#uncomfortable reader

[dykesevika]

Happy Holidays!!

Men DNI

Do Not Repost/Use Without Asking+Crediting!!

[senanatheskenana]

How They Look at You

Tanjirou looks at you like you are the night sky, wonder and admiration emanating from his eyes. He can hardly look away from your beauty, but it blinds him.

"You... Are the most beautiful person i have ever met, or will meet"

Rengoku looks you in the eye with adoration so strong it looks like his eyes are burning. He could look at you forever without blinking, without getting bored.

"Please, let me look at you a little longer"

Giyuu can hardly look you in the eye without getting shy. Each time your eyes meet, his face erupts in pink and the need to avert his eyes is undeniable. Still, he stares out of the corner of his eye, hoping you wont see him this time.

"I-I wasn't staring, don't look at me like that"

Inosuke doesnt try to hide his stares. He stands in front of you, forehead against your ownm eyes boring into your soul. It feels like hes watching your movements with how closely he stares. Its almost as unnerving as it is endearing.

"Zuitsu told me that staring into someone's eyes will make them fall in love with me! So keep looking!"

Akaza gazes at you with respect and reverence, as though you were a holy grail. He doesn't dare touch you, fearing that he may taint you. You are unattainable, and so he must watch from afar and yearn for you.

"Please dont come any closer, i can't trust myself to not ruin you"

Gyutaro feels unworthy to even look in your direction- you are so beautiful, so ethereal. Surely he does not deserve to be close enough to see you when he is so wretched. Yet, when you watch him, he feels as though he was chosen by some god. Surely he does not deserve your time, or to even see your heavenly form upon the same ground he walks. So against his longing body, he forces himself to recoil from your waiting form like how he shrinks away from the sun.

"Please don't look at me, i'm hideous. I'm sorry for taking up your space, i have made it unclean"

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[amostnobleyandere]

Yandere! Diluc x Reader

Summary: Kidnapped Reader begins to feel touch starved after being trapped for so long and finally reciprocates Diluc’s need for physical affection. Cue a steamy make-out session.

MDNI.

Warning(s): YANDERE content (do not read if you are not comfortable), kidnapping, imprisonment, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, implied Stockholm syndrome, dubious consent (concerning touch), forced affection, forced kissing, steamy, !! heavily suggestive ending (smut implied)!!, slight hair pulling, slight isolation, forced marriage, they make out and both of them get somewhat turned on *gasp*

—————————

“Just one kiss. Please, darling.”

“No-“

Your protests were silenced by Diluc pushing his plush lips onto yours. The kiss was soft, delicate, and loving, something filled with longing after not seeing you for hours. However, the romance of it all didn’t mean much to you when you had been backed into the corner of your shared canopy bed with no way to escape.

You tightly fisted your hands into the sheets as his lips pressed insistently against yours, a discarded book next lying open on the silken bedding. You had been entertaining yourself pretty well before Diluc, your husband, had gotten home from a long day of work and business, deciding that he wanted to relish in your company after being deprived of it for so many hours. Your husband was a working man, and unfortunately for you, he only became more desperate to hold you after being separated most days.

Diluc’s arms caged you in while his thigh pressed against yours, heat seeping through the thin fabric. His winter clothes had been switched out for lighter ones with the coming spring, and you could feel every tensing muscle in his body as it shifted against your shamefully thin loungewear. You could feel the twitching of his body, the stiff movements that came with him resisting the urge to run his hands all over you. He knew you didn’t like him touching you. He knew that he was pushing it by kissing you with such intensity.

Today though, today was different. You didn’t mind the way his lips were bruising yours with each practiced tilt of his head. An all too human part of you was so tired of resisting every day, and it craved the warmth that you felt in those moments after he was done kissing you; those moments when he brought his gloved hands up to caress your face as you avoided his painfully adoring expression.

Hesitantly, you brought your tense arm up to graze the hair near the back of his head, each movement feeling slow and forced. But god, you were so desperate for the thought of being touched, and could no longer keep up the act of repulsion to the little physical touch Diluc gave you; you were tired of being careful to avoid every brush of skin, every silent show of affection.

Diluc knew it made you uncomfortable, and for the first few months of your “stay” you would have rather gagged yourself before you ever kissed him willingly. But loneliness was a powerful thing, and besides the maids who would barely look you in the eye, he was the only one you could reach out and hold.

Your hand landed on the back of his ponytail and you did you best to ignore how quickly Diluc stiffened under the shift in weight. His lips froze against yours in shock, but you pushed your hand further into his hair before anxiety made you pull it back. Your fingers curled into his locks, slightly tugging at the base where a ribbon held it back, and the first thing you thought was how absolutely soft it was.

You heard Diluc shakily breathe in, his eyes wide as he stared at you in disbelief. His hands landed firmly on your hips in an awkward attempt to put them somewhere. You could feel his fingertips digging into your skin, hands tense as he felt the new sensation of your fingers running through his hair.

…Clearly your touch was not unwelcome.

Feeling emboldened, you went further. With one of your hands still nestled in his hair, you rested the other one on his chest. You curiously ran it up to his collar, distracted by the new feeling of the coarse clothing and the strong body that shuddered underneath your light touch. You felt his heart beat unimaginably fast against your palm, heat seeping into your skin already from the light contact.

You quickly glanced up at his eyes and immediately became aware of the intensity of the look he was giving you. His gaze roamed your face, going from your eyes to your lips, searching fervently for something in your expression. You had never been the one to initiate anything before, much less encourage his behavior. You had always been quite cold to your captor ever since he had swept you away and locked you up in his mansion, too paranoid and in love to keep you anywhere but under his watchful eye.

You suddenly felt very nervous. Diluc’s blood red eyes reminded you of a predator, following every slight movement you made with rapt attention.

A primal part of you was scared of breaking eye contact with the dangerous man in front of you and you felt your heartbeat quicken for the first time in a while; whether it was fear or excitement, it made a fire light in your body.

Slowly, you leaned into him, ghosting your lips against his as he sharply inhaled, muscles tensing underneath your fingers as you focused on the rhythmic thrum of his heart. You moved the hand over his heart to join the other nestled in his hair. You pressed your chests together, practically melting into him as the lonely place in your heart sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding you.

You were the closest to him you had ever been, and you were returning the affection he had showered you with since the day he took you away. In the moment, you were unaware as to what exactly was going through Diluc’s mind. This was a sign of you willingly accepting his love. A thing you had only ever seemed to acknowledge reluctantly. His self restraint snapped, and then his hands were everywhere.

What had gone from a sensual kiss of longing was now a passionate fight for breath, with every harsh press of his lips to yours ending and beginning again at a dizzying pace. His exhales met yours in quick, desperate pants, as he seemed only able to pull away for a second before attaching himself to you again.

You soon lost your balance from the onslaught and fell back onto the bed. Diluc paused for a brief moment before following you and carefully placing himself over you, putting his weight on one forearm and using his other hand to impatiently tug open his collar.

“Diluc?” You said, dazed by the sudden change in his behavior.

“Hot,” was the only thing he said, forgoing elaborating to instead nudge his face into the crook of your neck. You tensed as you felt his lips brush against the sensitive area, each exhale adding more heat to already damp skin.

You nearly screamed when you felt his lips settle onto your skin, his teeth latching onto your neck happily. He bit painful heat into your throat, marking each new spot he found with eagerness as he moved down your neck. He began pressing fleeting kisses up to your ear, which he then happily bit and abused. His tongue ran across the shell languidly, a teasing motion with a meaning more sensual behind it, and an unexpected bolt of electricity shot through you.

Diluc seemed to be caught between deciding to pin you underneath him or allowing your hands to be entwined in his hair. Eventually, he guided your hand up to where it had previously been, and you automatically pulled on the long strands just to ground yourself. He moaned at the feeling. You teased the ribbon away until it fell from his nape, watching bright red locks spill over the broad shoulders now caging you in.

Errant strands floated above you, teasing at your face and skin as Diluc ran his hands up and down the side of your waist. He panted in your ear and his hot breaths bounced against sensitive skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms.

You jumped as you felt his hand run to your thigh and squeeze, the firm grip making something light up in your stomach. You inhaled shakily, gasping as your realized that you were going to get what you wanted and more. Tonight was going to be a long night.

—————————

[starmocha]

I For You [Zayne/Reader ★ 3372 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Lazy morning with Zayne. A/N: I love my sweetie darling honey baby snookums-pookie Zayne so much. Happy birthday to our precious doctor who deserves the whole universe and more. 🥹❤️

You awoke from your deep sleep, feeling the bed shifting with the sudden added weight. You looked up groggily, bleary eyes attempting to adjust to the dark bedroom.

“Go back to sleep,” you heard Zayne’s soft voice murmuring, the familiar and comforting crisp scents of his shampoo and body wash wafted in the air. It smelled like mint. Your sleep-addled brain started connecting the dots, realizing Zayne must have just gotten home from the hospital not too long ago. You started to wake up more fully once it finally clicked in your head that Zayne was finally home after finishing the recent grueling schedule for the week.

“You’re home,” you said, getting up and kneeling on the bed as you watched him settled in next to you. Your heart skipped a beat when he leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on your lips, apologizing quietly for disturbing your sleep. You shook your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I’m glad you woke me up.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he said again, chuckling softly as his own arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you down to lay next to him. He pressed his lips to your forehead. “It’s still dark out. Go back to sleep, darling.”

You peeked over at the clock on his nightstand and noticed it was almost six in the morning. “You sleep,” you told him, “I’ve rested enough. I can go do some chores while you sleep.”

As the last word left your mouth, Zayne tightened his hold around you, pulling you closer to his body to prevent you from leaving. You whined a little when his sudden action caused your slip dress to rise up above your thighs, but Zayne didn’t seem to care, his hold on you unyielding even as you attempted to fix your dress. He quieted you with a gentle kiss to your head. “It’s Sunday,” he said, “The chores can wait.”

Zayne yawned, his eyes looking heavier. He nuzzled his cheek against your hair. “Stay with me,” he murmured drowsily.

You gave in to Zayne’s insistence, staying until he fell asleep, which didn’t actually take long. He had pushed his body to the extreme, prioritizing others over himself without a thought or any hesitation. Now that he finally had a quiet moment to himself, to finally lay down to rest, his body gave in helplessly to the exhaustion from a week of overwork. On top of that, with your soft body and comforting warmth next to him, Zayne had drifted off to a deep sleep sooner than expected.

You peered up curiously, examining his sleeping face. This was your chance.

When you tried to leave, however, Zayne unconsciously tightened his hold, keeping your body pressed firmly against his. You sighed with a smile. You nuzzled your cheek against his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his sleepshirt and his warm embrace comforting you as well.

You listened to his soft breathing as he slept, but you yourself was now more awake and alert than before. Sleep was not coming back to claim you, but you were fine with that. You had already planned beforehand that today you would spend the morning tidying the house and doing some chores while Zayne rested. You had even planned out all the meals you would prepare for him on his rare day off.

You cracked a smile, already giddy over what you had planned for breakfast. Before you could enact your plan, though, you needed to find a way to leave Zayne’s iron embrace, which in all honesty, was not the worst problem to have crossed your path. Any other day, you would have welcomed this situation, but today you were set on your plan to pamper and spoil Zayne. You stayed with him an extra fifteen minutes, feeling his hold on you loosening as he fell into a deeper slumber.

You could hear Zayne softly snoring. You lightly poked his cheek. He remained asleep. You smiled.

Taking this chance, you carefully pried yourself from his embrace and stealthily rolled out of bed. You landed on your feet lightly, but you still froze in place, keeping your eyes glued on him to make sure he was still asleep. Zayne answered you with his light snores and you breathed out in relief. You snuck out of the room and freshened up in the guest bathroom before you began tackling your self-imposed list of chores.

For the next two hours, you had straightened out the living room, tidied Zayne’s work desk, and started on a load of neglected laundry. By eight, the sun had already risen and you opened the living room curtain to let the warm sunshine into Zayne’s monochromatic home.

You smiled. Now onto your favorite part of the to-do list: making breakfast.

You hummed happily to yourself as you made your way into the kitchen and gathered all of the necessary ingredients to make French toasts. A sweet breakfast for the sweetest man in your life.

You beaten a couple of eggs with milk, adding a generous helping of sugar, a pinch of salt, a drizzle of vanilla, and a touch of cinnamon and nutmeg. The warm scent of the spices already found their way to your nose, filling you with joy as you placed some thick-cut day-old brioche bread into the egg custard. You made sure the bread soaked up as much of the custard as possible before transferring it to a hot pan with melted butter. The light sizzles filled the air with the rich buttery scent, making your stomach rumbled in anticipation. You vaguely wondered if Zayne could smell the food you were making for him.

Once fully browned on both sides, you transferred two toasts over to a plate, placing one flat while the second leaned on the bottom toast at an angle. Satisfied with the position, you continued your plating, adding a pat of cold butter on the warm toast. You scattered an assortment of different brightly-colored berries all over the plate and finished with a generous dusting of powdered sugar.

You brought the finished plate over to a bamboo tray, adding alongside it a mug of freshly-brewed coffee and a glass of orange juice. You also placed a bottle of maple syrup on the tray, well certain that your sweet-toothed boyfriend would enjoy adding more sweetness to his liking.

You practically skipped to Zayne’s bedroom with the tray of food, excited to see his reaction. As you nudged the semi-closed bedroom door open with your hip, you could see Zayne was starting to stir.

Zayne’s arm reached over to your side of the bed, feeling only the empty space. His eyes were still closed, but you could see the frustrated creases on his face. He started to wake up, opening his eyes slowly. He frowned when his eyes registered the empty space next to him.

“Good morning,” you greeted him, placing the tray on the nightstand. Zayne turned over to look at you and the food in surprise.

“You did this?”

You sat down on the edge of the bed as Zayne sat up, leaning back against the headboard. You reached up and touched his cheek. “Today I am spoiling you,” you told him, smiling as his eyes seemed to widen even further in surprise.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he told you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You noticed his eyes reflected differently from what he had said. You could see the depths of gratitude and adoration in his gorgeous green eyes and it made you feel tickled pink, pleased that you could bring him this small amount of joy.

“I know,” you answered, “But I wanted to. You deserve to be pampered.”

You almost giggled when you noticed the faintest red on his ears.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, leaning down and capturing your lips, surprising you momentarily before you responded, deepening the kiss further. You gasped in surprise when he pulled you back into bed, keeping you close to his body. You looked up curiously, meeting his cool, calm gaze.

“Zayne—y-your breakfast…” your brain was malfunctioning as you locked eyes with him, feeling his right hand skimming down your body.

He wore the faintest smirk on his face as he pulled you to him with your back pressed to his chest. You gasped again as his hand reached down under your nightgown, searching for your intimate area. You covered your mouth to suppress a cry when he slipped his hand into your panties, fingers already feeling you.

“I’ll enjoy breakfast later,” he promised, kissing your cheek, “Right now…I just want to enjoy you, darling.”

With his other free hand, he pried your hand away from your mouth, chiding you gently, “I want to listen to your pretty voice.” Before you could even voice your protest, Zayne was already tugging your panties down. He slipped his fingers in pass your lips, smiling when you immediately bucked against his hand with a startled moan. “Want to hear you make these sweet sounds for me—because of me…”

You clenched around his fingers with a moan, your face pressed into the pillow. “Oh, Zayne…”

“Yes, darling?”

You gripped the pillow helplessly, needing something to hold onto as Zayne pulled you firmly to him. Your cheeks rosy, expression becoming more and more aroused as you could feel his cock hardening against your ass while he worked his fingers in and out of you, his thumb finding your clit to circle and tease, drawing out more of the sweet noises he desired from you.

“Zayne—your fingers!” You unconsciously thrusted into his hand, needing more of him, more of this sweet pleasure he was giving you.

“Hmm?” Zayne looked down at you with a smirk, enjoying the sight of his beloved coming undone by him. His face leaned closer to your ear, his husky whisper made you trembled, made you feel an ache in the pit of your belly. “Do you feel good, darling?”

“Y—yes!”

“Good,” he murmured, “I want you to feel good.”

He kissed your neck deeply, his lips lingering, the warmth of his breath and the words he spoke making you shivered with desire. “You’re always so good to me, so I want you to feel the same.”

His pacing increased, expert fingers already knowing where you’re most sensitive, where just the slightest touch could have you arching up, shamelessly thrusting into his hand for your release.

“Ah, Zayne, don’t—I’m going to cum!” You held onto the pillow tighter, nails already snagging along the fabric of the pillowcase. You buried your face into the pillow, gasping and whimpering, voice growing a pitch higher as you felt that oncoming tightening in your core.

“Go ahead,” he whispered, his voice still soft and gentle while yours was frantic and pleading. “I want you to cum, want you to cum all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

“Ohh…Zayne…” You writhed against him, desperate to hear more of him—feel more of him.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you, darling?”

“Ye—yes!”

“My good girl?”

“Yes, yes, Zayne! Yours! Always yours! Ahh—” You cried and sobbed into the pillow, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your only thought was the feeling of your climax, the feeling of Zayne’s fingers still inside you, still easing you back down from your high. You could hear Zayne hissed quietly as you clenched tightly around his fingers, coating them with your release. When he had finally withdrew his fingers, you barely registered it, barely registered that he had also turned you so could lay on your back. Seconds passed before you finally opened your eyes again. Immediately, you felt a tight coil in your belly, your cheeks burning hot as you watched him licked and sucked his fingers clean of you.

He smiled.

“Z-Zayne…” your voice was feeble—whether it was weakened from your pleasurable cries just moments ago, from watching him sucked your juice off his fingers so deliciously, or just the way he smiled at you with so much affections, you weren’t sure anymore.

You sighed happily when his hand caressed your cheek, his face leaning in close. His breath was so warm against your lips as he spoke softly, “Are you still going to spoil me today?”

You nodded immediately despite not knowing his intentions with his question. When you realized what he had meant, your eyes widened in shock as he immediately had you spread out in front of him, his hardened cock already free from its confine and resting heavily in his hand as he leisurely stroked himself.

“N-no, Zayne! I’m not ready!”

“You’re still so wet,” he murmured, guiding himself to your entrance, pleased when you let out a whimper at feeling just the tip pressing into you. He husked lowly, “I think you’re plenty ready for me, darling.”

You leaned back, fingers already digging into the bedsheets as more and more of him entered. You whined softly and pleaded with him.

“Shh, I’ll be gentle, let you get used to me…”

Your hips bucked against him, your body still overly sensitive from your recent climax just mere moments ago. You let out a shaky gasp as you took him in, feeling every glorious inch of him stretching and filling your sensitive pussy. You panted, moaning weakly, “Ohhh, Zayne, it’s too much…Ah-ahh…!”

He kissed your forehead, reassuring you gently, “You can take me, you always do.” His soft voice wrapped around you, filling you with warmth and comfort. He smiled as he could feel you relaxing as he fully penetrated you, bottoming out with a low moan. He claimed your lips, greedily and shamelessly stealing several kisses from you. “You’re so good to me, aren’t you, darling?”

You nodded instinctively, your lust-hazed mind unable to fully think of anything other than Zayne and the feel of him buried so deep inside you. You moaned as he pulled out and then thrusted back in, his rhythm was slow, deliberate, his intent was to have you savor the feel of him, to draw out your time together.

The way you kept saying his name, kept pleading and moaning for him—because of him—made his chest tightened. In this whole wide world, in this lifetime and the next, he wanted no one else but you, and to be wanted in the same way by you, he knew he was blessed to have this love all to himself.

“Let’s take our time, darling,” he murmured, his large hand finding yours, fingers intertwining as he pressed both your hands deeper into the mattress. His forehead rested against yours, his heavy body close to yours—everything of his, yours. When he spoke, you could feel his warm breath caressing your lips again, “I just want to be with you…feel you like this…”

“Mmmm…Zayne…”

His lips seized yours, swallowing all of your words and sounds for himself. You moaned into his mouth, feeling his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly when your legs hooked around his waist, pulling him in deeper. Zayne was willing to be selfless in all other aspects of his life, but when it came to you, he wanted everything of yours to be his and his alone. It seemed only you could make him behave so selfishly, to rebel so willingly, to fall so helplessly—only you. For you.

“Darling…”

You welcomed the long, slow kisses, his languid, fluid movements, the feel of his body covering yours, taking you for himself as if you were the most prized treasure in the world. His soft murmurs of love and praises were so intoxicating, almost hypnotizing, even, like you were falling under his spell. It was almost like he wanted to make you forget all others, forget the world outside this room, and let your thoughts be consumed with only him.

“Feels so good…so good to me…” his lazy words tumbled freely out of his mouth as he branded your neck and shoulder with his kisses. He had let go of your hand, bringing his to cup your face. He caressed your cheek gently, watching as you gazed up at him with rosy cheeks and mouth parting with soft pants and gasps as you took in his slow thrusts. You held your eyes with his, both reflecting different sentiments.

He smirked a little, seeing the conflict in your eyes from wanting to enjoy this slow tender moment a little longer to needing him to fuck you harder and make a mess of you. “You’re so pretty like this, darling,” he said, bringing his hands down to grip your hips. His calloused hands held you firmly while he pulled out and then slammed back into you harder than before, surprising you into crying out his name.

Zayne’s heavy panting rang in your ears, mixing with your own needy moans as you felt his movements becoming faster, rougher. You met his thrusts, the sudden shift in pacing broke the restraints you both held earlier. When he leaned down closer, your arms encircled around his neck, gasping as he lifted you higher off the bed, your legs locked tightly around his waist. You cried into the crook of his neck, feeling all of him penetrating you so deeply over and over and over again.

“Yes…yes…yes…oh, god, Zayne…!”

“Getting so tight,” he grunted, holding you closer to him, pounding into you quicker, his own release was also near. Your nails scraped along his back, urging him more and more. His soft curses got lost amidst your pleading cries.

“Please…I’m gonna…ahh…I’m gonna cum again…Za—”

You cried into his shoulder, nails digging into his back, scratching and clawing as you held on helplessly while he continued to plumbed into you, taking you past the point of no return as he was desperate for his own approaching release.

Your back hit the soft mattress, his body heavy on yours, lips and tongue and teeth marking you up, hands fumbling along your body, feeling all that was his as he rocked into you, rammed into you, chasing after his release. You moaned when he pushed your nightgown up above your chest, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, groaning deeply when your fingers tangled into his soft hair, tugging at him, too overwhelmed and stimulated to even register your own actions.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more of his sudden aggressive treatment, he stilled and emptied into you hot and fast. Your eyes closed, lost in the feeling of him filling you so wonderfully, his seed spilling out of you, dripping down your thighs.

Your head felt clouded, lost amidst the residual lust-filled haze. You could still hear Zayne’s soft panting, feel him softening inside you, feel the lingering aftershocks of your orgasm. You whimpered when you felt him pulling out, felt him laying down heavy next to you, dragging you back into his arms.

The warm sunlight filtered in through a crack in the curtain. Distantly, you heard birds chirping, a passing car, idle chatters of walkers and dogs barking. Zayne’s gentle voice instantly cut through, drowning out the other noises as he brought your attention back to the present—back to him.

You opened your eyes, seeing the beautiful green and yellow in his eyes gazing back at you so sweetly, so lovely. “Thank you,” Zayne said, soft, gentle lips brushed against yours, “Thank you…for loving me.”

Your heart skipped several beats. You wanted to echo the same words back to him, wanted him to know your feelings mirrored his, but a strong wave of exhaustion hit you suddenly, your body completely drained of energy to fight back. You could feel sleep was coming back to claim you soon. You could barely keep your heavy eyes open.

Wrapped in his arms, secured in his warmth, you mumbled sleepily against his chest, “Your breakfast is cold…”

He chuckled, amused by your silly innocuous thought. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head, his arms holding you firmly to him, his hand rubbing soothing circles along your back to lull you to sleep faster. “Trust me, darling, my appetite has been satisfied…”

[fallenprophets]

Stolen scarves

Ekko x reader

Summary: you've had a long day, and it's nowhere near over- all you want is some warmth from your favourite scarf. But when you find the scarf missing and a cryptic note, you will stop at nothing to retrieve it. ▸Set at an undefined time, no spoilers!!, no use of Y/N, gender neutral reader

Warnings: use of the word fuck, possibly suggestive if you squint and I mean SQUINT !

A/N: mostly wrote this for my best friend who has been a slut in my messages for this man (slash affectionate). enjoy all u other people

It’s been a long day running errands for the Firelights, and you’re pretty damn desperate for a nap. 

However, that won’t be happening for a long time. You still have outrageous amounts of tasks to complete, and you’ve agreed to do multiple favours for friends- one being a trip to the other side of the Undercity, which you are very much not looking forwards to. 

You sigh and run a hand through your hair, stepping into the Firelight sanctuary for a brief moment of peace. Although you are not yet able to lie down and go to sleep, you can still take a moment to relax your muscles (and find your scarf- it’s fucking freezing.) 

You see a small group crowded around a small fire (set up far away enough from the tree to not be any danger to it). You make your way over, waving at a Firelight on a hoverboard redoing the paint on the mural. You take a seat on a bench and stretch your legs out, groaning. God, you hadn’t realised how sore you were until now. You crack your neck, sighing. 

You give yourself a total of five minutes to relax before you’re up again. You head up into your room, located in one of the structures built into the tree. 

When you go in, you find your cupboard doors open. You feel no fear, no worry- no one could ever find this place; and besides, if they did, why would they go for your clothes? 

You rifle through the contents of your wardrobe for a moment, and, with a sinking heart, realise that your scarf is nowhere to be seen. You look again, upturning your clothes multiple times, before you give up, falling back onto your bed and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“Motherfuckin’ shit,” you mutter to yourself. 

Once you have recovered from the absolute horror of your missing scarf, you sit up again- and spot a note on your desk. It’s pinned down by an adorable little owl, carved out of wood you suspect may have come from the suspicious chunk newly missing from your desk. 

You stand and walk over, carefully moving the owl and picking up the note. It takes a moment for you to decipher the monstrously bad handwriting, but when you do, you snort to yourself. 

I BORROWED your scarf 

Will return it soon, promise - 

♡

You shake your head at the note, chuckling incredulously. You could recognise that handwriting anywhere; as if the owl weren’t enough of an indication of who had stolen your scarf. You carefully lift the note and pin it to your wall, amongst a growing collection of similar notes. All signed with the same little heart. You put the owl in a miniature treasure chest, among an assortment of other wooden animals. (If he continues carving chunks out of your desk, you will soon have nothing left). 

You will borrow a scarf from a friend, you tell yourself, still smiling fondly. 

Once you have acquired a replacement scarf (from another Firelight, called Jem), you head out again, ready to carry on with your tasks. It takes a little longer than expected, but when you make it home, exhausted and soggy, your heart lifts. The tree, as always, is lit with golden lights. You can hear children laughing; Scar must be doing his weekly story time. You smile to yourself, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck- you must return it to Jem tomorrow, once you have reacquired your own. 

You make your way up to your room, shivering slightly in your wet clothes. Once the door is locked behind you, you make quick work of getting your clothes off (you discard them in a corner and swear to yourself that you will hang them out to dry later, which you won’t) and changing into something more casual and comfortable. Once you are done, you head outside again, wrapped now in a long black dressing gown coat thing that another Firelight half sewed, half knitted for you using scraps. It is fully dark, the area lit only by the soft gold and green lights scattered around the tree. Almost everyone is inside, in the warm. You are quick to join them, signing contently once you are back in the warmth. You spot Scar, now done with story time, and jog over to him, nudging him in the shoulder. 

“Hey,” you say softly, so as not to startle his daughter, who is snoozing in his lap, “have you seen Ekko?” “Our glorious leader?” Scar shakes his head. “No, I haven’t- but Annie said he was up in his room.” 

You nod and pat Scar on the back, smiling at him. “Thanks,” you murmur. He nods back, also smiling. You and Ekko think you’re so slick, keeping your relationship a secret, but the bounce in your step as you practically sprint towards Ekko’s room says everything he needs to know. 

At first, you plan on not knocking- just barge into his room, tackle him to the ground, steal the scarf back in a sneak attack.  However, as you get closer to the door, and as your heart warms, you decide to go with the peaceful approach. You knock and step back, putting on an official demeanor for anyone who might be passing. You are keeping this relationship a secret, after all. 

The door swings open, and you are greeted with the most beautiful boy of all time, wearing an extremely comfortable looking scarf. Your scarf; you’ll be damned if you don’t get that thing back. 

He steps aside, a silent invitation into his room. You smile at him cheekily as you pass, wrapping your fingers around the scarf. The door clicks shut behind you as you tug him over to you. “That,” you say, swerving out of the way as he tries to kiss you, “is my scarf.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers, grinning and winding his arms around your waist. 

You scoff at him, playfully wounded. As you are opening your mouth to protest, he leans in, managing to kiss you. As always, it is soft; as always, it makes your legs turn to jelly and your stomach do strange little somersaults. You kiss him back, pulling him closer by the scarf still wound around his neck. 

“I want it back,” you whisper, and he laughs (the arrogant bastard), pulling you into a hug. You nuzzle into the soft fabric of the scarf, secretly wishing for his skin instead- you have found that the crook of his neck is a rather delightful place for you to kiss. 

“You smell like a wet dog,” he mumbles into your forehead, following the harsh words with a kiss. 

“Fuck you,” is your eloquent response. “Right now?” You can practically feel his smirk, so cocky, as he peppers kisses over your face. As he does so, you lean into him, carefully unwinding the scarf from around his neck. It’s a slow process (although your partner’s kisses make it bearable) but you finally manage to remove it completely. You hold it triumphantly over your head, aha!ing victoriously. He looks at you, somewhat incredulous, although he is grinning. You are quick to follow, wrapping your arms around his neck again. 

“Thief,” he whispers into your ear. 

“Is it stealing if it’s already mine?” You quip in response, laughing with him. He kisses right below your ear, and you almost melt into him. 

“Also,” you manage to say, although your voice is slightly shaky as he continues to kiss your neck, “you need to stop cutting chunks out of my desk. I need somewhere to write, you know.” 

“You can use mine,” he murmurs. His hands fall to your waist. “I’ll give you a key, come in anytime you want. Don’t even have to knock.” “Ekko,” you say, because you don’t have the words to tell him quite how much this means to you. You can’t really tell if this is his way of inviting you officially into his life, but if it is, God knows you accept. 

“I mean it,” he says. He’s stopped kissing you now, has pulled back to look at you properly. The way he is looking at you- it is somewhat similar to how he looks at the tree, full of love and maybe a little bit of pride. You make a note to tease him about it later. 

“They’ll all know,” are your words. 

“They already do,” he responds with a cheeky smile. You know he’s right. 

“Okay,” you say, softly, your smile widening. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take your key.” 

“Ah-“ his grin widens to, and he steps away from you completely. “There is one condition.”

You quirk an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Oh yeah? What’s that, owl boy?” 

He snorts at the nickname, mimicking your stance. “I get to keep the scarf.” 

Oh, the sly bastard. You should have known that he had some ulterior motive, some secret plan. 

“I should’ve known,” you whisper, placing the scarf over your heart. “I should’ve known you were going to stab me in the back.” 

He laughs at you- downright laughs, as if this isn’t the most earth-shattering thing ever. (You are holding in your own laugh, but he doesn’t need to know that). 

“Don’t laugh at me,” you cry. “Don’t- you dare-“ 

He is still laughing as he steps forwards, wrapping his arms around you once again and pulling you flush against him. You start to laugh, and you put your arms around his neck, tossing your head back. He snatches the scarf from your hands and wraps it around his neck, leaving a long extra part, which he then puts around your neck. Had you not been completely focused on how beautiful he looks, and how happy you are, you would have worried about the possible health hazards of this. He kisses you, drawing you in, pushing you softly towards the bed. You kiss back, cupping his face in your hands, your breath catching in your throat. He turns then, sitting down on the bed. You make quick work of unwinding the scarf again, tossing it to the side as you join him on the bed. You giggle as you both tumble down, so you are lying on top of him, your hair all in his face. You pepper his face with kisses, like he did to you, and he is grinning so widely it makes your chest hurt a little. And then you’re kissing again, his mouth on yours, his hands on your back, pulling you always closer. 

At some point, this stops, and you find yourself lying facing him in the small bed, pressed close to each other. Your forehead is against his, and you are just looking- looking in a way that you were unable to before you two became a thing. Staring without shame, taking in every detail of his face. The traces of white paint still on his face, the way his eyes are half shut as he looks at you with the same attention. His arm is flopped lazily around your waist, toying lightly with the fabric of your shirt. 

“You can keep the scarf,” you whisper to him, and he smiles in a way that makes you immediately bridge the tiny gap between you two and press your mouth to his once again. 

You stay like that for a while, lying so close to each other you may as well be one, whispering to each other and kissing. You feel like a teenager- or at least, what you imagine a Piltie teenager might feel like, with their first ever school crush- with the butterflies in your stomach and the erratic beating of your heart. At some point, he puts his fingers over your pulse and holds them there, breathing in time with your heartbeat. You drift off then, slipping in and out of sleep for the next few hours. 

When you wake, it’s still night. You nudge Ekko, and he groggily opens his eyes, immediately on alert. You smile at him, reassuringly tracing his cheekbone. 

“I should go,” you whisper, although you really really don’t want to. 

He shakes his head at you. “No,” he grumbles, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Yes,” you murmur. “The walk of shame is my favourite part of being with you,” you add playfully. 

“Stay,” he whispers. His eyes are closing, and you know there’s no arguing. 

You wait, count sixty seconds in your head, before you kiss his forehead, smiling to yourself. “Alright,” you murmur to yourself more than to him, “I’ll stay.” 

[cameronluvr]

MY GIRL — dark!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: rafe tracks your location and follows you to the beach, watching you and your friends from a fair distance. he butts in once he sees you and jj flirting, resulting in arguments and rafe forcing you home to fuck you.

warnings: 18+ MDNI �� consumption of alcohol, underage drinking, stalking, arguing, cussing, toxic + abusive relationship, manipulation, smut, noncon, SA, forced sex, p in v, toxic!rafe, dark!rafe, crying, rafe ignoring safe word, cheating accusations, death threats, (safe word is “red”)

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃.

𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊

𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ᥫ᭡

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 🍓

like sarah and kiara, you were born a kook who chose to be a pogue, and a lot of people despised you for it, especially your boyfriend rafe. the two of you had spent the past hour arguing over you wanting to go hang out with the pogues, but he hated them and wanted you to hate them too.

the argument resulted in doors slamming and you storming off. you left rafe’s house and headed straight to the beach where you were planning on meeting your friends, regardless of rafe’s opinion. you walked all the way there and headed onto the sand, spotting them in the distance.

“hey guys,” you raise your voice as you approach them, making them all turn their heads to face you. each of them greeted you with smiles on their faces, and sarah with a hug. you sat down next to her and joined the circle they’d made around the campfire. with evening approaching, the sunset was glowing a radiant pink and golden color, which was perfect for the endless amount of selfies with sarah and kiara.

“so, ya finally made it” jj said as you were making yourself comfortable on the ground. “yep. who do you think tried to stop me?” you ask with a tint of sarcasm in your voice, knowing they all already know the obvious answer. “hm. did he give you the kooks versus pogues talk again?” john b asks, seeing you snicker and nod in response. “when doesn’t he? you guys are just a pile of dirty island trash, okay?” you joke, reciting your boyfriends words. “if that’s what we are, then that’s what you are, too” john b jokes back, raising his beer bottle before having a swig.

“that’s what i tried telling him” you laugh, motioning for him to toss you a bottle, too, since everyone else had one. he grabs one from the crate and tosses it over, making you catch it and crack it open to take a sip. “yea’, well, fuck him, he’s an asshole” kiara shrugs, with each of them simultaneously agreeing with her.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“girls, you wanna go for a swim?” kie asks after you all drank, talked and laughed together for a while. “hell yeah” sarah says, standing up and pulling you up with her. you all begin stripping your clothes off to reveal your bikinis underneath. “what about us?” pope asks. “girls only, sorry” kie says, blowing a kiss to him before the three of you start running down to the ocean. “bitches” jj jokes, making pope and john b laugh. the three of them stayed sitting around the fire drinking and listening to music whilst keeping a brief eye on you girls.

as you and the girls made it to the water, you all dive in and splash around, laughing and having fun with each other, all while being completely unbeknownst to the other pair of eyes watching you, eyes that weren’t from a pogue… rafe had tracked your location on your phone and followed you to the beach, where you didn’t tell him you were going. he stayed a far distance back to make sure nobody could see him, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the railing in front of him, standing in front of his parked car with his gaze completely fixated on you.

he watched your every movement, taking in every little detail he could see before his attention quickly diverts to the three pogue boys making their way down to the water, too. seeing them made his fist ball up with rage, but he kept his cool for now.

the boys ran and dived into the water, purposely splashing you girls. “hey!” kiara yells over the sounds of their loud laughter, “you weren’t invited” sarah adds, causing john b to rush over to her and wrap his arms around her, scooping her up bridal style before throwing her down into the water, completely submerged.

you all laugh as she gets back up and gasps, grabbing her boyfriend in a headlock before jumping on him. the pair start to play fight, which made kiara giggle as she had an idea. she splashed the water and aimed it in pope’s direction, which made him start a water fight with her, splashing each other back and forth. you and jj laugh as you move away from the scene together, swimming further out into the ocean.

rafe watched every second. seeing you both swim away together made him furious, but he still waited. “jj, help” you laugh as he turns around in the water to grab your hand, pulling you out of the splashing waves. “thanks” you giggle, not letting go of his hand. you stayed holding it under the water as he pulled you along, the two of you swimming around them to make it back to the shore.

as you two walk out of the water and onto the sand, your hands were still grasping each others, but neither of you thought anything of it, it was platonic. he was helping you. but rafe saw and thought differently… that’s when he decided he had enough and tossed his cigarette aside, storming down the steps to the beach to approach you.

you and jj made it back to the campfire where you were just about to pick up your clothes from the ground, but a rough grip on your wrist stops you. it was getting dark now, so neither you or jj even saw rafe approaching. “what’re you doing?” rafe firmly asks, making you gasp. “i— what are you doing here?” you raise your eyebrows, your voice striking with fear.

“no, what are you doing here?” rafe asks in a demanding tone, his grip on your wrist getting tighter as you try to yank yourself out of it. “rafe, man—” jj tries to get involved, but rafe cuts him off. “nah, man, ‘the fuck you gettin’ so close to my girl for, huh?” rafe harshly drops your arm to take a step closer to jj. by this point, the rest of the pogues in the water had noticed what was happening, and quickly got out to head over.

“rafe—” you say,

“shut the fuck up, you slut” rafe snaps, making you flinch before he grabs jj’s collar to pull him closer. “hey, hey!” john b is quick to interrupt as he runs over to stand in between rafe and jj, making rafe drop his collar and shove john b back. “rafe what the actual fuck are y—” sarah shouts, “shut the hell up, sar. y/n, come on, get your fuckin’ things and lets go” rafe demands, turning to face you as you don’t hesitate to pick up your clothes and quickly shove them back on out of fear of what he’d do if you didn’t.

“she ain’t going anywhere” jj steps forward, receiving glances from sarah and kiara who are telling him to shut up with only their eyes, not wanting them to break out in a fight. “yeah? says who, big guy?” rafe laughs to mock him, but is cut off by jj shoving him back by his chest. john b and pope quickly grab jj and rafe to separate them, not allowing them to fight for your sake.

“keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, maybank, and not on my fuckin’ girlfriend” rafe threatens, trying to pull out of john b’s grip but it only makes him hold him tighter. “she’d probably prefer my hands on her anyway” jj laughs, seeing rafe break out of john b’s grip and launch over to jj, actually hitting him this time. the other two boys separate them once again, this time with the help of sarah and kiara.

“stop it, rafe, just come on” you say to him, pointing in the other direction. you didn’t want to go with him, but you know this is the only way he’ll stop tormenting your friends. he shoves pope away from him and grabs your arm, roughly pulling you away from them all. “ow” you say, but he grips you harder, not caring for the pain he’s causing you.

“do we do something?” kie asks, worried about you. “i don’t know—” john b sighs. “just— let them argue it out. there’s no point in stopping him” sarah sighs, knowing how abusive and psychotic her brother can be when he’s angry. the pogues watch as you get dragged away by your boyfriend, bickering back and forth with your voices quietening the further you walk away.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

rafe opens the passenger door for you, shoving you in and slamming it shut. “…thank you?” you sarcastically mumble under your breath as he walks around to the other side of the car, getting in the drivers seat. “what the fuck were you thinkin’? holding his hand, laughing and giggling with him, are you fuckin’ serious?” rafe turns to look at you while raising his voice.

“i’m sorry, rafe, i didn’t mean anything by it he’s just my friend—”

“he’s just your friend. right, sure, nothin’ to worry about then” he shakes his head, pulling a sarcastic face. “oh my god” you sigh. “runnin’ around in your bikini with him, too? when i fuckin’ told you enough times to stay the fuck away from those asshole pogues” he yells, making you flinch. “maybe you’re the asshole.” you look out the window to avoid making eye contact knowing he wouldn’t find your comment amusing. and he didn’t. his hand quickly grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him.

“what did you just fucking say to me?” his eyes turn dark as he forces you to stare into them, his fingertips digging into your cheeks as his grip on your jaw is immense. “nothing, i’m sorry…” you apologize even though you don’t mean it. he is an asshole, you meant every bad word you’d ever said and thought about him. “you’re sorry?” he laughs which humiliated you a bit. “you weren’t sorry until i caught you. i told you not to go out with them, and what did you do? huh?” he asks, yelling the last word and squeezing your face harder to force an answer out of you, “what did you do?”

“i— i went out with them…” you answer fearfully. you were fierce and always argued back to him, but he terrified you when he got aggressive. “exactly. and you know how i feel about you wearing that slutty shit around guys, especially your fuckin’ swimsuit.” he reminds you of the things he’s told you before, before harshly shoving your face away to let go of you, making your head hit the window briefly. “ow” you whine, holding your hand on your head as rafe put the car into drive.

“quit bitchin’. you wanna act like a fuckin’ whore? that’s fine. i’ll treat you like one.” he says, grinning as he glances at the look on your face, there was nothing he loved more than seeing how afraid of him you were.

he drove back to his house, with you silently crying in the passenger seat for the whole ride, and him telling you to ‘shut up’ and the classic ‘i’ll give you something to cry about’. upon arriving at tannyhill, rafe parks the car and gets out, watching as you stayed seated, not wanting to get out. he sighs loudly and rolls his eyes before walking around to your side, swinging the door open and dragging you out.

“get off of me” you shove him back, but he grabs your throat right there in the driveway. “if you give me any more lip i swear to fuckin’ god…” he warns you, not gripping hard enough to choke you but enough to hurt you. “i said sorry, okay? what do you want from me?” you manage to rip his hand away from your throat, shoving him back to defend yourself, but he doesn’t like when you do that, he prefers when you’re helpless and afraid…

“sorry ain’t gonna cut it. you know how much i hate those fuckin scum—”

“stop calling them scum! stop belittling them just because they’re pogues. who the fuck cares?” you argue, not aware of any consequences at the time.

“oh, so now you’re defending them? you’re a pogue now, are you?” he laughs to mock your choice of friends, he always did humiliate them and put them down for his own liking. “yeah, maybe i am. and i’d rather be with them than you” you yell, turning around to storm off again but he grabs your arm and yanks you back.

“get off!” you try to fight him but he’s fed up of you, needing to teach you a lesson. “shut the fuck up” he says, dragging you into the house and upstairs. the two of you fight and argue all the way to his bedroom, which is completely normal for anyone in his house to hear.

“stop it—”

“you fuckin’ stop it”

both of you bicker before rafe pushes you into his bedroom before entering and slamming the door shut behind him. “now what, huh?” you yell at him. “don’t act so cocky now, you wanna act like a whore? dress like one? cmon, take your clothes off, i’ll treat you like the real fuckin’ whore you are” he says with a smirk, watching you laugh in response.

“no” you shake your head, your grin slowly fading when you see the dead serious look on his face. “rafe, no.” you frown, attempting to walk past him to get out of his room but he stopped you and pushed you back, reaching his hand over to lock the door.

“i’m bein’ serious, take your clothes off” he says, still smirking. “no, get away from me” you say, shaking your head and slowly walking backwards as he takes multiple steps forward. “what’s the matter? you were fine acting like a slut for jj, what’s wrong with me?” he asks, his tone dark and scary, his voice oddly calm but terrifying.

“rafe, i’m sorry, okay? i said sorry—”

“shh” he cuts you off, standing right in front of you as the only thing between you is him and his bed, he places his finger on your lip to shush you. “i don’t care. take them off” he says, looking back and forth into each of your eyes with a dark smile.

“i… i don’t want to…” you hesitate to say, innocently and vulnerably as your voice turns weak, he is actually starting to scare you now. “you don’t want to? aww. that’s too bad, i guess i’ll just do it myself” he pretends to sympathize before laughing and quickly reaching down to pull your skirt down, but you try to stop him.

“don’t make it hard, this is your fault” he says, roughly pushing you down onto the bed where he restrains you, forcing your skirt down and off your legs, throwing it on the floor. “rafe, stop” you try to plead with him but he ignores you, immediately reaching down to pull your top and damp bikini off too before gripping your waist and forcefully flipping you over onto your stomach. “i’m being serious, rafe, actually stop…” you try to show him how serious you are, but he doesn’t care.

“huh. i bet if jj asked you to take your clothes off, you’d listen to him, wouldn’t you?” he asks, pulling you up on all yours and gripping both sides of your bikini bottoms, roughly pulling them down and off your feet. “no, i wouldn’t…” you begin to cry, wishing your boyfriend wasn’t so insecure of who you were friends with. “i don’t like him like that rafe i promi—”

“i am your boyfriend” he reaches over to grab your jaw from behind, pulling your head up to listen closely. “no one else, me, so you should be a good girlfriend and do as i fuckin’ say. i told you so many times that i don’t like them pogues, and i don’t want you hangin’ around them. i especially told you to stay the fuck away from jj, cause i don’t like the way that motha’fucker looks at you, and holds your fuckin’ hand” he explains, harshly gripping your throat to choke you, hearing your breathing struggle.

“so if you’re gonna disobey me like that, well, that’s your problem.” he tells you, snickering from behind you as he lets go of your throat to take his own clothes off, you were left in doggy, silently sobbing to yourself.

he springs his already hard dick out of his boxers as he pulls them off, having been so turned on by your fear of him. when he got completely naked, he grabbed your waist and flipped you back over onto your back, where he forced himself on top of you and immediately slammed his cock into you without any warning. it hurt and caught you off guard, making you let out a loud yelp but he is fast to cover your mouth and grip it tightly.

“shush. don’t cry, it’ll make me harder” he pouts, yet again pretending to sympathize with you. tears are flowing down your face now, and he wasn’t lying, you can actually feel his cock getting harder as it hurt more and more each time he entered you. “ow, rafe… please stop…” you whine under his hand, shutting your eyes tightly. “no, no, look at me” he demands, removing his hand from your mouth to tap your face a couple times, making you open your eyes and look into his.

“okay, you proved your point… just stop” you try to fight him from underneath his body, but he uses it to restrain you, and both of his hands to grip your wrists, pinning you down fully. “what point? there’s no point. i just wanna fuck you like the little slut you are… maybe i should just take a video and send it to jj” he teases, making you shake your head quickly, begging him not to.

“why not? don’t you want him to know you’re my girl? and that nobody fuckin’ touches my girl?” he asks, frowning his eyebrows at you as he thrusts into you roughly, forcing moans and gasps out of your mouth. “he… he already knows..” you let out in between heavy breaths, “oh, he does? then why the fuck is he touching you, hm?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks into your tear-filled eyes.

“rafe, ow… red…” you cry out the safe word, unable to take it anymore. his thrusts are full of hate, his hands are too aggressive, his cock is too much… “rafe?” you ask in a pant, seeing as he doesn’t stop. “shh…” he stops you from talking, ignoring your plea to stop and roughly placing his hand over your mouth again, this time tighter.

“no—” you mumble underneath him.

“shut up and take it” he harshly says, looking into your eyes as he forces his cock in and out of you. he watches you cry and squirm under him, but he simply does not care… he enjoys it actually. he loves seeing you struggle to his power, succumb to his dominance.

after laying there for a minute, moaning and whining, he finally removes his hand from your mouth to hear your gasp for air. “you want me to stop?” he asks, pouting at you. “y—yes… please” you beg between pauses, watching as his pout turns into a teasing smile, “well i’m not. not until you promise me you’ll never hang out with those pricks again” he says, looking into your eyes, practically forcing your answer out of you.

“okay… okay, i promise… i swear—”

“you swear?”

“i swear on my life…”

“there’s a good girl. that’s what i wanna hear. you better not be lying because i will do ten times worse, you hear me?” he slyly threatens, making your head nod quickly in response. at this point you were willing to do anything to get him to stop.

“good, princess… if i see you talking to him again i’ll fuckin’ kill him.” he says, finally pulling out of you once he finished what he had to say, leaving you crying and whimpering. “shut up, c’mon, here” rafe says, shoving your body aside as he climbs off the bed and reaches down to grab your clothes, throwing them right at you.

“don’t be so dramatic it didn’t hurt that bad” he chuckles, laughing at your tears. “it did hurt that bad… i asked you to stop…” you sniffle, wiping your eyes as you grab your clothes he tossed over. “and i asked you to stop sneaking around with them behind my back, didn’t i?” he asks, raising his eyebrows with a smart look on his face.

“yeah but—”

“then it looks like we both don’t get our own way, huh?” he laughs at you, giving you a horrible cocky grin before walking over to the door and walking out, shutting it behind you to leave you there alone.

you stayed on his bed for a few more minutes, lying on your side and crying to yourself before deciding to put your clothes back on. after you were dressed, you looked at yourself in the mirror and saw your stained makeup and rosy red cheeks and eyes, your hair was a mess, you were a mess… you had no idea where rafe even went, but you didn’t want to find out, so you gather your things and bolt for the bedroom door, rushing downstairs and leaving tannyhill in a rush.

you had no idea where to go next, but you know for sure the pogues weren’t on the list. you already disobeyed rafe and suffered the consequences, you don’t want to make the same mistake knowing the threat murder is on the cards…

I HATE THIS. IM SO SORRY IF YOU DO TOO. i haven’t posted in a while bc of school stuff so i hope u guys forgive me with another dark, juicy rafe fic. 💋🎀 let me know what you think in the comments! — THIS ISNT PROOFREAD. english isn’t my first language so if you spot any mistakes please feel free to point them out. LOVE U ALLLLLL

ANY HATE COMMENTS WILL BE DELETED BECAUSE THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU 🫶🏻

@cameronluvr

[harmonysanreads]

Going on a walk with Phainon is either very fun or very annoying depending on the kind of person you are. He probably has acquaintances everywhere in Okhema and has to stop every 10 meters to greet people, catch up with them or help someone in distress. Excellent opportunity to make new friends if you're that kind of person and an extreme inconvenience if you're not :I

[dipperscavern]

this post just has me thinking. frigging thinking yo || jon snow x gn!reader

about how jon doesn’t like his scars. none of them that he carries are granted any sort of gift of his approval; the ones on his torso are no exception. some think them a sign of strength, of perseverance — to jon, however, the torn flesh is something to which he bears no love for.

but he harbors a special dislike for those on his face. the memory of a light scar on his brow, given to him by robb during training in their youth, is now largely overshadowed by a petulant abhor of a time when wildling apparel clothed his body. kissed by fire.

the words ring true enough, producing the same effect each time they reverberate throughout his (never silent) skull. a pause in his ministrations — a distant look in his eyes.

sometimes he must wait for it to pass. others, he merely falters in his movements, and claws his way back to normalcy with a slight lag & brows that become pinched in their determination.

the scars always make him remember. whether it be the healing skin itching, or an unfortunate glance in the mirror, he always remembers. always falters.

but sometimes you’re there, and it feels oh, so much more bearable when you are. you and your sovereign hands.

your touch is soft when you cradle him, broken and repaired skin and jaded heart and all. in that very moment, it feels as though somehow you could make him as soft, too.

jons hate for the memories etched onto his skin fade with each pass of your fingertips across the jagged areas — for they must be good, if worthy enough to receive your attention. your lips are warm as they capture his temple; a place both marked by fury & somehow, also the most comforting when adored. a kiss is the briefest of moments, but oh, gods, how visceral his reaction is.

flutters of his lashes as they’re accompanied by closing eyelids; he’d not be able to open them if asked directly by the maiden herself. he’s always been stubborn, and his body seems to live by such a code with each decision it makes without him — retinas refusing to supply him with visual information when you’re touching him — no. his own vessel demands uninterrupted focus when cradled by your loving palms. it’s innate, the way he chooses to receive you.

the feeling of your lips as they kiss his hair; he’d live in this moment forever if given the option. he tries, oh, how he tries. he offers himself to you and slows his breathing to a snails pace, as if that’ll make time pass at the same speed.

[urprettylildoe]

  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

  ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

(warning: yandere content + dark themes ahead, do not read if uncomfortable)

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ SHACKLED: every girl wanted to be with him and every guy wanted to be him, and to everyone around the world he was considered the embodiment of perfection. But there's more to what meets the eye, and you're one of the only people who know that very well. #blake.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ AND THEN I GO AND SPOIL IT ALL: he loves you, no matter what. #hudson.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ STUPID CUPID: who would've though a cupid and anti-cupid had such chemistry? You certainly didn't. #vexian.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ TWISTED BLOSSOMS: a shy guy and a spoiled girl. What a cliché romance story, right? Wrong. You were his since the beginning, all you needed was some motivation to realise it. #adam.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ DEVOTION: the lengths he'd go to in order to protect the precious jewel on his arm. #matteo

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ LIFE OF TRANQUILITY: perhaps there would be an ulterior motive behind the peaceful life your spouse crafted for you. #jeremy

NEW LIFE, NEW YOU: all u needed was a little push in the right direction to get used to reality. #jeremy FAMILY FIRST: pregnancy drabble with our favourite guy. #jeremy

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ LITTLE PEARL: how unfortunate. A mermaid stuck in the clutches of a spoiled royal human.

Coming soon...

♡ thin ice

His pale baby blue's crinkle with amusement and his hand, cold to the touch, cradles your cheek. "That's the thing, baby. I don't need anyone but you."

[p1z-d0n7jud6em3]

THINKING ABOUT…..

Itoshi Sae with an actress!reader who he attends your movie and TV show premiers with. Obviously he's not a big fan of these huge social gathering events and all that, but he decides to go with you, and that shocks you. But his reasons are, one, he’s always wanted to see how a movie premiere is like that’s a lie, two, he just wants to be with you, and see how you act in these kinds of situations. So you shrug and let him come with you, not knowing how the night would go for him.

What he completely forgot is flying with you. “You bought tickets,” he asks, brow raised, seated on the couch in the open living room, and you nod, standing there. “Yeah, obviously, how else will I attend the premiere,” you ask, scoffing, and he sighs a long sigh. “It’s okay if you don’t want to come with me-,” “No, I’ll come with you,” he says, picking up his phone to text someone- probably his manger, as you stand there, wide eyed.

Now that you guys are in a hotel room in New York, you both get ready. You’ve selected your jewelry, your dress is there, sitting on the bed neatly, and you’re getting your skin prepped.

One thing Sae is confused about, is why the fuck do famous magazine reporters have to come in here just to see you get ready? Obviously he doesn’t show his face at all the entire time and that’s okay. “Why do they have to watch you get ready,” he asks, when now in the car, driving to the premiere with you, seated in the backseat next to you, hand in hand. Those goddamn cameras even followed you out of the hotel room and to the car when you and Sae walked out, causing him to walk faster as you follow his pace, hand in hand with him. He loves the silver, glittery dress you're wearing, the gold jewelry and how it clings to you just right. Makes his mind wander.

You chuckle and shrug. “That’s just how it is,” you say, voice a tiny bit strained and he notices. “That’s all you have to deal with,” he asks softly, resting his head against the headrest, and you nearly laugh. “Just wait until we get to the premiere.” Sae gulps a huge lump down his throat.

As soon as you both step out of the car, the pink-haired man nearly looks done. Noticing his eyes widen, you squeeze his hand, looking up at him. “You okay,” you ask, concerned, and he nods. Thank God. “Yeah, I’m okay, but I should be concerned about you. How do you deal with all this,” he says, as you both walk now, bodyguards surrounding you, fans screaming, phones out, recording you both. When your and the cast’s photos have to be taken outside the venue, Sae isn’t next to you, and he frowns slightly at that. Why do the other cast members get to stand and take photos with their partners and you don’t? He found it suspicious. He was also admiring you and your bravery the entire time, teal eyes raking over your form as you turned here and there for the photos.

Trying to ignore the fans screaming his name and all the other noise, he notices you gesturing for him to come stand next to you, and he does, walking up to you, an arm sliding around your waist as he squeezes a little, the clean, white fur you had worn on your arms and the thin, gold jewelry attached to the sides of your dress, brushing against his hand, and you smile. Obviously Sae doesn’t smile, so he settled for giving his model face to the cameras and of course, staring at you from time to time. Once that was done, everyone then entered the venue, and stepped onto the red carpet. Oh God. Sae felt like he could throw up. He glances at you to see how you’re doing, and of course, you’re chill, grinning and smiling sweetly at the cameras, cameras flashing everywhere. How are you not going blind at this point?

Glancing at him, your smile falters a little. “You okay,” you ask and he nods a little. Of course, you knew that pictures of you, way too close to Sae and whispering in his ear, will be everywhere tomorrow, or tonight, but who cares? “Focus on me,” you whisper softly, and he nods a little, gulping. He took a hidden, deep breath, and the first thing he smells is your perfume, and that grounds him a little. “Feeling good,” he mutters, and you nod smiling. He loved you too much, he didn’t think he deserved your kindness.

After you were done signing, giving autographs, and taking pictures with fans, all that’s left was the after party. Sae stayed in the bathroom for God knows how long, taking deep breaths, and checking to see if he’ll throw up or not. You waited for him, while talking to your cast mates and taking pictures with them, but you were growing worried. Once you were alone, you took an opportunity, and rushed to the male bathroom, stood in front of the door, and knocked. Sae immediately stepped out, catching you off guard.

“How are you,” you ask softly, doe eyes looking up at him as he sighs, nodding. “All better now,” he says, and you chuckle. “You shouldn’t have come with me,” you say grinning and he scoffs. “It wasn’t that bad…,” he trails off, looking away. “Want to get a drink with me,” you ask and he nods. “Do they have any non-alcoholic drinks here,” Sae asks, as he walks to the bar with you, your hands intertwined, feeling much, much better now.

One damn thing is for sure, he is NEVER coming to any of your movie premieres again, instead opting to watch you from the screen of his TV at home. But he still wants to come with you.

Divider by @hyuneskkami

[homelanderbutbig]

Your Very Own Mini Homie (G/T Homelander x Reader)

891 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

Homelander gets jealous when he is "replaced". Inspired by a conversation with @slasher-smasher.

Vought is notorious for branding The Seven on anything and everything to make a profit off their supes. You're surprised they never did this sooner, announcing a line of squishy stress toys based on the superhero team. And of course Homelander's toy is the biggest of them all, you know he couldn't stand any facsimile of himself being anything less.

When the stress toys were released for sale to the public, you thought it would be funny to buy one as a joke. It's as goofy looking as the Jr. Kuddle Buddiez plush version of him, but this time it's an air-filled plastic toy and its eyes bulge out when squeezed. Sitting pretty on your desk and watching you work, you now have your very own mini Homie.

However, the real Homelander didn't find it so humourous.

"Why would you even buy one of these dumb things? It looks nothing like me," he grumbles, tapping his fingers on his belt as he stares down at you and your new desk buddy.

"I think it's cute," you respond, giggling while you lean forward to give the toy a kiss on its head.

He exhales in an exasperated huff and shakes his head at your theatrics. The rolling of his eyes made you believe he wasn't really bothered by your little gag toy. You do silly things all the time that annoy him to his very core, but he always gets over it.

And yet, you really should know him better by now.

Throughout the rest of the day you don't see him very much. You're cooped up in your office with mounds of paperwork to complete, grateful that your toy is right there beside you to help relieve your stress. Squeezing your little Homie in your hands and chuckling to yourself as you admire your strange miniature 'boyfriend' with its protruding eyes.

This whole time you've been unaware that Homelander has been checking in on you. Standing outside your office, using his X-ray vision to watch you playing with your toy. You've been busy working on a project on your laptop, one hand on the mouse and the other squeezing your mini Homie.

You're replacing him.

Why wouldn't you ask him to do that for you, to help you destress? He would do anything for you, and instead you've given his job to some shoddy placeholder. He can't help but to keep returning every hour to watch you, his infantile jealousy plaguing his mind with images of you and that toy the second he leaves the Tower. Each time he comes back he holds onto the hope that you'd have come to your senses and have thrown that thing away, understanding your transgressions against him. But the more he observes you continuing to smother that worthless substitute with your undivided attention, the more his blood boils.

He just can't take this sickening display anymore.

Suddenly, your door bursts open as your eight foot tall boyfriend storms straight towards you, his footsteps so heavy your laptop monitor is visibly shaking. You don't even have a second to react as Homelander yanks the stress toy from your hand, using his laser vision to sear the plastic into nothing more than a pile of ash.

"What a piece of junk. Doesn't look like your little toy can withstand a real stress test," he scoffs amusedly at how simple it was to destroy this piece of garbage with a quick demonstration of his powers. He wipes his hands together to remove the residue of the toy, grinning smugly you glare up at him.  

"Here's a better stress toy. Can't break me babe," he smirks, giving you a cheeky wink as he lowers his massive hand down to you, flexing his fingers.

After a few seconds of staring blankly at his hand you sigh to yourself, finally realizing what even just transpired. Sometimes you forget how much of a child he can be; his feelings were hurt because you got a toy that looked like him. He got mad because you were touching it instead of him, loving it even. He must have been fuming alone for a while, overthinking the importance of this mere toy.

You suppose you should just resign yourself to Homelander's idiotic plan to win you back… or whatever he thought was happening. This is too stupid to argue about right now.

You reach up to his offered hand and grab hold of his index and middle finger, those two fingers fitting snugly into your palm. You admit at least the leather of his glove is a pleasing texture, soft and stretchy like your toy, and it squeaks when you clench your fingers hard together.

Gazing up at Homelander, you can see how pleased he is with himself. Chest puffed out, eyes sparkling bright, canines poking out of his smile, he looks like he's just high on life getting to be the only man on earth who can solve your problems. He reminds you of a dog whose only wish is to be called good boy for helping, even though he didn't actually do anything. He created the problem that he felt he needed to fix.

For now you can let him have his moment… but you're going to give him hell later when the two of you are back in the penthouse.

[shalomniscient]

“you’re home early.”

shalom’s soft voice carries across the living room from where she’s sat on the couch, a thick novel in her lap. the fading sunlight filters in through the open windows, painting her pretty face in shades of gold. the vase of lillies on the side table cast delicate shadows on the marbled oak. you barely mumble a reply, and by the slump of your shoulders and the sullen look on your face, shalom knows immediately that something’s wrong. she doesn’t get to say it in time, however, because you round the couch and immediately collapse into her lap, plucking the book out of her hands to place it on the side table and all her other finished books. shalom blinks, then chuckles, running her hands through your hair as you wrap your arms around her waist and press your face into the crook of her neck.

“bad day, i take it?” she asks, smoothing down your hair and toying with the downy strands near the nape of your neck. you groan in reply, squeezing her a little tighter.

“there was… someone. she kept…” you say, biting the words like it physically pained you to get them out. you shift a little restlessly, sighing again and breathing in deeply, nosing under her jaw. “she kept flirting with me.”

ah. shalom hums, not stopping her idle touches. “i see. and what did you do?”

“i told her i was married,” you say stubbornly, almost indignant. you draw back to give her a look halfway between incredulous and pleading—as if to say, did you think i’d say anything else? she almost chuckles again, but tamps it down for your sake, since you do seem genuinely unsettled by the whole thing. her hand cups your face, encouraging you to continue. you lean into her touch, and huff again. “and i was not interested.”

“and how did this person handle that?” she asks. her expression is perfectly impassive—though she can hear rebel screech and roar in the back of her mind, outraged at the idea someone else would dare approach what’s hers. and she’s inclined to agree with it, though for now she’ll settle for holding you close.

you deflate against her chest at the question, head flopping back down onto her shoulder. “it’s like she didn’t hear it at all. she kept going—nothing too serious—but i still had to help her, and i just…”

shalom presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “you just…?”

“i feel guilty,” you admit, and she has to resist the urge to coo at you. what a sweet thing you are, to be so distraught even if you were barely a willing participant in the whole mess. shalom lifts your face from her shoulder to look you in the eyes, her lips pulled into an amused yet fond smile. her thumbs brush along your cheekbones, and your lashes flutter as you react to the tender touch. shalom swears she sees your eyes dilate too. it makes something spark in her chest, seeing the way even your physiology responds so sweetly to her.

“is that so, sweetheart?” she muses, and you nod, an almost kicked puppy expression crossing your face. “well, i believe i know the perfect solution for you to make it up to me—the option with the lowest cost, and highest rewards.”

you lean forward almost imperceptibly, eagerness and anticipation overwriting any guilt you might have felt prior. shalom lets out a breezy laugh at that, and then draws close, close enough that her breath spills warm from her lips and mingles with yours.

“kiss me.”

ahalom’s smiling before you even kiss her—there is not a beat of hesitation from you.

[chuuniversal]

cw: comfort sex(?), f!reader

riding isn’t your favorite position, even makes you a bit self conscious. your friends all talk about how it drives their partners wild and while yours doesn’t ask you, you wanna be able to please him. you may not voice it but sugishita can see the hesitation and dread in your eyes while you’re on top:(

you’re not enjoying yourself and he hates that.

he can’t help but push you onto your back and tend to you, bring that twinkle and shine back to your sweet eyes. he crowds your space, kissing and suckling on your neck, trailing down to your tits, licking and drooling over the soft peaks as his rough hands spread your thighs open for him. he massages the plump folds of your cunt, middle and index rubbing at your clit until you’re nice and sticky for him.

sugi dips into your gooey cunt, massaging your most sensitive spots as sugar like whimpers leave you. it’s not long before his cock pokes and prods at you, his length finally slipping into your warmth. the shudder that travels up both your spines feel electric, passion and pure lust intoxicating you both.

fuck you look gorgeous this way, he thinks. you become so pliable and shy like he hasn’t seen all of you before, like he hasn’t pulled those melodic moans from you before. he’d be in this position with you for all eternity if he had it his way, the last thing he’d want is to compromise your pleasure for his own.

pls only interact if you’re 18+! i block minors/ ageless blogs <3

[lapdogchase]

i think people say they hate the feeling of body hair when they really hate the feeling of body hair that’s regrowing and if they actually let it grow out it probably wont bother them. like you keep putting yourself in the sensory torment nexus and shaving off each attempt to escape girl give it a few months

[haztory]

i’m a firm believer that john price, while he loves to take care of his lady and spoil her endlessly, is not a fan of seeing her reduced down to a baby.

if he’s into daddy kinks, it’s with the premise of you making him a daddy just as he will make you a mommy. if he’s spanking you, it’s not as a means of punishment but instead because it riles you up. he’s not into feeling abnormally ancient within a relationship dynamic, he actually quite likes when his woman is on par with him— intellectually, maturity, physically. he doesn’t like infantilization because he’s not into girls, he’s into women. sturdy ones that can hold their own and dish out as much as they can take.

it comes with its occasional drawbacks, however. the one—and only time— john ever lost his temper and yelled at you (not because you made him angry but because work is stressful, and his last assignment left him having a hard time readjusting to home, and you’ve been so patient, and he’s frustrated that he just can’t be what you need him to be) it was a staunch reminder that this is not a fling with some naive girl who idolizes him for his age and stature. he’s in a relationship. an adult one.

you’re staring at him, a brow raised and a stern look on your face as the echoes of his shout settle in the room. it’s a kind of glare that is only etched out by mothers to their disobedient children. stilling and telling of how exactly you feel about john’s outburst. there is no reason for gnashing teeth and snarling bites when you’re asking how you can best support him. and while you know in your head he doesn’t mean it, it still doesn’t excuse it.

“let’s put a pause in this, cause clearly we’re not going to get anywhere.” you say, voice carefully neutral but he can see the rage bubbling in your gaze, “why don’t you go take a walk, and when we’re both calm, we can discuss this further.”

and he hates the therapy speak, the measured and careful approach to emotions— it’s ridiculous, almost insulting. you’re treating him like a child, an explosive time bomb when both comparisons could be further from the truth. he’s the expert in bomb handlings, for christ’s sake. but he listens, grabbing his keys and a cigar and stepping out the door with an annoyed huff.

time and space, john begrudgingly admits, works wonders on a irritated mind. he finds his error in the mist of vexed thoughts and irrational moods, tempers it down with a long drag of his cigar and the wash of brandy at the pub. and he’s remorseful, incredibly so as he walks through the threshold of your home when the sun is setting to find you in the loveseat, book in hand and dinner simmering on the stove. you spare him a quick glance before returning to your novel, nothing further said.

he stands at the door, shameful and cognizant of his idiocy. he’s removing his fisherman beanie from the top of his head and moves to stand before you on your place on the couch. it has you closing your book, laying it down on your lap as you turn your attention to the man.

“i’m sorry.” he says lowly, eyes fixed on the hat in his hand as he picks a stray string on the fabric. “i shouldn’t have shouted at you. there was no need for that.”

your eyes stare knowingly into his, understanding written all over your face and while it’s a relief to see, it’s only a further iteration of what he’s come to realize—you are not just anyone. you’re someone who he wants to build his home with, navigate through terse and stormy waters with because you’re the perfect balance to the man who tries so hard to balance it all. it’s not perfect, but you don’t care about that. you don’t need perfect, have never demanded it to be—you strive for healthy. you model it by example, and you’ve whipped him into shape for it.

“it’s hard adjusting right now.”

“i know,” you tell him softly. your hands grab at his, pulling him down to his knees so you can see him at your level. you place your hands on the sides of his face, bringing him in for a gentle and sweet kiss. “if it’ll help, i can give you some space. a couple of days, i can go stay with my parents—“

“no.” he’s quick to shoot it down, shaking his head and rubbing his hands up and down the tops of your thighs, “i want you with me. i’m better when you’re with me.”

“okay.” you give him another gentle kiss. “thank you for apologizing. are you ready to eat some dinner or do you want to freshen up first?”

either choice doesn’t matter, he’d rather do whatever it is that you’re doing.

so yeah, john likes women who put him in his place. it turns him on a bit.