. he wanted to marry you. he wanted to have kids with you. he wanted to grow old with you. where were these passionate thoughts before he slaughtered those monkeys?

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear before he starts ramming into you rather roughly.

i hate that i want to forgive you.

you whimpered his name graciously, arms still wrapped around his built body as he delivered rhythmic strokes. he was getting closer to his climax, his face strained as he grunted and choked back pleasurable moans. he pushes himself up with his hand pressed firmly into the mattress, gazing down at how your gummy walls didn’t hesitate to take him in every time he pulled out.

“one last thing,” he murmurs. “i’ll give you one last thing.”

what does that mean-?

the voice in your head was cut off by the feeling of warm, sticky fluids saturating your hole. he let out a dragged-out groan as he came inside of your pulsating cunt, filling you up to the brim. his eyes screwed shut from the relieving feeling of his climax.

he opens his eyes, looking at your pretty face. he gets on the bed and lays down, pulling up your body and laying you down on his chest, holding you for the last time. the ear that was pressed against his chest could hear his agile heartbeat. your lips quivered before you started to weep in his arms. you were so out of it, still so confused on what he wanted, what he was thinking. you wished he could just tell you, but even you knew he wouldn’t. he couldn’t. he didn’t want you to follow him, to abandon the long, stainless life you had ahead of you. he didn’t want you to keep thinking of him.

it hurt to walk out that door that day without expressing everything to you. it hurt to walk out that door, period. once he finally got off the bed, he did nothing more and said nothing more.

as his back faced the apartment building as he walked on, he cried silently, regretting every step he was taking. if only you knew how much he loved you, how many times you had saved him from becoming this way early on, how he trusted you and relied on you to keep him stable when times were rough, how much he hated to see you in pain. if only you knew, if only you knew.

he fell while you prospered. he took two young girls under his wing while you cried once you saw the positive as clear as day on that pregnancy test. he shamelessly played house with his “shaman” family while you had moved in with satoru with a growing belly. he pleasurably mocked the lives of non-shamans while you gave birth to the very thing he hated in a delivery room. he slowly lost himself while you imbibed every word in those self-care books to better yourself for the sake of your baby girl. he laid awake at night, disturbed, while you slept peacefully on satoru’s couch, your infant child asleep in a rocker beside you. he cried in the shower as he thought of you while you cooed and giggled with your child as you soothingly washed her in the kitchen sink. he talked to himself when he was too out of it while you read bedtime stories to your child. he fell while you prospered. he thanked satoru for taking care of you during these miserable times before he was brought to his death while you gazed at your child and thought of him for the first time in months, murmuring, “you’re just as pretty as your father was.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed this. i feel very proud that i took my time on this particular fic. just want to remind everyone that if you find yourself in abusive relationships, please talk to someone. if you find yourself having suicidal tendencies, please talk to someone. being an abuse survivor myself, i hope that i reached other survivors with this work. i hope my words touched someone.

[curmudggeon]

An Unexpected Encounter (Arthur Morgan x Female Reader)

After receiving an invitation to the mayor's Gala party, you encounter the one person you despise the most, Arthur. Just when you thought your rivalry would get any more infuriating, he comes along and one thing leads into another or maybe even into something more...

“Fuck it.”

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Minor spoilers of 'The Gilded Cage' Mission, Vulgarities, Alcohol, Guns, Violence, and Sexual intentions

A/N: Honestly, I didn't know where I was going with this. It's been quite a while since I've written. While playing through this mission, I was thinking of an enemies-to-lovers type of banter with the whole glitz and glamour of the situation. I hope you enjoy it or maybe not...

The grand music by the string quartet swelled into the elegant ambiance of the evening. With Saint Denis’ high society gathered together into one establishment, being invited into these types of conventions was a rare opportunity. You managed to get in the mayor’s party through close connections within the city. It was a chance to get your hands on valued pickpockets from pompous rich people; away from the hassle of collecting useless bounties.

The mansion was rather extravagant as you entered; unique architecture and expensive pieces of artwork looking out into the outskirts of the city. The scent of liquor, cigars, and the deep aquatic plants of the Bayou was intoxicating.

Defying all the odds of 1899 fashion, you wore a dress that had a slit on the slide of your right thigh that was high enough to hide the spare gun that you managed to sneak in despite having to surrender the rest of your weaponry at the entrance.

The mayor’s servants eyed you closely when you laid out your revolvers in front of them, since it was apparently absurd to witness a woman carrying such hefty guns. Winking at them as you moved away, you scowled under your breath at their suspicion and avoid being further searched. It was your only option of protection in case a fiasco had broken out in the middle of your pickpocket adventure.

Conversations started to tune out the music in the background, the heads of married men turned towards your direction as you made your way through the party, striding with utter grace and elegance to catch the eyes of your potential suitors to steal from.

Grimaced expressions were coated on the faces of the women while examining your revealing choice of clothing. You stood beside the refreshments, holding a free glass of champagne, as you glanced at the group of women engrossed in conversation regarding the lady that came into the establishment. You.

Raising your eyebrow as you sipped on the champagne, you gave them a firm nod headed their way, causing the litter of southern belles to widen their eyes at your acknowledgment and quickly disperse from their conversation. Real smooth.

It was the kind of attention you had gotten used to. After all, being the only woman bounty hunter in the city wasn’t normal in the present day’s context. Opting for a more reckless and freer lifestyle gave you a sense of adrenaline; to escape every expectation of conservative American society. You felt entitled to be who you are and wanted to be. A free woman. You started making a name for yourself in this city, bounty after bounty until one particular man decided to show up and defeated all your means of survival on the jobs you took on...

Arthur

The sound of his name left a sour taste in your mouth. He was the reason why it started to get progressively difficult collecting bounties. When you showed up for a $100 bounty for the leader of the Lemoyne Raiders, Lindsey Wofford at the abandoned fort, that is how you met Arthur. You were outnumbered. Deciding to team up with him, was the last thing you should’ve done. He was charming at first, but then came the point when he handed over Lindsey’s body to the police, betraying your efforts to help attain the bounty as he kept the prize to himself. So much for being handsome.

The moment bounty posters were displayed, it became a competition to get to them first. He would capture or kill them before you did. The feeling of immense frustration struck you as he flashed that lazy, crooked smirk of his. Arthur tipped his hat to you while collecting his reward for the day.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, unable to contain the urge to lunge at him for beating you to it. The glimmer in his eye resembled the commencing of his mockery towards you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Princess.” His eyes shined with amusement along with that stupid grin of his slowly widening at your reaction. Oh, he is so not going to see the light of day any time soon.

Your anger was at its peak, ready to set off and wipe that smug expression off his face. You couldn’t let him have this, not this time. Within a blink of an eye, you reached for your pistol and aimed it at Arthur’s head with ease.

“You take that back.” His face slowly turned south as his grin disappears upon my demand. I thought so, too.

“Woah, Woah, young lady. Put the gun down,” The policeman warned as he stood with his hand out to coax you into dropping my line of fire and from blowing Arthur’s brains out in front of him.

Ignoring the warning, you focused on Arthur, waiting for his apology. After a long pause of silence, his face slowly distorts, as if he can’t control the outburst of emotions flowing within him.

He’s

He’s laughing?

Your eyebrows furrowed even further as he slowly bends his arms onto his knees as blurts of laughter simultaneously start to escape his mouth. The policeman was surprised at the sudden change of atmosphere, as he stares at Arthur like a madman. He walks away, shaking his head as he retorts lowly, “I don’t get paid enough for this job”.

Rolling your eyes, you were annoyed at the fact Arthur doesn’t take you seriously. Even as your rival, it was unbelievably childish of him to do so. He continued to wheeze as if I’m the biggest joke in the whole wide world. “Ha ha. Very funny, Arthur”

A small smile crept up your mouth as you lowered your aim of fire and place it back into the holster at the round of your hip. You had to admit, he had one of the most contagious laughs you have ever heard, but that doesn’t mean you should lose your guard against the one person you despise the most. In defeat, you left the police station before he had anything else to say to mask yourself in humiliation.

“This changes nothing, I’m still going to beat you.”

-

A few glasses of champagne and pickpockets later, you managed to get your hands on some gold rings, silver-plated watches, and money off drunkards that made their way to you. They were easily wrapped around your finger to steal behind their back. The men surrounded the area as they unwind into the evening with very little knowledge, of what’s coming to them. You secretly stashed the contents of your pickpockets into your purse while walking away from endless conversations about politics and the weather.

Getting bored by the events occurring before you, in the corner of your eye you spot the mayor; Henri Lemieux by the fountain.

Hoping to make a name for yourself in this city —and probably pickpocket him, you make your way to his location. With elongated and purposeful sashays, you stopped in your tracks when you heard footsteps following behind you.

“Hey, little troublemaker.” His voice resonated through you.

Within a split second, you knew that warm, gruff voice anywhere. Frozen in your tracks, you closed your eyes and mentally cursed to yourself as you just got caught red-handed.

In front of you was your shadow cascading on the brick flooring of the garden as Arthur’s tall and burly figure enveloped yours under the dim moonlight. He was directly behind your back, just barely touching the exposed skin of your shoulders. You could feel the warm heat radiating off of him, making you shudder.

Slowly turning around to acknowledge his presence, composing yourself with utmost annoyance to resist the intoxicating proximity in between.

"Oh, it's you." He chuckled at your sarcastic remark as you admired his ravishing appearance. He donned a well-fitted Tux that hugged his biceps perfectly, along with the slicked-back hair from the usage of pomade to style it.

The view of him was a refreshing sight. Seeing him in such a way, despite the usual boyishly rugged blue shirt of his, that shaped his figure well tingled on your skin. He smelled of musk and wildflowers. The scent caused an involuntary sigh out of you before you could realize what you had just done.

"It's nice to see you." Slightly grinning, he stared at you closely. Holding eye contact as he took in the sight of your appearance. Before you stared at each other longer than the both of you had anticipated, fireworks had burst in swirls up in the sky. It caught the attention of guests as they watch the beautiful night sky be painted with streaks of vibrant colors. Comments of amazement filled the air.

Shifting your gaze back to Arthur, you felt like your heart had stopped for a mere second. What?

Arthur had already been staring at you, and your face started to slightly warm at the realization. As if on cue, at the side of the fountain was the mayor and his servant, quietly arguing. You eavesdrop only to hear the contents of the discussion 'Cornwall' and 'horse's ass'. Bingo. You knew anything that had to do with the wealthy man was a big deal to make out of. And definitely would come with something worthy to steal.

As the servant departs away from the mayor, Arthur was already making his way towards him to find out more information. Oh no, you don't.

You follow behind discreetly with the same intention before he finds something more useful than the already invaluable pickpockets in your purse.

Making way back through to the entrance of the Mansion, Arthur makes his way upstairs to the staircase leading towards the mayor's office, as you follow shortly after.

He enters the office quietly as he jams to open the locked drawer with a letter opener on the table. Slowly, you make your way to lean against the door frame, crossing your right leg over the left one to increase the view that revealed your exposed skin with a revolver strapped to your thigh. Preparing to display your disapproval of his actions, you fold your arms as he voices out the contents of the letter. "Mr. Leviticus Cornwall... Top secret… Extremely confidential. Very interesting."

"Very interesting, huh?" His head quickly turns in my direction upon the sound of my voice. His eyes widen. Gotcha cowboy.

Smiling innocently at his reaction, you slowly tilt your head the opposite way of the door frame, awaiting his response.

He pauses for a while as his gaze reaches your face as it makes its way through the revealed skin and revolver coyly making an appearance to him. Breaking off his stupor, It takes him a few seconds to process your actions as you walk towards him.

“What’s that?” He turns his back to prevent you from have a closer scan of the confidential document. Trying to reach it from out of his hands, he turns in another direction, holding the document up in the air far from your reach.

“Nothing useful,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone as he remains amused at your multiple attempts of stealing it from him. He looks away from you, dodging any suspicious allegations you might get just by narrowing your eyes at him.

“If you’re trying to hide it from me, sure as damn means it’s useful.” You hiss at him to hand it over as you continue trying to get up to his height to retrieve the ‘useless’ document out of his hands. Giving up, you stop your actions as an idea had come to mind. A stupid one.

Removing the revolver off your thigh, you pointed the gun at his foot to threaten him into giving you a glimpse of the contents of the paper regarding Leviticus Cornwall.

“I’d love to see you try,” His deep blue eyes sparkled as he challenged you with delight. Arthur knew you wouldn’t dare to pull the trigger and risk another catastrophe to happen at the mayors’ mansion.

Fireworks outside the window started to quieten down and conversations start to resume back to normal.

The sound of a key unlocking a door from another part of the office fills the room.

You look at Arthur with a slightly panicked facial expression. He folds the document neatly and places it inside the inner breast pocket of his tux as you quickly strap back your gun to the side of your thigh.

Arthur moves swiftly past you and grabbing you by the wrist before both of you get caught.

We make our way through the hallway and down a few steps down the staircase to get as far away from the office as possible. The soft tones of speaking at the end of the stairs traveled just at the rounded corner of the wall, nearing the both of you. Heavy stomps became louder and louder at the top of the staircase. You and Arthur were dead in your tracks, standing in the middle of the staircase, as your only two options of escape were far from reach. It was a dead end. This was a day you would go to jail, the both of you.

“Fuck it.”

And he kisses you. Hungrily and ever so desperately.

Pushing you against the wall as his hand cups the back of your neck bringing you close to him while the other was lowering to grab the exposed leg through the slit of your dress and cling it to the side of his hip. Your heart was beating out of your chest, ringing into your ears. And you were pretty sure he was able to hear it too. Not being able to grasp the situation, your stunned eyes fluttered shut, forgetting the entirety of your surroundings with his lips crashing on yours. Arthur’s lips.

There was no denying your attraction towards Arthur, from his physique to that annoying smirk of his that kept you on edge, it was hard to pay attention to the rivalry the both of you shared. Sometimes neither of you noticed the longing but yet despising looks you and Arthur exchanged. You thought you were being delusional, but It always seemed to be so much more. An indescribable magnetic force, pulling and pushing away from each other.

His stubble along the sides of his jaw skimmed the surface of your chin, inviting a light hum to alight from your lips from the contact. It made him smile against your lips, enjoying your compliance with his actions. Unable to resist, you grabbed the ends of his suit into fists, bringing him closer as his hands explored the map of your skin. Just like a predator devouring its prey, you lightly moaned as the warmth of his skin against yours created an inexplicable connection. A grunt escaped his mouth at your reaction to his touch. Kissing you harder, his hand gently slid up the exposed skin of your leg and over your—

"Ahem,"

Breaking off your kiss, a look of disgust was plastered onto the face of the servant, stumbling upon a couple who can't seem to get a room.

Regaining consciousness, you realize the highly scandalous position the both of you were in. You against the wall, arching your back with your hands resting on his heaving chest. You look down, noticing the strap of your dress that had tipped of your shoulder, which revealed your cleavage a bit more than it had already displayed. And his hands, at your waist and up your thigh reaching, Oh. Your face turned bloodshot red.

In a protective stance, Arthur leans forward closer to shield the tantalizing sight of your appearance to the man who had caught both of you at the top of the stairs. Furrowed eyebrows and eyes of infuriation were headed his way.

"Oh, heavens" a group of maids that reached the staircase, quickly shuffled away to busy themselves with other things than going through the second floor of the mansion.

“Pardon me for the intrusion, but this area is strictly out of bounds.”

“Well, I don't see any signs suggesting, so”

The servant raises his eyebrow higher with arms crossed, emphasizing how ridiculous his comment was.

Arthur grumbles, “We’ll be on our way”

The man’s heavy footsteps move past us, giving you privacy to freshen up whatever articles of clothing that was out of place

Hesitant to make eye contact, you observed the bow tie that hung around Arthur’s neck like it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You could feel his intense gaze drilling holes into you as his eyes did all the talking. The air was thick, making it hard to breathe as each second passes by. There wasn’t an inch of space left between the both of you, except for the slight distance aching to be met at the lips. His fingers lifted your chin to divert your attention back to him.

You could see the reflection of yourself drowning in the deep seas of his cerulean blue eyes. His gaze lowers down to the swell of your lips. Momentarily, time stops moving, it was the climax of something different. Something exciting, that the hatred you had spent building up for him was collapsing. Something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

There’s a gravitational pull pulling us closer and closer…

The basis of physics was no match for the two of you.

Lips barely grazing onto yours as light music soars in the background,

“Arthur!”

He stops, painfully closing his eyes to the familiar voice that constantly put him to work.

The tension breaks like a gunshot piercing through the air, pulling you out of your daze and back into reality.

What the fuck just happened?

Arthur groans and smothers his face into the crevice of your neck. His arms tightening around your waist, holding for dear life like you were going to slip away from his fingers. Gibberish left his mouth, whining like a child being awoken from his slumber, as the voice that yelled for him gets louder.

You couldn't handle the position you were in, he was so close to you. Your heart could burst any time soon from his touch. It was nothing you had ever imagined with him, nothing you had ever experienced before. This feeling was new.

“I have to go” her murmurs barely under a whisper, only for you to hear. Arthur lightly kisses the skin of your shoulder to signal his departure. The sensation tingles as he separates away from you.

The initial distance that was so close between the both of you was now a little too far away for your liking. Leaving you at the staircase, he looks back at you.

Our eyes meet, and it’s only the two of us, and from this point onwards, everything changes, and you find yourself longing after his lips.

Maybe for once, things could change.

Maybe we can change.

Us.

part 2-?

[marvelsbanner]

Help from a friend

summary: Tony and Bruce are stuck on a project- so Bruce calls up an old friend for some help. Aka Tony meeting Bruce’s pretty Doctor friend and being a shameless flirt.

pairing: Tony Stark/Iron Man x fem!reader

warnings: minor language, suggestive language, and innuendos

word count: ~1300

A/N: Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated! <3 All mistakes are my own! This is split in two parts, part 2 will have smut but feel free to stop here if you’re not comfy with that.

**i don’t own marvel** **not my gif**

Bruce and Tony had been working on a project in the lab for a week now. They hadn’t told the team- Tony was keeping it a secret because he knew they wouldn’t be okay with it but he also knew that he was doing the right thing. A suit of armor around the world- his vision, his Ultron.

They had access to all the tech that they needed, two kids in a candy shop, but it wasn’t as simple as they were originally hoping it would be. Apparently, much to Tony’s dismay, having 7 PhD’s didn’t actually make you a master at everything science related. “Then what the hell was it for, Bruce? Just to look smart, like when I wear fake glasses for interviews?”

After getting close to a breakthrough and being shut down again for what seemed like the millionth time, the two men sagged down on the floor in frustration.

“I have a friend-“ Bruce began.

“A friend? Since uh- when” Tony interrupted.

“Acquaintance. Coworker? Whatever,” he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Doctor y/l/n. This is her speciality, she might be able to help us get somewhere with this. I’ve done a few favors for her, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind returning one.” He said, running his hands roughly over his face.

“Yeah whatever, call your lady doctor friend, i’m ordering Indian, do you want Indian?” Tony rambled, standing up and stretching his back.

“On one condition,” Bruce shot back.

Tony looked up and raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And tell me what that might be, oh green one.”

“No funny business,” Bruce said, unamused.

“Oh don’t worry, i’ve been told i’m not very funny.” he shot back.

“Yeah, I know, i’m the one who told you that. Seriously, she holds a lot of respect among that group and if I bring her here just to have you trying to get in her pants with your god-awful pickup lines i’ll never be able to live it down. So just please, please promise me? You’ll keep it professional?” he pleaded to his friend.

Tony lifted up three fingers, “Scouts honor” he said with a wink before walking out of the lab.

-

The following morning Tony was already up and working in the lab, blaring his AC/DC music and drinking his first of what would be many cups of coffee that day when the sound of laughter roused him from his thoughts.

He lowered his music until it was almost off, moving his head to look towards the lab entrance and his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Bruce and his Doctor friend, Doctor.. Doctor.. God he needed to pay more attention when Bruce was speaking- were walking through the door, laughing at some joke he missed.

She was gorgeous, dressed in heels that did WONDERS for legs with a button up blouse and a short skirt with her lab coat over top.

“Tony this is Doctor y/l/n. Doc, Tony.” Bruce introduced, gesturing between the two. Tony reached out to shake her hand enthusiastically, “Doc, good to have you. Wow, I wish Bruce looked as good as you did in a lab coat” he said with a wink.

Bruce shot him a look to kill while she only looked amused, “Funny, Bruce is usually the eye candy at the lab” she said, giving said doctor a teasing nudge with her elbow.

“Hah-hah. Well, go ahead and set up, Doc. We’ll show you what we’re working with so far.” Bruce said, moving aside to give her space and grabbing Tony by the elbow to drag him to the side, “Tony, you promised” he pleaded. “Well, yeah, that was before I knew she was hot so in my mind that contract is null and void” he replied, twisting out of Bruce’s grasp and waltzing over to where she was swiping through data.

“So, Doc- you’re awful young to be a Doctor, aren’t you? Seriously, you don’t look a day over 20.” He said, flashing his playboy smile.

He heard Bruce smack his hand to his forehead.

“Maybe i’m young, or maybe you’re just old” she retorted, not even looking up from the screen.

He turned to Bruce and dramatically fake swooned, mouthing “I’m in love” before turning his attention back to her and clearing his throat.

“I’m not that old I swear, the grays are just from stress.”

“The wrinkles too, I’m assuming?” She fires back with a raised brow. He heard Bruce try and fail to mask a laugh as a cough.

“Ouch, you wound me Doc. Truly, you wound me. You’re gonna send this old man into cardiac arrest. Bruce, what’s the time? I think I’m flatlining.” He called out dramatically.

“Oh god I killed Tony Stark, whatever am I to do?” She said with mock horror.

“Well, I think a suitable repayment would be allowing me to take you out to dinner.” Tony replied as Bruce groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm again.

“Wow smooth. Not even ten minutes in- I had a little more faith in you than that, Stark. Bruce, I owe you a twenty.” She said, shaking her head.

Tony whipped his head around to his friend with a scowl. “You bet on me? Oh come on Brucie that’s low, aren’t you supposed to be my best friend?”

Bruce had a smirk on his face as he replied, “I can be your best friend and acknowledge that you’re a pompous ass, sometimes. Most of the time, actually-“

“Yeah yeah I get it, I’m awful. I’m an awful friend that also let’s you sleep here, eat here, use my lab and all my tech- most of which I designed myself by the way,”

“Ladies, ladies, I hate to break up the lover’s quarrel, I really do, but I think I see where you were going wrong with the data” she interrupted, barely able to hide her amusement. The boys quickly composed themselves and went around to her side to listen to her findings. Tony spent more time staring at her moving lips and cleavage than listening to her, but he was able to get the gist of it.

-

9 hours. It took 9 hours for her to do what the two scientists had struggled to do for weeks. Tony didn’t know if he should feel stupid, impressed, or turned on- but he was currently a mixture of the three.

She had been incredible, she had a fiery attitude and mouth of sass that paralleled his own but she had knowledge to match Bruce. She moved with purpose, and he watched her at every opportunity he could- even earning an elbow from Bruce on two occasions for staring too long.

She helped them find where they were going wrong and helped them to recode the programs, and by the end of the night Ultron was set to start downloading and be finished within 48 hours.

“Oh don’t be too hard on yourselves, boys. Not all of us can be geniuses, some of us were just put on this Earth to look pretty.” she teased.

“Aw Brucie, did you hear that? She thinks we’re pretty.” Tony said sarcastically.

“Yeah well, she also called us idiots but you focus on whatever you please, Tony.” Bruce shook his head and turned to thank Doctor y/l/n before apologizing and excusing himself out to where Natasha and Steve were needing his help.

“So, man of iron. Tomorrow, pick me up at 7. Look nice, maybe trim some of those grays that are peaking out.” she said teasingly.

Tony had to stop himself from doing a double take. “7? And when exactly did I agree to doing anything at 7 tomorrow, doctor?” He replied, faking indifference.

“Well I still need to repay you for almost killing you with my attitude earlier. Don’t tell Bruce though, I’d never hear the end of it from him.” She grabbed her things and made her way to exit the lab when he called out “I don’t even know where you live”

“I’m sure you’ve got the tech to figure that out.” she replied, still looking straight ahead. She had reached the entranceway of the lab when she swiftly turned to say “You can pick the venue. Wear something nice.. or nothing at all. Your pick.” And with a wink, she was gone, leaving Tony gobsmacked with his jaw on the floor.

part 2

[joonie-beanie]

The Demon Brothers + College AU + (Cliche?) First Meetings

So an anon sent me the above ask, and it may have gotten a little out of hand ;;;

I also kind of switched it up and made it college instead. Hopefully the meetings I came up with are still somewhat cliche! Or, at the very least, cute lol

Lucifer:

You’re running late for class on the first day of the semester and he holds the elevator door open for you when he sees the desperate look on your face, and how you’re making a dash for the closing doors.

“Thank you,” you breathe out as you try to get ahold of yourself, hoping that the tall, handsome male beside you doesn’t see or hear the way you’re struggling for air. (It’s 8am, okay? Your body isn’t ready to be running so early.)

“Which floor do you need?” he asks, smiling politely. You respond “four”, and he hums to himself while hitting the button.

When he doesn’t press a different button, you assume he’s heading to the same floor.

“Thanks, by the way,” you say, flashing him a small smile. “You really saved my ass.”

“No thanks needed,” he responds, gaze shifting to look at the small screen above the door. The second floor moves past with a quiet beep. Silence falls for a couple of seconds.

“May I ask what class you’re heading to?”

“Ah, it’s a psychology lab,” you respond, laughing to yourself after a beat. You pull your phone from your pocket, trying to find the screenshot you’d taken of your schedule. “I signed up for this one because Rate My Professor said the TA is hot.”

“Oh? Is that so?” You’re not paying attention, so you don’t see the smirk that tugs at his lips.

The next moment, the elevator stops and the two of you step out together. You exit first, flashing the male one last smile before you turn your attention to your phone, double checking the room number. Lucifer brushes past you without saying a word, and you don’t realize that you’re headed in the same direction until you glance up, and find him holding the classroom door open for you.

“After you,” he says, and while you’re confused, you dip your head in thanks and make your way in. Since you’re one of the last ones in the classroom, you get stuck sitting in the front row.

As you unpack your things, Lucifer steps to the head of the room and sets his computer bag down onto the desk.

“Good morning, class,” he says, his gaze shifting to you when you look up and see that it’s him who is speaking--a vibrant blush rising to your face as you recall what you’d told him in the elevator.

“My name is Lucifer, and I will be the TA for this lab.”

Mammon:

You’re in the large, open eating area at the campus student union when he bumps into you.

Instantly, the greasy, cheesy pizza on your tray jumps up and lands on the front of your shirt. You freeze in shock, wide eyes glancing down as the personal pizza slides down your chest before flopping back onto the tray.

“Oi, watch where you’re going,” a voice says behind you, and you slowly turn around to face the apparently dumbass man who doesn’t even have the sensibility to apologize to you.

Despite that fact that he sounds pompous, you can’t deny that his styled white hair, and pierced ears are kind of charming.

“You backed into me,” you tell him, attempting to keep your calm. You almost lose it when you see his eyes rake down to your chest, staring at the likely un-washable stain on the fabric. He stares much too long, and you’re just about to curse at him when he speaks up again.

“Uhhh...,” he raises a hand to sheepishly rub at his neck, and when you look closely, you see that a blush has spread across his face. “Y-ya know what, maybe it is my fault...can I, um, buy ya another pizza?”

You blink, surprised at the sudden turn around in his attitude.

“That would be nice,” you say honestly, and suddenly he’s smiling, hopping back into the pizza line, which is right beside where the two of you had collided.

“I-If ya want, I’ll lend you my jacket because of, ya know, your shirt,” he says, motioning to your obviously ruined top. You cock an eyebrow at him. 

“You’d give a stranger your jacket?”

 “Well...I’m kind of hoping that you’ll have lunch with me, and we won’t be strangers for long,” he mumbles, gaze shying away. “Or, ya know, that I can get your number at least.”

“You’re really pushing it,” you tell him with a laugh, and you can see his feathers ruffle. He’s obviously embarrassed at you calling out his flirting. “But...maybe we can eat lunch together. Since you’re paying.”

He blinks, shocked at your words, but soon breaks into a smile. Self-satisfied, he continues grinning stupidly even as the cashier calls him up. However, when he pulls out his wallet, swipes his card, and it comes back denied...

“Uhh...can you pay this time? I PROMISE I’ll pay you back.”

You sigh, and debate throttling him.

Levi:

You sit next to him in a lecture hall, and can’t help but notice that the background on his laptop is Sailor Moon. 

When you reach down to dig a notebook out of your bag, you also see the number of anime and video game pins decorating the front of his backpack.

While you don’t tend to talk to strangers, you can’t help but say something.

“Hey, um,” you start, catching his attention. He freezes, amber eyes shifting to look at you--wide with surprise. You smile, doing your best to come off as casual, and friendly. “I noticed all the pins on your backpack. Do you like anime? I started watching Demon Slayer the other week, and I’m in love with it.”

“I...you...,” his surprise shifts to wonder as he regards you. The slightest blush rises on his cheeks. “You watch anime???”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Is that so weird?”

“N-no, I guess not,” he mumbles, his hands fiddling with the cuffs of his hoodie. You wonder if you’ve made a mistake by talking to him, since he seems so shy--

“Do you play video games too??” he breaks you out of your thoughts as he scoots forward, eyes sparkling. He’s whispering hurriedly, eyes briefly straying to glance at the time on his laptop. “I recently started playing Doki Doki Literature club, and it’s crazy. I love RPG games, and Indie games too--like IB, and Mad Father. Witches House is also good. Of course, I’ll give pretty much any video game a chance, but--”

At that moment, the professor steps up and addresses the class. Levi’s words cut off, and his blush deepens as he suddenly realizes that he’d gone on a mini fanboy rant. However, you just smile at him, hoping that you come off reassuring, and turn to your notebook.

During the lecture, you’re too busy taking notes to notice the way he sneaks glances your way. And when the class finally ends, and you move to repack your belongings, you look up to find him staring at you.

“Is something on your mind?” you ask him. 

“I...um...I-I was wondering if I could get your contact info. You know...f-for class stuff, and maybe, if..if you wanted to, we could also talk more about anime…?”

“Sure!” you say, and he blinks, apparently shocked by your willingness. The two of you proceed to exchange emails and phone numbers, and by the time you arrive at your next class 15 minutes later, 6 new text messages (about anime, video games, and the like) from Levi are lighting up your phone screen.

Satan:

He’s volunteering at the library when you approach him, desperate for help finding a textbook you need to scan for a class. You’ve looked everywhere, but still can’t find it.

“You do realize that this code is indicating that this textbook is online, right? Not physically in the library?” he asks you, a bit of amusement swimming in his eyes when he hands your phone back to you--the screen open to an email your professor had sent a few days before.

You feel heat rise on your cheeks. “Ah, nope. Did not realize...”

“It happens often, actually. I’m sorry for teasing, I shouldn’t have” he says, smiling at you. “If you want, you can come around the desk, and I’ll show you how to access the textbook online. That way, you won’t be confused next time.”

“Thank you,” you sigh, scooting your way around the desk. Satan pulls up a spare chair beside him, and your knee accidentally knocks against his as you take a seat. 

“Here, you just have to search for it in the library portal,” he says, and you attentively watch as he guides you through the online website. However, when he starts going off into a spiel on all of the other cool resources and books available to students online, your attention strays.

You notice the copy of Jane Eyre open on the desk beside the computer. 

“Are you reading a book that’s assigned in high school AP Lit?”

He blinks in confusion, but immediately goes on the defense when he notices where you’re looking.

“Hey, Jane Eyre is a classic. And the help desk is far too slow some days. I need something to keep me busy.”

“Hmm, I guess that’s fair,” you respond, smiling. You move to grab your bag--pressing to your feet. “I can’t blame you either, considering I actually enjoyed reading it once upon a time. The Great Gatsby was probably my next favorite.”

“Personally, out of all the high school literature, I enjoyed Fahrenheit 451,” he responds, grinning when he sees the disgruntled look on your face at hearing the name of the book.

“Really?? I still have no idea what it was about.”

He’s quiet for a moment. You turn to look at him, and find him regarding you with interest. 

Satan smiles.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

Asmo:

Asmo is working a booth about safe sex in the student union when you approach, hoping to get free condoms (or maybe even donate to support the organization, considering it’s a good cause).

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” he says, smiling at you as you survey the goodies and pamphlets laid out on the table. He comes off as a little flirty, but mostly friendly, and well intentioned. “Are you here to buy one of our prettily shaped chocolates?”

He motions to the cup full of vagina-shaped chocolates on a stick. Your eyebrows raise. Huh.

“Well, that’s not why I stopped, but I may need to buy one now,” you laugh, making him smile. Asmo leans forward onto his elbows, his eyes twinkling up at you.

“Are you here for the condoms then? If so, feel free to take a handful. We have a ton prepared. People on this campus fuck like bunnies, honestly.”

You laugh. “Oh? Well, good on you guys for protecting all of the precious, needy students.”

He nods sagely, moving to gather you a few of the wrapped condoms, along with some educational reading material. “Can’t have a bunch of students getting diseases, or pregnant. Sex should be fun and safe. Always! And if it’s not both, then find someone else to fuck.” 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, smiling as he hands you your free goodies. Your eyes stray back to the vagina chocolates. “How much for one of those?”

“5 dollars,” he says, reaching over to grab one. “Pricey, I know, but the money goes to a good cause.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you laugh, pulling a 5 from your wallet. The two of you exchange items, and you pocket the chocolate. You flash him one last smile, intending to walk away, but he pipes up before you get too far.

“By the way, we’re having a class on BDSM safety tonight~” You pause at his words, turning to face him, and he grins at the look of interest plain on your face. “In case you’re interested.”

“Are you...implying something?” you ask, posing a hand on your hip as you turn to face him. He cocks his head to the side innocently.

“I would never~ But you’ve left a good impression in the two minutes we’ve known each other, and I’m the one teaching the class, so~ I’d be thrilled to see you there.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised, but amused as well. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, you turn on your heel and head to class. But you definitely end up attending the class that night.

Beel:

You meet during a 1-credit, weekend Yoga class. He puts his mat down next to yours, and you can’t help but stare at his biceps, and triceps, and...wow he’s really built.

Aside from that, though, he looks pretty concerned.

“Have you never done yoga before?” you ask him, smiling politely. Having caught his attention, he turns to look at you--the same adorable frown pulling at his lips.

“No...I like to work out, but I’ve never done yoga...I’m not very flexible.” You watch him as he demonstrations by sticking his legs out and trying to touch his toes. His fingertips only reach halfway down his calves.

“It’s okay!” you tell him. “I’m pretty new to yoga too! And this is just an intro course, so I wouldn’t worry. Most of the grade comes from knowing technical terms, and I’ve heard this instructor is really nice.”

At that, he finally smiles--relieved to hear you say so.

“I’m Beel, by the way,” he says.

“Y/N,” you respond, but before the two of you get the chance to talk more, the instructor arrives. You then spend the next few hours smiling to yourself as you watch Beel struggle to get into poses. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to mind that you’re getting humor out of his situation.

“Did you not eat today?” you ask him when lunch finally rolls around, flopping back against your mat. He shakes his head, rummaging around in his bag. You can hear his stomach growling.

“I had an extra large breakfast since I knew I would be burning calories, but I’m starving now…” He pulls an entire sub from his bag, and when you catch a peek at the inside, you realize that the entire backpack is stuffed with only food. Holy shit.

But...you suppose he does need to eat a lot, if he works out a lot.

“I’m gonna grab a soda, and I’ll be back,” you say quietly, assuming that you’ll be eating lunch together, since he’s already turning to face your mat. 

“Okay,” he says with a smile, and you smile back at him, excited to get to know him more. However, before you can even get a step away,  you’re tripping over your backpack

The world spins, and you hold your arms in front of you--expecting to eat shit--but you don’t meet the floor. Two arms curl beneath you and your body rolls--your ass landing between folded legs.

You blink in surprise, blushing when you glance up and find that it’s none other than Beel who is holding you. Concern is written on his face. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that you’re currently occupying his lap.

“Are you okay?” he asks, not moving to release you, and oh boy you think your heart may beat straight out of your chest.

Belphie:

You meet him in the library computer lab at 11:48pm, on the last day of finals.

You trudge into the computer lab, bordering on going blind. You’ve spent the last 6 hours writing out your term paper, and had felt pretty fucking proud when you’d finished with a whole 30 minutes to spare, but just as you’d gone to submit the paper online, your apartment wi-fi had cut out

Of course.

So, you pop a squat at one of the many computers--not even realizing that someone else is in the lab until you hear a quiet snore.

Immediately, you’re pausing, standing to glance around the room. A few computers down, sitting parallel to you, is a dark haired male, with his head down on the keyboard.

Honestly, you debate not waking him. He probably needs the rest, but as a fellow student, and considering it’s the last day of finals? You can’t just leave him be in good conscience.

“Hey, uh, dude?” you call out, glancing at him from over the row of computers. He doesn’t stir. “Heyyyy~ It’s almost midnight,” you say a bit louder. “I don’t know if you’re writing something, but you better submit it.”

Finally, he stirs.

“Aw, fuck,” you hear him grumble, and he lifts his head up--his tired gaze turning to look at you. He sighs. “Thanks. You probably just saved my ass.”

“No worries,” you respond, laughing a little. You sit back down in your seat, and put in your credentials....only for the computer to indicate that you’ve put in the wrong password.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you say, deadpanning, and try another password. Then another, and another. None of them work, and you don’t have enough time left to change it.

“I’m gonna fucking jump off the roof,” you deadpan, holding your face in your hands. Belphie chuckles.

“Something wrong?”

“I guess I don’t know my computer password, so I can’t log in and submit my paper.” You say, glancing up. This time, it’s Belphie who is glancing over the row of monitors at you, eyebrow raised.

“You can come use mine. I just submitted my paper. Just log into the school site with your ID.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you sigh, and Belphie scoots his chair over as you walk around the aisle to meet him. Again, he laughs.

“Eye for an eye.”

“That’s...you use that phrase with enemies,” you tell him, unable to help the smile that spreads across your face. He blinks, and then groans.

“Fuck, you’re right. I’m still asleep. Just...forget I said that.”

“Actually, I think I’ll remember it forever,” you respond, and he grins, his eyes shifting to look at the keyboard as you type out your password.

“Okay, OppaiLover69 exclamation point.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, and when you see the shit-eating look at his face, you debate throwing hands. He’s lucky he’s cute.

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report x

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: R-18 | genre: humor, romance, smut (voyeurism, masturbation), swearing

warnings: GET READY FOR SOME ACTIONNNNN 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07​ @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​ @btsmakesmehappy

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Right after you put away your groceries, you take a quick shower and head to bed. Truly, there was nothing better than a refreshing shower after a long day - especially when you know you’re not going to be able to enjoy times like these anymore once you start working. Just then, you recall having to set your alarm early tomorrow because it was your first day, plus the other two wanted to meet up for breakfast before heading to work. 

As you lie on your bed, scrolling through your barely active social media accounts, you hear a soft thud coming from Ayoung’s apartment. Huh, she must be moving stuff - seems strange though that she’s doing it with a potential tenant present. You don’t pay much attention to it though until it happens again and suddenly a faint moan reaches your ears. Your eyes widen, thoughts of all sorts running through your head. You must be mistaken. You should be mistaken. 

You hear it again, and it gets repetitive until there’s a steady rhythm that has you certain about something that could be happening there. You’re really not one to meddle with people’s private businesses, especially ones of this particular kind. You push each incoming thought away, regardless if it is an innocent one or not. It proves otherwise though, with the sound coming in clear for a wall separating the two apartments. 

At the same time, you also wish the best for Ayoung and if this man is a moving-away gift in disguise as this one, well you’re incredibly happy for her. Who were you to take that happiness away from her? But as the man’s grunts become more audible and prominent, your immediate reaction to it is beyond you, and you’re almost involuntarily rubbing your thighs together at the sound. 

‘No’, you think to yourself, stopping your southward train of thoughts and its imminent course of action. Rubbing at your temple, you wonder how could you even allow such pompous thoughts cross your mind. 

Groaning, you lie on your stomach and mush your face against your pillow as if to block those indecent images threatening to corrupt your mind. It isn’t right to get off someone else’s steamy evening, more particularly, that of your friend’s, so you close your eyes and focus on trying to get some sleep. 

You can’t. 

Not when this man’s heavy breathing sounds just as hot as Ayoung finds him to be. 

Not when this man sounds just like a porn star. 

And especially not when this man’s vocals are so stimulating to the point that it feels like an invitation for you to join the fun. Or at least, take an imaginary part in it. 

Holy shit. 

Tapping your fingers furiously on the bed covers, you ask yourself if you have really reached this level of desperation? That your lack of human touch is causing you to question the very principle of civility? 

You shake your head as you reach for your earphones. Coincidentally, Spotify’s shuffle decides to land on a Jamie Foxx track. 

What is with the universe constantly trying to fuck you up? 

You tap on the next button quickly, turning the volume all the way up in the hopes of ridding yourself of unclean thoughts, that is, until you hear Satan himself let out a particularly loud grunt, one you can practically feel travel straight to your core. Jesus. 

The voice of your evil miniature self on your left shoulder whispers in your ear, “It isn’t often for you to get ahold of an opportunity like this. Go get some,” she says, holding your angelic self on a chokehold with her own halo. 

She had a point though, and you really could only imagine having more time for yourself starting tomorrow. Besides, it’s been a while since you truly ‘relaxed’. And to top all of that, with the apartment walls as thin as paper, you can literally feel your neighbor’s bed now moving in a steady rhythm. You’re even surprised you’ve managed to keep your self-control this long. Not long enough though, unfortunately. 

Now that you’ve come to think of it, this man must be on a different level entirely if Ayoung could let herself get...dicked down during a simple visit (and for the first time too!). Just imagining what he probably looks like is sending a light tingle down your spine. 

You sigh, ultimately giving into the temptation. There’s no turning back now. 

Slowly, you slide your shorts down your legs, giving yourself time to still contemplate...but, hesitation was never really your strong point (a trait of yours that had truly blossomed since your friendship with Chohee). So off go your underwear too. 

As quietly as possible, you scoot over to the wall, just enough to let your shoulder touch your old, boring, beige wallpaper. You feel your neighbor’s bed move with a little more intensity this time, and you trail your fingers downward to your cunt, which is surely wet by now with all your thinking. 

The man’s grunts are louder than Ayoung’s thankfully, leaving everything to your imagination. You start at a steady pace, wanting to test the waters. With the couple just a mere distance away from you, save the wall separating your apartments, you try to match your pace with the pair. 

Letting your digit circle your clit, you work yourself out to your orgasm - that is, until your climax won’t arrive and you figure just using your fingers won’t get the job done. Just as if you thought the sounds they were making weren’t enough to get you over the edge. It’s been a while since you had any ‘action’ and your rust ass won’t allow you to cum with just your fingers. 

Hurriedly, you draw out a small box from beneath your bed. In haste, you throw the cover across the small room, fishing for what used to be a very good friend of yours before: Lovecorner’s limited edition of Real Feel 7. Never too late to catch up with good ol’ friends. 

You turn on the device, hoping that there’s enough battery left to get you through the night. Closing your eyes, you circle the dildo around your nether lips, gathering all the slick there. A few more moments and you gradually insert the toy inside you, causing you to shiver in excitement. Gulping, you only push it halfway through at first, wanting to get used to the feeling again.. 

There’s a short pause from the other side of the wall, one you use to your advantage to keep up. When you feel them continue, you pick up your pace, both desperation and shame pumping you up so you could get this night over with as quickly as possible. 

Just as you had expected, you feel their breathing get heavier by the second, and your bed is practically shaking with...what you presume to be yours and their movements combined. 

For some reason beyond your understanding, you work yourself out on your trusty companion, taking in every whimper and grunt from the other side of the wall like it’s your own, like you’re the one fucking like there is no tomorrow. 

You’re getting closer to your high - a feeling almost foreign to you at this point, and with the last string of sheer  will, you push the toy further up to the hilt, stroking your g-spot so perfectly that your orgasm has got you quivering in bed for more than thirty seconds. 

Breathless as ever, you lie in bed, staring straight into the ceiling. 

What. Was. That. All. About. 

You press your thighs together, an unexpected reaction from the reality of tonight’s events suddenly dawning in on you. You did not just get yourself off from your neighbor's live porn. 

With no more movement coming from Ayoung’s apartment, you could only assume that their day has officially concluded as well. Sighing, you make your way to your bathroom, treading over your floor as lightly as you could with your sore legs. 

Ten minutes and a refreshing half bath later, you head back to bed, exhaustion causing you to fall asleep in seconds. 

The sound of your jarring iPhone alarm blares right in your ear, scaring the living hell out of you exactly 6:45 in the morning. You wake up in a fright, panting heavily as you scramble to turn off the horrible sound. 

Quickly, you get off of your bed, proceeding with your daily morning routine. You tick off breakfast at home today, having scheduled your morning meal with Jimin and Soomin as your first official day as employees of Woocheon Medical City. 

Making sure you’ve got everything in your duffel bag -  extra clothes, toiletries, and the rest of your essentials, you lock the door to your apartment, sealing it off with a slight jiggle to the knob to assure yourself. 

Ayoung’s door likewise creaks open, and you glance at it through your peripheral vision to see a man coming out. Your eyes widen - he stayed the night then. Hm. You’re unsure if you want to suspect him of something other than a one night stand, or it’s just this curious itch inside you that makes you want to check who’s responsible for last night’s...occurrences. 

Mustering all that courageous chi Chohee has hopefully transferred onto you, you linger a little bit by your doorway before facing the man. Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t make your job difficult for you and looks your way as well. 

No. 

This can’t be. 

Turns out, Mr. Stranger who was supposed to be your hot neighbor as Ayoung claims is no stranger at all. 

It had to be. 

You look away just as quickly as you looked at him. “________? Hey!  I didn’t know you lived next door!” Your lips form a thin line. Why does he make it sound like you’re already neighbors? 

“Jungkook,” you nod to answer his question.  “Good morning to you too.”

Your cheeks heat up with the range of emotions you’re feeling: anger - from him not even remembering Ayoung’s name; shame - for your actions last night; disappointment - there’s a possibility of you two becoming neighbors and you’d inevitably have to face him more often than not. 

“Where are you off to? Gym?” 

Why does he think you’re going to gym in a collared shirt, jeans, and flats? And more importantly, why are you two even having this conversation? 

The elevator doors open and your impromptu escape plan springs into action, and currently, just like your legs. “Work actually! And I’m going to be late, so bye for now!” You sprint towards the elevator, quickly pressing a button to close the doors. 

You let out a sigh of relief as the doors close, leaving Jungkook with a confused look on his face. 

© joontier 2021

[toonblabbers]

Getting High with the Bois (part 2)

Warnings: recreational drug use, sex under the influence, alcohol mention, orgasm denial, Dom/sub undertones, choking, cockwarming, spanking, light name calling, cumming untouched, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Matsukawa x Hanamaki x GN! Reader, Sakusa x Atsumu x GN! Reader

Rating: M (Mature)

Find part 1 here

Hanamaki and Matsukawa

·         The chilliest duo to get high with, but be warned: they can out smoke you so please know your limit

·         Honestly not much changes about them. They have the highest tolerance to THC because they’ve been smoking the longest of anyone. Even back in high school they indulged a little bit during the off season of volleyball and during finals

·         They even knock back a few beers after you all had a hefty dinner of cheap takeout and convenience store snacks. Can’t be crossfaded on an empty stomach

·         Sometimes they’ll invite Oikawa and Iwaizumi over for a smoke sesh, but it’s rare enough when they’re all in town at the same time

·         Usually they’ll just throw on a movie or play some video games to pass the time with you in one of their laps

·         They do love to spoil you as much as they tease you so be ready for the one or the other, or even both at the same time

·         Mattsun already looks tired and his eyelids set even lower when he’s feeling a really good high. You and Hanamaki like to tease him saying he’s an old man or that its past his bedtime even though he almost always works graveyard and night shifts at his job

·         Mattsun simply grunts in response or smirks, knowing he’ll get back at you both eventually

·         Hanamaki is the schemer though. He’s either messing with you or egging you on to go mess with Mattsun. He just loves to hear you whine and take a swing at him. It gives him an excuse to pull you close and get back at you tenfold

The sound of your character dying on screen for the nth time was barely heard over your soft whine that turned into a moan when a heavy hand smacked your ass. You were currently situated on Mattsun’s lap with his fat cock buried deep inside of you, your thighs stretched open over his long legs and controller visibly shaking in your hands. You had just got finished getting fucked by Hanamaki, but you didn’t get to cum yet as “punishment” for distracting him from his game. Now you were forced to sit on Mattsun’s much larger and fatter cock as punishment for accidentally calling Makki “Daddy” during your haze. You wouldn’t get to cum until you beat the level on screen. Nothing you did would sway Mattsun into fucking you like you wanted either. Every grind of your hips or clenching of your core earned you a swift smack on your aching cheeks or your thighs. Even looking back at him with teary puppy eyes and calling out to him would only get you a deep chuckle from him along your nipples pinched and pulled.

“What’s the matter pretty baby? I thought you wanted to play this game so badly? That’s why you distracted me right?” Makki’s teased, his fist slowly stroking his still sensitive dick, but he was cut short by Mattsun looking over at him with a wide smirk.

“Don’t get too arrogant Makki. You’ll be choking on this cock next once I’m done with them”

Makki choked down a moan as he involuntarily squeezed the base of his cock. He wasn’t the only one affected however. The thought of Makki’s lips wrapped around Mattsun’s cock still coated in your juices with tears streaming down his cheeks was enough to make you clench hard around Mattsun. Both of you let out a shuddering moan, the hands on your hips tightening. Suddenly a hand wrapped firmly around your throat and you were pulled back against Mattsun’s chest, his voice ringing deep into your ear. You could practically hear the devilish smirk in his voice

“Oh now you’re really gonna pay for that my little cock slut. Better hold tight.”

~~~~~~~~~

Atsumu and Sakusa

·         Interesting duo right? It actually took some convincing for either of them to get high with you. Especially Sakusa.

·         For Atsumu, he was actually against doing anything that could tarnish his reputation of mess with his mind and body he worked so hard on

·         It took seeing you getting all snuggly with his brother behind Onigiri Miya and sharing a joint that got him to try it

·         Now he only smokes a little during the off season in the safety of his high rise apartment. Sometimes he’ll have an edible his brother made after a really stressful match or bad interview

·         He stays at his place and smokes only with you because, surprise surprise, Atsumu is touchier and clingier than his brother. Like he’ll actually whine and make grabby hands at you. Just let him play with your chest like a squeeze toy and he’ll shut up

·         Sakusa on the other hand has never gotten high nor has he ever thought about it. He was one of those pompous people that associated smoking with trashy, disgusting behavior

·         It took a lot of pleading and bargaining form both you and Atsumu to get him to join you guys. Then Atsumu pointed out that Sakusa was always staring at you 2 when you both left together in Atsumu’s car, giggling about the fun you’d get up to that night. Now that even a hint of blackmail was involved, Sakusa was game

·         The first time Sakusa got high, you’ve never seen him so relaxed and expressive and…mouthy. Like his filter was nonexistent once the THC settled in. From spewing insults at people he complained about to his favorite kinks, he just let it all out. With a smile on his face no less! The next day you swore to every Deity in existence to never share the pictures you took with anyone else or so help you. A threat like that from Sakusa was not to be taken lightly

Atsumu couldn’t believe even if it was right in front of his face; which it was. One of his hottest fantasies actually happening before his eyes. He swears he could die a happy man right now with what he was watching: both you and Sakusa, 2 of the hottest people he’s ever seen together, slobbering and mewling over his dick to get a second load of his cum in their waiting mouths. 

He was first ready to blow his load in his pants when he came back from the bathroom and saw you and Sakusa making out, touching each other over your clothes. The second time he was ready to blow was when he sat down in the armchair across from the couch and saw Sakusa open his eyes to stare at him intensely while kissing you. Sakusa deepened the kiss then coaxed your tongue out so Atsumu could see his tongue swirl and mesh together with yours; a mix of your saliva dribbling down your chins. The third time he almost lost it was when he watch you both strip down to just your underwear and began to rub yourselves against his body whispering in his ears about how much you both want his cock. The moment both you and Sakusa slide down to your knees and pulled off Atsumu’s sweatpants and underwear, he came. Hard. You both watch as his taunt abs were paints white by thick ropes of cum. Atsumu could’ve sworn he just had a weed induced wet dream, but he was proven wrong when he felt 2 warm and wet tongue lick up his cum from his stomach and then move to give kitten licks to his overly sensitive tip.

”’Tsumu” the sweet melody of your voice made him look at you both; you gently wrapping your fingers around his still soft length and Sakusa who was nuzzling his nose against Atsumu’s balls.

“Please ‘Tsumu. Please come in our mouths. You taste so good”

You smiled when you felt his cock pulse to life in your grip then shifted to give Sakusa a little more room to work. Sakusa stared deep into Atsumu’s eyes, pleading with an adorable blush on his cheeks. He even added on a small “please Atsumu”. As soon as he got permission, Sakusa swallowed him down to the hilt causing Atsumu to let out a loud whimper, his whole body shuddering from sensitivity. He was completely at your and Sakusa’s mercy tonight and if he thought you’d both be satisfied with him cumming on your faces, then he’s in for a very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Admin note: nothing like being high and horny, amiright boys?... Anywaaay I felt like this was kind ooc for Sakusa, but this was purely self indulgent so who cares? Hope you guys enjoyed reading. If you have other Haikyuu duos you’d think would be fun to get high with, let me know!

Taglist: @chaotickatts​ (send me a dm if you want to be added)

[ickle-ronniekins]

the one i was meant to find

request: from nonnie! “soulmate au with George??? maybe tattoos or something with the red thread of fate?”

pairing: george x fem!reader

word count: 4.8k

warning(s): angst, mentions of impending war, torture, sadness, anxiety

desc: your seventh year takes a wild turn when umbridge announces the arranged establishing of relationships to keep things in order. keep things in order? sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? people shouldn’t be paired off, you should find one another through fate! so when umbitchbridge ultimately decides to pair students off by blood status, it seems as though fate (or the ministry) is pulling you and your boyfriend miles and miles apart.

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @purplefragile @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyingserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight | message me to be added!

Umbridge’s slimy voice rang violently throughout the Great Hall. Suddenly everything sounded very muffled in your ears, and you swallowed thickly in the hopes of unpopping them. Your breathing became heavy, just as it had that winter day at the Weasley home.

You’d been sitting outside the Burrow in the snow near the garden shed with the lot of them, before Fred, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had all excused themselves, leaving you and George alone. You’d sworn that you’d seen Fred wink at you before vanishing inside the bustling home. You’d bit down on your lip, knowing exactly what he’d been trying to do. Damnit, Fred.

You’d stolen a glance at George, who’d looked as calm as could be. That hadn’t helped your nerves at all. Neither had the slight mistletoe that had materialized above you both, the unmistakable sound of Frederick Weasley cackling emanating from the second floor of the house.

“You know,” George began, his voice steady as a rock as he inched closer toward you. He lifted his eyes to glance above you both. “Legend has it that if you don’t song whoever you’re with whenever mistletoe appears, you’re both cursed for life.”

You’d actually snorted and immediately caved in on yourself. How embarrassing was that? Your cheeks flooded red, both from the embarrassment and from the way his laughter had warmed your entire body. You’d hadn’t even known what to say. “You’re full of it, Weasley,”

He’d placed a hand dramatically across his chest. The tips of his ears and nose were pink from the cold, and you’d sworn you were going to spontaneously combust at the sheer sight of it. “Swear to Merlin, Y/N, I read about it.”

“You? Read about it? Sure. In what -- Ten Ways To Charm Your Crush?” you’d internally scolded yourself for saying something so bloody stupid, but George had clearly thought it was cute because his grin deepened alongside the dramatic drumbeat of your heart. You’d decided to dive in head first. “I reckon you just want to kiss me.”

His features had twisted into a childish smirk and the wind ruffled his bit of bright red hair sticking out from his hat. A few snowflakes had fallen onto his eyelashes and melted when he’d blinked. “Absolutely, I do.”

He’d caught your lips with his in a moment of clarity. It was new and invigorating and familiar all at once. You may had been informed of your magical abilities at the age of eleven, much to the surprise of your Muggle parents, but in all the years you’d been attending Hogwarts, you’d never felt magic quite like this. The feeling of his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones and his tongue gliding gently over your bottom lip had sent you gasping for air --

A hand on the small of your back pulled you from your memory. You turned to your side and looked at George for some reassurance, except all he was able to give you were worried eyes and a clenched jaw. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, but not the way they had underneath the snow and the stars and the mistletoe. They were glistening with tears.

“You can’t pair people off like this!” Yells were ringing throughout the Great Hall, along with complaints and quite a few expletives. You squeezed George’s hand. All you wanted him to do was tell you everything would be okay. “George, she can’t --”

Umbridge kept on talking, annoyingly enough, and you were surprised at how loudly her words echoed in your ears. “The Ministry has concluded, boys and girls, that students will be paired off by blood status. Pure-bloods are to marry pure-bloods, half-bloods with half-bloods, Muggle-borns with Muggle-borns. No intermingling will be tolerated. There will be daily checks to make sure you are abiding by the rules. Be warned, children, there will be disciplinary actions for those refusing to obey. No exceptions.”

You felt as though your throat was closing up. George’s face was blurry through your vision, but you could still see the worried look glazing over his eyes. How the hell did she expect to pull this off -- daily checks? This woman was absolutely mad. Somehow though, you knew she’d stop at nothing to make sure her rules were being followed. The thought terrified you to your core. To George, you said shakily, “But -- I love you.”

You’d known it since the day you met him, and even before that. You knew that he was the one you’d been waiting for. The overwhelming feeling of warmth you’d felt when he’d introduced himself with a lopsided grin all those long years ago in the middle of a Herbology lesson was like nothing you’d felt before. You had first met his gaze across the classroom, and he’d held it a little longer than he normally would have. You’d been in love ever since. And so had he.

It isn’t fair, you wanted to yell out. What authority did Umbridge have to decide who you’re meant to be with? Weren’t soulmates to be determined by fate, and not by the corrupt Wizarding government? You had a thought of hexing her right now, but her pompous laugh made you feel as though you turned to stone. By the look on McGonagall’s face from the other end of the hall, you were quite certain she felt like hexing Umbridge, too.

Who the bloody hell was she to think that she had a say, any say, over who you were allowed to marry?

George’s lip wobbled a bit as he breathed in deeply. “I love you, too.” His voice was hoarse and different and worrisome. “It’ll all be okay, darling, I promise.”

Somehow you knew that George didn’t fully believe his own words.

What were you supposed to do, coming from a Muggle family, when the whole lot of Weasleys were pure-bloods? What were you supposed to say to this vile woman to make her reconsider her choices? When your eyes met hers in a fit of fury, you squeezed George’s hand tighter, all while Umbridge threaded her brows together and stood up a little straighter.

What were you supposed to do if your soulmate wasn’t allowed to be your soulmate at all?

-- -

As you stealthily flicked your wrist, a dull light emanated from your wand, causing Professor Snape’s hair to stand up on command and turn a rather ugly shade of yellow.

You squealed; how you’d managed to pull it off was beyond you. Behind you, your boyfriend squeezed your shoulders and grabbed your hand before pulling you out of the Great Hall and around the bend. He was finding it very difficult to suppress his laughter, as evident by the red colour rising in his cheeks and the slight tears in his eyes. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

You flipped your hair and grinned at him. “I know,” you said cheekily, earning yourself a playful jab to the ribs. You locked your arms around his neck. “I learned from the best.”

You adored the dimple that appeared on his cheek each and every time he smiled. You pushed his long hair out of his eyes. “The best, eh?”

“The best of the best,”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and lifted you into the air, your feet dangling just above the corridor floor. He spun you a bit until you claimed you were getting dizzy. “My girl is going to out prank me one day.. how’d I get so lucky? I reckon I’m the luckiest bloke there is.”

You giggled and played absentmindedly with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” George breathed, placing you back down and bringing a hand to the back of your neck. The cheekiness in his features almost immediately twisted into that of compassion, of admiration, of --

“I love you.”

If you hadn’t been so absolutely floored (even though you’d kind of been expecting it), you would’ve noticed how very quickly those three words had brought tears to your eyes. Except, you were too excited to notice such things. Nothing at all could’ve prepared you for those three words. You reckoned your smile was stretching from ear to ear now.

The three words you’d been waiting to hear for so long were playing in your head on repeat. You couldn’t wait another second before saying them very quickly back through a very excited squeal. “Iloveyoutoo!” He laughed and kissed you softly, his mouth moving very carefully against yours. You whispered against his lips in a calmer, more serious tone, “I love you, too.”

-- -

Your seventh and final year at Hogwarts was not going according to plan. Not only had Umbridge mechanically established relationships via blood status, but she also split all of the students up by blood status as well. So there were no longer Hogwarts houses. Each student were given new, generic Hogwarts robes and new common rooms. You shifted uncomfortably in a particularly painful armchair in what used to be the Slytherin common room. How convenient, you thought, that Umbridge had deemed the dungeons an appropriate spot for the new “Muggle-born Residencies”.

And George.

He was struggling to get used to the strange entrance of the previous Ravenclaw common room, now deemed the “Pure-blood Dormitories”. Umbridge had completely banned the selling of any and all Weasley products, even confiscating their trunks and blasting their items to smithereens. Everything George and Fred worked on for so long was just...gone, and you couldn’t even be there to comfort them.

The most interaction you were able to have with George were stolen glances across the Great Hall and in lessons. McGonagall didn’t have much say over the pairing off, but she did have a say in how lessons ran. She shut down Umbridge’s ludicrous “lesson by blood status” idea almost immediately.

George had sworn to you that it would be easy to sneak around, that he could jinx Umbridge or remove her memory or outsmart her any day. But bloody hell, it was proving to be difficult. This woman had certainly done her research. The Ministry had you all on a strict lockdown control.

Fleeting moments with George came less often than both of you would have liked. One recurring time Umbridge couldn’t stop you (because she wouldn’t dare step out onto the Quidditch pitch) were matches. The schedule had already been established, McGonagall had fought. It was the only time the “four houses” were able to reconvene during the school year. You waited patiently, nervously, restlessly outside of the Gryffindor changing rooms and yanked George rather violently behind the tent before pulling him onto a bone crushing embrace.

An exasperated breath left your lips. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.” you told him. It had only been a month -- surely it had been longer? Like five bloody years maybe?

“Me neither, love.” The feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist was exhilarating in a way that nothing else was. When he pulled away to look at you, he kept his hands gripped tightly on your hips, as if he were afraid you were going to slip through his fingers. Which, you thought, was pretty accurate. These fleeting moments were exactly that. Fleeting.

You expected to see the usual cheekiness glistening in his eyes, but he looked -- empty. Like the life had been sucked right out of him. Like he didn’t care about anything anymore. Like he hadn’t caught sleep in days.

You tugged hesitantly on his robes. “I -- I got paired off last week.”

You didn’t say this to hurt him; you said this to be truthful. You saw his jaw clench as he prepared himself for answers. “Who is it? I know him?”

You waved George off. “He’s just some guy.”

And then, amazingly, incredibly, George actually snorted. For a brief moment, you saw traces of happiness nearly lift him off of his feet. “Some guy?”

“Well I don’t bloody know!” you laughed too. It felt like discovering a completely new emotion, since despair seemed to be the only thing you were feeling these days. “We -- haven’t really spoken much. Just the bare minimum. He’s got a girl in Ravenclaw. Half-blood. So he’s dreading this just as much as us.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Same with mine.”

So he’d gotten paired off too. You felt a huge bout of nervousness tense your muscles, and you nodded. The question you were wanting to ask must’ve appeared blatantly in your eyes, because George took your hands in his and squeezed them. “You know that Hufflepuff? Lead singer in the frog choir?”

Your heart dropped about a thousand stories. Of course you knew her. She was stunning. And dating that Slytherin bloke, the one who was exceptionally good at Charms. It didn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up inside of you though. You bit your lip and stammered, “She -- she’s beautiful.”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. He hated seeing you like this, you could tell, because there was a type of yearning in his eyes you’d never seen before. He shook his head and pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “No, you’re beautiful.”

Just then, the very obnoxious foghorn-like sound emitted from the castle, signaling the end of Quidditch and that all students must return to their respective dormitories immediately. Gravity was pulling you both apart, but you both defied it, testing fate, holding onto one another just a moment longer.

George kissed you with an intensity you’d never known -- you didn’t exactly know when the next time you’d be able to be this close to him. It proved to be the most difficult thing you’d ever had to do to pull away. “Be careful, be safe -- I love you.”

“I love you too, George.”

You watched as he ran forward to meet Fred, who shot you a sympathetic gaze. You mechanically entered the group of Muggle-borns who were heading back to the dorms. Before vanishing toward the opposite end of the castle, George threw you one last inconspicuous glance and brought a hand gently to his heart.

-- -

“George, it’s not up to me, it’s not up to you,”

Grimmauld Place looked disturbingly non-Christmas like, despite Molly’s best efforts at decorating in her spare time between visits to the hospital to see Arthur. You’d managed, in a strange, winding way, to end up here. It proved to be very difficult though. Umbridge was now monitoring all floo-networks and the skies for flying, and it was becoming increasingly hard to apparate when your heart just wasn’t in it. But you’d made it -- somehow. You worshiped these few days here, unbeknownst to her.

You shifted uncomfortably underneath the blanket, unable to find a position on the couch that made you feel okay. Comfortable. Safe.

You glanced down at your scarred hand and ran your fingers along the words that were reflected on George’s as well.

I must not disobey the law.

The law. That’s what Umbridge thought this was. So when she caught George attempting to sneak down to the dungeons one night to see you, if only for a moment, she threw the both of you in separate four-hour long detentions, these six words now permanently engraved into your skin.

“I don’t care,” George breathed. “I don’t care about Umbridge, or these stupid rules, or the shop, or the fact that I’ve got this ridiculous phrase on my skin. I don’t care about any of it, I care about you.”

You bit your lip as the tears began to flow. You knew he didn’t mean that. Of course he cared. “I care about you too, but what are we supposed to do?”

“Let’s fight this!”

“We’ve tried! We’ve tried, George! Umbridge is so set in her ways, not even Dumbledore can shut this down! D’you think this is easy for me?” you cried. “D’you think it’s easy knowing that there’s a beautiful woman you’ve been paired with, or that there’s a man who I’m expected to spend my life with when all I’ve been doing for the better half of the last two and a half years is planning my life with you? It’s not bloody easy, George, it’s not, tell me how this is fair, tell me!” You weren’t sure when you’d started pounding on his chest, but your rattled cries echoed throughout the empty living room space. George pulled you into his chest, gripping the back of your neck tightly in his hands as he continually pressed kisses into your hair. Your sobs turned hoarse and raspy; you were crying fully now, desperate moans evaporating into the tense air above you.

You hated hearing him cry, so when he opened his mouth to speak and his words were jumbled and emotional, you squeezed your eyes shut tight, hoping that you’d open them to something other than this nightmare. “I don’t -- I don’t want to give up on us, love.”

“And you think I do?”

“No, no, of course not!” he cried, letting his emotions get the better of him. He sucked in a breath as you dabbed gently at your tears, even though fresh ones fell just as quickly as the old ones vanished. How could this be the plan for you two? How could this be your fate, when you were so in love with one another? He shook his head. “No, I’m not done. I’m not done fighting for this. Bloody hell, I don’t even care if I’ve got to use the cruciatus curse on her. I’ll give up the shop, I’ll do anything. I don’t care about anyone else --”

“George, please, you can’t give up the shop, I won’t let you --”

“Come hell or high water, I’m fighting for you,” in a moment of fury, he grabbed and cradled your head in his hands before pressing a forceful kiss to your lips. It didn’t stop you from crying. When you both parted, you peered up at him and noticed tears near the edges of his eyes. “I’m not giving up on us. I love you.”

You gently brought a hand to his cheek and caressed his skin. You choked out, “I love you, too.”

Sometime later on, after you’d both drifted off, you woke to the sound of slight shuffling around the room. Wrapped around you in a tight embrace, George was fast asleep, his breathing now steady and slow. You noticed Molly walk over to you both and cover you with an extra blanket, her wedding ring dazzling brightly in the moonlight flooding the room.

She must’ve noticed your puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks, because she reached out and ran a gentle hand through your hair. Tears had risen in your eyes immediately at her touch, as well as surprise. You’d expected a scolding for falling asleep together, but instead she just whispered, “Fate will win in the end.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall, but managed to nod at her and squeeze her hand. She gently caressed your cheek and placed a kiss to your head and to George’s before crossing the room and quietly closing the door.

George stirred a bit when you interlaced your fingers with his. You pressed your lips softly to the top of his hand before letting more tears fall and adjusting within his embrace, the one you came to know so well, and found yourself craving more than oxygen itself.

-- -

“They love you. I promise. They always have, haven’t they?” The fire reflecting in his eyes resembled how the fire in your bones felt. Wild. With reckless abandon.

“But this is different!” you squealed, pushing gently away from him so he couldn’t tickle you. “Before I was just good mates with all of you. Now I’m -- your girlfriend.”

George threaded his brows together in confusion. “Wait, you are? Since when?”

He earned himself a playful jab to the ribs for that one. Outside the Burrow, the snow was falling soundlessly. It had been three days since George had kissed you under the mistletoe, two days since you made it official, one day since he re-introduced you to his family as his girlfriend. It was the perfect Christmas.

“I’m just.. worried, is all. They’re getting to know me in a different way, you know?”

“Don’t worry, love,” he reassured you, placing a gentle kiss to your hairline. “Fred’s mad for you, always has been -- waiting ages for us to get together, hasn’t he? Ginny and Ron adore you.. I can’t wait for you to meet Bill and Charlie finally. Er -- can’t make any promises about Percy, though. No matter -- he’s a foul little git, anyway.”

You sniggered a bit and felt your breath catch in your throat when George began to trace small circles on your knee. You swallowed. “And your mum and dad?”

His smile only deepened. “Well they love you, don’t they? Mum’s always called you part of the family already. And my dad, well -- you know about my dad.”

You’d never felt the Muggle part of you was that exciting, but somehow Arthur Weasley’s enthusiasm for it made you feel like it was such a precious part of you, that you were all the better for it.

George continued, “Now that you’ll be spending more time here, I reckon he’ll keep you occupied in conversation for hours. Making you tell him everything about Muggles. Apologies in advance.” George laughed softly for a moment and waved his wand to bring you both cups of tea to settle in for the evening. “Besides, he’ll go absolutely mad when he meets your parents. He’s always hoped one of us would have Muggle in-laws.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise and teased him. “In-laws? Already have us married, do you?”

When you giggled playfully, George didn’t, but instead squeezed your hand a few times and let his sincerity speak for itself through his facial features. His soft eyes, yearning and hungry and wildly in love. His mouth in a lazy grin. His chest rising and falling slowly, as if being able to look at you had finally regulated his breathing. Like you were the oxygen that was finally refilling his lungs.

You stammered, breathless. “Y-you do think about that, don’t you?”

He shrugged, as if to play off the whole thing. “Haven’t scared you off, have I?”

You brought a hand to the back of his neck and laced your fingers through his bright red hair. You smiled. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he replied cheerily, as if the idea of you two getting married was obvious. “Because I’ve known it for years, you and I. Fred reckons I may have willed this into existence,” He chuckled to himself more so than to you. You didn’t think your heart could pound any faster than it had the other day when he’d kissed you for the first time. You were wildly wrong. He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. “You were the one I was meant to find.”

-- -

December 1997

The cobblestone on Diagon Alley was slick with fresh rain. The lights on either side of the street flickered ominously. But there it was, as bright and brilliant as ever, colours in the dismal gray, light in the impending darkness.

“I’m not leaving! I’m giving up the shop and I’m staying here at school, alright? I’m staying with you.”

“No, George, you can’t! You can’t give that up for me. I won’t let you. You’ve worked far too hard for this.”

“I’m not leaving you here! Not with her! She’s torturing students left and right --”

“And I will be okay,” you replied with tears in your eyes. You squeezed his hands tight and his chest was heavy with sobs. “Your plans are bigger than this, and they’re bigger than me.”

It had been almost two years since he’d left on a broomstick, firework dragons swimming through the castle and the sky as he and his brother left their final mark on the Hogwarts grounds.

Almost two years since Umbridge had been replaced by Dumbledore, and the Hogwarts you knew and loved went back to some type of normal, the entire idea of blood status pairs driven into the ground with a stake.

But it had also been almost two years since Muggle-borns were forced into hiding for fear of the impending war.

Two years since you’d seen him. Heard his voice. Felt his touch.

He was crying fully now. “This -- this can’t be it for us.”

Your lip wobbled hearing those heart wrenching words. He’d always been the stronger of you two, comforting you when you cried -- this felt strangely unfamiliar. You didn’t quite fancy being the strong one, but he needed you. “It’s not. It’s not, okay? This is not the end. I promise. But you deserve this, George. You deserve the world. And one day, when this is all over, if I’m still lucky enough -- I’ll find you again. Come hell or high water. You need to follow your dream, okay?”

It wasn’t a breakup, but it sure felt like one.

He pressed his forehead to yours and an involuntary, hoarse cry escaped his lips. “But you’re my dream.”

“George, please --” you stopped yourself. You didn’t finish the words that were rising to your lips. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. You cupped his chin in your hands and peered up at him, your vision blurry. But you could still see his lips were set in a thin, firm line, his jaw was clenched tightly. He was going to leave.

You looked down at the red thread tied loosely around your pinky finger. You followed it with your eyes as it wrapped around street lamps, signs and other shops, before ending up exactly where you’d always known it would when it had first appeared on your finger after you’d graduated school.

93 Diagon Alley.

“My heart will always belong to you, love.”

As you hurried down the street, following your little thread, and the shop came into better view, you could feel the sheer intensity of the anticipation bubbling up inside you.

You pointed your wand ahead, illuminating the dark street and readying yourself for any dementors or Death Eaters that were lurking close by.

But before you reached the doors, someone ran into the middle of the street and stopped short. You lifted your wand higher, ready to hex, until you realized who it was.

George was standing in the middle of the cobblestone, hair in disarray, in his sweater his mum had knitted him every single year. He’d always told you how comforting it felt to wear. You couldn’t help the slight laugh that escaped you, for the first time you’d seen him in two years he so very similarly resembled that young, cheeky boy you’d teased your first Christmas at Hogwarts for the socks he’d knitted on his own to match the gift from his mother.

He said your name in a whisper, but in your ears it sounded like a booming shout -- like all the world could hear it, if they were listening.

And you noticed your little thread, stretching along the street, ending in a tiny knot on his own hand.

You wanted to tell him that you were here to find him, and that you’d been able to escape the hiding you were under, due to being a Muggle-born. You wanted to tell him that you hadn’t once stopped thinking about him since you’d last seen him all those years ago and that when you’d finally seen that thread, you were convinced it led here -- you’d just never been able to act on it. You wanted to tell him that you prayed for him every single night.

But all that escaped your mouth was another nervous laugh before you were running and slipping along the street before winding up in a bone crushing embrace you were bound to feel the effects of tomorrow.

He wanted to tell you that he’d never met anyone as selfless as you, how equally excited and heartbroken he was when you’d told him to leave and charge forward. He wanted to tell you that he’d been spending every single day waiting for news, any news at all that Muggle-borns were no longer in hiding. He wanted to tell you that he’d had enough, and he was coming to find you just as he stumbled before you on this little street. He wanted to tell you that he’d never once stopped loving you.

But instead all he could do was kiss you fiercely and brush the tears away that were escaping your eyes, because that kiss was telling you both everything you needed to know -- all of those unspoken words, all of those bottled up feelings, all of the unwavering love you’d carried in your hearts for one another throughout all of the moments that kept you apart.

And then he was kneeling before you, raindrops dripping down from his hair and onto his face and neck, and he was saying the things you’d always dreamt of him saying, and he was opening a box with a ring inside that took your breath away, just as his first kiss had.

A familiar ring.

Molly’s ring.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it, and her words from that Christmas echoed in your mind.

Fate will win in the end.

When George placed it on your finger, you both noticed through blurry vision that the thread that had been attached to you both had disappeared into thin air.

You’d found one another again, despite it all, despite the tyrants and the war and the rules that were holding both of you hostage.

Because this was the fate you were both destined for. This was the moment. Husband and wife, together or apart.

Fate had won in the end.

Just like Molly had told you.

The fire crackled pleasantly alongside the faint sound of Christmas music. You reached out and traced a finger over his jawline. His words made you feel simultaneously cozy and incredibly nervous. “The one you were meant to find, huh?”

George laughed, probably because of how corny that had sounded. But he didn’t care -- he knew it was true. He’d known it since the day he met you, that fate had brought you together. He breathed in deeply and squeezed your knee. “Yeah, darling, I’ve already planned my whole life with you.”

reblogs, feedback, comments, and shares are all appreciated! thanks for reading :)

[siriuslyobsessedwith]

Why Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger Never Abandon Their Surnames

They fight; they bicker; they flirt; they court; they marry. It’s not ancient history, but it is surely a tale many have seen play out before, the fire of anger and past pain forging a flame of love and devotion and life-long passion. This is how it goes for war heroine Hermione Granger and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, due to their shared fame (or infamy) all of this plays out on the public stage.

People send her death threats, accusations, Howlers, most of which he intercepts and destroys before they ever reach her. She still knows, but she humors his shielding of her from reality, pretending she doesn’t instinctively, intuitively know the content of these messages.

But people send him things too, accusing him of slumming it and betraying his lineage and calling his all sorts of terrible and disgusting names. For the first time, Draco Malfoy learns that names are not only sources of power, pride, prestige. Names are also weapons that can turn against you in a moment. But the names he’s called don’t hurt him, don’t wound him or cause him to doubt. They make him a little proud, because every horrible letter her receives is physical proof that he is, for once in his life, doing the right thing.

Now, Hermione has always known the power of names in the Wizarding, since the very minute she heard a pompous blond boy toss his name with such confidence and bravado she knew it must mean something. She learned new names, felt their sting and swore to build a stronger shield against them. She learned to bear cruel names with pride, to throw them back in the face of her attackers. Most of all, she learned how names mean very little unless they come from someone you love.

Once the initial shock of their courting and subsequent engagement wanes, they must only deal with whispers. Whispers they are both accustomed too, so it simply because a point of hilarity, when they see mouths covering hands and sneers barely covered with the turn of a head. They pretend to whisper cruel things too, instead sharing critiques of each other’s writing or discussing the latest scientific discoveries. Together, they get to be above it all. For the first time, they have a partner who is all to familiar with how loud the whispers can become.

The first slip up occurs when Draco is giving an interview to Witch Weekly about Malfoy Enterprises (and of course his engagement), and in response to a question about how he feels about sullying the Pureblood line—which is of course more delicately phrased—he quips, “I’m more worried about sullying the Granger line, thank you.”

And thus begin the rumors. Will Draco Malfoy really not require his wife to fall into line with centuries of Pureblood wives? Will she even have to change her name? What bearing could an insignificant Muggle lineage have in comparison to centuries of breeding?

He doesn’t tell her about the interview, hopes irrationally that she won’t find it. He’s not an idiot, and he knows she’ll hear about it from someone, but he worried all the same. Did it sound dismissive, like he didn’t want her in his family?

Of course, he worries too much. He comes home to dimmed lights, candles, and a lingerie-clad fiancée holding his favorite brownies with the words “Welcome to the Granger line” iced on top. His heart swells, because no matter how many times she has insisted she’s forgave him years ago, this feels like a promise, like something she can’t take back.

Throughout their courting, their fighting, their flirting, they have always, ALWAYS been Malfoy and Granger. Yes, Draco and Hermione read their heads in moments of sincerity, when anger flares, in formal settings. But Granger is a term of endearment, a word reclaimed from their schoolchildren days, a tease. Malfoy, also reclaimed, is said with such love and such joy that it sounds nothing at all like it used to.

When they say their vows, they call each other Draco and Hermione. When they make their own secret promises, they are Granger and Malfoy.

Their marriage certificate says Draco and Hermione Malfoy. She is addressed as Mrs. Malfoy at work. But she is rarely, if ever, Mrs. Malfoy at home. She is forever and always Granger.

Perhaps it is a reclaiming of their past, or proof that you really can move on. It is a testament to their impossible love, like the matching scars they bear: we have overcome something terrible, and we healed each other enough to look back on it maybe not fondly, but certainly not with pain.

Granger and Malfoy are their own personal whispers that they love to hear. Their children will grow up hearing their parents call each other these names, and they will learn that they mean “I love you” and “you idiot” and “you’re an arse” and “quit being such a swot” all wrapped up into one. Their friends will hear it and shake their heads, not quite understanding but content to know that it makes them happy.

It’s proof that they are of the same mind. After all, they never had the conversations, never needed to. Or maybe they did, in their own secret understated mischievous way.

“You know,” she quipped one day, clutching a coffee mug in the early morning sun, “I won’t be Granger for much longer.”

All he remembers is having a visceral, powerful reaction of “absolutely not” through every fiber of his being. He strode over to her, slid his hands to the small of her back, stared deep into her wide, shocked, surprised eyes. She’s surprised by his suddenness, his intensity. Her eyes ask a question.

“No. You won’t ever stop being Granger. Not to me. Granger is mine.” He’s smirking, knowing his possessiveness will bring on false anger. But he doesn’t see it. He just sees love and adoration and happiness.

“Alright then. I guess Malfoy is mine too.”

The last thought he has before she kisses him senseless in the morning sunshine is, “how in the world did I deserve this witch?”

And so the Granger and Malfoy lines were entwined and preserved and immortalized, if only within their own little family.

[redrosesartcabin]

Kenji x first perspective female reader:

Things happened

—————————————————

(Hey, how is it going peeps! This was requested by @xxno-0xx . I hope you all, and especially the requester, like it. Only one warning: It involves some swearing, so if you don’t like that don’t read. If the requester doesn’t like it, please tell me and I’ll edit the story! Also: The story plays somewhere either between season 2 and 3, or somewhere around season 3. Though not in a canonical episode)

It’s crazy how things sometimes happen.

A very vague description, I know, but it’s the only way I can convey how I feel.

Things happened that made me have the opportunity to go to Jurassic Worlds Camp Cretaceous.

We had won the league as the best female Baseball team, with the price being -besides the typical golden trophy and some media glory- a trip to Camp Cretaceous for one of us. And as the team leader, I was chosen as the one who can go.

“Oh no it’s fine!”, I had said. I already had a funny feeling about the trip. But they all had insisted, “it’s fine”, they had said, “it’ll be cool” they said.

Oh and weren’t they just so right. I am super peachy.

Practically prancing through the jungle and killing Dinos with my little finger-

Ok that’s enough, I think y’all got the gist: The shit had hit the fan.

Things happened, that made everyone be gone, and suddenly it was up to us to survive on this pretend Prehistoric nightmare.

At least my beloved baseball bat had survived the fall of the Camp Cretaceous building. After that discovery I didn’t let go of it anymore. I took it everywhere with me, hitting every living being that even dared to breath in my new found friends direction.

Friends… I had never thought, before the evacuation of Jurassic World and all that crazy stuff happened, that I’d ever call any of them that. I hadn’t really found any of them to be friendship material. I love baseball and building things out of wood in my free time and had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. The only person in the group who had come close to that was Yaz, but she had been so closed off, that I couldn’t really tell before we became a group that fought for their survival. Darius also had been ok, but I was older than him and we didn’t have anything in common, so that checked itself out. Everyone else sort of annoyed me in one way or another. Especially Kenji’s pompous ass. He had appeared very full of himself and just generally narcissistic, or at least painfully self centered and pretentious.

Now imagine how surprised one might be, when one figured I was crushing on the guy.

Let’s just say, that things happened that made me see Kenji in a completely different light.

Turns out he has a good enough sense of humor to catch my drift when I speak “in sarcastic” as he likes to call it. Turns out, he was a loyal and fun friend. Turns out he was just a lonely soul, neglected by a father whose work is more important to him than his own son.

Everything turned out different than it appears about him. He still sometimes annoyed me with his pranks and especially when he wouldn’t shut up about his wealth. The latter however became very apparent as the means to show that he was someone, although he didn’t need to prove that anymore. But of course he would think that’s how people would like him, his father had taught him no better.

The first thing I mentioned somehow makes me love him even more. It annoys me, gets such a rise out of me, that it’s somehow funny again. It gives me a spark and Kenji seemingly seems to enjoy seeing that spark. And him enjoying that spark makes me somehow happy as well. It would start with a cat fight and ended in rigorous laughter.

“Why so serious?”, he would sometimes ask when I’d respond with a glare towards him when he’d steal my bat for what felt like the fifty millionth time.

“You’re getting so creative. I barely saw it coming”, I answered dryly and one could practically see the words alternating between being written in small and big letters.

“Well then you should have no problem finding your sweet baby bat then”, he cooed. Looking deep into his dark brown eyes and almost devilish handsome grin made me both want to punch and kiss him, which may have made me irritable and even madder.

“Finding? Why should I find anything if I have a living and breathing treasure map. Come here!”, I demanded with a creepily sweet grin as I’d walk towards him. Then he’d run, I’d run, we wrestled for a second on the ground only to break into a laughing fit, rolling on the floor, crying tears, resolving this nonsense prank and then getting back to either relaxing or fighting off Dinosaurs… again.

I didn’t think, however, that anything could happen between Kenji and me.

For many a reason, though only two are essential: For one, we were busy surviving, one barely had time to get downtime with the group, yet alone for themselves. Secondly, I didn’t really know, or couldn’t really tell, if he felt the same. Maybe it was my own insecurities coming to light or something, but I just couldn’t really believe it.

Seemed unlikely.

But then things happened.

Kenji and I were on the run from an especially nasty, big Dinosaur. We had been collecting some water in big canisters and wanted to head back to camp when it sneak attacked, unexpectedly.

It snared at us, opening its huge mouth, showing a row of thin, long, sharp teeth.

“Fuck off, you tooth pick mouthed asshole!”, I hissed back at it, flailing my bat at it in panic.

The reason for my irrational action was mainly, that we were stuck between two huge rocks, backed up against another rock with no way out.

Maybe hills or mini-mountain were a better description, but it’s also not important.

All that I could think of was that we were stuck and that little fucker wanted to eat us.

“Calm down, y/n, this isn’t making anything better!”, Kenji tried to reason with me. I was close to shouting some obscenities at him or a dry ‘got a better idea, genius!?’, but this time his dark brown eyes, that often had a mischievous twinkle, calmed me, instead of creating the usual spark. I crawled closer to him as we were pressed to the stone wall.

The Dino however wouldn’t give up. Vehemently, it pressed its ugly snout between the walls, stretching its uncomfortably wet tongue towards us and exhaling a nauseating breath.

I was paralyzed, as I looked at that thing, not knowing what would happen next.

Suddenly, I felt my bat being taken out of my hand. I watched as Kenji took on a fighter stance, the bat positioned over his head, ready for the hit.

“What are you doing! Didn’t you just tell me that we should calm it?”, I asked. He turned around, a frown adorned his face, “I said you should calm down”, is all he answered before he darted towards the animal.

“NO!”, I heard myself scream. I had never heard such a sound come from my throat. It was shrill, loud and all in all I couldn’t recognize myself. I was terrified, even more than when I first caught sight of this beast that had brought us into this situation.

Everything seemed to pass by in slow motion as I saw Kenji swing the bat towards its snout. At first I thought it was over for him as the Dinos mouth opened, the teeth seeming to scrape Kenji’s head, that’s how close it was to him… but then I saw Kenji swinging the bat again, directly hitting its head so that it flew against the stone wall. The beast wailed in pain, seemingly backing up, and just like that, it was gone.

“I… I made it”, Kenji first whispered, before he laughed, repeating, “I made it!”, even louder, jumping into the air and forming a victory fistbump in the air.

“That was awesome! Did you see how- Y/N?”, Kenji’s joy subsided as he looked into my angered expression. With a swift motion I took my bat back, glaring at him as I pressed out, between gritted teeth “let’s just go, hero”

Kenji seemed to have caught the sarcastic undertone of me calling him a hero, because I could physically feel his mood shift closer to mine, “hey what’s with that attitude? I just saved our lives!”

“By doing what I also wanted to do. Great!”

“You were panicking! I don’t know if you would’ve gotten a good hit by panicking. Besides, I couldn’t risk you getting hurt!”, he explained.

For a second I could feel my heart flutter, but that didn’t help my opinion on what just happened.

“But you were ready to risk yourself?”, I asked, my tone bitter.

“Why are you so mad?”, he asked, “we are safe, what more could you want?”,

“I-“, I stopped in my tracks, thinking. Yeah: What was I so mad about? He was right, I had panicked. Panic never helps with concentration and right decision making. I found it impressive, that he had the courage and the focus to fight the Dino off. But I just couldn’t fight off the thought of it going wrong. What if he would’ve been eaten?

“What-“, I wanted to repeat what I had been thinking, but could feel a hiccup, breaking the tear flood inside me. No- I was not going to cry. I took a deep breath, looking directly into his confused visage, “- what if it would’ve gone wrong, I’m just… I- I wouldn’t have known what to do without you. I can’t imagine being without you anymore”.

I saw and heard him gasp, his glance unfreezing from his confused state.

“I didn’t realize I was that important to you”, he answered.

I chuckled, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, “everyone is important to me from the group, I wouldn’t have liked any of them to risk their lives for me but- but especially not you. I- I can’t believe I’m going to say this - I had vowed to take this to my grave ya know-“

“- Get to the point”, Kenji urged me.( I wasn’t looking at him, but he later told me he had smiled whilst saying it, I however thought he was getting annoyed and was almost too scared to continue. Stupid how that sometimes works)

“- I, eh- I’m in love with you I think. Or at least I definitely feel very strongly for you”, I confessed, “there! Now you have something to use against me. Finally got something you can laugh at again on this miserable Isla-mpf”, my self deprecating monologue was interrupted by soft lips catching mine. It almost took my breath away, but then I leaned in, still not believing this was happening, though it definitely was.

“I’m not going to laugh, I love you too. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk everything if I didn’t”

“That’s cheesy, but I appreciate the honesty”, I said, wearing my usual shit eating grin as I regained confidence back.

“Oh look who's talking now”

“Oh shut it!”, I laughed and just like that, I found myself kissing him again.

“And here I thought I had to worry, but you two just ran away to make out”, I suddenly heard Darius in the background, half serious, half amused by the moment he found us in.

I quickly broke away from Kenji, grinning sheepishly, “You know how it is Darius: You get chased by a Dino, and then you need a kiss to make the boo boo go away… just so happens I got a bit of a chap on my lips, and Kenji wanted to make it real good again”, I explained, earning a silent chuckle from Kenji.

Darius rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back a smile either, “let’s get you love birds home”

————————

And so things happened. Did we have much time to enjoy us being a couple? Not really.

Did more things happen, making everything crazier and tougher?

Did the rift between Darius and Kenji make me anxious as I was sitting by Kenji’s side, as he, with an expression that was too serious for my liking, drove the yacht?

Absolutely.

But I know, that at least he’s by my side still, as am I, and we will make things happen so that we can finally be free from this place.

Hopefully, we’ll make it.

Depends on what the Dino on the yacht has to say about it...

[crescentsteel]

When in Brazil - Beach

pairing: Oikawa x f!reader genre: SMUT wc: 7.8k (i am deceast bye) warnings: fingering, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, edging

Let me bore you to death zzz

I promise the last chapter will be exciting (in my head it is at least) :(

Prior to this series, I have zero knowledge about Brazil. So if there's anything sus somewhere there as I describe Rio, pls be kind to me.

No beta for this one once again uwu

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Sunshine || masterlist

In the hustle and bustle of a busy city as Rio de Janeiro, one finds themselves having their time stolen away from them as they get swept up in all the craziness the place has to offer.

That’s you, except the craziness is in the form of a never ending cycle of wake up, work, then go home.

You’re just glad a certain orange-haired boy joins you from time to time to ease your thirst for something exciting.

Yet sometimes, you crave the silence, the quiet, to be alone and actually enjoy it. Living in one of the most tourist-infested places in the world, you rarely find yourself in such a situation.

That’s why you dragged your feet outside even if your clock tells you it’s 2:48 in the morning.

You woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Rather than waste your time away in bed, you grab a can of beer from your fridge and decide to make the most out of it.

The thing about Rio — it’s almost never silent. Even at this time, you can hear the soft beat of music from the local bars and clubs alongside the sound of the sea right across the streets where they’re located. The shores of Copacabana, being the most famous beach in the city, are never empty as well.

But what good is being a local if you don’t know places you can hide from the crowd?

A tad bit more than kilometer away from Copacabana is Posto 1 in Praio de Leme, a beach not as crowded as the others.

With the absence of people flocking here and there, you easily make your way to the beach, almost prancing on your steps for the slight tang of freedom and muted noise you haven’t had in forever.

Despite the stroll being an all-familiar route you take, it feels blissfully different. And when you arrive at Posto 1, you suddenly feel grateful for living in Rio. You take your slippers off and feel the sand beneath the soles of your feet. The smell of salt water permeates the air while you welcome the dainty breeze brought by the sea.

You savor each step, taking your time to reach a certain spot you consider yours as the darkness of the dims the bright liveliness of the city.

Luck must be in your side as you find the place still as you remember it the last time you went there. Trees surround the area abundantly compared to the more famous beaches in the city.

Lifeguard stations that separate the area covered by each beach look like mini lighthouses made of white stone. Posto 1, being the first station, is situated beside rocky shore that signals the other end of the beach.

In between Posto 1 and the clump of rocks, that’s your secret spot. The station blocks the view of the rest of the shoreline, the trees behind you conceal you from the buildings across the street, and the rocks perfectly completes the set up as it eludes you to think that you’re hidden from the tropical urban jungle that is Rio.

You pick a spot near a tree so you can lean on something when you sit down. You unknot the canga on your hip and sprawl it on the sand. You seat yourself comfortably and cross your stretched legs. You open your can of beer and savor the first taste as you stare in the vast darkness

You don’t know how long you’ll stay there, but you don’t care. You have the day off tomorrow and you don’t mind if you’re there long enough that the sun will rise on you.

Damn. You should’ve brought at least two cans of beer for this.

However, your paradise of being alone was quickly interrupted when you hear coarse footsteps approaching somewhere behind you. Shortly after, a figure emerges from the trees, much to your displeasure.

He notices your presence too as he looks your way as soon as he comes to your view.

“Hi!” The stranger greets you all too friendly, which adds to your irritation. You haven’t even enjoyed your time alone and you’re already disrupted. What’s worse is that it’s not even a local. It’s a freaking tourist, probably Japanese based on his features.

“Sorry, but the beach is closed at this time,” you announce in an amicable manner despite being annoyed, something working on a diner has instilled in you for years.

“Oh? But you’re here,” he responds with an easy-going smile that pisses you off even more. You should’ve spoken in Portugese. Maybe then, he would’ve left you alone. “Yeah. It’s not open for tourists at night,” you lie with a fake smile, still hoping that he’ll leave.

However, he does the opposite. He crosses the few steps away from you and crouches to get to your eye level. You stare at his face for a few seconds and realize that he’s actually attractive — brown hair, brown eyes, and a dazzling smile.

Still, you came here to be alone. You don’t want the company of another, no matter how good looking they are.

“Can’t you make an exception for one tourist?” He flashes you a grin that you’re pretty sure would sway a lot of women when directed at them. Maybe you too on a different night. But not this one.

“I’d be honest, mr tourist. I prefer to be alone. If you go past that station, you’ll find a lot of space for yourself.”

He purses his lips. “But it seems more fun here, ms local.”

How is this place fun? There’s literally nothing here. That’s why you claimed this place for your own because people rarely go here when the night deepens.

He’s most likely looking for someone to bother and entertain himself, as expected of tourists.

You sigh when you realize he’ll probably keep pestering you until you give in. You take one sip of your beer and turn to him.

“You better hold one hell of a conversation, tourist. Or else I’ll be the one leaving,” you announce with a deadpan voice.

He chuckles lightly before sitting on the sand. He extends one leg on the side while he bends up the other so he can rest his elbow on his knee. “I’m sure I can manage,” he declares with unshakeable confidence that makes you scoff a bit.

The guy is full of himself. If he wasn’t very pleasing to look at, you would’ve left already.

You return your gaze to the dark waters to distract yourself from his presence. “I’d offer you a beer, but I only brought one.” You say out of courtesy as you lean back to the tree and try to relax despite the stranger beside you.

“I won’t mind sharing yours,” he responds casually.

You take one more sip and face his direction to hand him the drink in your hand. He grabs it with a smile and a wink that would’ve made you cringe if he didn’t look so damn good when he did it.

He puts the drink on his mouth and nips it casually. “So what’s a pretty local doing at the shore at this hour?”

You raise an eyebrow at the subtle flattery he included in his question. “Like I said, I wanted some time alone. Unfortunately for me though, a very rude tourist arrived a few minutes after I just settled down,” you eye him meaningfully which earns you a pout from him.

You almost want to laugh. What is up with this guy? He’s a bit weird, but in a charming kind of way. “What about you, tourist? What’re you doing out this late at night?”

“Jetlag. Our hotel’s just across the street and the people I’m with are already tired. I’m so bored,” he whines as he drinks again from your can before he hands it to you.

“So you decided to take a stroll in a completely foreign city?”

He feigns a surprised look. “Are you a fortune teller?”

“A witch, actually. Better leave now before I curse you,” you warn him with a straight face.

Not even fazed a bit, he meets your dead eyes with affable ones. “I don’t mind being cursed by you, ms. witch.”

You shrug off your shoulders, unaffected by the flattery. You’re used to it with the amount of foreigners hitting on you during tourist season. “You better decide what you’ll call me then,” you respond coldly.

“You really want to keep being strangers, huh?”

Something surfaces in his orbs that unnerves you, a glint that tells you there’s more to this man behind the pompous persona he’s purposely showing you.

“Uh-huh. Ms. local sounds fine to me.” Not that he seems dangerous or anything, but you don’t want to get to know him. You’d like to remain as strangers. This is just a small chat for you both to pass time. There’s no need for names when you already have a way to address each other.

“Alright then, ms local. Lets play a game.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What game?”

“A guessing game. The person who first gets three correct guesses about the other wins.”

“What does the winner get?” You ask with intrigue.

“Anything they want.”

You tap the can of beer dangling from your fingertips while you study him. What can he possibly ask of you if he wins? He looks friendly, but you can’t be too certain. He might ask for something like your number. You have no intentions of giving it to him and getting involved with a tourist. The most you can get from the is a one night stand and a “thank you for the experience” message, as if fucking a local completes their whole Rio trip.

He suddenly laughs. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for anything weird. I just want the tree you’re leaning at.”

You frown at him. “Seriously? There’s another tree over there.” You point a tree a few steps away from him.

“I want that one specifically,” he says firmly as he ignores where you’re looking at and eyes the trunk you’re leaning on.

“Okay then, tourist. If I win, will you leave?”

“Deal” he quickly agrees. “Go ahead, ms local. Ladies first.”

Without even thinking, you make your first guess. “You’re probably a model or an actor in Japan.”

He breaks into a wide smile at your hunch, which doesn’t tell you anything whether you were right or wrong. “You really think so?”

Did you get it wrong? He seems like someone who has a nightly skin care routine to make sure he doesn’t have any breakouts. His skin looks nicer than yours too. So it makes sense for him to be either of the two.

You don’t tell him that though. He looks like he’s well aware that he’s a pretty boy.

“I mean you do look nice. You’re tall and stuff,” you justify briefly.

He gives out a pleasant laugh that sounds way too rehearsed, like he’s been practicing it in case someone compliments him.

“I’m flattered, but no. Sorry!”

He doesn’t look sorry at all. “Actually, I’m a starter for a pro Volleyball team in Argentina,” he says with his face becoming a little bit more serious as it oozes with pride. You find it interesting — how he glorifies being an athlete. He does have the build for it, but he’s kinda too pretty to be a professional athlete.

Your thoughts suddenly go back to Shoyo now that he mentioned the sport.

“Oh oh oh wait,” your enthusiasm shoots up when a hilarious assumption hits you. “I’ll go again then you’ll get two turns after this,” you clear your throat before voicing out your thoughts.

“Let me guess. You traveled all the way from Japan to Argentina to pursue Volleyball,” you declare with all smiles despite how ridiculous it might have seemed to him. You could waste one guess to entertain yourself.

He stares at you wide-eyed with disbelief. “How did you know that?”

You gape at him in surprise. You were just goofing around with Shoyo’s story. You don’t expect that he’d have a similar story.

“For real?”

He nods. “Yeah. That was frighteningly accurate.”

Wow. What were the chances that you were actually right? What was just a ridiculous hunch was actually on point. Now, you’re far more entertained. You’ll ask for his name before you part ways and tell Shoyo about him. You don’t have a clue what the Volleyball scene is like in Japan so maybe somehow, they know each other.

He recovers after a quick while and regains his composure. “Okay, my turn. I’m guessing…,” he looks up as he scurries what guess he’ll make before his gaze lands back to you, “you’re into nice guys.”

You let out a scoff at his too safe of a guess. He must be frolicking when he appears to be thinking earlier because that’s kind of a no-brainer.

“Who isn’t?” You ask back sarcastically instead of confirming that he’s right.

“A lot of women actually,” he swiftly responds. “So that’s one for me. And I’m also guessing you don’t go out much.” This time he doesn’t pretend to be thinking and straight up tells you, as if he’s figured it out already earlier.

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t be out here at this time of the night if you did,” he cocks an eyebrow as he answers.

Shit. That’s two correct guesses off the bat. The stakes are not that high for you. You’ll just lose a back rest, but it unnerves you that he’s this astute. You just assumed that he’s nothing but good looks.

You put a little more effort to the game he initiated and thought of a hunch that’s very likely to be correct.

“Umm. I think you like beer,” you surmise. If he didn’t mind sharing one with a stranger, he must like it enough.

He purses his lips to the side and shakes his head. “Nope. I think it’s vile. Also, our fitness coach will chew me out if he finds out I’m drinking tonight.”

You furrow your brows together at what he just admitted. “Then why’d you ask for mine?”

“I wanted to look cool,” he confesses without shame which makes you palm your face.

“My turn.” You remove your hands away from your face and hope that he gets it wrong this time. You’re kinda enjoying the game and want to continue for a tiny bit more.

“It’s been a while since you got laid.”

It’s a staring contest between you after he utters it. He holds the same seemingly good-natured expression in his face despite the sexual nature of his statement. You, on the other hand, can’t suppress the frisky smirk that’s creeping up on the corner of your lips.

You roll your eyes and look away with the smirk still planted on your face.

He finally bares that certain wickedness you saw a glimpse of earlier, and he does it at the right time. He’s probably waiting for the moment you start getting drawn to him, and when you do, he lures you a step deeper into his trap.

You feel stupid for thinking this game is his way of small talk. It definitely isn’t. Yet, you find yourself taking the bait he set.

“Actually, I had a good fuck the other night,” you answer indifferently.

The look that surfaces on his face mirrors yours a while ago, except he doesn’t try to hide the sensual gleam in his eyes when flashes you a grin.

“Boyfriend?”

You suddenly miss the bitter taste of the beer so you drink again prior to answering, “Friend.”

The curve of his lips twitch up, evidently amused with your reply. “I didn’t think you were the type, ms local.”

“Why? You thought I was boring?” You question with haughty disdain from what he was implying.

He stretches his bent knee as he plants both palms on the sand and leans back a bit. “No. Just really uptight.”

Only because his company was unwelcomed, but you’re positive he’s aware of that so you don’t comment on his remark. You move on with and proceed to make your guess.

“Right. Okay, my turn.”

You’re absolutely sure of this one, so you go for it without hesitation.

“I think you’re trying to get me in bed.”

Oikawa doesn’t know if he’s going to give you a free pass on that one. You’re not entirely wrong, but you’re not totally right either.

He does want to fuck you. You’re hot and you’re as interesting as he thought you’d be. But he’s not trying to get you in bed, not yet at least. He hasn’t taken any action yet.

He was still treading carefully until you were no longer treating him like a bothersome stranger, which seems to be the case when you unfiltered your words and then willingly gave him intimate information about your sex life.

“Yeah,” he says with no hint of shame. He decides to grant you a second correct answer since that’s the last one you’re going to get. His next guess will be the start of his attempt to actually get you to have sex with him, like you speculated.

“You like beer.” He already had three probable guesses in his head before the game even started. He just panned the game longer so you’ll ease into him. He reserved this particular guess to seal the deal.

“That’s no fair, tourist. That’s too obvious,” you complain yet you still wear an entertained grin.

“Not my fault” He chuckles at his already calculated victory.

“Ugh. Fine. The damn tree is yours.” You start to get up but he grabs your arm, causing you to frown inquisitively at him.

“I didn’t say you have to leave. Move a bit to your front,” he commands which you do even though you still look confused.

He stands up and takes the place you’re sitting at earlier. Your neck is craned towards him as you gawk at him while he comfortably seats himself behind you, stretching his legs just a bit so you’re positioned intimately between them.

“What are you doing?!” you ask with a panicked voice.

He ignores your question. He takes it just a bit further and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him so your back is pressed to his chest.

You gape at him with a scandalized expression, your body rigid with his touch.

He only smiles innocently at you. You might be frozen solid, but if you really don’t want him to, you could easily tell him to fuck off. But there you are, eyes wide open as you try to grasp what he just did.

“I just claimed my prize. I can see why you chose this tree. So comfortable.” He tries to sound nice and friendly, but knows it’s useless as he can’t help the sarcasm that tainted his words now.

You let out a deep breath and shake your head as you rest your back resignedly on his chest. You snuggle even closer until you fill the spaces between you two perfectly, your head nestled comfortably on the nook of his neck.

Still, you don’t seem pleased. The look in your face is a mix of frustration and defeat, but it only strokes his ego even more because despite that displeasure on that lovely face of yours, you’re still leaning cozily against him.

You straight down gulp the remaining liquor you have and put the empty can down on the sand.

“You played me well, tourist,” you mutter, the bitter taste of the beer matching your resentment towards him.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, ms local,” he continues playing innocent.

“Oh please. You planned this from the start. That’s why you asked for the fucking tree.”

He lets out the laugh he’s been holding in since you made him admit that he was trying to bed you. “You finally caught up, mi querida?”

You hoist yourself up to face him. “You speak Portugese?” you ask him curiously.

“Español. I did say I’m from Argentina, mi bella dama.”

You’re stunned with the way the supposed foreign words roll off so naturally from his tongue. It didn’t sound pretentious nor forced, proof that he’s fluent with it. You definitely underestimated him. There is so much more to his charisma than just his pretty face.

“So, ms local,” his gaze drops to your lips with uninhibited hunger that he doesn’t make the slightest effort to hide. “Can I start claiming my actual prize now?”

You open your mouth but no words come out. You don't know how to respond because you’re at war with yourself with the direction of your supposed small talk is heading to. Yet, you can’t deny that you want to reciprocate his overt desire for you.

He takes his thumb and skims it lightly over your lower lip as he keeps his eyes on it. “Say yes,” he orders you with the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

The wind suddenly feels colder as your body heats up from the ache that’s beginning to set in your core.

He completely has you in a trance, mindlessly obeying his dainty command.

“Yes.”

He smiles darkly at the consent you gave him. He moves his thumb down to your before he slowly dips down and presses his lips against yours. It was gentle, too gentle for your growing arousal as he’s deliberately teasing you to want more of him.

He peppers your cheek with the same soft kisses that are making you more and more impatient.

“Kiss me already,” you mutter when his lips reach your ear, causing the sound of his amused chuckle to be heard crisp and loud.

“But I am,” he whispers before licking the sensitive shell of your ear.

You snap your thighs together from the sharp pleasure the action sent to your pussy, your eyes almost half closed from how fast your desire is engulfing you.

He must have sensed it for he turns his gaze to your clenched thighs. “Well, well, well, ms local. I didn’t think you’re this sensitive. I’m barely doing anything,” he teases while his other hand skims your bare waist.

You want to wipe the smug expression off his face but you’re too horny to fight back. You just want him to kiss you properly already.

A triumphant glint surfaces in his orbs as he dips down and gives you what you’re silently asking for. He parts your mouth with his thumb on your chin and claims your lips, flicking his tongue on your lower lip before sucking it.

You grab his shoulder for support as you push yourself up a bit to feel him closer.

“Mmmm, beer tastes way better from your mouth,” he mumbles then quickly returns to your lips, slipping in his tongue as he deepens the kiss.

His hand on your chin travels to the side of your head, fiddling the other ear his mouth hasn’t touched earlier. You whine into the kiss, fully revealing to him how sensitive your ears are.

His other hand skims the bare skin of your waist he easily accessed because of your cropped top. Then, he moves it up to squeeze a clothed boob, earning him a moan you deliciously deliver to his mouth.

He pulls away to get a glimpse of you and he can’t help but be pleased with himself for a job well done. He’s totally got you, hook, line, and sinker with your eyes pooling with lewd desires, completely different from the cranky stranger you were minutes ago.

But he’s not done yet. He’s not yet satisfied. He can do more than this. He can break you just a teeny tiny bit tonight.

He gets back to your lips, your tongue seeking his while he fervently moves his mouth against yours. His hand lets go of your face so he can pay attention to your other boob he’s been neglecting, kneading both supple mounds with his huge hands at the same time.

You lean your head on his shoulder as he trails his lips down your exquisite neck, softly nipping the delicate flesh as he entertains himself by watching you squirm within his hold.

He lugs your bra down so he could feel your bare breasts, and as his idea of fun, he softly bites the nook of your neck while he harshly grips both tits.

A very indecent moan from your throat erupts in the tranquil air of the beach. You must have realized it too because you bite your lip while your other hand tightens its grip on his thigh.

“Let’s see how well you can keep it down,” he breathes on your neck as he puts his fingers to work, rolling both your nipples with his thumbs while licking the spot he just bit.

You plan to protest, but you’re scared that when you open your mouth, an obscene moan will come out instead. So you do your best to stay as silent as you can, your muted whimpering reaching only his ears.

His mouth goes back up again to your ear, his hot breath gradually melting your resolve to keep quiet. “Should I lick your ear again so you’ll moan for me, hmm?”

You ferociously shake your head, certain that you will lose it if he does. “I’ll do it if you don’t use your words,” he threatens you by grazing his lips on your earlobes.

“N-no,” you weakly answer.

He laughs lowly and withdraws his lips away from your ear. You feel a little bit of relief as he shows mercy. Only to feel stupid when he suddenly pinches your nipples, the surge of pain and delight causing you to lose to your own body as another moan rips out of your windpipe.

“Aahh! ”

You bury your face on his biceps to muffle the next ones as he continues tweaking the hardened buds while he sucks the curve of your shoulders.

You can feel the strain in your hips from how hard you're clamping your thighs, desperate to alleviate the ache in your already sopping cunt by grinding your inner thighs together.

Being the scum the tourist is, he hooks his foot on your ankle and does the same to the other, successfully prying your legs apart, worsening your need to be touched down from the lack of any sort of friction.

He removes one hand away from a boob and drags it down to your stomach, the cloth of your loose shirt catching on his knuckles before it comes to a stop in the waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?” He asks while he traces circles on the skin just above the garter of your cloth.

Despite the overwhelming lust, you look around. Even though you used to have this place on your own at this wee hours of night, the possibility of someone going there is not completely zero.

You let him get as far as this because you can just swat his hands away the moment someone emerges from the other side of the lifeguard station.

Instead of putting his hand in, he dips his hand further down on your crotch, cupping your sex over the fabric of your shorts. Even with just that, your pussy is already throbbing.

You look at him with hesitation.

“What if someone comes?” You ask apprehensively, your lust-induced mind hoping he comes up with a sensical answer that you can accept.

“I won’t remove your shorts, ms. local. I’ll just,” he teasingly tugs the waistband, twisting it around his index finger, “put my hand in, yeah?”

He gives a drawn out lick on the spot behind your ear as he tugs a nipple, making you shiver with the unspoken oath that he can satisfy your needs.

You nod agreeably, impatient for the touch you’ve been craving for.

With your permission, he slowly slides his hand in, the leisure drag of his fingers almost making you mad with anticipation. Your torment only increases when he steadily traces his middle and ring finger on the length of your slit.

“You’re practically dripping,” he remarks as he continues the tortuous caress of his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re twitching already.” He laughs sardonically behind you.

“Jerk.” It’s supposed to sound angry, but it comes out as a needy whine.

You throw your head back on his chest, the night sky and the leaves of the tree you’re under starting to become hazy with how feverish your whole body feels.

“You’re really mean, you know that?” He mopes flatulently before he suddenly pinches your clit, the abrupt pang of pleasure causing you to arch your back as you cry out.

“Oh my. I’m starting to think you actually want to be heard.”

You’re no longer able to respond when he starts rubbing the bundle of nerves, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to suppress the erotic sounds coming off of your mouth.

“Mmmmmpp,” you whimper when he gives your boob a firm squeeze again.

You close your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Gonna cum already, hmm?” His question drenched with mockery.

Yet, you don’t give in to his taunt as you’re completely distracted with his fingers sending you to a frenzy. You nod your head frantically, shamelessly admitting that he can easily make you cum.

Then he stops. He slides his fingers down and spreads your folds open as your cunt throbs from the climax he’s defied you of.

“What I’d give to see this view,” he purrs on your ear, “this pussy twitching at nothing.”

You hate the way he’s treating you, but you hate yourself more for letting him do so. As if teasing wasn’t enough already, he starts massaging his fingers around your folds, keeping you spread open while deliberately avoiding any spot that will feel too good.

It’s utter hell for you.

You’re about to ask that he puts it in, but thankfully, he does so before you almost disregard your dignity and actually plead for him to do it. He inserts one steady digit, pushing it deeply until the whole length of his finger is in.

“You’re too wet,” he comments as he thrusts another finger in.

You bite your own hand as the stretch of his two fingers brings back the pleasure he thwarted earlier. But this time, he makes sure to not let it escalate as he keeps the speed of his fingers to a bare minimum. He drags them out incredibly slow and lunges them back in in the same excruciating tempo.

Your eyes flutter shut as you relish the sensation, his digits hitting their deepest reach at the same time the waves crash into the rocks of Leme beach.

Oikawa watches with utter fascination, seeing and feeling the rise and fall of your chest as he prolongs the pleasure his fingers can give you.

But he already misses how you sound when you lose control.

Without any warning, he increases his pace from tedious thrusts to ruthless ones.

Your clutch on his biceps almost hurts, but he really couldn’t give a shit when your moans start to seep out of your hand despite how hard you try to contain them. He can bet you’re not even aware that you’re already rolling your hips against his hand.

But it’s still not enough for him.

Luckily, he knows how to make things even better .

He flicks his tongue on a certain spot on your neck while rolling your nipple between his skilled fingers.

“Too much!” You bat your eyes open and face him, successfully unlatching his mouth from your neck. “Its too muuu aahhhh haaa. ” Your eyes instantly become cloudy as he makes sure that the base of his wrist rubs your clit while he continues ravaging your pussy with his fingers.

His cock is getting stuffed in his shorts with your back grinding against it as he witnesses you lose yourself with your mouth falling open as you whimper with wanton need for your release.

“To- hnnngg, tooouurist.”

Damn. For a moment, he thought you were going to moan his name. He would tell you right now but he kinda likes the idea that you’re a literal stranger allowing him to do vulgar things to you as he pleases.

Your feet leave the seams of the cloth you sat on as the pleasure stretches out to the tips of your toes, the coarse grains of sand getting stuck between as you curl them with your orgasm tingling too close.

The simultaneous stimulation of your most erogenous places is coercing you to let go.

“I’m gonna cum mmmppp.”

Then he withdraws his fingers completely, causing you to regard him wide-eyed with a confused look as he denies you of your high that was a thrust away from your reach. All the while, he just smiles pleasantly at you like he didn’t do anything wrong.

He takes his middle finger in his mouth while you watch him with both impatience and intrigue.

He gives it one thorough suck before sticks his tongue out and licks it, effectively making you wonder how it’d feel if he does what he just did directly on your pussy.

Then he turns to you with a naughty grin. “Why are you staring at me like that, ms local?”

Your eyes lingers on his fingers and tells him instead, “Put them back.” You can’t ask him to do what was just on your mind. The place isn’t right for it. But that’s just fine. His fingers prove to be good enough.

“You want me to put my fingers back in your pussy?” he reiterates your request haughtily.

You look down on the sand before you nod.

He hums on your nape while he inserts his hands back in your shorts, his fingers ghosting just above your slit. You buck your hip up to feel them but he retreats them when you do so.

Your mind is staggering from how much you want him to fill you up again with his digits. You look at him with your eyes begging him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He goes for your lips, kissing them passionately as he traces your slick opening. He plunges his tongue in the same time his fingers enter your cunt, easily pushing you at the very edge you were at earlier.  

Then stops again.

“Why?” You sound almost sulking, your foiled orgasm looming over you.

“Like you said earlier, ms local. I am trying to get you in bed.”

He presses his lips in your temples and drags them down back to your ear. “I don’t see any bed here. Do you?”

The sultry drawl of his voice makes you shiver, the ungratified ache in your groin making you succumb to him.

“My place is near,” you answer timidly.

“You’ll really take a stranger home?” He sneers at you, making you doubt your own decision. Yet, convinces you otherwise when he slowly rubs your clit again.

You shut your eyes and nod frantically with parted lips.

He takes his hands out of your shorts and cheerfully says. “Let’s go then.”

You fix your clothes before standing up to which he quickly follows. You take your canga and wrap it back again on your hips then picks up your empty can of beer. You plan to lead the way, but not even three steps away from where you were, he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to where you were.

He shoves you to the tree he was previously leaning on. Your hand flies to the trunk of it while he wraps one arm around your waist and pulls your ass against his erection, an entertained chuckle coming out of his lips.

“I lied, ms local.” He slides his other hand under your made up skirt, trailing his palm from the side of your knee up to your thigh.

“I didn’t want you in bed. I want you right here right now.”

He briskly tugs down your shorts while you worriedly grip his forearm, alarm evident in your orbs as he reveals his actual intention.

“We’re gonna get seen!” You warn with a cautious whisper while you look around to check for the possible presence of another.

He ignores you and hitches up the cloth hanging from your hips as he takes out his cock and traces it against your moist slit.

You drop the empty can as you drive your nails deeper in the tree with your eyes getting misty from the reminder of the little death he’s relentlessly and purposely deprived you of.

He leans over your back and reaches for your cheek with his lips, tenderly placing a kiss before speaking. “Then they’ll see a tourist with a local whore.”

Flames of fury spark in your eyes as you hiss at him. “You fucking asshole!”

He ignores your futile anger and grips his cock to align it on your entrance. He sees you try to keep up the resentful facade but you’re twitching wildly again for him to even take it seriously. He easily makes you crave for him again by grinding his shaft on the length of your cunt.

“I’m kidding, ms local. You’re too pretty and too interesting to be one,” he says with his lips latched on your shoulder.

“Do you even have a condom with you?” you ask exasperatedly.

“Nope. Should we stop and get one?” He asks back as he once again rubs his member on your opening.

“I.. uhh,” you mumble undecided even though you unknowingly just grinded against him.

He places featherlight kisses along your nape. “I promise to pull out. How about that?” His voice is delicate, persuading you to abandon your hesitation.

“Fine! Just make sure you do it right,” you firmly forewarn him, which he doesn’t even bother answering.

He begins to sink himself inside you, feeling your fluttering walls swallow his cock inch by inch.

“Shit, it’s so hot and tight inside you,” he groans.

Your knees buckle a bit as you cover your mouth with your palm this time. “You okay there?” he asks not out of concern but because he wants to entertain himself with how you sound when you’re trying so hard to keep the obscene sounds at bay.

You shake your head but your face is one deluged of sinful desires.

“But you look like you're enjoying this,” he pants as he’s starting to feel good too with how well you’re squeezing his cock. He closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder as he rams his length completely inside you.

“Fuccck,” he moans on your shirt while you deliver a muffled one on your palm, which he didn’t like.

He snakes his arm from your waist up to your chest once again, forcefully lugging down your bra that he hears it rip a little.

“I want to hear you feel good,” he says as he toys with your boob he wasn’t able to pay much attention to earlier.

In between struggling puffs, you manage to say, “I don’t wanna be heard uughhh.” You let out a suppressed whine as he pulls his cock back all of a sudden and languidly slides it back in.

“You’re lucky enough I’m allowing this,” you continue on.

“Make me luckier then,” he hums on your shoulder as he aggressively tugs the nipple poking at his palm.

“Gaaah!” You snap your head back, prompting him to softly bite the flesh of your throat you exposed to him.

“Yeaaah. You sound so hot, ms local. Just like that mmmm.” He originally planned to take his time with you, but shit, your pussy feels too good clamping on his cock like you’re already about to cum.

It’s taking all of him not to pummel his cock stupidly fast into you and sought his own pleasure.

“Faster, tourist. Fuck!” Your voice cracks at the last word you uttered from keeping it from being too loud.

Instead of quickening his pace, he stops moving at all. He needs a moment to regain control of himself despite how splendid your insides feel. He wants to tease you some more until you lose that fiery pride of yours. He finds it sexy, but it would be sexier if you drop it and desperately beg for him to fuck your brains out.

He lifts himself off your back and retrieves both his hands to skim them over the curve of your ass.

He kinda wonders what face you’ll make if slams one hand against the meaty flesh. Oh well. No need to wonder if he can just see it for himself right now.

The solid sting of his palm hitting against your skin pierces the quiet air of the shore, quickly followed by a sharp gasp from you that is just as audible.

Fuck, he put a little too much force on that one. He can see the pinkish mark he’s left on one cheek. He checks on you and expects a pained expression but what he finds is eyes lidded with intense carnal longing while panting heavily.

He looks around briefly, checking to see for any unwanted onlookers before landing another slap on your other ass cheek.  

Your hand grips his that just struck you as you turn your neck to look at him with utmost desperation he’s been wanting to see from you.

“Make me cum already,” you mumble with a wavering voice as you start moving on your own, wobbly withdrawing your hips and pushing them back against his cock.

The sensation in his shaft as you use it to give yourself pleasure is nowhere near enough for him, but he continues to stare at your cute attempt to make yourself cum.

“Please!”

Ahh, fuck. Yes. That should do it. You look just the right amount of pathetic he can get himself off to with satisfaction.

He plants both hands on your hips, holding them in place so he can give you what you vehemently begged for. He buries himself inside you in one swift thrust and repeats it again, and again, and again until he sets a steady rhythm.

You wretchedly grasp the tree again to support yourself as he does his way with you.

Harsh slaps of skin to skin contact can be heard, but he figures it won’t be heard from a distance.

“Ah, ahh, aaaahhhhhh!!”  You practically yelled out that last moan, causing him to lean over again and put a hand over your mouth.

“As much as I want you to- shiiit -hear you scream for me, I’d rather not be caught here,” he tells you in a raspy voice. He doesn’t know the laws in this country. He might get arrested for this if found. Their coach would probably take him off the starting roster as punishment if he gets in trouble because of this.

But fuck, you really feel unbelievably good. Even the vibrations of your stifled wails on his hand is an added stimulation for him.

Even he himself is having a hard time to keep his voice hushed as he feels his orgasm about to explode. He removes his hand away from your lips and replaces it with his mouth so he drowns out his groans as he swallows yours.

With his knee, he nudges your leg apart from the other as he dips his hand from your hip down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud ferociously to finally push you to your peak he previously kept on declining you to reach.

You start trembling beneath him so he wraps his other arm around your waist again to support you.

He pulls away a bit to look at you become undone and holy shit, you do not disappoint. You look so fucking pretty with your moist lips gaping as you puff while your eyes have completely surrendered to the sinful goodness he’s giving you.

“So good, so good, so fucking good uuhhhh,” you mewl shamelessly.

“Yeah? Gonna cum on a stranger’s cock?” He goads you even though he’s about to cum himself just to see if you still give a crap about that.

To his delight, you just nod thoughtlessly.

“Cumming, ahhh, A-“

He covers your mouth again with his before you’re able to let out a scream that will probably expose you two.

He feels too good that all your senses are filled with nothing but the intense carnal bliss as he batters the insides of your pussy by ramming his cock wildly into you without restraint, probably chasing his own high as well.

Your vision becomes a static blur as the coil in your stomach snaps viciously, making your whole body convulse with how intense you came. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d probably be a thrashing mess on the sand.

You hope that he keeps his word and pulls out because honestly, you just don’t have it in you anymore to stop him as he prolongs your orgasm by seeking his own.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he spews while his forehead rests on your spine as his thrusts become wilder and more erratic.

He takes out his cock a second before you feel hot spurts of liquid on your lower back accompanied by his hoarse grunts.

He unties the canga around your waist and uses it to wipe off the mess he made on your skin while you’re still holding on for your dear life on the tree.

“My legs,” you whine as they give out with exhaustion.

Thankfully, he catches you in time and releases the soiled clothing he used to wipe off his load. He pulls up your lower garments before he settles you back to how you two were seated a while ago, except it’s less compromising this time.

You’re all curled up within his grasp, still catching your breath from what just happened as he puts a hand on your forehead to make you rest against his heaving chest.

The sound of the waves, the blow of sea breeze, and the sand beneath your thighs are lulling you slowly back to the present, making you aware that you just had sex with a stranger, with a freaking tourist

“So,” he speaks first but you keep your eyes closed and pretend this is just one sexy dream then you’ll wake up in the morning and realize that you actually didn’t go out at this time.

“Ms. local, helllooooo?”

He’s obviously recovered based on the familiar, frivolous tone he had when he came out of the trees a while ago.

You sigh since you aren’t able to convince yourself enough that this is just a dream. The sex felt too good and too hot for it to be unreal.

“Do I finally get a name?”

You open your eyes and find him looking eagerly at you.

“No,” you respond immediately which visibly turns his excitement upside down.

You also discard your previous plan to get his name. There’s no way you’re telling Shoyo about this guy.

Sunshine || masterlist

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