#// just because I love drawing faces/heads too much...

[amdiriel]

lonely pt. 2

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: After a vulnerable moment of comfort, Reader tries to navigate Azriel’s increasingly flirtatious behavior without assuming anything. Because she really shouldn’t. Right?

WARNINGS: FLUFF, slight suggestiveness, a bit of hurt but SO much comfort, not proofread we die like men

NOTE: thanks for so much love on part 1! I have some ideas for new Az fics, so lmk if you're interested in being on my Azriel taglist! xox diri

WORDS: ~4.2k

part 1 main masterlist

•••

It had been about a week and a half since my little breakdown in my room, my cycle coming and going just days after it. I attributed my moment of uncharacteristic hopelessness to hormones.

I hoped Azriel would too, since I had trouble fully looking him in the eye ever since out of embarrassment. After a night of deep rest post-letting-it-all-out, I woke the next morning to a spill of hindsight in my mind, grumbling at my ridiculousness into my pillow. Despite my cycle being a royal pain in my ass, it was a few days where I could hide safely in my room.

So the next few days, I was determined to be fine. I was great, living the dream, no worries here, wielding a grin and a dry joke as always.

The first day after my cycle ending, I wake up to blissful absence of pain in my abdomen, and treat myself to a long bath.

Afterwards, I take advantage of a brisk morning walk, the sunshine making the late winter weather less intolerably cold. I barely get two blocks from the River House before a shadow passes over my head.

I tilt my head back, squinting through the direct sunlight. Then the shadow descends at an alarmingly fast rate and touches down near-silently beside me. “Good morning,” Azriel murmurs.

I jump at his sudden appearance, the bubbling nervousness at his closeness making it more pronounced. “Shit—Azriel,” I gasp, calming myself with a breath. “What the hell?”

He chuckles lowly and nudges me slightly as he matches my resuming pace. “Sorry. Occupational hazard, I’m afraid,” he says, not sorry at all.

I huff and roll my eyes, even as my lips curl up as well. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You need to wear a bell.” His laugh curls around me.

“I’m not sure it would go with my leathers,” he pretends to muse. “A collar would really ruin the effect of my scariness. Not to mention the whole point of being Spymaster.”

I snort, shaking my head. He nudges me again, drawing my gaze back up to him. I find his eyes warmly on me.

“I’m glad to see you out and about,” he says. “I was worried about you.”

I let the sweet words warm me for a quick moment before I huff a small laugh. “It’s my cycle, not sickness. I’m good.”

He shrugs. “Still. I know it’s much worse for you and your sisters now that you’re all fae. You handling them alright?”

My expression softens. “You’re sweet. I’m fine. I didn’t have much pain as a human, so I think as far as fae cycles go, my pain now is relatively mild. I mostly just don’t want to do anything,” I reply with a shrug of my own.

Azriel eyes me for a moment. “Alright. But you’ll let me know if you need anything, right? I haven’t forgotten about our agreement, you know,” he says with a sly smirk.

It takes a second for it to dawn, but soon a blush blooms on my face as I remember that night. I huff a sigh, finding it within me to laugh a little at myself. “So, what, you want me to come to you any time I have a problem?” I ask dryly.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he answers plainly.

I give him a look. “Are you now our resident therapist too?” I deadpan. “Your resume’s long enough, Shadowsinger, you can take a pause every once in a while.”

He laughs again, shaking his head at me. “I may be busy, but never for you. Never for family,” he replies, and with such sincerity in his eyes that my steps falter for a moment.

Fuck. What happened to cool and collected, Archeron?

But I swallow and arch a brow. “Sweet. But you’re barely here enough to be able to do so for the many members of our ever-growing household,” I say, thinking about our nephew Nyx.

He shrugs a shoulder, his wings unfurling then furling in a subtle motion that catches my eye. I’d always found them fascinating. “Then how about this—I’ll never be too busy for you,” he says, a note saucily that my widened eyes turn upon his smirking face.

I grasp for words for a moment, and I see his eyes delight at my moment of hesitation. I shut my mouth and switch tactics, laughing. “Why Az, you are positively Rhys-like today.”

His brows raise, expression lighting in challenge. “Oh am I? Enlighten me, sweetheart.”

I bite hard on the inside of my cheek at that damned pet name again. This male just made it so bloody difficult to be dignified at all. I swear, every moment in his presence is a fight for my life. “You’re all—” I gesticulate over his person, “Swaggering. It’s unnerving. Please, for my sanity, resume your duties as our resident brooder. You’re putting me off.”

His head tilts back with a hearty laugh that startles me into astonishment. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” he drawls, suddenly feeling like he’s looming over me.

Stupid, tree-like male.

I don’t reply except for a disbelieving huff at his forward behavior. His smirk is self satisfied as he halts, taking a step back with a sketch of a bow.

“You’ll have to resume your walk without me, Ms. Archeron,” he says, and I wrinkle my nose at the use of my surname. His smiling eyes rove over it, dipping to my lips before locking with my own gaze again. “Think you can manage?”

I scoff and manage to flip him off as his enormous wings unfurl and beat his figure into the air. His rumbling chuckle disappears as his shape grows smaller in the sky.

—

The following days, he wasn’t as blatantly swaggering, as I had called him, but he was…

Forward. Disarmingly so.

I couldn’t seem to avoid his presence if I tried, if merely to kick some sense back into myself. First it was the library—when I had settled into the cozy window seat, my usual perch, an hour into my reading, he had strode in his silent yet confident way of his. I had stilled, as if hoping he’d simply not notice me. Fool. He notices everything. And he certainly had wasted no time sidling up to my perch and leaning over to observe what I was reading. His warmth and masculine scent was a pleasant yet oppressive blanket to my poor sensibilities. And I barely survived when he had hummed “Any good?” practically into my ear.

Or there was lunchtime—I’d wander into the kitchen to make something quick and simple for myself, and when I walked into the dining room he’d be sitting there already, looking up with a small, unassuming smile. When he bade simply, “Sit with me”, I had no choice but to obey and eat with him. In my suspicion, I confess that I switched the times I went to get lunch by random intervals, in which each and every time he either was already there or showed up soon after.

I couldn’t tell if it just happened that way, or if he was being overly clever in his intentional variation.

Now, three weeks post-meltdown incident, Azriel had been gone a few days on Cauldron-knows-what business, so I’d loosened up, no longer bracing myself like he could walk into the room at any second.

Which is apparently my folly, since as soon as I round the corner into the dining room one morning, I found him standing at the sideboard, back toward me, making a cup of tea.

I halted, nearly rearing back as my mouth started to form the word shit, but quickly clamping it down. But even the smallest of noise alerts someone as discerning as him.

He turns and calls my name with quiet warmth, and I banish the wince from my face. “Hey,” I say simply. “When did you get back?”

“Last night,” he says, abandoning his tea to draw near. My head tilts back as he stops in front of me. “How have you been?” he asks with a soft smile.

His quiet care is almost more flustering than his forwardness. “Well. Fine,” I answer. “And you? Your mission or whatever successful?”

He huffs amusedly. “My mission or whatever was just fine,” he replies. Then he returns to the sideboard. “Tea?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Just bla—”

“Just black. I know,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at me. I blink in surprise, cheeks pink. He’s been paying close enough attention that he knows that?

Of course he has, dummy. He probably has dossiers on everyone in this city with information down to the way they take their tea, the pragmatic voice in my head deadpans. You’re no exception.

I blink again as he draws near with a second cup, passing it to me. I take it with a small thank you, sipping it gratefully.

Just when I start to squirm on my feet at the silence between us, he speaks. “About what we talked about that night a few weeks ago—” I still. “You’re alright in that regard? And don’t lie, I’ll be able to tell.”

I huff a sound between a sigh and laugh, looking down. “Well, I haven’t had a night as bad as that one since then, so that’s good right?” I say with wry self-deprecation. He doesn’t reply. “But really, I’m alright. Just winter blues, I suppose.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

I roll my eyes in a small flash of annoyance. “Alright, not just winter blues. But they certainly don’t help. But I’m fine. Really. You did really help that night,” I admit softly.

I don’t really notice my teacup is empty until he gently takes it from my hand and sets it next to his already abandoned cup. “What helped most, sweetheart?” he asks gently.

My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth—speaking my vulnerability aloud both impossible and foreign. Letting him in last time didn’t hurt. It helped, a small voice whispers in my head.

I take a breath. “Just—talking through it. Physical touch too, um…” I fight to stay steady. “It’s grounding.”

He hums, nodding. There’s a light touch to both my elbows, and my eyes shift down to find that he’d silently reached for me. I allow the touch, but don’t dare go further, suspended in the fear of the unknown.

“You don’t have to be afraid to ask for that,” he murmurs quietly. Suddenly I’m very aware of the air we’re sharing, how close he’s gotten to me. His hands slide slowly to my upper arms, my breath hitching as the warmth of his palms bleed through even my heavy sweater.

The panic sets in before I can think this interaction through, before I can rationalize that maybe, just maybe he wants to be close to me, wants to touch me. Instead my eyes find the clock and seize the subject change before me. “Don’t you have Valkyrie training in five minutes?”

Azriel stills and follows my gaze to the clock. His jaw works once before the fleeting tension is gone. “You’re right. I should go.” He squeezes my upper arms gently before letting his hands drop. “Stay warm today. Wind is supposed to get bad, and temperatures will drop rapidly once the sun sets.”

I nod, giving him a brief smile. “Of course, you too. Stay warm, I mean.”

He returns my smile before leaving the room.

A whoosh of air leaves my lungs as soon as I’m alone again. Idiot. Silly, foolish girl.

—

Azriel was at his wits end.

He’d been pulling far more stops than his usual personality allowed, hadn’t he? She was certainly clever enough to notice that he was acting much differently around her, right? Had he just not been forward enough?

And still, she did not allow him closer, as close as two people could be. He'd given her every sign he could think of without embarrassing himself.

Impossible girl. Can’t you understand that all I want is to comfort and coddle you?

He must not have taken care to erase any tension in his expression by the time he touched down in the ring atop the House of Wind, because Cassian’s brows raised upon seeing him.

Azriel just had to cast him a cool look for his brother to relent, though he caught the half-smirk on the General’s face as he turned toward the group of priestesses warming up and began training.

It was during sparring that Nesta finally deigns to sidle up beside him as he watches a match. “So. What the hell’s going on between you and my sister?”

He stills for just a moment before erasing the reaction. He debates lying to his friend, but she’ll call him on it. He doesn't think she’ll warn him off her sister either, so finally he admits evenly, “Much less than I would like.”

The eldest Archeron huffs a laugh. “I appreciate you sparing me a lie. Honestly, Az? My sister is just supremely oblivious, clever as she is. If nothing else has worked at this point, you just need to lay one on her.”

He chokes and turns his head toward her. “I would never. Not without her express permission—”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Gods, males can be so boring. At the very least you need to sit her down and make sure she doesn’t leave until she understands exactly what your intentions are. Then you can lay one on her, if she’s amenable to it.”

Azriel takes a deep breath, letting the words sink into his turbulent mind. “I don’t want to scare her,” he admits after a pause.

“You won’t,” she replies instantly. “She’s not afraid of you, she never could be. In truth, my sister is scared of very little. But based on the fact that she’s never had a romantic attachment before, what seems like indifference is likely just borne out of nervousness.”

“I don’t want to make her nervous either.”

“It’s not you that does. It’s just—being vulnerable. Emotionally intimate with someone,” Nesta says. “Years of fighting with her have taught me that she’ll hide anything behind biting wit or a laugh and joke. I think that’s what makes it all the more difficult to understand.”

He doesn’t reply.

“But speaking not as her sister, she definitely is attracted to you,” Nesta continues. “Speaking as her sister?” He looks at her cool features. “Don’t fuck it up.” Then she stalks away to Gwyn and Emerie.

Azriel forces down a growl. Tonight. He'd do it tonight or hell, he'd go crazy from this dance around the line. He'd spent too many centuries wanting this, wanting companionship for him to squander an opportunity with, at last, a female that he connected so deeply with. A female that seemed to need his touch as badly as he needed hers.

So...yes. He'd had quite enough of waiting.

—

True to Azriel's word, it did end up being very cold today.

I forgo any ideas of taking a walk, but I did end up camping out in the warmth of Feyre's study, taking turns with her to organize some of her paperwork or play with Nyx on the floor. My nephew (and his poor parents) had had some rough nights due to the last dregs of his teething pain, but it was good to see him smiling and playing despite it all. Rhysand stopped in frequently, unable to stay from his mate and son for extended periods of time, and after the fourth time Feyre shooed him out with their laughing, squirming son in his arms.

Our bi-weekly dinner fell that evening. Usually I enjoyed it.

Usually.

The dinner was fine. But I was so chilled that I took the opportunity of warmth from any hot dish passed around to me. I shiver for the upteenth time as Azriel passes me the potatoes.

"Cold?" he murmurs close beside me, and I shiver again. Not from the cold, damn him.

"Freezing," I retort instead, scooping potatoes on my plate. "Doesn't Rhys have this place warded to hell? Why is it so drafty?"

Azriel chuckles lowly. "How do you know that it isn't just you?" he teases.

I shoot him a look. "No, no, Mr. 'Stay Warm Today', I'm quite certain it isn't."

He laughs again, and it warms me only temporarily. I finish before everyone else, per usual. Not only do I tend to eat fast, but I'm also not caught up in constant conversation. Bored, my eyes travel the room, around my friends. My family. Even in my relaxed, two-glasses-of-wine haze, my mind doesn't fail to notice how paired up they all seem to have gotten.

Feyre and Rhys feed a fussy Nyx in his highchair, Rhys's eyes roaming over his mate and child with unrepressed love. Cassian's arm was slung around Nesta's shoulder, my usually stoic sister slumped comfortably into his side. Varian looked down at Amren next to him like she was the most fascinating creature alive, which...wasn't entirely a subjective statement, considering her interesting history.

Even Elain was speaking in shy tones with Lucien, who watched her with amused adoration. I had been so proud of my younger sister for finally realizing that she could just as well choose him as not choose him. They were taking it slow, she'd been telling me recently, but she begrudgingly had found that her mate was, indeed, her perfect match.

But as with all my friends and family, my happiness for them comes at a cost. To myself.

I turn and opened my mouth to chase away the tightness in my chest, but found that the Spymaster next to me was turned away, engaging Mor in conversation on his other side.

I quickly clamp my mouth shut and instead go for my wine.

Gods, hadn't Feyre mentioned there was some sort of will-they won't-they situation between the two of them? Something that had been brewing for the five centuries they'd known each other? It was none of my business, of course, and I hardly paid attention, but even I noticed that it had been pretty consistently they-won't in the past few years of living here.

Right?

Azriel laughs at something she says, and suddenly I feel sick.

Cauldron. Was I going to be the only one left?

And even worse—had I also been imagining his forwardness with me as of late?

There's a rushing in my ears and I tune out completely, going blissfully blank.

I hardly recall cleanup. Or the migration to the living room. My body seems to draw itself to the fireplace, a hand lifting to drag a blanket off the back of an armchair as I settle on the floor before the flames.

And as I wrap the blanket around myself, shivering minutely, I can't bring myself to look at what I know I'll find behind me—each couple in the house cuddling for warmth.

—

Azriel's heart aches at the sight of her vibrating form in front of the fire.

He'd taken his place behind the armchair she usually sat in, hoping to finally coax her into having a conversation in the privacy of the hall. Or if things went well, his bedroom.

But instead he watched her walk as if unawake from the dining room to the fireplace in the living room. Unblinking. Not looking at anyone else.

He doesn't know what to do.

He also doesn't realize that a shadow had flitted to her until it came slinking back to his shoulder, whispering, Upset. Crying.

His heart broke. Oh, sweetheart.

He felt suspended in air, in time for a moment. Everyone was lounging, cuddling in their respective pairs, speaking quietly with one another. Distracted. So he took a gamble.

And silently pushed forward.

—

I felt him before I heard or saw him.

I lock up as I feel his warm body settle on the rug, not quite directly behind me, but not quite beside me either.

His touch was warm, intentional.

Mother, I needed intentional touch so badly.

I hadn't realize how upset I had gotten until the first cold tear spills down my cheek. I wipe hastily at it.

"Hey," he coos softly in my ear, his arm coming firmly around me and drawing me into him. I sniff, shooting a panicked glance over my shoulder since everyone was in the room right now. I barely register that his wings block any sight of the two of us from the rest of the room before his gentle hand guides my chin back to look up at him. "No one can see, sweet girl," he murmurs. "You're alright."

The lump tightens painfully in my throat as a second, third tear spill down my face. "Sorry," I mouth, unable to get any sound out.

"Stop," he whispers gently. "You're alright. You're safe." His hand slides to the back of my head and I let myself be guided to the shelter of his embrace, once again in his lap as I silently shake. "Are you feeling that way again?"

I nod silently.

He sighs. "Sweetheart. Why don't you just let me in?"

I untuck my wet face from his shoulder to glance confusedly up at him. "I...I am," I breathe. "You're—you're hugging me."

He shakes his head, cradling my face with both hands. "I mean: why don't you let me into that head of yours? That world? Most importantly, why can't you just let me into your heart?"

Said heart seems to stutter and stop beating.

There's a long moment where my lips don't form words, don't do anything except lay parted, slack. "What do you mean?" I finally blurt, a note of tightness in my voice.

His jaw works and he sighs heavily through his nose. "Sweetheart, is it so impossible to understand that this whole time you've found yourself lonely at the sight of everyone paired off that maybe I want to be that person for you? Your person?"

"Wh—you?" I sputter on a whisper as everything dawns, hell, practically crashes down upon me. The denial comes a split second after. "No."

"Yes."

My expression shutters in emotion. "There's no way—"

"There is," he murmurs with an adoring smile on his handsome face, thumbs brushing at my tears. "And you can't change that, ever. But what you can do is let me in."

I take a shuddery breath, in and out. "Let you in?"

He nods.

"Be my person?" I croak. "And I be yours?"

The words seem to have an effect on him, his chest puffing for a moment before deflating again. His hands cradle my face like I'm precious. I've never felt more so than in his lap. "Yes, sweet girl. Mine. And I, yours."

A release another uneven breath, feeling my body go warm all over. "I—I never thought that I...that you could want this with me. Could want me," I rasp.

He smiles. "But I do. I have for a long time."

I let out a little wet laugh. "Gods, I—" I shake my head. "I don't feel like asking questions right now. I've wanted you too, for so long. I just didn't want to delude myself, to make a fool of myself in front of you when you're so..."

He raises a brow but his eyes remain warm. "So?"

"So perfect, damn you," I finish, no real malice behind my words. When he laughs this time, I feel it seep directly through my chest and into my soul.

"You're the perfect one, sweetheart," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to my hairline like he had those weeks ago. "In more ways than one." He draws back to look at me, and I return his gaze with nothing but openness, with love. Then he breathes, "May I kiss you?"

Heat blooms across my cheeks, but I give him a little nod. "You may."

He dips his chin ever so slowly, and when his soft, full lips finally meet mine, my eyes slip shut. Tentative, and so gentle with me, he dares his tongue over my bottom lip. Though I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing, I let him through.

The first swipe of his tongue, this hungrier kiss sets my soul ablaze, his hands travel to wrap around my waist, drawing my chest against his.

We kiss quietly yet needy for Cauldron knows how long. All I know is that I’m breathless, fuzzy, and light by the time I draw away softly. He chases my lips a moment more before settling his forehead against mine.

Breathing the same air.

A giddy smile tugs at my features, and I giggle with blushing embarrassment. “They definitely know what’s going on,” I whisper, fighting the urge to peek. He chuckles lowly and draws me closer, depositing a kiss on my shoulder, my jaw, then my lips.

“I sent them out,” he replies. My brows raise. “I told Rhys mind-to-mind that if he didn’t get everyone out, I’d quit.”

A laugh bubbles up within me. “Liar. He just decided to have mercy on us. On me, at least.”

Azriel grins, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Boyish. Free.

“Kiss me again,” I whisper. And he does.

That night, he takes me to his room, scooping me under the covers and into his body. I’m too wired, too happy to fall asleep right away. It’s when I watch him slip into dreamland, the most relaxed I’ve seen him, that there’s a tug within my chest.

A soft glow flickers to life deep in my soul. I smile and let the tears fall as I feel what I think is the bond.

I settle in. I��ll tell him tomorrow.

•••

NOTE: i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i did writing it! i have an idea for a short series taking place post-ACOSF, where Reader is part of a group in Montesere that’s sort of adjacent to the Valkyries, and she comes to visit the Library, so I’ll start drafting if anyone is interested k love you bye! -diri

TAG LIST: @lilah-asteria @salvatoresister1 @a-courtof-azriel @thestartitaness @casiiopea2 @kk191327 @missxmarvelous @saltedcoffeescotch

[piastri-fvx]

Her muse. Lando Norris.

Pairing: Lando Norris x artstudent!artist!reader, smau

Summary: When she's an art student and he's an F1 driver.

Word Count: 1,256+

Face claim: Sabrina Carpenter & girls/art from pinterest!!

Disclaimer/s: None, just a whole lot of fluff & lando being absolutely smitten <33

A/N: Watching Miss Americana as I'm writing this, it's so sad but sooooo good 😭🫶 let me know if you have requests or want to be on my permanent tag list <333

♡ Masterlist ♡

------------------------------------------------------

@yourusername

liked by lando, pietra.pilao, flavy.barla f1gossip, user1 and 1.383.295 others

yourusername the artist vs. the art ✨

| view all comments...

pietra.pilao in love with everything you draw 🥰 liked by author

-> yourusername tsym, my love!! ❤️

user1 oh, what i would give to be able to draw like that

-> user2 real tbh, i can't even draw a star 😭

-> user3 i would constantly be drawing if i was her

-> user4 valid of her to choose to study art

-> user5 true

lando beautiful 😍 liked by author

-> maxfewtrell the drawing or your girlfriend? liked by author

-> lando both, duh 😙 liked by author

user6 it looks so real!! 😍

user7 drawing of lando next? liked by author

-> yourusername 🤭

-> user8 GUYS. I FEAR WE ARE GETTING THE MOST PERFECT DRAWING SOON

flavy.barla can't wait to see you again!! liked by author

-> user9 DOES THIS MEAN MORE Y/N PADDOCK APPEARANCES????

-> user10 YES PLEASEEEEE

-> user11 I AM SAT.

user12 y/n, pookie, how do I sign up for your life?

user13 y/n, can i please be your friend 🙏

-> user14 she seems like she'd be such a fun and sweet friend 😭

-> user15 atp, i have a friend crush on her.

-> user16 real, i'd be content with just being her friend 😣

@lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, taylorswift, user1, maxfewtrell and 4.926.956 others

lando my girl drew this amazing portrait of me 🥰

| view all comments...

user1 obsessed 🥲

user2 how is she literally so talented 😭❤️

-> user3 i wonder the same thing, lmao

taylorswift desperately need her to draw me and give me some lessons on how to draw 😍 liked by author

-> yourusername AHHHHH i'm freaking out right now omg, hi!! I would LOVE both of those!!

-> user4 chat am i dreaming?

-> user5 MOTHER AND MOTHER???

-> user6 in need of the drawing of tay tay asap!!

yourusername glad you like it, my love 🥰 liked by author

-> lando oh i adore it ❤️

-> lando not as much as i adore you though 😙

-> yourusername i love you, you muppet 🫶🧡

-> lando i love youuuuuu

-> mclaren @yourusername the orange heart 😍

-> user7 papaya 🤭

-> user8 mclaren is her biggest fan

-> user9 istg yeah

user10 okay but can we talk about the way she's literally so effortlessly beautiful?

user11 we need a y/n hair routine 🛐

-> user12 it's so shiny and prettyyyy 😭

user13 i wanna be friends with y/n and lanfo so baddd

-> user14 fr because they seem like they'd be so much fun to be around 😭❤️

-> user15 i want the bond they have 😣🫶

user16 i think i just turned bi

-> user17 that's the kind if effect lndo and y/n have on people 😭

user18 brb gonna go cry, I WANT HER SO BAD

@f1gossip

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 58.838 others

f1gossip lando and his girlfriend y/n were spotted in Singapore earlier today ❤️

| view all comments...

user1 they're so 😍😍😍😍

-> user2 fr 😭

user3 the highway looking a lil too comfy rn...

-> user4 i feel you bro

-> user5 in need of a relationship like theirs 😣

user6 AHHHHHHH

user7 guys... THE. HAND. PLACEMENT.

-> user8 IT IS TO DIE FOR.

-> user9 I WANT HIMMMM

user10 i want a bf like lando so bad

-> user11 and i want a gf like y/n so bad

user12 JUST LOOK AT HER. OML.

user13 THE WAY HIS- OMG THE WAY HIS HEAD IS LIGHTLY TILTED IS SO HOTTTT

-> user14 I AM DECEASED

-> user15 I DIED DEAD WHEN I SAW THIS

user16 there is no couple more attractive than them

-> user17 real, no one can convince me otherwise 🛐

user18 HER OUTFIT IS EATINGGGGG

-> user19 SO IS HISSSS

user20 CAN LANDO FIGHT? 😍

user21 is a relationship like this too much to ask??

-> user22 i want thisssss 😭

user23 HE'S. LETTING. HER. SIT. ON. HIS. CAR.

-> user24 SCREAMING CRYING

user25 OMG IS SHE THERE WITH HIM FOR THE SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX????

-> user26 I HOPE SHE IS OMG

@yourusername

liked by taylorswift, lando, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell and 7.385.914 others

yourusername where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me ❤️🫶

| view all comments...

lando you're way better than any trophy i could ever ask for ❤️ liked by author

-> user1 AHSHNFJXNYKFKY

-> yourusername couldn't be happier to have witnessed your win, my loveee 🧡

-> user2 'my love' I'M NOT CRYING, YOU ARE

taylorswift 🫶🫶🫶 liked by author

-> user3 TAYLOR???

-> user4 OMGOMGOMG

-> user5 TAYLOR DRAWING BY Y/N WHEN????

-> yourusername @user5 soon 🤭

user10 face cards never decline 😍

user6 the way y/n was jumping up and down and cheering for him during the raceeee 😭

-> user7 she's the best wag fr 🫶

-> user8 landoy/n supremacyyyy

user9 he looks so genuiely happy oml

-> user10 his smileeeee 😭🫶

flavy.barla cutiessss ❤️❤️❤️ liked by author

-> yourusername THANK YOUUU, LOML!! 🥰

-> flavy.barla MY WIFEEEE 🤭❤️ liked by author

-> user11 estie bestie and lando norizz left the chat

-> user12 real, i love the way they're not even protesting

-> lando we're used to it by now

-> estebanocon yeah, we don't exist to them when they're together 👍

user13 they're both so lucky tbh

user14 well deserved win

-> user15 lando seems to always drive better when y/n's there 😭❤️

user16 the y/n paddock content we needed 😍

@taylorswift

liked by lando, yourusername, gracieabrams, oliviarodrigo, aryansimhadri and 7.082.483 others

taylorswift my lovely friend @yourusername drew me 🫶

| view all comments...

user4 YALL I WENT ON HER PROFILE SHE'S STUNNING

-> user5 SAME I WANT HER SO BAD

yourusername AHHHHHH!! TYSM, TAY TAY!! liked by author

-> taylorswift NO TSYM FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL DRAWING, DARLING <33

-> user1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP AHHHH

user2 work of art 😍

lando my girlfriend everyone, back off 😙

-> yourusername muppet 🙄❤️

-> user3 tutorial on how to get a relationship like theirs please 🙏

user6 she's dating an F1 driver omg

-> user7 yeahhh, lando norris

-> user8 he's a mclaren driver, right?

user9 HER DRAWINGS ARE ALL SO GOOD OMG

-> user10 YESSSSS

-> user11 YEAH I'M SO GLAD TAYLOR HELPED US FIND AN ACCOUNT LIKE HERS OML

user12 w drawing

user13 didn't know taylor had a friend who's that good at drawing 😍

-> user14 she's friends with everyone 😭🫶

-> user15 true though

@yourusername

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, flavy.barla, lilymhe, pietra.pilao and 1.847.926 others

yourusername drawing & quality time>>>>

tagged: @lando

| view all comments...

lando my favorite time of the yearrrr liked by author

-> yourusername mine tooooo

-> user1 they're so pookie 😭

user2 COUPLE GOALS

alexandrasaintmleux the drawing is adorable, y/n 🥰 liked by author

-> yourusername tyy, my loveee!!

-> user3 she should draw leo omg

-> user4 yess!!

user5 entering 2025 as a y/n and lando fan 😝

-> user6 fan and shipper 🥰

-> user7 realll, landoy/n 🛐

user8 CAN LANDO FIGHT???

-> lando yes 😒

-> user9 prove it

user10 THE TALENTTTTT 😍

user11 the dog is so cute dkdnfbkfkd 😣

-> user12 i want a dog like that

-> user13 the drawing is so realistic too 😭

-> user14 i love itttt

user15 i love lando (i'd rather date his girlfriend)

-> user16 she's drop dead gorgeous 😭

-> user17 i can't blame you 😣

------------------------------------------------------

A/N: HOPE U ENJOYED AHHHH!! Lmao, loved writing this sm <33

tags!

@freyathehuntress

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Reader doing her skincare routine with quinny?

└( ﾟ∀ﾟ)┘💚└(ﾟ∀ﾟ )┘

I changed this juuuuuuust slightly! 😘😘

"Hey, do you still want to watch that movie, or no?" Quinn asked, poking his head through your open bathroom door. You had your face over the sink as he talked, so his words were muffled by the sound of running water, but you got most of what he had asked. 

"Um, sure. I just need a few more minutes." Looking at him through the mirror, you hadn't realized how red his forehead was until he raked his fingers through his hair to expose it. "Honey, your skin is really red."

"It's okay," he replied, shrugging. 

Turning to face him, he looked at you confused. You had a look in your eye that meant you weren't about to let this go. 

"Baby, it's fine. It's just a few breakouts. I have them all the time."

"They're from your helmet, I know," you said, reaching up to touch his face. His skin was inflamed and you knew they had to be painful. "Can I help?"

Quinn sighed lightly, mainly because he didn't like to be fussed over, but he didn't want to hurt your feelings either. "You don't have to."

"I know, but I want to."

He knew you wanted to, so he folded without putting up a fight. "Okay, baby. Do whatever you want to."

You smiled warmly at his words, before giving him a soft kiss as a thank you. "Let me get you something to keep your hair out of your face first." 

From one of your drawers, you'd grab a thick, padded headband, made for just such things. Placing it behind his ears, you'd push it up and past his forehead to completely brush all the hair out of his eyes. He looked cute, even though you could tell he was absolutely embarrassed. 

"That's a look," he replied sheepishly, dropping his eyes from his reflection immediately. 

"You're cute, hush," you said, following a second kiss. "It's just us here."

Your words gave him enough reassurance to smile finally. Quinn stepped closer to the sink, seeing all of the various glass jars and bottles that littered your large counter. "Do you use all of these?"

"When I need to, yeah, but not all at once or anything. I won't use too many on you, though, so don't worry. I don't want to aggravate your skin anymore than it already is."

"What /are/ you going to do?" He asked, picking up one of the serum vials to press its button topper. 

"Going to start with a mask to draw what I can out of those blemishes, first."

"A mask?"

From a cabinet, you'd grab a clay mask jar and a silicone spatula to apply it with and had Quinn sit on the edge of your tub. 

"I'm going to warn you, as this dries, it's going to tighten, so you'll feel a slight pulling feeling, okay?"

He nodded, looking up at you slightly concerned, putting his hands on your hips as you stood between his legs. The product was cold to his skin, making him balk slightly at the sensation but not enough to pull away from you. 

"It's cold, I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, closing his eyes, his hands falling down to your bare thighs. You were wearing one of his Canucks t-shirts that was even too big for him, which was why you loved it to sleep in. 

"I'm just going to do your whole face."

Quinn smiled, "You don't need to waste all your products on me."

"I think we can confirm that I have enough," you giggled, painting the clay around his facial hair. "Almost done. It doesn't take much of this stuff."

"How long does it stay on?"

"Till it's completely dry, so probably fifteen-twenty minutes, give-or-take."

"Okay."

Quinn would stay seated on the tub edge while he watched you finish up your nightly routine. He was amazed with all of the steps you did, knowing he could never do the same. Every so often, you'd look over at  him, just sitting there, hands between his knees. He looked miserable.

"Are you okay, honey?" You asked, after noticing his expression change. 

"Yeah."

"You don't have to stay here with me if you don't want to, Quinn. You'd probably be more comfortable on the sofa or something."

He shook his head, "I'll stay with you, or am I hovering you?"

Sadness flooded your expression as you stepped towards him. "No, baby! You're not hovering! I just wanted to make sure you were okay!" You wanted to kiss him, but that wouldn't be the easiest at the moment. You'd settle for a soft smile which you made sure he saw. 

Quinn tried to smile as well, but the tightness of the drying clay made him stop his attempt, so he just kind of looked at you like a sad puppy. 

"It's almost dry, baby. Just a couple patches on your cheekbone. I must have gotten it a little thick there."

While the mask finished, you ran the water to get it a comfortable temperature beforehand. He was looking at the floor as you drenched the washcloth in the warm water and made your back to him. "Chin up, baby. Let me get this off of you."

Again, his hands would find your body, like you were his security blanket this time. In reality, he just wanted an excuse to touch you, which you never minded. Slowly, you'd make small swipes of the now pale-green product, revealing refreshed skin beneath. You would have to make several passes back and forth to the sink to rinse the cloth, and each time you did, he'd resume his holding of you. 

"I could have just stood by the sink, babe," Quinn said, feeling bad about making you make so many trips.

"It's no problem, but thank you." With everything but the problem spot to wash away, you'd bend down to give him that kiss he seemed so desperate to have. "I'm going to be real gentle now. Let me know if you need me to stop or anything."

"Okay, thank you."

First, you would just press the cloth to his skin, letting the product rehydrate slightly, to avoid having to aggressively scrub the area. Thankfully, it came off much easier after doing so. The redness was still apparent, but the size of the blemishes did look slightly reduced. 

"Look at that handsome man," you said, satisfied with the outcome. 

"Yeah, right," Quinn replied. "Am I done?"

"Not quite, baby. I have something else for you. That just helped dry up those spots. I need to actually treat them now." 

"Oh." 

It took you a moment, but eventually you found the sheet mask you had in mind.

"What is that?" He asked, seeing you pull the white blob out of the packaging. 

"It's a sheet mask," you laughed, unfolding it to reveal the shape of the face it was meant to cover. 

"That's weird."

"Yeah, they kind of are. Now, this one is going to be really cold compared to the last one."

"Alright. Oh, it's slimy," he said, as you aligned it with his face, making sure it wasn't in his eyes. 

"They're wonderful things, though. This one won't have to be washed off. And it's made for acne and stuff, so it's perfect for your problem. I have the same stuff that's in this mask in a pump. Why don't you take it and use it after your games? Then your forehead won't be so aggravated and painful. And before you decline my offer, I have a couple of them," you finished with a wink, knowing he was apt to bring it up. 

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I promise it will help."

Quinn smiled, giving you a squeeze as you still stood over him. "Well, now what?"

"We can start that movie if you want. Those masks you can sleep in, so there's no real time limit." 

"Sure." He rose to his feet, giving your cheek a soft touch with the back of his fingers. "I appreciate you wanting to help me. I'm clueless about all of this stuff."

"No problem, honey. It was fun," you smiled. "You should feel a lot of relief in the morning." 

"I hope looking like this is worth it," he shook his head, seeing what he looked like before leaving the bathroom with you. 

[haikyu-mp4]

The Snowball Fight

word count; 818 – f!reader, part 2 of this

"I'm so sorry, Bo. I don't know if I can take another step.” You breathed heavily, leaning your hands on your knees. You two had been jogging for a few kilometres, and your legs were already complaining. Although the sudden nickname flustered Bokuto, he wordlessly trotted over and squatted in front of you. Weirdly enough, no part of him was annoyed at your tiredness. Probably because he enjoyed your company so much, but he wouldn't say that out loud.

"Jump on," he encouraged with a glance over his shoulder. You were the flustered one now, shocked at his offer but nowhere near declining it. Jumping on his back, he grabbed under your thighs when your hands hung around his shoulders. The rest of the way consisted of Bokuto walking with long strides, deciding not to speed up too much with you on his back. Very distractingly, you kept sending shivers down his spine by talking into his ear, asking questions about this or that. He would take the questions way too seriously, giving unexpectedly long answers, but you enjoyed that even more.

Because you were suddenly closer to his height, you noticed that he was wearing the scrunchie you lent him the day before. The detail made your smile broaden, and you hugged him just a little tighter.

Konoha was walking from the store after getting some breakfast and almost dropped his tote bag when he saw Bokuto carrying around a woman on his back. He quickly yelled and waved you over. "Kotaro!"

"Huh?" Bokuto was surprised and almost dropped you to the ground. Fortunately, you caught your footing and stayed upright before following Bokuto to meet Konoha halfway.

"I don't think I've met you before?" Konoha said, glancing at his old teammate with a look Bokuto hadn't seen before. "I'm Konoha," he immediately introduced himself, holding a hand out to you.

"Y/n, nice to meet you," you answered confidently.

"Beautiful name, where did you find her?"

Bokuto laughed nervously at Konoha’s blatant teasing. "Library,"

"Ah! You're the one who told him to draw his notes!" A light went off in his head, remembering that Bokuto told him about you the other day. This woman helped me even after I disturbed her studying. She must be very nice, then. She’s super nice. Cute, too. "The cute one."

You chuckled nervously this time. The cute one? "I only gave him the idea," you said, rejecting any credit.

"I bet he's grateful anyway." Konoha winked at his friend, not hiding the gesture from you at all.

"We should go now," Bokuto announced and pointed somewhere behind him.

"Sure, but I expect that you'll tell me next time you're taking her on a date." Konoha dropped that last bomb before walking away with an amused smirk when his friend started laughing nervously once again.

"He's weird." Bokuto looked down at you, and you smiled at each other with warm cheeks.

"Did you tell him I'm cute?" You decided to take advantage of the situation, loving how the man laughed nervously when he was embarrassed. I'm smitten.

"We should jog from here, so we're not late for class," he stated, trying to avoid the topic and jogging away from you. You stopped without him noticing and picked up a chunk of snow, forming it into a ball. Throwing it at his back with a mischievous smile, you laughed as it hit him square between his shoulders, some of it probably going down the neck of his shirt. He stopped abruptly, and when he turned around the look on his face had changed. This meant war.

Bokuto quickly made a snowball and threw it at your back when you ran away. The snowball fight didn't cease soon, and you both learned how competitive the other one was the hard way. You were running around and getting closer and closer to each other for the more fatal attacks. Cold snow melted on the skin under your clothes, and your chest heaved with both laughter and exhaustion. Bokuto finally ended it by tackling you into the pile of snow beside the road. Your breaths came out as smokey clouds, and you looked at each other with admiration.

"You win, Bo." Your voice was low and tickled his spine with sparks. The words gave him a sudden bolt of confidence.

"Maybe we should go out for real sometime," he suggested. The words shocked you, and a smile split your cheeks as you rested your head on the snow.

"I would love that."

"Cool. I really should go now, though, or I'll miss class." You looked at your watch and took Bokuto’s hand so he could pull you up.

"Go on, I'll text you." Blowing him a kiss, he stumbled but caught himself before turning and jogging away from you. That was smooth, Bokuto, real smooth.

"Bye, y/n!" He yelled over his shoulder.

"Bye, Bo!"

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

[ghosthoard]

grief of reunion recap!

you guys are so fucking funny thank you so much for your tags

as always i want to show how much i appreciate your tags and comments but i didn't know how without reblogging every single person and that might be excessive so this is my solution!

first of all thank you for the people who reblogged all three and left tags it's so cool seeing which ones you saw first and the comments as you went

this is going to be a bit long since i want to include everybody in some way and also what my thoughts were as i drew this series!

enjoy!

"you'll see me again"

mizaruwu said it so well! "you'll see me again" is a sweet white lie!!!

in combination with dustmold nailing it on the money!

i was really careful with how i phrased this sweet white lie

it's not: "we'll see each other again" or "I'll see you again"

For Wild, Wars, Time, and Twilight as far as they know they will never see the one they're saying farewell to ever again. so they say farewell knowing this will be the last time they see their loved one, but they're offering them a sort of comfort that the receiver of these words will see them again, it's something they would kill for personally, they think it's a gift, a comfort

but it's never so simple. because they aren't really being reunited properly are they?

THE FLOW OF TIME TRAVEL IS VERY CRUEL!!!!

NONE OF THESE PAIRS/TRIOS FULLY KNOW EACH OTHER AT THE SAME TIME, BUT THEY TRY THEIR BEST WITH WHAT THEY HAVE, IT SUFFERING!

perry's 3 reblog journey

perry i want you to know how much i love the faces you added at the end it gave me such a clear vision of your reactions

I LOVE HOW I DREW YOUNG TWI HE'S SO TINY HE'S SO BABY THANK YOU FOR MENTIONING IT PERRY

i like to imagine that time bonks him on the head right after this interaction and doesn't explain why

the WAR TRIO FUCKS ME UP

they can never be whole!!!

war trio

elle at it again with the amazing comments!!!

elle is right! as i was drawing wars I was thinking about how to convey that he was trying to hold it together and show the others that everybody leaving wasn't tearing him apart. he especially had to show a strong front for wind. as discussed above, elle said it perfectly, wars knows this is it for him! he'll never see his brothers again, and he it would hurt too much to hope for another chance like meeting the chain.

elle also brings up an interesting point of how wind can say the same thing to the pair of them during the war, i was thinking about that myself while i was working on this series and IT WOULD HURT SO MUCH, THE CYCLE OF SAYING FAREWELL, OF THE SWEET WHITE LIE.

but i always flip flopped on if wind would.

what do you guys think? do you think wind, twilight, or time would say something similar to their counterparts like they did to them?

mask is full on alert, he can detect danger right away, the moment they found wind he was on defensive mode, resource guarding wars

and isn't that just painfully loving, painfully sweet

what's that quote?

we are all made up of bits and pieces of those we love. (or something similar)

big brown devastating eyes

my friend suggested I draw the eyes with color! everybody say thank you spooks's Zelda Authority friend

a moment of silence for the wind stans

chiangyorange's 3 reblog journey

i'm glad i could do this to you :)

Wolf Trio

mizaruwu is so correct yet again!

while i was drawing these, i thought about how all of the wolf trio ended up saying the white lie to someone. wild is the only one who doesn’t really have the experience of teaching a protege. time and twilight however are both the liar and the lied to.

voidsshadow is so right! twi especially knows what wild is implying because he’s lived through it with time. twi and time have both been through so much and they still have things to do after death but they wouldn’t trade this time with their protege for anything no matter how imperfect the reunion is

they both must have known what their protege meant and they were prepared for it. but no amount of preparation can soften the blow.

however, they’ve both lived a long time before going back to teach their protege, their age makes the white lie more bitter and they’re more tired

wind in the meantime, had no prior time travel experience with another link, he had no preparation, he took the white lie at face value, he’s still young when he joins the war of eras, and when the reunion actually happens and he realizes his brothers don’t know him anymore, he was all the more devastated for it

cherry's 3 reblog journey

i claim all responsibility, i'm the cause, i'm the problem

violetregrets's 3 reblog journey

i love the clear descending into emotions this conveys, art in itself

(from the bottom up in these types of screenshots!)

thanks violet XD

let's have a moment for all of the ouchies, oofs, and aughs

and of course the screaming

and crying

these allegations! >:O all true :3

and lastly

this cracked me up. honestly same, fuck me up

Additional edit: I made it so that all of the lines under each post would apply to every one of them.

Your eyes do not know me as they once did.

Here I am, still missing you.

Alone, with the grief of reunion.

I had a hard time deciding not to put the last one for wind but I thought the 2nd one made more sense for him and the last one more sense for time. But again they all apply to every one. isnt that fun!

@mizaruwu @dustmold-n-dirtarchaeology @perereiii @perryelornitorrinco @elle-rosewater @1-renegade @rosescore245 @rosadon3 @the-au-collector @crazylittlejester @stqrmyskies @shadowlinktheshadow @chiangyorange @thevoidsshadow @givemeafuckingbreakorurgay @violetregrets1837 @tiredkiwilol @esthelle-wanders @telemna-hyelle @pelicanpig @layraket @i-dont-r3member @embarrassedauthornerd @multifr0g @turdofanerd @puffysleeveswithfloralpatterns @starwolfie @zolanort @cheatsylu @dragkbluire @thebackofourmind8 @jack-ofallfandoms @bbinkus11 @ahanarhorse @hero-of-the-wolf @triforce-of-mischief @twilightangel83 @clancycosmic @abir-111 @just-another-product-of-today

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Just out of curiosity, how many WIPs are you working with right now? And what makes you abandon one? Do you write when the 'inspiration' hits or do you see it as a task to be done? It gets too much for me sometimes, I'm quick to abandon them.

You are such an inspiration though, keep sharing your brilliant mind!!

Not including the Witcher, which I now consider on "hiatus" with the potential of going back when/if the Witcher 4 and new book heal something in me - twenty-five. I have a bunch of prompts with semis (lol) where I have an idea but I haven't started it yet.

I write when inspiration hits and to relax. My job drifts between a 55 and 75 hour week, so I have my fill of tasks to be done. I will never really abandon anything, I'll keep it because sometimes I can repurpose a part of it for another project (like yanking out spare parts from a car for your current one). I'd really recommend doing the same, Non.

The only way I'll abandon something is if I am harassed on it, or the fandom does something that gives me the ick. I have one (1) officially abandoned piece of work on AO3 and it's on Anonymous.

And because you've been so bloody lovely, here's another for Red Leaf 🍁 Anon who asked for a Part 2 (official) of hair pulling Nikpriceghost (rough, unedited).

Simon drew in a shuddering breath and rich cigar smoke flooded his tongue, the warm familiarity of it settling his heart, the calm rolling through his muscles as he closed his eyes. Nik smoked Cohiba. Smooth, rich. Simon couldn't dissect the flavour profile, his palette blunted by cheap roll ups and scorching cups of tea, but he could pick out the familiar notes of coffee beans, cocoa and leather, with just a hint of sweetness at the back of his tongue, as curls of wispy grey drifted by his face. Price said Cohibas were a smooth smoke, with a nice draw. All Simon knew was that he only ever smoked them when Nik was over, and so Simon had come to associate that smell with the roiling desire in his gut as he watched Nik's hands circle a scotch glass.

What had started out as a mild fascination since Nik's fingers had slid into his hair was now an all out infatuation. The series of events that had led to this moment were a cacophony of noise and images fading slowly into the back of his mind. All that mattered was the now. The smell of expensive cigars, the slow, calm breaths of the man before him and the other somewhere in the shadows of his peripheral, and the feel of strong fingers stroking up and down his neck, urging his face close to the warmth of the solid body in front of it. 

Simon knelt at Nik's feet. They had taken his shirt and his pale nipples had peaked in the air conditioning. He could feel it prickle over the hairs on his arms, over the sensitive, bare skin of his face, so unused to being without his balaclava even at the height of summer. And yet, despite being so exposed, Simon felt utterly grounded. Safe. Nik wore a blindfold, unable to see the vacant, soft look on Simon's face as he gazed up at him, the slow way Simon blinked as he focused on Nik's fingers stroking his hairline, tracing the groove at the centre of his neck and the top vertebrae of his spine. 

Simon was desperate for Nik's touch, to feel his hands and body against every inch of his own. He ached, like he would crack open if Nik took his hands away. But showing his face had felt like a step too far in these early days when the connection was still new, untested; his desire like a raw nerve. Nik hadn't even questioned the insanity of Simon being more comfortable showing his dick than his damn face, standing calmly as Price had tied the blindfold behind his head. Simon had worried that it would diminish Nik in some way, make him uncertain, but the big Russian hadn't even broken his bloody stride. He oozed control in the same way he breathed oxygen; natural, unthinking, effortless.

[141wh0re]

Chapter 1: Echoes of The Past

Summary: You've been hard at work, managing a run down pub, trying to get things back in order. It just so happens that one of your favourite regulars is also your long-lost brother. He'd been careful, enough. He only paid with cash, used his alias, and never let your gaze linger long enough to risk being recognised by you. He couldn't risk it. Yet. Older brother Simon x younger sister reader CW: Dark themes, swearing, minor angst, alcohol usage, smoking, mentions of child abuse & neglect.

3.6k words

AN: This is a forbidden, taboo romance. Spoiler alert - incest to come.

He knew it was you. He’d know those eyes anywhere, no matter how long it had been since he’d last seen you. Twenty years, ten months, and six days to be exact. And somehow, you still held most of the same characteristics you had as a little girl. 

Simon stood at the bus stop with his eyes zeroed in on your frame across the street. You were on break from your shift at the pub, smoking a cigarette. It hurt him to see you so grown up, so different, yet so familiar all the same. He noticed the difference between you, and the little girl you were when he left. 

You were taller now. No longer underweight from the years of abuse and neglect, no, you’d filled out now. Curvy hips, ample chest, and a round ass. And your features were still very much your own, though with a mix of your mother’s. 

It was as equally haunting as it was alluring. He couldn’t believe you were here, working one of his usual haunts outside of base. He thought it was too good to be true when he laid his eyes on you, standing behind the bar, looking so familiar, yet so different from how he left you. It was a decision that would haunt him until his last days, but he had to do it for you. To make sure you got out safely. 

But you were none the wiser to who he was. He could see the absence of recognition in your eyes, and he was an idiot to feel angry that you didn’t recognize him. How could you recognize him? The last time you saw him, he was an eighteen-year-old boy, scrawny, underweight, without a single scar on his face. 

She still should’ve been able to recognize my eyes.

If you couldn’t recognize him as your long-lost-older brother, you’d at least recognize him as a regular patron of the pub.

He rolled out his shoulders before crossing the damp road. His skull balaclava was secured over his features, ensuring only his eyes were visible. Rough, calloused hands were shoved into the front of his hoodie pocket, keeping a brisk gait to his steps. 

“Yes, mum. I’m fine. No, we don’t need any more food. I do know how to cook, y’know.” Simon kept his head bowed as he eavesdropped on your conversation over the phone. Mum?  But she’s- His face fell behind his mask as realization set in. You weren’t talking to your biological mother, because she’s dead. It would be impossible for you to have a phone call with a dead woman, unless you were crazy, but Simon was sure you had most of your sanity intact. Mostly. 

His fists clenched in his pockets, and he felt his jaw set in irritation. She’s not your real mother.

“I gotta go. I love you too- bye!” You quickly hung up the phone as Simon reached the doors of the bar. 

“Hey, Ghost. Fancy seeing you here,” You greeted in a chipper tone, flashing a dazzling smile in his direction.

Simon paused the moment you said his alias. His shoulders relaxed upon seeing the dazzling smile on your lips.

“‘Ey, luv. Alright tonight?” He responded in a gruff tone, trying to swallow down every emotion rapidly rushing to the surface just from seeing you again.

You nodded while drawing a final hit from your cigarette, snuffing it out against the aged, brick wall behind you. “Yeah, yeah. How are you doin’?” 

“Same shit, different day.” He shrugged, then held the door open for you, allowing you to enter the pub ahead of him. 

It was particularly dead tonight. Just the way Simon liked it, absent of rowdy patrons. A crew of men in their fifties sat around a booth, watching an MMA fight on one of the overhead TVs, nursing their pints and greasy food. 

Simon sat atop his usual barstool at the far end of the bar. It was the only spot that allowed him to keep his eyes on all exit and entry points, without feeling the constant need to look over his shoulder. 

“Double shot of Kentucky bourbon, neat? Right?” You asked, drawing his attention back to you. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips under his balaclava, and he gave a gentle nod. “Tha’s righ’,” He responded, attempting to keep his tone indifferent. 

He watched with rapt attention as you poured his drink. His brow quirked with mild impressment when he noticed you pour without measuring, but by counting alone. Only seasoned bartenders could do such a thing without under-pouring, and upsetting their patrons, or over-pouring and upsetting management. It was obvious you knew what you were doing. 

Seeing you like this was a stark contrast from the toddler that used to spill the juice jug all over the kitchen counter, only successfully managing to pour a third of it into your Winnie The Pooh cup, and the rest on the floor and counter. 

He wonders if you remember that.. If you remember any of the good moments of your shared childhood. 

Simon murmured a quiet, ‘Thanks’ as you set the glass on the coaster in front of him. “Kitchen closes in an hour, if you want anything.” You informed him while leaning against the bar. “Mm. I’ll take some mozzarella sticks.” 

His heart ached in his chest when he saw you flash that dazzling smile at him again. 

“Comin’ right up.” 

Simon couldn’t tear his gaze away from you while you input his order into the POS system. Everything you did now, you did with such grace and fluidity. You were an entirely different person now, no longer a shy, clumsy little girl. No. You were a full-grown woman now. 

He’d missed so much. Due to his actions, he missed out on the better part of your life. He missed your rebellious teenage years, early adulthood, and watching you become the young woman you are now. But he had to remind himself that it was for your safety. 

Everything Simon did for you was to protect you. If he had let you stay, who knows how fucked up you would’ve turned out. Had your father had his way with you, and your mother never changed her compulsive need to remain ignorant to any wrongdoings done by her husband, there’s no telling how much worse off you’d be. How much worse your trauma would’ve been, had he not called the proper authorities to have you placed in a girl’s home. 

At least you weren’t violated by the man who created you. Simon made damn sure of that. 

Simon’s thoughts were interrupted when you returned with a diner basket of mozzarella sticks. The delicious smells of garlic and Italian seasonings wafted towards his nose, making his mouth water at the sight of the fried cheese. A feeling of nostalgia tugged at his heartstrings as a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind, a memory he’d long since forgotten, until now that is. 

The distinct smells of carnival foods flooded his senses. A small hand gripped onto his larger hand, so small and so soft. Bright lights from various carnival rides and food trucks took up residence in the once vacant lot, providing fun and entertainment for couples, and families alike. Carnival music played over the speakers of the rides, accompanied by the delighted shrieks of adrenaline-addled kids. 

Your eyes were as wide as saucers as you took in the sight of all the sweets and fun that awaited you. The tear streaks that previously marred your cheeks now dried, once your big brother came to your rescue. He did what any rebellious teen would do, and disobeyed their father. The same man who made you cry by refusing to take you to the carnival to celebrate your sixth birthday, the only thing you’d asked to do, and yet it was shot down without a second thought. Simon had to take matters into his own hands to give you the birthday you deserved, a birthday worth remembering. 

“And what’s first on Bug’s Birthday Agenda?” Simon asked, lifting up your small form to sit atop his shoulders. 

You had felt as if you were on top of the world. Sitting up so high on your big brother’s shoulders, you felt as if you could touch the sky. And he encouraged you to, wanting nothing more than for you to feel the freedom of a day as a normal child, without all the fear and anxiety you were burdened to live with. The burden of being the spawn of  Bruce Riley. 

“Cheese sticks!”  You exclaimed enthusiastically. 

Simon couldn’t wipe the grin from his lips if he tried. “Mozzarella sticks, Bug. Mozzarella.” He corrected, chuckling softly. 

“How are they?” You asked, bringing him back to the present. 

“Good. Uh, yeah. Good.” He answered, clearing his throat. He felt a warmth creep up the back of his neck, feeling as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Mm.. and that’s why you haven’t touched them?” You remarked, raising an inquisitive brow while narrowing your gaze on him with a playful suspicion. 

Simon swallowed the lump in his throat. You’d completely thrown him off balance with your remark, catching him in the act. But he wasn’t about to key you in on the little secret he was harboring, at least not yet, anyway. He at least owed you somewhat of an explanation, to quell the curiosity swirling in your mind. 

“Someone… I was rather close with, she loved mozzarella sticks… she was practically convinced they were a food group in and of ‘emselves.” He admitted after a moment. 

A grin split your soft lips, and he watched as you leaned against the bar, propping your elbow on the bar, and resting your chin in your hand. “Sounds like she had good taste.” 

“Impeccable.” Simon agreed, unable to resist giving an amused chuff. 

His amber eyes flitted up to meet yours. How desperately he wanted to reminisce with you, and remind you of all your adventures with him. Simon may have been ten years older, but you were his little beacon, in the rotten pit of hell called ‘home’, you were his bright light. He never got to thank you for that, for being his light. 

“How long you been a bartender?” Simon asked just before he lifted the edge of his mask to sit just above his lips, revealing a pale, jagged scar that slanted across the top left lip, and ran until it reached the edge of his clean-shaven chin, taking a bite of a mozzarella stick. 

He didn’t miss the way your gaze flitted down to the scar. Your eyes flickered with lingering curiosity, wanting to ask the questions burning at the forefront of your mind. But you were too polite for that, having been taught proper manners from your adoptive mother. 

“Too long,” you joked, flashing him your familiar grin.

He hummed thoughtfully, amused by your response.

Simon was familiar with your work history. He’d been watching you for years, keeping track of your whereabouts. After you were adopted from the girl’s home, he hired an investigator to do some digging on your adoptive family, and ensure they were upstanding citizens who’d give you nothing but the best. The wife was a grade school teacher, and the husband was an aviation mechanic for the regional airport. And they only had one other child, a daughter a few years younger than yourself.

They’d moved around a bit to follow the money. Which was good, it meant you were being properly cared for. There were no signs of abuse within the household, and you seemed to still be close with them, if the earlier phone call was any indication. Simon was happy for you, but still felt a bitter ache from having to remove you from his life. 

But he wouldn’t do that anymore. He was happy to learn you were promoted from a shift lead to Assistant General Manager for the pub chain, and when he found out you would be transferring to the city just outside of 141’s HQ? He couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t have you just within arms reach, only to let you go again.

He’d selfishly insert himself back into your life before he ever let that happen again. 

“Not that I’m judging, but I have to ask…” You started, narrowing your eyes as you studied his balaclava. “What’s with the mask?” 

Simon’s lip twitched beneath the material. His sharp, honey eyes locked onto your gaze. Weren’t you a curious one? Though, you’d made it several weeks before asking, which is more than anyone else normally had made it.

“Hide my face.” He shrugged noncommittally, knowing the answer was likely frustrating to you in an underwhelming way. 

“Hmm..” You hummed, letting your gaze linger on the enigma of the man before you. 

“You settlin’ in alright in the city?” Simon wondered, remembering that you’d moved here only just under a month ago to start your new life.

Your bright smile tugged at his heartstrings. Your smile could light up the world around you, it always had. He was happy to see that smile hadn’t changed one bit, it was still just as bright, just as full of life as it had been when you were little. But Simon could vividly remember the days where a few of your teeth were missing at a time, having lost your two front baby teeth within a few weeks of each other. That toothless, toothy grin would forever be ingrained in his memory. 

But he noticed your adult teeth were much straighter. Perfectly straight, even. He guessed you had braces sometime in your teenage years, knowing firsthand the lack of routine maintenance due to your father’s neglect, and your mother’s inability to convince him his three children needed dental care. He wouldn’t dare pay for anything, if it cut into the cost of his booze. 

Simon needed braces himself. And that’s exactly what he did the moment he had enlisted, finding the first dentist that would take him. He had his wisdom teeth pulled, and braces put on, which finally alleviated the constant aches he had suffered through, even if it was short-lived from having a few teeth knocked out. At least he no longer had the horrid, crooked bottom teeth. 

No one has to know a few of his teeth are fake. 

“It’s going really well. My neighbours are all pleasant, and a bit older, so I won’t have to deal with any rowdiness. My younger sister and I went to IKEA, and bought a bunch of furniture to set up a cosy, little study nook for her.” 

Simon listened intently as you gushed about your new flat. It amused him, finding it endearing how such domesticity made you so happy. 

“How’s she likin’ uni?” He inquired.

“She seems happy. Said her professors are helpful, and they seem to care about their students actually being successful in their classes. Though, her economics professor seems like a prick.” 

A gruff chuckle rolled from the back of his throat. He couldn’t help but to be amused by your brash words, coming from such a sweet thing as yourself. 

Part of him couldn’t help to wonder why you’d done it. Why had you transferred to this bar? Was it for your career? Was it to help keep your sister safe?  Or did you do it in hopes to lessen the homesickness your sister would eventually feel, after the excitement of being in a new area began to wane, being so far from home for an extended period of time?  

He had so much he would have to learn about you. While you still looked very much like his little sister, you were an entirely new person. You’d lived several lifetimes without him, and he was eager to learn about the current one you were living, hoping there was still some semblance of his Bug locked in the back of your mind. Simon would pay for every one of his sins, as long as it meant he could have a fracture of the light you exuded back in his life. He’d move heaven and hell to quell the homesickness he’d felt for all these years apart, but it wasn’t homesickness for the hell he’d grown up in, it was homesickness for a person. For you. 

His Bug. 

It was busier tonight than when Simon was last here. But the night would soon be coming to a close, so he wasn’t entirely concerned about it. Most of the patrons typically left the pub just before eleven, and especially with the storm due to hit soon, people would be scrambling to get back to their homes to avoid being caught in a torrential downpour. Simon didn’t mind the rain, he’d take it over the recent dust storm he’d been caught in on his latest deployment. 

Two girls worked behind the bar this evening. He glanced around in search of you, hoping you were working tonight. And to his relief, one of the girls had retrieved you from the back office, informing you that her shift had ended. He sank down on his usual bar stool, silently observing the interaction, patiently waiting for the right moment to get your attention. It wasn’t long, because you’d spotted him before he even had to say anything. 

“Hey. The usual, I presume?”  You asked, already retrieving a scotch glass from the shelf. 

“‘Course,” he answered in a rough voice.

His throat still felt raw and scratchy from the yelling that ensued on his most recent op. The dust storms his team were exposed to didn’t help either. It left his nose and throat irritated, despite wearing his mask, and a keffiyeh. He was content to be back in a damper climate, like England. 

Somewhere that didn’t dry out his nasal cavity, and cause nosebleeds in his sleep. 

Simon took in your appearance. His sharp eyes picked up on the slight bags of your under eyes, and the way your shoulders were slightly slumped.

“Long day, luv?” He asked with a curious eye following your movements. 

You sucked in a drawn out breath, releasing it as a sigh. “You could say that.”  You answered as you set his drink on the coaster. 

“Kitchen is closed, unfortunately.” 

“Good thing ‘m only ‘ere f’r the whisky then.” He retorted, pulling a gentle laugh from you.

Simon decided not to bother you too much with the pub being busier than the nights he was normally in. The night slowly began winding down, and patrons filed out one by one. Simon’s gaze was trained on the window, watching the storm clouds open up, dumping water into the streets. Thunder rumbled just beyond the walls of the pub, and he didn’t miss the way you startled at the booming sound.

She’s still afraid of thunderstorms… 

Simon had to bite back a smirk beneath his balaclava. Even in your youth, you startled easily from thunderstorms. He had countless memories of being woken in the middle of the night to your small form scrambling into his bed, desperately seeking refuge from the anxiety-inducing thunder, and blinding flashes of lightning. 

He could never refuse you then. It was his duty to keep you safe, and soothe your fears. 

“Not a fan of thunder?” He couldn’t resist the urge to tease you. 

You shook your head with a wry smile on your lips. The register clicked closed, having finished your nightly counts. “Not in the slightest,” you answered with a soft chuckle, “It’s been that way since I was little.” 

Simon hummed thoughtfully. He glanced down at his finished glass of whisky, tongue poking his cheek beneath his mask. He knew he should get going, so you could finish closing up the pub. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to come off his stool, and especially after hearing your confession. 

“You know it can’t hurt you while indoors, right?” He tried to soothe, still keeping a humorous lilt in his smooth tone. 

“You couldn’t have convinced me of that as a child. I always feared lightning would come right through the window, and grab me.” 

He gave an amused huff, shaking his head. Simon was well aware of how difficult it was to convince you that the lightning couldn’t harm you. He’d gone as far as teaching you to count the seconds between each crackle of lightning, hoping it would ease you if you knew the distance of where the lightning was striking. It was a useful trick he picked up from an American student, in his youth, and was happy to pass that knowledge off to his baby sister. 

Lightning struck close by. Simon watched your head snap towards the window, and heard the sharp intake of breath. Thunder rumbled the pub once more, and with it, went the lights. Your hands gripped the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white when a haunted look flashed behind your eyes, and Simon could just barely make it out, but he saw it. There was no hiding the fear and anxiety rapidly rearing its ugly head. 

Shit. 

He knew that look all too well. The way your eyes glazed over, the rigidness of your spine. He’d seen it plenty of times within his career, close to two decades witnessing that look. Physically, you were here— but mentally, he had no idea where you were. But if he had to guess… it was somewhere you’d both rather not think about.

“Hey.. hey.” Simon gently started, pulling your attention back to him. “Where’d ya go, luv?”

“S-sorry. Sorry.” you chuckled nervously, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. 

The panic pulsing through you was tangible. Simon knew he had to calm you down, had to get you back to the present. In a last ditch effort, before he could even think about it, he uttered the words he hadn’t spoken in years. 

“Count ‘em, bug.” 

[beomiracles]

darkish thought because I love mentally ill love yandere horror tropes and beomgyu, so why not put two and two together?! >3< (fyi this is my first time writing lols..)

imagine beomgyu as the quiet, intimidating kid at school. no one dared to approach him because he just gave off this unsettling vibe—except for y/n, who was always so cheerful and saw the good in everything. beomgyu didn’t understand how someone like her could exist, so pure, so sweet. it frustrated him. it consumed him. he wanted to be the one to destroy her innocence, to ruin her from the inside out. his obsession spiraled until he couldn’t take it anymore, so much so that one day he snapped and ended up kidnapping her, having her all to himself, to do as he pleased. <3

y/n woke up in his basement, tied up, blindfolded, and gagged, completely at his mercy. if feeling the tip of a knife gliding down y/n's trembling bare thighs wasn’t enough, her heart completely dropped when she heard that all-too-familiar voice.

"dumb girl~ haven’t you learned not to trust everyone?" beomgyu chuckles darkly, almost mocking. "lucky for me though..." he let the blade glide further up, earning a muffled squeak from her as it grazed against her most sensitive spot ''..now you’re right where i wanted"

you cappin, ain't no way this is your first time writing gawd lawd.. I mean you've basically done all the work here, but I shall indulge nonetheless.

tw, kidnapping, beomgyu is very unstable but what's new in these thoughts, use of knife, implied violence and blunt force trauma, nonconsensual bondage, hints at further sexual advances

the weird kid of class D, that's what they called him. with long and dark hair, shielding his sickeningly pale face. his hunched posture and strange attire making him a laughing stock all around school. ― still, people knew to stay out of Beomgyu's way. it was kind of common sense by now, for all except one.

you didn't think beomgyu was much different from anyone else. perhaps it was why you'd joined him in the cafeteria that day; your tray nudging his as you squeezed in next to him with a wide grin. ― it doesn't bother you when he ignores your advances, when he turns away and mutters a few curses under his breath.

your persistence doesn't waver, and soon you find yourself by his more than your own friends. and even though he rarely talks to you, or even pays your presence any mind, he doesn't make a move to shake you off.

naive as you were, you thought that beomgyu only needed an opportunity, a chance to show his worth. you feel almost heroic when you think about the fact that you were the one presenting him with it.

had you if only once stopped to look around, to see what was actually happening around you, maybe then you would've noticed how everyone else seem to draw back whenever you walked alongside him. perhaps then you would've caught their hesitant faces and worried glances.

"will you come to my house this Friday?"

you had practically squealed when he first asked. excitedly jumping up and down as you accept his invite. ― this was it, you were finally breaking through his thick shell. weeks worth of effort finally paying off !

it did not feel rewarding to wake up cold and confused in complete darkness. in fact it felt utterly terrifying. frantically your head jerks from side to side, unable to see through the thick blindfold that covered your wet eyes.

with your wrists bound behind your back, the ropes around your skin burned as they tightened with each tug you gave. your ankles felt sore, bloody like someone had beaten them, they, too, were tied. ― something large and round keeps your jaw locked in an uncomfortable position, drool running down your chin as you struggle to speak.

footsteps echo in the dark and you emit a muffled scream as you try to retreat. the failed attempt at fleeing merely ends with your barely dressed body pressed against a cold stone wall. ― with your breath caught in your throat you listen as someone approaches, the presence looming before you as it exhales a deep breath, sounding almost like a hum.

"look at you.." the voice speaks, it's dark and menacing, upholding a mocking tone. your blood runs cold as you recognise it. beomgyu. but that didn't make any sense why was he... when did this..

your whiny protests come out as incoherent nonsense around the gag and beomgyu chuckles, it's sinister rumble echoing against the four walls of his basement. ― "dumb girl~ haven’t you learned not to trust everyone?" he's crouched down before you now, you can feel his warm breath on your face, it makes you recoil.

Beomgyu's fingers are harsh and unforgiving as they seal around your arm, keeping you in place. "lucky for me though..." he drawls, pausing to listen to the hitch of your breath as something cold comes in contact with your tender flesh. a knife.

''..now you’re right where i wanted"

the knife glides along the inner part of your thigh, it's pointy edge poking at your soft skin and you whimper as you shake your head. beomgyu lets out a short breath, like he wasn't believing his own eyes, and with one flick off the knife he cuts your panties in half.

"don't worry", he quickly shushes your scream with false sympathy, "if you promise not to scream, I'll go easy on you"

[red-doll-face]

lowhonor arthur who's just obsessed with u. . . 😵‍💫

DOLLLYYY thank you for this wonderful request i was so excited to see a req from you in my inbox queen 😭😭😭 I LOVE YOU !!! 💖💖😊😊🥰🥰also thank you again for the one you wrote for me !! 🥹🥹 I tried really hard on this and im actually super proud of how it came out, I had my bf who is a lh arthur player weigh in on some dialogue sooooo i finally have a lh arthur committee to fall back on LMAO I hope you like it !! tysm for reading and any feedback makes me 😊😊😊 also made it a bit long as always w me ... Warnings: Arthur is a meanie , low honor arthur as a warning. like hes a jerk but what were we expecting?? however complete weenie for you like hes down bad. also sad arthur like he has his issues where he thinks he isnt a stud?? like i need a bucket of his nut rn sorryyyy

In Arthur's opinion, you only deserve joy and nothing less.

low honor Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

Do you have to be so goddamn distracting? He swears your giggle is the loudest of the girls, when they’re no doubt filling each other in about the latest camp affairs. He has to look over from where he was brushing his horse's glossy coat in the blazing sun. The grumpy shire gets annoyed at the loss of contact, turning to mouth at Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur's hand is squeezing the brush, as to make all the blood rush away from his knuckles. You sit there with Karen on the chairs outside the girl’s tent, whispering in her ear, before laughing again. The prettiest thing, your hair bouncing and your hand rising to your chest. Karen nudges your shoulder. And she turns to see him staring. The glare she sends his way isn’t all too unexpected. 

But then Karen whispers to you as well. Her eyes flick over to where he’s standing. He looks away before the inevitable. Your eyes on him, curious, searching over him. He hates how that idea makes him feel, being perceived by you. Arthur wonders what you think. Some sad sap eyeing a young lady such as you. He looks down at his dirty shirt, the smell of horse flesh and hair clinging to him. You probably think he’s repulsive to look at. His brows draw together, his jaw gets tight. You must think he’s horrible, like Karen does. Cruel and awful. You wouldn’t be wrong. And he knows he shouldn’t do any of the things he thinks about doing but his impulses can be hard to control. The anxiety makes him almost nauseous. Heat brewing, his chest feeling tighter than he’d like; than he’d ever admit to a living soul. But his journal later tonight is another thing. He stuffs the horse brush back into his saddle bag. Why couldn’t he just ignore you? Push you from his mind, keep you from having any sort of affect on him? He’s not too sure. 

Maybe it’s the way you catch his eye whenever you walk past, your skirt brushing against his leg. He knows you’re a real sweet thing. He loathed to see Ms. Grimshaw bring you to tears over your inability to perform to her standards. He had been all too eager to get some sort of odd revenge for you, being sure to dig in deep with remarks, his words feeling more barbed than usual. Being an attack dog he supposed, came all too easy. Not that you noticed particularly but it's more for his pride than anything else.  

When he turns, you’re still looking, tilting your head. The expression on your face falters when you see him looking, your cute little lips parting before you avert your eyes, not even bothering to keep your head from facing towards him. You look nervous too. He imagines it’s because you might think about him just as much as he does of you. That at night, you might think of your girlish fantasies, ones where he holds your hand or gives you a smile, meant just for your eyes. Nothing so depraved as his own visions. But he knows you most likely don't think much of him at all. He huffs, scratching at his beard. He needs a smoke and maybe a drink, just to take a bit of the weight off of his chest at just the thought of you. 

After dinner, you sit with Lenny. He tells you something that makes you laugh again. He seethes, it’s not him getting them from you but it’s still sends a shiver through him. He could swear he gets goosebumps. Your laugh is prettier than any of that droning music Dutch plays from his scratchy gramophone. Beautiful really. If he could keep your laugh to himself, he would. Would listen to it over and over. Would tell every joke he has. Hell, even the dirty ones. Instead, he’s listening to Bill ramble about how he doesn’t appreciate the folk around here thinking he’s as dumb as a donkey. 

“It ain’t for no reason people think you’re a dumbass, Bill. It’s because you are. Kinda smell like a donkey too,” Arthur drawls, his natural inclination to getting under people’s skin only spiking at the sight of you smiling at Lenny. Fuckin’ kid. Arthur’s got nothing against him, only that he’s making you laugh. In another life, maybe he had that kind of easy and casual energy you liked, relaxed and amusing even. But he doesn’t, as evidenced by Bill’s blustering. He had tuned the first half of it out (focused on your lips, the roundness of your cheeks) but Bill is trying to sputter out a response as half as scathing as his own. Bill’s angry look only makes Arthur give his arrogant smile. 

“And who asked you, Arthur?” The moron’s whiny voice only serves to annoy Arthur and cover up another one of your intoxicating giggles. Your joy was something to behold and Bill’s petulance is nothing special.

“You’re makin’ everyone dumber just by talkin’, why don’t you just shut your goddamn mouth?” Arthur shoots a nasty look at the other man until he turns red. John tells Bill to let it go. Arthur had pushed it too far but he doesn’t give even half a shit. Arthur dusts his thigh off before taking a sip from the bottle of whiskey gone warm in his palm. When you’re still talking to Lenny, he stands, forgetting the bottle on an errant crate. He approaches, trying to catch snippets of your conversation. 

“-how come you like that game so much? Doesn’t it hurt when you mess up?” 

“Well, I just don’t mess up and when I do, I take it on the chin. Don’t think I’d be any good otherwise,” 

Your light laugh at Lenny's words makes him boil inside. Your bright simper; looking up at Lenny while the younger man stands, straight and as tall as he can. Proud smile, as if he can tell he’s impressed you. It all crumbles when Arthur comes near enough to be noticed. A stiff greeting falls from Lenny’s mouth, you look over your shoulder. Unsure how to respond. Arthur clings to his control, avoiding the glance that he wants to take of you. His restraint holds fast when he wants it to. 

“Damn near cut your finger off the last time, wouldn’t be so sure,” he pokes at Lenny’s ego, goading him. Keeping his voice mellow enough as to be construed as playful but he can’t hide his harshness. Lenny doesn’t take his bait. 

“Whatever, Arthur. You ain’t exactly the expert, neither,” You look between the two, a small nervous look flickering in your gaze. Arthur smiles, unfazed by Lenny’s snappy return. He knows how intimidating he can be; can see how Lenny’s resolve breaks just a little. He’s got courage, a smart kid. Quick, too. But he’s too young to have the authority Arthur carries, maybe one day but not now. 

“Go on n’ play your games, you could always use more practice,” Lenny glares but looks at you. It only makes Arthur cross his arms over his chest. As if you need protection from him, should he taint you by standing too close. You nod, telling Lenny to have a good evening. In that sweet voice, so kind. Once Lenny is sure you think you’ll be fine, he has an exasperated sigh before he goes off. 

“Arthur…” Is the reluctant response you have. Being alone with him obviously makes you fidget, makes your fingers scrunch in the fabric of your skirts. He likes your tongue forming his name, you almost whisper it, he can hardly hear it over the chatter of the other people around you. What a brave girl, putting up with him all by yourself. 

“How-how are you?” you’re on the verge of making a frown but you hold your airy smile upwards. Afraid he’ll try to point out any flaw. You don’t understand why he does the things he does, his reputation proceeds him. But the issue is, Arthur doesn’t have any flaws to point out with you. You’re almost too good for this den of thieves you live amongst. Almost. If you were, then he wouldn't get to see you every day. Perhaps you were just another unfortunate person with nowhere else to go but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s always been greedy like that. He looked forward to waking up, if only to catch glimpses of you doing your chores or reading books in the sun. It takes him a bit too long to answer, adjusting his hat, his own nerves a bit pushed at his proximity to you. Just breathing the same air as you puts him in a better mood. He stares into your eyes, trying to evoke a reaction from you. They glimmer, warm fire light caressing the softness of you. 

“Alright, I guess,” whatever quickness his tongue has is diminished. Playing nice isn’t his strong suit. Fumbling through a decent conversation with you might be nice though. The more you let him stay around you without walking away with a huff like Lenny did, the better. He won’t admit your presence has him softening a little. “What’re you up to?” He’s only a little embarrassed at how stupid that question sounds. 

“Well, I was talking to Lenny but…”  your glance in the direction Lenny walked off to makes him tighten his fist. He puts his hands on his belt, leaning his weight on one leg. “Now, I’m talking to you,” When your glances brush over him, he can feel it as if you touched him, he can’t help the way his stomach drops a few inches lower. Get a hold of yourself, you damn fool.

He can tell you didn’t know quite what to say. Doesn’t matter, he could listen to just about anything you have to say to the placating rhythm of the evening, the chirp of crickets, the wind in the trees. 

“That so?” Idiot is his first thought. But the smile that breaks on your face; it's worth the humiliation curdling somewhere in him. Your shy nod, the shift in you, moved by him. He doesn't care if he’s assigning meaning where there isn’t any. He digs for more, looking for signs, imagined or not. Unconsciously, he drifts closer to where you sit on a rickety wooden chair.

“I think so. I don’t know, we don’t talk very often,” your voice is a precious sound. And so is the flutter of your eyelashes when you blink. Slow; now that you’ve let your guard down just a little. He watches intently, every movement you make.

“Damn shame, darlin’,” it is a shame. He figured he didn’t stand a chance but he can’t keep you from having a hold over him. Even when he isn’t here, his thoughts wander towards you. But now he looks for even a grain of affection in your eyes. He gathers more meaning from your words, the rising tone at the end of your sentence makes him think that you would like to talk to him more. He knows he’s deluding himself but he can kid himself just a little. His boot scrapes the dirt, ducking his eyes under the black brim of his hat. Just maybe, you’d engage him in more than an unnerved glance or a two word greeting.

At the name he calls you, your eyes widen just a bit, tilting your head, showing him your neck. Bad idea. He drinks in the sight. Is he disgusting for wanting to taste it? The skin of your neck, warm with your blood? The flattered and flustered raise of your fingers to your lips is exactly what he had wanted, he hadn’t known it but god, does it send satisfaction ringing throughout him; seeing the effect of him on you. 

“Have I been missing out on something, Arthur?” Your tone is playful, but still reserved. Coming out of your shell now that he is reining in whatever drives him to push other people away with his harshness and his affronting demeanor. Just barely. 

“Not really. Think it’s me; missin’ out on ya,” Lucky you, this is about as personable as Arthur can really get. But you seem to enjoy it. Your pretty smile and a hum that rivals the soothing nature of a cat’s purr; say so. He thinks of your contented murmur; how it would feel on his lips should you grace him with a kiss of yours. “Ain’t much for talkin’...” 

“That’s not what I hear,” It is perhaps out of your mouth before you can think on it. Impulsive, just like him.

“And what have you heard?” it comes out more serious than he wants it to. More threatening. But he forces his posture to relax. As difficult as that is. You don’t flinch too much at least. Just lean back slightly. 

“Well, I hear that…I’m not sure I should say..” The little reluctance you show is drawing him in. You're an angel, biting your thumb nail because of your nerves. Afraid to get someone in trouble. He crosses his arms over his chest again, leans against the nearest surface, a stationary wagon side. 

“Jus’ tell me what they said, girl,” the way you follow his somewhat gentle command is more alluring than he should find it. Most people followed his direction without much question but it is something special when you look up at him, when you do as he says. Does something funny to his head. Mixes things up, stirring up his insides like Pearson’s godforsaken stew. 

“They said-said you’re good with words. But you don’t always mean it. Those mean things you say,” you play with your hands, picking at the skin on your nails. 

“Oh, I mean it. A lot of the time anyway. Why, I say somethin’ mean to you, princess?” At first you think you’ve activated whatever deep seated need Arthur has to make people dislike him. Your worried and panicked expression puts pressure on his chest. He doesn’t ever want you to look at him like that, not for real. Anything outside his idea of play just wouldn’t do. All he wants is that relaxed gesture of happiness you showed him. You shake your head; overexcited, but he speaks before you can muster a frightened response. He hadn’t said anything too bad with you, of that he’s sure but it can't hurt; offering you comfort. Arthur Morgan and comforting don’t often go in the same sentence. Despite his prickly reputation he gives you an easy grin, trying to keep his pride from turning it into a crooked smirk. Something he thought you might like, as he imagined you would.

“Cause I’m sure I didn’t mean it. Not with you,” He loves how quiet you get, pacified by his words. And that smile comes back; makes you look just fine. 

thank you so much for reading!! i really am so grateful for the support i receive from this community. like i love yall smmmm !!🥺😭💖first time messing around in Arthur’s pov a lil so pls lmk any thots 🥰🥰🫶

[fatuismooches]

Dottore with an art-centred lover !! Painting, poetry, singing, you name it, but ofc you can’t practice a lot because it’s not accepted in the akademiya. Getting close to Zandik and he learns of all your hobbies and in the beginning he (of course) looks down on them. But in time he grows to appreciate all the poetry and songs toy write for him …

(Angst) but now that you’re so sick…there’s no way you can practice all your art. So you’re left to wallow in your uselessness while prime rereads that book of poetry you wrote him. And he realizes how much he missed your art <3

It was no secret that Akademiya looked down on the arts, and consequently, that thinking had negatively seeped deep into Sumerian society's views on artistic expression. Therefore your love for the arts was only allowed to linger while you were a kid before it was quickly squashed by those around you. Still, you continued to practice in secret with critters and strange hat-wearing creatures in the forest, who always complimented your art. There were times you sneak out to the Grand Bazaar, but seeing how often the Akademiya hassles the poor performers, you had to limit your visits.

And so, your secret hobby followed you to the Akademiya. In the beginning, it was easy to put your mind to paper, considering your roommate, Zandik, was either not home, or simply did not spare a glance at what you were doing. But as time continued to go by, you realized that in a way, you two were more similar than you thought - both shunned for things people couldn't understand. Of course, eventually, Zandik got curious enough to pry into what you spent your time doing, and although his reaction wasn't surprising, it was still disheartening.

"You have an intricate mind that can keep up with me, but you'd rather spend your time doing such pointless things. I don't understand," his praise turned into words you were familiar with.

"Have you ever considered this is why I am able to understand you? Zandik... I would appreciate it if you could try to do the same for me."

It was a tough road ahead for Zandik, but he loved you too much not to at least take up your request. And so he bore witness to your labor of love, staying silent most of the time. Occasionally you asked for his opinions or thoughts, but nothing he had was really helpful, but you appreciated the effort nonetheless. He thinks you just wanted to probe his brain. After a while, you start reading your poetry out loud to Zandik.

Unfortunately, he doesn't catch on to the fact the poems and songs are about him until about your dozenth one in, blushing at how skillfully you manage to delicately weave such loving words about him. Or when he opens his notebook to a drawing of you two, distracting him from his work for a little bit (an extreme feat!) And on days he can't sleep, you hum a little tune for him, soothing his aching head. From then on, he understands, and not a word of his criticism was ever heard again, rather, even gruff encouragement is offered when you're stuck.

But now even his sweet words are rendered useless in the face of your illness. All those things you love to create - your body and mind simply won't allow you most of the time, no matter how much you try. Dottore can only sigh when he finds you ripped up all your failed attempts at your art, and carefully tape them back together to store with his collection.

He needs to make sure you have a good day soon. Maybe if he rereads your book of poetry for the one hundredth and sixty-seventh time, he could come up with his own little thing and surprise you.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 10. Lilacs

Summary: Lately, you seek his approval and he finds himself disliking it, it's more fun when you only seek to amuse yourself.  Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 2,174 Listen to: 'Too Sweet' -by Hozier A/N: I love parallels my beloved -Danny

This author can't say for certain if an artist is better company than the crown, but there must be at least some level of mutual fondness.

Lady Whistledown, October 1815

Dear Diary,

Knowing I should nourish the friendship does nothing but make my lust grow claws and teeth, and each day spent in his company yet lacking his advances makes my soul wither, much like the flowers I press between your pages. 

To have my thoughts held by your spine is no longer enough. I need Benedict to hold me as well, like I feel so very clearly when I sleep.

"You bought a house?"

"Yes."

"Whatever for?"

Benedict stares at you with amusement. "To live in, of course. Just because you sleep out in the open doesn't mean we all enjoy grass, critter."

"Oh please, what you saw that day was a slip of manners caused by jitters. Why would you buy a house when you could rent one?"

"I can do whatever changes I please," he reasons, "I'm not very good at following rules. Better to have my own place and answer to no one."

You hum, appreciating his desire for freedom where society could not meddle. "I suppose congratulations are in order. Will you be hosting a dinner or will I have to invite myself into your home?"

Benedict reigns in the lewd thoughts your wording brings, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Wouldn't that be too mundane of an activity for a Princess?"

"You forget how much I love the mundane," you retort, shading the lilacs you're working on with utter gentleness.

"No, I do not," he says. "But being an introvert does not make you a fan of dull evenings, does it?"

"An evening with you is far from dull," you appease sweetly.

Benedict chuckles. "You do realize that if I host I wouldn't be able to entertain you? You'd be on your own. I doubt your sister would like to waste her evening in the affair."

"You underestimate the allure of the situation. Besides, you're my friend, not a monkey I bought to amuse me, I can survive without your attention for one evening."

The man tilts his head playfully, feeling ten times taller. "Whatever did I do to be considered alluring?"

"The list would be shorter if I went over the things that annoy me," you brush off. "But if you think I'm not ready to face this frigid society..."

Benedict scoffs out a laugh. "Such harsh words from someone who claims to love London!"

"I love it! I love the architecture and its fashion—but I detest your old-fashioned culture. Why on earth am I not allowed to wear my trousers?" You gesture at your legs. "It's not like men don't know what's under the skirts! And children care more about the sweets I keep in my purse than of my body shape."

Benedict laughs, one hand holding his stomach. "Of course, it is well-known what's beneath your garments, and what we hate the most is to have a more defined view of your figure knowing we can't have it! If we can't have fun, neither can you."

"That's hardly my problem, is it? In Genovia, people who harass strangers get fined, and if they get physical, they pay double and get locked up for the number of times the victim asked them to go away."

"Each equals to a day?"

"A month," you declare with sanctimonious air. "The number of offenders decreased since the law was created."

"Your country is Eden to progressive folk," he concedes. "Such a pitty the heir struggles with talking to large crowds."

You glare at him, tossing a tiny piece of chalk at his head. "I suppose that having all this freedom makes it daunting to take the first step," you eye your drawing, struggling to figure out the proportion. "Organized spaces make my brain go at a proper pace. I thrive in order, so I shall make a grand queen one day."

Benedict stares at your drawing, reaching to correct some things with his chalk, his movements fluid. "So your prudish conduct is only sustained thanks to the lack of steps to follow when it comes to misbehaving?"

"I'm not prudish!" You redden. "And that's not what I was saying, either."

"But if I gave you a list," he says, trying to conceal his amusement, "would you be tempted?"

"Can we go back to the lesson, please?" You ask flustered.

"Now we care about the lessons," he teases you. "I suppose I should stick to it. After all, you were so careful to make it so you didn't have to go around exploring new things."

"Enough!" You snap. "You think I'm cowardly, but I'm more scared of being Queen and failing my people than I am of being caught sneaking out of the castle—so test me if you want, we can bet on it!"

Benedict hesitates, unfamiliar with your temper. "I'm only teasing."

"Let's bet," you press stubbornly.

"That is beneath you," he resists.

"Benedict."

The young man leans back and studies you with mild annoyance, he doesn't think you're a coward, but admitting that out loud would bother him more than letting you believe the opposite. Lately, you seek his approval and he finds himself disliking it, it's more fun when you only seek to amuse yourself. 

Benedict tries to come up with something that you'll say no to, better if it makes you think he's a bit of a cad so you go back to not caring about his opinion. "How about a visit to the Academy of Arts?"

You frown, finding his challenge boring. "That's—"

"At night, just the two of us." He finishes. "Some students stay and experiment with art and... other things. You may find women in trousers—or a gentlemen in skirts, if you arrive at the right hour."

The opportunity you've been craving has been given to you on a silver platter... and you're paralyzed in terror at the prospect. His gaze holds untold memories, he's lived things that would make the catholic guilt of thirty very regretful nuns take possession of your juvenile body.

Marie was right, you don't need to know what kind of lover he is to know your experience isn't enough for what he could do to you. Nevertheless, your longing to feel him squeeze you with his bare hands makes you cave like a house of cards, and before you can think it through, you speak. "I accept."

"You—you do?" He stammers.

"You can wait for me five minutes away from the castle's main entrance," you say as collected as possible. "How late is it late enough? Eleven? Midnight?"

"Eleven, but—"

"When?"

"Your Royal Highness, are you—"

"I say what I mean. Yes. When are we going?"

He swallows thickly, unable to take it back. "Thursday?"

"Thursday—eleven. Bring a carriage." 

You offer to shake his hand. Benedict has never seen anything more enchanting than you right, with your brow furrowed in determination and the devastatingly loose material of your shirt resting on your collarbone, he wants to pull it downward just an inch and find out if your voice goes higher or lower when you're kissed there.

He shakes your hand, squeezing a bit more than he should. "And if you don't show?"

You smile. "I'll show up, Benedict. What if you don't?"

Benedict pulls his hand away, closing it in a fist and rubbing his thumb over the patch of skin where your warmth remains. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

You sit with the Queen and your sister while watching the Eros and Psyche dancers, tapping your foot impatiently as you sneak glances at the box on the far right, where Benedict is dutifully chaperoning his sisters Eloise and Francesca. 

Marie presses a hand on your knee. "I can feel you moving, you're distracting me."

"Sorry," you mumble. "I'm bored."

"You love plays," she rebukes, eyeing you with irritation. "What has you so..." As she speaks, understanding dawns upon her and she looks around, quickly finding the reason for your impatience. "Oh..."

"I'm fine," you blush.

Marie holds back a grin. "Right. Why didn't you ask your gentleman to join us? You could've spent the hour giggling with each other and mocking the dancers."

"Neither of us would've done that. He's an artist, and I enjoy a well-told story," you argue with apprehension. "Besides... I did ask." You make a face. "He's escorting his sisters."

"Oh no," Marie pouts mockingly. 

"I said I'm fine."

"He's looking at you."

You turn so fast only to discover he's focused on the play. You look back at your sister with a murderous gaze and step on her foot, accidentally tearing a bit of your skirt in the process. "Oh, bollocks..."

"Y/N!" Marie hisses. "Oh, you—"

"Is the play not to your liking?" The Queen turns her attention to you, slightly vexed by the noise you're making. 

"No, heavens no, Your Highness," you blush. "We—We are..."

"We were just talking about it, in fact," Marie turns to the Queen charmingly. "About the story."

"What about it?" The Queen questions with impatient curiosity.

"I just... think Psyche was rather silly," you say clumsily.

"Do you know, Your Highness, my sister thinks love is silly," your sister comments in a conspiratory whisper.

"Marie!" You chastise her. "I don't think love is silly—but in this story in particular I just think she was silly to believe her sisters. Whether he was a monster in disguise or not, wasn't of any relevance, was it? She had her needs met, Eros satisfied her, whatever he was. What was the point of digging deeper?"

"You are a woman dedicated to the arts, are you not, Princess Y/N?" The Queen comments, with a sort of motherly air. "Isn't it the point of it, to dig deeper into what we find pleasant?"

"Indeed, but Eros was quite clear in his instructions—"

"Yes, but she was restless," her sister interrupts her, "precisely because she liked him so. No one who falls in love can sit still and ignorant of their lover."

"Hmph," Your heart quickens with guilt, not liking that your sister seems wiser on the subject. "I'm not sure it's worth risking life as you know it."

The Queen returns her attention to the play and you take the opportunity to glance back at the Bridgerton's box, happy to spot Benedict already looking back. He nods in acknowledgement, and you nod back.

As you take a stroll around the ballroom, an elderly couple stands in your way and you politely stop to greet them.

"Did you enjoy the ballet, Mr Bridgerton?"

"Very much," he says with total sobriety, an expression that feels completely out of place within his features. "So much so I wonder if I may have missed my calling... as a dancer." He pouts mockingly and nods with faux pity. 

The elderly couple laughs at his charming display and his face splits into a crooked grin, and you take a weird amount of pride at the way he succeeds so effortlessly. "I must say, I do not know that the male dancer needed to be in such a state of undress."

"He certainly could have put on a shirt."

Benedict prepares to play along and pretend he's equally as aggravated but you speak up, itching to enlighten the elderly couple. "He's playing Eros—he's a representation of erotism. It is part of his characterization, and using his skin to represent the wings instead of having him manoeuvre with a costume was smart. The way ballet dancers dress is meant to better their performance, when telling a story you cannot mind etiquette if its boldness serves a purpose."

The old lady reconsiders. "I can't say I fully understand what you mean..."

"I do," Benedict says with a special twinkle in his eyes. "And I agree."

The old man huffs out a chuckle. "No wonder you've taken Mr Bridgerton under your wing, Your Royal Highness, you clearly have a deeper knowledge of the arts that needs an equally well-versed mind to discuss it."

They excuse themselves as they see another pair of acquaintances and you look at Benedict with a playful air. "Is it comfortable, under my wing?"

Benedict rolls his eyes, shaking his head a little. "Please."

"What?" Your smile widens. "Is something the matter, my equally well-versed mind?"

He laughs, lowering his face to hide the sound from other guests. "All is well, my bohemian princess."

"I'm far from bohemian," you admit, dropping the teasing. "I couldn't possibly live that way, not with my routines and aspirations."

"And I cannot picture a life without the thrill of disruption," Benedict replies lightheartedly.

You look at each other with equal amounts of fondness and irony. "How come we get along?"

"Have I ever said that?" He narrows his eyes in playful confusion. You elbow him, and Benedict takes it in stride; otherwise, you would've struck a servant's platter.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@babypink224221 @Booknerdlife @djsporks @lght-roastcoffee @marii-ren @mythical-goth @omgsuperstarg @creepytoes88 @sarahskywalker-amidala @23victoria @shadowolf993 @squirreljoe @syxtiramishuui @stargirl-mayaa @dolllol2405 @aemondslove @inspiringwaves @optimisticsandwichgladiator @alloof @sydney-m @sirivusblack @mimibookish @marvelouslyme96 @imaginexred @black-kitten-imagines

[sysig]

Caughtcha, gotcha, not letting go ♥ (Patreon)

[cuteniaarts]

The weight of the world is a heavy burden

Especially for a child

(Or, in slightly less dramatic terms – I imagine that the first of her past lives that Avatar Suiren [who is the Avatar after Aang instead of Korra in my AU, and also Ghazan and Ming-Hua’s daughter] gets to talk to is Yangchen, because she is too plagued by memories not her own [including Jetsun’s death, fun fact]. And Yangchen wouldn’t want another child to go through what she did on their own)

(Or maybe someone just needed an excuse to draw @katkastrofa’s latest obsession in a context that interests them as well, just in time to maybe cheer her up a little? You can’t prove anything)

[kiokesu]

the cup of coffee i ask my father to make never tastes quite like the one he made for me when i couldn't walk from the pain

[snakes-and-fluff]

Yukari from Persona 3 & Mahiru from Milgram - both are judged way more harshly than if they were guys. Yukari is one of the best-written characters I've ever seen and Mahiru in no way deserved that T1 Guilty people were making up wild stories about what might have happened based on nothing.

You can’t win as a woman in fiction. Be too positive, you become a Mary Sue, have flaws and those flaws are why almost nobody likes you. Be moderate, you have wet-cabbage personality, be exuberant, you are an unrealistic example. Have strong morals, and you’re badly developed, be morally corrupt and you’re hated with such vigour fans will send hate mail to the actress who plays the character. Be kind and soft and in love, you’re a representation of sexism, be cruel, harsh and cold and you’re just a bitch. Be a complex, realistic, ambiguous character, and either your flaws or your positive traits will be ignored or blown out of proportion and into oblivion. There is no winning for female characters.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 ? ❞

❝ THE SHIBUYA INCIDENT? MORE LIKE THE SHIBARI INCIDENT ! ❞

✧ summary: they got too touchy, so you tied them up! (anon request)

✧ pairings: s. gojo, s. geto, k. nanami, t. fushiguro, r. sukuna, c. kamo

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, tying up (m! receiving), overstimulation (gojo, nanami, choso), multiple orgasms, sub! gojo, choso, switch! geto, toji, nanami, oral (f! receiving) (toji), oral (m! receiving) (nanami), riding (gojo), face riding (toji), shibari (choso), true form sukuna, stomach mouth for sukuna makes an appearance, art by @ / innaillus

✧ w/c: 6,212

SATORU GOJO

“You have no one to blame but yourself, Toru,” you bounced slowly on his cock, twitching in your folds as if it could get deeper if only you would let him.

(You wouldn’t).

“I warned you that I’d tie you up if you kept teasing me all night,” your fingers trace the rope around his wrists, before sliding them up to behind his back, “and what did you do?”

“you tested me baby,” you lean closer, letting your pert nipples draw close to his lips, but still just out of reach, letting him sink down to the hilt. a whimper leaves his throat, muffled against your soaked panties shoved in his mouth, “but you’re so good now, when you’re like this,” your fingers card through his hair, before tugging hard on the silky strands and you feel him twitch deep inside your drenched folds.

His sky blue eyes are glassy, pretty tears pooling, as your lips press sweet kisses to his jaw, and he mumbles something against the fabric that sounds like ‘please’ and you’re smiling that lovely smile that he had been kissing only a few minutes before.

“Begging already? Didn’t know my pussy felt that good,” and you lift yourself up, so only his tip remains inside your warm folds before slamming down, making his head loll back, a muffled grunt making your walls clench, “you’re too fucking big, Toru,” you slide your hand down your stomach, “think you’re actually fucking my guts now,” and his eyes watch as your fingers ghost over the slight bulge his dick makes inside you, “knew you were the strongest, but I didn’t think you meant in bed too,”

Another whine is pulled from his throat, and you take pity on him, pulling the fabric from his mouth, drenched in your precum and his saliva. His pants are nearly enough to make you cum from the sound of it, the sounds that left his lips were yours and yours alone - because he may be the strongest, but he was yours all the same.

“What do you need?” You’re bouncing on his cock slowly, slower even now that you can clearly hear the whines leaving his throat, his engorged tip kissing your womb, “use your words, and maybe I’ll let you have it,”

“Please, baby, wanna cum in your princess cunt,” he whines, music to your ears, and only your ears — because only he would be such a mess for you, “wanna fill you up, feel you cum around me,”

“I’ll let you cum,” and he blinks up at you, a tear slipping down his cheek, “if you beg for it,” He whimpers, a pathetic noise that only makes your insides twitch, “you asked for this, you love it when I do this, maybe I should suck you off the next time you have a meeting with the higher ups — imagine their horror if they walked in on us like that, but you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

You slam down on him, his head falling back, but you’re pulling him back into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and moans, “is this cunt that good for you, baby? Tell me how good it is,” 

“S-so, good, fuck—“ and you know he’s close, from the way he’s keening and whining, the way his fat tip twitches against your cervix, and the way his pretty eyes glaze over from a clear cerulean to a cloudy blue. But you’re not far off either — the way his cock kisses every inch of you, bullying your sopping cunt open — it’s not gonna be much longer,  “I’m—“ 

And you’re nodding, “Cum, fill me up, Toru, want you to fuck your cum inside me,” and that’s all it takes. 

He cums, spurts of thick cum gushing inside your sloppy pussy, as you continue to ride him through his orgasm, until his tip finds that one spot that has you following him over the edge, cumming hard. 

You’re panting, as you continue to ride him — bouncing again and again, until your knees give out, pleasure curling your toes, and flooding your body — just as his seed did. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Satoru looks up at you, fucked out gaze and smile on his lips, “didn’t know you could top me like that, otherwise, I would have had you done it a long time ago,” 

“Shoulda known you of all people would like to get topped,” and he’s raising an eyebrow, before his cock twitches inside you, “already ready for round two—“ 

You squeak as he flips you over, the rope formerly holding him in hand, “wha—how?” 

“Y’know as much as I liked you tying me up,” he pins your arms with one hand, and winding the rope with the other — not too toght, but enough that it burns into your skin, “think you’d look even prettier than I did.” 

SUGURU GETO

“Fuck, Suguru, you look so good like this,”

And he did — especially handcuffed to your headboard—  vulnerability suited Suguru Geto well — something reserved for you and only you. And something you definitely earned after all the games he had played with you all night long. Orgasm after orgasm pulled from you with a few fingers and laps of his tongue, until you fell apart under him, with nothing more than his smirk as your reward (aside from pleasure of course). 

And you knew Suguru preferred your pleasure over your own — punishingly so, as he loved nothing more than to see you fall apart into a crying mess under his touch — fat tears and begging that only made him ready to cum in his boxers untouched. 

But you were tired of not touching. 

“We can agree to disagree, Princess,” he says through gritted teeth, as the clink of the handcuffs draws a small smile to your lips, “I think you’d look much prettier like this for me,” and the last word is more of a gasp, as you thumb his weeping tip, “fuck—” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” and he glowers at you, a deep violet so dark it’s almost black with the way he stares at you, “Aw why so mad? You’re the one asking for it,” 

“We’ll see who’s asking for it once you uncuff me—“ 

SMACK! 

And he hissed as your palm came down on his thigh, hard, red blooming against his skin, “what was that?” he still glared all the same, but his anger came apart at the seams with the way your fingers grazed his clothed cock, growing harder by the second, and fuck, the way he pulsed in your fingers, as his fat tip twitched when your fingers grazed his slit, “poor Sugu, you complain so much, but you fucking love this don’t you? Love being at my mercy with nowhere to go and nothing else to do but get jerked off,” 

You cut off his reply with a snap of the elastic of his boxers against his skin, a gasp parting his pretty lips. And when you finally the tugged the soaked fabric down, you saw his pretty cock was as flushed as his cheeks were — the tip a pretty scarlet, dripping with pearly precum that you were dying to suck off, and the lovely veins that wrapped around his length like a Christmas present you were dying to unwrap. 

“Fuuuuuck, baby—“ he sucks air through his teeth, the rattle of the metal of the cuffs against your bedframe, breath shaky as he watches you with half lidded eyes. you’re still teasing him, fingers tracing along the toned muscles of his inner thighs, so close to where he wants you, but too fucking far, “you g’nna toy with me all night or are you going to give me what we both want?” 

“What we both want?” You raise an eyebrow, and he scoffs, all too confident for a man handcuffed at your will. 

“Know you love getting me to blow my load as much as you love getting off yourself,” and then your fingers wrap around his base and squeeze, head lolling back, lips parted in a groan, hips thrusting into your touch. 

“Think you’re putting too much value on your dick, Suguru,” and your thumb rubs meanly at his weeping slit, making him twitch under your touch, cuffs straining with the way he tugs harder and harder at them, rubbing his wrists raw, “should I show you your place?” 

And you start to pump his rock hard cock slowly, gathering his pre as makeshift lube, before spitting directly onto his dick. 

“You fucker,” he moans, nearly coming right there at the sight — it was too much, tip twitching at the feeling as you continue your excruciatingly slow pace, “don’t be a tease or you know I’ll give it right back to you, but worse,” 

“Oh, I know you will,” you grin back, but oblige him, fisting him faster, his body arching into nearly a crescent as he jerked his hips into your fingers. And god, he’s fuckinh close — you know he is by the way he’s twitching in your hand and groaning your name, “cum f’me, Suguru, cum all over me,” 

And he does, and he cums all over your fingers, pumping him through his orgasm, as his thick release coats your hand, dripping onto the sheets, “fuck, Suguru, you came so much,” you pull your hand away, licking each cum covered digit clean, “gotta do this more often if you’re gonna—“ 

You yelp, as he flips you over onto your stomach, your head turning as he pins you with his body, hardening erection pressed against your ass, holding your broken handcuffs in one hand and pushing his long black locks back with the other, dark eyes half lidded in pleasure and satisfaction—

“You think I’m gonna let this slide Princess?” And he’s teasing your wet entrance with his tip, “better think again,” and he’s handcuffing you to the headboard, both wrists caught as the chain linked through the metal bars of your headboard

“Suguru—“ and the you hear the distinct snap of his phone camera, as he smirks at you when you turn your head to look at him, right as he guides the tip of his cock inside you, a moan leaving your lips. 

“You were wrong sweetheart, maybe I look good handcuffed but you’re perfect.” 

NANAMI KENTO

You were the perfect wife. Kento’s perfect wife. 

Not a single bad word could be uttered about you, whether within his earshot or not, Kento would know — and no one wanted to get on his bad side. Or they would most certainly face a swift punishment with his blunt blade and tie wrapped around his knuckles. 

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t turn the tables on him once in a while. Right? 

It was the perfect anniversary — a day spent together, a dinner shared at a five star restaurant, and now a night spent together in bed. But Kento had done so much for you — he had planned the day and the dinner — so the least you could do is repay the favor with dessert. 

Well, for you anyway. 

“Baby, let me—“ Kento gritted his teeth, straining against his own tie, the one you had lovingly wrapped around his wrists, holding his arms behind his back. 

“You can handle a few more, can’t you, Kento? We still haven’t gotten to seven,” you pressed a kiss to the tip of his oversensitive cock — and fuck, you loved seeing him like this. The always put together, always professional, always business-like ratio sorcerer falling apart from your touch. You loved seeing the way his flush crawled up his neck until his cheekbones were flushed beautifully, the way his pristine hair was mussed and messy from your fingers running through it, and the way his pretty light eyes were dark and colored with lust — just for you. 

And all it took was this — your lithe fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, kissing down his toned chest, paying special attention to every scar, until your hands found your buckle of his belt. You undo his belt with the same practiced ease, tugging down his slacks and boxers at once, until you see his pretty cock. 

Or rather, your dessert. 

How many times had he cum for you? Probably four or five times. 

“Don’t tell me you’re already impatient, husband,” you suck at his weeping tip, making him grunt, thighs tensing as you let him slide past your lips into your warm mouth. And fuck, the heaviness of his cock against your tongue was nearly too much for you, pressing your thighs together, “after how long you spent fucking me last night, shouldn’t I repay the favor?” 

And he had fucked you well — far too well. How many times did he make you beg for it — and yes it may have been at your request, but you also had wanted him to fuck you, fuck you with that dick you loved so much, but he spent so much of the night with his face buried in your cunt, not letting you get off the way you wanted, not until his perfect little wife was a blubbering mess for him. 

So now it’s your turn. 

You wouldn’t let him touch you, not until you had your fun — after all he had his dessert last night, and there’s more than you wanted right now than a stomach full of his cum. 

He grunted, “Fuck sweetheart, how long are you gonna not let me touch you?” And you’re smirking against his length, humming around him, as you begin to bob up and down. And all he can do his watch you with half lidded eyes, “so fucking a mix of his precum and your saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth, “know you must be dripping, want to make you feel good too—“ 

And his sentence is cut off by you sucking hard, his balls grow tense, as he groans your name loudly, before he’s cumming again, thick release coating your throat. You swallow every drop, and each time he came, it was less, but it was still so much. 

He’s panting and straining against his restraints, as you continue to suck and trace his dick through his orgasm, making him keen and moan at your touch, but almost flinch away all the same. 

“Don’t run away from me, Kento,” you pull away from his cock, strings of cum and spit connecting his length to your lips, “my perfect man, there’s nothing more than I love to see you fall apart for me,” you lick your lips clean, palms sliding up his chest, as you lean over him, fingers carding through his blond locks again, before tugging hard, “you deserve to be taken care of, so I’ll let you choose,” he stares up at you, as your lips find his in a bruising kiss, your tongue dragging over the seam of his lips before slipping inside, letting him taste his cum on your mouth, “do you want to cum in my mouth or my cunt this time?” 

His mouth opened, but no words came out for a moment, until he felt your fingers ghost over his overly sensitive cock again, “F-fuck—your cunt, sweetheart, need to be inside you, I can’t wait another—” and you’re on his lap in an instant, his swollen mushroom tip dragging against your sloppy cunt, and with the way he’s looking at you with dark, half lidded eyes, you knew his hands would have split you open on his cock in an instant, calloused palms from using his blunt blade using you as a glorified fuck toy, even as he whispered sweet nothings about how good you felt while fucking you like a whore. 

So you would do the same for him. 

You sunk onto him all at once, letting your hole engulf his length with the same eagerness you always had for him, so fucking good to watch his cock sink inside you, the curve of his length hitting places you could never reach, as if his ratio applied to your cunt too. 

“Wanted this, didn’t you, love?” you ask, cupping his cheek to force him to meet your gaze, “wanted your wife’s pussy this bad? Is it that good for you?” And he’s groaning in reply, as you give a slow bounce, forcing his cock even deeper somehow, and he wants to touch you so bad, wants to grope your tits and squeeze your hips as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips and forced you deeper onto him, “tell me how good it is, Kento, and maybe I’ll let you cum,” 

“It’s good, it’s s’good,” and you’re beginning to fuck yourself open on his cock, fingers finding his broad shoulders as your nails dug pretty crescents into his back as you fucked his dick, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing in his ears, “So perfect, just like you,” he’s not going to last long with how sensitive he is. And he cums just as his tip brushes against your womb, shooting a near blank, as his head falls back, until you’re pulling him back to you to meet in a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, until you fall over the edge, soaking his dick and lap in your juices as you continue to ride him, until you slump against him, panting in his ear, murmuring: 

“Happy anniversary, Kento.” 

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“Fuck, ngh, Sukuna, don’t use—hah—“ 

“You can take it, woman, you have before,” and his fingers fuck deeper into you, while his other hands grope at you — your chest, your hips, your ass, “gotta open you up if you’re gonna take both of my cocks, unless you want me to read you apart,” he’s sinking a third finger inside you, your head falling back, exposing your neck to his lips, leaning down to graze your pulse with his teeth. 

He just loved to do this — fuck you wide open with his fingers, let each of them stretch you out to no end, until you were begging for something else — anything else. 

“Motherfucker,” he’s bullying your cunt open with three of his fingers, but it’s more squeezing than stretching, as your slick drips down his large hand, “you’re gonna break me with your goddamn fingers,” and his other hands tweak your nipples, pinching and twisting them, making you yelp, as the pleasure builds, his fourth hand teasing your abused clit. 

“You’d fucking cum either way, whore,” and you glare for a millisecond until your traitorous cunt climaxes all the same, a long whine parting your lips as he fucks you knuckle deep, knocking at your cervix, through your orgasm, “shit, I see at least your slutty cunt can listen, unlike you,” and he’s still curling and twisting his fingers, before finally pulling them from you as you gasp, pussy aching from his touch, “complaining and yet you pruned my fingers, didn’t you?” he gives a smack to your twitching pussy, drawing another yelp from your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and anger rushing to your lips. 

“Talk awful big for someone who has four fucking arms and that’s the only way you know how to make me cum,” you spit venom without thought of who you’re spitting it at, until your body freezes, as he flips you over with ease, looming over you, all four of those same arms crossed, “Kuna—I—” 

“Is that so, brat? My fingers are the only thing that’s made you cum recently?” you stumble over your words, but his lips only curl into a mean grin, and you know you fucked up, “then let’s see about that,” 

“You can do better than that,” he grunts, a smirk on his lips as he watches you, riding his thigh lamely, drenched cunt making a mess, your slick running down the sides of his leg, “so fucking wet just from rubbing your cunt on me, don’t even to do anything to make my pussy cum, she does that all on her own,” 

You whimper, “Kuna, please—“ and he clicks his tongue. 

“Said you only came from my fingers, didn’t you?” He shows off his tied arms behind his back, the very same he had you tie while your pussy throbbed, wanting nothing more than his fingers stuffed up your hole again, “we gotta fix that, brat. Can’t have you saying I can only get this slutty cunt cumming one way,” he flexes his thigh, making you jerk against it, the wet squelch of your pussy dragging up and down his thigh, until he’s making you ride it, bouncing you on the muscle. 

God, why was every part of his body so fucking big? 

He could feel your puffy clit and lips open wide on his toned thigh, as if he could stuff his whole fucking knee in your hole, and you know he would if he could, but he settles for feeling your sloppy cunt flutter around nothing, slick dripping down his leg. 

He chuckles darkly, watching every movement with you, lidded eyes far too pleased with the view in front of him, “Seems like you don’t even need my help to get you off, do you brat?” he stops his movements, making you whine, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding down on his thigh, “that’s it, whore, need you to fucking soak me — think you’re so good, but when it comes down to it, you just want to be fucked like the rest of them, don’t you?” 

He uses his knee to catch your clit, rubbing meanly against it, and it’s too much, pleasure making your toes curl, as you can only moan his name again and again, “Fuck,” your fingers find purchase on his shoulders, chasing your high, as you fucked yourself open on his thigh. 

“That’s it girl, cum for me, let me see you break,” and he jerks his thigh again right as your cunt grinds down on him at just the right angle that has you seeing stars, “say my name,” 

And you do as you squirt all over his thigh, a gasp ripped from your throat as you moan his name, your eyes burning as your hips can’t stop riding him, seeking that high longer, the squelch of your messy cunt growing louder with every thrust of your hips. 

“Shit, that was a good orgasm, wasn’t it, woman? Much better than my fingers,” he flexes his thigh again, pulling another whine from your throat, legs shaking, but he only hums, as your eyes meet his, desperate and wanting, one that he only meets with a laugh, “practically begging for my cocks now, aren’t you, brat?” but he only clicks his tongue, “straddle me,” 

You hesitate, only for him to jerk his thigh, making you yelp once again, as you shift, and he does the same, moving back onto his plush bed, your cunt rubs against his cocks, soaking him with your slick, but he only smiles. 

“Did you think I would let you fuck my cocks that easily?” he sighs, shaking his head, “since I haven’t given you a proper orgasm, I think I have a lot of making up to do—” and he’s reaching around, slipping from your restraints with ease, “you’ll have to excuse my use of my hand this once, but I promise, I won’t be lifting another finger—” and he guides you forward, until you’re perched on his stomach, your hands splayed on his chest, as his hands slip back behind him. You furrow your brow a moment, lips parting with protest that dies on your lips when his stomach parts open for his large tongue to lap at your cunt, “you made such a mess, woman, now,” he forces you in place with his gaze alone, as his tongue licks the length of your sloppy cunt,  “let’s clean you up, hm?”

CHOSO KAMO

“We don’t have to do this, Cho,” 

You always did anything for him. From the moment you met him, you were the one to dote on him — even with how clueless he was about most things, from holding hands to kissing to even sex — you were willing to take your time, teach him what it meant to love. And he loved you — and he loved this. 

“N-no, I’m fine, it just—hah, it feels so good,” and he looked even better. 

His dark locks were untied as he looked up at you, arms tied in scarlet silk behind his back, much like the blood he manipulated, but instead it was you that was controlling him. The delicate yet strong Shibari knot was nestled at the base of his wrists, deep red against pale skin, more intricate knots climbed the base of his spine until the silk split across his back and winded around the middle of his shoulders towards his neck. 

A knot formed at the base of his neck, right between his collarbone, multiple other loops framed his body, a present not meant to be unwrapped. Knots placed intricately at every pleasure point meaning that even the slightest touch, movement, or even breath would send pleasure thrumming through his body. 

“Doesn’t it feel good to take our time?” Your fingers brushed delicately over a knot placed against his nipple, making him jolt, sending ripples of heat across his body, as the rubbing of the knots sent arousal right to his erection, “you’re always in such a rush, so eager, but now,” your fingers follow the silk down his body, down to the knots settled on either side against the base of his cock, “we can take it slow,”

And he was always quick to have you — from the first time, Choso barely had lasted you grazing his raging hard erection while your lips found his, before spilling all over your fingers. And he had sputtered apologies, cheeks as red as the silk that now bound him, but you had only smiled and asked him if he liked it. He spent the rest of the night spilling over and over again in your cunt, and each time after, he barely needed foreplay, he could cum just by eating you out — all he wanted and needed was to be buried in your cunt. 

But now, he was at your mercy. 

“So pretty, Cho,” you cooed, eyes sliding over him just as sweat slipped down his neck  — he was spread open by the loops of red forcing him into a kneel around his thighs and ankles, even ropes tied around his hips with knots placed perfectly against his inner thighs, “usually I can’t even touch you without you pinning me down, but now I can do all I want,” 

“Please, love, I need—“ and you lean down to kiss the hollow of his throat, fingers toying with the silk between your fingers, and every little movement of the ropes sent pleasure cascading down his body, “ngh, want you—“ 

“What do you want, Choso?” Your fingers work your way down every inch of him, “because there’s so much I can give you—-“ 

“Anything,” he replies, as the knots rub against his leaking cock, precum slipping down his halls, “everything, please I just need—“ and you click your tongue. 

“Still so impatient,” and your touch leaves him, making him whimper, “I guess we’ll have to work on that,” 

“Baby, no, can’t. No more—“ a beautiful symphony of moans leaves his lips, as your lips find his to swallow his protests, a vibrator in hand pressed to the base of his cock, “I can’t—-“ 

“You can cum still, Cho, one more time f’me,” cum is splattered on your carpet, and runs down his dick, “you’re so good for me, such a good boy, aren’t you?” Your praise makes him keen all the same, “know you love this, love feeling good — you’re so needy, probably would just bury your cock in my cunt,” and he’s whining, as your fingers tug on his black locks, your tongue dragging up the side of his throat, before your teeth dig into the soft flesh of your neck, “but we can’t have that, not yet — gotta make you cum so much that just burying you in my pussy is enough to make you cum,”

And you’re turning up the vibrator, and he moans your name, a rush of heat sent right to your cunt. Your eyes watch his dick twitch — he’s more long than thick, his tip flushed an angry red as you work the vibrator up and down. You couldn’t wait to stuff him inside you, feel the curve of his cock reach every inch of your cunt, until he’s fucking your stomach. 

“F-fuck, I’m close—I’m gonna—“ and you turn the vibrator higher, pressing it right between the base of his cock as you tug on the silk right against it, and he’s coming again, with a cry of your name, spilling all over his stomach and chest and the ropes, “sweets, fuck, hah, please, please, I can’t—” 

You ease away the vibrator, the whirring quieting, as he looked up at you with his eyes, violet pupils so dark that they nearly look black, a trickle of his spit slipping from his lips. 

“You did so good, baby, so so good,” and you’re pressing soft kisses to his face, fingers tracing over the hickies you had littered his neck with, “and now tell me what you want baby,”

“I want you, want you to fuck me, need you to—“ and you’re pushing him back, still spread open from the ropes before you settle on top of him, his needy dick already hard from the rubbing from the ropes and the feeling of your wet cunt against him. 

And you grin, before letting his cock split you open, down to the base, making his back arch into you, the twitch of his tip telling you he would cum again in two seconds flat — just as he did for you, “Anything for you, Choso.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji loved it when you were desperate for him. 

And you always nearly were. You had the habit of jumping his bones the minute he made his way back from another bounty, not to mention the times he feigned to be late, you were already an orgasm and half ahead of him in the bedroom, taunting him for being late. And it was the most mundane of things that could turn you on — the simple adjustment of his pants, a smile he flashed you after a joke, lifting his shirt to scratch his stomach, and even running his fingers through his hair. 

Just one of those things would have you tugging him home and neither of you would see the outside of your bedroom for the next two days. 

That being said, when he actually messed with you…well—

“Toji,” you glare at him, gaze a mixture of frustration and lust, “if you tease me on this car ride home, I swear to god—“ 

“Swear what, doll?” He drawled, eyes still fixed on the road, lips pulled into that same smirk he always had, “not like you won’t be able to resist fucking yourself stupid on my dick when we get home,” 

“Fuck off,” you scowl out the window, and his smirk only grows larger, cock stirring in his pants. He loved riling you up — especially when it was so easy, but also because it made him want to fuck you all the same, until you were begging him with glassy eyes and slutty moans. 

It had only started because he saw a man at the store eye you the wrong way. So his hand slid to the small of your back, turning to meet the gaze of the man leering before squeezing your ass, drawing a gasp from your lips and a pout. And he didn’t miss the subtle press of your thighs together as you walked off, the way your eyes lingered on him, dragging down until your teeth bore down on your bottom lip. 

Fuck. And he couldn’t stop. Then it was him pressing up behind you while you were rifling through clothes, letting you feel his half hard erection. And then he was pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck in the changing room when you asked him to zip you up in a dress. 

“That’s exactly what I wanna do, doll,” he turns the corner, “wanna fuck you open with my fingers until you beg me to stop, want our neighbors to hear how I slut you out every night,” your fingers curl into the fabric of your dress, and he knows you must be a mess under that thin fabric, soaking through your panties, “don’t make a fucking mess of your seat, car’s a loaner from Shiu,”

“And who’s fault is it that I’m making a mess in the first place, asshole?” And your husband shrugs, leaning back as he rolls to a stop at the last light before you rolled into your neighborhood. His hand reaches across the console, his large, calloused palm sliding up your bare thigh, until it breaches your edge of your underwear, making your body tense. And the pads of his fingers press against the soaking fabric of panties. 

“Well, who’s the one who’s wet like a whore from a few words right now?” And finally the light turns green, and his hand retreats, instead resting on your thigh, drawing circles on your knee with his thumb, same smug grin on his lips, “almost home, and I’ll shut her up, won’t I?” 

And he would — but you’d shut him up too. 

“Hah, To-ji, fuck, s’good—“ and his lips close around your puffy clit and suck hard, his tongue slipping in and out of your messy hole, “k-knew your mouth was good for something,” and you yelp when you feel his teeth bite your clit, before he’s redoubling his efforts, swirling, sucking, and licking, “not so fucking annoying when your mouth is full,” your moans fill his ears, and he growls against your folds, his wrists bound with a cursed tool that neutralized his strength, one that you had slipped from his collection for a moment like this. 

Shit, he was so fucking hard, and he couldn’t even fist himself, but more than that, he wanted to pin you down, stuff your cunt full of his fingers until you begged for him to stop. His tongue wasn’t enough for his slutty pussy, he wanted to fuck you right — the way he wanted. But if this was the game you wanted to play, he would — his wrists rubbed raw from trying to slip from his restraints — for now. 

He slurps at your sweet cunt, large tongue licking a stripe after stripe up your messy cunt, grinding down, as his nose bumped and dragged against your clit, “Such a fucking slut, soaking my face like this — wanna cum so bad, g’nna tie me up just so you can get yourself off?” 

“Ngh, it’s your fucking fault pulling that shit in the mall, if you hadn’t—” you moan, cutting you off by tongue fucking your cunt open, swallowing every drop of your juices as he bullied your walls open with that sharp tongue of his. 

“It’s not my fault your fucking ass attracts the attention of every freak in sight—” 

You scoff, “Like you?” and he chuckles darkly, making your smirk drop from your lips, as he grinds his face into your folds, his face glossy with your pre, as dark eyes meet yours, and you can feel the smirk against your needy pussy.

“But this is the freak that fucks you isn’t it?” his tongue traces fast circles around your clit, “the freak you beg to fuck you open every night, the one who’s dick you can’t enough of, the one who’s face you’re fucking, isn’t that right, wife?” 

And you’re so fucking close, the way he ate you out was the same way he kissed you, as if he wanted to take you, all of you, until his jaw would ache, until tears ran down your face, until there was nothing left of you for him to taste. 

“Toji, I’m close—I can’t—” and he’s grunting, as he sucks hard on your clit, licking and slurping at your pussy. 

“Cum, make a fucking mess on my face,” and you do, cumming hard as you moan his name, but he continues to eat you out as you ride out your orgasm, not letting a single drop of your juices go to waste — lapping and sucking until you finally stilled, your panting filling the silence of the room. 

Until you heard a rip. 

And then you were on your back, ripped up parts of the cursed tool tossed aside, as Toji grinned down at you, lips and chin still shiny with your release, as his pink tongue darted out to collect it. 

“Toji—I—” and he’s smirking down at you, tilting his head, as he forces your thighs apart to reveal your all too sensitive folds, “ngh, please, I can’t—” 

He clicks his tongue, licking his lips agai, “Now, lemme show you how much of a freak I am, doll.”

✧ a/n: this was an anon request i got a while back and i've had gojo's written for so long, but i got hit hella by writer's block and imposter's syndrome so, well here it is now :). this is to tide you guys over as i work through some larger projects