#so it is genuinely impossible to get my head around it that people like this in any way

[madlittlecriminal]

Leon Kennedy with a Hispanic/Latina partner? 🤨☺️🤠

I need it 😭😭

Soap Operas but Make it Spanish ⋮ RE4!Leon Kennedy × Latina!Female!Reader

ugh, this made my little heart happy. here ya go! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: reader likes telenovelas, telenovela slaps, mention of the chancla, a play on his name because i saw the opportunity & took it.

Leon tilted his head to the side as you sat on the couch, watching a very dramatic soap opera. You were dressed in your comfiest attire, favorite snack on your lap as you were practically glued to the screen. He got home maybe 15 minutes ago and you didn't even realize it. Was he concerned? A bit, but he couldn't blame you; what ever you were watching at him interested as well.

Not to mention, the slap the woman (he assumed was the lead) gave the man (he assumed was the love interest), was very dramatic to say the least. Leon hasn't slapped many people with his hand, but he's sure it wouldn't cause someone to almost lose their balance...unless they were drunk.

Was the male lead drunk?

"¡Ya era tiempo, perro!" (It's about time, you dog!)

Leon blinked a few times before shaking his head. "Is there a reason for the insult?"

You jump and turn your body away from the TV, now facing Leon. "How long have you been there?!"

He chuckles. "Long enough. Now tell me, was there a reason for the insult?"

"He sleeps around and she finally found out because her best friend asked if they were still a thing. She said yes, her best friend told her she saw him with other women. She confronted him for it, he denied it while smelling like another woman, so she slapped him."

Leon nods. "Sounds like he deserved it. Is it always this dramatic?"

"Yes. But that's the best part!"

He laughs, heads to the couch and plants a kiss on your cheek. "God, i love you."

You smile as he sits next to you. "I love you too."

"Are there English subtitles? I'll gladly watch this with you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"English subtitles...?" His eyes darted around in confusion.

"Funny."

"It's a genuine question, sweetheart."

"Leon, no. Abuela would have a fit if she saw English subtitles."

"She's not here...is she?" He looks around in a panic, looking for your grandmother.

"She's not, but what if she does come one day, wants to watch her telenovela and sees English subtitles on the screen? Listen, my mom's chancla is powerful, but Abuela's aim is sharp. At least my mom misses sometimes."

His eyes widen. "She never misses?"

"Never."

"Oh."

"Wait, aren't you going to Spain next week?"

"Yeah?"

"Perfect! Time to get some Spanish in you!"

He blinks. "Why can't you teach me?"

"We've been dating for three years. You are literally impossible to teach. You only picked up nicknames, and, unsurprisingly, curse words. Maybe a telenovela will do you some good."

His jaw slacks as he gave you a playful glare. "Rude."

"Aguántate, leoncito." (Suck it up, little lion.)

[kasumikoujou]

whenever i draw myself w tieria and post it its a constant cycle of

oh no the people will hate me -> post gets more than 1 like or sometimes performs like my better sketches or personal things do -> WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE THIS i was being cringe . why do you care 😔

[irregularbillcipher]

going over old fic notes and outlines and character talks with friends and it's always really funny when i get to the stuff i was developing early-mid 2019 where bill just literally kept kryptos around to rag on, and he genuinely just. did not like the man. like was just completely annoyed with his general existence. boy have things changed

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

PAIRING: Merman!John Price x F!Artist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s something in the water - you're going to figure out what it is, and why it chose to save you.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, murder, death/near death, assault, injury, gore, mystery, mentions of suicide, angst, protective!John, pining, sickness, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The little boat rocks as it slips through the expansive water, a thin hanging of mist in the air. The curtain-like film it leaves makes it nearly impossible to see the dark rocks of the shore a far distance away, and the dip and push of the oars through the chilled waves leaves splashing droplets connecting to your cheeks. You touch the flesh delicately, brushing away the spray as your eyes slide over dark, lapping water—deeper than anything. 

In your lap, sitting below the high waist of your skirt, was your sketchbook; the tweed material was all the rage these days, though you never focused much on that. The thick item kept out the chill of the, very, early morning, and that was all you cared about, though, it seemed you lacked the foresight to pack a proper coat. A large woolen shawl sat over your shoulders, hiding the plain white blouse but not its cuffs; not the slight poof of the bottom part of the sleeves. 

Your numb fingers fiddle with the pencil in your hands, your open sketchbook filled with page after page of images ranging from the common sea-bird to great ships and shorelines. 

“I still have to ask why you feel the need to tag along,” is the voice that breaks the silence, and you blink away from the cloud of condensation from your exhalation. Your ear twitches, but only a small flick of a smile pulls your lips at the older man’s garbled words. “So cold my damn hands are going to fall off. Why am I always the one bloody working the oars?”

Otto Whitworth was a man far into his later years—one who entertained your fascination with the raging waters and the need to immortalize them on paper; that draw to the sights and sounds. Graying, covered now in a large coat and his boots, with the long fishing rod knocking around by your feet, he grumbles more than he speaks sentences, content with only the pipe in his breast pocket and the promise of fresh fish for breakfast. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chuckle, glancing over at his wrinkled face—the glare of dark eyes set into a deep browline that’s more for show of annoyance than genuine emotion. “Gets the blood pumping harder, Mr. Whitworth.” Your vision slides to the shadows of the black rocks, and your pencil finds your palm before the sound of it meeting parchment echoes over the nothingness. “Isn’t it lovely? Listen to the Gannets.”

“Don’t need my blood pumpin’ harder,” the old man grinds out, scoffing. “Gonna make my fuckin’ heart stop, Girl…” Otto sighs, shaking his head as you chuckle. He growls under his breath. “And, no, I’m not listening to the birds—they’ll be trying to steal my fish soon enough. Greedy bastards.”

Your eyes roll in their sockets, pencil shading in the rough shapes of misty rocks, your face cold but still eager for something. There was a type of magic to this place—to Southern England and the small coast town you had settled in nearly a year ago: Redthorpe. 

It seemed your talent for the arts was appreciated here, you had a shop to your name and friendly compliments from the locals every time the door was pulled open. People here liked the attention to detail in a place where they had most likely lived for a good ninety percent of their lives.

You tilt your head at the paper as Otto lets the oars drop back into the water, grasping for his fishing rod that you kindly move closer with your foot. 

The man takes up the item and sets the line, whipping back the pole and snapping it forward with a wizz and a grunt—a cracking of old bones. 

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back. 

You send a silent look upward, and at the same time as he does, you say out loud in a soft voice.

“You’ll scare away the fish with all that blabber.”

A heavy glare is leveled at you, but you raise a hand innocently and laugh under your breath. 

“I’m as silent as the fish, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Cheeky Bird,” Otto sighs loudly, shifting in his seat until he faces the water, eyes glinting. “You’re too wild for this place, then, eh?”

“For most places,” you breathe, smiling as you study the rocks again before going back to your work. It’s only after there were the wiggling bodies of three fish set into a fisher’s basket that the oars are taken back up and the silent water is again forced back by ripples. 

Pencil finding the middle of the spine, you close your sketchbook, the routine is as simple as it always is. Otto will complain about having you at his dock, he’ll begrudgingly invite you in and cook three fish: one for him, the second for his cat, Harriet—older than England itself and missing most teeth; as blind as a bat—and then, finally, you. After that you’re back in your shop finishing up your piece of the misty shoreline, working until the candle burns through both ends and the oil paints are swirling colors as your eyes bug. Bed, and finally, repeat. 

A splash of water makes you blink quickly, your head jerking over at the slide of movement from the corner of your vision. Eyes wide, you swear a fin had cut the surface of the water like a knife through butter. 

Your body moves closer to the side of the boat immediately, leaning over eagerly. 

“Hey!” Otto barks, steadying himself as the vessel shakes back and forth. Your eyes shimmer, a smile overtaking your lips. “Watch yourself—you’ll send me overboard!”

“Did you see that?” Your eyes dart over the water. “I think I saw a fin.” 

“You got excited over a fish?” The older man’s voice is unimpressed, hissing in the crackling of age. “Hell, I got three in the basket if you’re that bloody impressed.”

“Shh,” you wave one of your hands, unblinking. “It was bigger than a fish, Otto!” 

Your ears twitch to his scoff, his hands grasping the oars harder before he shoves the boat forward. Body looming, the intense pull of adventure dims the longer nothing happens, and after a minute or two of dead mist and water, you hum under your breath like a fool and sit back.

“Lost it,” your numb lips murmur, breath puffing out softly. “Damn.” You shake your head as the wooden dock gets closer, more boats tied and shifting with the waves. “It was strange,” you admit. “Like a deep navy color—with specs of silver along the spine.”

Otto pauses, his hands tight over the oars. He blinks over at you, face for the first time showing an emotion other than annoyance. You barely notice before the sheen of crafted blankness is back. 

You smile down the length of the boat, curiosity plain to see. “Do you know of any animal like that around here?”

“No,” Otto grunts out quickly, and your excitement dims sharply, blinking through shock. 

Your brows furrow after the silence falls stiffly—the boat had never been uncomfortable to you, the atmosphere quiet, of course, but always easy to charter. Now the air was…muddy. Something had changed as fast as a fish being yanked out of water. 

Fingers twitching, you sit back slowly onto the plank, pulling your sketchbook the tiniest bit closer to your abdomen. Face open, Otto continues to row and the entire ride is silent until the boat is docked and tied to the pole by calloused hands. Your digits grasp your shawl and wrap the fabric harder, shifting down to hide your chin into the wool as you shiver. 

“...Need help?” You ask, eyes still shifting back to the water like always. 

There’s something now that makes your attention drift like the waves themselves—and it wasn’t only the shadows of the rise and fall, it was Otto’s strange behavior. The man wasn’t one to just say one word and nothing more. He could bounce off you like it was a game; you often thought he enjoyed your company just so he could insult someone. Jokingly, of course. It was the companionship he craved, it was why he always let you on his boat in the mornings. 

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it. 

“Don’t need any help,” he grumbles out, tying off the last knot to the pole and stepping back with a smirk of satisfaction. “M’not in the grave yet, Girl. Been working the boats since I was out my mum’s womb.”

“Feel sorry for her.” Your mutter meets the air as light streaks through the mist. Breathing hot air into your free hand, you rub it over your arm repeatedly and sigh, fingers of the other limb tightening over your book. Absentmindedly, your head turns back to the open water one last time, for one last glimpse of anything you want to commit to memory while you paint—

The fin is back. 

“Otto!” Feet swiftly dart to the end of the dock, you stop only an inch away as your skirt whips over. “It’s back! Look!” 

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away. 

Gasping sharply, you stumble until the harsh bark of, “Get back!” echoes across the dock just as it does through your ears. 

“Whoa!” You’re quickly let go of, a shadow shielding you from the view of the water as you scramble to make sure your sketchbook won’t slip from your hold. Head jerking to stare in shock at the middle of Otto’s curved spine, your heart stutters in confusion and a bit of hesitation befitting one who was just manhandled. Standing up straight again, your tight face pulls in, the pound of your heart telling you something is wrong. 

Glancing past a still frozen Otto, the water is utterly devoid of life again—only ripples to show there had ever really been something there at all. 

“You go back to the ocean,” Otto yells, spittle flying from his mouth, fishing boots stomping against the wood as he moves forward a step, pointing. “Go back to the bloody hole you swam out of! There’s nothing for you here! Nothing!” 

You watch, struck dumb. 

“...Mr. Whitworth?” Your lips mutter out, eyebrows shifting from the waves to the man—utterly confused down to your chilled bones. Who was he talking to?

Perhaps time had caught up to him—was he mistakenly taking the rocks for people? The waves for whispers? All you had seen was a fish’s fin, nothing more, nothing less.

“Otto,” you call again, concerned. You should get the man inside; get him warm and let him cook his breakfast. “Let’s just go.” Your eyes blink lightly, fingers twitching over your book. “Alright…? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, it’s nothing important.”

His form waddles past you, more in tune to his sea legs than the ones on land, and under his breath, you hear him snarl out a low, “You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.” 

Withered hand connecting with your shawl’s edge, you’re dragged back with more force than you’d anticipate Otto still having, but you go with him nonetheless. 

Looking at the water, there’s nothing to see beyond the stretch of nothingness.

—

You dare to ask when you’re pushing the fish bones over to the side of your plate, slipping some mashed-up scraps to Harriet who lays in your lap purring. The rough scrape of a tongue licks your fingers, and deep gray fur caresses your palm.

“Who were you talking to back there?” Your voice carries over the small hut that Otto calls his own, the sounds of the water meeting the rocks plainly heard seeing as his property was as close to the cliffs as you could get without going over them. “I never took you for someone to believe in spirits.” The joke was a small jab, but even your own amusement was dim in the situation. Your hand puts down the fork and moves to rest along Harriet’s back, lightly petting the old cat as her half-missing tail flicks in satisfaction.

The man’s back over at the sink tightens. 

“You watch yourself near the waters, Girl,” Otto grunts, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. “By God, you watch yourself. There’s things out there—terrible things.” 

“What kinds of ‘terrible things,’ Otto?” Your head tilts, sketchbook resting still on the table, your gaze flickering to it. Terrible had a nice ring to it. But something else was swirling in your gut now, a hesitation of a special sort that only comes out with the unknown paths of life. 

What could make a man born and bred on the waters so reserved when speaking about them? Your interest had been piqued—your curiosity unsated until you were given a clear answer. You’d only been here a year, that wasn’t enough time to know the secrets of Redthorpe; to be let into those deeper circles. 

Otto licks his cracked lips, the wrinkles of his face leaving behind something akin to a scrunched dog’s visage—worn by time and improper care from the damage of the sun. He’d been at work on his boat for decades, and while you took his advice with a grain of salt usually,  this time he carried himself differently: you wanted to know why. 

He glares with no venom, taking out the scrubbed pan from the soapy water and barking, “What’s it with the younger generation and their bloody pushing? Listen to what I’m telling you and take it as it is, Girl. You don’t go on the water,” he blinks, face grim, “unless I’m the one ferryin’ you through it, eh? That’s the end of it. I’ll say no more.” 

Frowning heavily, you sigh under your breath and shake your head. Letting your eyes slip down to Harriet, you scratch under her chin and stare into her milky eyes as she lets out a little chirp.

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter. 

But a fire had been lit in your breast now—a low simmering pull like a rope had been tied to your wrist, drawing you closer and closer to the rocky shore, to a boat tied on the dock which you knew was steadily rocking to the deep, dark waves of this isolated place. 

To a navy-colored fin in the water, and a shape far larger than any you’d seen before. 

Blinking to look out the window of Otto’s home, your eyes find the ocean, and the longing that you’d always had for it grows ten times larger as your sketchbook begs to be filled.

—

It was only fate, you guessed, that you had come to Redthorpe—a tiny, unimportant dot on the map—when the way of life you’d chosen had led you astray. This place was a way to start over. Fix yourself. You’d picked the least-known town in all of Europe, and that was exactly what you wanted.

One trait, though, that could never be squashed from your psyche was the lust for the unknown. It was an obsessive lover; a toxic hand on the back of your neck that dragged you back over and over, until there was only yourself to blame for the repetition of disappointment. 

It was the reason you found yourself on the shore two days after you sighted the dark fin that cut the water. 

Your lace-up boots were atop a large boulder, shifting as your body turned from left to right, eyes patiently dragging the expanse of nothing. Waves lap only inches below, spraying up to get absorbed into your skirt, shawl whipping with the wind. The breeze is stuck with the sounds of birds, the very beings darting above your head, playing their games with varying cries that sound like throaty groaning. 

Bending, your arms wrap your waist, lips flickering. You were cold, limb-numbingly so, but even if you saw nothing today, or tomorrow, the push and pull of the ocean was enough—the call of the birds, the hypnotic sway of water. Calling to you, even if it had no lips to do so. 

Taking down a lung-shaking inhale, you chuckle, sketchbook sitting in the small purse around your shoulder. 

“What am I doing?” You ask yourself, shaking your head. “It was just a big fish—that old man was just being paranoid, anyways.” Eyes caressing the line where water meets the sky, your smile pulls your chilled cheeks. “There’s nothing out here worth my time. I need to finish my work.” 

Leaning back, you rub your hands up and down your biceps, nonetheless enjoying your time despite the burning of something in the back of your head. A knowledge that the fin was nothing documented before? A hope of discovery? A need for adventure? Oh, who can really say—what can be known are only three things: 

One, the weather was getting worse, two, the water was getting wilder, and, three, you had forgotten the way the rock you were standing on had shifted when you stepped up to it. Shuffling, your boots connect to the right corner, and your hands extend to keep your balance as you hiss a low breath, purse beginning to slip. 

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of a man’s voice, and you startle sharply, gasping as your foot slips. A quick cry is all you get out before you’re suddenly plummeting downwards headfirst into the frigid water. 

The feeling of liquid is all-consuming as it seeps into your nostrils and ears, all sound muffled entirely beyond the roar of it leaving you so stupendously—a flare, and then nothing. Eyes bugging, limbs slashing through the waves, the chill hits you in the chest with the force of a stone, smashing through your ribs to weigh you down with concrete stuck in your lungs. It was entirely a bodily reaction to gasp. 

Through the blue and the bubbles, you start to drown. 

Fingers twitching, you claw at nothing as the darkness settles its hands over your panicked eyes, not for a moment thinking about who had called to you in the first place—or who was poking a head out of the water before you’d gone over. Obviously, it was a trick of your senses; no one could survive being out in water like this.

You certainly weren’t going to. 

Legs slashing, something is darting in the corner of your eye before your vision fails, but the rapid fear in your heart masks the hand gripping at your shirt’s collar. It hides even the feeling of strong arms until the point where you’re yanked upwards with little effort as one curls your waist. It doesn't hide, however, the way you vomit up water as you’re heaved to the rocky shore moments later.

Choking, you hack up salt that burns your esophagus until your lunch quickly follows—all spilled with little care for your hands caught in the crossfire. Spine arching as if a cat, air can’t come sweeter as it is drawn in rapidly; nearly hyperventilating on the ocean-smooth stones as your clothes are utterly ruined. 

Panting, gasping, shivering violently, your head pulls itself weakly upward. It doesn’t take long for your mind to scream at you, and your head snaps behind you in a panic.

But there’s nothing but the raging water and the splash of a large navy-colored tail as big as your entire body disappearing back into the depths. 

Your fear can only stay for so long before the threat of a frigid death becomes more and more probable. In your race back up the cliff face to your shop, your purse is completely forgotten, trapped on the top of that shaky rock where it had fallen from your shoulder before the great plunge. 

Your shawl is seen floating out to the open water before it’s grasped from below and suddenly plucked—vanishing without a single trace.

—

The fire rages with the inferno of a million suns, and it’s not nearly hot enough. Wrapped in every blanket, sheet, and warm item available, you still can’t stop shivering hours later. A teacup was stuck in your hands, the liquid sloshing over the edges to slip over your quivering fingers and absorb into the cocoon of heat. 

Breathing through your shaky lungs, you keep the rim of the cup to your lips, eyes wide and horrified. In the still moments after you’d stripped and tried to stop the onset of sickness that you could already feel coming, there was a flash of realization from your strange and fantastical ordeal. 

There had been a man. 

The sensation of hands around your waist—the gruff voice that had spooked you so violently. A man. In the water. Every time you blink, you see a shadowed image, a tiny glimpse as you’d turned to the sound of human speech above the shriek of birds. 

Short brown hair and narrowed blue eyes set into sockets of pale skin. A bearded face, mustache…square jaw…

“What in God’s name?” You stutter in question over your tea, shaking your head. “That isn’t possible.” 

Outside your shop, the wind screams, pushing against your exterior shutters as night sets in. A storm was coming; there’d be no other adventures for you. Sipping your drink, you shiver again, curling in tighter to yourself as wood crackles. The light dances over your easels and side tables, piled high with jars of brushes and pallets—bottles of linseed oil and liquin, labeled with little pieces of hanging paper at the necks. 

There are paintings in the tens—in the twenties—hanging on the walls and set to the corners, all blue and gray; misty and clear. The water is a staple in all of them, and the cliffs as well. Perfect imitations of this place, as if you could reach a hand through the canvas and enter a mirrored world. Great ships are in some of them, or little fishing boats, with the birds overhead. Sometimes, it’s only the water itself, and to you, those were perhaps the best of your work. 

There was a beauty in the nothingness. A mystery. Who knows what’s under that thin surface? Well…apparently, it wasn’t human. 

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin. 

The thing in the water wasn’t… unattractive, you had to admit. Beyond the waterlogged hair and dripping beard, a large nose sat—full cheeks with an odd mole over them. The more you thought about the brief flash of a visage, the more you grew to hang onto it, strangely. And that navy tail? It had been incredibly unique. 

Spiney, nearly—four thin bones going down on both sides, branching out from the tail starting with the shortest that was perhaps only as long as your hand until the final was as lengthy as your entire arm. There was webbing between each spine to help the thing through the water quickly, it spread to the end of the barb until it sunk back in a ‘U’ movement, before once more arching out again to connect with the next spine. Small gasps in the caudal fin calling to either battles or a natural state of being—for show in it…his?...species. 

Could you even assign it a human gender? 

You close your eyes tightly in your shop, trying to will the image away from yourself. “What in the hell is going on?” Your voice is scratchy and low. 

Yet, the undeniable truth was that the fish-man had saved you. It couldn’t be overlooked. Not by you, who now can sit in front of this very fire because of it. Like a moth to the flame, the surge of cautious confusion is burning your wings. 

Deep blue eyes like the ocean. A navy tail. A gruff, hard voice.

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace. 

“What has this place been hiding in the water? And why did it bloody save my life right after it nearly ended it?” 

More importantly…you had to think of a way to get your sketchbook back without getting on its bad side.

With a heavy chest, and more than a little fear in your heart, it was resolved to do something about all of this tomorrow. There was no use leaving the shop now. Glancing at the shaking window, you could hear the ocean rampaging over the cliffs; hear the slam of the rain hitting the roof like pounding feet. 

But that voice played in your ears like a gramophone's bleated chorus. 

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then. 

—

There was no question if you’d gotten sick because of your impromptu bath in the ocean—the evidence was in your salt-covered shirt and the stockings that were still drying on the hearth. 

Pressing a handkerchief to your mouth as you cough haggardly. You’re bundled in a nice fur dress coat, walking along the street with a skipping heart, a simple cloche hat over your head to protect you from the elements; dark blue in color.

The irony was not lost this morning when the hue had a striking familiarity to a fish-like tail, but it hadn’t stayed in your hand. A small drizzle slapped the fabric, and you were thankful you had brought the hat and coat along with you on the move from the big city. 

You weakly smile and nod to the locals you consider friends—at the very least acquaintances. But before long, you’re at the place you feel you need to be to gain answers, too nervous to go back to the shore immediately.

The library.

Something Otto had said came back to you last night, in the throws of insomnia. The two sentences he’d called out on the docks that day—You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.

Eleanor? Who was that and how did it correlate to the beast in the water that wears a man's face? Maybe, the local records would tell you the answer—there had to be something about this person, ‘Eleanor,’ in them, right?

If not, there was only one option left, and that was going down to the shore and getting the results first hand…you’d rather exhaust all of your resources on solid land first. 

Slipping into the library with a deep breath and a cough in your throat, you sigh and nod slightly. Time to get to work.

“Oh,” the librarian looks up from her desk, standing as you shuffle over. “Hello, Dear,” she breathes through a chuckle, eyebrows pulling in softly. “My, you look a bit under the weather, don’t you? Would you like me to get some tea going…?”

“No, thank you,” you wave an easy hand. “I’m here on a bit of an errand, actually, and I was wondering if you could help me with something? I need to ask about your records.”

“Records?” The woman’s face shifts to confusion, her body slipping out to stand next to yours, you bring back up your handkerchief and sneeze into it, groaning. “What kind were you thinking, then?”

After you can push away the sheen of sickness to your eyes you take a breath and clear your throat of the stuffiness. “Births and work records? Addresses?” You make a small noise in the back of your mouth. “I guess I don’t know…anything that might help me?”

The librarian chuckles a bit, amused. “How about you tell me what it is you’re looking into, and I’ll try and grab any public knowledge that I can find. We’ll work together, then.” 

Weight is loosened from your shoulders and you nod appreciatively. “Deal.”

“Go on then,” she walks over to a shelf on the far side of the room, standing as her fingers run the spines. “Occupation I can start with, Dear?”

“Well…” you pause, shuffling after as your head looks from one sizable book to another. “No, unfortunately. Only a first name.”

“You’re lucky Redthorpe is small,” the woman laughs. “Otherwise I would have told you you’re lacking your senses with only something like that to go off of.” 

“Eleanor,” you comment, licking your lips and staring at a spine labeled ‘1890-1900 financial records - Redthorpe’. “E-L-E-A-N-O-R, or at least that’s the common spelling, I believe.” 

The librarian’s body is stone-still. Comparable to the immovable rocks of the shore as the waves bash against them; the raging of the wind. When you glance over, confused at the silence that infects the building, you’re reduced to a meek hesitation at the blank eyes that dig into your face. 

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” is the hurried answer, and then the woman moves past with fast feet, heels clicking over the hardwood rapidly. “There hasn’t been an Eleanor in Redthrope. You’re mistaken.” 

“Wait,” you follow, stuttering. “I don’t understand, there has to have been—Otto was talking about her not days ago!”

“You’re mistaken,” is the repeated, firm answer, the librarian’s body swirling to face you again, pointing a finger at you. “Go back to your shop. Mr. Whitworth is old, he sees things that aren’t there. Don’t take what he says to heart—”

“I saw it!” You bark, fed up. Your mind was sick of these games being played, left out of the loop like you hadn’t formed a relationship with the people of this town. 

The woman’s mouth locked shut with a clack of teeth, something darting over her expression…fear?

She backs up slowly. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear.”

Your lips twist, a threatening sneeze in the back of your nose. “I’m done with the word games! It dragged me out of the water like a sack of flour and tossed me to shore! It saved me!” Her hands are held in front of her as you stalk closer, trying to brush what you’re telling her aside as she struggles to string words. 

“It…it wouldn’t do that—that’s not how it acts. You’re just imagining things; you’re under the weather!”

“Who’s Eleanor?” You huff, stubborn as you cross your arms in front of you. “And what in the hell is a man with the tail of a fish doing living just below these cliffs?”

Wide eyes meet glaring ones, and the librarian’s lips move up and down in a panic. 

“I…” she begins, feet tapping the floor nervously as the rafters creak above the both of you. “I can’t talk about it. It’s not something to be said out loud—especially so close to the water.” 

You bark incredulously, “There’s a bloody monster that lives down in—!”

A hand is snapped over your mouth and you startle, blinking through the twitch of your body. 

“Shh!” The librarian panics, shaking her head, with flaring eyes. “Stop it or you’ll end up being dragged down to the ocean floor like Eleanor was!” You tense behind the hold, shoulders pulled in. It’s a quick spit of whispered words like a fast breeze. “Do you want your body showing up on the rocks?! Stay away from it!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, vision darting back and forth before she finally lets you go in a quick jerk of her body. The woman backs up, quivering as her eyes go to the window, nearly panting from fear. 

She looks back at you, blinks, and mutters out a quiet, “If you’ve already seen it, it wants you. Don’t go back to the water,” before she rushes into the back room and slams the door shut with the slipping of the lock. 

Left standing in the open library, the shelves sit stationary as if sentinels to your raw distress—this had only left you with more questions and a handful of jumbled answers. 

“Careful, then.”

You shake your head harshly and pivot to leave the library in a stupor, shoving your chin back down into your coat’s collar as the wind slaps your face once more. The call of the ocean is like a knife to the back of your neck.

—

Call you whatever name in the book, but you wanted your sketchbook back.

No one in town was giving you anything that was of use, and Otto was tighter-lipped than a lockbox. There was only so much you could do—could speculate—before the need for your belongings was too strong to ignore. It took two more days of pacing your shop before it was decided. 

Taking up the heavy cast-iron pan above your fireplace, you slip the thing into your coat, shove on your hat with a defiant grunt, and force the front door open. It’s a ten-minute walk to the shore, and all the way there, dread fills you up like soup until you’re bloated with it by the time your boots hit black rocks. Yet, there’s a point where a woman’s courage outweighs the sense of caution, and today was currently that day. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your skirt and hike it up, placing your boot carefully on the first of the larger stones leading out to where you’d been previously. 

“Don’t look at the water,” you mutter quietly as you move, not shuffling forward until you know the rock isn’t going to topple this way or that. “Don’t even think about it.”

But that tail…that face…

With a growl under your breath, you grind your teeth and continue on. 

The weather today was much more agreeable, but cold. It was always chilled in Redthorpe—dreary as if the clouds never left far above. You didn’t mind, and in your coat pocket, the reassuring weight of your pan left you much warmer than you’d like to admit. 

The heat of protection, so to speak.

“Even a fish-man can die, I’d wager,” you utter, grunting as you ascend a larger rock, palm slapping the wet stone before you heavy upwards, slamming your boot to the top much like a schoolboy as your skirt bunches. “If I hit him hard enough in the skull. I wonder though,” you sneeze, shuddering, “if he even bleeds? If I crack his head open…will blood seep out, or salt water?” 

You shiver, and it’s not from the cold. “Fucking hell, you do like making it harder on yourself, don’t you.”

Lightly panting, you brush down your coat on the top of the rock and turn to look at the boulder where you’d fallen previously, blinking. Pausing, your eyes find not only your sketchbook sitting there…but also your shawl. 

Struggling for a moment to try and justify your actions, you swiftly look over the surface of the water, seeing the gentle push and pull of waves. No fin. No tail. 

You aren’t sure if the feeling in your chest is joy or disappointment.

Licking your lips, you take a large breath before your face turns grim.

“Grab it and run,” your voice echoes in your own head, heart pounding with adrenaline the more steps you take to the boulder, water sloshing at the sides. You had thought perhaps that the rain—the storm—would render all of your lost belongings null, but as you bent and snatched your items to you, shawl hanging from your arm, you were pleasantly surprised. It was all dry; impossibly so. 

Amid your shock, your slack jaw, and the weight of your pan in your coat, your shaky fingers open your book with bated breath. 

Everything was in pristine condition, if not only slightly curled at the corners due to…your eyebrows pull in, expression struggling to take on the emotion of anything other than pure awe.

“Fingerprints?” 

Eyes slipping from one page to the next, flipping them only to see the press and pull of a long gone thumb, shiting the paper to gaze at the back, where a forefinger would have been. A hand laced in water had been turning the pages, just as you do now—and, yet, there wasn’t an inch that was damaged; nothing smeared. 

Shoulders loosening from their tensed position, your wide stare is utterly transfixed as your digits rub the material softly, feet shifting. 

Lowering your sketchbook, your small huff of amazed laughter, mind running. 

He’d been going through your drawings—he’d somehow protected these items from the rain and salt. How? Why? But another question wrapped its hands in your skull.

Did he like them?

Shuffling the book into the crook of your arm, you carefully wrap your shawl over the material to further keep it safe, not able to find your purse, though the only thing it ever held was your sketchbook in the first place; it wasn’t too important. 

Rising your head again, you gaze openly outward, lips opening and closing in a small stutter. Was he out there, this strange creature with a strong face and those deep eyes? That navy tail, looking like a beautiful imitation of kelp…was it just under where you now study the waves?

So many questions, so few answers. 

You clear your throat, holding your items tighter. There’s magnetism in your blood, and it sits on your tongue like salt.

“Thank you!” Your voice calls high, joining the chorus of birds far above on the cliffs. Eyes skating the rocks, the shore, the ocean, everything. Call you prideful, but perhaps the best way to gain your favor is to know that someone, whatever bit strange and fantastical, had enjoyed your work to the smallest degree. 

The way your eyes spark is still embarrassing, though, but it comes naturally after the heat that simmers over your face. 

“Truly,” you shout to the wind. “You have no idea how much this means! If you’re listening, I’d like to extend my gratitude…” Your face is beaming, and you can convince yourself that all of your fear over this is gone, even if that would just plainly be untrue. “My artwork is everything to me, I do hope you enjoyed it!” 

A creature so easily curious about your skills wouldn’t drag you to the bottom of the ocean…right? 

Hell, he’d already had a chance to do that—a perfect one—and yet, here you are. What the Librarian had said had to be false, it made no sense otherwise.

Seeing nothing, and knowing that you were needed back at your shop, you chuckle under your breath and back up swiftly, walking the distance back to the surrounding rocks and slipping off softly. Grunting under your breath, your boots hit the stone, and you carefully begin back-tracking. 

“You’re good at it,” you halt in a fraction of a second. “The images. Where’d you learn to do that?”

It’s a long moment before you turn with a cautious tilt to your head, and find the very same visage as you had a glimpse of days ago. You fight a fast inhale, but your straightening spine tells all the story it needs to. Like a fool, you lose the words in your mouth, as if trying to catch a bird of prey with a butterfly net.

A strong face is poking out of the water only a mere five feet away.

Your eyes slip to the soaked beard, the peak of bare shoulders—broad, of course—and the prying orbs that you feel will never leave; he wades there, arms under the dark water only a flash of pale skin before they’re gone again. 

“I…” you lick your lips, blinking through the moment of animalistic panic. You were on land, there was nothing to fear. The sight was still something to be remembered, though. “I was self-taught, Sir.” 

Blue eyes blink, serious face only made more so by the twitching of his large nose, which water drips from periodically. Droplets stay stuck to his dark lashes, and you’re near bursting with questions. 

But silence persists long after your sentence filters out to nothing.

“You pulled me from the water,” you state slowly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

The man looks you up and down, not arrogant, no, but in a way that is comparable to how you did the same to him. Studying you as if your body was strange to him. The realization almost made you laugh—perhaps it was strange to him.

You want to see that tail of his again. Your fingers itch to sketch its likeness and commit it to muscle memory. 

“I scared you,” he grumbles, sighing. “It wasn’t my intention to send you over.” Eyes still stay stuck. “My own fault.”

“I won’t deny you there,” you huff, gaze shifting away for a moment before filtering back. A slash of amusement curls in the thing’s eyes, and he hums. “Forgive me,” your breath wafts out over the air, face going what you can assume to be sheepish. It astounds you, though, that the conversation comes easily. “But I haven’t the faintest bloody clue as to what to call you.”

“John,” is the reply. Accent like gravel. He doesn’t waste his breath, seems. 

“John?” You lick your lips, legs shuffling over the stone. The name leaves you holding back a loud laugh. “Well, I suppose I could have guessed that, then. I’ve met more than enough ‘Johns’ so far.”

“Funny, are you?” The response, however dry, is tinged with something you can’t name. 

“I try,” you nod jokingly, motioning with a hand. “Just didn’t expect a man with a fishtail to act so….human. Certainly not be named like one, either.”

“Hm,” John grunts, blinking slowly. A hand slips above the water, and you watch it flex and drag to itch at the back of his neck, hair over the arm slick to the flesh. Your face heats, and your eyes dip to see the small shadow under the water almost graze the surface, rippling the waves intimately, as if tail and liquid were of the same sound mind. 

It wasn’t out of the question to say you longed for a glimpse. 

What would it feel like to touch it?

“You live here?” Your voice is hoarse before you clear it quickly. “Right below the cliffs?” 

“You’re the woman that goes out in the boat,” John firmly interjects, and you blink, taken aback. 

“Yes, that’s me.” You explain, pulling at the lip of your hat to force it down further over your head. “Otto goes fishing in the mornings—I like to sketch the shore. He isn’t the worst company, of course. He’s kind enough to let me along with him.”

But you won’t be kept down. There’s magical curiosity in your chest now.

“Your tail,” you take a step forward, boots being licked by icy water. John’s eyes widen a smidge, not expecting you to actively move closer. His head tilts as if a bird, confusion brimming though he hides it expertly. You imagined he considered you a bit mad. “Forgive me, Sir, but I must know,” your uttered rambles make his hidden lip twitch, a little twist to your expression that shows wonder. “Is it attached to you, or do you slip out of it like a pair of pants? O-or even like wearing a stage costume? Oh, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

John can’t find the words for a moment, only able to watch and assess as he always did in times like these. You were…different, he supposed. But he knew that the moment you had shifted your body over the side of that old man’s boat—looking for a glimpse of something unknown. He could see it in your eyes. 

The water calls to you. It lives in your veins already, waiting. More salt and seaweed than earth and grass. Sand, rock, gulls, they all cry in the back of your mind, and your fingers itch to catalog them into immortality in a way that John was fascinated over—the skill of parchment and memorization. Mastery over detail.

He doesn't know why he’s speaking to you, truly. He’d done his penance; saved your life. But he knows he doesn’t dislike it, and that in and of itself needed to be understood. John couldn’t leave his analytical brain lacking an answer to a question as big as that—a woman of all things? A human one? 

Blue eyes can’t seem to slip from yours, as you await a gruff reply.

“No.” You blink, pulling back a smidge when John’s voice is low and graited. “Go back to your home. It’s late.”

“Hey, wait—!”

But he’s already gone under the waves, and you’re left with a waterlogged boot, a cast iron pan, and the two items that had survived because of a grizzly creature's compassion. Your lungs heave, and the cloud of condensation rises into a gray sky.

You stay there far longer than you’d like to admit.

—

You struggled, slipped, and climbed your way back to that point on the rocks every other day, and yet, there was nothing more to be seen of the man with the tail. You knew he was out there, felt it in your bones, and still…you were left here staring out at far-off boats and half-hopes. Wondering. Waiting. 

In the days that passed, you would explore the shore further, going in nooks and deep bends that extended into the cliffs during low tide, cringing away from the slippery fingers of kelp stuck to the walls. Dead fish, mucus-lined snails—you had made the important decision of leaving your sketchbook at home, the pages already filled with the perfect reflection of a man’s face peeking above the water. 

Taking off your hat, you huff on a similar day to those others, this time slipping inside a cave with a direct connection to the ocean. There wasn’t any wind in here—and you sigh in relief as your breeze-bitten cheeks can finally get a rest. You didn’t know what you expected to find doing all this fruitless searching, but it didn’t erase the fact that you enjoyed it; looking for a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. 

Brushing your hat of sand and other such items, your head swivels softly, a delicate smile on your face as water drips from the rock ceiling, stalactites like broken fingers reaching for the ground. A pool of sorts takes up most of this place, the thing extending to the ocean through a medium-sized opening in the stone.

You turn in a half-circle. 

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing. 

Walking forward, every so often your body stoops to carefully grasp shells and smoothed shards of colored glass, beaten down by waves and reduced to harmless trinkets. Continuing, you care little about your boots or your coat, only for the pull in your chest that tells you to keep going until your legs are weak and weary—shaking from a day long spent in selfish adventure.

When you find the pile of rings, sitting in soft kelp, you nearly walk right past them until the glint of metal takes you by surprise. Pausing, your pulse warms as your eyes slash to the side, getting sucked in as easily as cookies to a child. 

Only hesitating a second, you slowly walk until you’re inches away, seeing different styles and gems like starlight sitting as if unaware of their raw beauty. 

“What are you doing in here…?” You ask yourself, your own voice responding from the walls as it bounces. 

Picking up one of pure gold, you shift the band to stare openly at an emerald nearly the size of your knuckle set into it. Lips parting, it’s as if your breath is stolen by a quiet thief. But the sudden arrival of splashing snaps you out of your stupor quite quickly.

Dropping the ring immediately back into the pile, your hand jerks to your chest as an increasingly common face shows itself once more from the water. 

You clear your throat, face burning as John raises a slow brow, glancing at the stash of rings silently. 

“One day you’re going to make me keel over,” your voice berates, pointedly avoiding his blues. So the items were his. 

“A thief as well as an artist?” John asks after a moment, tilting his skull as his body drifts closer to the rocky side of the pool. The next sentence is no question, only a statement. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You take a long breath, sighing, before you shove your hat into your coat’s pocket, glaring lightly. “You left so abruptly, I never got to ask my questions. Quite rude of you to keep a lady waiting, John.”

As you say his name, he glances over, but not before his sizable hands slap to the side of the rock and he hoists himself up with a single push of his forearms. The man grunts, lips pulling, before you’re left breathless. 

Eyes stuck on the upper half of his body, the water dripping down the hair-layered bulge of visible muscle, your wide vision skates from one point to another, flesh on fire the more you stay mute. But the tail—that was something you could never describe. 

The beginning was all you could see; scales of dark navy and a spread of muddled silver-like dots, nearly impossible to make out except at this distance. They began at the top of where hips should be, the scales, smaller and blending into the skin easily, only becoming larger the more the tail extended down; the appendage was far larger than legs would be, that you can tell easily. You can’t see all of it, as perhaps a little less than half still sits swaying in the water…but even this was enough for now.

This moment would be stuck in your sketchbook for all of eternity. 

It’s only after your jaw is slackened that you realize John has been watching you the entire time.

Forcing it shut with a tiny clack of teeth, you try to regain any composure you can. The being’s beard curls in a smirk, cheek pushing to show the lines near his eyes. 

“If someone’s avoiding you, Sunshine,” he grunts out, voice low. From the corner of his eye, he watches as his hand rises to itch at his beard. “They usually don’t want to have a conversation.”

“I think it’s fair,” you huff. “You can’t just disappear when I have so many unanswered questions.”

John blinks, attention not moving for even a second. Your own is less than firm, fighting to not dart down to openly study every dip and bend of his bones. He was so…stoic. Gruff. But there were moments of amusement—even annoyed interest. 

“I don’t have time to fuckin’ entertain others,” he thins his lips. 

Your arms crossed, face dripping into seriousness. “And what else is so much more important, then?” You raise a brow. “Scaring other women into the water?”

He huffs under his breath. “It was an accident—wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so jumpy, eh?” 

“It’s not like I expect to see fishmen pop out of the water,” you defend. 

“Mer-man, Love,” he licks his lips, sighing, as his eyes shift to glance at the opening of the cave. Your face bleeds into a slight expression of satisfaction, arms over your chest tightening as your feet rock back on their heels.

“Well,” you chuckle. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

An emotionless glare is all you receive. 

It was no surprise that you ended up blurting out inquiry after inquiry—what does having a tail feel like? How do you breathe underwater, or do you only hold your breath like a human? Do you have gills somewhere, or lungs? What other creatures are out there like you?

You have no idea what time it ends up being, and you have no intention of stopping soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, that John answers all of your quick words with full answers; giving slow, but not condescending explanations. 

A few times there had been tiny chuckles, and the little conversations amounted to you sitting on a rock right near the water, only feet away from where the tail drifts in the waves; John’s hands keeping his upper half straight as his palms meet slippery stone. 

“And the rings?” You breathlessly wonder, attention darting to the pile. “Do you find them out there? Keep them?”

John tilts his head in an affirmation. “Shipwrecks. There’ll be hundreds of them—I’m not one to keep many belongings, but the bloody things were nicely made.” He sighs. “Seemed a waste to leave them down there.”

You huff a sound of amusement. “I see. Fascinating.”

In the small pause, your eyes once more study the cave, seeing little breaks in the walls where cubby-like indents are. In them, your focus drifts from one glimmering object to another, all previously missed by you when you’d first entered. 

You blink. “You live here?”

“Affirmative,” John stares. His body shifts, tail flickering as your focus snaps back to it, almost lost in the way the ends so nimbly slice the water. Like wispy fabric. Your eyes soften like molten metal. You look back at him and find his eyes already locked to yours. 

Breath caught in your throat, you chuckle meekly to dispel your embarrassment. John’s face minutely relaxes, stern brow loosening.

“And…” you lick your lips, knowing it was time to leave. The sun no longer shines through the crack in the rock. “If I were to come back, would I be able to find you here?” 

There’s a flash of that same indecipherable emotion as before over his bushy face. 

The man was anything but small—everything to the swell of his tail; body hair for, what you assume, is to keep out the constant chill of the water. You’d never imagined that you’d find it all so attractive down to the navy scales that shimmered above the push of his side. That healthy layer of meat was eliciting far more of a physical reaction than you’d care to admit to anyone, let alone a priest of any religion during a confession.

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

“I’ll be here,” John responds lowly, gravel in his throat.

Swallowing down saliva, you push back the ravenous smile that threatens you.

“...Okay.”

—

And this affair became such a constant, that most of the people in town had begun asking about you as you snuck to the waters. Otto was largely concerned, but would not say anything more for some unseen fear—nor the Librarian, who avoided your eyes any chance she got. 

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks. 

The sheen of discovery could be a powerful vice, and for those first two months, you never asked John about the woman named Eleanor or who she might be—what correlation she had to beasts of the water. Then again, you didn’t have to ask. He managed to get around to it himself. 

Your eyes blankly stare at the page of your sketchbook, the merman’s rough shape chicken-scratched with small lines into the parchment, and your pencil stays still to it, immobile. From across the cave, John’s face tightens as his eyelids narrow. You’d been quiet today, he had noticed. Usually so bright with your words, the walls had barely echoed with the symphony of your speech, and, more importantly, John’s ears hadn’t twitched to it. 

He had become fond of your company, he admitted to himself. A strange human woman with her fur coat and hat, the little sketchbook that held such wonderful imitations of life. John was anything but dull—he knew you drew him, and he entertained the activity. In fact, the thought at one point or another may have made the brute of a man blush a bit. So, when you were as still as the stone you sat on, he had concerns. 

He liked it when you spoke, even if it was only a tease. And the tightness of his chest when you don’t look his way is enough to leave his tail twitching in confusion as it sits in the water.

“You’re quiet today,” he starts, frowning. 

Your fingers jerk, sending a line over your paper as you blink, looking up as your heart skips a beat. Glancing at John’s face, the thoughts inside of your head slip until you can understand what he said. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, and the man’s face pulls. “You can speak if you want. I'm just a little distracted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Love, yeah?” John grunts, hands shifting over the stone. He looks you up and down, tail sitting still below him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” your lips mumble, and you shake your head. “It’s one of my questions again.” You pause, closing your book. “A difficult one.”

John’s lips flicker. “Well, we’ve been at this for ages. Can’t see how this one is more difficult than the others.” He nods softly, voice a low and somewhat smooth mutter. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you huff, standing and placing your sketchbook in the driest part of the cave before walking closer. Bending right in front of John, your face is tight. The man likes it like this—having you closer. He can feel the heat roll off you, and his eyes flutter even when nothing on his face gives away the pull he senses in his chest. 

John hums and swallows stiffly.

“Why not?” His head tilts, and he clears his throat to get rid of the raspy scrape of his vocals. “Something going on up there?”

Up there. 

The Merman had asked about Redthorpe, as well as the rest of the people who lived there. The atmosphere, the way of life. Your meetings were more of an exchange of information and stolen glances than anything else, the other none the wiser to this magnetic attraction. It was a delicate thing, knowing that there was something more and yet unable to fully express the way it makes you feel. Neither of you knows what to call it.

“More so in here,” you smile tinily, pointing at your head as your cheeks grow hot. 

“Then speak to me,” John frowns, trying a low smirk. “Think we both know I’m a good listener then, Love. There’s time,” he glances at the entrance. “Won’t be near dark for a few more hours—don’t want you climbing at night.”

“Awe,” you breathe, beaming suddenly with that glint back in your eyes. John hides the sagging of his shoulders, only offering a hum under his breath as he looks over at you. His kelp-like fins twitch, and he wonders what it would feel like to have you touch them. It was obvious you wanted to.

Not yet. 

“Hurry up, Sunshine,” John grinds out, that accent all the more sandy. 

There’s a small grunt and a shuffle, and, soon, a warm body is plotting itself next to his own, arm touching his, and a pair of bare feet slipping into the pool. Blue eyes widen in surprise, head darting to where your form rests so simply—so near the crook of his shoulder that he could reach over and draw you to him if he so wanted. 

Your feet shift as the hem of your skirt gets soggy with water, and John barks out a firm, “You’re going to get cold.” 

“It’s not as cold here as it is out there,” you shrug to him, smiling with a side-eye. “Besides, I’m right next to you—you’ll keep me warm, won’t you, John?”

“Fucking hell,” he puffs out, shaking his head as he rips it forward once more, clenching his jaw. Your scent seeps into his nose, and when your leg slips along the side of his scales under the water, he all but goes a blank-faced scarlet. 

You hide a chuckle, shivering at the chill but more so at the unimaginably smooth sensation of John’s tail over your flesh. Your legs move through the water to cross at the ankles, your right hand resting to directly touch John’s left. With every pump of your blood, his own mirrors.

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks. 

“There’s a woman that no one speaks about in Redthrope,” you begin, and John settles to listen, brows furrowing in concentration as your skin sits so well next to his own. “Eleanor.” 

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

“And for some reason,” you sigh out a low breath, turning to look at John and his still face; emotionless. “Everyone seems to blame you for whatever happened to her. I don’t know if she’s missing, or…”

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

Not noticing any chance on John’s face, you lightly bump him with your elbow, expression going concerned. “Hey, are you alright?” Your opposite hand raises, moving out between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I would just really appreciate anything you might know about it.” Eyes imploring, your heart pours itself. “I don’t think you’d do something like that.”

John blinks slowly, finally opening his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

“If you were some murderous creature,” you shrug, “I don’t think you would have tried to pull me out of the ocean in the first place.” Lashes caressing your cheeks, you smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the man huffs, quirking a brow. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Knew it,” you whisper, eyes crinkling as you side-eye him.

John chuckles, half rolling his eyes as he leans to your ear as he grumbles. “Gettin’ cheeky, are you?” 

If you were a bird, you’d be preening your feathers, eyelids narrowed. “Perhaps, John.” 

It is a wonder, then, that the two of you don’t lock lips that very instant—long fins curling around legs and shoulders stuck together, pinkies unconsciously sitting atop the others as if pieces of parchment. Blue eyes shift smoothly to your lips, but before you can register that they have, John’s head is already moving back and his spine is straight. 

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull. 

“I knew of a woman named Eleanor—she would come down with her husband, Noah, and they would walk along the shore. Got close to this place a few times.” Dark brows tighten. “Found her body in the water after a storm about two years ago; brought it back to the rocks so someone could retrieve it.” Your face loosens as the information settles in. John makes a noise in his chest. “Interesting that I’d be roped into it, but it’s understandable. Always someone to blame, eh?” 

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper. “That must have been horrible.”

Blue slips over to you silently, and it’s a long moment before John only hums under his breath, blinking away softly. 

“Scared me when you fell in.” Listening, your heart clenches in your ribs. To think about what must have been going through his head at that instant was sad to you, and even worse so when you know he would have blamed himself if you might have ended up seriously hurt.

“Well,” you lean into him, face on fire, “it was a good thing you were there to drag me out, then. A little water never hurt anyone, so long as a handsome merman is there to take them back to shore.” 

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

“Oh, very,” you joke. “The tail is a bonus.” Your expression lightens, eyes glinting. “Since when did you know that navy is my favorite color?”

The feeling of the cold water is only a back-drop to the way John’s fins twitch against your bare legs intimately, and you chuckle as the beard can only hide so much red skin. 

“Bugger off,” he grunts. 

You’ve never heard a smile so clearly before in your life.

—

Your paintings were selling far better than they ever had, and you had to thank the new muse of them for that fact. 

John’s appearance in your work had started small—a glimpse of a fin, the presence of a shadow in the water—and had steadily grown. Now, hidden like a present, there was the image of some fishtailed man somewhere in all of them, a steady injection of magic into the veins of cerulean blue and ivory black. It showed you that fewer people knew about John than you had previously thought. 

Initially, you had imagined that everyone knew and the reason you didn’t was because you were relatively new here, but no. Most had been enamored by your work when they found the ‘strange fish-man’ in one, pointing and chucking to themselves, talking about how adorable it was. No one was shocked, no one sent looks. 

By the end of the week, you had been convinced that it had been narrowed down to Otto and the Librarian—

The bell of your shop dings.

Looking up from your easel, you smile and stand automatically, thinking about closing soon so you can go and see John. Nowadays, even the thought of him makes your blood pump heavy. 

“How can I help you today, Sir?” Your brushes find the side table you had set up, locking eyes with a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He wears a suit, and in his breast pocket, there’s the gleam of a gold chain attached to a pocket watch. 

“I’m here to ask about a detail in your paintings, Miss.” He’s well-spoken as well, and you’re shocked to know you haven't met him yet if he lived in Redthorpe—he doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Of course,” you nod, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I think I missed your name.”

“Noah Moore,” is the even response. Noah is already walking around, bending to look into some of your work which hangs on the wall. “My neighbor brought home one of your pieces; I found I liked it very much. Had even considered commissioning.”

Noah? You blink slowly, watching. Wasn’t that Eleanor’s husband?

“Thank you,” your lips move, thinning. “That’s very high praise, Mr. Moore.” 

“This creature,” Noah stands, and dark eyes set on you. For some reason, the hair along your arms stands on end. “The man with a fish tail. Have you seen him?”

Your instant reaction is to lie, and that in and of itself is a telltale sign that something is wrong. Noah makes the alarm in the back of your head go off for no reason other than the way he’s trying to pry with that unblinking gaze of his. The rich apparel; the attitude. He isn’t right.

“Seen him?” Chuckles echo off the walls. “Who? The beast? No, Sir, that…thing…is just something I made up.” You wave a hand, but back up a step, trying to create distance. Your hip lightly bumps the side table, and your materials jerk. Gasping under your breath, your head snaps down, catching your brush before it can fall. “Oh my, clumsy me.” you laugh stiffly. “Apologies, Sir, but that’s the truth. I wanted to create something that all of Redthrope might enjoy; a local legend of sorts, see.”

Your eyes had siphoned back with a dread in your heart. The man mutely stares, a deep frown pulling his lips. As if the conversation had never happened, after a long stretch of tension, Noah smiles widely. 

“Ah,” he huffs, “of course. It was silly of me to ask.” Dark eyes are emotionless, and the pull of his eyelids is not there. Spine so tight it could snap in half, and your fingers curl around the brush before you place it down stiffly. “Though,” Mr. Moore clicks his tongue, taking one step closer. 

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. Your mind flashes to John, and there’s a longing for the ocean so strong, it seems a good idea to you, to rush out the door right now and sprint for it; hurl yourself to the waves, if need be. He’d find you—you know he would.

“Though,” Noah continues, tilting his head. “There is a striking resemblance to a creature I recall seeing from the cliffs, the day my wife’s body was found at the rocks.” 

Backing up another step, your muscles ache with how you hold them like a shield to your organs. 

“As far as I know, only two others were searching at my side that day. And in it I am certain,” he hums, “you weren’t even here.”

Otto and the librarian, you think quickly, mind a mess of information and fear. It’s why they’re so spooked. They think John actually killed Eleanor and left her—they saw him bring her body to shore.

It’s a lack of foresight on your part, that the next bark is more of a reaction to the panic than proper knowledge, cracking under pressure. 

“John would never kill an innocent woman!” 

It’s as if a switch goes off, and, suddenly, there’s a ruthless hand grabbing at your throat. Yelping, you stagger back and snap your fingers to Noah’s wrist, clawing until there’s blood under your nails; air is sucked in with a wheeze. In the back of your head, there’s wild screaming, and you can’t tell if it’s the pounding of your blood or the internal sensation of primal fear. 

Raging eyes shove themselves right in front of yours, faces so close you can feel Noah’s hot breath moving over your burning face. You try to cough but find you can’t as one of your hands struggles to slap to the side table—searching fruitlessly. 

“John?” Noah sneers, holding tighter. “The thing has a name?”

Your easel clatters to the ground, back being shoved right into it. Mouth opening and closing, the cut of oxygen reduces your mind to acting purely off instinct—breaking down like glass to fracture to only one thing: survival.

“It was perfect,” Mr. Moore growls, eyes ablaze. “I had it all planned out, only to be ruined by a freak of nature at the last moment!” 

Your nails gouge the wood, dragging, searching, slapping. Anything—anything at all to help as your boots scrape from under you. You can’t even comprehend the words being said; all of it is a blur as blackness peels the side of your vision. 

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

“Two years, and then you had to come along and fucking speak to it! What did it tell you? Eh? What did it see that night?”

Your hand curls the glass bottle where you store your brushes and without another thought, you slam the side of it to Noah’s head. 

Shouting, the man releases you in an instant, glass leaving long lines of blood splattering out to sprinkle your face as it shatters, collapsing into itself. Connecting to the ground, your hacking can only take place for under two seconds before your boots scramble for purchase, stumbling and flailing at least once; lungs gasping. 

Shoulder connecting with the side of the door frame as you bang it open, an enraged scream follows you into the rainy afternoon, the rumble of deadly thunder far overhead. 

Running, you don’t know how to stop, and it’s even harder to catch your breath by the time you’re down to the rocks, looking over your shoulder as if Noah would be right behind you. He wasn’t—but the fear was enough to keep you going until you were bathed in sweat and barely strong enough to fall into the entrance of John’s cave, fingers cut up and raw from grappling over stone.

There’s a quick call of your name from across the enclosed space, but your ears are ringing too loud to hear—whipping around to stare at the entrance as you struggle back on your hands, legs shaking. 

“Love!”

Your eyes slash to the side, and through the quivering of your lashes, through the blur of tears, you lock onto the desperate slash of grayish-blue that’s a near-perfect reflection of the ocean itself. Painting, the realization comes a moment too late, as pale fingers touch your cheek and you flinch back with a deep pain in your neck. 

Pulsing veins echo along your entire body, but there, at the point of where hands had wrapped your flesh, it burned with a horrible fire that made thin noise escape your lips.

“Hey,” John breathes, having dragged himself at a moment’s notice across the floor of the cave. “Hey,” he repeats slower, eyes slashing you up and down for any sign of injury. 

His hand is outstretched, but he doesn’t try to touch you again seeing how you’d jerked away. The man’s heart had stopped at that—his concern shooting up similar to how he felt when you’d raced through the entrance as if a fire was on your heels. A near panic at the fear on your face, leaving his body on high alert; eyes skating the surrounding quickly.

But the splatters of blood on your face were something to reduce him to an enraged beast.

“What is going on,” he tries to keep the rough anger from his tone, attempting to leave it soft and smooth. There’s only so much he can do, though, as you shake and pant. 

Your body gradually slows itself, attention seeping back to allow you to take control of your limbs. The first thing you see clearly is John’s outstretched hand, and, then, the clench of his jaw—the eyes that follow every teardrop down the flesh of your cheek.

Openly gazing, when John sees you’re back, his blues slip to a softened caress. 

“Love,” he mutters, face tight. 

You shove yourself into his arms and let off a sob that echoes louder than any laughter could. Curling into his chest, water seeps into your shirt, but the all-expansive hand that keeps you close is worth every clothesline you would have to hang. 

“Shh,” John breathes, knowing that he’d get an explanation when he calmed you down, even if his mind was breaking itself to try and understand. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Breathe, then…I’m right here, yeah?” 

His nose pushes itself into your scalp as your head hides away, quivering body curled like a cat around a fish—no air between the two of you, chests running across the others. So little space, and yet this breathlessness was one you could welcome time and time again.

John watches, eyes always open as he glares into your hair, grip tightening the longer you cry; a feeling so potent brimming in his chest, he would be a fool to ignore it.

You were more precious to him than any ring, than any trinket he could stash away and forget about. The way his heart bent to yours was stronger than any storm. 

Breathing down your scent, John sighed, kissed the top of your head, and lightly rocked you back and forth. 

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

When it became apparent you couldn’t speak beyond broken little coughs and wheezes, John was quick to bring you to the water of the pool.  

Now, perhaps hours later, you sit with the burn and fatigue of crying eyes, sniffling as you shove away the stain of red on your cheeks. 

“Careful,” John lightly comments, grasping your hand and pulling it away. His own replaces it, wet from the water he now wades in to help. “Let me get it, eh?”

Your eyes stay stuck to his nose as fingers push away the crimson of blood easily, firm but still utterly delicate. 

“I’m not glass,” you croak, one hand near your throat. 

Blue eyes blink at you. “Never said you were,” he grunts, frowning, and you see his Adam’s Apple bob. “Don’t like seeing you with blood on your face, Love.”

Like it had never happened, the fingers return, and a moment later, he grumbles out, “And stop talking—you’ll make it worse.” 

You hadn’t explained, not yet, but by the utter rage you see John trying to hide from you, you know he understands how you might have gotten the swelling now present on your neck. His heart had been visibly pumping the entire time you’d been here; you could hear it when he was holding you, a relentless, thump-thump-bump, thump-thump-bump in your ear.

The brunette had been clenching his jaw more as well, grunting as if a boar after every sentence, a nervous habit, perhaps. He was trying to mask it for you, but you weren’t blind. 

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat. 

He studies your face after he hums under his breath, having to dart his gaze away for a moment. 

“...Can I?” You pause, swallowing as the burn persists. 

Nodding after a minute of slow contemplation, cold hands shift to press carefully—not tightening, not holding you there—resting to give relief. You only tense a little, but as the seconds draw, John watches you sag forward with a large sigh through your nose. 

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

“Easy,” John whispers, blinking. He keeps the chill of his hands at your neck, fins shifting the water to keep him still. “When you’re ready, explain it to me, eh?” His head tilts, voice a low tease. “Glass or not.” 

Your lips twitch, and the way your eyes melt could only be compared to safety. You open your lips, and John mutters lowly as your fingers brush over his own, “Quietly, now. Can hear just fine—don’t push yourself.” 

Blue flickers to your touch, fingertips trailing his knuckles as the man grunts, attention fluttering back. 

All you say is one name. 

“Noah.” 

There’s a moment of confusion on John’s face, skin wrinkling, before the understanding settles swiftly—he wasn’t a fool. From there, his expression changes ten times over; that rage, then fear for you, confusion, and stubbornness. It’s of little surprise to you that a man so loyal was reduced to a dog. 

A dog with scales, that is.

Your body is still running hot—your heart still pumping, though the adrenaline has left with all of its stimulation. You’re tired, yes, that much is obvious. But you want John to hold you again. 

When you shift your body, the man’s eyes widen, and he blinks quickly in shock as your legs then slip into the waves inch by inch.

A noise exits the back of his throat, and John’s mouth moves in serious question. “What are you doing? Fucking hell, would you just stay still and let me have a look at you—”

Arms grapple around his waist, and a warm head burrows into his neck. 

You rest against him, body suspended in the water of the deep pool, a merman’s tail swishing to shove you the tiniest bit closer unconsciously. John’s chest bounces with every emotion, but all he does is stop you from sinking by holding you. Your eyes close at the dig of his hands, and, letting the water move the both of you, the smooth scales along your legs feel as if the finest silk. A thumb caressing up and down your spine; breath at the top of your head.

You both say nothing, and it’s a long while before either of you takes any action to leave.

—

When your words could be strung together and not broken every other sentence, you explained all of it, and the hunch you’d strung together in the meantime.

You fiddle with one of John’s rings—the emerald one—as you glance up and speak softly, voice still delicate. The pain still blossomed, but some things needed to be explained.

“I think he killed his wife.” 

By the way John stops massaging the flesh of your neck, letting you rest your head in the crook of where his tail begins and skin ends, you knew he already pieced that together a while ago. Your clothes were still heavy with water, and a puddle had formed around the both of you on the rocks.

“Hm,” is all John says, fixing the position of his lips as he looks away.

He shakes his head, growling out, “You’re not going back up there. Not while he’s still walking the streets.”

You frown, but John glares without any venom. “It wasn’t a question, Love.”

“What will you do,” you whisper, voice hoarse. A brow quirks. “Run after me, John?”

The man stares, not taking it as lightly as you. “If I have to.”

Your breath hitches, hands resting numbly over the ring as John’s fingers once again continue their touching—as if he can rub away the swelling; the damage of the veins. 

“You don’t have legs,” you utter, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to breathe deeply. 

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

His face is immobile. “Then I’ll bleed.”

Your mind memorized the stubbornness of his expression—the pull of the crow’s feet beside his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of a joke in John’s eyes; no lie. Watching him, your face is loose with wonder, and water drips from your temple to connect with those dark navy scales, glinting with the light from the outside sun growing low. 

The ring in your hands is frozen, stopping its turning as your pulse soars.

John licks the corner of his mouth, glancing at the item of gold and green. 

“Keep it,” he mutters, tilting his head to the ring. “More of a use to you.” 

Larger fingers capture yours, and in one deft motion, the elegant item is slipped onto your digit, sitting comfortably as if made just for you. 

John shrugs. “The rest of ‘em, too, if you want the damn things.” His blues card over the view of your hand, and imagines fingers filled with every bit of gold and silver obtainable to him, brought up from the ocean just to sit pretty atop your flesh. Necklaces, bracelets, belts, and accessories; the things he’d seen from far distant waters. 

Oh, but they’d pale in comparison to how you would wear them. 

A muse to a song. A painter to a portrait. 

A women to the water.

He’d seen your latest sketches—you’d brought them down to him here—and when you were exploring this cave, he had taken a peak. Unlike him, yes, but there was a pull to it, that parchment bound by leather. He’d not seen anything like it, and as he had watched you work on occasion, he was entranced as he’d listened to you explain it. You’d told him that you could even manipulate color, and that had left his eyes widening in awe.

You were incredible, and when he saw his own likeness littering page after page, John had been unable to take his eyes off of you. A silent appreciation—a voiceless devotion. He’d never been…captured like this, so to speak. A mirror image. Details he didn’t even know himself, and yet there they were. 

Beauty marks across his cheeks and nose, the scars that littered his flesh that he’d all but forgotten about, the list was endless. 

But he looks at you now, and he can understand why there’s a draw to immortalize the mortal. 

His fingers stay at yours, and they brush skin as they dip along your hand, falling to your wrist. You stare up into his eyes, he stares down into yours. There’s little air to be taken in between the two of you. 

“John,” you utter, blue gaze stuck to your lips. 

He hums, tilting his head, his body looming over yours like a shadow. By the time his face is so near to yours, you don’t want to fight it, you don’t want to think about the strangeness of this predicament you’ve found yourself in—a creature living in the cliffs, handsome and half-inhuman.

When smooth lips brush over yours, and your eyelashes begin to flutter, the shouts from outside break whatever spell had just started weaving itself. 

Head snapping up, John’s body tenses as you push upward quickly. Attention slashing to the cave entrance, it’s not long before you realize what’s going on with a sharp breath and a leap to your pulse. 

The smash of something connecting to rocks echoes like a feral killing song. Yells. Yowls. 

“John,” you say hurriedly, flinching from the pain in your throat. Your eyes dart to his tension-ridden form, his arms wrapping above your body. “You need to run,” you choke out. “Go! Quickly!”

You only get a glance, and the clench of his jaw is as stubborn as it always is. Your brain already knows it’s fruitless. He won’t leave you here alone.

“They’ll kill you!” Your hands push at his chest, finger grasping at the bristle of hair to try and shove at an iron will. 

“Stay under me,” John mutters, voice low and nothing more than a chilled order. Yet, even he knows there’s little that he’d be able to do. His eyes flashed to every trinket and bauble he had collected, the new ones he’d yet to show to you, but there was few in the way of weapons. A dagger or two from a trench, a sword from under a ship—a spearhead. All too far away and rusted for it to even matter. 

There was a sharp feeling in John’s chest. A need. An oath that he gave to himself the moment he’d seen the way your little stick could breathe his image onto a sheet made of fibers. 

He was to watch over you whenever you were in his sights, and that had extended itself to gliding through the water as he watched you climb and grunt your way to his cave; a careful eye that he had no need to tell you about. That was just how he was. 

“John!” You try to bark again, growing desperate. 

Yet, it was already too late, and the merman hadn’t shifted even an inch before Noah, Otto, and the Librarian burst through the entrance like bats from hell.  They hold all manner of weapons, though the more you blink in a panic, the less afraid of them you seem, at the very least, the older man and the woman.

Otto held a cut-up and dented club, nothing more than something you’d keep for a home invasion beside the bed—the Librarian, a heavy book that seemed to contain every bit of information available to the world, so large it strained in her hands. Noah, though, was a different story. 

He had a sharp, long knife and eyes that could cut flesh by themselves. 

Half of Mr. Moore’s face was sliced up, cuts leaking blood to the ground—skin hanging and an eye completely poked with glass; shards in its gentle makeup. 

You swallow saliva and stutter through a shaking breath, and John’s glare could burn cities as he feels it reverberating against him. 

“There!” Noah shouts, balking closer. “See! I knew it was here—seducing the next woman to take to the ocean!” 

Your wide eyes try to take it all in, hands slapping the ground sending droplets of collected water flying. John’s face hones in, digging in like how the glass from your brush container had into Noah’s visage, and, somehow, you think that dead stare can cause more damage. Grasping the merman’s waist, you attempt and silently urge him to go. 

“Girl!” Otto calls quickly, eyes darting from you to John and back. Even if you could yell, you’re not sure you would. You wouldn’t even know what to say. “Get away from it!”

“I’d put that down,” John grunts to Noah, disregarding the old man and the librarian entirely. He clenches his jaw. “‘Fore you end up hurting yourself. Leave.”

“Otto,” you start, glancing at the woman beside your friend who looked like she was about to pass out when John had started to speak. The man in question’s face pulls, wrinkles thinning. “You have to listen to me, please, it’s not how Mr. Moore told you—”

“It speaks!” Noah barks, pointing his knife harder at John. “Freak of nature, it already has its hold on her.”

“Oh my,” the Librarian gasps. “Noah, it’s horrible—look at the tail.”

Your eyes flare with rage as John doesn’t react.

“Hey!” You shout, but instantly slap your free hand to your throat, coughing raggedly until your spine hunches. The merman brings you closer, but you’re already pushing until you’re on your feet, stumbling for a moment as John gives you a sharp look.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” you grid out, glaring, whipping your hands to get rid of the water droplets. Noah licks his lips as John grabs onto the back of your knee, fingers resting firmly. Sending a look down to him, your shoulders loosen at the expression he levels. You can almost hear the words.

 Steady. Keep your head on.

Though, a slash of silent pride made your heart stutter a small bit.

Your eyes glint. “Drop your weapons,” your sentence is crackling but nonetheless sharp. “Leave. John is innocent—he told me all of it.” You turn to Otto. “Mr. Moore attacked me in my shop, I smashed a glass container into his head so he would release me.” Otto tenses, club getting strangled by his fingers. 

“Noah killed Eleanor,” you breathe, John’s grip pulling a bit tighter as if sensing something you have yet to see. Noah shifts quickly, boots squeaking along the rock as he growls. 

“Absurd—!”

“He pushed her over the rocks and blamed John when he saw him bringing back her body,” you interrupt as fast as you can, pain bouncing off your throat. “You all saw it on the shore, the lie was simple enough for a man like him. Saying she drowned to a creature.”

It didn’t surprise you that John was quiet, that he was studying more the stance of men instead of talking or trying to defend himself. While he could be hard-headed and stiff, he was never dull—he never missed ques. So when Noah launched himself at you, Otto and the Librarian more confused and concerned than anything, there was only a heavy push on the back of your knee that left you buckling with a gasp, and then the explosion of water as John sent you both quickly to the water.

Hands whipping to snare around the merman’s shoulders, you’re only able to get a quick breath in before you’re completely enveloped in water, with John’s hand setting itself over your mouth just in case. The sudden rush is comparable to a heavy wind, yet far more cold and nearly like a slap to the back of your spine. 

You both disappear into the deep with a spray, Noah’s muffled yells of terror seen far above near the surface, arms captured by the Librarian and Otto—held at his sides. There’s a flash of those dark eyes, horrible things, and then John’s fins hide the rest as they slash through the water. 

When you both resurface, retreating far back near the watery entrance of the cave, John keeps you firmly behind him, your arms around his waist as you gasp for air. He keeps his head slightly turned to the side—always having you in the corner of his vision. Above the spread of his shoulders, you peek softly, legs suspended below. 

“Lier!” Noah screams, face contorted. “She’s lying!”

You look at Otto and see the grim way he’s already looking back, struggling to keep the younger individual from breaking free. He was sensical, but stubborn in his ways. Otto had a choice just as the librarian did—believe a woman who’d been here a year or someone they’d known nearly their entire lives.

“Noah,” Otto grunts, gritting his teeth. “Breathe, boy! Stop spitting, let her speak—”

The knife in Noah’s hands slashes the air, and suddenly there’s a yell from the librarian and a spray of blood. 

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching. 

The old man stumbles, hoarsely crying out as he grasps at his neck. Your eyes widen, mouth ajar as John pushes his hand into your head, shoving it into the back of his hair as he watches blankly, eyes glinting with a deadly hate. 

“Don’t move,” he utters quickly, sternly, to you as your breath breaks, mouth slack to stare at nothing. Scales skate your legs, great kelp-like fins curling your ankle. “Keep still. Focus on my words, Love.” Under his breath is a tight, “Fuck!”

John speaks above the gargling—the spillage of blood to stone. He mutters through the screams of the Librarian as Noah slips trying to run to the entrance, scrambling with bulging eyes. 

“Don’t look,” John says to you lowly, shifting his body as he keeps your face hidden away and let him hold you like a corpse to the earth. The sounds…oh, the sounds were horrible. 

But the man holding you tries very hard to hide them.

Your body quivers violently as the slam of a body hits the ground, the frantic calling of the woman still here with the both of you; the loud calls from the fleeing murder outside the walls.

“That’s it,” John’s fast lips are on the top of your head, muttering and trying to make his voice as even as possible. “That’s it, then. Doing good, don’t move until I say so, alright?”

When you don’t answer, only shoving your visage deeper into his neck, his spine-breaking-hold squeezes once, and his pounding heart bounces opposite yours. You don’t have to say you know him to understand that he’s only holding onto a thread of good manners, and that was certainly only for our own sake.

Otto was dead.

John leads you out, the gold and emerald of your ring glinting in the moonlight as he holds your body to his, the powerful make of his tail doing the work as it shines in the water. He leaves you outside, where the still running form of Noah is visible, yet the only person noticing is John himself. Your hands are so shaky that it would be impossible to hold your sketchbook, let alone a pencil. 

John takes one of them as Mr. Moore gets too close to the shoreline, slipping and getting his foot caught in between two stones. He panics, yelling loudly, as water is lapping up to his knee.

“Hey, hey, you hear me?” John asks, uncaring to the man, as he sets you down softly on a flat rock shelf. Fingers move to sit at your chin, and, through tight sniffles, you make delicate eye contact. He blinks, trying a tight smile—a flash nothing more. “There she is. Good...I need you to listen one last time, yeah? Just like before; don’t look until I say so.” Your face creases lightly, blinking through a haze of senses and horror. Otto was dead. 

The man that brought you out on his boat—the man that cooked you fish and acted as if a guardian to you. His cat, who would take care of her? It seemed a silly thought given the circumstances, but you can’t stop your mind from running. The house, the boat, the cat. The blood. 

“There’s nothing out here that can hurt you,” John grunts, grasping your hands and holding them, letting calluses and scars speak. “So long as I’m here, I won’t let it.” 

He nearly growls out the words. In one movement, he puts your hand to his heart, and your brain latches onto the rhythm as your own rampages in your ears. 

Noah is still screaming, but now it’s for help.

John’s voice lowers as he utters, “Hey,” the man licks his lips, eyes dancing to the side every once and a while. You stare, swallowing down bile. He says as fluidly as possible, keeping constant locked gazes. 

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

Fingers glide down your neck again, feeling that swelling, and just as you register the kiss that’s leveled to your hand, to that gifted ring, John’s already away; his tail slipping over your flesh, fins gripping, writhing with their film. 

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice. 

The rising screams from Mr. Moore are numb to you, and the following wave of water that swallows him is only accented by the hand that grapples for his neck. 

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

With the Librarian's newfound cooperation, the story became simple. 

Mr. Moore, distraught over the death of his wife, had finally lost it all when down on the beach with Otto, yourself, and the local Librarian—attacking and killing the old man in response to being so near to where he and his wife always traveled to. Afterward, he’d walked into the sea and had taken his own life. 

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it. 

You sold Otto's house a week after his death, seeing as he’d named you the sole inheritor of his estate and belongings. There was no need for two properties, and sitting in that small place was akin to torture. After all, he’d been doing what he thought was right, and dying for a lie is nothing short of cruel to those left behind who knew the truth. 

Harriet stays in the shop with you, where she’ll probably live out the rest of her nine lives peacefully. She’s quite fond of the fireplace. 

Most days, people find you near the water, and it’s something that wasn’t going to change even after Noah’s body was found in the rocks—freakishly close to where Eleanor’s had been. Some were calling it poetic and you’d have to agree…but for different reasons.

“You shouldn’t be giving me all of these,” you huff months later, sitting on the rock looking out over the water. A large collection of John’s trinkets is piled high in a wrapping of seaweed, shining bright as you mess with your pencil, leaning to stare at him.

John’s lips flicker into a smirk. He hums, content to watch you, from where he rests not an inch away. You lean into him, sighing, as the innumerable glinting rings on your fingers shimmer. 

“Want to,” he grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you look back down to your book, three of four replicas of the man’s scale pattern sitting, shaded and duplicated—lifelike. His tail sways with the water, half of it lost below. 

Your hands reach for them now, the scales closest to you, and you lightly poke and prod as John grunts above you, silent but willing in a way that speaks volumes. He’d let no one else touch him like this for the rest of his life—the softness of your fingers and the care on your face more precious than gold. You revered that tail of his; as if it gave over magic like a wishing well. 

Shivering, John’s breath hitches as your exploring moves, pushing lightly at where the top of his hips would be.

Your talent was fascinating to him, just as you were. If you wanted to ‘paint’ him, he’d allow you to do all the studies needed. Not only to give you a distraction….but because he can’t bear to be away from you anymore. It makes him nervous, and that in itself is an incredible feat.

“Where do you come from, John,” your question moves the air, and the man moves to pull your jacket higher up your body to stave off the chill. You glance at him, smiling, before your attention returns to your drawings. Sketching more, John resets his lips and tries not to stare at your face. It was getting harder to deny that pull. 

That near kiss.

“No answer, Love.” You stare as he quirks a lip, voice lowering. “I won’t be going back to distant waters anytime soon.”

John glances down at your sketchbook, seeing every scratch and bend of care. The both of you were strange creatures, perhaps. Unique—made for one another despite the obvious. 

He nods his head to it softly. The water laps at your boots from below, but you care little before John shifts your feet carefully further up with a push from his tail. You chuckle at him breathily, face heating.

“Getting water on you, Love,” he breathes. “New painting soon?” John asks when the silence settles once more, with you shifting your legs to sit under you. He still isn’t sure what painting entails, but you had told him that you would show him soon, so he knows to be patient. But yearning for anything regarding you is ingrained into his mind now—instinct.

“Mhm,” you smile softly, sending a look at your paper and the images. A huff escapes your mouth. “I think I’ll make this one a portrait.”

John blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Portrait? Why’s that?” 

Your lips find his, moving back up in an instant. 

For a second, the man’s surprised eyes pull back; only lowering as he hums moments later, fingers curling up under your chin as he sags. Lids flutter closed, and his tail twitches lightly.

“I have a subject that’s caught my eye.” You mutter into his flesh when you pull back, face burning as deep blues sear your mind, turning it into mush. Your skin tingles as chilled digits trail your chin, dripping water down your healed throat.

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on. 

“And I’d be a fool if I let him swim off.”

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - can’t sleep

you just can’t sleep without your husband next to you (i hope my spanish was okay)

Maybe it’s your cycle, maybe its just the fact that you’ve been literally working all day for the past 3 weeks, but you’re tired as shit. The bags under your eyes are almost purple, your entire body hunches over like a zombie when you walk, you barely have time to think nor speak to anyone else besides your husband. The entire building is lowkey worried you’ll snap one day. 

Even Miguel is worried. Much how you like to do to him, Miguel’s been constantly ushering you to rest a little, borderline bribing you with nice takeout or some kisses to get you to sleep. But, to no avail. your sleep schedule is genuinely fucked. 

You’re cranky, hungry, and sleep deprived. 

At the moment, Miguel doesn’t really know where you are. Considering your current state, he thinks you’re out on a mission, or at least somewhere in the office. 

He’s already tried walking through the entire office just looking for you. He checked the cafeteria, gym, hallway, etc. muttering, “Where th’fuck are they?” But, you were nowhere to be found.

So, Miguel tries something different. He pulls up his watch, scrolling down to a button that he really only should be using for emergencies, but to Miguel, this is an emergency on its’ own. 

He presses the button, and suddenly his entire face is broadcasted to every single watch in the building. Dramatically, the emergency siren turns on, and all the spider-people are on their feet. 

“If anyone sees my wife, please report back to me asap. Tell her to come see me, I can’t find her anywhere.“

The whole office can see Miguel rub a hand over his face, visibly both annoyed and tired. Everyone starts looking back and forth, tilting heads and making sure that you didn’t just happen to be around somewhere. Once the camera turns off, though, nearly the entire building starts chuckling. 

It’s crazy how much Miguel’s face utterly lights up when he sees his watch ringing without your contact photo. Literally in a split second, he presses the button, opening up a microphone icon. 

“Miguel?“

Ugh, he just loves the sound of your voice. 

“¿Si querida?“

He hears you groan, possibly the sound of bedsheets shuffling, and it pulls at his heart. You’ve been so miserable lately, he just wants to see you back to your happy self again. 

“Come home, now.“

Just the tone of your voice alone put a worried frown on Miguel’s face. (He never likes to admit how much of an impact your emotions have on him.) An ugly, anxious swarm starts to build at the back of his head, making him impossibly nervous. 

Luckily, Miguel knows what to do. 

“Of course, hun. I’ll be there in 10.“

And he turns the watch off, sighing to himself after. He’s a little bit nervous now, fearing as though he did something to upset you, or that you had something serious to talk about when he came home. 

Every step Miguel takes to your shared home brought him closer and closer on edge, worry and theory swirling through his mind. His brain ping-ponged through every single possible reason why you’d want him to come home, especially in such a cranky matter. Maybe you were just tired? Maybe it was because he accidentally gave you a raisin bagel instead of a everything bagel?

By the time Miguel was at the door, his heart was beating erratically in his chest, hands the slightest bit shaky. Stepping inside, Miguel instantly beelined for your shared bedroom, gently opening the door. 

He sees you shuffle around in the covers, his heart secretly swooning. You’re just so cute when you’re half asleep; needy and cuddlier than usual. Already at the bedroom door, Miguel practically rips his shirt off, kicking off his pants and making his way over to where you lay. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, gingerly swiping strands of hair off your face. 

“What is it, hun?“ He coos.

You toss and turn, barely mustering a frown onto your face. Your eyes are half-lidded, tank top almost falling off your shoulder until Miguel readjusts it for you. 

“Can’t sleep without you.“ You mumble, slowly scooting yourself over and draping your arms towards him. Miguel practically swoons, cooing and leaning into your touch. How could he resist such an offer?

“Awh, baby.“ 

He tangles himself into bed with you, breathing the biggest sigh of relief. It wasn’t what he thought it was. You just wanted snuggles. Miguel takes it upon himself to spoil you extra, ghosting his touch over your back and kissing the darling skin of your temple.

Like the thousands of times he has before, Miguel tangles his legs into yours, kneading his fingers into the skin of your raised leg.  

Within a few minutes or so, Miguel feels you knock out like a light, tiny puffs of air escaping your mouth while you fist the sheets like a baby. He sighs, staring at you for a few moments while you sleep. Affectionately, he rubs his knuckles against your cheek, smooching your forehead. 

Miguel pulls a blanket over the both of you, knowing very well that by the time you’re awake, it’ll be completely on the floor. Readjusting his position, Miguel doses off to sleep, allowing himself to completely let go of all the stresses he holds. 

After all, he can’t sleep without you either. 

© 𝒄𝒐𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔.

[mooshywrites]

Just the male bg3 companions reacting to their tav saying i want a baby can we please have a baby

I want a kid with all of these men so bad its not even funny ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Halsin -

~ Halsin would’ve been absolutely over the moon when you asked him to have a baby

~ He’d pick you up and twirl you around, chuckling with a big belly laugh

~ He’d immediately begin talking about everything under the sun

~ Where to make a nursery, toys he needed to whittle, people he needed to tell, all the works

~ He sat you down and immediately went around to all of your adopted orphans, telling them they were going to have a little siblings

~ You had to follow around after him, nervously telling all of the kids it would be a year or two before that happened

~ When you finally caught up to Halsin, he had an impossibly big grin across his face

~ “I can’t wait to bring a little one into the world. I hope they look just like you, my heart.”

Astarion -

~ Astarion was… hesitent at first

~ He poked and prodded you with a smirk, asking to make sure you didn’t want to just practice having a baby

~ When you assured him you wanted an actual baby, his face took on a vulnerable expression

~ He never thought he’d be able to have a family, and the idea scared him just a little

~ He was even more afraid he wouldn’t be a great father figure

~ You held him close and told him that you thought he’d be a wonderful parent, that he had so much love to give if he wanted to

~ You offered to wait another decade or two to talk about it again, afraid to make him too uncomfortable with the idea. If he didn’t want a baby, that would be fine. You loved him, after all

~ He shook his head quickly, talking about how it was something he wanted. He just needed to be brave enough to think it was something deserved

~ “Besides, darling. It would be a crime to humanity not to continue these gorgeous genes.”

Gale -

~ Gale thought you were joking when you asked, he laughed along with your question

~ As soon as he realized you weren’t joking, he froze before breaking into a bright smile

~ He pulled you into a close hug, nodding, not being able to put his thoughts and feelings into words

~ He wondered aloud whether your child would be a wizard like him or not

~ Whether Tara would teach him how to parent since she spent so much time with him as a child

~ Tara sat for a while, telling stories of toddler Gale and how much of nightmare life would be if your kid was anything like the man

~ Gale wrote out a letter to his mom before you stopped him, reminding him that you weren’t actually pregnant yet.

~ “You’re absolutely right. Should we get on that now, my love?”

Wyll -

~ Wyll crushed you with a hug before the last word exited your mouth

~ He was so excited at the thought of being a father, almost to the point that everything took a backseat

~ Most of the time, he talked about how he could help Baldur’s gate, what else he needed to do to serve the people

~ But lately, all he talked about was the thought of having a baby

~ He was incredibly kind about it, having long conversations with you whether you wanted to adopt or have the child yourself

~ He wanted you to be completely comfortable with the process, it almost seemed to pain him to think of you holding the brunt of the responsibility in the decision

~ At night, you’d catch him reading faded books on parenting

~ You read one, almost laughing at how old-fashioned some of the advice was. He just gave you a genuine smile when you pointed it out

~ “I just want to be the best Father I can be.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

[daycourtofficial]

Love Potion No. 9 Part 2

Summary: Azriel’s been subjected to the effects of a love potion, causing him to be incredibly clingy to you. You have to take care of him until it wears off.

Author’s note: ask and you shall receive! The people wanted it, the people got it! I’m also open to doing a short part 3 where they find out that Cassian and Rhys gave Az the potion - but let me know!

(Part 1)

You open the door, stepping back in. Immediately you are surrounded by shadows circling every part of your body, twirling through your hair, around your legs, your waist, your wrists.

“Thank gods, you were gone for hours,” Azriel whines, striding over to you, picking you up and spinning you.

“Az, sweetie, I was gone for five minutes.” You reply, chuckling as he sets you back down.

“It was days. I was starting to worry I’d need to eat my foot.” His hand gently caresses your face, before he crouches down and picks you up over his shoulder. He dashes over to the bed, placing you on top of it and then laying directly on top of you.

“You’re squishing me,” you mumble into his neck.

“Yes,” he replies, not elaborating more.

You huff, moving your arms out to get more comfortable. Without saying anything, his hands grip your waist, and he flips you two so you’re on top of him. Your legs straddle his waist, and he holds you impossibly tight to his chest.

“My turn!” He exclaims, and you’ll have to note that love potions make you 1) incredibly clingy and 2) essentially drunk.

You lay on top of him, wondering if he was going to fall asleep like this. He has been busy the past few days, and you always worry when he’s gone whether or not he sleeps properly.

You hear his breathing get deeper and you think he’s fallen asleep until he murmurs, “feels s’good.”

You didn’t even realize you were lazily tracing your fingers up and down his arm. You still yourself, worried that this was too much, that when he sobered up he’d feel violated. Cassian’s words ring through your mind, “I’m sure Azriel can find it in his heart to forgive you if you took advantage.” Was that true? Could he?

You feel yourself getting a little too comfortable, when a realization hits you. “You stink,” you say, beginning to untangle yourself from him, “you need a bath.”

“Trying to get me naked, sweetheart?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows as he stands up and starts undoing his leathers.

“No! No, you just have been gone a few days. You reek of the forest.”

He stops undoing the straps his arm covers, “do you not like forest men?”

You shake your head no, “no, I like clean smelling men. I’ll start a bath for you, okay?”

He whines, “will you help me bathe?”

You sigh, the pitiful look on his face working on you. “No, I think you’re capable of bathing yourself.” Being a healer, you were used to nudity, it didn’t bother you, except for when it came to the male you were head over heels for, who was currently standing in front of you.

He starts undoing his leathers again, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. You can’t stop yourself from staring - watching the tattoos that cover his chest as they practically dance across his skin as he’s moving. Tracing your eyes down his arms, watching his fingers move, undoing his pants and letting them fall to the floor. You genuinely can’t stop yourself from ogling this man standing completely naked in front of you.

You, Feyre, and Nesta had all gossiped about which one of them you thought would be the biggest, all three of you declaring it would definitely be Azriel. Staring at this marble statue of a male, the three of you were right. There’s no physical way the other two brothers could measure up to him.

“Like what you see?” Your head whips up to meet his eyes, looking at you with drunken amusement. He chuckles, enjoying the way you looked at him. Your cheeks are on fire, you’ve never ogled a patient before. But also, Azriel’s never been in such need of patient care.

He walks over to you, and you take a step back. “You’re drugged, and it would be a terrible idea for anything to transpire while you’re in such a state.” You declare, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism.

“So you don’t want to join me in the bath?” He asks, trying to step closer, as you side step him. “That would be a very bad idea,” you say, stepping away from him and toward the bathroom.

“Actually I think I got injured on my mission,” he says, a pained expression overtaking his face, “I don’t think I can bathe myself. Can you help me?”

His expression shows mock pain, but his eyes are aglow with amusement.

You laugh, “okay, fine, if you get in, I’ll help you.”

-

You didn’t take into consideration just how much he would enjoy your touch on him as you bathed him. Honestly it was actually very pleasant - you lit a few candles for him, and gathered a few washcloths and some soap. He was still covered in dirt from his mission, so you started by dipping the cloth into the water and cleaning off his arms.

You start humming, enjoying the peace and quiet of the bathroom. His room was nice and cozy, a surprising contrast to the image he wishes to portray to the world.

After cleaning his arms, you ask him to tilt his head back, “so I can wash your hair.”

He does as you ask, and you had actually stepped out to your room to gather your bathing supplies for him. His room was sparse of supplies, so you figured he could just smell like you for a day or two.

You cup your hands together, forming a basin with them, gather water, and pour it gently over the top of his head. After wetting his hair enough, you lather some shampoo in your hand, gently coursing your fingers through his hair.

You hear him practically purring at the situation of your fingers rubbing into his scalp. “Does that feel good?” You tease.

“Gods, yes. I’m not sure anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

Your heart breaks a little at the admission, not sure how anyone can be so cruel to him. Teasing aside, he was always incredibly kind to you and all the other members of the inner circle. You swear you haven’t had to open a door for yourself since coming to the night court and you’ve never been worried that they don’t like you. The male before you had always made you feel so included, even when you hardly knew anyone.

“Well, if you want, you can ask anytime and I’d be more than happy to help.” You say, trying to get the sentiment across.

You two continue in peaceful silence, before he asks, “can you sing for me? I once heard you singing, you were in the kitchen, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Gods, you thought, he’s really trying to make me a puddle.

“Sometimes I hear you singing in my dreams.”

“What do I sing about?”

He thinks for a moment, “seeing me again. You only sing in my dreams when I’m away. You sing to me, asking me to come home.”

His admission makes you want to squeal, but you oblige his request and start singing an old song, one you had heard in your home court at a bar. You sing as you untangle his hair, a tale about falling in love as if some force was pulling the subject of the song to the singer.

“You have delicate hands,” he says, his head still tilted back. You had finished rinsing out his hair, but he was so calm like this, you just kept raking your fingers across his head.

“And a beautiful voice. A beautiful everything, really. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. And kind. And smart. You’re so nice to me.”

“I could say the same things about you, Az. You’re also incredibly kind and beautiful.”

He just kept his head tilted back, enjoying the peace of this bath. You’re wondering what he’s thinking about, when he starts speaking again, “can you do this every time I come back from a mission? Might make me come home faster too.”

You giggle, “sure, I can do this after every mission.”

You didn’t mind agreeing - either you got to do this or Azriel will completely forget he asked. Gods, you think, will he remember any of this? On one hand, you know he’ll be incredibly embarrassed and flustered, on the other, you’re not sure how you can pretend none of this happened.

You help Azriel out of the bath, handing him a towel so he can dry off when he grabs your wrist. “Thank you,” he says, looking into your eyes.

You’re not sure if the effects of the potion are starting to wear off, but he seems less loopy, but still just as clingy. You smile in response to him, turn to leave, when he tightens his grip on your wrist.

“Can you dry off my wings? I hate going to bed with wet wings.” He says, and his hand has reached up and is caressing your jaw now.

“Won’t that uh, make you.. ya know?” You say, gesturing with your hands trying not to say the words.

“Make me…?” He asks, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Your cheeks burn with heat, “aren’t wings like super sensitive?” You practically whisper. He laughs, “yes, but mostly just to touch from someone, rubbing a towel on it isn’t that seductive, I must say. Knowing you’re the one holding the towel, however..” he trails off, and he spends a moment just looking you up and down.

“Stop that,” you say, grabbing a towel.

“Stop what?” He asks, spreading out his wings for you to dry them. You start dabbing his wings with the towel, rubbing the towel up and down his left wing.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a meal,” you say, focusing on his wing.

His hand grasps your thigh. “But darling, how can I not? You’re taking care of me, touching me. Regardless, if I was a condemned man, I’d pick you for my last meal.”

You stop cleaning his wing at his words, “sweetheart,” he groans at the pet name, “nothing can happen while you’re still under the effects of this love potion, talk to me when you’re clear-headed.”

You resume cleaning his wings, honestly amazed at all the nooks and crannies. You’ve always wanted to see Ilyrian wings up close, but have never been confident enough to ask any of them. You know they’d probably let you look at them for medical knowledge, but they feel so… personal.

“But baby, I’m not under a love potion. I’m under your love spell.” He waggles his eyebrows, still with his eyes closed, enjoying both the cleaning of his wings and making you fidget like this.

“I did not cast a love spell or love potion on you!” You say indignantly.

“You existed and charmed me immediately.”

“I did not,“ you reply.

“After I met you, I spent days trying to learn everything I could about you. Your powers, where you’re from, your favorite cookies. Rhys caught on super quickly, unfortunately, and wouldn’t tell me more about you. ‘Ask her yourself’ he told me,” he says, doing a quite spot-on impression of the high lord.

“And did you ask me yourself?”

“I tried to get Cassian to do it, the bastard figured it out pretty quickly. You were just so pretty, how was I supposed to walk up to you and go ,”hello, tell me everything about yourself, I’ll listen. Are you free forever?” He looked so lovestruck, you couldn’t believe you could have this kind of effect on him.

You giggle, “well, I’m pretty easy to impress. I’m ashamed to admit it but that line would have worked on me. Honestly any line from you would have worked on me.”

He bolts upright, “you mean to tell me we could have been having gloriously hot sex this whole time?”

Your cheeks flame, “well I mean hopefully there’d be other stuff too, I’m not that easy.”

He tilts his head back in laughter, “you might not be that easy, but I am.”

You laugh, “okay Mr. Nice and Easy, I’ve finished drying off your wings, how are you feeling?”

He thinks for a moment, “honestly, I’m pretty tired. I don’t sleep well on missions - too wired to sleep.”

In addition to the clinginess, the love potion is making him so vulnerable. It’s nice to have him open up to you like this - how can you go back to how it was? You two were very friendly before, but this? This is a whole new level of vulnerability.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that as he was leaned against the cupboard, he had started falling asleep. You convince him to lay in his bed. He agrees, but “only if you come with me.”

He insists on you cuddling with him. You tell him you’ll go grab some pajamas, but he whines and takes off his shirt, handing it to you. “Your room’s too far,” he says, “besides I think you look adorable in my clothes.”

-

Azriel woke softly, a warmth pressed against him. He genuinely can’t remember the last time he slept so well - usually only when he’s injured and you or Madja provide him a concoction to sleep for days to heal.

He looked down, seeing your head nuzzled into his neck, his mind exploding with questions - did we do it and I forgot? Was I drunk? Gods, he thought, I hope not. He lifted the blanket a smidge, and both of you were fully clothed, eliminating that possibility. He did note that you were wearing his shirt, the back slits undone so we could see little slithers of your back. His hand was resting there, touching the exposed parts of your back.

He starts trying to remember what led him here - the mission, coming home, his brothers, the debrief, waiting for you to come check on him. Oh, gods. It all came back to him. He grabbed your ass, shamelessly. He flirted with you, shamelessly. He flirted with you, while he was naked. You bathed him. He wouldn’t let you go farther than 6 feet away from him. You dried his wings. You sang for him.

That’s it, he thinks. I’ll have to move. There’s no way she’ll want anything to do with me after forcing myself on her for hours. Maybe I can work for Helion in Day.

His thoughts are interrupted by you nuzzling your face into his neck. He swears he feels you kiss his neck, but he’s not sure.

He feels you stir after a while, and you look up at him, a sleepy smile adorning your face. “Hi sweetheart, how are you feeling this morning?”

He groans, “you can stop the nicknames, I think the potion’s out of my system.” He sees your face falter for a split second before composing yourself.

“Ah,” you say, “how much do you remember?”

He sighs, tightening his grip around you. Convinced you’re about to disown him and want nothing to do with him, he’ll take all the physical contact he can get right now. “I remember all of it, and I’m… I can’t believe I did all those things.”

“I don’t think you should feel too embarrassed,” you say, rubbing his arm.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, “and why not? I’ve practically been forcing myself on you for twelve hours.”

You giggle, still rubbing his arm, “did you know that love potions only work if you already have feelings for someone? Love potions work by just taking what’s there and bringing it to the surface. It smells different for everyone, smelling like things you’re attracted to.”

He stills at your words. He could deal with the embarassment of being all over you, but the knowledge that you now posess that he has deep feelings for you? It’s too much, he thinks, putting his face in his hands.

“People who take love potions are often covered in the smell of it, and it comes off of their breath like alcohol.” He feels your hands wrap around his that are still covering his face. “I uh couldn’t smell it on you. I smelled your canteen out in the hallway,” you pause, “it smelled like books, and fresh ink, and you.” His eyes snap to your face, and you look directly into his eyes.

You clear your throat, so what you’re about to say will come out as clear as possible. “If I drank a love potion right now, I would be hanging all over you, telling you how beautiful you are and how much I think about you. I’d probably also tell you that it was incredibly difficult not to give into your advances yesterday, because I did not want you to regret anything. As much as I wanted something to happen, I didn’t want it like that. At least, not the first time.”

He keeps your eye contact, searching your face for any trace of amusement.

“There’s a first time?” He asks, a smug look overcoming his face.

You laugh, “there’s as many times as you’ll have me.”

“Well I think it’s only fair for it to be your turn, falling all over yourself, telling me how beautiful I am.”

“Yeah?” You ask, putting your hands on his face. “Yeah,” he replies. “Well in that case,” you start, leaning in closer, “you are devastatingly gorgeous,” you kiss his cheek, “incredibly kind,” you kiss his other cheek, “oh so smart,” you kiss his forehead, “and I am hopelessly obsessed with you.” You lean forward, catching his lips in your mouth. Your lips move in harmony, his hands gripping your waist. You press yourself into him, deepening the kiss.

After minutes, hours, or days, you pull your head back and tell him, “now, uh, if I’m supposed to be hopelessly in love with you, I think you’re supposed to take care of me and give me a sponge bath.”

[inuyashaluver]

heyyy, would you be able to do a fic where reader and Leah is dating but they play on different national teams and when they are facing each other Leah accidentally injures reader with some angst and fluff at the end please loveeee ur fics

enemy affair - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you and your girlfriend get into a heated match for your national teams, causing you to get injured and leah to panic

warnings: slightly angsty, mentions of injury, leah was at the world cup (a girl can dream), swearing

a/n: thank you for the love and request, lovely!! please enjoyyyy ❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, leah were absolutely head over heels for each other. you truly had so much love for one another, it made you both feel sick.

there was just something about how easy, genuine and special your relationship was. you two were soulmates and you were reminded through each other and other people around you telling you so almost every day.

—

you and leah met when you signed to arsenal when you and leah were both 21. you got along instantly, mutual attraction and pining driving the two of you and everyone around you insane when no one would make the first move.

it took you and leah cuddling at a team bonding session to make your teammates snap and your relationship to begin.

leah was sitting on the longer part of the couch at her place, you in between her legs. your back was pressed against her front while you played with her hands wrapped around your body.

you were both in your own world, leah would dip her head to speak directly in your ear to make you giggle. you always leaned your body into hers when she spoke, she was so warm and comforting, why wouldn’t you stay wrapped up in her embrace?

it took about 40 minutes of you and leah whispering and giggling while watching a movie until jen, steph and beth all collectively broke out in complaints.

“i can’t take it anymore, are you dating yet or not?” steph grumbles, looking at both of you sternly, leah in her protective nature pulled you impossibly closer to her. before you both could say anything, you’re interrupted.

“you clearly love each other, just fucking date!” jen exclaims, beth and steph nod in agreement. you and leah just look at them with wide eyes, still embracing each other. “we’re not dating” leah says almost sadly, you knew you needed to change that. you stayed silent watching the girls grumble to each other and complain about you and leah.

when the girls left, it left you and leah alone. as soon as she closed the door after waving the final girls off, you pressed her up against the door, kissing her passionately. she hums against your mouth surprised, hands immediately making their way to your hips to press you up against her.

you both smile slightly in the kiss before leah’s tongue brushes over your lip. she’s rewarded by a small whine escaping the back of your throat when her tongue enters your mouth fully. she smirks before your heads are tilting to deepen it further, lasting for a few seconds before you both pull away, flushed and breathless.

“that was nice” leah chuckles, experimentally kissing your lips once more before fully facing you.

“you’re nice” you remark cheekily, making the blonde grin and lift up her hand to cradle your jaw, her thumb brushing back and forth over the skin.

“would you like to be my girlfriend, baby?” leah asks so softly, you almost couldn’t hear her. you smile up at her lovingly. “i’d love to” you move forward to place a quick kiss on her lips and she chases your lips immediately when you try to pull away, kissing you in a way that makes you dizzy where your knees almost give out from under you.

it was the start of forever for both of you.

—

you and leah both play for different national teams. leah with england and you with australia. you and leah didn’t mind versing each other because both of you knew how important football was to one another.

you were both extremely passionate about it, it was what you loved and did for a living. everytime you did have to verse each other, it was competition, and if anything, you both expected the best from each other and no less.

if one of you felt the other was lacking, you’d tell them and you both appreciated it. and as soon as it was all over, you’re giggling, kissing and hugging each other like normal.

—

it was during the women’s world cup semi finals that you both had a relatively heated match. there was a lot on the line, making it to the final for your country and bringing home the gold medal.

throughout the entire competition, you and leah went to every match that you both had, wearing each other’s jerseys with proud smiles while being one another’s biggest fans.

you and leah always met up during free time, both of you absolutely giddy when you saw each other. you both never really lived apart in a while so national duties were always a little rough for the both of you, as you were both so used to being attached at the hip.

you both met up the night before the semi final match of england vs australia. you were getting ready for a little beach date with leah when she knocked on the door. you rush to open it and stumbled over your own feet and fell slightly. you hear leah’s little giggle from the other side of the door, you open it with pink cheeks and a shy smile.

“hi, lee” you laugh nervously, she instantly brightens at seeing you, pulling you into a tight hug “hi, baby girl” she breathes out, swaying you gently side to side. “did you fall over?” leah chuckles, kissing your cheek three times before pulling back to look at you from arm’s length.

“no” you scoff offendedly, “hm, really? i think you did” she says teasingly, pecking your lips quickly before pushing you further into the room to tackle you to your bed. you laugh at feeling her sink into you while she kisses your neck all over.

“i thought we were going to the beach?” you mock her accent and she bites your neck teasingly but not making a mark, she chuckles when you let out a little squeal.

“we are, baby, is it a crime to kiss my fit girlfriend?” she hovers over you and smiles affectionately when you roll your eyes. she gets off you and drags you out of the room after your numerous protests at wanting to spend time with her outside the hotel.

you both have a sweet, simple time at the beach, talking and having fun until it hits 9pm on the dot for leah to force you to get up to take you back to your hotel. “we need proper rest for tomorrow, missy” leah reprimands, pushing you to your door with a parting kiss.

“i love you” you quip out quickly, “i love you too, go to sleep, please” leah replies back. you grin at her mockingly, “so strict and i’m your opponent?” leah laughs at that, “well right now you’re my girlfriend so yes, bed” she winks, you kiss her gently and she attempts to usher you inside but she’s too magnetising. “one more” you whine, she smiles amusingly at you, kissing you once more before waving you off.

she texts you when she makes it back to her room, both of you sending each other messages of good luck before you both go to bed.

—

it was the next morning and you were feeling nervous. there was so much riding on this and it slightly overwhelmed you. both teams would go on the pitch before the match to warm up. the matildas were out first and you were warming up with steph, laughing as she eased your nerves about today.

when suddenly, you hear a wolf whistle coming from behind you and you smile instantly, spinning around to launch yourself in your girlfriend’s outstretched arms.

“my girl” she coos, hugging you tightly as she kisses your cheek. you smile and lean into her, ignoring the teasing from both sides. “hi, baby, you look hot” you say simply, kissing her quickly before pulling away. she smiles amusingly at you, holding both of your hands and swinging them gently as you conversed.

“i’m showing a lot of restraint right now to not pull you in an empty physio room” leah admits lowly, making your eyes widen while she smiles charmingly at you. “my beautiful girl” she adds, you move to hug her so you could hide your pink cheeks, spurring a little giggle from her while you held onto her tightly.

you talked for a bit before you had to continue warm ups, you kiss each other quickly as you part and as soon as you turn, leah smacks your behind and you shake your head instantly. turning around to see her wink while running backwards to her team.

—

before you both lined up in the tunnel, she pulled you aside, giving you and encouraging hug and a little pep talk, you returning the gesture.

“be the best one out there” leah says sternly, you nod instantly while you squeeze her hands.

“you too, i’m expecting you to give it your all” you reply in your own stern voice before you both break out in a little smile and hugging each other briefly.

she nods at you when you line up and you wink at her, both of you tuning everything out and focusing on the upcoming match.

the match was insanity, both teams creating a huge amount of chances but just unable to make it happen. you were playing forward with sam, meaning your prime defender was leah, always your hardest competitor as she knew your movements like the back of her hand.

england managed to get their first goal through ella and the pressure was getting harder. your team evened it out when sam got a goal. when lauren follows up with her own goal, the pressure only got worse.

you all worked tirelessly, you decide to make a runner and just try and take a shot, though when you run with the ball from caitlin, your legs are swept out from under you and you fall on your side with a pained grunt.

the referee blew the whistle and immediately stopped the match when you wouldn’t move, you couldn’t hear anything other than caitlin and steph arguing with leah in the distance

“what the fuck, mate?” caitlin exclaims, giving leah a little shove when she attempted to go to you. “leah, that was bad” steph shakes her head, leah’s eyes are wide with panic.

she could feel her body tensing up. “what the fuck have i done?” she breathes out, watching you lay on the floor with a pained expression. she could feel her eyes prickle with tears as she stared at you being assessed by the medics.

everything drowned out to leah as she focused on you, her hands frustratingly running up and down her face. you felt fine, it was sure to bruise just from high impact but you truly were fine. the medics get up to leave and help you to stand on your feet.

you assure your teammates you were fine before looking over to see leah being comforted by millie and alessia. you rush over to her and hug her from behind, pouting slightly at feeling her flinch.

everyone was getting water and let you and leah have your moment, the match would start up again soon.

“leah” you say gently, unwrapping your arms around her waist so she could face you. at seeing her tearful expression, you hold her by her bicep.

“baby, i’m fine, it’s okay” you reassure but she shakes her head unconvinced, a shaky hand reaching for the side you fell on before letting it drop to her side again.

“i’m so fucking stupid, i’m so sorry” she grits out earnestly, she’s disappointed with herself.

“leah cathrine williamson” you start sternly, “no, you’re playing how I expect you to and i'm so fucking proud of you” you squeeze her bicep gently and she bores her eyes into yours sadly.

“don’t you dare think like that, we’ll talk after, we need to get back” you didn’t give her another opportunity to speak, kissing her cheek gently before getting back in position. alessia managed to finish the match off with a goal and you all knew it was over. no matter how much you pushed and pushed, you couldn’t get another goal.

when the final whistle blew, you collapsed to the floor in absolute exhaustion. the england girls came up to you to haul you up and give you hugs, you were close to pretty much all of them through leah.

you look around the pitch to see leah nervously nearing you, she was worried about your reaction of her team beating you as well as injuring you not that long ago.

“there she is!” you say brightly, running over to her and wrapping her into a tight hug, she hesitates before wrapping her arms around you, burying her face into the crook of your neck. her embrace was so emotional and raw, as well with the loss, tears were brought to your eyes.

“i’m so sorry” leah mumbles into your skin, you run your hands over her jersey in comforting circles, “it’s okay, baby” you coo, moving your head slightly to kiss her cheek repeatedly, at feeling your tears graze her skin, she pulls back to look at you with her own tearful expression.

“i’m so proud of you, leah” you say earnestly, she could’ve sobbed on the spot. “i’m proud of you too, love” she smiles gently, moving her hand up to wipe the stray tears on your cheek. you lean into her hands with a smile, “congratulations, ms semi final winner” you say cheekily, she huffs out a little laugh, only you would joke in a situation like this and she loved it.

“thanks, not important right now, are you alright?” she asks nervously, her hand gently placed against where you fell. “i’m okay, lee, really” you look into her eyes and she analyses you for any hint of a lie but you weren’t.

“i’ll kiss it better, i promise” she winks, both of you were normal and it relieved everyone around you. “i’ll hold you to it, williamson” you smile, puckering your lips up for a kiss that she happily gives you before you walk off to your respective teammates.

tears were shed and disappointment was evident but no one could deny all your hard work as a team. you were all proud of each other, regardless of the result. you all did your appreciation lap with tearful yet proud expressions, you were so close but you were truly fine with it.

you clap as england does their lap, running up to leah when she was done with a happy smile and she immediately understands what you’re hinting at. you both swap jerseys and hug each other again while you whisper proud words in leah’s ear that she appreciates more than anyone’s.

you kiss her cheek repeatedly and she holds onto you tightly, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips quickly and pressing a long one to your cheek.

—

when you both made it to your hotel, she kept her promise and spread apologetic, affectionate kisses over the bruising skin as you card your hands through her hair. you couldn’t help but cry in leah’s arms when the night was over, she comforted you as your girlfriend and anything but your opponent. she whispers sweet nothings in your ear when she holds onto you tightly, being there for you however long you’d let her.

when england advanced to the final, you of course went to the game with your ‘williamson’ jersey, sitting with her family. at the result, leah bounds over to you with a heartbroken expression and you switched roles. you both held each other in a way no one else could, the comfort of one another being the only thing you could’ve wanted in your moments of vulnerability.

you and leah were both disappointed with your results but were extremely happy and proud of each other and that’s all that mattered to the both of you.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

different kind of drill, pretend this is you and leah lmao, love ya alex and ellie xx

liked by caitlinfoord and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: low quality picture but high quality girl, so proud of you and i love you so much x

view all comments

yourname: oh you’re just the cutest ever, i love you, my pretty leah baby!

↳ leahwilliamsonn: i love you, my girl

↳ yourname: my girllllll

yourname: wow, hottest captain xx

↳ samanthakerr20: sorry? country traitor?

↳ yourname: oh, what are you doing here?

↳ leahwilliamsonn: this is such an honour, wow

↳ yourname: baby, sam put me in time out

↳ leahwilliamsonn: i can’t interfere, my love

↳ yourname: you love me? my ass.

↳ leahwilliamsonn: baby, i do!

↳ samanthakerr20: dog house, mate, my bad

[yuellii]

keep my hopes too high

feat. genshin men

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 there are several ways they admire you from afar ( drabbles )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, no other warnings

He fairly enjoys it, the fluttering feeling as if he’s floating when he sees you. Perhaps it’s a little too enjoyable, because it’s been several times now that he catches himself staring for much longer than he intended—or, perhaps he should not have been staring at all. But he can’t help the way you catch his gaze, nor can he control the smile of blissful contentment that etches itself upon his lips. It’s a natural reaction, he swears, for he’d argue that anyone would be captivated by the sheer, unadulterated human emotion you bring out from even the coldest of persons, or by the joys of life you brought to display.

Maybe one day he’ll approach you, and maybe he’ll tell you of all the graces of genuine humanity and serenity he feels when he catches wind of you. Maybe, but today is not that day.

ALBEDO, Tighnari, Cyno, Kaeya, KAVEH, Zhongli, Kazuha

He’s a master in the art of silent admiration. It could be in a crowded tavern or a silent library, but when he does happen to see you, he appears to not move at all. He’s calm, collected, and most certainly indifferent, like you’re just another passerby he sees as he’s people-watching.

That’s what he thinks, at least. Sure, the usual expression on his face—whether it be a plain smile or a straight up disinterested look—is definitely deceiving, but it was convincing in a manner that even deceived himself. There have been many times he never realized he’d be watching just to analyze what you were doing, analyze your surroundings, and analyze if you were going to be safe. It’s a full rundown of things he notices in his head as his eyes dart around the area. But once he determines everything is clear and you’re safe to continue, he’ll get up, and he will silently leave.

DILUC, Alhaitham, Xiao, ZHONGLI, Scaramouche, Venti, DAINSLEIF, Heizou

There’s an unwanted pit of fear that settled into his stomach every time he sees you. Because if he ever allowed himself any time with you, what would become of his life now? He’s so used to routine—the lifestyle where he was never driven to this distressing, distant infatuation with you.

Maybe it wasn’t about being busy, maybe it wasn’t about having no time. In actuality, maybe there was almost nothing he feared more than opening up about a life only he himself has known—something about putting trust and openness into someone, meanwhile he has not yet even been open with himself. He thought it would be easy to just drown himself in his work just to avoid you. But mindless work quickly turned into dreaded seconds with the grueling thoughts he could be with you now. But, alas, he was not as strong as he thought.

AYATO, Childe, XIAO, Scaramouche, BAIZHU, Dainsleif

He can’t. He simply cannot force himself to remain afar. In fact, he deems it impossible—with your charm, and with your benevolence—to avoid running up to you at every moment he can. He makes claims that you’re some sort of siren, drawing him in whilst he is but a mere bystander. But in truth, though he doesn’t even know himself, it’s a lovestruck selfishness that roars inside his stomach whenever he sees you.

He’ll shout hello from the most random of street corners; He’ll suddenly join you across the table at a cafe. Doesn’t matter if it’s annoying—he can’t really tell when he’s running on pure instinct and craving here. But based on his childlike pining and genuine elation on his lips every time he sees you, it’s so blatantly obvious he just can’t help himself.

CHILDE, Thoma, KAVEH, Gorou, Heizou

[steddieas-shegoes]

98. “if we weren’t in public right now i’d have my head between your legs” 👀

READICUS. Okay. Alright. I've caught the context disease from you though.

Rated M | tags: language, flirting, dirty talk, so much discussion about sex they might as well be having it, getting together, FWB to lovers

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

It was just grocery shopping.

They were in a grocery store.

Eddie should not be getting hard watching Steve pick out the ripest bananas.

Like, genuinely, even he knew this was as ridiculous as it could get.

It's just that they'd been casually fucking for the last few weeks, letting off steam, just dudes helping dudes through their synchronous dry spells, and watching Steve pay so much attention to a fucking banana was a lot for Eddie to wrap his mind around.

Casually fucking might not even be the right term.

It was more like...fucking like rabbits.

Eddie spent more time at Steve's house than he spent at his own, and most of that time was spent either naked or trying to be.

He spent the night last night, and only agreed to come shopping with Steve after a very convincing blowjob against the kitchen counter.

It was working for them.

Except for how much Eddie loved Steve. Not like a friend, or a brother, or the way he loved his Hellfire minions. He loved Steve in the "would marry you in Vegas and have tons of babies with you if you wanted" way.

So embarrassing.

Especially taking into consideration that there was no way Steve saw their arrangement as anything more than convenient.

He watched as Steve finally settled on the perfect bunch of bananas and shuffled back to the cart that Eddie was leaning on.

Eddie leaned forward as Steve leaned over the cart, his lips brushing against his ear.

"If we weren't in public right now, I'd have my head between your legs," he whispered.

Which was bold of him considering the grocery store was packed with weekend shoppers.

Steve tensed, his body freezing completely as Eddie backed away, smiling and waving at an old lady glaring at him.

"What the fuck, Eds."

Steve's cheeks were fire engine red, his hands gripping the edge of the cart like it was the only thing holding him up.

"What? I just thought you should know how bad I want you," Eddie shrugged.

They flirted with each other all the time, that's what led to their situation in the first place: the flirting went a bit too far and Steve ended up on his lap, rocking his hips back and forth until he came in his jeans.

No big deal.

Just another day.

But never in public, barely even around someone they trusted.

"Here? Now?" Steve squeaked out, eyes widening comically.

"Why not? You're hot," Eddie's hand grazed his lower back, just enough of a touch to tease, not enough to really be noticed by anyone else.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Steve hissed. "You want people to see?"

"No, 'course not," Eddie smirked. "I just want you to feel."

Watching Steve struggle to find words, struggle to flirt, was possibly the biggest win in Eddie's book. If he could pat himself on the back for it, he would.

"We're in public."

"Stevie, I hate to say it, but being in public doesn't really stop me from wanting to get on my knees and suck your dick."

Steve's face got impossibly darker, only spurring Eddie on more.

"If I wasn't so worried about being walked in on, I'd drag you to the bathroom right now. Maybe fuck you in a stall. You'd probably like that, huh? You liked when I fucked you against the shower wall the other day," Eddie let his fingers trace along Steve's arm, subtle, easy to pull away if someone got too close to them.

"Eddie-"

"Or maybe you'd wanna fuck me. I know how much you like throwing me around and showing off sometimes. Think that would work for you?"

Eddie watched as Steve shivered, biting his lip and doing his best to hold back a whine.

"But we won't do that, right? Because only I get to see you like that. The way you fuck me, the way I fuck you, that's just for us, isn't it?"

Steve nodded.

Eddie looked around, confirmed no one was close enough to see, and settled a hand on the front of Steve's jeans.

"This is just for me."

"Yeah, just for you," Steve choked out, his hand grasping at Eddie's wrist to either pull it away or hold it in place. "Eds-"

"I know, Stevie. But we gotta shop. That's what you said when you were on your knees in the kitchen this morning."

"I can shop later," Steve gasped as Eddie's hand squeezed once before pulling away.

They were in public and there was only so much Eddie was willing to try to get away with, but Steve's reaction was everything.

He looked away, focusing on the apples in front of him as if he cared at all about apples when Steve Harrington was hard right next to him.

He froze.

He thought about everything he'd just said, how possessive he'd sounded, how he'd never quite crossed that line before.

How into it Steve was.

He looked back at Steve, who was still staring at him, face almost back to a normal shade, but lips bitten red and eyes glassy.

"Steve?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want that to be just for me?" Eddie should not be having this discussion in the grocery store.

"Do I what?"

"Do you want to be mine? Like, more than just...fucking?" Eddie should not be having this discussion in the grocery store.

"Is that...an option?" Steve was letting him have this discussion in the grocery store.

"If you want it to be."

Every once in a while, Eddie saw this look in Steve's eye, only ever when he was looking at Eddie doing something stupid or funny or when he was messing around with the kids.

He never let himself think that it was anything more than just Steve getting distracted while looking at him.

He could see it now, though, and he couldn't ignore what that look actually was.

"I want it. I want you."

Eddie was fucked. In more ways than one, it seemed.

"You do?"

"Why is that so hard to believe? You've practically been living with me for weeks, dude."

Eddie's lips curled down, disgusted.

"Don't call me dude, oh my God."

Steve laughed.

"I'll make it up to you when we get home," he winked, turning around and pretending that he didn't just make Eddie's brain short circuit.

"I- what-" Eddie sputtered.

"What? Can't handle my mouth? You handle it fine earlier."

God, Eddie loved this man.

"Stevie, how fast can you finish shopping?" Eddie started pushing the cart away, not even sure if he was going in the right direction.

"If you stop distracting me, ten minutes."

"I'll be in the car, then."

[moumouton4]

Idk if you know this, but JSchlatt reaction meme "What the fuck":

https://youtu.be/cl4N8evU8UY

Now, to what, Naruto characters would react like this?

(Yes I have too much time on my hands so I'm looking up old reaction memes)

Toodles~

Their Reactions To You Going "What The Fuck ?!?" || Naruto characters x reader 5

A/n : Oh gosh my dear it took me so much time. I've never struggled so much and I think it was because writing for a meme is a complex exercise 👀 But I did it ! 😍

Naruto Headcanons series : 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Warnings : Contains both fluff and smut ( mention of boner, hand job, roughness, punishment, oral male!receiver, grinding, mention of wall sex, mention of breeding, dirty talk ) 18+ READERS ONLY and wrap it before you tap it

Masterlist ⚜

I don’t give permission to repost my work, if you want to share it just reblogue it

Word count : 2131

Sasuke Uchiha : All the people around you were engrossed in a dumb ass show - according to him. Once again he sighs discreetly at the jokes he certainly doesn't find funny. He only came because Naruto told him he wanted all his friends to be there for the evening. But then a voice was heard above all the laughters “What the fuck ?!? This is not funny” you said. Everyone looked at you amused before starting to laugh again. Except Sasuke, he looked at you intently. You had to be Y/n, an ally Naruto had met on a mission, he thought. As you got up to take a breath outside. He cautiously made his way outside the house as well. You seemed very raw and unadorned, and it piqued his curiosity. Perhaps he could get to know you in more detail ?

Kakashi Hatake : He smiles widely under his mask, the only thing giving him away were the crinkles around his eyes showing how genuine his smile was. He found it really unusual and unexpected to see you burst like this. After all, you were a great and skilled kunoichi, who had a lot of requirements and was very professional. But it felt really good to see that after all like everyone you have your little moments of overflow. He knew no one was around so he gave your ass a gentle yet noticeable slap “Y/n keep it down. You have a reputation to uphold” he chuckled at the bashful expression on your face.

Itachi Uchiha : He's not even taken aback. He smiles lovingly at you. He loves to see you go out of your way. It gives you a wild, unpredictable side that he loves "My fierce lioness" For him, it's so endearing he can't help but rub your cheek with love, his dark eyes getting lost in your gaze, making you blush and calm down. Every action you take and word you say reminds him of what a good choice he made in asking you to marry him ( maybe a future hc 👀 )

Naruto Uzumaki : He doesn’t care if you’re angry or just messing around. He’s going to pick you and tickle you. At some point you move so much that he slips. You both end up sprawled on the floor. Everyone in the street are looking at you and it’s fueling you again “This is not fucking fucking. Mind your own business !” Meanwhile Naruto is just laughing his ass off as if it was the funniest thing ever.

Iruka Umino : His eyes widen and his mouth hangs agape. But don’t misunderstand him, he is really happy that for once someone takes up his defense when his pupils are making fun of him. Though then he looks at you with a smile as he whispers with his mouth half hiding his mouth “Y/n please they are already impossible to manage. Don't teach them swear words" You gave him a sheepish smile and kissed his cheek before saying goodbye. Leaving him flustered in front of a shocked crowd of kids whispering how pretty their teacher’s S/o is.

Utakata : He doesn’t even care what you’re talking about - as long as you’re safe. He’s going to gently slap the back of your head or pinch your shoulder and remind you of your language "Y/n being my apprentice you must keep a certain self control and keep these kinds of words out of your language" You huffed as his basic and prepared answer, reminding him that you also were his partner. He flushed and turned his head the other way so that you don’t see the effect your teasing has on him. He mumbled “Yeah… that too” He wrapped your arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. You both trained well now it was time to go home and rest.

Rock Lee : He panics !! He wants to know why you said that, to whom you said that. Not funny ? Don’t worry he is going to give you his best to make you laugh ( almost wrote cum” here. I was on Hidan’s part before 😭 ) Also he is a bit clueless at your choice of word “My Flower isn’t this word supposed to be used in a more intimate cont-” but the look of pure rage that you gave him killed his question in the egg as he gulped down loudly. He’s obviously going to ask Guy senseï, Neji or Tenten for an answer ( Yes Neji is still alive in my canon-verse )

Yamato : He doesn’t know what’s happening. He just knows he doesn’t want to get involved. He stares at you ensuring you’re fine and slowly he steps aside. Slowly, slowly, until he leaves the scene. Which has you running after him throughout the village. Obviously you find him hiding behind the bench where Kakashi is reading his book on “Please don’t tell Y/n I’m here” “Y/n ! Tenzo’s hiding behind that bench”

Sasori : Seriously bro is unfazed lmao. If he looks up from the puppet he is crafting then you’re a lucky one. But ultimately he is going to make sure there is nothing wrong happening because believe it or not he cares about you. And whoever displeases you will regret it.

Gaara : He freezes slightly. His head turns  s l o w l y  towards you wondering what might have triggered this response. It better be not someone’s fault or else they will have to deal with the Kazekage himself. But then as he focuses on what you’re doing, he sees you rage quitting on your game console. And before he can even say a word he sees you throwing it out the window “My Love careful. It's the 6th this month” He motions to you to come towards him and pats your head gently reminding you that next time it happens that you should just set it before you get angry.

Hashirama Senju : He is a bit shocked but finds your reaction funny as well. And a bit ashamed because he was actually enjoying the jokes of the show. But he had to know better after all. You’re such a lively and sunny person that he almost forgets how much you’re like his brother when it gets to the field of humor. That’s maybe why you've always gotten along well. He nudges you playfully to make you loosen up “Hey you’re married to the Hokage now stop acting like-” but all he gets is a dark glare and a kiss on the cheek, which makes him go dark red.

Tobirama Senju : He can’t help the corner of his lips from twitching upwards. It makes him feel better at ease knowing he is not alone not finding it funny. And knowing that you above everyone thinks the same as him warms his heart. He wants to scoop you in his arms and set you on his lap as he smells the scent of your hair. But for that he’ll have to wait for you guys to come back home. He just hopes his brother isn’t going to invite himself like he always does when Hashirama wants to have a quiet and loving evening with you “No one’s home, come back and try tomorrow !”

Deidara : We know him. He is such a drama queen. He is for sure going to follow you and start screaming insults without even knowing what got you starting in the first place. But it’s fueling your anger. And so you both end up filing the hideout with your screams. Sasori or someone else comes to y’all and tries to scare you for you to shut the fuck up “Nooooo but you don’t understand it’s fucking annoyin-” “SHUT UP BOTH OF YOU !”

Shikamaru Nara : He smirks. His eyes flashes a mischievous glance at you. Despite his laid back stature with his hands buried in his pockets, we can clearly see in his eyes a fire burn. He startles you when suddenly his arm wraps around your waist, bringing you closer to him, until your hip rests flush against his. He isn’t giving anything away to anyone that might have seen him getting closer to you. He nods mindlessly at what others are saying. It’s son going to be this time of the day when he needs you as much as he needs air. You feel his hand squeeze your hip and you know that sooner or later he is going to try to get you out of here to have you all to himself.

 NSFW starts here :

Minato Namikaze : He is slightly taken aback when he hears your outburst. But he is used to it after all this time being married to you. And even after 4 years it always stirs this sparkle inside him. He feels all warm and fuzzy inside. It reminded him of the first time he ever saw you, and of course you were lashing out at someone who disrespected one of your friends. You snapped him out of his thoughts when your hand touched his bulge over his pants. He blushed as a moan escaped his lips. He should have known he would react that way. He always does “Princess aghh… keep going” he begged, his hips jerked up at your touch. He just wanted you to free his hardened length from the confines from his pants to touch him properly. It was your fault, now he needed you to take the matter in your own hands… literally.

Orochimaru : He roughly grabbed your jaw the moment he heard the words leave your lips. You were stunned but it wasn’t foreign. Even when you guys had sex and a curse would escape you he’d stop right away “Oh, such hideous words coming out from the mouth of such an obedient pet" You knew damn well what that meant for you. No cumming allowed until… well until he allows you. You felt his hands on your shoulders gently but firmly bringing you down on your knees “Open wide for me. You’re going to do your best to make me forget about this slip of yours”

Neji Hyuga : He couldn’t deny the thrill he felt when he heard you say those words. When throughout your childhood you're taught to keep up appearances, to be obedient and to look your best. When you grow up you want to look beyond these barriers and see what it would be like to behave normally. No restraints - especially when you've got eyes that can see through clothes - just pure instincts. I always did his best not to keep his mask on when he was with you. And today the hinges had popped. He grabbed you around the waist and pinned you against the wall. From there you could clearly feel the outline of his cock against your center. His hips moved in a teasing motion against you “Please let me have you against the wall” he pleaded. You could tell he was doing his best not to let any noise out. So what did you do ? You cursed again obviously. And he didn't need anything more to get off to a flying start.

Madara Uchiha : “What the f-” he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence. He puts his hand over your mouth to make sure you don't finish the string of insults he is sure was about to come “You’re an Uchiha now. I expect much more from you” He set his other hand on your shoulder putting a firm pressure on it as he lowered his voice. His breath tickles your ear “Once we get home I'm going to make sure you use up your supply of insults while I breed you mmh ? I just need you to be a little more patient” You nodded obediently and he released his grip on you. Leaving you hanging for more. But you didn't worry, you knew he was a man of his word.

Hidan : He laughs loudly at your curses. He doesn’t care for whom it is destined to, not why you said that. It fuels him. That’s it he wants to fuck now. With his it’s easy, you need a fuck ? curse in front of him. Regardless of where you are, he won’t even bother looking for an excuse. He’ll take you on his shoulder and bring you to your room “Such a slutty mouth you have my dear” he smirks throwing you on the bed “We’ll see how much more I can coax out from you. I’ll give you real fun” he says in a dangerous tone as he enters you with one deep thrust.

~

~

A/n : I hope you guys liked it ! 🥪🌭 Again my requests are open 🧇🧀

*Taglist : @foxxymunson, @cl0vr, @ilovemanypeople, @glossy1pearl, @jane57sstuff

[slow-motionlovepotion]

𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 | 𝒋𝒐𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈:  Joel Miller x f!Reader x Tess Servopoulos

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 4.3K

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+ - smut, boston-era, age gap (reader fucks two people old enough to be her parents), girl on girl action, a touch of voyerism (joel likes to watch), threesome, bisexual reader, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it kids), squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, manhandling, breeding kink, slight cum play, lil' bit of fluff at the end.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: what happens when Joel comes home early from a run to find Tess fucking you on his bed.

𝒂/𝒏: throws this like a grenade and runs away fast as fucking possible. i can't actually believe i wrote this, it's disgusting i'm sorry. happy pride to my fellow bisexuals. the mommy and daddy issues are strong with this one ~ no beta, we die like men

You’re not sure how this thing with Tess has started. You’re not even sure what this thing is but it’s become a routine, on nights Joel is away, sharing his bed with Tess, her soft lips pressed to your neck as your rut against her fingers.

You’ve noticed her softening in the months you’ve been doing this. There’s a brightness in her eyes that wasn’t there before and her smile is wider, and a little more genuine. To outsiders she’s still the same hardened, take-no-shit Tess but with you, you get to see her, really see her, glimpses of who she might’ve been before.

Slipping into her building under the cover of darkness, Tess is always up waiting for you and she takes no time pulling you to join her in bed, stripping you out of your clothes and making your breath catch in your throat as you whine her name. 

It’s not cheating, not really, since Tess and Joel haven’t really discussed their relationship, that’s what she tells you, that Joel isn't the jealous type anyway. You don’t believe her, you’d seen Joel threaten men for far less. 

He isn’t meant to be back for another day or so, that explains why Tess has your spread on the bed she and Joel share. It smells like him, you notice it every time you’re here and sometimes it’s overwhelming, the woodsy spiced scent of Joel. You’ve wondered, once or twice, if Joel can smell you when he returns, sometimes you’d spend a few nights, once a whole two weeks, sleeping in his bed, your sweat soaking the sheets while Tess buries her mouth between your legs. 

With your back pressed to her chest and her legs wrapped around yours keeping them spread, Tess rubs soft circles over your clit. Your head rolls back, supported by her shoulder as you whine and squirm, desperate for a bit more friction. Joel hasn’t been on any runs for a while so it’s been weeks since you’ve felt someone else's hands on your body. 

“More, please Tess more” you pant, turning your head to mumble into her neck, already half gone. Tess slides her hand further, slipping her fingers through the wetness gathering at your entrance.  

“All for me?” Tess teases, she loves you like this. All pliant and pretty for her. You nod and she feels it against her throat. “So pretty sweetheart. All for me” It’s possessive, all for her, she knows you don’t do this with anyone else, not anymore. 

Tess pushes two fingers into you, long fingers that reach that spot inside better than your own can 

“Oh, yes” you hiss, your orgasm approaching rapidly. She swipes her thumb over your clit as she crooks her fingers sinfully, rubbing that soft spongy spot that makes you see stars, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer.

You hear a faint jangle of keys from the hallway outside, it can’t be Joel, probably just a neighbour, you think, Tess wouldn’t risk having you here if there was even a possibility Joel would be returning, would she? 

The front door is thrown open and you hear heavy footsteps crossing the small apartment before the impossibly large body of Joel fills the bedroom entrance, dropping his bag heavily when he’s greeted by the sight of you and Tess on his bed.  

Your impending orgasm is lost with the interruption and you whine pathetically at the loss and at the embarrassment of being caught like this. You try to bring your legs together, hide your glistening cunt from Joel’s view but Tess keeps you pinned in place, doesn’t even falter, she slows but does’t completely stop the gentle prod of your g-spot. 

“Shit” you mutter under your breath, burying your face further into Tess’ neck, unable to even look at Joel, heat creeping up your cheeks, making you feel hot all over. 

You feel Tess’ hand grip into the back of your hair, turning your face to look at Joel. You try to resist but you know when she means business, your eyes meet Joel’s face and you see something unspoken pass between the two of them as his features darken before he makes eye contact with you.

“Don’t stop on my account, finish her off” Joel’s gravely voice sounds tight, like you’re in trouble.

You bring your hand down between your legs, trying to push Tess’ fingers from your cunt, shaking your head as much as her grip on your hair allows 

“C’mon sweetheart, be a good girl. Show Joel how pretty you look when you come” Tess’ fingers speed up their motions, withdrawing from your heat before slipping back in, the pads of her fingers hitting that spot every time.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching with interest as he props himself up against the divider, thick arms crossing over his broad chest. The sight makes you clench around Tess and she laughs softly in your ear “You like it when he watches?” nudging at your jaw with her nose, prompting you to answer 

“Yes” it’s breathy and quiet, barely audible over the sound of the wet slick of your cunt around Tess’ fingers 

You’re unable to tear your eyes from Joel because, fuck, he looks good. You’ve always thought he was attractive, in a rugged old-enough-to-be-your-dad kinda way. Your eyes trail from his arms, down the softness of his belly until your eyes land between his legs, even in the dim light the obvious stretch of his jeans over a more than generous hardness is evident. You feel Tess release her grip on your hair, hand finding yours to push it back down your body, your fingers joining hers between your legs. You take the silent instruction, tracing the tips of your fingers over your throbbing clit, eyes closing at the feeling.

“Mm-mm, eyes here” You hear from Joel, opening your eyes to find him tracing the thick line of his cock with his thumb, gripping the head through the denim of his jeans, a hard breath leaving him. 

Your eyes track the movement of his hand and you imagine what he might look like with that hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with Tess’ fingers. Fuck, the image sends a throb through your walls and you hear Tess’ breath hitch behind you 

“Close” you whisper, hooking your free hand back around Tess’ neck, bringing her closer.

“I know sweetheart” Tess speeds up her thrusts, fucking into you as you roll your hips down onto her hand, your own fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back is sweaty against her chest, your hair sticking to the back of your neck. 

“C’mon sweetheart, you’re right there I can feel it” and you are, your release sparking, flickering with each invasion of Tess’ digits, you need something more, something to ignite the burn settled low in your abdomen. 

“Come for us” Joel commands you at the same time you feel Tess sink her teeth into the flesh of your shoulder and you’re not sure which of them lights the match but you’re coming. Heat spreads down your thighs, your back arching in a way that’s pornographic and the groan you let out rattles deep in your chest. You flood around Tess’ fingers as she continues pushing you through your orgasm and when she wrenches her fingers from your cunt something inside you bursts, a scream torn from you as you soak Joel’s bedsheets. 

Fuck, you’ve never done that before, you roll your face into the crook of your arm, hiding yourself away from Joel’s intense stare, shame tightening a knot in your stomach. You’re barely able to support your own head with the energy your orgasm ripped from you. Your whole body trembles as Tess soothes you, trailing her damp fingers up and down the skin of your thigh. 

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Tess murmurs from behind you as calloused fingers cup your jaw, turning your head to meet Joel’s gaze and he’s so close, one knee on the bed, right in the middle of the wet spot you’d made and he obviously doesn’t care about your cum soaking through the fabric of his jeans. 

“So pretty, could watch that all day” Joel all but growls, it’s low and deep and there’s a tinge of desperation that sounds good on him. 

He roams his eyes down your body, releasing your jaw and bringing his hands to slide two thick fingers through your soaked folds, meeting your eyes again as he slips them gently into your cunt “You always cum like that or was that all for me?” 

There it is again. All for me. Possessive. You’re a possession, you belong to Tess, and apparently by extension, Joel. 

“For you” you moan. Not all for him, for Tess as well, it was her fingers after all. Although with the way he’s stretching you around his fingers and pumping slowly you might come again, this time all for him. You reach for Tess, clutching at her as she continues the ghosting trail up and down your thighs. Joel notices how your fingers entwine with hers and he turns his attention to her. 

You hear the wet sounds of a kiss and a soft breath leave Tess’ chest, you can’t see, squeezed between them as Joel fingers continue their pleasure. When they separate you sense Joel whispering something in Tess’ ear but you don’t catch it. Then Tess brings her lips down, brushing your sweaty hair out the way and what she says makes you melt 

“What do you say sweetheart, you want Joel to fuck you?” You whine and buck your hips, almost frantic at the prospect

“Yes, yes please” you feel Tess nod against your ear and see something glint in Joel’s eyes.

You think about reaching for him, slipping your fingers under the buckle of his belt and dragging him to you but you quickly accept you’re not in charge here. Maybe next time. Or not, there’s not going to be a next time, Jesus you’re not entirely convinced Joel isn’t going to kill you after this. Tess may be in charge but you’ve seen Joel go off the rails more than once, he’s a dangerous man. 

Joel reaches for his buckle, making quick work of the leather and denim, and boxers you notice, when he comes back to the bed wearing nothing but his faded blue shirt. You do reach for him then, working the buttons much faster than you expected with your shaky hands, eventually his shirt hangs open, greying hair hiding the scars littering his body. 

Tess keeps your legs spread, lifting them higher to allow Joel to settle between them. You’re surrounded, Tess behind you, Joel in front of you and you don’t know how you feel but you do know that being shared by them feels right. 

“You ready for him sweetheart?” Tess whispers against your ear. When you nod your head Tess tsks “Ask him” 

“Joel please, want you” Joel brushes the thick head of his cock over your entrance, letting it rest heavily against your clit

“Again” Tess orders 

“Please, fuck please fuck me, want your cock Joel. Need it, wanna feel you-” Joel silences your begging with a sharp thrust, sheathing his length into your wet heat. The sound you make is filthy, and fuck, he’s big. 

“Breath sweetheart, it’s a lot, I know, but you can take it” Tess presses soft kisses down your neck and along your shoulder. You blindly reach behind you, desperate for another anchor, something familiar and grounding and when you feel Tess' hair running through your fingers you pull gently. 

“So good, taking me so well” Joel moans above you “so fucking tight for me”

For me. You tug lightly on Tess’ hair, stretching your neck up to meet her lips in a soft kiss. 

Joel starts moving when your lips meet, jostling you slightly, pushing you further into her and she takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth when you gasp as Joel forces himself back into you. 

“Feel good sweetheart?” Tess questions between quick kisses and you nod, whining a barely coherent answer. Joel sets a ruthless pace, thrusting himself in and out harshly, pressing your sweaty body between Tess and his own. 

You want more, need more, from them both. You make the split second decision to move, pushing him off you. Rolling yourself over and settling yourself between Tess’s thighs you push your knees up underneath you, raising yourself up for Joel. 

You waste no time, peppering soft kisses on the inside of her thighs. You can feel Joel’s knees settling around yours, his hand resting on your hip but he moves no further, watching the back of your head work between his lover's legs. You reach her core, immediately licking into her, nosing at her clit. His eyes flick to Tess when she gasps, he can hear a soft hum come from you and feels you nudge your hips back into his. 

Gripping his cock, he pushes the head between your lips, and god, you’re so wet, there’s little resistance as he sinks in. 

Joel pulls your knees out from underneath you until you’re flat, straddling your thighs and thrusting himself back in. You whine and he stutters, dropping his forehead to your shoulder, “Fuck darlin’, so fuckin’ tight” you squeeze tighter around him that it’s almost painful, “Christ” Joel moves, almost by instinct, ploughing himself into you roughly, he’s little restraint, watching Tess writhe beneath you, your tongue flicking repeatedly at her clit. 

Joel’s pace rocks through your entire body and you start to lose focus, panting around Tess’ clit as you try to control your moans. You can’t, can’t focus on anything other than the burn of Joel’s cock splitting you open. You pull back from Tess, bumping your forehead against Joel’s, getting his attention. When he raises his head you kiss him, you know he can taste Tess on your lips and you realise this is the first time you’re kissing the man currently buried in your cunt. 

Joel chases your lips when you pull away but you guide him gently where you really want him, arousal flooding through you when Joel lowers his mouth to Tess’ cunt, flicking his tongue in lazy, sloppy circles. Resting your head against her thighs you can feel her twitch with every pass of his tongue. You force yourself to keep your eyes open, to watch, as Joel continues to drive into you, never even faltering in his thrusts. 

A soft plea of your name pulls you from a bubble of bliss, when it’s repeated you realise it’s Tess, you stroke your hand down her thigh, letting her know you hear her

“Fingers, please sweetheart, your fingers” Joel hears her too, shifting his attention to her clit, allowing you to slip your fingers into the wet heat of her cunt. The muscles in her thigh tense against your cheek and you know her tells, you know that means she’s close. 

You can feel your own orgasm building steadily, each thrust of Joel pushing you closer to the waves that threaten to crash over you. You suppress it as much as you can, heavy eyes watching as Joel feasts. You glance up at Tess, expecting to see her head thrown back, what you don’t expect is to find her watching. Watching the way Joel is buried between both her thighs and yours, the way he works at her clit, eyes closed, the lines permanently etched on his face softened as he enjoys it. 

“Fuck” Tess mutters as both you and Joel work her to release, her hands fist into his hair and her hips rock onto your fingers “like that, yeah like that, Joel fuc-” and Tess whines, a gasp of your name leaving her lips as well. Joel doesn’t let up, continuing his assault on her clit and when you remove your fingers he laps at the wetness leaking from her. Her legs fall slack against the bed, the soft curve of her stomach rising and falling with her panting breaths. 

“Your turn darlin’, wanna feel you come round my cock” Joel grumbles into your ear and before you can respond his hands are under your arms, hauling you up Tess’ body, propping you up on your knees between her spread legs as he slides back into your heat. Tess’ lips find yours, catching your gasp when she slips her fingers between your legs. She avoids your clit, instead just resting her fingers at your entrance, feeling how you stretch around him.

It’s overwhelming, two sets of hands on your body, the feel of Joel’s hips meeting yours, and the new angle of his cock hitting just right. You can feel something building, it’s a different kind of pressure, each time Joel withdraws you feel like you could burst and every time he thrusts back in the pressure tightens. 

The constant cycle of almost release is punishing, your whines pitching higher and higher with every thrust. Your legs are shaking and you’ve given up kissing Tess, choosing instead to rest your sweaty forehead against hers. 

Joel doubles his efforts at your sounds, a firm hand pushing your lower back into an arch, tilting your hips to allow you to take him even deeper.

“Fuck Joel, fuck, I-” you what? You don’t even know, it’s too much but you want more and you don’t know how to tell him that. The sound coming from your coupling is dirty, slapping skin and wet, so wet. 

“Wa’s goin on huh?” Joel pants from behind you “Gonna come darlin’?” 

“I- I don’t know” you pant, panic rising in your chest at the unfamiliar feeling.

Joel hums behind you and you can hear his smirk. He fucks into you three more times before withdrawing completely and you go into shock, legs trembling violently, hips raising and you’re gushing, your wet release drenching the mattress between your knees

“Shit darlin’” Joel groans as you squirt, eyes locked on your pulsing cunt “Makin such a mess” He slips back into you, thrusting hard and fast and you’re on a high, each thrust pushing you even higher and higher. This time Joel doesn’t pull out, instead the pressure of your release forcing him out against his will.

You hear him growl behind you, fingers gripping your hips, holding your boneless body as he fucks back into you. You can feel Tess whispering praise in your ear but you can’t actually hear what she’s saying over the ringing in your ears. 

Her hands gently hold you up, her breath hot against your neck as you clutch at her arms, nails digging into her flesh so hard that if you were more conscious you’d be concerned about drawing blood. 

“One more darlin’, one more f’me c’mon” Joel’s slurring above you, thrusts faltering. You shake your head, feeling thoroughly fucked out despite the heat of a more familiar orgasm building. You don’t have the energy to fight it and you relax into it, cunt pulling him deeper, tightening around him. Tess nudges your jaw and you lift your head to meet her eyes. 

“You can do it sweetheart” she pushes your damp hair out of your face, bringing your mouth to meet hers and it’s sweet, a stark contrast to the way Joel’s pounding into you from behind. 

Joel��s grip on your hip tightens in warning and he starts babbling

“Look at ya, takin it so fuckin well. Such a pretty little cunt. So fuckin tight, don’t understand how you can still be so fuckin tight. Gonna be good for me, need you to come one more time, one more time darlin and I’ll fill you up” You don’t know who his babbling is for but you tighten further at his words, your orgasm sparking.

“Yes yes, fuck yes Joel please” you know you’ve never wanted anything more

“Yeah, y’gonna take it? Lemme fill you up n’ fuck a baby into you?” That’s it, that’s what breaks you, pleasure ripping through your body so hard it’s painful and you sob, tears flowing and chest heaving, mumbling incoherent nonsense as Joel continues to fuck into you.

“Good girl tha’s it. Gonna fill you up, leave you leaking” you can hear how tight his voice is, deep and gravelly and desperate. With a final thrust he buries himself as deep as possible, nudging at your cervix and it’s just the right side painful. “Fuck” You feel him swell as he comes, your abused cunt stretched around him, his fingers digging into your hips already leaving bruises. 

Keeping his grip firm on your hips he kneels back, pulling you with him until you're pressed against him. He slips a hand between your thighs, brushing your oversensitive clit and you whine in protest. “No more, please” 

“Okay, no more” He chuckles darkly “You did good, didn’t she do good?” he directs his question at Tess and she nods with a smirk

“She did” Warmth blooms in your chest at her praise and the tired smile she has on her face.

You can feel Joel soften inside you and you already miss the feeling, that is until you feel him slip out, followed by the wet heat of his release. You gasp at the feeling, you’ve never had anyone finish inside you before and it’s not entirely unpleasant. You kneel up, cum still leaking from you, adding to the mess on the bed sheets between your legs. 

Tess is watching, eyes glazed as she sits up to run her finger through the sticky mess of your cunt before bringing it to her mouth, sucking with an obscene moan and a roll of her eyes. She pulls your lips to hers, licking into your mouth, you can taste yourself and Tess and something unfamiliar that must be Joel. Joel’s cock twitches against your backside and you’re both surprised and concerned, you can’t go again, your body is absolutely done, and thankfully Tess pulls away, a final chaste kiss before she addresses Joel 

“Bill have what you went for?” she asks, her eyes dropping to damp curls between your legs

“Yeah” Joel breathes. 

You don’t know what they’re talking about but you’re tired and your head feels fuzzy, ears still ringing and you need to lie down. Your knee brushes the wet spot as you move and you freeze “Shouldn’t we change th-”

“‘ll do it t’morrow” Tess mumbles, eyes flicking to the empty bed next to her expectedly and you join her without question. Joel moves then, coming to lay on your other side as Tess pulls you into her, wrapping her arm around your waist, always the big spoon.

Joel pulls the duvet that had fallen to the floor during your activities, throwing it over you all, immediately closing his eyes. You’re so tired, eyes feeling heavy but you don’t want to sleep yet. You want to soak this up, still unconvinced it’s not just a one time thing.

“What are you doing?” Joel mumbles, eyes closed but definitely still awake

“Nothin’” you lie, you’re watching him, basking in this sleepy-guard-down Joel, for only the second time since you’ve known him he doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of killing someone. 

“Then go to sleep” he groans but turns his head towards you, his hand finding your knee, bringing it up to hook over his thigh, a silent acknowledgment of affection. 

This, this playfulness with Joel, has seemingly come out of nowhere and the realisation has your jaw dropping. 

“You knew” you state and Joel fucking smiles. You feel Tess’ smirk through the kisses to you shoulder and all of a sudden you feel incredibly thick 

“You told him?” you ask

“He’s known the whole time” she confirms

“You spent two weeks living in my apartment, wearing my clothes and fucking on my bed, the whole place smelt like you when I got back” you bury your face into the pillow at his observation, you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice one of his T-shirts was missing but you feel the heat rising for a different reason when you wonder if he fucked Tess on bedsheets that smelt like you. 

“You planned this?” you ask over your shoulder and Tess just hums with a smile “You could’ve just asked me” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” she laughs, and you don’t think you know a more lovely sound than Tess laughing. Joel’s hand squeezes your knee under the covers and you know he thinks the same too.

Tess mumbles something like ‘going the fuck sleep’ into your hair and it’s not even a minute before her breathing slows and her arm around your middle becomes a dead weight. 

As if the night wasn’t full of enough surprises, Joel’s fingers brush your jaw and when you open your eyes he’s watching you. 

“This was a big deal for her. She didn’t wanna scare you off.”

You hum quietly, “Didn’t scare me off, could never” your speech is slurred, exhaustion quickly taking over

“I said no, at first, you make her happy and I didn’t wanna screw this up” that’s unexpected, honesty and vulnerability from Joel.

“Wait, we could’ve been doin’ this for longer?” Joel huffs a laugh in response, it’s genuine and the sound makes you feel fuzzy. “Guess we’ve got some catchin’ up to do” you mumble, you don’t register what Joel says in response, far too focused on what he’d said before.

‘You make her happy’ 

Happy is something you hadn’t been in a long time and you suspect, something Tess and Joel have been missing too. You make her happy, you’ve renewed her, pulling laughs and smiles with ease. 

What’s that Fireflies saying ‘when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light’

That’s you. You’re the light. Tess started a fire within you and she’s been basking in the glow and now she wants to share your light with Joel and you’ll gladly let her. 

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[sturniolojpg]

— boyfriend! chris sturniolo

pairings: chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: sfw & nsfw!! i put a divider for ya

notes: again, from experience. i love my bf! ❤️ not proof read

♥︎. loves cuddling. he’s a big ole softie with you. you playing with his hair & scratching his back at the same time is like his kryptonite.

♥︎. he’s kinda pda personified. the man truly doesn’t give a fuck about what other people see him do. he’s more modest if he’s around his brothers.. but strangers? he couldn’t give less of a fuck and will try to get you to make out with him in public.

♥︎. he used to think it was corny asf when people made playlists for their significant others but he’s made multiple for you! are they filled with rap & trap music?? yeah but it’s the thought that counts

♥︎. you love to show him off and he loves to show you off, y’all are private in the sense of none of your relationship details are public but everyone knows you’re together cause it’s impossible for the other not to be included in a post. he’s proud of bagging such a bad ass bitch.

♥︎. he tries to force you to travel with him when they go back and forth between boston and la, he hates being away from you for longer than a day. you’re one of his favorite people.

♥︎. trust is sooo important to this man. he doesn’t fw that sharing passwords & looking through each others phones shit. he’s got nothing to hide but it feels like an invasion of privacy, his phone is basically his second person, it’s with him 24/7. if you don’t trust him and if he doesn’t trust you then it won’t work. 🤷🏽‍♀️

♥︎. communication is also huge. y’all are both stubbornnnnn. it’s so hard for either of you to admit when you’re wrong but for the sake of your friendship and romance, you always talk it out. y’all could not talk for hours on end but you’ll always semi resolve it before it’s time to go to bed for the day. you both hate going to sleep upset with the other.

♥︎. always touching you. linked pinkies, holding hands, touching feet, holding arms, resting heads on the others shoulder, he’s cool with it all. he just likes the physical assurance that you’re right there.

♥︎. he loves being your passenger princess because it means he can control the aux, as we all know man loves his music.

♥︎. he is very possessive over you but not in an over controlling way, you wear whatever you want, he’ll be your biggest cheerleader but if another guy tries to flirt with you he’ll be escorting you out of that situation immediately. no entertaining it, ever. he don’t play abt you.

♥︎. he knows you’re hot so when people say it via social media it doesn’t bother him. it’s only when people intentionally disrespect him when he gets pissed tf off and almost beats a mfs head into cemant. (go white boy gooo!)

♥︎. talking to him is your favorite thing. he could truly go on and on for hours and you’d listen the entire time. he offers such a unique perspective when you’re discussing anything, and you can tell he genuinely cares about what he’s saying and what you’re saying. he’s very good with his words.

♥︎. you’re probably the only person he could sleep in the same bed with for multiple days in a row.

♥︎. he values your presence sooo much and aways vocalizes that. he never wants you to forget just how much you mean to him. he’s truly be lost without you and that scares him so bad.

HORNY BELOWWW, i’m not your parent but rwc

♥︎. public sex is his thing, he loves it. he doesn’t know why he loves it but he does. maybe its the possibility of getting caught, maybe its the fact that you’re always down to fuck him wherever you are, probably both!

♥︎. likes receiving head more than giving but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his way around your body. he knows exactly what to do to earn specific reactions and he gets turned on over just how well he knows you.

♥︎. y’all know that one country song?? that goes “i know every curve like the back of my head” yeah.. thats chris. he’s got your body MEMORIZED. like engraved in his head, he may act like he’s tryna explore when he touches you all over but there’s no part of you he hasn’t seen. and anything he doesn’t remember? in his my eyes only thats fulll of your nudes 😛😛 he loves his lady!

♥︎. speaking of nudes, he’s a sucker for them. he’d actually do anything you asked him to if it meant you’d send him some. he’s such a boy but he can’t help it when it comes to you, he loves every inch of you.

♥︎. he loves when you wear mini skirts. your ass and thighs always look… phenomenal??? and he enjoys the easy access. y’all have had public bathroom sex more times than you’d like to admit! 😅

♥︎. doggy is his favorite position. he’s an ass guy, doesn’t matter the size, he just lovesssss ass. what gets him off even more though is fucking you doggy in front of a mirror. you watching yourself get fucked by him turns him on beyond belief.

♥︎. you weren’t necessarily a slutty girl but when you started dating him something like shifted with you sexually. you genuinely need that man in your pants 24/7!!!!! like why is he not in your bed RN??? sickening.

♥︎. he hates skinny jeans on everyone but you, the way they hug your legs, thighs, and most important to him, your ass is wayyy too sexy for him to hate them. he loves when you’re out in public and wear them because he gets to see your ass in basically full display 🤗

♥︎. he likes to be the more dominant one most times but the man must admit when you boss him around in and outside of the bedroom it’s the sexiest thing in the world. he finds your confidence sooo hot.

♥︎. you LOVE to overstim him. and he loves it when you do it too, selfishly because all the attention is on him and he’s a cocky guy.

♥︎. when he overstims you tho??? heaven. actual heaven. he’ll eat you out till you cry, safe word is the only thing that’ll make him stop if he’s realllyyy into it.

♥︎. shower sex is his favvvv too. he loves the intimacy. plus it makes clean up easier, he’s a lil slacky in the aftercare department so anything to remove an extra step for him

♥︎. y’all fucked on the roof of your house ONCE after you played him that one ariana grande song and he still recalls it as the best sex of his life. you’re pretty sure he’s a fanatic for public sex.

♥︎. he genuinely wants to have sex with you everydayyyy. you have no idea how bro has so much stamina to want it everyday but of course you’re always down! you are a literal whore for him. your brain just goes la la la la la la when you’re with him.

[romancingstars]

DRUNKEN MONOLOGUES

And you’re draped on him, whilst you’re staring at me.

remus lupin x reader

part 1 of drunken monologues

warnings : alcohol consumption (not as much as first suggested) , infatuation at first sight (remus lupin is so pretty , he takes care of u , hlp me

yet again another repost, hope you guys enjoy it just as much as the first time round ! all these r kinda shit sooo

title’s stolen from : no.1 party anthem by the arctic monkeys and come closer by miles kane

“Moony!” Sirius shouted, walking over to the lanky man. You were clinging onto Sirius’s arm, giggling over whatever joke he had just told about the Sex Pistols. Something about Malcolm McLaren probably. “I’ve found my dream lover! Knows The Clash and Pistols. Even, Public Image I mean, come on it’s the way to my heart.” he stated, gesturing to you. Dragging your eyes away from Sirius, you peered up at Remus and your jaw went slack. He was your type to the tee. Tall, thin, soft brown locks and full lips. The scars only made him look even better. His everything was completely and utterly perfect in your not so humble opinion.

“Happy for you Pads.” Remus said, rolling his eyes. Then, he looked down at you and the worst happened - he caught you staring. Your open mouth, which you were practically drooling from, was a slight give away that Sirius was no longer your top priority. Only a slight giveaway. “Oh, shit.” he muttered under his breath.

“Oi! What’re you staring at him like that for? You didn’t look at me like that.” Sirius whined, looking down at you.

“I like your music taste, and your hair. You’re fit. But, him? He’s fucking gorgeous.” you replied, pointing over at Remus. The very little vodka you had consumed must’ve gone to your head because you never would’ve said that in a normal state. However, you didn’t remove your arm from Sirius’s. Mostly for balance, which was a little selfish, but desperate times. Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to avoid Sirius’s gaze of pure disbelief.

“Not to be rude Remus or anything, but you seriously think he’s better looking than me? I know he’s fit, but I’m me.” the black haired boy argue, flicking his eyes between the two of you.

“You’re both good looking, he’s just more to my taste. Look at him, he’s so pretty. But, in a different way to you. See you’re all tidy and your hair is in better condition than mine. He’s so.. oh I just want to bite him. What’s his name again?” you rambled, never taking your own eyes from Remus. The taller man was trying desperately hard not to laugh at Sirius’s complete shock, which was an almost impossible task.

“Fine then, go hang off of his arm.” Sirius said, holding you out towards him. You immediately stumbled towards Remus, by your own choice.

“Gladly. Hiiiiii.” you cooed, using his shoulders for balance. “I’m really quite tired and— Oh. Shit. Think I need some air.” you added, holding onto Remus’s bicep for dear life. Your knees had buckled and the brown haired man barely caught you. However, his hands did reach your waist to keep you stood up straight.

“Think you need something more than air. Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Remus replied, chuckling lightly at the way you were peering up at him. “Think you hurt Sirius’s feelings.” he added, continuing on the conversation as he sat you down outside of the house.

“Reckon he’ll get over it, he had a swarm of fans following him around. Got me absolutely pissed though. Not on purpose, I was just trying to keep up with him.” you said, rubbing your temples. Your speech was fine, but your legs were a little wobbly. Everything just felt slow. You realised you weren’t that pissed at all, just nervous in Remus’s presence.

“Yeah, he tends to have that affect on people. What’s your name again?” he said, quoting you to you. He smirked down at you. It was a little comforting to know he was genuinely paying attention to you.

You mumbled your name to him and tried desperately hard not to imagine yourself wrapped up in Remus’s arms. Or tucked away asleep in his bed, kissing him or dancing with him in your living room. With alcohol still flowing in your system, you decided now was the perfect time to make another move. “Meant what I said about you before, by the way. You are- indescribable.” you stated, staring up at him once again.

“Yeah? Glad you think so, you’re also drunk.” he replied, sitting down beside you. His face flushed slightly and you saw, but decided that commenting on it might scare him off.

“Mmmhm, maybe you should give me your number and, and your home address. Then, the next time you’re free so I can show you the prettiest book shop. I’m just assuming you like books, you seem like the smart type. By that I mean you dress like and old man, don’t get me wrong I’m into it, but you do.” you rambled, eyes following him as he moved beside you.

“Really? I’ll give you my number and I do like books. Good assumption?” he chuckled and his hair flopped in front of his eyes. You wanted to eat him, which is an odd statement really, but it was the truth.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you,” you pointed to him as you spoke. “walk me” you continued, pointing at yourself “home.”. Your hand moved into the direction you thought home was and then it struck you. You didn’t have the slightest clue where you were.

“Oh? Right, you’re going to let me walk you to your home?” he taunted, trying desperately hard not to laugh. Disappointed, you frowned at him. “Sorry, ‘course I’ll walk you home, love.” he added, guilt spreading across his chest at the sight of your frown. You smiled; he smiled.

“Okay, so. My friends, kind of, dragged me here. And I don’t know where I am, or how to get home. So what if you walked me to your home? you offered, grinning over to him sheepishly. You felt a little guilty, dropping that on Remus all at once. But, you’d leap at the chance to spend anymore time with this man. Wanting to get to know him inside and out, you were desperate to continue talking to him.

“This you making a move on me?” he said, smirking once again. “You can come back to mine, by the way. Might as well go now, can’t see this party getting any better.” he added, standing up. Offering out his hand to help you stand, Remus gave you a half smile and you were sure you could’ve died in that moment. Taking his hand, you stumbled into his chest. ‘Typical’ you thought to yourself as you frowned at the cliche of the situation.

“Sorry. I want cookies, do you have cookies at yours?” you said, gripping his hand tightly as you walked. He smirked down at you, laughing slightly. Remus couldn’t quite believe his luck. Not only were you absolutely breathtaking, you were also quite infatuated with Remus. The situation ensuing was one he was sure he could get very used to.

The walk back to Remus’s apartment was filled with conversations of interests: music, books, films and hobbies. Hand in hand, the two of you discovered you had a lot more in common than expected. Even despite your contrasting opinions on certain topics. (Cough star wars cough). Remus fumbled slightly with the key before unlocking the door to his apartment holding it open so you could walk in.

“It smells of you.” you stated, looking around at the warm hues which flooded the room. You moved into the lounge; you thought it was the cosiest room you’d ever seen. It screamed Remus. One couch and an arm chair, different pieces of furniture picked up from the side of the street and charity shops. Small coffee tables, shelves and a TV tucked into the corner all built up the atmosphere.

“Funnily enough, it’s where I live.” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. His hand gently pressed against the small of your back, ushering you out of the living room’s doorway. He gently gripped your waist as he moved past you and into the kitchen. “Tea, coffee or hot chocolate?” he offered, looking over the breakfast bar at you. Currently, you were glazing your fingers across the spines of books stored on a shelf in the lounge.

“Hot chocolate please.” you mumbled in response, picking out ‘The picture of Dorian Gray’. “This is a bit beaten up.” you commented, giggling lightly as you flipped it over in your hands.

“Dorian’s had a lot of love, what can I say.” he said, smiling over at you as he pulled the mugs down from the cupboard. Then, he filled and began boiling the kettle - a very mundane task. You quickly put the book back and began admiring the rest of his collection. Carefully, you read the blurbs of books you didn’t recognise You tried to ignore the feeling of Remus’s you following you. Truthfully, he was admiring you and wondering how Sirius of all people had been the reason you met. You didn’t seem like the type for Sirius at all, which sort of explains why you were in his apartment now. He needed to ask you out and soon, Remus told himself. Maybe it was all in the wrong order, but he didn’t care. He was in fact just as desperate to get to know you as you were for him.

[justcallmesakira]

BESTIE IF U DONT DO THIS REQ N I WILL FACKING EAT UR MUTUALS

DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER DAZAI WITH A SISTER!!

she has black cat energy and err makes suicidal jokes here and then but never does t and chuuyas always the one who pulls her away from dazais tendencies because he DOES NOT want reader to follow dazais steps and err dazai and reader have a 2 year gap and err basically dazai took her away with him when he left and thats were she sort of stopped talking BECAUSE BOOM CHIKA BOOM ODAS DEATH LEFT HER MORE TRAUAMATIZED THAN THE KIDS ASAGIRI BLEW UP!!! so errr crack and chuuya and reader is ummmm AHEM AHEM AHEM (cough coug)

AND BASICALLY MORI HAS THIS like obsession of bringing reader back to the mafia like he constantly says stuff like "Dazai, my offer still stands but please remember that i would really really love to see your dear sister back first" LIKE YKNOW WHAT I AM SAYING???????????

DAZAI AND HIS YOUNGER SISTER!

Sypnosis: you are the younger sister of Da-dazai! Is he a great brother or not? UPPP TO YOU! >< oh and maybe hide your secret vists with chuuya please!!

Genre: crack and heavy angst! (dont question it)

Warnings: suicidal themes! cans of gasoline, glitter bombs, reader is very quiet type, manipulation (for good use!)

A/N: yummy yummy

uh oh! this is gonna be so damn messy

so um first of all! i really think reader would be very intelligent like dazai like oh fuck! i just got under a whole rubble of rocks by some guy who btw is the enemy of my brother quick! think of something

and then theres this bsd aesthetic plan you make and just survive! to the shock of your horror... :D

okay but in all seriousness! he defiently jokingly gave you his suicide guide to if u ever felt inspired by him

VERY VERY NORMAL BROTHER ACTIVITY!!1

dazai stop influencing people around you to plug off them self challenge impossible: GO!!

if you do however join his meticulous activites kunikidas actually going to blow up

😇

but imagine how cute it would be a black cat energy young sis and a golden retriver brother like bish forget romantic relationships like dazai who sometimes forget he left his sister at work!

but ynkow mf dazai always wants to keep close to you because he was never really there (like my fake as friends🙄) back in the mafia! woohoo

so now you can asks him for whatever you want but now he actually feels guilty because you have now become the silent type and dont really talk that much

Great job dazai! best brother everr!❤️

Imagine running away from the mafia with ur lil sister then realising she doesnt even want to talk anymore and that you might actually failed as a big brother even after buying her a whole lotta stuff

COULDNT BE OSAMU DAZAI GUYS!!!

tell him to take you to an amusement park and he will! but dont be surprised if you see him trying to run to jump off a bridge because he does not have for the sake of god any money!

AYY dazai cosplaying toji to get milk? real or fake??? find out here!

dont click on the link :3

ANYWAYS he definetly tries his best to get you back to talking sure the only thing he could do is talk to himself with you beside him doodling some stuff but yknow...it genuinely makes him form a sad smile when he gets reminded that maybe if he were a better brother and actually comforted you it would have ended better

"I saw a cat today yknow! it had a black eye and orange patterns. Somehow it looked wise" dazai said relazing on the chair, his hands behind his head, the whole night of yokohama was quiet only the flicker of the dim light placed underneath the balcony ceiling could be heard.

The night was calm too, it had a soft storm-like feel to it. Dazai knew you were listening thats probably why he would talk to you all these months, no one else was there for him anyway. So its better than nothing.

All of a sudden amdist the silence several pokes tapped on his shoulder which made his eyes widen slightly. You held up your sktechbook infront of his face, a bunch of doodles of him and a full sketch of his side profile

"(Name)... This is amazing! Wow you could be a talented artist yknow!!" he said you didnt know whether he was just flattering you or not because of the emptiness in his eyes. Depression changes a person. But the slight flicker of light in his made it visible to your loud mind. Dazai was glad you made some progress.

Okay now hb your interactions with da agency??

I am pretty sure both you and him joined da agency together (gotta make sure his sister ACTUALLY doesn`t follow his steps!😋😋😋😋)

kunikida may act all cold around you and view u as some kid especially when you randomly make the most random ass suicidal jokes in the middle of a meeting but...

Lets say he sort of checks up on both of you every morning! cant let the dogs out now kunikida! you never know what they do....

iykwimyk

now yosano girlypop is the only person who shows genuine concern for you when you get hurt why? because she was bamboozled when she found out you are dazais sibling like

"huh- are you actually capable of being a brother? more so having family"

dazai be at the corner weeping because of the amount of slander

DESERVEDDDD😍😍😍

I can totally see fukuzawa patting both of you and dazais head after you two collaborated on a mission

IDWGDHYWDFYUDFILOVEFATHERRELATIONSHIPS

he prob randomly call you for tea i mean not too randomly but he likes your black cat energy

speaking of which ranpo and you bully da heck out of criminals before they ultimately mistake you for some god!! /nj

kenji and kyouka just chills around you and tries debating what you and dazai have in common.

belonging in the mental asylum. thats whats common between you two/nj again😁😁

With chuuya

NAWWWWH BRO NAWW☠️

Chuuyas gonna end upl like this emoji☠️☠️☠️

Okay maybe i am over exaggerating this but yknow dazai is like really smart

UNFORTUNATELY!!!

So he will definitely know when ever you two act a little🤭😝😘🤗😍🥰👍

Hes going to get tjat expression from chapter 114 and chew chuuyas expensive tuxedo!!

I bet after he finds out hes straight up going to give chuuya a flashback of stormbringer era!! 😍😁

#verynormalbrother

"W-w-w-what da SKIBIDI [name]??? YOU WILL NOT AND NEVER MEET CHUUYA AGAIN" "wow... and i thought you were trying to become a better brother :(" "YOUNG LA- i-" ":("

He was about to say lad

like manipulative ass brother like sister ig! :33333333

He prob had suspicions back in the mafia especially because of how you mostly stuck around chuuya when he wasnt there

YOUR FAULT BRO!!!

And then u rizzed chuuya up with double black eyes (get it?)

"You know [name] it still hurt me, though i promised i would never say it infront of your face but.." Chuuya said seriousness in his tone looking at you eyes "But please stop looking at me with those cat like eyes they deeply remind of someone and I DO NOT like it"

He ended this funny note with a genuine fear and irritation in his eyes. you only nodded and continued to stare at him, your eyes rivaling a black hole not that hole by the way.

A tingling feeling gathered in himself as chuuya looks at your blank stare "Dont look at me like that!" he raised his flustered voice, a small hue of pink appearing on his cheek which only grew as you held on to his sleeve, snuggling against it like a cat.

But before he could be more flushed a really dark aura crept up behind you and then, right then you knew you fucked up bad.

"i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-cant believe this!" your brothers voice perked up behind you genuine horror on his face as if he just saw his bestfriend die infront of him twice.

"Oh my fucki-" chuuya sighed, both of you are caught. "[name] ICANTBELIEVETHISOMGIAMGOINGTOENDMYSELFLIKEMYOTHERVERSIONFROMANOTHERUNIVERSEWHOLOWEREDYOURSTANDERDSICANTBELIEVETHISHIT" dazai rapped at super speed, an anger and shock unwordable enough for you to be confused at whatever hes yapping about. "DAZAI what the fuck??" now chuuya was confused too.

"ANDYOU, HERMANADAPUTA (sisterfucker in english) YOUUGLYSHORTMFWITHNOFLAGSNONOTHING,YOUTRUSTISSUED?IWILLGIVEYOUPRISONFORLIFEISSUES" "WHAT IS YOU BROTHER YAPPING ABOUT?"

And all you could do was watch in horror as the scene unfolds infront of you. But safe to say you got in big trouble when you went back home!

anyways dazais going to go full on 8 cans of gasoline on the portmafia if more is obsessed with you like him

and then you realised..

"fOr tHe fIrSt TiMe iN fOrEVer" he actually did/nj

Okay okay but in all seriousness (litearlly @justcallmesakira catchphrase guys!!) Dazai would genuinely become more protective of you if mori was targeting towards you.

i would run away to antarctica too if mori even tried interacting with me

SHES A RUNNER SHES A TRACKSTAR!!!!!🏃💨

But if you are intelligent then i guess you met fyodor too? And maybe some sort of rivalry goes on between you two like "oh its my brothers enemy, gotta help my bro blow him up!"

I have nothing much to say because dazai would make secret plans (which you alrdy know) to make sure mori doesnt get too close with you

Like oh he was planning to approach you that day? BOOM dazai is already there. Yeah like that

If mori says that however... Dazai will reply with a dark eyed gloom,tilting his head back creepily "You will have to need more then the whole of port mafia to interact with my sister"

Dazai hates mori alot and though he knows that you are old enough to handle situations that doesnt mean he wont care for his only sister. You are the only thing left that he can protect without feeling inhumanity or faraway.

A/N: HATE THISSSS NOOOUUU

Tags: @inojuuy @biscuits-spooky-corner @terururuko @little-miss-chaoss @saelique @silverbladexyz @typcallysid14 @nezuko-kamado-cute-demon

[sarahs-secrets2]

Surf's Up! ˋ♡ˊ

surfer!leon x fem reader! no use of y/n!

someone approaches you at the beach and offers you a surf lesson, do you say yes? 1k words!

a/n: i dont surf, i tried to make it as accurate as i could pls forgive me in advance

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ

Saying it was hot out was an understatement with the way the sun refused to let up, and it didn't help that there wasn't a single cloud in the sky on your beach day. Most people would love this kind of day but the stagnant heat was unbearable, especially with the addition of burning hot sand.

You propped yourself up on the palms of your hands onto the striped towel beneath you, allowing your gaze to drift toward the sea. It was peak surfing hour. The waves were strong today hence why you were avoiding the water while the surfers were the first to jump in. Bringing a hand up to your face to shield the stray beams of sunlight, you watched as the surfers attempted to catch a wave. Shifting on the towel, pulling your knees close to your chest becoming completely enthralled in the display in front of you. 

“You gonna get out there today?” a voice appeared behind you. Your head cocked to the side of you, neck craning to get a view of the stranger. 

“Me? Hell no,” you chuckled, looking up at the man who towered above you as you sat on the towel. It was hard to make out his face entirely as the sun that had been pestering you all day continued to do so, perching itself almost directly above the man's head resulting in a faint shadow draping over the man’s features. Pushing yourself up from the sand you stood facing the man now finally able to see his face.

“I think you should give it a try,” he smiled wide as he laughed, well aware you weren’t a surfer by any means. “Ah sorry, Leon,” his hand jutted out awkwardly for a handshake, “Where are my manners?”

“Nice to meet you, Leon,” it was almost impossible not to smile at how genuinely kind he seemed, a tad nervous but it was undeniably cute. Leon had blonde hair that seemed to be pulling more on the lighter side due to the constant sun you could tell he was getting. His eyes were just as blue as the ocean that was just a few meters away. You would be doing a disservice to yourself if you didn't admit how attractive he was. His wetsuit was draped around his waist, slightly tugging his swim trunks down showing a bit more than just his tan line. “You headed out?” your head motioned towards the crashing waves. 

“Soon, got distracted,” winking as shifted his feet in the sand, “I could teach you ya know, if you want to learn that is,” his fingers ran through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face. Your eyes flickered from him to the other surfers on the horizon. Although you quite literally just met him there was something about Leon that you knew you could trust. Leon was able to make out your indecision, his hand reached for your shoulder giving it a light squeeze, “C’mon, promise I’ll take good care of ya,”

“Fineee,” you dragged it out, trying to play it cool and hide your excitement, “When’s my lesson?”

“Tonight? Like 5 or 6-ish, I can bring an extra board and wetsuit for you,” his hand snaked around his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, nervous that you would change your mind.

“That sounds perfect,”

“Good, yeah great actually,” he laughed as he stumbled over his words. “Okay yeah, tonight,” he repeated, faintly mumbling as his nerves seemed to get the better of him. Leon hadn’t planned this far ahead, you actually saying yes. He had figured you would've written him off from the start. 

“I hope you’re a good teacher,” you teased, trying to ease his mind a bit. 

“Oh yeah I’m great,” Leon loosened up, leaning into your jokes. “You’ll be my first student so you’ll have to give me some pointers yeah?” his arms crossed in front of his chest as he sized you up. 

“Yeah I think I can manage that, I can be quite the teacher’s pet,” your comment was quick to catch Leon off guard, he cleared his throat with his eyes darting to the ground. 

“Uh,” his voice trailed as he tried to regain his train of thought, “Show me tonight,” he attempted to laugh it off, obviously flustered. He fiddled with his wetsuit for a minute before tugging it up and slipping his arms through the sleeves. Almost like he was doing it on purpose, he left the zipper wide opening, basically forcing you to look at how fit he was. “You gonna watch me out there? Keep an eye on me?”

“Of course, can’t lose my teacher before my lesson,” you winked, making sure to keep your eyes on his, not letting them drift any lower. 

“Good,” he chuckled, zipping up the wetsuit finally. “I’m counting on it, see you here tonight,” he winked back before jogging off to get his board. 

You smiled to yourself as you settled back down onto the beach towel. Your hand was back up to cover your eyes from the sun to offer a better view of the surfers. It was impossible to miss Leon’s bright blonde hair amidst the crowd as he paddled out to catch a wave. It wasn't long before he was able to pick one out and get up. Almost an hour had passed and Leon stayed out catching wave after wave.

After sitting at the beach the entirety of the day, you were in desperate need of a quick refresh at home before your lesson later. With that, you picked up your towel and bag and started making your way back to your car. 

“See you later,” a voice yelled out. Your head swiveled around to see Leon still in the ocean, sitting on his board, waving to you. Smiling, you waved back at him before continuing your walk and hoping you wouldn't make a complete fool out of yourself later.

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ

part 2!

massive shoutout and thank you to @navstuffs for being so so kind and helping me get back into this writing thing after my break! :)