#if you listen carefully you can almost hear her purr

[trixibebe]

oc x canon - Back scratchies on the beach :3

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓈- 𝕴𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓵𝔂⋆｡°✩ 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖜 - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕴

⋆｡°✩𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖝 ⋆｡°✩ Slow burn romance, female reader, small age gap (Fyodor is thirty, the reader is in her early twenties.) No Abilities AU, fluff. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 7.8k (A/N:  I genuinely was not expecting such a huge response to the first part of this fic. Literally, all the comments and tags have made my week ♡♡♡ ) ⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉⋆｡°✩ 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ An elegant melody fills your ears, your body trembling in response as the tune tickles your brain in a way nothing else can. Your shoulders seem to relax as each precisely, passionately played note soothes you down to the depths of your soul. The purrs of the old tabby on the other side of the table seem to grow louder, making the table tremble softly as he sleeps. You close your eyes for a moment, laying your head back, gold and black ballpoint pen gently laid on the dining table as you take the time to appreciate the song echoing through the small cottage fully, the scent of peppermint tea and the variety of flowers in the nearby vase teases your sense of smell. But something was missing from the melody. Of course, you were no musical expert. In your personal opinion, the cello was played immaculately. Elegantly. If allowed, you would sit here all day, warm cup of tea in hand listening to it being played. You can picture yourself lying in the grass, listening to the rustling branches overhead as the wind carries the melody. But something was missing. And for the life of you, you couldn’t put your finger on what that something was. Your eyes flutter open as you hear the piece coming to a graceful end. Scooting out of your chair, you head through the cozy candlelit cottage, and down towards the living room. There was no television. No radio or game consoles. A fireplace crackles nearby, warming the room up to a pleasant degree.

There are dustless spots on the mantle where it looks like a few picture frames or other treasured items once sat, along with an old Russian Orthodox cross hanging above said fireplace. An antique piano is against the wall, closest to the archway leading into the room. There’s a window seat to your right, but the curtains are drawn today. The author sits in the middle of the room on a padded, upholstered cello chair, facing the entry way. The fire crackles to his right, illuminating his figure in a warm yellow hue, the deep mahogany sheen of his cello reflecting the soft glow as he draws out the last note, pleasantly tickling your brain once more. You carefully step into the room, waiting for him to finish. His eyes are closed, his long lashes gently resting against his pale cheeks, shadowing his already dark-rimmed eyes. You offer a very gentle applause, his eyes slowly opening to gaze up at you through his long lashes. You notice a strong emotion in his eyes for a moment, but it’s gone too soon for you to recognize what emotion it could have been, hidden beneath his strands of raven hair. “That was beautiful,” you compliment, standing a few feet from Fyodor. He turns his body, gently propping his cello up on the stand to his left as you speak, “How long have you been playing the cello?” You notice Fyodor clenching his jaw momentarily as he looks away, a flicker of uncertainty filling your heart. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, “Since I was six. I wanted to play the cello as soon as I could.” Your eyes widen a little, “You did?” Fyodor still doesn’t meet your gaze, his eyes never leaving that of the cello at his side. He holds his bow as he nods softly, his voice much softer than you’re used to hearing from him, “I had a lot of time to dedicate to it as a child...” His fingers touch his bow softly and when he finally turns to look back at you, you see the warm nostalgia in his eyes. For a moment, it almost seems he wants to say something more.

But like a candle being puffed out, it’s gone in a millisecond. He gives you a stern look, his voice returning to that serious tone you’re used to, “Did you finish translating the chapters I gave you yet?” “Ah, I’m halfway done with chapter five…” Just like the second chapter, his writing had begun going on a long tangent again. It was already spanning on twenty translated pages, with many more left to go. On the positive, at least it was the male lead’s mother rambling on this time. That was some form of improvement, right? “I just needed to rest my wrist for a little while, carpal tunnel and all.” You held your wrist as if to demonstrate your point. Fyodor eyes you suspiciously but eventually, he huffs softly, “Very well then. But do not slack off too much. We have a deadline to meet.” You’re momentarily surprised. You’re almost tempted to ask why he allowed you to rest but out of fear of losing your break, you bite your lower lip, silencing yourself. Your gaze turns away from his as he focuses on tuning his cello. That’s when your eyes fall on the dusty white door against the far wall, almost hidden in the corner by the shadows cast by the looming fireplace and Fyodor along with his cello, only revealed now by him turning his body to the side. You could see the dust etched into the crevasses, in the complex door engraving that resembled a floral design. It is stunning that someone carved something so intricate and beautiful into a door. You chew the inside of your cheek as you squirm from foot to foot; that door looked important. Tucked away in the darkness like that, like a hidden treasure. You can feel the door practically calling to you, singing like a siren, begging you to just take a peek inside. Or maybe you were just overworked. 

But it tickled that child-like curiosity in the back of your mind. You could feel a part of you practically giddy at the thought of what could be hiding inside that door. 

What hidden secrets could it hold within? Was it filled from floor to roof with all of Fyodor’s other novels Vivian had told you about? Was it full of all his royalties from his previous books? What if it was the door to another world, full of wizards and dragons and–!

You shake your head, an amused huff leaving you; you were letting your imagination run too wild today. Maybe you shouldn’t have reread all those fantasy novels over the weekend. You sigh, walking towards the grand piano. Sliding out the dusty bench from beneath and patting away a fine layer of dust, you sit down, hoping to strike up some form of conversation with Fyodor. Your mind reels back to what Vivian had said.

He's been through a lot recently. 

You stare at Fyodor as he tweaks the strings of his cello carefully, tuning it without sparing you a glance. And as you do so, you begin to take him in fully. The way his large cloak practically devours his lithe form. He looks so fragile. His pale complexion. He's as pale as you imagined a vampire would be.

His eyes look more tired than usual, the dark circles seeming to have darkened further this past week. You wondered if he was taking care of himself. Was he eating right? Sleeping well? 

You had seen the Russian brew many pots of tea with nothing but the utmost of care and witnessed him enjoying each cup he drank. But you couldn't recall ever seeing him eat anything. ….He must be eating something, right? 

“What do you like to eat?” You blurt out suddenly. Fyodor blinks, looking back at you with narrowed, confused eyes. You sit up straight, thinking of an excuse surprisingly fast, “Sorry, I feel a bit peckish but I'm unsure what I feel like so…” 

You gaze at the cream-coloured floral patterned wallpaper, grimacing, a wave of embarrassment flooding through you. You can still feel Fyodor's eyes on you as if he was trying to peer into your being and pull out the true intentions behind your words.

Maybe you should just go back to–

“There is some fresh fruit in the refrigerator,” Fyodor's voice makes you look up. He's turned away again, back to fiddling with the strings of his cello, “If that does not suffice, there should be half a loaf of bread and some cheese you can have.” 

Maybe it was just because you were so used to Fyodor scowling and scolding you, but even this simple gesture felt really pleasant. You nod, standing up and straightening out the folds of your embroidered skirt.

“Ah…thank you,” you take a few seconds to compose yourself. The carpet muffles your footsteps as you move out of the living room, and back towards the kitchen.

The old tabby is sitting up, licking his paws as you step into the small, open-plan kitchen. He looks up at you, fading blue eyes cautious but fascinated as you move towards the one item in this entire cottage that couldn't be any less Fyodor if it tried.

The pastel pink fridge. It looks fairly new too, possibly only a year old. It was an anomaly amongst the smell of old books and the soft burning of candles. Even Fyodor’s work phone looked like it needed a senior’s discount card. But maybe there was more to Fyodor than you first thought.

Maybe he was the type of guy who loved cats and pastel pink. Perhaps he had an all-pink outfit that he was just dying to show off to you. You giggle softly at the thought, images of your stern boss dressed all in pink, scolding you for not completing your translating making you almost burst out laughing. As you open the fridge, your amusement quickly dies. 

It's almost barren. Considering your fridge is only home to a two-day-old Chinese takeaway box, a half-eaten block of cheese you found on special and some bottles of water, that’s saying something. The bright red apples catch your eye first. There's also a tub of margarine, an almost empty bottle of milk, a punnet of blackberries and not a half, but a quarter loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. Now you seriously had your doubts that Fyodor was eating much. This looked like it wouldn’t feed a mouse, let alone a grown man. But this would make do for the moment. Taking out the last of the bread, margarine and cheese, you make two simple cheese sandwiches. Placing them on a plate, you move on to washing a pair of apples and some blackberries. Once you’ve sliced the apples and added them and a few washed blackberries to the plate, you serve them in the middle of the table, moving Fyodor’s draft and your translations into the leather bag he usually kept them in. You refill both teacups with the still-warm peppermint tea before calling out, “Mr. Dostoyevsky, can you come here for a moment please?” As you sit at your place at the table, you listen to the sound of Fyodor’s footsteps as he approaches, his steps surprisingly light on the wood floor of the hallway and kitchen. His tired eyes lift in surprise as he takes in the sight before him. His gaze turns cautious, “What is this?” “It’s lunch,” you offer him a small smile, picking up your warm cup of tea. The tabby cat purrs, brushing against Fyodor’s arm the moment he steps close to the table. “I figured since I’m eating, I’d make you something too.” Fyodor scoffs, his eyes narrowing. His jaw clenches tightly, as though he is holding back the words he wants to say. You hear him inhale through his nose, his eyes closing for a moment. Then, he opens them, shaking his head. His Russian accent comes through much thicker as he mumbles, “You didn't need to do this.”

“I wanted to.” You say quickly once more without stopping to think. Your teacup clinks against the saucer as you place it down, backtracking quickly as Fyodor looks at you with a raised brow, one hand patting the top of the tabby’s head absentmindedly. “What I mean is I figured you would be hungry soon as well. So I figured why not kill two birds with one stone?” Once again, Fyodor stares at you as if trying to pull the truth from your eyes. You begin to shift, feeling a little uncomfortable under his gaze before he sighs. He moves towards the table, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pulls it out, sitting down, “Thank you.” You smile softly, an ember of warmth flickering in your heart as you watch the author nibble away at an apple slice. It may not be an extremely nutritious meal, but at least he was eating something. You could feel your shoulders relaxing, “You’re welcome.” ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵ “What about something like this?” Trixie spins around, showing off the beautiful emerald green dress she's selected for you. It’s short with a thin ribbon around the waist. Her smile is wide and bright as she twirls around a little, showing off the way the fabric sways, causing her teal jacket tied around her waist to sway with her movements, “I think it would look cute on you!” “Mmm,” you hum, clutching your coat tighter around your body. An earworm of a pop song is playing quietly over the speakers of the shopping centre. A few other customers around you, all going about their day as you eye the dress presented to you.  Although the dress was cute, its price made you hesitate: "I'm just browsing today. Maybe next time when I get paid." "But think about it!" Trixie insists as she follows you towards the sweaters that you've been eyeing, which are half-price - what a steal. She sways the dress once again and says, "This dress, along with that little black coat I have at home, would look great on you. A little bow here and there, and you'd look absolutely darling!" You chuckle softly, smiling at Trixie's excitement. She was a fashion connoisseur, always encouraging you to splurge a little if you could. “I do think it would be an adorable outfit,” you begin to reply, that dangling price tag and those frightened numbers printed on it preventing you from agreeing. You shake your head, resisting temptation. You pull yourself away before your resistance crumbles any further, “But I need to spend my money on something else this fortnight.” Trixie pouts, frowning a little before she puts the dress back. Her smile quickly returns as you gather a few of the reduced sweaters you had been eyeing since walking in. As you approach the cash register to pay, Trixie questions, "Is it wise to spend all your money on Mr. Grumpy after only knowing him for a week?" You let out a chuckle at the nickname. "Mr Grumpy". It certainly suited him well, given how often he scowled and scolded you. As you pay for your items, you respond, "Maybe it's true that he comes across as a grump sometimes, but if I cook for him, I can also cook for myself. It's a win-win situation." You thank the cashier, grabbing your bag as you and Trixie leave the boutique. As you and Trixie walk through the crowded mall, she reminds you that you don't know what he likes. It's a typical busy weekend, so you both have to navigate around other customers and head towards the food court for lunch. You can't help but worry about the possibility of the groceries going to waste if he doesn't like what you serve him. You frown, your eyes trailing down to the cold white tiles beneath your ankle-high boots. That was something you were very nervous about. Especially since you lived on a diet of microwave meals and fast food. You attempted to bring up the discussion about his preferred foods again when you finished translating the fifth chapter. He had given you a side glance, telling you not to bother him while he was writing.

The next day, you both were back outside, despite how cold it was beginning to get. Throughout the period, Fyodor was engrossed in working on the drafts for the upcoming chapters. You could still hear the sound of his pen scratching on the paper in your mind.

Meanwhile, you struggled to translate with trembling hands and chattering teeth, yearning for the comfort of his cottage. You felt like he’d done that just to stop you from asking again. As you slowly look up, preparing to scan the food court to decide what to get, your eyes catch the bold letters of a familiar bookstore. You gasp, your eyes twinkling a little, and a smile breaks onto your face as you nudge Trixie. "Hey, you didn't tell me they opened a larger store." Trixie gives you a playful side-eye, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to spend your entire first paycheck on books. I thought I’d convince you to get a cute outfit first, some make-up or shoes for your new job–” She follows you as you begin making your way towards the store, an excited hop in your step. You hear her give an amused sigh as trails behind you, mumbling, “--But I guess we can say au revoir to your pay now.” "I just want to take a quick look," you insist, feeling irresistibly drawn to the store despite knowing how much money you've spent there before. You start walking faster, leaving Trixie trailing behind, until you finally step inside. The various smells and sights overwhelm you, sending waves of nostalgia through your body. It’s a lot busier compared to the smaller store you typically go to closer to your apartment. A few children are running around and playing between the isles as their mother tries to draw their attention in with a book, flipping between colourful pages as she tries to catch their eyes. You notice a small group of young women in one section, holding books and debating which ones they should get quite loudly as they flip through each book, fanning the pages with their fingers. Meanwhile, there's an older gentleman near the back who's struggling to read the blurb on the back of the book he's tugged off the shelf. He's patting his pockets for his glasses. You can hear more people between the other isles and for a moment, murmuring and giggling. Some even excitedly discuss the books they’ve found. You’re almost tempted to come back later. But the moment the smell of new books hits your nose, along with a hint of a coffee-inspired fragrance from the oil diffuser, you’re drawn back in. Maybe Trixie was right to not bring you here. You could already hear your debit card screaming for mercy in your purse. Speaking of, she sighs as she catches up to you, looking around with a click of her tongue. “Look at that. Books. Almost as many as you still have stored at my place.” She teases, making you nudge her with a grin. "I'm just here to browse," you insist, but your best friend gives you a sceptical glance. You scoff and reach into your bag, pulling out your purse and handing it to her with a smug smile to prove your point. She pockets it, but she still doesn’t seem to believe you, “I give it five minutes.” You scoff again, shaking your head as you begin to move about the store. You slip between other customers, making sure to not disturb anyone as your eyes scan every shelf, every book, new and old alike. This is like your own little piece of heaven on earth. Your own perfect paradise. Though your eyes do linger on the latest releases just a little longer. You move closer to the nearby bookshelf, your heart aching the moment your hands glide over one book in particular.

It looks like a short story for children, judging from the pastel sky and the cartoon unicorn on the cover. The stars in the unicorn’s mane glimmer faintly. On the front of the book there is a sticker that informs potential buyers that every dollar from each sale will be donated to a foundation for abused children. You are about to open the book when--

“You said you weren’t purchasing anything,” Trixie playfully comments, causing you to jerk your hand back as though the book had burnt you. She gives you a playful grin as you shrug. “There’s nothing wrong with admiring the covers!” You insist, grinning back at her as you slide into the next aisle, placing your hand over your aching heart.

As you round the corner, you were expecting to find the Young Adult section right ahead of you. However, to your surprise, you walked straight into the non-fiction aisle instead.

There were all sorts of books on display, from true crime to language books to history books. Although you have dabbled with non-fiction just as much as you have with fiction, you still have a preference for the latter. As you walk the aisle, you scan the shelves, keeping an eye out for any interesting covers when one does catch your eye. You’re passing by the cookbooks when you see a book with the title ‘Classic Russian Meals.’ At once, your promise is tossed out the window as you grab the cookbook, flipping through it swiftly. This…yes, this could be just what you need! Triumphantly, Trixie tells you "I knew you'd cave, bookworm." You plead with her, your eyebrows furrowed. “I have to make an exception for this.” You reply, closing the book and holding it tight to your chest. Trixie’s look becomes more curious as she listens to you. “This cookbook is just what I need." Trixie gives you an unsure look, but you know she’s never been able to resist your pleading. She sighs, reaching into her bag and passing you back your purse.

You grin widely as you hurry away to get in line to pay for it. She joins you a few moments later while you scan through the pages until it’s your turn. You hand the book to the owner, who smiles warmly and asks if you'd like a bag. "That will be $90," she says. You are taken aback as you hear the price. Ninety dollars? It's more than what you had budgeted for. You feel disappointed and disheartened as you realize that you won't be able to buy the book. It could have been a great boon to have, but unfortunately, you have to pass on it. You apologize and inform the seller, "I'm sorry but I can't afford--" Suddenly, a hand with freshly manicured and painted teal nails brushes past you as Trixie places her debit card on the reader. A small green tick appears on the tiny screen as she beams brightly, grabbing the heavy cookbook and passing it over to you.  “No bag today, thank you.” You hold onto your new cookbook tightly as she leads you out of the store. You look up at her with gratitude, and say, "Trix, thank you so much for doing this for me. You really didn't have to." You give the book a tight hug, a warm smile on your face, although you feel a little guilty. Trix waves her hand dismissively, smiling kindly at you. She warmly replies, "You know you're like a sister to me." Then, she grins mischievously and adds, "And who knows, if you master that cookbook, maybe the words on the back of the book will come true~" You frown as you flip the book over to read the blurb. You scan each paragraph until you find it. It’s right at the bottom in bold, white letters, “The perfect gift for any wife!” You can’t help but grin in amusement as you teasingly bump your hip against Trixie’s. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny, Trix.”

She giggles and nudges you back. Her voice is playfully mischievous as she replies, “What? I happen to think Mrs. Grumpy suits you~" ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵

There was one problem with your entire plan. You hadn’t taken into account transporting all of these groceries to Fyodor’s cottage. It was close to sundown when you caught the bus that would take you from the mall to the bus stop closest to the woods where Fyodor’s cottage was located. During the initial bus trip, you noticed that some people were giving you odd stares. Some young children who were below the age of four approached you to see if you had any sweets to share. Additionally, an older woman started to badger you about why you didn't take your husband along with you and ended up lecturing you about your lack of spouse. The bus driver sends you a worried glance as you leave the bus carrying an entire fortnight’s worth of groceries for two and a very thick, heavy cookbook, the heavy scent of diesel causing you to cough and shake as you begin your trek to the cottage. You hoist them along the familiar forest path you’ve taken many times now as the birds seem to stop singing the moment you enter. Perhaps even the little sparrows and drongos were shocked to witness you heaving several bags of shopping along by yourself. The trees rustle, causing a cascade of orange leaves to shower upon you. You felt like the tree was supporting you in your struggle. Or maybe it was mocking you. Either way, a few leaves weren’t going to get these bags to Fyodor’s. As you continue on your way, you catch a glimpse of the orange tabby cat as it disappears over the old, rickety fence and up a small flight of cobblestone steps, brushing against the legs of an old, heavy-set woman. “Oh, dear!” Her voice is thick with a heavy Russian accent. It’s thicker than Fyodor’s. She turns her head back inside of her home, calling out to someone else in Russian. A few moments later, a balding older man appears by her side. You’re a little surprised as they approach the rickety fence separating their small cottage from the cobblestone path, warm smiles on their aged faces, though the woman looks a bit more concerned for you. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be dragging all this uphill by yourself dearie.” She looks towards her husband as she fixes her glasses, nodding, “Dima, help her, will you? Where are you going with all these bags?”

You shift a little awkwardly, smiling politely as the elderly gentleman with a greying beard approaches you, preparing to take a few bags off your hands. You appreciate the help but you didn’t want to strain this poor old man with your heavy bags. So you give him the lighter bags, “Oh thank you so much, you didn’t have to,” you reply gratefully, handing over a few bags before adding, “To the heart of the forest. You know, that little cottage near the lake.” The elderly woman gasps in delight. “You’re taking them to Fedyka? Oh isn’t that lovely, Dima?” Her hazel eyes gleam with the joy of a mother hearing that her child has made a friend. Her husband, Dmitry, gives a huff of approval. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man. She clasps her hands together, smiling widely at you. “I hope he isn’t making you do all the cooking dearie. You make sure he helps out a little okay?” Your smile relaxes a little as you giggle, fixing your grip on the last shopping bags you’re holding while clutching the cookbook closer to your chest, “Yes ma’am–” “Oh sweetheart, there’s no need for that,” she gives a hearty laugh as she straightens out her apron over the top of her dress, giving you a polite nod, “You can just call me Olya dearie. Now you tell Fedyka to come and pay us a visit! You can both come along! We would be more than happy to have you, wouldn’t we Mitya?” “Yes Olya.” Dmitry finally responds. He turns his light blue eyes towards you, nodding softly with a smile, “It would be lovely to have both of you around.” You squirm in place, smiling politely. While you were a translator and you knew how to translate written Russian, you still couldn’t understand it very well when it was spoken. More so, you still struggled to understand people whose accents were a bit thicker, like Dmitry’s. You give a small smile and nod, “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Olga looks at the sunset sky, then back to you two, “We’ll work something out. Now you two best be on your way; it’s almost nightfall. Take good care of her and Fedyka, won’t you darling?” You give a very polite bow as you continue on your path, Dmitry at your side. You smile happily as you hear the birds around you starting to sing again as they fly for their nests for the evening. Fyodor didn't mention his sweet neighbors. Dmitry was friendly but hard to understand when wound up, his accent coming through much heavier the more passionate he got. As you proceed along the cobblestone path, dusted with what was likely one of the last batches of Autumn leaves, he talks to you. A grin on his face is vibrant, despite his age. His voice is slightly raspy as he speaks poetically to you about the nature surrounding you both. You offer smiles and polite nods, not daring to mention that you have no idea what he’s saying outside of a few words here and there. He turned out to be more talkative than you initially expected. Passing through the white archway, you notice a pair of doves on the outdoor table, cooing loudly yet beautifully to one another. A bonded pair, it seemed.

Your heart warms at the sight as yours and Dmitry’s approach sends them fleeing the scene, white feathers standing out boldly against the vivid kaleidoscope of warm colors draped beautifully overhead. You approach the cottage door, placing the groceries you’re carrying down to rasp your knuckles against the wood delicately. You wait a few seconds, expecting Fyodor to open the door.

But he doesn’t. Huh. That’s odd. You look around, listening out for any movement when you hear an upset cat for a heartbeat. You gasp quietly. It must be the tabby. So, you knock a second time. Maybe Fyodor had just been wrapped up in his writing and didn’t hear you the first time. Maybe he even fell asleep on his draft. He did look quite exhausted when you were last here. You shift from foot to foot as you chew the inside of your cheek. You were starting to worry now. This wasn’t like Fyodor at all. You considered the possibility that he had gone somewhere. Fyodor seems like a homebody but surely there are people he visits from time to time? Or maybe he goes on walks to get ideas for his novels? You consider asking Dmitry if he knows where Fyodor could have gotten to, but you’re worried about stressing the elderly man. Nor do you want to let on that you have no idea where he could be.

You consider calling his phone but knowing him, it’s likely still sitting in his drawer on silent after Vivian called on Friday. “It’s a needless distraction.” You’re getting close to trying to find a back entrance. Or maybe trying to break in through a window. But as they say, the third times the charm right? You lift your hand, your knuckles rasping against the wood once, twice and then, the door finally opens with a loud creak. Your eyes widen in surprise; Fyodor looks like death. His bloodshot eyes turn up, meeting your gaze as you stand before him, hands clutching tight back around the bags of groceries. His arm seemed to hang by his side like it was weighted down by bricks, his hand barely keeping its grip on the door knob. It’s been a day. How does he keep looking worse and worse? He almost seemed to be leaning against the door frame as his messy hair clings to his face, his typically distant eyes look at you apathetically as they slowly scan you and Dmitry by your side.

His eyes seem to widen faintly at the sight of the elderly man with you. His lips turn upwards in a small smile that seems to lack energy, “My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His dark eyes penetrate your gaze as you look up, offering a half-hearted smile as you lift the shopping bags off the ground, making them rustle faintly. “Your fridge was empty when I was here Friday, so I figured I’d fix that for you Mr Grumpy–” The name leaves your lips before you can stop it. “Mr. Grumpy…?” Fyodor repeats your words slowly as if taking the time to digest them. You freeze in place, clutching the shopping bags tighter as your heart drops. You swallow roughly as you try to think of a good response. You can’t tell how Fyodor feels about you calling him that as his brow quirks curiously but his eyes remain blank. You wanted to find a hole and bury yourself in it. You seemed to love testing fate and risking your employment, it seemed. Suddenly, a raspy chuckle comes from your right. Blinking in surprise, you turn towards Dmitry, noticing the amused grin on his face. His light blue eyes fill with amusement as he speaks to Fyodor in a warm tone, “Mr Grumpy! That name suits you when you go around scowling all the time, Fedyka! But my, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Not since–” “It has been a while yes,” Fyodor gently interrupts the older man as the tabby cat curls between Fyodor’s legs, stepping out of the cottage with an old meow. Dmitry chuckles, placing the shopping bags he’s holding down as he crouches, scratching the cat’s chin. "Итак, Господин Толстой наконец-то добрался до дома, не так ли ?" He scratches behind the tabby cat’s ear and under his chin as he speaks to him, scratching the elderly cat’s greying chin fur, "Уже давно пора. Я уверен, Федька скучал по тебе" You pause, frowning a little as your mind reels, trying to understand at least some of the words Dmitry had said. You purse your lips and slowly look towards Fyodor, a curious look in your eyes. “The cat’s name is Tolstoy?” You ask. Fyodor gives a muffled chuckle, a near-praising look in his bloodshot eyes. "That's correct," he confirms with a nod, his lips curling up into a small smirk. "You seem to be getting better at understanding spoken Russian. Maybe if you keep it up, we'll soon be able to have full conversations in Russian instead of English."

Your brow raises; did Fyodor just tease you? His smirk grows as he steps out of the cottage, walking closer to you, “Allow me.”

He reaches out, taking a few of the bags you’re holding. You slide the handles for a few of the bags into his fingertips when he suddenly murmurs, “--Experience the flavours of Russian cuisine–” You gasp, quickly pulling back. A small chuckle escapes Fyodor’s lips, his smirk growing. Though it doesn’t stretch as wide as you’re use to, “A Russian cookbook, hm? Now why would you have that Огонёк​?”

You step back, holding the book to your chest like it was the most valuable treasure you owned. You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Your secret surprise had been foiled. Dmitry chuckles again, replying for you, “You know what they say. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach! That’s how my Olya hooked me!” Fyodor chuckles, turning his gaze towards Dmitry. There’s a look of familiarity and a twinkle of warmth every time his gaze crosses the old man’s, “I believe she is just trying to make sure I don’t expire before I can finish my novel.”

Dmitry laughs a little harder at Fyodor’s words, a chilly breeze brushing past the three of you. Tolstoy gives a small, upset sounding mewl as he scurries back inside. Fyodor watches him as he steps aside, allowing access to his cottage to you and Dmitry, “Come. The wind is beginning to pick up. And I do believe it is time for dinner.”

You allow Dmitry to enter first before following behind him. You hear Fyodor almost whisper behind you in a tired tone, "You couldn’t have chosen better timing if you tried, Огонёк." ✩

“Are you certain you know what you’re doing?” “Yes.” Your response comes quite quickly. Fyodor gives a huff of amusement as he finishes tucking the last of the groceries away in the fridge. He knows you’re lying. Not just by the way your nose is scrunched up or by your annoyed tone. But because you’re holding the knife backwards. You're attempting to cut into a carrot with the dull side of the knife. He finds it amusing but fascinating. He closes the fridge door as he approaches you, watching as the knife slides off the sides of the carrot as you huff in annoyance. “Are you certain?” He asks again, his voice calm and curious, despite the amusement in his eyes. He reaches out, gingerly grasping the knife’s black handle. You look up at him, a look of stubborn annoyance on your face that reads ‘I can do it.’ He turns the blade around, the sharp end now facing the carrot as he places it back into your hand. His hand slowly curls around yours as he nods, his voice serious, “Curl in the fingers on your other hand or you risk not just cutting the carrot.” He watches as you do so before gently guiding your hand, his cold fingers wrapping around your warm hand, the blade slicing cleanly through the carrot with his guidance, removing the top. He guides you twice more before pulling back, satisfied that you can handle it from here. He moves back towards the pink carnation teapot, filling it with boiling water from the kettle, and dropping the tea infusion cage inside.

He turns his head faintly. He can hear Dmitry talking to Tolstoy in the living room along with the papers of his draft being shuffled and likely read, he assumed. He turns his gaze back to you. You were more observant than Fyodor had first predicted. That was good. For the sake of his novel at least. But he worried how far your observant eye had led you. Did you really just notice the lack of food in his fridge, or did you also take in the way he held himself like his body was forcefully being dragged down by invisible hands?

Did you notice how sloppy his handwriting was? How weakly he was holding his pen? Did you see the ink blots on the pages where he had held the pen too long?

He narrows his eyes, watching as you scoop up the carrot chunks, dropping them into the broth boiling on the stove top before you speak up, “That’s the carrots done. Now the chicken.” Fyodor continues to observe you as you go about slicing the chicken next, tossing the chunks into a small bowl. Although the pieces are much too thick, he doesn’t mention it. He would help correct the mistake soon. Instead, he asks in a serious voice, “Were you not taught the basics of cooking as a child?” He sees you bite the inside of your cheek. You’d taken offence to his question. Perhaps he should have worded it differently.

You’re quiet until you finish slicing the first chicken breast, “I was taught how to make instant noodles and coffee.” You reply, grabbing the next chicken breast. He watches the knife glide through it as you speak, “My father was normally far too busy to cook. So we lived on takeaway and instant noodles most of the time.” Fyodor blinks. You had no experience cooking? And yet you had gone out of your way, purchasing a cookbook and the ingredients just to feed him? He goes silent, processing this information. You were strange. A puzzle he couldn't decipher. He feels a sensation rising in his chest, that familiar warmth flickering in his heart, like a lighter trying to ignite but unable to get the full spark. “Let’s focus on making your first home-cooked meal edible then,” Fyodor replies as he steps closer to you. He slides open the cutlery drawer, grabbing a second knife to slice the chicken chunks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. He nods at you, “Make the rest of the pieces smaller too.” He sees you nod as you go about correcting your mistake, making the pieces more bite-sized and manageable. Once he’s sure you have that under control, he begins working on the onion. Cutting off the root and peeling the skin back, he begins cutting the onion when he hears your question, “What about you? You seem to know what you’re doing so I assume—” “Yes, I was taught how to cook growing up,” he replies softly but quickly, interrupting you, the sound of his knife tapping against the cutting board filling the silent spaces in between, “Mother and I always cooked together, from the moment I was old enough to help her.”

He feels a wave of nostalgia rushing through his tired body before it coils around his heart like a string of barbed wire, cutting so deeply into his heart he almost winces physically. He breathes in, deeply but silently as he keeps cutting the onion, sliding the pieces into a container nearby. He notices you finishing up with the chicken pieces before you pause, hands pressed against the countertop as you mumble, your tone sounding melancholic. “That sounds nice.” Silence seemed to fall over the room as you double-checked the cookbook, adding the necessary herbs and spices into the broth as he stepped back, giving you space to work. He knows you have to make mistakes to learn from them, but he feels a tug in his chest to guide you. He gives a silent huff before turning his attention to the teapot. Right. He’d almost forgotten to serve Dmitry some tea. After checking over your progress one last time, he gathers the hot pot of steaming black tea, along with two teacups on an antique silver tray before he heads for the living room. Dmitry is sitting on the window seat, near where Fyodor had set up a fold-out table to work on his novel for the afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun illuminate the older man’s form as he gives Fyodor a warm, fatherly smile. He puts Fyodor’s draft to the side so he can place the tray down on the table, “I apologise for the delay, my assistant needed me. Will you be joining us for dinner, Mitya?” “I would love to,” he replies while Fyodor begins filling the cups. “But I have a meal waiting for me at home. My Olya too.” He chuckles as he lifts the teacup, taking a slow sip. Fyodor turns, grabbing the upholstered chair from nearby.

He sits across from the elderly gentleman as a raspy chuckle rolls off his tongue. “I was starting to think we wouldn’t get the chance to sit like this again.” He looks up at Fyodor, teacup clinking against it’s saucer as he places it back down, his light blue eyes carefully looking Fyodor over for a few moments, his brow furrowing with worry, “But my, you’re looking a little worse for wear. Has your manuscript been keeping you that busy?” “You could say that,” Fyodor replies, sipping gently on his tea. The warm liquid soothes his aching body as he sighs softly, holding the teacup carefully. Dmitry keeps a close eye on the younger man, a look of sympathy on his face.

Fyodor knew he was starting to put the pieces together. The true reason for his exhaustion. Dmitry was a smart man after all. But rather than pressing, Dmitry nods towards the archway, his smile growing a little, “I have to say, Olya and I were surprised when we saw that young lady. I thought you would never need an assistant?” Fyodor scoffs slightly when he's reminded of his previous statement, causing Dmitry to chuckle. “This is a different situation.” He takes another sip of his tea before speaking once more. “She is merely here to help translate the book for an international audience. Nothing more.”

“But you’re writing a romance novel, yes? Haven’t you thought about asking for a woman’s opinion on love and romance? It may prove beneficial to your novel.” “No.” His reply is short and blunt as his teacup finds it’s place back on it’s saucer. “Because she is here just to help with translations. I do not need any help when it comes to writing my novel.”

He sits back, getting comfortable as Tolstoy begins circling his feet. “I have written enough novels to know what I am doing.” “Ah but our Fedyka has never been in love, has he?” His smile grows softer, his eyes glowing with warmth. “Writing about love is no easy task. Not when it is such a complex emotion. Writing the words is one thing, but experiencing it is something entirely different.” “Then I should come to you and Olya for help, shouldn’t I?” There’s a pause. Then, Dmitry starts to chuckle. He rises slowly from his chair, using the wall nearby for support as he stands, grinning in amusement at Fyodor. “I thought you knew what you were doing, Fedyka?”

A huff of amusement leaves Fyodor as he smiles faintly. Giving one last hearty laugh, Dmitry reaches over, patting Fyodor on the shoulder. “Don’t give the girl too much trouble, you hear?” He gives his shoulder a squeeze before he takes his leave. Fyodor stays in his seat, watching as Dmitry leaves, a hum on his lips. Tolstoy leaps onto his lap, purring, his hand instantly moving to scratch the cat’s chin. He hums quietly, eyes narrowing slightly as he dwells on Dmitry’s words, his eyes transfixed on the honey-coloured liquid in his cup. A complex emotion, huh... “Hey.” Your voice shakes him from his thoughts. He looks up at you, standing in the archway of the living room with a smile that causes that flicker of warmth to glow in his heart once more, “I need a hand with the soup. Um...do you mind?” He pauses. Then he offers a faint smile in return as he stands. Tolstoy gives an annoyed mewl as Fyodor walks towards you, following you towards the kitchen.

He was a little worried about how your first homecooked meal was turning out but a part of him had some faith in you. You just needed a helping hand.

⋆｡°✩𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘⋆｡°✩ * Огонёк: Little Light * "So, Mister Tolstoy has finally made it home, hasn't he? It's long overdue. I'm sure Fedyka missed you." Dividers: @/saradika

[foulbearobservation]

The possibilities of Lilith being able to talk inside Camila’s head and making her feel so much when she touches her are endless and I’m dying here

"Stop thinking so loud."

Lilith's voice, echoing only in her mind in the predawn hours, makes Camila reach over and slap the other woman ineffectually. "Stop listening to my thoughts, weirdo."

The faintest ghost of a smile as Lilith catches Camila's hand, presses a kiss into the soft part of her wrist. "I'm not listening, it's just that you get buzzy when you're nervous."

"Nervous? I'm not nervous!" Camila says, ignoring anxiety that's been building in her gut all morning.

A scoff, a soft bite to the inside of her wrist. "Of course, and I'm Joan of Arc. I can't hear your thoughts but you sound like a beehive."

Camila rolls over, looking at Lilith for the first time in the pre dawn light. Lilith lays back relaxed, one hand propping herself up, the other lazily manipulating Camila's hand into position to receive a series of soft kisses. "I feel like you're being too calm about this."

Lilith stalls, mouth hovering over an old scar, one Camila gave herself when she was learning to shoot a crossbow. "Why should I not be calm?" A glint of mischief alights in her eyes. "You pretty much fucked all other emotions out of me."

Camila takes her hand out of Lilith's grip to slap at her chest again. Lilith lets her chew on her thoughts a while longer. Camila's eyes skate around the room, her cell, technically.

She'd thought the term was funny, at first, because Cat's Cradle was the first time she ever felt truly free.

But.

In light of what she and Lilith have done, it sort of feels like the walls are closing in on her. She's been disowned by everyone she's ever loved, she doesn't know if she could take it if Mother Superion—

A sharp bite to her wrist brings her back to the bed, where she lays half on top of another woman, fully naked, after having some truly mind blowing sex. In a church. Where she is a nun.

It doesn't help the anxiety, actually.

She gets why Lilith called her a beehive.

A hand comes up, taps on The Cross and brings her fully back to the present.

"Breathe with me." Lilith's voice comes not through her ears, but through that buried connection between them. Her hand falls to Lilith's sternum, which rises and falls with even breaths.

"Lily I—"

"Don't worry about it right now," Lilith purrs, "just let me take care of you."

Lilith's hands skate their way carefully down Camila's body and Camila reacts by burying her head into Lilith's neck. In a way it's only fair, if Lilith plays her like a fiddle using her neck then she can definitely do it in return.

She melts like this, lured back down to something resembling calm by the other woman.

Lilith's long fingers splay out over her stomach. "Don't toy with me Lilith."

"I would never." Lilith's almost affronted voice rumbles at the back of her neck. "I would never toy with you."

Those damned long fingers stay stationary as Lilith continues. "I was simply going to say that you look gorgeous like this, hovering over me."

Camila rolls her eyes. "Charmer." She responds out loud, too keyed up to properly think about how the fuck Lilith is doing this right now.

Lilith's eyes gleam. "I want to test something."

"oh you're a scientist now?"

A truly spectacular roll of her eyes. "I want you to sit on my face while I sweet talk you," she gestures vaguely between their heads, "through the bond or whatever we're calling it."

Camila arches an eyebrow. "And you want to see what you can do when your mouth is... otherwise occupied?"

A full blown grin now. "I want to see how hard I can make you come by talking to you like you want me too."

"Jesus Christ"

"I thought you didn't want to bring up that guy right now."

A fond eye roll. "Don't you have better things to be doing with your mouth right now?"

[no-one-at-all75]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do a sfw fic with cypher and a fem wife reader where she very obviously has a thing for his hands and maybe him teasing her about it

Thank you for reading my request, have a nice day!

It’s so cute and wholesome I couldn’t wait to write it!! Of course I can do this for you anon, it would be my pleasure :)

Keep Your Hand in Mine (Female Reader)

Cypher x Reader fluff

Words: 894

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

You were perfectly positioned. Your legs were curled up underneath you, a blanket sprawled on your lap and legs, and a good book in your hands. You read in the warm glow of your fairy lights that you begged your husband to put up for the, as he puts in air quotes, “aesthetic”. You let out a small sigh as you turn the page, your arm rising from its comfortable position against the side of the couch as you flip the fragile paper to uncover unread words. You lean your head on your hand as you continue to read. A sudden dip in the soft cushion makes you glance over to see a smiling face holding a steaming cup of your favorite tea. You give him a small smile and close your book, making sure the book mark is in its place. You carefully take the hot mug into your small hands and give an excited smile as you stare at the amber liquid. You can hear your husband chuckle at your antics as you take a small sip. The burn never felt so good and you let out a small mewl in delight. His chuckle deepens with your mewl.

“My love, the sounds you make are so cute.” He says as he nuzzles into your neck. The tickle of his stubble makes you scrunch your nose trying to hide your tickle spot. You pull away from him and look into his deep brown eyes. His head falls since you moved away from him making him fall into your lap. You giggle as you set the steaming cup on the small side table, being careful not to spill it. Amir readjusts and is facing upward, his head still in your lap. You look down at him softly, your hands making their way to his hair to play with his dark brown locks. He closes his eyes in delight and almost purrs.

“And you say my sounds are odd, you’re literally purring Amir.” You point out. His face quickly bunches together, his eyebrows knitting and his eyes opening. A playful smile adorns his face.

“None like you my love, my life.” He says as he gets up and makes himself comfortable next to you. He places an arm behind you pulling you into his chest. You lean in and take one of his hands into both of yours.

You then start your little routine. You measure your hand against his, noting how small yours is in comparison. He slightly curls the tops of his fingers to meet yours. You then take every single finger and rub them, giving each one a personal message. He leans his head back on the couch, fully sinking into the hand massage. You carefully put that hand down and pick up his other one and do the same routine.

“My love.” Amir groans out. His voice gravely due to him being so relaxed. You let out a small hum to let him know you are listening. “Why do you play with my hands so much?” He questions. You smile to yourself and play with his wedding ring, slowly turning it around his finger. The gold shining brightly even in the warm light.

“I play with your hands because I like them.” You answer innocently. He raises his head up and gives you a questioning look. You give him a soft, adoring look back. Looking at him like he is the best thing in the world. His eyes soften and he takes one of his hands from you and places it on the side of your face, cupping it slightly. You lean into his touch, your eyes still full of love for your husband. He then melts under your gaze.

“‘Because I like them’.” He says in a higher voice slightly mocking you. You giggle and look down, your hands finding the other one. He also chuckles and tries to find your eyes again.

“I do Amir. I love your hands. I don’t know why but…” your sentence drifts away as you carefully take his other hand into yours again. Your fingers gently circle the callouses he has gained from work. They work their way around to different scars we has adorned on his skin, your fingers rubbing them slightly almost trying to get them healed. You look back up at him and find his face giving you a look that you know very well. One that says ‘continue your sentence please’. You give him a small smile and continue while looking into his brown eyes.

“But I love them. And I love you.” You lean in and give him a peck on the lips. He smiles against your peck and leans in a bit more to try and get more of your kiss. You pull back and feel his other hand come up to your face to cup the other cheek. You then put one of your hands on his wrist, gently wrapping your small fingers around. He slightly squishes your face between his hands which makes you giggle and him chuckle at your now squeezed face.

“Ah my love.” He calls as he lets go of your face. Your face almost looks disappointed, missing his warmth. He then quickly gives you a peck on your lips making you smile. “What did I do to deserve a wife like you.”

[bussyvesmut]

Mafia Ryujin - pt1

ryujin has one rule. don't get involved in her business. Usually, the thought of knowing what she gets up to as a crime lord doesn't interest you, but tonight a fight with yeji caught your attention, ryujin sounds pissed. trying to get a gist of what all the commotion is about you carefully rest your ear on the slightly ajar door, "I don't care what you do, just get rid of him, and if that's too hard for you to do, I'll do it myself." she directs to yeji, with a quiet "yes boss" you hear yeji head for the door. before you get the chance to move away you stumble right at the feet of yeji. with almost pleading eyes not to tell ryujin you look up at yeji through the hair that has fallen into your face. sensing that yeji still hasn't left, ryujin looks up, and then down at the floor where yeji is looking at you, with a helping hand yeji helps you to your feet and quickly leaves, leaving you alone with a very angry-looking ryujin. with an angry nod of the head, ryujin ushers you over in front of her large mahogany desk. you were standing there for a while, looking down at your feet, before ryujin speaks up in a harsh whisper "were you eavesdropping?" "no i-" you stutter back, you were cut off by the sound of ryujins boots as she saunters towards you around her large desk until she is standing just inches in front of you when she says "there's no point lying to me baby, I can see right through you", a hot blush rises onto your cheeks as you feel her hot breath on your face, tickling your forehead. not knowing where to look, your eyes stay fixated on the ground. Finally, you muster up the courage to speak up "I'm really sorry ryujin, i know you don't like it when i get involved in your wor-" " and yet you did just that. I've told you before if you can't listen to my clear instructions there would be punishments" she said menacingly before you could say anything else, she pushes you up against her desk "and quite frankly I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses" she smirks lifting onto her desk, knocking things over in the process. Kissing you harshly, she pushes you back onto the desk, resting her hands on your thighs, pushing your skirt further up to your waist, her cold rings causing goosebumps to cover every inch of your exposed skin, "open" she demands, forcefully spreading your legs open, causing you to blush more at the thought of ryujin seeing you so exposed. 

ryujin smirks, liking seeing you so embarrassed, "so pretty" she whispers, licking her lips as she slowly lowers herself down so she can see your lace panties, she starts pressing hot, wet kisses starting from your knees, slowly making her way up to your thighs, grazing her teeth against your sensitive skin, until her face is just inches away from your pussy, teasingly, she drags her long fingers up your thigh until they reach the hem of your panties, lightly snapping the elastic against your skin, causing you to gasp airily and ryujin to smirk. slowly, ryujin starts to slowly pull down your panties, leaving them to fall at your ankles, realising how exposed you are, you slam your legs shut until you hear ryujin tut "uh-uh, open them". reluctantly, you do as she says "there's a good girl" she purrs as she presses a small kiss against your skin and slowly drags her tongue up along your inner thigh, she stops for a moment and presses your legs further apart, spreading your pussy open. "hmm? already so wet" she hums amusedly, embarrassed, you squeeze your eyes shut "it's like your begging for me to touch you" she smirks. ryujins embarrassing comments only turn you on more. ryujins hot tongue leaves a trail of goosebumps as she edges closer to your entrance, squirming under her grasp, squeezing your eyes shut you silently beg for ryujin to touch your pussy, as if she hears your thoughts her tongue pushes against your folds, running her tongue up and down causing a moan to escape your lips, pleased, she continues this motion until her tongue hits your aching clit. "oh my god" you moan out, your fingers finding the edge of the desk, gripping harder. ryujin, hungry to taste more of you she focuses on your clit, ever so slightly sucking, moaning as she does. "you're so sensitive today baby" says against your pussy, vibrations of her voice causing you even more pleasure, before she continues to lick your clit. you moan as she squeezes your thighs, she moves her tongue to your entrance, licking over your hole, and you moan "ryujin please" you beg. she pauses, winding you up before her tongue enters your hole, not going nearly as fast as you'd like, you buck your hips into her face, ryujin pushes your hips back down before making her way up to her throbbing clit again, you curse aloud "fuck ryujin, it feels so good" ryujin doesn't need you to tell her that, she knows she's good. ryujin licks up your juices before going back to sucking your clit, causing your body to start to convulse under her touch, as if she can feel how good she's making you feel, she moans too, getting turned on just at the thought of making you feel good. your moans fuel her to continue what she's doing ryujin carries on eating you out, your hips bucking into her face further to be closer to her touch, this time she doesn't stop you, the pressure of her tongue against your pussy causes a flood of pleasure to rush over you. ryujins tongue expertly moving around your clit slightly grazing her teeth against it for more pleasure "ryujin I'm gonna cu-" you moan out, "sshh not yet baby" she shushes you before burying her face deeper, almost as if she's devouring you, she moans again, licking you faster. you throw your head back, taking short hard breaths as she continues to eat you out almost animalistic. grinding your hips into her face, her tongue circling your clit before she uses her tongue to fuck your hole, bringing her fingers up to rub your clit as she does, more pressure building up inside of you, you're not sure how much more you can take. that's when she moves her face away, almost starting to complain you're stopped as she enters two long fingers inside of you, her fingers curling inside hitting your spot perfectly, she looks up at you and finger fucks you harder, shaking as you can feel yourself letting go, she purrs seductively "cum for me baby" she curls her fingers again, causing a wave of pleasure to come over you, breathless your body shakes as she fucks you until you ride out your orgasm, she smirks going back down to your hole cleaning up your juices with her tongue. 

still riding out your orgasm, you throw your hands over your face, catching your breath and cursing as she grasps at your thighs. After a moment she helps you sit up, brushing her hair off of your forehead and pressing a light kiss before she edges closer to your ear "don't think we're done here baby. be a good girl and wait for me upstairs" she whispers hungrily before walking to the door "but first I have some business to attend to" she says slamming the door behind her. 

[hunting-songs]

💋

Send 💋 to get a kiss from my muse. The more 💋💋 the more effort my muse has to put into the kiss.

Whenever Kurapika would reach out with his right hand, he would take a quiet, but sharp breath in. Whenever Kurapika would sit down by the laptop he would move his right hand, clenching it to a fist and opening it, grimacing quietly as if he had bitten on a sour fruit. Whenever Kurapika would do that, Senritsu was listening.

"Give me your hand, please.",the woman said one evening eventually as she sat down beside him on the couch. The last red rays of sunlight fell into the room heavy like water, drenching the bright carpet and the neutral furniture and their futons in deep scarlet. Carefully, as if he was made of glass Senritsu took the youngers hand in her small ones and hummed gently: "Did you know that your body reacts even to noises that are too low or too high for your ears to hear? Its because your flesh, bones and muscles start to vibrate to that noise." She leaned forward until her lips almost touched the others hand, there was still a humm behind her voice like a song: "And certaine frequences even have effects on the body from causing panic to enhancing the bodies selfhealing. For example the purr of a cat is exactly the frequence that enhances the celldeviding and healing of bones in a human body and it works even better when that cat is sitting on your body as the vibration can easier travel from one body to the other through the touch. Touch and closeness, like right now I am touching and beeing close to you and a vibration like I am at the moment causing with my voice." The young womans voice dances through the quiet room like a soft melody. At the edge of Kurapiaks vision, just barely out of view, he would be able to see flowers bloom on the couch and reach up with their beautiful flowerheads opening into the warm air of the hotelroom. "Now imagine,when a normal cats purr already enhances the selfhealing, what can a person do who is not only trained to manipulate their voice into certaine frequences, but who can make their Aura travel through those vibrations and enhance those frequences even more? Of course, you had already seen the effect yourself with Field of Spring, but flutemusic is only one way to make a body vibrate and the voice,making my body vibrate and yours just the same because I touch you, is just as much a medium for vibration and Aura as flutemusic. It does not have the same wide reach, but it is also more focused and with that also stronger in its healing effect. " She looked up again, carefully laying his hand back on his lap. There was a mischievous shimmer in her dark grey eyes as she winked friendly up to him. Her voice was still as mellifluous and good to the ears as fingers stroking softly around ones face, but the humm was gone. The flowers growing on the couch like earlybloomers would hastily grow on a forstground, were gone and not even their sweet scent stayed in the air. The quietness of the room filled slowly with the noises of the busy streets outside asthe echo of her humm vanished breath by breath. "Now, It should be better. There was pressure on a nerve in your wrist. ", she chuckled in all good humor and reached out to lay a small hand on Kurapikas arm: "I trust that you will not run around and tell everyone the actual physics behind my Hatsu, that could get contraproductive for me. Also yes, my second Nen-master owns a cat. A big, massive beast of a cat that would steal your breakfasttoast, but would also sit on your stomach when you lie sick in bed. His name is Spring. Around once a month she sends me pictures of that old beast." [ @skarletchains ]

[petnews2day]

The cat’s miaow or purr-fect nonsense: can an app translate for your feline friend? | Claire Cohen

New Post has been published on https://petnews2day.com/pet-news/cat-news/the-cats-miaow-or-purr-fect-nonsense-can-an-app-translate-for-your-feline-friend-claire-cohen/

The cat’s miaow or purr-fect nonsense: can an app translate for your feline friend? | Claire Cohen

There are frenzied episodes of growling. Chirps, seemingly in greeting. Purrs of apparent relaxation. And the miaows – for food, affection, to be let out of the window and then back in again. Then out again. Then back in again.

If you live with a feline, these noises will be the soundtrack to your life, something Britain’s 12 million cat owners have become even more familiar with while working from home. Having recently gone freelance, my cat is now my main conversation partner during daylight hours. Except, it’s rather one-sided, isn’t it? I chat away while she replies by sliding her green eyes from side to side, flopping on to a cushion, or noisily licking her backside. Then again, perhaps her name is to blame for the uncertainty: Maybe.

A new app promises help. A self-described “cat translator”, MeowTalk works by identifying a sound from your furry friend and suggesting which one of 13 human phrases it corresponds to. In Japan alone, there have been 17m downloads since launch and 250m miaows recorded. The recently added MeowRoom feature works like Amazon’s Alexa – founder Javier Sanchez was formerly one of its engineers – listening for your cat’s voice in a room and sending the translation to your phone when it’s detected.

I buy the premium version for £2.49 a month immediately.

My husband scoffs. Historically speaking, cats have had a bad press – thought to be the companions of witches in the middle ages and burned alongside them. They are depicted as selfish, vindictive, imperious and caring only where their next meat hit is coming from. On Instagram, owners assign them “Jekyll and Hyde” personalities, painting them as spiteful one minute, adorable the next.

But couldn’t this reputation for fickleness be unmerited? I want to hear from Maybe directly.

A few gentle prods fail to elicit a miaow, so I resort to recording her purrs – which the app’s creators have admitted are harder to translate. Maybe, according to the app, is saying: “Let me relax”, which seems like it could be accurate, seeing as she’s lying sleepily on the sofa while I wave a phone in her face.

Later in the day, I record a few more. What starts as cockle-warming (“You are very special to me” and “We are a bonded pair”) quickly becomes Americanised – “Just chilling!” and “I’m super beat!” – and I wonder whether the app has confused Maybe with Garfield.

The next morning, at breakfast, she miaows loudly. Translation: “Hey baby, let’s go somewhere private!”, which I can only imagine means she’s talking directly to her tin of food. Still, I persevere.

The app’s founders – Sanchez, and Susanne Schotz, author of The Secret Language of Cats – aren’t the first to harness developments in voice recognition technology. After all, the human urge to communicate with animals is strong, if usually anthropomorphic, just look at Dr Dolittle, the scientists who tried to teach animals to talk – from apes to dolphins, and even the popular new Netflix documentary Inside the Mind of a Cat.

They are filling a void. We know relatively little about cats because they’re harder to analyse than other domestic animals. Put a dog in a laboratory and it will usually be fine, but take a cat out of its territory and it won’t act normally, making studies almost impossible. Cats are also bad at showing pain or distress, which is why owners were warned by vets to look carefully for signs of stress or depression during lockdown, when many cats were thought to be upset by the change in routine.

Worried, I downloaded an inferior translation app in the summer of 2020 and followed Maybe around the house in an attempt to see if she could be suffering from mental illness – only stopping when my husband suggested I might be the one showing signs of psychological disturbance.

Overnight, I leave the MeowTalk app running in the bedroom as I sleep. In the morning, my phone has recorded dozens of cat sounds and helpfully revealed that at 6.12am when Maybe jumped on to my face, purring loudly, she was actually telling me: “I need to relax.” I know the feeling.

One quirk of the app is that, by miaowing, humans can trick it into thinking they are cats. I chirp at my phone, “I’m in love!” the screen reads. After several minutes of cajoling, my husband does the same. His low yowl translates as “I’m in a bad mood”, which doesn’t seem altogether inaccurate.

What he does secretly enjoy, though, is listening back to Maybe’s recordings. Sanchez and Scholtz have been contacted by grateful users who have been able to keep treasured clips of their beloved pet after they have died. Others have been able to take their cat to the vet after the app identified possible signs of illness.

As shown by my experience, the technology seems rudimentary. But perhaps they are on to something. Or maybe downloading the software is enough to encourage owners to tune in to what their cats have been trying to tell them all along.

[fanfic-enthusiast]

Break Time (Cotl NariLamb Fic)

Warning! NSFW!!!

Food in order, camp cleaned and no extra followers around the central statue. All the chores were finished with most of night to spare. It wasn't often the Lamb got any time to themselves around the cult with so many followers running around. It was nice to finally have a chance to take a break before heading back out on a crusade. 

They trot on over to the temple to get a little privacy and march themselves up behind the alter to sit down against it with a sigh. 

Their body ached a little from running around all day, the crown kept them from getting hungry or tired but didn't shield them from the dull pain of standing too long and the pain of violence they would face in battle. 

So they stretched on the floor, feeling their bones crack and muscles tense and relax from gentle stretches. Their whole body felt tense and stressed. A consequence of the progress they've made in freeing their master. 

The One Who Waits, Lamb remembered their first meeting with such clarity. The task they were given, the atmosphere of the strange plane he was trapped in, even the deep baritone of his voice which seemed to echo from within their chest. It was deep and a bit raspy which made them feel like their body was vibrating a little. It was an unusual but not unpleasant sensation. 

Had they not been so scared at the time they probably would have wanted to listen to it more. Then again they have been hearing it more, each time a bishop was slain they got to visit with him and hear their lovely voice again. The most recent time came to mind quickly. 

"I enjoyed watching you destroy Heket. Her arrogance was always destined to be her undoing. Your merciless crusade against the Old Faith warms my cold, unbeating heart." he almost seemed to purr that last sentence, they could feel it right by their ear and it sent a shiver down their spine in excitement. Facing their cult so quickly after that was a challenge but one they faced with ease after a few deep breaths and telling the details of the battle to their followers awaiting a story. 

That being said, they got up and looked around the empty temple room. No one was here. They were completely alone. Perhaps they could make up for lost time. They had all night after all. 

Quickly, they got up and swept the room again just to be save and took a spare plank of wood to the handles of the door to keep it from opening. There.

Now they were alone and no one would interrupt with late night prayers or donations. 

Lamb made their way back up to the alter and sat back against it once more taking off their fleece and laying it out under them for comfort. And exposing themselves to the temple air. 

Their mind wandered back to the voice of their master, the praise they received for their tough battle and hard work. They imagined it happening again, him telling the Lamb how wonderful a job they were doing. How pleased they were with them. As their hand wandered south towards their erection.  

“Very good, my vessel. It seems I chose well when I kept you from Death.” he had said to them. ‘Yes it was a good choice, I can do so well can't I?’ they imagined their reply. Carefully stroking themselves as the thought crosses their mind. 

“Vessel, do you not worship me?” Oh yes master I do. “Do you not give offerings in hopes of gaining my favor?” what more valuable a gift could they give but themselves. “I still have need of you.” Yes master you do, I could do so much for you. 

They moved a bit faster now, spurred on with the out of context praise from the one who saved their soul from oblivion. Bleating quietly, even that small sound seemed to echo around the wooden walls. 

“Interesting form of worship vessel.” Oh yes I bet he would find this quite uncouth, their prized vessel of his freedom sprawled out on the floor desperate for more then just to give them freedom. 

“ha ha ha ahh, it is unusual but not unwelcome.” ...wait a second.  The Lambs eyes snapped open and they looked around the temple. ‘...no, no-one was here. But then how did he..?’

“Don't you remember little Lamb? Yes I know you do, ‘I will be watching your every move. Do not disappoint me.’” They quickly snatched up their fleece from the floor and tossed it over their lap, face red with shame and embarrassment. 

“Vessel, I said do not disappoint me. ...you wish to devote yourself to me in this way, then don't stop half way.” After a moment of shock, trying to regain some barrings they carefully removed the fleece and placed it back under them. “Goooooood my lamb. Very good. Now on your back.” 

They laid down on their fleece on the floor with their legs up and reached for their dick before an “ah ah ah” stopped them. 

“Know this. I am in charge vessel, submit to me. You will get the release you desire in time. Now go slowly, and I will be in control of your worship. Understood.” The Lamb nodded quickly a pleading look on their face pointed towards the ceiling. 

“Good, stroke yourself, slowly.” The Lamb did as they were instructed, carefully stroking themselves ever so slowly. Shifting their hips wanting desperately to go at the pace they were before. Their god just chuckled at their impatience.  “My Lamb. Brought to such lengths simply from my voice. Ah ha ha, you are loyal.” Lamb sucked in a breath through their teeth and nodded trying to stifle the pleased baa trying to make its way out of their throat as they continue to move their hand to their god’s requests. 

“So devout, so faithful, so trusting, all for me. As it should be. If you were in front of me before my imprisonment, open and willing like this.” He chuckles darkly. Oh Lamb could see that knifelike grin now, gleaming in the darkness. Their hand trembles.  “I would drink my fill of your devotion and leave you trembling. Take what you have to give and give you exactly what you deserve. You would love to be filled with the essence of a god wouldn’t you, little Lamb. Filled with me.” Lamb bleats out and nods frantically, hand still moving slowly. 

The chuckle appears again, sounding huskier. Lamb could only imagine what they were doing while watching this display. They hoped he was enjoying himself. 

“Such a loyal lamb. Time to reward you. Faster, give me a show.” Lamb muttered a prayer in thanks as their hand quickened up and down their shaft, finally able to satisfy themselves fully after slowly teasing. Their fluffy thighs shaking with the stimulation.  They could hear a deep rumbling purr that sounded just behind them and knew it was their master, Lamb knew they loved what they saw. They could feel it. All their devotion on display for their god the one who saved them. 

They arched their back from the floor in ecstasy as they finally came, eyes rolling into their head hearing a pleased growl in their ears from the object of their affection. 

It felt like it lasted forever, and they laid back down carefully. More calm and content than they had felt in a long while. More than satisfied.

“Well done Vessel, good show indeed. Perhaps when you visit next, I will see this in person.” Lamb smiled and nodded with a deep blush on their face. 

The morning sun rose entering in through the temple windows. And Lamb laid there a moment longer savoring the moment. Before getting up to start the day refreshed. 

[sukirichi]

not shy

megumi was not shy around his crush — and that’s a fucking lie.

request: shy megumi who is really flustered around his crush + his friends and gojo-sensei helping him confess

note: this is fluff and a semi crack fic too LOL i hope you guys enjoy this, i had a lot of fun with this one! unedited too, as usual!

word count: 4.5k

masterlist !

playlist made by the lovely @savantsoulfinder​ thank you so much! 

“Yo, Megumi-kun, can you take—” Satoru halted in his steps, following the trail of sight that his dark-haired student seemed to be so enamoured in to not even notice his teacher walk his way. “What are you staring at?” when his gaze landed on you, head thrown back in laughter and slapping Panda’s arm over Yuuji’s joke, Satoru’s eyes beamed even under the blindfold. “Oh? You like Y/N?”

Upon hearing your name, Megumi immediately snapped back to life. He scoffed and turned away from you, scowling to himself with his arms crossed against his chest. “No, I don’t. I don’t like anyone.” So defensive.

“Is that so?” Satoru teased while biting back his laughter, “Guess you won’t mind if I call her then. Hey, Y/N!”

“Gojo-sensei, what’re you doing?!” Megumi grabbed his teacher’s sleeve, whisper-hissing and cursing under his breath when Satoru caught your attention. You waved at them both, skipping until you were getting impossibly closer and closer and closer.

“Well, I don’t want you to carry these all alone. You’re gonna need some help.”

“I’m perfectly fine – h-hi.”

Shit, you were now here. You smiled up at him, hands folded below your bottom before tipping your head to the side, looking under Megumi’s ducked head to see his face. “Hey there, Megumi! Looking cute today,” you winked, causing the poor boy to blush madly. You never noticed, though, your attention now taken by your teacher turning red as he stopped his laughter. “Gojo-sensei! You called me?”

“Oh yeah, you’re just right on time. I was going to ask Megumi here to bring these books all back to my office but it’s probably too heavy for him so I asked—”

“It’s not heavy,” Megumi took the books that Satoru placed in your welcoming arms, the slightest touch sending jolts of electricity down his spine. He pulled away and clutched the books closer to himself at the sudden buzz, narrowing his eyes at his teacher who obviously couldn’t mind his own business. “I can carry it by myself.”

“I still wanna help, and I really don’t mind. Plus, I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I actually kind of feel like you’re avoiding me,” you pouted, and that simple gesture had Megumi feeling like he was sinking deeper into the ground.

He was ready for the whole world to swallow him up.

Satoru took pleasure in Megumi’s reddish ears and clenched jaw, cupping his own jaw with his hands as if to mock. “Aw, Megumi, why would you avoid precious Y/N? Did she do something wrong to you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, if there’s nothing wrong, you two better scoot before you get late to your other class!”

“Alright, see you around, Gojo-sensei!” Shit, why were you such a good girl? Now he was stuck with you, and Megumi huffed while hesitantly sharing the books with him. You walked close enough to him that he caught a slight whiff of your shampoo, the scent clouding over his usually sharp mind. Now, though, Megumi could barely recognize the hallways he walked on, relying only on you to lead the way. “So...how’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How about your studies? We have an exam next week – maybe you want to study together? Inumaki-senpai and I were supposed to have a study group with the others but everyone just wants to study by themselves,” you turned to him with a small smile, “I do better when I’m with someone though.”

Megumi managed to give you a split second glance before he darted his eyes back in front of him again, swallowing audibly because he couldn’t understand why you had to look so pretty smiling like that.

His palms grew sweaty with each passing second, and he grimaced at the uncomfortably feeling of his collar getting sticky. “Uh, wh-where would we study? We don’t have a library or anything.”

“The training grounds is refreshing, but I’d like it to do it better in my room.”

“Do what?” Megumi halted in his steps, his eyes blown wide at your words.

“Study, of course. What else?”

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be worried that you frowned in confusion, almost as if you didn’t understand the weight of your words. But then again, you’d always been so damn oblivious that it made sense. Megumi shook his head, continuing on to the teacher’s office before remembering he still lost his sense of direction, so he bit his lip, obediently following you around like a puppy.

“You shouldn’t just invite anyone to your room, you know.”

Once you both made it to the empty room, you carefully placed the books down on Satoru’s desk. He raised a brow at the extra detail you put into, tongue peeking out from the edges of your lips as you made sure all of them were placed together neatly.

Satisfied with your work, you clapped your hands and turned to him.

“I’m not. You’re not just anyone to me, Megumi,” Suddenly, you leaned over him, his mind screaming at him when your lips lowered down to his neck. Megumi’s spine stiffened so quick he might as well be a flat board, his chin pressed to his neck when he felt your teeth graze his exposed skin for a moment. “There’s a loose thread,” you showed him a small thread with a small smile, which fell as fast when you saw Megumi standing uncomfortably straight. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to invade your personal space like that!” “I’m a little weird, aren’t I? That would explain why you’ve been avoiding me. Do I make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that...it’s just...”

“Just what?”

His mind blanked. Ask him anything about curses or their history and pretty much anything – he’d be able to answer – but not this. They didn’t teach this in the books and out of frantic nervousness, Megumi ended up spewing the first thing he could think of, his brows drawn together that only added to his intimidating look.

“I’m just annoyed that you scored higher than me on the previous exam.”

“Oh,” you fell for it, snapping your fingers together as you laughed. Somehow, the sound of your melodious laughter had his shoulders easing from the tension, the smallest of smiles hinting at the edge of his lips. Gosh, he was so whipped for you. “Was that really it? I thought you were avoiding me for something serious! Well, how about this, let’s study together and let’s see who’s the smarter one. The loser will get tickled to death!”

“I haven’t even agreed to that condition yet.”

“Okay, what do you want if you win?”

Megumi blushed as he blurted out, “You.”

Before he could regret what he just said, you scrunched your nose and pointed to yourself. “Me what? You want me to do something? You want me to buy you ice cream or—”

“Never mind,” he mumbled behind his palm that was now covering his mouth, refusing to show you that he actually wanted to laugh at how naive you could be. Not that he was complaining; it saved him great pain that you could never know his feelings for you. “I’ll ask for it when I’m sure I’ll win.”

“Ah, not a man of uncalculated risks, I see,” you ruffled his hair, the poor boy stiffening up again under your touch. “This is why I like you so much. You’re so thoughtful.”

“Please don’t touch my hair.”

Megumi was complaining, his shoulders raised beside his ears while he scowled at you, but the way a small, almost inaudible purr left his lips said otherwise. He didn’t want you touching his hair – only because he was shy and it would be the death of him if you saw how easily flustered he was around you.

Thankfully, you showered mercy upon him, raising your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, we should go back to class now.”

Megumi sighed in relief, content for now to walk you all the way back to class as you talked about your day. He wasn’t actually listening, but a stupid smile was there on his face, anyway. He likened the sound of your voice to those of birds chirping and sunshine waking – and he felt like he was the fresh earth you always kissed.

“You’re going to burn a hole in her if you keep staring at her like that.”

“Shut up,” Megumi averted his eyes away from you, stabbing his yogurt with his plastic fork. A part of him felt annoyed that you just had to look so pretty today, your bright voice filling in the cafeteria that put his constant sour mood to shame. The stark difference between you two made Megumi sigh in his seat, abandoning his fork as he leaned back. There was no way you’d like him back. “I wasn’t looking at anyone.”

“Ugh, why are boys so creepy? Staring at Y/N like that, ew.”

Yuuji ignored Nobara’s comment, and for once, Megumi let it slide when Nobara stealed his untouched yogurt. “Why don’t you just tell her you like her? She’s literally the sweetest person ever – the chances of her turning you down are low!”

Nobara snorted, “Yeah, but if the sweetest girl in school rejects you, that’s really humiliating. That would mean she likes everyone but you.”

Satoru popped out of nowhere – that stupid blindfolded bastard who started all this – his arms looped around Yuuji’s neck whose entire face illuminated at having his favourite teacher around. “I think the scary-looking Megumi-chan is actually just too shy to be confess,” he wiggled his eyebrows, pointing a finger fun to Megumi’s deadly narrowed gaze. “Can you believe it? My dark, brooding student is hopelessly in love with the cute, sunshine girl next door that he’s so scared around her? Isn’t that so adorable—”

“Everyone shut up!” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m not scared of anyone or anything.”

“Then tell her you like her.”

“Fine, I will.”

“I bet you ten dollars he won’t do it,” Satoru whispered, the two students who shared one brain cell beside him nodding eagerly.

“I said I will!”

“Good morning, Megumi! Come in, come in,” you ushered him in once he stood frozen at your door, his hands now awkwardly clutching his own notes. “You can take a seat on the bed.”

Megumi wasn’t nervous of the fact this was his first time visiting a girl’s room, but rather because it was yours, and each part of your room resembled you greatly. From the organized and clean space, but the noticeable adorable little trinkets and polaroids of you with everyone sticking on the wall, he could feel your entire soul living in that room. When his eyes landed on an old photo of you holding up the peace sign and noticed for the first time he was standing in the background, unaware he was captured in the frame, Megumi inhaled sharply.

Had you pretended to take a selfie just to see him there?

No, he shook his head, there was just no way. He really couldn’t ponder about it long enough because you’d dragged him by the sleeve until he was sitting right next to you, the fresh scent of your body wash making him feel stunningly warm inside his clothes even when the windows were open.

The whole time, Megumi couldn’t absorb a single thing you were saying.

He was just too distracted by everything about you – the way your lips moved when you spoke, how you’d tuck back a stray hair behind your ear, even to the way your mouth would form an ‘o’ shape as you learned something new. No, he couldn’t focus at all.

Megumi has lost count of the times he’d wiped his shaky, sweaty palms on the pads of his sweatpants, hitching his breath every time you leaned close to him to glance at his notes.

At this rate, he’d be the loser in your little competition. It was just impossible for him to focus on anything else.

“Megumi?” you waved your hands in front of him. When it wasn’t enough to get his attention, you resorted to flicking his forehead and he yelped, rubbing at the sore spot. He faced you, a complaint ready to be spoken when his eyes widened at the sudden lack of proximity, your nose booping against his. “Hello, Megumi? I’ve asked you the same question twice now and you haven’t answered yet.”

As nicely as he could, he pushed your face away, his heart thumping loudly when you laughed as you went back to your own space. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I wasn’t really listening.”

“Yeah, I can tell, you were just staring at me the whole time,” you held your phone up in front of your face, checking your reflection on the screen on different angles. He watched, enchanted by how gorgeous you looked no matter what side. “Is there something on my face...? I’ve been checking non-stop and I don’t see anything weird.”

Megumi swallowed nervously, “There’s nothing wrong with your face. I just can’t focus. You’re too close and I-I can smell you.”

“Do I smell bad?!”

“No, you don’t! You smell really sweet!”

“Aw, thanks! You smell sexy too,” you winked at him, wiggling your shoulders as if to share your scent with him. Megumi’s eyes widened when your shoulder rubbed against his, and he recoiled, arm placed over his nose to hide his emotions that were a train wreck right now.

“Sexy?” he spluttered, “Why would you say – me – sexy? You’re so weird, Y/N. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

You patted his thigh in a manner that should be comforting, but the teasing smile on your face only had him wanting to jump out the window even more. Then, you stood up and stretched the material of your shirt riding up until he caught sight of your navel. Megumi turned away and closed his eyes, cheeks trapped between his teeth. “We should take a break. Treat’s on me – where do you want to go?”

“Err,” he scratched the back of his head.

“Oh, don’t look too worried, it’s a weekend. Plus, Gojo-Sensei isn’t around to bother us or something.”

“You...you want to go out...” he drawled out slowly, tentatively, surely – just to make sure that he was hearing it right. “...with me?”

“Yeah, I did just ask where you want to go.”

“Oh,” Megumi nodded with a blank face. Then, your words sank in, and he folded his knees to his chest to hide his face and his sickly sweet smile, the butterflies in his stomach progressing into a fucking zoo. “Oh.”

“Are you sick? You’re so red,” your palm connected with his heated forehead, “Megumi, you’re burning! Should I take you to Ieri-san?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he pushed your hand away, still repudiating to look you in the eye. He just couldn’t, not when you were too inquisitive and he could easily give a dead clue before he got the chance to properly confess. “I mean, I don’t really have a certain place in mind. I’ll go wherever you want to go.”

He should’ve noticed it then – the mischievous glint in your eye that told him you weren’t up to no good. But because his knees always weakened around you, Megumi agreed way too eagerly than he’d like. “Just make sure you don’t regret it, okay? There’s something I’ve always been wanting to try but I never got the chance to and no one wanted to go with me, so you’ll be my willing victim!” And so, half an hour later, Megumi’s jaw dropped as the chill of the arena nipped at his skin. You didn’t even tell him to bring a jacket. “Ta-da!”

“Ice skating?”

You nodded happily, dragging him all the way to the shoe fittings. “It’s going to be fun, come on!”

“But I don’t know how to.”

“Neither do I!” Megumi wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know how to. No matter how much he tried so hard to learn, he just couldn’t balance himself. The sound of your laughter that let him know you enjoyed this way too much reached his ears as he glared at the ice, his ears red either from the cold or the humiliation of being an utter failure in front of you, of all people! “Need some help there, buddy?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. And no, I can do this by myself.”

You masked your chuckle with a snicker, squatting to watch as he struggled to heave himself up back to his feet. “Really? You’ve fallen like, a hundred times now.”

“Shut up. Humans aren’t naturally supposed to do this anyway. We don’t have a human instinct to be upright – whoa!” Megumi slipped again from the ice, this time knocking you down with him. Instead of it being romantic where you two ended up gazing at each other with love in your eyes, your eyes widened into saucers as his elbow landed into your belly, crushing the wind out of your body.

“Ow!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to – ugh, this is why I said it was a bad idea!”

All the way back home, Megumi was still entirely convinced it was a bad idea. You were limping beside him, having to use his bicep as a crutch with your head resting on his shoulder. You and your stupid ideas, really, now you were injured and sprained your ankle from the fall. Instead of worrying about your own safety, you only slapped your knee in laughter as the medics fixed you up, still in disbelief that Megumi had fallen a lot of times yet came out unscathed.

“Megumi~ are you still mad at me? Why won’t you talk to me?” you pouted, squeezing his bicep to get his attention.

“It’s because I told you it was dangerous. Look at you – your knees are all scraped and your legs are all wobbly. We’ve still got a long way back home.”

“Maybe you should carry me then.”

“C-carry you?”

“Yeah, so I don’t fall,” you snorted, pointing to your shoeless ankle covered in bandages. “I mean, it was your fault I’m injured. If you hadn’t fallen for me, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Fallen for you? Did you know that he – ? Megumi’s head snapped to yours so hard he nearly had whiplash, but the only thing he could focus on was the pounding of drums within his chest. “F-fall? How did you know?”

“Megumi, you literally fell on top of me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten already.”

That had him blinking back, his face flattening into a blank expression. Then, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stopped in his tracks. “Sometimes I forget you’re terribly naive.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Now get on,” With burning cheeks and a heart that fluttered way too much than what was considered healthy, Megumi squatted down to the ground, patting his back with a groan. You less than jumped into his arms, a little too excited to get a piggyback ride and Megumi expressed his faux distress with a groan. You only pinched his ear and told him to pay you back for your injuries, which made him complain again.

In the end, he was just happy you couldn’t see how much he struggled to hide his smile then, for if you saw it, you’d surely believe he was crazy.

Or so he thought. By the time you’d gotten back to the dorms, you were long passed out on his back. There was a small patch of drool on the back of his shirt and he shuddered, then wiped it away by whispering to himself, it’s okay – as long as it’s you.

Padding back to the dorms wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be, considering everyone was almost asleep or out to the city as well.

Megumi gently laid you down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around you and making sure your head was comfortable on the pillow. He stayed there for a solid minute, just staring and memorizing your pretty features until he felt confident he could draw it upon memory. Not wanting to be creepy though, he cleared his throat, about to leave the room when your fingers tugged at his wrist.

“Megumi,” you moaned sleepily, “Don’t go. It’s too cold.”

“I’ll get you another blanket.”

“No, stay,” you whined, patting the space next to you. “Please?”

“To sleep here with you?” he asked, baffled and at the same time elated. The last thing he wanted to be was a pervert and he’d never outright admit that his thoughts of you hadn’t always been giggles and rainbows, but he pushed those down, reminding himself that this is you – he respected you above all else. His self restraint slowly thinned though, whatnot with you pouting up at him like that.

Megumi groaned and took off his shoes anyway, planting himself beside you. “This is insane. I think I’m losing my mind,” he muttered to himself. “Move over and make space for me,” you obediently followed his command, using his bicep as a pillow while your cheek squished against his chest. He wondered how you weren’t bothered by his heart’s beating, or maybe it soothed you to sleep because you were falling deeper and deeper asleep, burying yourself in his arms. “God, this is so uncomfortable. I feel like I’m crushing you—”

“So warm,” you cut him off, his mind turning completely mental as he felt your lips pad over his chin. “Goodnight, Megumi.”

How did you expect him to sleep now?

But as soon as you’d settled and only your stabled breathing could be heard from the room, Megumi’s eyes began to droop as well, and it didn’t take long before his arms relaxed around you, lazily pulling the covers up to cover the both of you.

He’ll tell you another time.

“MEGUMI!” you pushed through everyone and showed him your paper, the bold red mark of 100 glaring back at him. Before he could respond, you stole his test paper from him, laughing at the sad 98 that showed. “Ah, I won!” In the blink of an eye, you’d tackled him to the ground, your knees keeping his legs locked underneath you, test papers flying around the field. Your hands were relentless and brutal as it ran and poked up his sides, eliciting squeaky little gasps from him.

“Stop, stop!” Megumi doubled over in laughter, keeping his feet flat on the ground to prevent himself from accidentally kneeing you. He’d hurt you enough during the ice skating dilemma – he didn’t want to cause you anymore injuries. “No, stop!”

“I won, Megumi, I won! Face the tickle monster!”

“I said stop or else!” he warned, completely aware that he wasn’t as threatening or serious as he wanted to be when tears leaked from his eyes, his laughter embarrassingly giggly and high pitched.

“Or what, loser?”

“I’ll kiss you until you shut up!”

“That’s adorable, but let’s see you try!” you kept tickling his sides, the both of you completely oblivious that the rest of your classmates – your teacher who was more than supportive of this pairing included – were hiding behind a bush, their phones whipped out to capture each second of this moment. “Loser!”

As you mocked him one more time that you wouldn’t stop tickling “losers,” Megumi had to draw the line. Using all his strength, he flipped you over until you were underneath him, the sheer force of the impact keeping you nestled between his arms.

Both of you were panting, but this time his breath was taken away from how beautiful you looked under him like that. Such innocent eyes staring back up at him, but don’t think for a moment he didn’t notice how your eyes trailed over his lips. He knew – because he was doing the same, his grip subconsciously gripping harder at your wrists. If he leaned down...

“This is taking too long!” someone whined from behind the bushes, tips of white hair peaking from the plant. “Just kiss her already!”

Both of you turned at the source of the voice, simultaneously shouting, “Gojo-sensei?!”

“Don’t be shy, Megumi-kun! Just tell her already or I’ll tell her myself.”

“Tell me what?”

Now that your face was peering up at him, he knew he was trapped. Cornered. Megumi closed his eyes, hands trembling and losing their grip around you as he was confronted by the situation. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he fumbled over his words, “But I...I actually—”

“Boring! What kind of confession is this? Say it louder and clearer or she won’t be impressed! Is that how a man does it, Megumi-kun? You can do better—”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” he roared to his peers who only cackled around the bushes, Yuuji and Gojo-sensei doubling over in laughter while Toge bit his collar to stop the gleeful sounds leaving his mouth. Irritation and humiliation bubbling up in his chest, Megumi finally found the courage to confess. “I like you, okay? I’ve always had a crush—”

You sat up to wrap your arms around his neck, silencing him with a sloppy kiss. At first, your lips kissed the edges of his mouth before Megumi groaned, his large hand clasping the back of your neck to guide you to where he wanted you to be. Smiling through the kiss, you pulled away, rubbing your nose on him affectionately. “Me too, Megumi,” you giggled, “I like you too. Actually, no, I fell in love the moment you almost broke your nose on the ice—” he cut you off by kissing you again, his grip on your waist threatening, “Hey, no fair, I was still confessing!”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ll kiss you to make you shut up,” his confidence had now risen up, all traces of the shy Megumi now gone. “Now tell me that again. Tell me you like me.”

“Okay, but can I get another kiss?”

“You’ll be spoiled rotten.”

“I think I deserve it, don’t you think? I’m pretty cute – you’re lucky you get to kiss—” Megumi tugged you by your collar to slam your lips on his, his teeth nibbling at your lower lip. You tugged at his hair playfully and laughed, slapping his shoulder gently to tap out. “Fine, fine. I like you too!”

“Say it again. Please.”

“Not so shy now, eh, Megumi?” Satoru teased for the final time, and Megumi was so close to bursting a vein in his neck when his teacher showed up from the bushes, sexily posing on the grass as he winked at the both of you.

“SHUT UP!”

[fivefeetfear]

Fighter Chp 3

………………..

“LISTEN UP BITCHES! WE ARE CANCELING WHATEVER WE HAVE TODAY BECAUSE WE ARE GOING TO THE PISS AWARDS!”

Blitz shouts as he kicks the staff lounge  door down spooking his coworkers and daughter in the process.  

“You mean THE PISS awards? Where they only exclusively invite famous people?”  Millie ask as she sipped her coffee.

“Yes!” Was his only response as he rocked on his heels and toes. Moxxie raised a finger as he spoke up.

“Sir, the probability of us going to the PISS awards are zero. We aren’t well know enough to be invited and we can’t even afford one ticket let alone 4. So how in heaven are we getting in?” Moxxie questions not in the mood to be sneaking into places they shouldn’t be. Again. Blitz look at Moxxie with a long blank stare not saying a peep. It was unnerving.

“Moxxie I’m gonna level with ya, I didn’t hear a single fucking thing you said nor do I give a fuck.”

Blitz then whips out 4 VIP tickets from behind his back flashing the golden tickets to his peers.

“To answer your question Mills, yes they do only invite uptight snobby fuckers to these shindig but I just so happen to be BFF with the opening act. Obscure Heart!” Luna finally tunes in to the conversation at the mention of one of her favorite singers. Her ears pointed up as she glares at Blitz in disbelief.

“No fucking way! You know Obscure?!” Blitz place his hands on his hips as he lean forward for dramatic effect.

“Yes I do. And you would have known that if you came home last night!” He shouts like a baby.

:readmore:

“She was at our house!?”

“How do you know so many celebrities?” Moxxie pipes back in genuinely confused.

“Look it’s a long story and I rather not get into now. All you idiots need to know is we were childhood friends that lost touch, ok?  Glad we had this talk, now let’s go to the PISS AWARDS!”

“FUCK YES!” Millie shouts in excitement as she grabs Moxxie by the hand ready to go home to get all doll up for the award show! Luna stands up and follows Blitz out the room still texting on her phone.

“I’m considering this my birthday gift since the last gift you gave me was a box of fucking spiders.” She informs Blitz.

“Sounds good to me!”

……………

“Obscure you have visitors.” One of the body guards informed me. I was currently having my revealing skin tight outfit fitted for the show. I carefully turn around and saw Blitz and his friends. Oh thank Satan! I felt like I was gonna vomit all day!

“Blitz and friends! Thank you for coming!” I say nervously as I wave my hands to get my nervous out.

“Whoa Damn (N/N) you’re a real fucking knock out! My, my how you’ve grown~” he purrs as his eyes traces the curves of my figure.

“Keep it in your pants B, now are you going to introduce me to your friends or not?”I ask trying to get my mind off the show.

“Oh right these dummies. This is Millie and her short dick bitch baby of a husband Moxxie.”

“HEY!” The white hair imp protest but went unheard by his boss. Kind of felt bad for the guy.

“And this is my special wittle girl Loony. She a big fan!”

“Da-Blitz!” The hellhound hisses in embarrassment. I giggle as offer my hand out for a shake.

“Nice to finally meet you Luna. If anyone should be given an award it be you for putting up with Blitz and his bullshit.” I crack making the teen wolf give a small smile.

“Yeah but I can’t say he doesn’t keep it interesting.”

“Oh I know there’s never a dull moment with the cheeky bastard.”

“Ok ok can you two stop talking shit about me like I’m not here.” The imp himself complains with a pout. I giggle as I pet his forehead.

“Sorry B it’s not our fault your a little bitch. Oh I almost forgot! These are the free liquor badges! So save me some shots! Ima need them mid performance to keep the tempo and shake the nerves!” Blitz swap the cards out of hands loops the lanyard around his friends and daughter neck.

“Awe thanks hon! I’ve seen your videos, I’m sure you’ll do great!” Millie cheers excitedly.

“I’m not into the pop genre, it’s no Mozart or Beethoven but I too am excited nonetheless.” I wanted to physically roll my eyes on how pretentious he sounded. But kept up the smile not letting what he said bother me.

“Thank you! I hope you enjoy!”

“Obscure your on in five!” I felt my heart drop as I took in deep breaths. Oh shit oh shit oh fucking shit! This is happening!

“N/N you ok?” I heard Blitz say as he snap his claws in front of my face.

“Yeah just really fucking nervous. Can you stay with me until I go on?” I ask softly still feeling like ima pass out.  

“Of course!” He response happily.

“A security guard will escort you all to the table. You guys have front row seats I made sure of that.” With a quick thank you the others left to their table to enjoy the show.

……..

Blitz walk me to the stage we stood off to the  as everything was getting set up.  The band was checking the sound and my dancers were either chatting or warming up along with my backup vocalist.

“This doesn’t seem too bad.” I mutter as I look out to the crowd, I could barely see them because of the lights.

“Oh I couldn’t fuck tell by the way your breaking every bone in my goddamn hand!” Blitz says trying to pry his hand our my grip. I quickly let go and apologized.

“B I am so sorry! I’m so nervous it’s about to-“

“HELLLLOOOO YOU SEXY BITCHES!”

Oh no. My blood ran cold as I stop talking.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Blitz whispers  as he watches the clown himself slide down a pole onto the stage. The jester smiles wide as his stupid hat jingles.

“Before we get things rolling, I want to give a quick announcement! Due to Murder Mayhem being missing or some shit Ill be subbing in to be all your dirty lil fuckers host for the night!!” The crowd cheer as the clown soaks in the attention. As Fizzarolli lives his best life I am living my worst nightmare!

“Blitz I wanna go.”

“Go? Go where?” He ask trying to read my body language. I wrap my tail around me as I took a step towards my dressing room. But Blitz blocked me.

“Get out the fucking away!” I whisper yelled at him not trying to draw attention.

“No! I’m not gonna let you back out because his sorry ass is here. You made it this far. So you are going on that stage even if I have to drag your  bitch ass on!” Blitz hisses as he pulls out a tiny bottle of liquor.

“I snuck this in, I didn’t feel buying drinks but thanks to you I don’t have to. So drink this shit up, take a breath and make the PISS awards your bitch!” I crack a smile at Blitz version of a pep talk. He was always so honest and that’s what I fucking needed now. I grab the drink from his hand and took a big gulp. Uhhh it’s disgusting. But the liquor brought warmth to my chest and ease the anxiety. There’s no better remedy than liquid courage.

“Thanks B.” The red demon gave me a large devilish smile and spun me around toward the stage.

“Yeah yeah enough with the sappy shit. Now get out there and fucking sing.”  I smile as I stood besides my dancers and vocalist waiting to be introduced.

“Now without further ado please welcome to the stage the hottest singer on screamtube OBSCURE HEART!” Fizzarolli shout as a roar of applause echos in the building. I took a quick breath before following my dancers to the center of the stage with my head held high.

“Go get’em sexy.” Fizzarolli said as he walks by giving me a hard slap on the ass. It took everything in my begin to not react.

He’s so Disgusting. Once I took my position on stage the music began.  Fizzarolli turn around and caught sight of Blitz. Before he could confront the idiot he was pull aside by the stage director for next coming announcements.

I nodded to the DJ signaling to him I’m ready. He gives me a thumbs up and pushed a few buttons. I could feel the stage vibrate from the bass beneath my feet. The sensation filled me with adrenaline. I double check the ear piece holding the mic close to my mouth as I prepare to perform.

Ring the alarm (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Ring the alarm (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Ring the alarm (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Ring the alarm (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Ring the alarm (and I'm throwin' elbows)

Where my dawgs at?

(Uh, let me loose)

Oh, I'm overdue

Give me some room

I'm coming through

Paid my dues

In the mood

Me and my girls gonna shake the room

DJ's spinning (show your hands)

Let's get dirrty (that's my jam)

I need that, uh, to get me off

Sweat until my clothes come off

The lights are blinding and the bass of the music was deafening. It made the stage fright I had simply vanish as I sang to the audience. I expected to push my limits while performing but Singing and dancing an intense choreography is hard not to mess up. Having so many eyes imitated the fuck out of me but I had to push those feelings aside to make it look effortless. Me and my dancers move quickly to the beat of the song. We had gotten on the floor, shaking our asses, crawling, bending our bodies every which way to angle our assets to the audience. It built sweat easily as we continue to move as a unit.

“Holy shit this is so fucking hot! FUCK IT UP BITCH!” Blitz yells. Millie was cheering loudly in her seat while Moxxie couldn’t form a proper sentence. Luna was playing it cool as she recorded and post it on her social media. She would smile when she got envious comments on her stories.

And I bet you somebody's gonna

Call the cops

Uh oh (uh oh)

Here we go (here we go)

Yo, hot damn

Doc a Jam like a Summer Show

I keep my car looking like a crash dummy drove

I was able to step off the stage while the rappers took over their parts. I knew it’s gonna last a while so I made my way to my friends panting with a large smile on my face.

“Hey how are y’all liking it so far?” I ask softly. Blitz immediately went into mom mode as he grabs a napkin and dabs the sweat from my neck and forehead

“You are killing it!!” Millie says as she slide me a shot glass. I threw it back welcoming back the warmth in my chest.

“Your doing great sweetie just a few notes smile with your eyes and  ass. And bring those leg kicks higher, do that and your  golden.” I giggle as I shook my head.

“Thanks B, I can always count on you for a laugh. Mind giving me a hand on the table my part is coming up.” Blitz offer me a hand as I carefully step on the sturdy table.

Gonna get rowdy (rowdy)

Gonna get a little unruly (ruly)

Get it fired up in a hurry (hurry)

Wanna get dirrty

It's about time that I came to start the party (party)

Sweat dripping over my body (body)

Dancing, gettin' just a little naughty

Wanna get dirrty

It's about time for my arrival

Gonna get rowdy

Gonna get a little unruly

Get it fired up in a hurry

Once I was back on the stage it was just a mass of bodies and hands touching me snd my hands are on my dancers. Their palms caress me from my breast to my ass. I kept up my vocal riffs as I fell into a easy split before crawling forward on my hands and knees to the front of the stage. I felt so powerful being so openly sexual in front of millions of eyes. It didn’t matter to me if they like the show I had all their attention and I’m all they can think about and that was fucking hot.

Wanna get dirrty

It’s about time that I came to start the party

Sweat dripping over my body

Dancing, gettin' just a little naughty

Wanna get dirrty

It's about time for my arrival

Gonna get rowdy

Dance and getting a little unruly (wanna get dirrty)

Get it fired up in a hurry

Let's get dirrty

It's about time that I came to start the party (oh dirrty)

Sweat dripping over my body (wanna get dirrty)

Wanna get a little naughty

Wanna get dirrty

It's about time for my arrival

Uh, what

When the song came to an end the arena filled with roar of applauses. Hearing such a thunderous sound was such an outer body experience. I couldn’t  help the large smile plaster on my face from hearing the cheering. I could see why Fizzarolli was chasing this high, there’s nothing like it. It was so euphoric.

“Now that’s what I call one hell of an opening right folks??!” Fizzarolli ask the crowd making them cheer louder in my honor. I could feel my ear drums vibrating. Holy shit this is amazing.

“HELL YEAH SHE FUCKED IT UP!” I look to front and saw it was Blitz this made me smile wider. Millie and Moxxie were clapping loudly as Luna gave me a thumbs up. It was so nice to have friends to share this experience with, it made it all the more surreal. But I was yanked out my blissful feelings when I felt something cold wrapping around my hips. It was Fizzarolli Extendo arm pulling me to his side.

“Now before we move onto the next act how about a quick Q&A with the feisty demon herself. Obscure how are you fucking feeling?”

I grunt softly as I try to pry myself out of his hold but he just tightens it.

“Uhh yeah I feel fucking fantastic. This has always been a dream of mines.” I answer offering a small smile.

“Awee how sweet! That’s just the godly work we do here down in hell making dreams come true.” He crack earning some chuckles from the crowd.

“So we’re gonna dive into something a little more personal, you here with a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Fuck buddy?” He rapid fires as he squished our cheeks together.

“No.” I mutter out.

“Mhmmm want one? A fuck buddy that is?” I roll my eyes as I push his face away from mines. Fizzarolli only laughs in amusement.

“I came with friends actually.” I answer his stupid question not wanting to give off a bad impression on live tv.

“Ohhhhh and who are these friends of yours?” He questions as he zips to the front on the stage with a pair of binoculars.

“Well well well why aren’t I surprise. Blitzo how do you manage to keep snaking your scummy ass into the spotlight. Are you the celebrity bootycall or something?” He cackles having a spotlight shine on my table of guest. Blitz stood up on the table as he shout back.

“And what if I am you limp dick jester? At least I’m not the one making sex toys of myself to sale to desperate suicidal virgins!”

“Whoooaaa seems like I hit a nerve there! Be careful Obscure he is not the kind of guy I would get too serious with. He doesn’t know where his loyalty lies.” He took a jab at Blitz. A crook smile spreads across his face as he publicly shamed the red imp.

“Oh like your one to talk.” I spoke unintentionally. The clown turned his attention to me and tilt his body to the side.

“Ohhhh? Care to elaborate?” Fizzarolli challenges.

“Tsk never mind.” I back track as I began to turn away from him.

“No please, explain to me how I managed to piss you off when you were a total nobody to me until five minutes ago toots.” Nobody. I fucking hated that word. It just made my skin crawl having it be said by him again!

“That’s fucking rich coming from you. At least this nobody got by being herself until like you. Remind me again are those limbs natural or were you trying to impress someone else, Ollie?” I let the old pet name roll of my tongue and I could see the gears immediately turning in his head.

“Do I know you?” He ask as he move the mic away from his mouth. Not wanting to share personal information about himself in front of a live audience. That’s right he as rep to up hold. I snarl at him baring my fangs in anger.

“Not anymore.”

…………

…………

And that part 3! Hope you like! Please like, comment, reblog or share!

The song is Dirrty by Christina Aguilera

Look up Dirrty Christina Aguilera l Choreography to get idea of what’s going on.

[graaythekwami]

The Little Things - ML One-Shot

(Spoilers for the season 4 episode Hack-San)

-------

"Out for a solo patrol, Chat Noir?"

Chat Noir jumped slightly, not quite use to hearing an unfamiliar voice up here on the rooftops, and turned. The figure was standing on a chimney a ways from him, the reds of her costume matching the setting sun.

"Scarabella?" Chat Noir said, looking at the temporary Ladybug heroine he had met the other day. His surprise quickly gave way to worry, eyes widening slightly. "Did something happen to Ladybug? Is there an akuma out right now? Is–"

Scarabella held up her hands, but didn't come closer. "No no no, everything is okay– I just wanted to talk to you, that's all, and Ladybug said you often did some patrols in the evening..."

He gave a tight smile, shoulders relaxing slightly. "Not really a patrol, not like what me and M'Lady do when we patrol. It's just... to get some fresh air, I suppose."

He was slightly startled when he turned and found Scarabella walking towards him, as he hadn't heard her steps. She had some papers in her hands, and an uncertain smile on her face. She paused a little ways away from him.

"Is it okay if we talk for a bit?" Scarabella asked. "I don't have a lot of time, and then I can leave you to your... 'patrol'."

"What's up?" Chat Noir asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. His feelings on Scarabella were... mixed. She was an ally and she had spirit, but he would be lying if he said there was no bitterness when he thought about her. About what she knew and why she was there.

"I... I wanted to just show you this," Scarabella said, holding up the papers in her hand, before carefully setting it down on the roof near him, before retreating back slightly. "I had to edit out a few 'tips' for identity reasons, and Ladybug doesn't know I'm showing this to you, but considering my sudden appearance I figured maybe it would help if you saw it."

Chat glanced at the papers, then back at the spare heroine. "I don't want to go behind Ladybug's back."

Scarabella blinked, then let out a small laugh. "Oh, no, no, it's not like it's something I can't show you. It's just the list of tips she gave me of how to be Ladybug while she was gone."

"Okay?"

Scarabella smiled. "Read them, would you? Please?"

Chat Noir looked at the papers, before carefully picking them up and unfolding them. Sure enough he found a list of 'tips', each one carefully numbered off. His eyes scanned down the list, noting a few numbers were missing, which must have been the editing she had been referring to.

Chat Noir's eyes jumped back up to the top, and began reading. He could tell right away that it was indeed written by his Lady, and he could almost hear her voice as he read.

Tip 1 - Keep the earrings in at all times, they are easy to misplace. DO NOT TAKE THEM OFF.

Tip 2 - Always have sweets for Tikki on hand.

Tip 3 - Not just for recharging if an akuma appears, make sure you have something she can snack on if she's hungry.

Tip 4 - No. Seriously. Holders know no fury like a kwami starved.

Chat Noir snickered, knowing fully well what she meant. His interactions with Tikki had been limited, and she had been a very sweet kwami. Ladybug told pretty much the same story... except for the times she didn't have cookies or macarons on hand for her kwami. It turned out the little Ladybug kwami was just as passionate about her sweets as Plagg was with his cheese.

Tip 11 - Tell Chat Noir what's going on right away if an akuma shows up. Since I wasn't able to talk my way into staying in Paris like I thought I didn't get time to tell him I was leaving.

Tip 12 - If you see Chat Noir patrolling at night don't worry, it doesn't mean there's an akuma or somewhere you need to take my place. My Kitty is a free spirit and Paris is our city.

Tip 13 - Leave out croissants for him if he happens to come by where you are on patrol.

Tip 14 - The chocolate covered ones are his favorite. Chat loves anything with passion fruit too.

Tip 15 - Chat Noir likes any kind of sweets, actually, but try to get him his favorites if you can.

There was a small smile on his face as he read, eyes carefully looking over each word, warmth in his heart. The tips soon drifted back towards things regarding the Miraculous, a good dozen involving Lucky Charms and explaining how the yoyo worked.

Tip 25 - Lucky Charms might be bigger than you think! Be prepared to leapt out of the way in case a piano comes crashing down instead of a pencil.

Tip 26 - Don't ask Tikki to explain Lucky Charms. She'll be vague and she'll do it on purpose.

Tip 27 - Don't try to force a Lucky Charm to work. It's just kind of instinctual? I don't know how to describe it.

Tip 28 - Ask Chat Noir for help if the Lucky Charm is too confusing. He's been Misterbug before and has helped me defeat villains with countless Lucky Charms.

Tip 29 - Just ask Chat Noir if you have any questions, he's a professional.

Tip 30 - Don't ask him so many questions though that you stress him out! Akuma fights are hard enough and with him being the most experienced he'll have enough to worry about without a bunch of questions.

Tip 31 - Just follow Kitty's lead, he knows what to do.

Tip 32 - Chat Noir has good instincts and enhanced senses, listen to him.

Tip 33 - When Chat Noir makes a joke try to laugh, even if you think it's not funny. It makes him happy. :)

"My jokes are always funny, My Lady!" Chat Noir exclaimed in protest, though there was a smile on his face.

Tip 34 - Make sure Chat Noir is happy.

Tip 35 - Don't make fun of his purring, he's self conscious about it even though it's adorable. (He embraces everything cat except for the purring, I don't know why.)

Tip 36 - Purring doesn't always mean he's happy! Cats can purr when they're hurt! If he takes a hit and you hear him purr then you got to defeat the akuma as quickly as possible! Sooner you can cast the Miraculous Ladybugs the sooner Chat Noir isn't hurting!

Tip 37 - Don't let Chat Noir take any hits for you.

Tip 38 - Seriously. He does that way too much and I don't like watching it. Stupid self-sacrificing cat. Make sure he stays safe.

Tip 39 - Or else.

"These aren't even tips at this point!" He said, holding back a laugh.

"She does that a lot," Scarabella said with a fond smile. "With 675 'tips' a good chunk of them are ramblings."

"Six hundred and what-?" Chat said, quickly flicking through the papers and towards the end. Sure enough the very last one stared back up at him, the same number as Scarabella had promised.

Tip 675 - When you say "Miraculous Ladybug" don't forget to throw the Lucky Charm.

He flicked back a few more pages, eyes scanning the various notes that had been left. Many were just like he had expected when Scarabella had first told him what the list was: advice on what to do with different types of akumas, how the timer worked, tips for finding the akumatized object, and what to say to a victim after they were freed from Shadow Moth's control.

But then there were others, small little mentions of him and things he hadn't even realized his Lady knew or noticed, things he didn't know people cared about.

Tip 142 - If Chat Noir is dismissive with how his day has gone crack a few jokes. He tries to cover up when he's had a bad day and this is the best way to lift his spirits.

Tip 143 - Chat Noir loves hugs. Quick hugs, tight hugs, long hugs, he adores them.

Tip 144 - Chat likes to be scratched under the chin and behind his faux ears. It makes him purr, but don't mention the purring (see tip 36).

Tip 145 - Chat Noir is a cuddler.

Tip 146 - Ignore all the last few tips. Respect Chat Noir's personal space.

Tip 147 - But don't be distant either, support him! Fist bumps, pats on the back, you know, be friendly.

Tip 148 - You better be nice to my Kitty. I'll be watching all akuma coverage.

Tip 149 - No booping Chat Noir on the nose. That's our thing.

Tip 150 - No bonking him with the yoyo, carrying him in your arms, or using the nicknames 'chaton' or 'kitty', again those are our things, not yours.

Tip 151 - You can use the nicknames 'Chat' or 'CN'.

Tip 152 - He may kiss your hand. Chat Noir is a gentleman, don't let the costume fool you.

"M'lady..." Chat Noir said softly.

Tip 355 - Let Chat Noir handle the media, he's a pro at that.

Tip 356 - Don't leave him alone to deal with all the reporters though, that's a lot of pressure.

Tip 357 - Chat's ears and tail can tell you a lot about how he's feeling. I've read a lot of cat behavior articles and it's helped me a lot.

"Hey!" Chat Noir protested, even though his Lady wasn't here to see it.

Tip 598 - If anyone makes any comment about Chat Noir being dangerous or being a sidekick, you don't hold back.

Tip 599 - If it's a reporter that makes this comment give me their name and who they work for so I can make sure they never get an interview from the heroes again.

Tip 600 - Send Chat Noir a cat meme on the yoyo to cheer him up if anyone does say anything about him.

"I need to go," Scarabella said softly. "Feel free to keep those, I... I just wanted you to know that she was thinking about you. You mean a lot to her, Kittycat."

Chat Noir looked up at Scarabella, vision blurring slightly, but a smile was on his face. "I don't think 'Kittycat' was on the list of approved nicknames, Scar."

Scarabella scowled. "Well I can tell you that one isn't on my list of approved nicknames either."

Chat Noir grinned. "I'm sure it will grow on you."

"Purrhaps," Scarabella said, before giving a salute and a smile. She then tossed her yoyo, swinging away. Chat Noir watched her for a moment, before looking back down at the list he had been given.

He smiled, holding the papers close to his chest as he laid down on the roof, letting out a happy sigh.

[beneathstarryskies]

THREESOME WITH MADARA AND HASHIRAMA IS A MUST!!!!!!! PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WRITE? I AM BEGGING YOU

BEG NO MORE! IT IS HERE AT LONG LAST!

Word Count: 2,406

Summary: After a night of drinking, Madara decides to see how far he can push things between you (his lover) and Hashirama (his best friend.) Things go even better than he planned.

Warnings: Drinking, threesomes, spitroast, dubious consent (all parties are a little intoxicated), fem!reader

Hashirama had been the one who suggested drinks after a long day of work. The three of you had gone out for a while. Trying to shake off the day a bit as you shared sake. As the drinks had spread through you, Madara seemed to encourage closeness between you and Hashirama. It was unusual for him to allow much closeness at all, with him being so possessive of you.

Yet it seemed as you and Hashirama laughed together something had changed. He’d almost been edging it on. Allowing things to progress to the point that when you all walked home you were leaning yourself against Hashirama. His arm had slung around your shoulder at some point. Then, once back at his house, Hashirama had opened another bottle of wine. As it was shared between the three of you, Hashirama began leaning in closer than necessary to talk to you.

It was then Madara had asked a question you never thought you’d hear from him, “Do you want to kiss her, Hashirama?”

The question had pulled a gasp from both of you, but noticeably absent was a clear from Hashirama. He stumbled furiously around some halfhearted answers before finally settling on something coherent.

“She’s yours, Madara.”

“That was not the question,” Madara growled. “Do you want to kiss her?”

Hashirama looks away with a furious blush coloring his cheeks, “She’s beautiful.”

“Then kiss her, Hashirama.”

Hashirama looks at you bashfully. Your eyes trail down the edges of his beautiful face before settling on his lips. Saliva pools in your mouth as you admire him. You find yourself moving a bit closer until the smell of fresh wood and sweet wine fills your nostrils. Your eyes move back to Madara, where he is perched on the edge of his seat with intense eyes fixed on the scene unfolding.

“Do you want him to kiss you, beloved?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you tell him.

Madara chuckles, “Only good girls get kisses from me. Now, be a good girl for me, hm?”

“You want us to kiss?” you ask to be certain. All of this was so strange for Madara.

“Haven’t either of you been listening to me?”

You turn your attention towards Hashirama. Leaning in slowly as he still has his eyes trained on the floor, still trying to understand what’s happening. The two of you have been friends for so long, and the chemistry was certainly there. Hashirama has always admired you, and many times found himself thinking a bit too hard about the way your clothes looked on your body. Often he’d struggle to push down feelings of jealousy when he would see you giving Madara your affection. He just never in a million years would have guessed that Madara would ever share you.

Hashirama’s cheek burns beneath your soft lips. The slow dragging of your kiss along his cheek, leading down to his strong jawline, and then finally down his neck has Hashirama squirming a bit. As his hand slowly makes its way up the warm expanse of your thigh, you notice he’s trembling. Your hand cups his other cheek, and you pull him into a deep kiss. Allowing your tongue to glide over his bottom lip until he parts them to eagerly invite you in.

Madara’s Sharingan glows as he watches. He moves to the empty spot on the other side of you, his hands resting on your thighs. When you pull away from Hashirama, it's your turn to face Madara to see he is smirking. He cups your chin and pulls you to him.

“Good girl,” he purrs before capturing your lips.

His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, eliciting a small whine from you. He takes advantage of your slightly parted lips to push his tongue into your mouth. Hashirama feels his body tingling as he watches Madara kiss you. An ache tugs at his crotch. Before he knows what he’s doing, his hands are on you again to try to get your attention. His face nuzzles against your shoulder, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent.

Madara breaks your kiss and immediately Hashirama is pulling you into him. His mouth is soft, but his kiss is more urgent than before. Your fingers curl around the edges of his shirt, not realizing you’ve pulled the kimono apart until your knuckles scrape against his bare skin. As Hashirama kisses you, Madara’s hands begin exploring your body. He guides them up your shirt to begin massaging your breasts, he tugs at your nipples causing you to moan against Hashirama’s mouth.

With Hashirama kissing you, and Madara’s hands on your skin it doesn’t take long for your mind to become completely clouded with lust. You no longer bother to question the situation. Your fingers tangle in Hashirama’s silky hair as his kiss begins trailing lower. Madara pulls your skirt up so that one of his hands can snake around your waist.

A surprised gasp leaves you as he begins soothing circles around your clothed clit. Hashirama pulls away only to let out a wanton sigh when he sees Madara touching you. Hashirama’s cock twitches when Madara shoves his hand into your panties to tease your wet entrance. Your head falls back on Madara’s shoulder as his name falls from your lips in a desperate whine.

“Look at him,” Madara coos at you. “Look how much he’s enjoying this.”

Your eyes flick to Hashirama, his gaze is still locked between your thighs. His hand rests in a fist on his thigh, close to the large bulge tenting his pants.

“Don’t tease him,” you whine to Madara.

“I’m not, beloved,” he turns to Hashirama. “Do you want to touch her?”

Hashirama nods eagerly, “She’s beautiful.”

“Hm, perhaps we should move this to the bedroom,” Madara suggests. He pinches your clit before his hand retreats and he stands from his spot. When you follow him, his fingers lace with yours. He brings your hand up to place a kiss on your hand. Before asking, “Do you want to continue?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter.

Hashirama stands and kisses you again, delighted with your answer. He leads you and Madara to the bedroom. As soon as you’re all there, Madara begins tugging at your clothes. You open his robe with eagerness, always delighting in the sight of Madara’s strong body. Arousal bubbles in your core when your hand moves to his pants, and his hard cock brushes against your hand.

You kiss him before sinking to your knees in front of him, making quick work of removing his pants. His thick cock is already leaking, the head swollen and red. You lean forward to lick the slit, loving the sigh that falls from his lips. You repeat the action before swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, your hand begins stroking his thick shaft.

“Isn’t she a good girl?” Madara asks Hashirama.

“Quite,” Hashirama coughs.

“Take your clothes off, Hashirama. Then sit on the bed.”

Hashirama is quick to strip himself down before moving to sit on the bed with his back against the headboard. He strokes his aching cock softly as he watches you pleasure Madara.

Your cheeks hollow out as you ease more and more of Madara’s length in your mouth. His hands tangle in your hair when he hits the back of your throat, and he guides you to a good pace. His hips thrust carefully into your mouth.

“She has such a wonderful mouth,” he praises.

Hashirama fucks his fist to the same pace your mouth works Madara. A bit of jealousy clouds his mind. You do have a wonderful mouth. Gorgeous lips that he can imagine must feel divine. Madara guides you off his cock, his thumb collects a bit of drool off your chin before he releases you.

You crawl onto the bed, swaying your hips a bit as you move to tempt Madara. You feel his weight shifting the mattress as he positions himself behind you. You reach over to Hashirama, replacing his hand with yours. Hashirama has a gorgeous cock. Your mouth water as you stroke him. He’s a bit longer than Madara, but not as thick. You stroke his cock, starting at the head to lubricate him with his precum. You kiss the tip before taking it into your mouth. Hashirama caresses your cheek with the tips of his fingers before moving to hold your hair away from your face. There’s nothing about this that he wants to miss.

You look up at him through your lashes. Admiring the beautiful man’s reactions to your mouth. His eyes widen a bit when you press your tongue against a vein. His mouth parts in a soft gasp as you begin massaging his balls.

Madara rubs the head of his cock up and down your wet slit, sending new waves of arousal through your core every time he rubs it against your clit. He lines himself up to your entrance and slowly pushes his cock inside of you, savoring every inch. Your walls flutter around him in an effort to adjust to his size. No matter how many times Madara slides his cock inside of you, there’s always a stretch. He’s thick and long, with a curve that helps him caress all the wonderful places hidden inside of you. Slowly, he begins dragging his cock in and out of you. A moan rumbles in Madara’s chest.

“Hmm, feels divine,” he purrs.

You pull away from Hashirama’s cock to catch your breath. Your hand continues working his length. A dopey grin tugging on his features when he looks at you. He leans forward to kiss your cheek. Madara thrusts particularly hard, pulling a whine out of your throat. Hashirama captures it in a soft kiss.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” he mutters against your lips. “You’re doing so well.”

Madara’s arm wraps around you, his hand stretching across your chest as he pulls you against him. Your back hits his chest, your head falling to his shoulder as he continues pumping into you. The hand on your hip slips between your thighs, rubbing your clit in rough circles.

Hashirama’s eyes are drawn to where you and Madara connect, watching you stretch around Madara’s length. His hand circles his cock and he begins stroking himself in time with Madara’s thrusts. A need begins settling in his gut as he watches the way you wiggle and moan in pleasure. Your eyes flutter shut and one hand raises to tangle in Madara’s hair while he places sloppy kisses on your neck. The noises you’re making grow more desperate and he can see your muscles tightening. Your hand on Madara’s arm is tightening its grip.

Your orgasm cuts everything to static. Madara’s words of praise are an echo against your skin. The warmth in your core spreads over every nerve in your body. Hashirama is enamored with how beautiful you look, and he wants to know if he could make you cum. If that affection in your eyes as you look at Madara could be extended to him as well, if only for a moment.

“Please,” he whimpers before he even realizes the word is on the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flick to him, a small smile forming on your lips.

“What, Hashirama?” Madara growls.

“I want her,” Hashirama pleads.

Madara’s deep laugh vibrates against your back. His pace slows down as you ride out the last of your orgasm, and finally, he pulls out of you.

Hashirama guides you to lay down beside him before positioning himself on his knees between your thighs. His cock head slips between your folds and he presses into you with all the gentleness you’d imagined he would possess. He’s slow at first, wanting to savor you as much as possible. It doesn’t take long, however, for his eagerness to get the better of him. In no time he has you almost bent in half, your legs resting on his shoulders as his thrusts become faster and harder. His fingers dig into your thighs until you’re sure there will be marks.

Madara positions himself beside your head, guiding his cock to your plump lips. As soon as your lips part, he’s pushing his length between them until he hits the back of your throat. One hand holds onto the headboard while the other hand grips onto your hair as he begins thrusting into your waiting mouth. The moans Hashirama is pulling from you vibrate around Madara’s cock. His cock is throbbing against your tongue, and you know he won’t last much longer.

Hashirama adjusts his angle slightly, the new sensation driving you to curl your toes as new waves of pleasure build in your core. It’s all too much; Hashirama pounding into you while Madara uses your mouth. Both of them are greedy yet loving. You cum around Hashirama’s cock. Your walls pulsing around him trying to pull him along with you is almost too much for him to take. His thrusts begin growing sloppier as he chases his high.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. He pulls out and lets your legs rest on either side of him just in time to paint your stomach with his cum. He strokes himself until every bit is spilled all over your skin. Then his forehead rests against your knee as he tries to catch his breath.

With a guttural growl, Madara releases down your throat. You choke trying to swallow it all, but a bit still manages to spill out of the corner of your lips. He’s unrelenting in his thrusts until there’s nothing left. You release his cock with a pop, and he bends down to kiss you. His fingertips brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“You did so well,” he praises you.

Hashirama is still reeling from what he’s experienced. Your hands reach out for him, pulling him to lay beside you. His face nestles against your chest and you soothe your fingers through his hair. In a few moments you notice he’s fallen asleep.

Madara goes to retrieve a towel to help you clean up before he too lays beside you, soft kisses peppering your skin.

“Do I want to know what’s gotten into you, my love?” you ask him quietly.

He hums, “Just a bit of curiosity.”

“Did you get the results you were hoping for?”

Madara kisses you softly, “Perhaps.”

[randomrosewrites]

The aftermath of the tempest

Pairing: Kaedehara Kazuha x GN reader Summary: Many, many years after Kaedehara Kazuha fled from Inazuma, a lot of things have changed, but his past burdens remain. Or, Kazuha has settled into his new life in Liyue, but still desires his home across the ocean. Words: ~2.7K Tags: Fluff, established relationship, Kaz and reader have a kid, gn pronouns for reader, kaz gets emotional at some point, implied beigguang as well

a/n: What's this? Rose is actually writing??!!

Read it on ao3!

The young girl furrows her brows, front teeth catching her lip as she stares at the board. She's in deep concentration, barely paying any mind to the sweets or the apple cider (poured within a much too expensive cup) beside her.

Her opponent, on the other hand, is the opposite, holding a cup of tea within her palms, white steam drifting from the cup the same colour as her hair. A mystical smile on the woman’s face gives nothing away.

The young girl places a hand on a chip. Then hesitates, thinking a moment more before making a move.

The woman sets her cup down, ruby eyes scanning over the board before she lifts a jewelled hand, moving chips across the board in great succession.

"And with that, I believe I win," Ningguang says. "You did very well this time."

The young girl pouts, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes.

"Oh, don't tear up. It's alright," Ningguang produces a handkerchief and holds it out.

The girl takes it gratefully, hiding her face in the cloth. "Uh- huh."

Ningguang exhales. Children are so delicate, like the petals of glaze lilies. "How about you go to the other room? I'll clean up here."

The girl nods, and slides off her chair. "Can I take my juice?"

"Of course, you may. But remember to hold it carefully."

She nods.Holding the cup carefully with two hands, she slides open the silk screen and enters the next room.

Your head turns at the sound, looking up from your spot by the window: perched upon a lounge chair, feet up. You smile and gesture for the girl to sit beside you. She sets her cup down and crawls next to you, burying her face in your chest.

"How did your game go, Haruko?" You ask, combing her hair free of tangles.

Haruko shakes her head and a sniffle escapes her. "I lost."

You hum sympathetically, “I'm sorry. There's always next time. You and Lady Ningguang were playing for a really long time! Good job."

Harukao's grip loosens a smidge. "Thank you."

The screen door slides open again and Ningguang steps through. The material of her gold dress drags behind her as she walks, the movement smooth as water. She has a familiar treat nestled in the palm of her hands, a famous Liyue sweet candy.

You nudge Harkuo gently. She lifts her head, crimson eyes widening when she sees the candy. She scrambles out of your lap.

Seeing them side by side, Haruko looks more like Ningguang’s daughter than yours. Their eye colour and hair are almost identical. But Ningguang has high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, whereas Haruko has round, filled in cheeks, like her father.

"For you," Ningguang offers it to Haruko. "As thanks for an excellent game of checkers."

Haruko takes the candy with an excited beam on her face. "Thank you, Aunt Ningguang!"

“You are most welcome.”

With the candy, Haruko’s sadness about losing the match is all but forgotten. She rummages through one of the cabinets by the wall, pulling out a colouring book (A collection of cartoon-like Rex Lapis drawings in his dragon form) and the crayons that are specifically kept there.

Many years had passed since the first golden house went crashing into the ocean after the battle with the Ancient God Osial. But the loss only pushed Ningguang to rebuild the new one, bigger, more elegant, and efficient than the last.

Currently, it was parked atop Mount Tianheng, overlooking the harbour. It was fancy, the walls a rich cream and the floors polished dark brown. Some things had to be kid-proofed (especially when Haruko was younger and Beidou insisted on bringing her to visit.) But now, she’s old enough, and familiar enough with the building, that you’re not worried. Not even by the koi pond that circles the living room.

Ningguang plants herself across from you on the couch as Haruko begins to colour in Rex Lapis’ tail. “She’s growing bigger and bigger every day.”

You nod in agreement. “I swear, she’ll be taller than her father soon enough.”

Ningguang laughs. “Sooner or later.”

Haruko’s finished two drawings and is on the third when you look outside the window to the Port of Liyue harbour, glimmering with the midday sun. The familiar outline of the Alcor’s sail and ship dots the horizon. You stand up.

"Are you finished with your juice, Haruko? We're going to get ready soon."

She perks up. "Is dad here?"

You smile at her. "Yes. Almost. You want to be the first to greet him, don't you?"

She nods adamantly, hurrying to put away her things in their proper places.

"There are some ingredients in the kitchen if you'd like to prepare a lunch before you depart," Ningguang suggests.

“Thank you,” you say to her, before turning to your daughter. “What would you like to make?”

She thinks for a moment. “What do you think dad would like?”

“Hm. Anything that isn’t fish,” you make your way to the kitchen, Haruko following closely behind. “After a month at sea, I think he’s sick of fish.”

---

Lunch made and packaged, you and Haruko begin the long walk down to the Port. Steps of green plaustrite appear as you walk. They used to frighten Haruko terribly. Now, though, she loves the way they appear under her feet and disappear when she steps off.

“Watch your steps,” you remind her. Though you trust Ningguang’s architects, you want her to be careful.

“Uh-huh,” Haruko says, half-listening. She’s always distractible on these types of days.

Kazuha isn’t a frequent member onboard the Alcor anymore, but occasionally Beidou will plead with him to accompany her. She says his anemo vision makes cutting through enemies so much easier.

Kazuha will go on month-long voyages with the Crux, maybe two months if he feels like it, but refuses anything more. He doesn’t want to spend time away from you or your daughter.

By the time you arrive at the docks, you’re sweating and the Alcor is pulling into the harbour. Haruko hops up on a dock anchor, waving to the ship.

“Hi!”

A deafening honk sounds from the ship, making Haruko laugh. Then again. Then once more. Honk honk honk honk-

Jeez, Ningguang can probably hear the boat from Mount Tianheng.

Haruko stands back just enough so that the sailors can tie the boat off and lower the gangplank, then she’s rushing onboard the ship. A woman hops down from the wheel, holding out her arms as Haruko leaps into them.

“Auntie Beidou!”

“Hiya Haru!” Beidou grins, swinging your daughter around in a bear hug, long brown hair flying everywhere. “How have you been? Jeez, you’re getting tall!”

“Good! Aunt Ningguang said she misses you.”

Beidou’s grin widens. “Has she, now?”

“Beidou,” you greet sweetly. (Walking on board with much more restraint.) “It’s good to see you’re well.”

Her eye softens. Haruko slowly slides out of her arms. “The same to you. I thought you guys were coming to meet us tomorrow?”

Your house, the one you and Kazuha have, is right on the border between Mondstadt and Liyue. It’s far from the port but it’s quiet, nestled by the beaches of Yaoguang Shoal.

“Well, Ningguang offered us to stay last night, so we did. Haruko wanted to see her dad as soon as possible.”

“Ahh, I see. Well, good to see you again.” Beidou turns to Haruko, mischievous smile on her face. “Your dad’s gonna be thrilled, watch this.”

She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Kaz!”

High up on the mast, a tuft of white hair pops out from the crow’s nest. You smile and give a wave. The tuft disappears, and quick as the wind, the man reappears, hastily scaling down the mast.

He jumps the rest of the way and rolls to his feet, brushing white hair from his eyes, and is promptly tackled by Haruko, nearly losing his balance.

“Daddy!” she squeals.

“Haruko,” Kazuha grins, hoisting her up to rest against his side. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

“Good, dad. How was your trip? What did you do? Did you see any scary monsters?”

“Scary monsters, hm, I may have encountered a few.”

“You gotta tell me over lunch – can we eat it in the bird's nest? We made lunch for you!”

“Crow’s nest,” Kazuha corrects gently. “And really? Wow. Did you help make it?”

“Uh-huh! But I’m not telling you what it is; it’s a surprise! You’ll have to open it like a present.”

“That sounds lovely, Haruko. Thank you.”

You walk up to them and press a kiss to Kazuha’s cheek. “Hi, Kaz.”

“Hello, love,” Kazuha purrs, leaning into your touch. “You look stunning.”

Beidou guaffs, Haruko’s nose wrinkles. “Ew.”

(She used to scream at Kazuha to stop whenever he’d recite sappy love poems to you, covering his mouth with both hands so he’d stop talking. It always made you laugh.)

You pull away from Kazuha and save your daughter and Beidou from your ‘gross’ affections. “The journey to Inazuma ok?”

His eyes briefly harden. He smiles tightly. “It was alright.”

There’s a hidden we’ll talk about this later in his voice, unnoticed by Haruko. She wriggles and Kazuha sets her down.

“Can we climb the mast now?”

Kazuha takes her hand, “Ask the captain.”

“Auntie – Captian Beidou, can we climb the mast please?”

Beidou ruffles her head. “Of course you can, kid. Keep an eye out for me on there, yeah?” Then to Kazuha. “I gotta run some errands on land. If I’m not back by the time you’re gone, thanks for everything.”

Kazuha raises a brow. “Might those ‘errands’ have anything to do with that golden brocade you bought?”

Beidou just waves and grins, trotting off the gangplank and jogging towards the Jade Chamber.

---

The crow’s nest is really only meant for one person standing up, much less three adults and one child, but you make it work. Haruko is obviously given the best seat, you’re squashed beside her, and Kazuha balances on the edge of the nest, legs dangling over the air.

“Why can’t I do that?” Haruko asks as you unpack lunch.

“Because it’s dangerous. Your dad’s very experienced and can catch himself if he falls.”

You’ve seen it happen many times before. Kazuha losing his footing or grip, that split second when he fell and your heart stopped. Then the gust of air that followed, propelling himself back up to safety.

“Once you’re bigger, you can do this,” Kazuha says.

Haruko huffs. “You always say that…”

He chuckles and pats her head. “We just want you safe, is all.”

You pass out bowls and chopsticks around. Kazuha helps affix a chopstick holder to Haruko’s (she’s getting better, but it’s still a challenge to her.) Haruko insists Kazuha close his eyes as you pour out lunch.

“Ok, you can open them!” she says once things are all set.

Kazuha opens his eyes. A steaming bowl of Jueyun Guoba rests in his hands. Juicy cuts of ham, crisp Jueyun chilis, and the rich aroma enough to make your mouth water.

“Ta-dah! What do you think?”

“Oh, Haruko, it looks divine. You made this?”

“Yep! Hurry and taste it!”

Kazuha takes a bite, closing his eyes. “Delicious. So tasty. Captain Beidou should hire you as a chef, or better yet, wanmin restaurant should hire you.”

Haruko grins ear to ear, “Hehe, thank you.”

As you all eat, Kazuha tells you all about the adventures from his trips. How he saw the most beautiful of flowers, or how he fought a translucent glowing eel, Captian Beidou cooked it up and ate it, how she was sick for three straight days afterwards.

Haruko listens to him intently, staring at Kazuha with such a light in her eyes that makes your stomach flutter with pride.

You snuggle closer to Haruko, wrapping an arm around her. The three of you like actual crows, tucked high away, safe from the clutches of the outside world.

---

Haruko wears Kazuha out that day.

She seems to want to do everything Kazuha missed for the past month in a single day. You told her she needn’t rush – Kazuha wasn’t going away any time soon - but that didn’t deter her in the slightest.

You soak your feet in the icy ocean and search for seashells in the sand. You catch crystal flies in the old ruins, delighting in the way Haruko’s face lights up when the yellow wings fade, leaving just the core. You scale one of the many stone cliffs just to enjoy the view as Kazuha plays a tune from a passing leaf.

On your way home, you get some mora meat from a vendor and share the remaining candies from Ningguang as the sun dips below the horizon. When Haruko’s eyes begin to droop, Kazuha carries her on his back the rest of the way home.

Kazuha brushes the hair from her face, kissing her forehead delicately. “Good night, my starlight. May your dreams be as sweet as shooting stars.”

“Poetic,” you murmur, barely containing a laugh.

Kazuha’s eyes gleam as the two of you tuck the covers tight around Haruko, kiss her once more for good measure, then gently close the door on her bedroom.

Finally, alone, Kazuha wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head against your shoulder and sighing.

“Tired, pretty boy?” you ask, a lilt of mirth in your voice.

Kazuha hums in agreement, releasing you to intertwine your fingers. He gazes at you, eyes-half lidded, and presses a smattering of kisses to your hand.

“Shall we go on a walk?”

You glance at Haruko’s bedroom.

“Don’t worry,” Kazuha reassures you. “The wind will watch over her.”

You’re tired, but you’ve also missed Kazuha enough to fight off your slumber. You both wrap up, then make the walk down to the sandy pools of Yougung. The full moon is high in the sky, the breeze cool against your skin.

“Things are still bad over in Inazuma,” Kazuha begins, softly. The wind almost carries his voice away. “It’s gotten better. The vision hunt decree is struck down. Some visions have been returned to the people, but things are still very tense over there…It’s not a place where I want to bring our daughter…”

You squeeze his fingers tightly. It’s felt like ages since you first met Kazuha, when he was just a spry young man onboard the crux. His hair was shorter, he still wore bandages over his arm to hide his injuries from escaping Inazuma.

Now, he lets his hair loose. He wears more Liyue-style clothing. His right hand – the one in your grasp, has healed. Though the physical pain has left, the scars remain.

“I miss my homeland,” Kazuha croaks. “I love what I have with you – I love our home. But a part of me feels forever trapped in Inazuma. Longing for it. I-” He shakes his head, speckles of crystal tears forming in his eyes. Your heart aches at the sight.

“It’s alright, Kazuha,” you wrap your arms around him, rubbing his back. “I can’t begin to understand what that feels like…but I can be here to help you.”

“I just fear-“ he chokes, gripping your shirt. “I fear I’ll never be able to see it again. I’ll never get to bring Haruko to see the cherry blossoms that bloom in spring, or let her feed the cats that roam the islands like wanderers.”

Though you want to, though every part of you wants to assure him he’ll see it, you can’t promise him that. He knows it as well.

You comb your fingers through his hair as his tears stain your shirt. “If that’s the case - If things never get better in our lifetime - then we will make the most of it. Nothing lasts forever. Inazuma will one day change.”

You pull his head from your shoulder to meet his eyes. They’re red and puffy. You rub your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away tear tracks.

“But no matter what, we’ll see it through together.”

Kazuha covers your hand with his, leaning into your touch. “Thank you, love. I am forever grateful that I get to spend my life with you.”

You rest your forehead against his, pressing forward just enough so your lips touch.

“Forever,” you murmur. “And then beyond where the wind lies.”

[gureishi]

Smutty Seven + 18 with a female reader?? Hehe

Hehe indeed. Thank you for the request, darling anon! There are a million fics about this sort of scenario, but I wanted to write one so bad, so now there are a million and one ;)

breathe, darling, breathe in deep

Saeyoung X Reader, E, Words: 2322

cw: outdoor sex, light gagging (hand over mouth)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It is the way he rolls up his sleeves that does you in.

The room is lit by amber-colored lamps and hundreds of real, flickering candles—a touch of which you are particularly proud. From across the vast, glittering space, you watch him. He is laughing, and when he laughs, his face is lit by a sort of otherworldly glow that makes your breath hitch. He is talking to a small group of guests, commanding their attention with remarkable ease: when he wants to, he can shine so bright he’s almost blinding.

And, even as he talks energetically, he is rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt (so casually, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it). His fingers are nimble and clever and the candlelight strikes the muscles in his forearms. Your stomach does a flip.

“…a lovely idea, dear,” says a voice—closer and louder than the sound of his laughter—and you drag your mind (kicking and screaming) back to the older woman beside you.

“Oh,” you murmur, demurely as you can manage—not even sure which element of this particularly elaborate party you are being praised for. “Thank you.”

The woman beside you smiles kindly, gesturing at the broad wooden doors, cast open so as to extend the party from the banquet hall into the garden. Ah: and it is this that she is complimenting; these doors are normally closed, but you asked for them to be left open so the room would smell of fresh night air and gardenias.

It is subtle—but the scent of flowers on the air makes guests cheerful, and cheerful guests make larger donations. It took some trial and error, in the beginning—but nowadays, you can plan a successful charity party practically in your sleep.

She asks you about the flower varieties, and you do your best to explain (thanking your lucky stars that you’ve got a brother-in-law who knows a thing or two—or more—about flowers). As you speak, you look out at the garden—and can’t help sneaking another glance toward the opposite corner of the hall.

Saeyoung is running a hand through his hair—which is parted neatly tonight, the way he’ll only do it when you ask nicely. As if he feels your eyes on him, he tilts his head—the tiniest gesture. He sees you.

He winks.

A shiver runs up your spine. His arm muscles practically shimmer in the candlelight, and his clever fingers mess up his styled hair just enough that you’ll notice. He knows, you think, exactly what he is doing.

Your toes tingle.

Two can play at that game.

Knowing that he’s watching now (wondering how you’d doubted even for a second that his eyes—in spite of all pretense—were on you to begin with), you give the woman beside you a dazzling smile.

“Would you like to see the garden?” you ask her. She smiles right back, and you toss your hair triumphantly. She tells you that she would be delighted.

So you lead the way, straight through the middle of the ballroom. Your dress is silky smooth, and all it takes is a little wiggle for one sleeve to fall artfully over your shoulder. You don’t look his way as you pass—but you feel his eyes on you: thoughtful; curious; captivated.

You linger in the doorway, letting the moonlight do the work for you: highlighting your silhouette, casting your body in a sort of soft shimmer. Another guests joins you, and you dive into an account of the history of this piece of land—which has been related to you by the manager of the venue at least once a week for the past three months. The facts have become ingrained in your mind—so you talk lightly, only half-listening to yourself.

Meanwhile, you reach back to gather your hair up in your hands. The garden air isn’t hot, but it is warm enough that no one so much as looks twice as you lift your hair, exposing the back of your neck.

No one but Saeyoung, of course—whose gaze you can feel viscerally now, searing your skin. Ah, you think—now it is hot. You pull your hair forward, over your shoulder; one of the women is laughing at something the other has said and, not even having heard the joke, you join in—hoping your voice sounds natural even as your toes curl in your shoes.

You can’t help another peek. Oh: and he is transfixed.

A few others have joined the group of people in the far corner, but he isn’t speaking anymore. You have his full attention, and his eyes are fiery; you give him a tiny smile, as if to say I dare you.

“…would like to see that,” one of the women is saying. Your fingertips dance over the slit in your long dress. With a gesture that you hope is subtle, you flick your skirt aside—and the thin fabric flutters around you, exposing your thigh to the night air.

Your heart is racing.

You can never hear his footsteps, even after all this time. He walks like a cat, light and silent—but you sense that he is coming for you. You grin in spite of yourself; the women, oblivious, ask if you would like to explore the garden with them.

“Go ahead,” you murmur. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

With polite smiles, they are off. There is a gentle breeze: it dances in your hair and plays over the bare skin of your leg, your shoulder, your neck.

You count your heartbeats: one, two, three—

And then there is whisper, low and rough, in your ear.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he growls. His hand lands on your hip, and you can’t repress a little shiver. Your skin sizzles where he has touched it.

“You started it,” you whisper, still looking out at the garden. He shifts closer, and you can feel his warmth as his body presses up against yours. He is tense, you think—wound tight like a spring.

“I rolled up my sleeves,” he hisses. “You…you…”

“I what, sweetheart?” You turn, then, and the look on his face catches you off guard. His eyes are dark, his pupils huge—and he looks absolutely ravished, though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.

“Since when?” you ask, your face flushing. He shifts uncomfortably and it takes all the willpower you have to keep your eyes on his face rather than checking if he’s—if he’s already—

“That dress,” he mutters, his eyes boring into yours, the heat from his body making you squirm. “In the candlelight, and—”

You grin. You knew the candles were a good idea.

“Does this mean I win?” you purr, giving your hips the tiniest little shimmy. He shakes his head as if he can’t get his genius mind to think straight.

“You always win, babe,” he murmurs. His other hand drifts up to your waist—and you are conscious, all of a sudden, that you are standing in the doorway, in full view of both the candlelit banquet hall and the moonlit garden.

You cast a glance to the side, trying to discern just how much attention you are attracting. He seems like he’s lost his sense of place altogether.

“So do I get a prize?” you whisper.

“Oh god,” he groans, his voice shaking as he tries to keep it low. You bite your lip.

“Breathe, baby,” you say. You run a hand up his arm and he takes a quiet, shuddering breath, shifting his weight back and forth like it’s taking all his restraint just to stay still. “You’re in luck.”

“And why’s that?” His voice is so rough; electric heat pools in the pit of your stomach.

“Cause you married a party planner,” you tell him. “And the thing about party planners is we pay attention.” Before he can respond, you grab his hand, pulling him through the doorway into the fragrant garden air. He follows unsteadily; you lead him down the stone-lined path, carefully sidestepping the group of guests clustered around the rose bushes.

“Pay attention to what?” he asks weakly. Once you are past the little group on onlookers, you pick up the pace; he matches you easily.

“The history of the venue,” you say, laughing. “The ground plan. Nooks and crannies.”

You turn abruptly onto another, smaller path and he takes a shuddering breath.

“No way,” he says slowly. It is dark here, and there is not a soul in sight; you glance at him—there is a wicked grin spreading across his dizzy face.

“You trust me?” you ask. He holds your hand so tight.

“With your own life,” he murmurs, “which is infinitely more important than mine.”

You reach the end of the path and kick off your heels. He follows wordlessly as you dart through the grass, through a thicket of trees, and—at last—behind a small, rundown shed.

“Here?” he asks. But there is raw need in his voice, and his eyes shine like golden stars in the darkness.

“You want me?” you ask him. You flip your hair over your shoulder and cock your hip and he groans.

“Do I—?”

And then he is on you, his hands gripping your hips, his lips crashing feverishly into yours. He is walking you back, back—you feel the wooden shed against your bare shoulders and throw your arms around his neck. He lifts you, his hip rocking almost frantically, and you wrap your legs around his waist (infinitely grateful that you chose the dress with the slit in the skirt after all).

You slide a hand between your bodies and undo the top button of his pants. His erection strains, already, against the soft fabric and he hisses as you graze it with your fingertips.

And then his hand is on your thigh, creeping up your skirt—and your head falls back as his clever fingers find your underwear. You are so hot, already, so needy, so desperate for him—and when you feel his finger move against you, you moan into the night air.

“Quiet, princess,” he purrs, his fingertip fluttering. Your vision blurs.

“Make me,” you say.

He laughs darkly and presses you harder into the wall of the shed. With your arms and legs tight around him, he lets go of you entirely and—one hand still fluttering against your underwear—claps the other forcefully over your mouth.

“How’s that?” he whispers. His low voice swims with lust, and your thighs shake as you squeeze them tighter around his hips. You nod furiously.

Leaning back against the shed, you take one trembling hand from his waist and unzip his pants, tugging at his underwear. But you are pressed against him so tightly and the angle is wrong and you can’t quite—

“Let me help you with that,” he murmurs. He takes his hand from your mouth to pull his underwear down—and, with a sort of wild longing, you run your fingers along his length. He bites back a low moan, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Now,” you hiss. “Right now.”

You are so very close to the edge of freefall and the sight of his desperate face pushes you ever nearer. He adjusts, shifts in your arms—and his breath is ragged, and his face is full of wonder—

He thrusts into you, and you come apart entirely.

His hips rock into yours and your your body shakes around him. You float on the flower-scented air, your lungs full and your body weak and your muscles vibrating as you let yourself be carried away. He finds a rhythm and you melt into it with him, your eyes shut, your hips shivering.

He rocks you back into the shed—hard—and you bury your fingers in his hair and succumb to the sensations; he shudders, so you lean forward to graze his earlobe with your teeth.

“That’s—” he hisses, struggling to focus on you, “—not playing fair.”

You take his cartilage into your mouth and bite down and he loses his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic—his hands bruising your hips, his breath harsh and uneven.

“I want you to,” you whisper, and he lifts one hand to your jaw; you look into his burning eyes and he dissolves.

Your hands tug at his hair and you hold him tight; for a moment, he stops breathing entirely.

He shivers—gasps for air—falls still.

“You—” you pant. “We—”

He kisses your jaw and lowers you ever-so-gently to the ground; you wobble where you stand and he wraps an arm around your waist.

“The party,” you whisper.

For a moment, he is quiet.

Then he laughs—oh, and his laugh is beautiful, clear and bright as the stars, and you laugh with him: leaning into his shoulder, tears in your eyes.

“Do you think,” you gasp through your fit of giggles, “everyone knows?”

He grins lazily down at you.

“The guests? No,” he says, with confidence. “They wouldn’t notice if a rocket ship landed in their midst as long as the champagne is still being passed around. But our friends—”

“If they know us at all,” you say. “They shouldn’t be surprised.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Nothing wrong with an evening stroll in the garden with my beloved wife,” he says, throwing you a roguish wink. You lean into him.

“Never change,” you say. His expression softens and he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I am who I am,” he tells you firmly. You tilt your face upward to catch his lips in a fleeting kiss that tastes like nighttime.

“And who’s that?” you ask.

Saeyoung smiles.

“Yours,” he whispers, “of course.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Tied With a Bow

A Holiday Drabble! I wrote this on my break so hope y’all enjoy it (please let me know what you think!)

Warnings: nonconsent/rape, kidnapping, mentions of stalking.

You open your eyes but the world remains black. You smell a fire and hear the crackle; the warmth waver against your bare legs. Your jeans are gone, the rest of your clothes too. All that hides your body is an unseen bra that tickles the front of your breasts and a thin, barely discernable thong.

You shiver. Your blindfold is thin and cool. A thick length of ribbon knotted at the back of your head. 

You remember slivers of what came before. Christmas Eve. You just finished up with your mother for the night. Your parents left the next morning for a Caribbean getaway and you were content at a quiet day to yourself. 

You never made it home. You recall that much. The footsteps just behind you and a glimpse back revealing nothing more than the snowy yard and your parents' glowing decorations.

It happened in the car. The engine rumbled and you drove off without haste. You remember a rustle behind you and suddenly a hand around your mouth. You lost control and it all went black.

Then you were here. You sit there for what feels like forever in the din of the fireplace flickering on the other side of your blindfold. You smelled pine and felt the nip of snow as it rattled the windows. 

Then voices. Deep, unfamiliar. You hold your breath and wriggle in the chair. Your hands are bound behind you and your ankles to the wide legs, you can do nothing but listen as the strangers come nearer.

"If you weren't do damn late," the words grow clearer and your veins sear with adrenaline, 

"Your present's just in there."

You're frantic as footsteps sound on the floor.

"Oh? You actually got me something this year?" A sardonic chuckle dies halfway as the steps stop. "Buck?" His tone turns to surprise.

"All yours," the other man responds, "a few scratches but she's in good shape."

"How--" he clears his throat, "wait..." suddenly the footsteps are marching towards you. You panic and struggle to free yourself. The chair rocks and is caught before it can fall over. A hand grabs your chin and stills you. "It's...her? You know?"

"All those solo missions. Always distracted. You usually catch on when I tail you but," the clap makes you flinch, "Surprising but I suppose you need something."

The hand falls away and you feel the stranger move past you. "And?"

"And what?"

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

"She's cute. Sweet. Hell, if I'd seen her first, I might have been the same way." A sniff between words. "How did you find her anyway?"

"Just... chance. I..." the man is hesitant. You're petrified. He's been watching you but you don't know who he is. "She has a family. They'll look for her."

"Let me worry about that," a snicker.

"I..." he's breathless as your heart is pounding. 

"Hear that," the other taunts, "go on and introduce yourself. Maybe she won't be so nervous."

There's a silence and you sense more movement. He's in front of you, you know it even though you can't see him. He says your name and you scrunch your nose to keep from crying. 

"Get away from me," you utter, "go!"

"Sweetie," he touches your knee and you try to shake him off. His hand grips you tighter. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sighs. "What did you do to her? You have to tie her up like this?"

"Got in a bit of a bender but she's fine," the other assures, "you can untie her but she's your problem then."

The man lets go of your knee and reaches around your head to untie the ribbon. He kneels before you as he looks you over, rubbing the ribbon between his fingers. You know him. You've seen him before, but never in person.

Steve Rogers is even bigger in real life. He smiles. Those blue eyes that always seem warm in pictures are startling.

"Please, let me go," you whine.

His brow twitches and he tilts his head; confused, pleading, you cannot tell. But you know from that look he won't oblige.

"You're scared?" He leans back on his heels. "You know who I am?" He watches you and all you can do is gape back at him. He holds out his hand. "I'm Steve."

He realises his mistake as you only blink at him and he drops his hand. He rubs his palms together and hesitates before he stands.

"I'm sorry about my friend," he looks to the doorway, "Buck, can you get her a blanket?"

The other man huffs but you hear him go. Steve turns to the fire and stoops to move a log from the metal basket onto the dwindling embers. He turns back and shifts his weight on his feet.

"I... I want to untie you but you can't run." He says carefully.

"If you think I'm going to run, why would you want me to stay?" You hiss.

"You can," the other man speaks as he enters. "One of us will catch you."

You glance over your shoulder as he nears and hands Steve the blanket. He watches and lets out a breath.

"I dress her up all nice for you and you’re coverin' her up?" he tuts.

You recognise him too. Captain America's ever loyal sidekick, Bucky Barnes. He grins as he meets your gaze and winks.

"Isn't she cute? Maybe I should have put her in white." Bucky sneers and smacks Steve's shoulder.

"You're scaring her," Steve smacks him with his knuckles, “sweetie," he turns back to you, "will you be good if I untie you?"

You look between him and Bucky. You squirm and blink away another wave of terror.

"Please," you whisper at first then repeat yourself louder.

Steve nods and rounds you. You feel him picking at your binds as Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Don't say I didn't try to help," Bucky grumbles and goes to the fireplace. "Any plans for her? I'm sure you've been thinking about it for a while."

"Enough, Buck," your hands fall loose and Steve comes back around to free your ankles. He looks up at you. "Please, don't listen to him."

You don't say anything. The whole situation is too confusing. Surreal. Your ankles come away from the chair legs and you slide forward. Steve stands and catches you by your shoulders before you can stand.

"You okay?" He plays with the fringe at the edge if the blanket as it rests over your shoulder. 

You sit back and shrug away his touch.

"I don't understand," you say, "I really don't."

"I didn't think it would be like this--" Steve is interrupted by a scoff and sends Bucky a sharp look. The latter raises his brows and strolls from the room with a sarcastic salute. 

Steve backs away and you watch as he passes the chair you sit in to sit on the long sofa. He pats the spot beside him.

"Can we talk?" He asks as if you could day no.

You rise and sweep the blanket around you before it can fall. You near him and sit as far from him as you can.

"I didn't think he would... it's my fault. I just could never build up the to-- to--" he looks down bashfully and drags his nail along the faded denim along his thigh. "To say hello."

"How do you... know me?" You ask.

"MrsRogersTeddy?" He smiles as his eyes flick up. The username, almost forgotten,  has you pressing yourself against the arm. You shake your head at him in disbelief.

"I haven't posted in years," you murmur, "how..."

"Well, that's why I went looking. The blog was inactive but I love your stories. They're so good."

"They're trash. Sometimes you just get so bored that living in dumb fantasies is better than anything in the real world. They were just stupid fics. They didn't..." his face falls and you speak slower, realising you've said you much, "mean anything."

He frowns and sits back, deflated. His fingers tap on his jeans. “They mean something to me.” He says deliberately. Slowly, he turns. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

“I don’t know you,” you regret your words the moment they hang in the air before you.

“Then why would you write about me? Why?” The vein in his forehead sticks out and his jaw squares. “I don’t get it.” He grabs you before you can react and pulls you to him. The blanket slips between your bodies. “You wrote about us!”

“No, no, they were all made up. It wasn’t about--”

“Shhhh,” he hushes you as his hand stretches across your throat. He flexes his fingers as he pushes you onto your back and lowers himself with you. He crushes you beneath him as he frames your faces with his hand. “You love me.”

“No,” you murmur, “Steve…”

“Don’t.” His voice is harsh as you stare up into his eyes. His pupils dilate and he smashes his lips into yours.

You push against his chest, the blanket twists at your waist. The bra, a dark blue with white fur trim, threatens to reveal all. His hand brushes down your neck and arm as he traces the length of your body to your hips. He pulls your leg around him as he moves between your thighs.

A rush of panic rises within and you whimper into his mouth. Your head is spinning and you can’t breath. You can barely think. You’re trapped with a stranger. Smothered by THE Captain America. And for days, weeks, months, who knows, he’s been stalking you. You never knew. How could you? It was unthinkable.

He draws away and gazes down at you. “Say you want me,” he purrs.

Your lips part but you can’t speak. He doesn’t wait anyway as he kisses you again. He’s tugging at the thin string of the thong, exploring your body with his hands. He shoves his thumb beneath the cup of the bra and teases your nipple. He grinds against you like a puritan.

You gasp as you turn your head away. You gulp for breath as his lips continue to your throat. He’s ravenous, unstoppable. He’s kissing, nipping, and sucking your flesh. You grasp at his thick bicep and claw at his firm chest. He is immovable but you are not.

His hand slides along your pelvis. The thong is scrunched from the friction of your bodies. He hums as he grazes your cunt with his fingertips. He nuzzles your neck and fumbles with his fly.

“No,” you beg, “Steve, please…” you’re desperate. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’m not,” he groans as he wriggles and pushes down the top of his jeans and rolls down the elastic of his briefs. He struggles for a moment and you refuse to look anywhere but the ceiling. “I’m not, I’m not…” he recites more to himself than you.

You kick your heels into his legs but he doesn’t even flinch. His hand is still moving between you. You feel him prod along your soft thigh. You writhe, you need him off of you. You’re sweating, stolid. You’ve never been so afraid. He drags his cock against your folds.

“Steve--”

He claps his hand over your mouth and enters you in a single thrust. You exclaim into his palm as he shakes and holds himself deep in you. His head hangs beside yours and his fingers curl as he muffles your distress.

He rocks his hips carefully. You squeeze him between your thighs unable to do much else. It hurts how full you are. Each time he tilts, he’s deeper inside you. Your walls cling to him and you close your eyes to the world. You want to forget where you are but you can’t as he brings you back each time he moves.

His tempo builds steadily. You ache; for him, because of him. Your body rebels as your mind shouts for rescue. There is no escape. You are caught in his embrace; in his scent.

He lifts himself and his hand falls away from your mouth. You bare your teeth as he pins your shoulders and holds himself over you. He slams his hips down and you yelp. Your lashes flutter open and you see a beast atop you. He is not the saviour painted across glossy magazines and inky newspapers. He is a man, base and bestial.

His flesh slaps loudly against yours. You peek down at the joining of your bodies, his shirt rides up on his firm stomach as the thong digs into your skin. Your tits are out as the bra slides further down your arms and torso. 

He growls and your eyes meet. He hums but not for long, instead grunting with each thrust. He licks his lips as his gaze ventures down. He sits back and holds your hips. You cover your face with your arm. You’re cumming. You don’t want to but you can’t stop the tide that swirls around you. You’re drowning. You’re lost. You cannot find your way back in the storm.

His voice is louder. His groans carnal. He raises your left leg to rest against his chest. He hugs it as your muscles strain. You’re quaking, the entire couch is trembling. He bites his knuckles to stifle a cry. He bucks wildly as he spills into you.

When he is still, you feel as if you are still moving. Your thighs tingle and your vision clouds. He drops your leg and bends over you as he catches his breath. He blindly cradles your face as his breath washes over your chest.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” a shadow appears behind him. You see Bucky watching you with a grin. “So… where’s my present?”

[barney-james]

Lips n’ Hips || Chris Evans x Reader SMUT

AN: I’m all wet now.

Word Count: 3,884

Summary:

At the party Chris throws to celebrate Endgame going in to post production, you decide to tease him until he breaks.

WARNINGS: unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, spanking, choking, hair pulling, squirting

*not my gifs*

The house buzzes with the excited chatter and the loud bumps of the music shaking the house. You stand in the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink as you stare blankly into the crowded living room where your boyfriend is being a good host for his guests. You’re not paying any attention to your surroundings, just staring at him almost creepily. He looks so stately with his laid-back attitude as he laughs with his friends. The top several buttons of his shirt are undone, but he’s wearing a white t-shirt underneath which is no doubt a size or two too small and clung to his broad chest. You’d much rather he wear no undershirt, wishing his tattoo and chest hair could peak out from under his shirt. Though that’d probably be dangerous. You’re already wanting to jump his bones, and you’ve barely conversed during the party. It’s not like what he’s wearing is outside of his normal attire.

You sigh and look down, stirring your drink as you try to distract yourself from your ravishing boyfriend. Slightly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar eyes on you, you pull the hem of your short dress down, trying to cover as much leg as possible. You look unbelievably sexy, but you silently curse yourself for having bought something so far out of your comfort zone. The short dress is black to accentuate your curves, and very low cut to show off your cleavage, also revealing a few small tattoos that people wouldn’t usually know about unless you’re intimate. The guests started arriving before you were done getting ready, and Chris didn’t see you in your dress before the party started. In fact, you’re not even sure he knows you bought it. You know he would’ve made you change into something less revealing if he had, which leads you to ponder if he has seen you since you came out of your bedroom. You’d have expected him to say something about your outfit if he had.

Part of you chose the dress to get Chris excited in a situation where he wasn’t likely to do anything about it. The party celebrates the end of filming for Endgame as the movie goes into post production. Chris had been stressed and distracted the past several weeks, for good reason, yet leaving you untouched with pent up sexual frustration. Of course, you didn’t want to talk to him about it and make it seem like you don’t support him, because you very much do. And you wouldn’t dare deal with it yourself and disobey the rule the two of you have placed, but also because you, or any toy, could not do you justice as that man does for you, knowing every curve and crevice of your body and exactly how to drive you insane. 

You leave the kitchen, scooting around the many guests as politely and carefully as you can. You join Scarlett and Elizabeth on the patio, still being able to see Chris threw the floor-to-ceiling windows. You deliberately face him, so that if he looks your direction, he’s bound to see you, but also so you can keep an eye on the deliciously handsome man your so lucky to call yours. You lean across a tall round table as you converse with your friends about anything and everything. Scarlett goes on and on about her husband, Colin, and just how amazing he is. You nod your head absentmindedly, staring into the house at Chris as she talks, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Y/n?” Scarlett calls your name, pulling you back to reality. “Are you listening to anything we’re saying?”

“No, not really,” you tell her truthfully. “I don’t think Chris has seen me yet, and I’m want to know what he thinks of the dress. You know I never really dress up.” You stare down at your almost empty drink.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to wait any longer,” she says slyly. 

Confused you look at her and see a smirk evident on her face. You follow her gaze into the house, and see Chris staring back at you with his jaw tightly clenched. Your cheeks heat up as you hold eye contact with him. Trying to get your message across, you let your eyes rake over his broad figure as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

You smirk as you break the burning eye contact. You look to the ladies at your table, smirk still evident. You tell them your going to get another drink and they holler, excited for you. As you walk back into the house, you notice Chris striding towards you with brazen confidence controlling his gait. You turn a corner, acting as if you hadn’t seen him, and continue into the kitchen. You walk over to the counter bearing the alcohol and nonchalantly pour yourself another drink.

You feel his presence as his eye bore into your back for a moment, the dress cut so low, the dimples in your lower back are visible. Soon enough, he approaches you, but you do not turn to face him. One of his large hands rests on your waist, the other reaching around you and taking your glass out of your hand and placing it on the counter as he presses his hips into your ass. 

You gasp at the feeling of his semi pressed against you and silently praise yourself for having such an effect on him. 

“You shouldn’t be wearing that, baby,” he almost whispers into your ear as he moves your hair over your shoulder and away from your neck. He presses his lips to your sweet spot, right below your ear, and sucks slightly, making you whine. You subconsciously push back against him at the feeling. He smirks against your skin as his hot breath fans your ear. “Why you showing off so much, baby girl? No one should be seeing this much of you except me.”

You love it when he gets possessive, but you know you can drive him farther. You take a deep breath and collect yourself, turning around in his arms so your ass is pressed against the edge of the counter. An idea comes to your mind and you smirk to yourself as you look up innocently into his dilated eyes. You hum. “You’ve got something...” you let your voice trail off as you bring your thumb to your mouth, licking it sensually to dampen the pad of the finger. You reach up to his lips, brushing your thumb softly against the corner of his mouth, you tongue between your lips in mock concentration. You shift your gaze from his lips into he eyes, letting your thumb slide over his lips and pull softly at the bottom. Chris tries to hold back a groan, but fails, letting it escape the back of his throat. Your hand rests on his jaw for a moment, your finger lingering on his lips before you drop your hand. You bring your thumb to your mouth and place the finger pad firmly to your tongue before wrapping your lips around the finger and sucking on it sensually, all while looking up at Chris innocently through your eyelashes. You hum as you slowly pull your thumb from your mouth, and you can feel him grow harder against you. You rest a hand against his chest, almost caressing him before you push him back and escape the small space between your boyfriend and the counter.

You begin to walk out of the kitchen, but stop in the doorway as you feel his eyes bore into your back once more. You turn around and walk back over to him, resting your hand back on his chest, but gripping his shirt this time and pulling his lips down to yours in a quick, yet lust-filled kiss. As Chris tries to deepen the kiss with his tongue, and his hands sit on your waist, you pull away and reach behind him to grab your drink off the counter. “Stop staring, sweetheart,” you purr, taking the small straw between your lips and onto your tongue as you take a sip. You swallow the burning liquor, keeping eye contact. “I know you want me,” you say lowly, wink, and turn and walk away with your drink in your hand before he can react. 

You leave your boyfriend, jaw dropped in the kitchen, your hips swaying the whole way, and make your way back outside to the girls. After a few more drinks, once you’ve loosened up a bit, you become more comfortable, and eventually start dancing with the girls, your hips moving with the music.

Eventually the party starts dying down and you’ve lost the pleasant buzz from the liquor. You make your way into the living room, seeing Chris sitting on the couch and talking with Anthony and Sebastian. You move closer to him, him having yet to notice you as he takes off his button down. You continue into the living room, stopping once you’re in front of him. You bend over slightly, your ass facing Chris as you put your glass down on the coffee table, reaching over it for a second to find a coaster. You bend down farther as you remove the heels you’ve been wearing all night, and you feel the back of your dress ride up. From behind you, you hear Chris suppress a moan with a cough, seemingly unnoticed by the other guests. You stand upright again, and move to sit next to him, but his strong hands grip your hips firmly and pull you down into his lap. You gasp as you land on him, finding him pressing into you again, but from the new position of your bum on his lap, you feel him press through his pants and against your panties. 

As innocently as possible, you grind your hips back onto him, making it seem as if you’re just getting comfortable in his lap, and you feel him stiffen more beneath you. You smirk, but play it off before he can see it by laughing at something Sebastian said. You lean over and place your hand softly on his forearm as you laugh. Chris’s body goes rigid for a split second before relaxing again. Your hand leaves Sebastian’s arm as you lean back against the arm of the sofa that Chris rests his arm on, and move your arm around his shoulder. You rub down against him again as you wiggle, crossing one of your legs over the other.

Once you’ve relaxed back into his arms, his hand subtly moves your hair away from your ear again as he leans in, his breath hot against you as it had been an hour or so earlier. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he practically growls in your ear, and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you lower area warms at his words. 

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “I don’t know what you mean,” you play.

He growls deeply again, but muffles the sound by wrapping his hand into your hair and pulling your lips onto his in a heated kiss, him instantly enforcing his dominance with his tongue, not caring about the guests surrounding. 

You moan softly into the kiss but push your hand against him again, looking at him with lust-clouded eyes. “Chris, we have guests,” you remind him, staring deeply into his mesmerizing eyes.

Chris continues to try to make moves on you for the rest of the evening, but each one is shot down, and he begins to grow painfully frustrated.  It took several more hours, and well past midnight for the rest of the guests to leave. You hug Sebastian and Anthony goodbye, pressing your chest against each of them subtly. Chris walks the last two guests out the door, staying on the porch a moment to talk to them.

You take the moment to start cleaning up, picking up cups from around the house. As you hear the front door open again, and Chris come back into the house, you get on your knees by the coffee table, bending down to reach the plastic cups under it.

You hear Chris growl behind you, and then feel his hands on your hips as he pulls you up so your standing with your back pressed against his firm chest. His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing just enough as you gasp at his actions. 

“You’re going to regret wearing that dress, and teasing me is just cruel, baby girl,” he says into your ear. He pushes you off of him, and you stumble forward. “Upstairs. Now.” he demands, and you giggle, scurrying towards the stairs at the back of the house and up towards the bedroom.

You push the door open, and Chris is right on your heals, pushing you into the room and towards the bed. He slams the door behind him and saunters over to you with his shoulders back and chest puffed out, as if he needs to adjust his posture to make him more intimidating. As he gets closer to you, you stumble backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you start to fall over. But Chris snakes an arm around your waist and catches you, holding you against him. He turns both of you around and sits himself on the edge of the bed. 

He pulls you down with him so you fall over his lap, ass up. “I gotta punish you, baby girl,” he begins. “You can’t tease me like that in front of so many people.” His hand slides under the hem of your dress and pushes it up, exposing your ass to him. He rubs at the soft flesh, gripping it roughly before bringing his hand down on it, hard. You yelp in surprise, even thoug you knew it was coming. The yelp subsides into a whine as the pain quickly turns to a burning pleasure. 

“This thong is useless,” he chuckles above you as he hooks his finger into the string. “It doesn’t cover anything.” Impatiently, he rips the string, quickly discarding the scraped cloth across the room. 

You let out a breathy whine as he does so, proving his strength that you already know he more than possesses. His hand comes down on your ass again, rubbing his hand over the hot skin in an effort to sooth it before repeating the process several more times. You were keeping count in your head, but quickly, the pleasure made you lose count, and by the time Chris was pulling you to stand back up, you could feel your arousal dripping down your thigh.

Chris takes notice of your wetness and clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I haven’t even touched you, sweetheart,” he shakes his head. He leans down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, tongues dancing together as lips move in sync. His hands slide up your sides, lifting the dress with it, and pulling it over your head. The kiss breaks momentarily for him to remove your dress, but his lips reattach to yours immediately. His hand slides into your hair and pulls your head back and out of the kiss, making you look up at his darkened eyes. “Down,” he demands, and you obey, quickly dropping to your knees in front of him.

He removes his belt, quickly sliding it through the loops and tossing it away as you begin to unbutton his pants. You unbutton and unzip them slowly, then slide them down at an agonizing pace. His huge hand grabs you by the jaw and forces you to look up at him. “If you tease me anymore, I’ll finish here. You won’t get anything. You won’t get to cum. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you swallow the lump in your throat as he removes his hand from your face.

“And you wouldn’t be able to handle that would you, princess.”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t.”

You push his pants and his boxers down the rest of the way quickly, and he steps out of them, kicks them to the side, and holds his throbbing cock in his hand. You open your mouth and take him in as far as you can, no licking, no teasing, no adjusting. You take your head back, and go bath down, trying to go farther very time. You start the pace so it’s comfortable for you, but Chris seems dissatisfied. He grabs you hair again, holding you in place with your mouth open below him, and he rocks his hips, thrusting into your mouth until you feel his tip hitting the back of your throat. As he fucks his thick length into your throat, the absurd slurping and wet noises coming from you alone is enough to get him to cum, but he fights it, wanting to prolong his pleasure as he continues rocking his hips. Soon enough, your gag reflex breaks, and you have trouble breathing. You smack your hand against his bare thigh several times, taping out.

He gets the message, removing himself from your mouth as he picks you up from the floor. Chris turns, throwing you down on the bed, close to edge. You bounce slightly, but he stops it as he folds your legs up, putting your knees against your chest and holding you in place. He kneels on the floor, and dives in without warning, licking up the juices dripping from your cunt and burying his face between your legs. His stubble scratches your legs and butt perfectly, adding a new sensation to the powerful mix. His mouth moves up your core, wrapping around your clit and sucking it forcefully into his mouth, making you moan out louder. If your legs weren’t in the way, you’d wrap your fingers in his hair and pull like you know he likes. He adds to your pleasure by pounding two fingers into your hole relentlessly, no adjustment or warning again. His fingers hook up and hit your spot perfectly, and soon, all the pressure he puts on your pussy breaks, and you cum, your body convulsing and shaking, your hips leaving the bed on their own account, only to be held down by your boyfriend’s strong hands. Your voice breaks, going so high that you’re barely making any sound.

Chris buries himself further and licks you through your high until your body jerks at the over sensitive feeling of your clit. He comes up from between your thighs, dropping your legs and looking down at you. You legs drop weakly off the bed as he smirks down at you, his mouth and jaw dripping to your horrifying realization. 

“That was,” he begins, panting against your neck. “So. Fucking. Hot.” He bites into the crook of your neck as his hands grab you under your lower back, lifting you a bit higher onto the bed. He kneels between your thighs, and you naturally wrap your legs around his waist. 

“You’re so good to me, baby girl,” he moans as he pushes his cock into your still aching pussy. You cry out at the feeling, a tear falling from the corner of your eye. “So fucking tight. You take me so well, baby.” Chris wipes the tear from your face, holding it softly in his hand as he kisses you deeply, starting to move his hips at a slow pace.

After he finally let you adjust, you moan into his lips. “Chris,” you moan out. “Faster. Please.”

“Oh, yeah,” he asks and stands back up on his knees, holding your hips against him. “You want me to pound your pretty pussy, don’t you?”

“Yes, Chris,” you moan out as his speed picks up slightly. “Please!”

“Such a good girl.” He picks his pace up more, holding onto your thighs as he slams into you over and over again, hitting the spot only he can find. You whine and moan out in an almost pornographic way, driving him farther. He grew rougher at your sounds, hitting into you harder. He grips your breasts tight, massaging them, and slapping them as they bounce along with the rhythm he’s set. “God, I love the noises you make, baby,” he moans, his hand finding your throat again and forcing you down into the mattress with the gratifying pressure. Your moans get caught off by his hand, and he soon realizes it, loosening his grip on you marginally.

“Chris, oh fuck,” you moan out. “Oh, god, I’m so close.” You gasp as he pushes down on your throat again, grabbing your thigh tighter as he pounds into you harder. 

“Cum for me baby,” he encourages you. “Let me feel you cum around my cock like a good girl. Scream my name for me.”

His words use you the last bit you need, and you’re over the edge again. Your hand wrap around his wrist holding your neck down as your hips buck up against him, shaking. You scream out his name as the overwhelming pleasure courses through you.

“Fuck, YES, baby!” He moans out, riding you through your intense orgasm with sloppy thrusts, your tightening around him getting him to his own edge. Swiftly he pulls out of you, pulling you to sit up in front of him by his hand on your throat as he pumps his cock twice more and releases hot ropes of his seed over your face and chest. You gasp and moan at the feeling, at the intimacy, opening your mouth in hopes to catch some, to taste his glory. 

The strands stop, and he rubs his cock down onto your tongue, making sure you take all of him. He removes his cock from your mouth, wiping come of his mess from your chest with his fingers and shoving them in instead. “You’re such a good girl, baby.” He bends down, connecting your lips in a hungry, yet tired kiss, tongues dancing together so you can both taste yourselves, further mixing. 

Panting, he kisses down your jaw and across your shoulder before going into the bathroom. A moment later, he comes back with a washcloth and wipes off your chest. He attempts to wipe himself from your face, but you laugh at him. 

“It’s in my eyelashes, Chris,” you laugh. “That’s not going to work.”

“Oh,” he murmurs and lets you up from the bed. When you stand you stumble, your apex and thighs so sore you can barely stand. “Baby?” He asks, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You kiss him and leave to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

When you come back, he’s leaning back on his hands while he sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for you. He sees you and holds out his arms to, and you gladly climb in, straddling his lap as you burry your face into his beautifully bare chest.

“Hey,” he says, and gently lifts your face off of him. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” you smile sleepily. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him sweetly before he tucks you into the bed and holds you tightly as you both fall asleep, never wanting to leet such a perfect specimen go.