#“bet you’d cry if I died”

[spoiler-alert-andabunchofnumbers]

Okay I read unofficial translations but of course I bought the official translation of Thousand Autumns and I just gotta say - does anyone else think Yan Wushi’s entire battle with Hulugu was a setup?

No, not like he was faking the duel and set something up with Hulugu. I mean he KNEW he could defeat Hulugu and the only question was how badly he’d be hurt in the process. Like if he’d be walking it off or if he’d actually collapse. Even that, he had a pretty good idea of how it would end.

Because rereading the whole series, once he becomes determined to win over Shen Qiao, Yan Wushi’s already confusing personality becomes even more misleading now that he knows he’s teasing Shen Qiao into the inevitable. We’re stuck primarily in Shen Qiao’s mind, and whenever we get a glimpse of Yan Wushi’s mind, it’s almost always to say "He was saying this, but actually he felt this and was having so much fun seeing Shen Qiao be so easily tricked." Once you’ve reread his actions multiple times over, you realize...like, he knew.

He knew he would beat Hulugu. Whether it was because of the power of love or just because of his own arrogance, he never went into the battle thinking he might lose. Any and all of his suggestions that he might actually die were for Shen Qiao’s sake, to taunt the man into realizing that he was worried about Yan Wushi - to actually admit he didn’t want Yan Wushi to die.

He joked about making bets only when he didn’t know the outcome because that was the only way things were fun, which may have had some truth to it, but then he also set up the massive betting pool to not be in his favor so that when he DID win, he ended up getting a massive payout. Like we call that illegal in our modern day, like manipulating the stock market.

Yan Wushi has been a terrible pessimist and misanthrope since he was very young. He has never trusted anyone (until Shen Qiao) to ever do something honorable or noble when they thought they could control him. Therefore, Yan Wushi very rarely EVER goes into anything without knowing his odds and his escape plan even when if he does fail (see the epilogue story "The Past" for an example). I think the only time he really bet his life was the 5-1 fight where he genuinely didn’t think Shen Qiao would survive his betrayal, let alone rush to his side to save his life.

Compared to that, even against Hulugu? Pfft, it sounds like he's just playing with Shen Qiao from the very beginning.

He announced his challenge when Shen Qiao went to Xuandu Mountain - implying it's for Shen Qiao’s sake, tugging at his heartstrings.

He tells or lies to Bian Yanmei to convince Shen Qiao that the flaws in his demonic core haven’t healed and his battle against Xueting weakened him. Oh no! Now Shen Qiao is even more worried! (Shen Qiao can’t tell just by taking his pulse alone, mystery, is he really okay???)

This also makes us all completely gloss over the fact that both Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao had gained access to the final volume of the Zhuyang Strategy thanks to Xueting’s defeat - if we count them battling one another as exchanging the volumes they never see in person. The Zhuyang Strategy. You remember that thing? That thing whose true qi kept Shen Qiao alive after getting poisoned and beaten to near-death on numerous occasions? Just that thing, no biggie.

Yan Wushi denies both of the former points and says "No I challenged him for my own amusement actually, it has nothing to do with you, and also Bian Yanmei doesn’t know what he’s ralking about I’m fiiiine see?", but Shen Qiao thinks he’s downplaying or lying to spare his feelings - something Shen Qiao would believe he’d do only if he believed for a second that Yan Wushi DOES in fact care about him.

He takes Shen Qiao out gambling to further emphasize that he enjoys leaving things to fate (making us *Shen Qiao* forget the fact that he’s a meticulous planner and intelligent strategist who puts the odds in his favor and always gets what he wants even when he loses). Funny detail that Shen Qiao was (unintentionally or not) rigging the game so that he won, because his natural personality likes having control over things even if his entire journey losing his power demonstrated that he’s very competent at just dealing with misfortune without overreacting. Though they believe different things, the two really are cut from the same stubborn cloth.

Yan Wushi also makes Shen Qiao see the gambling dens where people are betting against Yan Wushi, thanks in part to a certain Yi Pichen’s comments on the matter. Shen Qiao is NOT having feelings or anything, what are you talking about, he’s not worried about this guy he absolutely does not feel attracted to, but uh...those people don’t know you well enough to place their bets correctly, am I right?

Yan Wushi KOs Shen Qiao to make him miss most of the fight to terrify Shen Qiao into thinking he might MISS Yan Wushi’s potential death match, oh no! Come on, I don’t believe Yan Wushi wasn’t skilled enough to have precisely sealed his sleep accupoint or whatever so that Shen Qiao has JUST enough time to catch him near the end of the duel.

Yan Wushi was definitely injured by Hulugu, there’s no denying it. Even when he fights other powerful characters, he’s not a Mary Sue, he still does take damage and admits that he has to push himself to actually kill other grandmasters like Yuan Xiuxiu. However, after the battle with the 5 guys, Yan Wushi absolutely knew his odds and how much it actually takes to crack his skull open. He also knows that Shen Qiao has seen him nearly dead before and will absolutely be using that to freak him out further and convince Shen Qiao he might actually be dead.

He probably DID need Shen Qiao’s medicinal pills to help him, but Yan Wushi was basically guaranteed to have survived and just waiting for Shen Qiao to say he’d "Do anything" before he woke up again. Like does that not sound like a Yan Wushi thing to do? I’m half convinced he stopped his own heart and breathing with a technique (there’s a turtle-breathing technique in the Donghua, something like that to fake it for JUST long enough for Shen Qiao to freak out) or was planning to do so if Hulugu didn’t manage to fuck him up enough for it to be convincing.

The fact that he’s still able to joke around kissing Shen Qiao then loudly complaining about how much pain he’s in automatically tells us he’s not doing as bad as when his head got cracked open. He’s fiiiine.

Then we get the gambling reveal where Huanyue Sect made a few casinos go bankrupt and he sends a fifth of it to Yi Pichen and the Chunyang Monastery as a thanks for essentially rigging the bets.

Yan Wushi tells Yu Shengyan that Shen Qiao already loves him, he’s just too prideful to admit it, and then later sets up the whole scenario in the epilogues - YES IT'S ALL A SET UP - just to get Shen Qiao to have the courage to confess.

In conclusion, Yan Wushi knew what the fuck he was doing, he fought Hulugu primarily to fuck with Shen Qiao and just also happening to get some other things out of it too on the side. Ya boi wanted to force Shen Qiao to realize how much he cares about Yan Wushi in return. And kill a bitch while earning some street cred, but that’s beside the point.

I had no pictures to add for this rant, maybe I’ll add them later, it’s 2am thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[kissenturine]

𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 tartaglia x m!reader — 3.8k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: amab reader, reader is a dom at first then switches halfway through, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie, light feminization (childe says pussy once), use of good boy amongst other pet names, light degradation, praise (for both reader and childe), childe sucks reader's dick, childe also eats reader's ass, cockwarming (childe can't take it LMAO), no aftercare written but it is given, childe licks ur fingers to clean them, mating press, dirty talk. lmk if i missed any!

KAI SAYS: almost 4k words of pure smut haha but like omg i wrote this so late at night with my tip so pls spare me AND!!! this is my return post so...

Tartaglia knows you’re doing it on purpose now, because how can you not be? He whimpers, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as he feels you clench around him. “Baby, please.” He whines out, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I-I can’t—baby, it’s been thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes he’d been buried to the hilt in you; his dick hard and twitching as it stuffes you full.

Tartaglia whines. He could faintly hear the sound of you taking a deep breath, but that’s not what he was focusing on. No, he was focusing more on the way you squeeze him as you inhale. It was on purpose, he knew you couldn’t just be faking this.

With a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves, Tartaglia pressed his thumbs into the joysticks of his console again. “I…” He murmurs softly into the skin of your neck. “I don’ think I can beat this level.”

“No.” You coo in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours. “You can.”

Tartaglia nods his head, your encouragement helping lift his mood somewhat. But, true to his word, he dies yet again. Tartaglia lets out a pathetic whine when he’s greeted with the ‘You Died!’ Screen for the nth time tonight. This bet was made specifically with his torture in mind. You knew he would never beat this level, so to “motivate” him, as you put it, you would sit nice and still on his sensitive cock until he beat it.

“Can’t you move just a little, please.” Tartaglia begs, his dignity long gone. You’re evil for this, he thinks, but all of that is lost when you shift your hips slightly, his mind going blank at just the smallest friction.

He feels his tip bump your prostate, and Tartaglia knows he’s hit it when you moan out, your mouth right by his ear as his fingers press harshly against the buttons of his game console. “P-please!” He whines again. “I-I need you t’move, just a little, just a little, please.”

“Maybe, if you last another thirty minutes, I’ll consider it.” You hum, and Archons Tartaglia thinks he's losing his mind with the way your breath trickles over his ear. “But, if you make it through the level…” Your voice trails off, but Tartaglia knows what you meant.

If he makes it through the level, Tartaglia could finally fuck you. Push you against the bed, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, maybe make you sit on his face until you cry. The options, at least to him, are endless.

You trail your hand over the neck of his shirt, and Tartaglia’s eyes dart from the screen to you. You, all dressed up in your white lace panties and thigh highs, with your chest arched against his chest and here he was, still fully clothed.

Well, only thanks to you.

You, like the cruel man you are, wouldn’t let Tartaglia strip. You’d forced him to watch as you changed, stripping off your pyjamas and slipping on the lace lingerie while he sat there, half sure he was drooling. And then you’d gone and pressed him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit as you pulled out his leaking dick, not even bothering to pull his sweats all the way down. Then you sat your pretty hole on his dick, and Tartaglia couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way your ass practically swallowed him whole.

And then, began this whole ordeal of pure torture.

You’re sat on his lap, facing Tartaglia as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks over your body and behind you to the console gripped tightly in his hands.

Tartaglia’s eyes dart to you, and they widen as he watches you shift on his dick, your tip forcing its way over the hem of your panties, now drooling pre all over his shirt. Tartaglia squeezes his eyes shut. You press a kiss right under his ear and Tartaglia twitches inside you. You let out a lewd moan and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore.

Not another thirty minutes, or another five.

Tartaglia’s hands shake, and he’s forced to watch his in-game character die again. “Fuck…” He whispers, trying not to roll his hips into your heat. “I… You’re torturing me. Can’t take this.” He whines.

You shake your head. “C’mon, baby.” You coo, using the nickname Tartaglia always uses for you. It sounds almost mocking the way it slips from your pretty lips, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “You might wanna hurry up, or I’ll have to pull out my old dildo to help me…”

No! Tartaglia thinks, and he voices such thoughts with the aggressive shake of his head against you. I can do better than a stupid dildo!

“P-Please don’t.” he says weakly. “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Tartaglia starts to concentrate on his console once again, doing his best to ignore the squeeze of your ass and the warmth of your walls.

Your tip drools pre across his shirt, twitching gently against the fabric. Tartaglia’s mouth waters. He wants to taste you, wants to bury his face between your thighs and lick every drop up. It’s an indulgence he wants to become reality more than anything.

“Can I at least touch you, please?" he asks desperately, gaze not leaving your tip. Tartaglia wants to be closer to you, to have a hand on your soft skin, to play with your dick that was so close to the cumming. He’s ready to do anything in order to make you cum, to feel you pulse around his dick. He’s losing his mind, and the game was the least of his worries. Tartaglia wants you.

"Touch me before you finish the level, and there'll be consequences." You hum. "And trust me, if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I have in mind." you press your lips gently against Tartaglia’s neck, trailing from his adam's apple to that sweet spot right under his ear. "I'm sure you'd deprive some sick form of enjoyment from that, though."

Tartaglia whimpers at the threat. He doesn’t know what would be worse: the current situation or the punishment you offer. Sick form of enjoyment… His mind echoes. He would most likely enjoy anything you gave him right now.

And like an answer to his prayers, you shift on his dick again. Tartaglia watches as your tip pokes above the fabric of your lace panties, even higher than before. The used-to-be white was now a dark grey with the way your pre had stained and wet through the fabric. Your panties were completely soaked through, the bulge from your dick covered in pre from your leaking tip, poking just above the hem.

Slowly, you tug your dick out of the panties, making sure to slather your fingers in your precum before pressing them against Tartaglia’s lips. "Clean them up." You whisper, and the sound of your voice almost makes him melt.

The instant your fingers press against his lips, Tartaglia is eagerly licking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling your digits around and coating them in his spit. He didn’t hesitate to continue sucking on your fingers, despite knowing they were already clean enough.

“Such an eager boy,” You murmur as you yank your fingers from Tartaglia's lips. There’s a string of drool that connects your hand to his pouty lips as he gives you another pleading look.

“Will you let me touch you now?” He begs, “Please, I’ve been so good for you!” Tartaglia licks his lips, savouring the faint taste of you. He wants more, he wants to grab you by the waist and bury his face between your thighs and suck you off until you’re nothing but a mess inside his mouth.

You bring your fingers back down to your dick, swiping them over your tip and harshly pressing them against Tartaglia’s mouth. “Suck.” You command in a harsh voice, completely ignoring his previous question.

Tartaglia’s lips go back around your fingers again. He doesn’t need to be told twice when you’re the one telling him. He easterly laps at your fingers, ignoring the drool that threatens to spill from the corner of his lips. You press your fingers down against his tongue and he chokes lightly, lifting his blue eyes to meet yours,

When you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth, Tartaglia buries his head into your neck about to ask to touch you again—only for you to beat him to it. “You get two minutes to touch me, but you can only use your hands.” You start. “And, we have to stay in this position. No pulling out or thrusting." You press a kiss against Tartaglia’s lips. "Think of it as... encouragement to finish the level faster."

Tartaglia nods happily at your words, pulling off your neck to get a better view of you. “Thank you—thank you, baby, needed this.” He slurs as his eyes rake down your exposed body before honing in on your sensitive cock. He wishes you’d let him lick that instead of your fingers, but you were clear on your rules for the two minutes.

Tartaglia has two minutes, a whole two minutes to make you feel good. There’s no way he’s let them go to waste.

He wastes no time when the game is finally paused. Tartaglia cups your balls gently, feeling the weight of them in his palm. He massages them slowly, his thumb rubbing up and down the underside of your dick, feeling the warmth and the leaking pre that slipps down your shaft. Tartaglia knows nothing can make you cum in this position, but he can make you squirm, he can tease you.

His other hand wanders up, his fingers ghosting over your skin, drawing circles around your nipples before pinching them gently. He wants to hear you moan, to see you writhe. Tartaglia needs to know he was pleasing you. He gazes at your face, waiting to see a reaction, anything to show that he’s making you feel good.

Your eyes roll back and your dick twitches hard against Tartaglia’s hand. “T-Tartaglia…!” You moan out, your back arching into his chest. Tartaglia’s fingers pull gently at you nipples, tweaking and twisting the nubs between his thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes roll back and Tartaglia whines at the sight, sliding his thumb faster up and down your dick, rolling it over your tip before sliding it against your slit.

He feels your hole clench around his dick, and Tartaglia has to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stop himself from bucking into you. He’s about to roll his hand again when it’s suddenly pushed away from your leaking dick. You yank his hands off your nipples too, panting as you do. “Two minutes have passed.” You mumble.

Tartaglia knows you were close from the way you sounded to the way you jerked your hips into his hand. “I’m sorry.” He whines, sounding like he’s carrying the weight of the world in his heart.

With a deep breath, Tartaglia focuses back on the game again, he hopes that this time he’ll finally beat the level. He’s determined, he wants to make you cum, to please you. He needs to win.

You slump against his shoulder, clearly needy. Tartaglia sucks in a breath. You were so close. He thinks. His focus turns back to the game, moving the joystick and pressing the rounded buttons as skillfully as he can manage with you taking his cock to the hilt,

Tartaglia feels you lean forward, your hands dipping under the hem of his shirt. “I wanna see you…” You whine and his face flushes. Tartaglia doesn’t have time to respond before the game console is slipping from his hands and you’re tugging his shirt off his figure.

Another eternity passes as Tartaglia picks up the console once again, doing his best to beat the level. He closes his eyes—just about to give up when the victory music blasts throughout the bedroom. “Finally—fuck, fuck, baby.” Tartaglia groans, tossing the console and pouncing on you.

His lips press against yours, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. Tartaglia is kissing you harshly, his lips flush against yours as your tongue gently swirls with his.

He pulls away after a minute, both of your faces flushed and panting. “I-I’m sorry it took me so long.” Tartaglia apologizes. He wants to please you, make you cum, see you lose control just because of him. He was desperate to feel you squirm against him, he wants to see the way your face would twist in pleasure when he fucks you just right.

Tartaglia slowly pulls out, hissing as he leaves your comforting warmth and is met with the harsh, cold outside air.

“Let me take you, please…” He begs, his eyes filled with desire and the need to have you. Tartaglia wanted you—no, needed you. His hand wanders back to your dick, wrapping his palm around your shaft and quickly jerking you up and down at a messy pace.

Tartaglia would do anything to have you come undone on his dick.

“Uh-huh.” You whine, and Tartaglia thinks it’s cute how all your confidence diminishes the instant you're offered some dick.

He watches you twist your body to lay flat against the bed on your back. Slowly, your legs splay into the air before you pull them back and bend them at your knees. Your ass, all empty and clenching around nothing, is now fully exposed to Tartaglia. Your hole is stretched already, from the much too long of a time you spent just sitting on his dick. Your own cock lays across your tummy, twitching and drooling uselessly,

Tartaglia sucks in a breath at the sight of your hole. His dick is throbbing at the sight, pressing angrily against his tummy, so hard and needy. He wants to do nothing more than bury himself inside you, to feel your warm muscle clench around him once more.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a kneeling position right in front of you. Tartaglia dips his head to your ass, pressing light kisses across the curve of your thighs. He trails his mouth down to your dick, taking the tip into his mouth. His eyes roll back at the feeling of finally having you in his mouth. Tartaglia sucks harshly, bobbing his head up and down your length. He runs his tongue over the underside of your shaft.

Tartaglia swirls his tongue around your overly sensitive tip, watching and depriving pure enjoyment of the way your hips buck into his mouth messily. You throw an arm over your face, trying to muffle your breathless moans and flushed face. Tartaglia gives you a harsh suck for warning, letting you know that if you don’t remove your hand now, things would get worse.

You, of course, comply, pushing your hand to the sheets and clenching them in your fist.

Tartaglia hums happily, the vibrations travelling across your shaft. He feels you twitch in his mouth and your legs thrash beside his head, squeezing and pulsing by his ears as he goes faster, making sure to let the drool spill from his lips as he moves his head.

Tartaglia pushes his lips down to your base bringing a hand to fondle your balls gently and you whine, your back arching off the bed. Your hand goes to tangle itself into Tartaglia’s hair, pushing your dick deeper down his throat. “I—holy shit—I’m c-close!” You whine, and that was enough of a signal to pull off your dick.

Tartaglia smears kisses across your ass, ignoring your desperate whines and cries, before eventually leading to your puffy hole, all nice and stretched for him. He’s quick to bury his mouth against you, already feeling his brain go mushy at the feeling. His tongue slips into you easily, and you whine at the feeling.

Tartaglia fucks his tongue into you with great fervour, not even caring for his hard dick. All he can think about is the taste of you on his tongue, the way your hole clenches down so nicely against his mouth and those sweet, sweet moans of: “M-More, please, need you so bad!” That slip from your lips and get his hips rocking his dick into the side of the mattress.

Tartaglia’s tongue pushes and prods into you, again and again until he hears you moan loudly. His eyes dart up, barely able to catch the way your back arches. Your legs shake around him yet again, your thighs squeezing around his ears, which only drives him to thrust his tongue into you further. Drool slips down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is to taste you again, and again, because, fuck, if he died right here, between your thighs, he would die a happy man.

“Right there!” You cry, Your legs threatening to squeeze tightly on Tartaglia’s head. He pushes his tongue in again, thrusting it in and out of your hole with a scary precision, making sure he hits your prostate every time.

“O-Oh, my—fuck, can’t take it!” You whine and he smirks against your tightening hole. “I need you, please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!” You’re a complete mess, babbling nonsense as he eats you out, eyes rolling back and legs shaking in ecstasy,

All it took was him shoving a finger in, curling it in time with his tongue, for you to cum. Tartaglia eagerly pulls off your ass, watching as your dick twitches against your tummy and ropes of cum shoot from your member. He waits until you're finished before pressing his face against the mess you just made and licking it clean.

Tartaglia looks up at you from his position against your belly. “I….” He whines. “I’m still hard.” He gives an apologetic smile before going back to his first position in front of the bed, this time standing up. He lifts your collapsed legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he slaps his cock beside your limp one.

As quickly as he can, Tartaglia grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and smears it all over his shaft. “Help me out, pretty boy.” He whines and you whimper at the nickname. Slowly, you push yourself onto your elbows just enough to push your hand to his dick and help him spread the lube.

Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to continue once you start, only throwing his head back with a loud groan. “That’s it, o-oh, archons you’re good at this.” His eyes squeeze shut and Tartaglia has to stop himself from cumming on the spot for the nth time tonight. He doesn’t even bother to lube your hole, only murmuring a sweet, “This pussies wet enough for me, right?” before he’s pressing a messy kiss to your neck.

“Not a pussy.” You slur, but he doesn't take any mind.

“D-Don’t worry, baby.” Tartaglia coos as he presses his thick tip against your weak hole. “Promise it’ll feel so good…” He wants to be inside you, to make you come again and again.

And suddenly, he’s halfway in, the thick of Tartaglia’s shaft being swallowed almost whole by your pretty ass was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. You whine lowly, back instinctively arching into him, forcing yourself deeper onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, look what you do t’me.” He groans, pulling out so it’s just his tip stuck in your pretty, clenching hole. Tartaglia fucks his tip into you, watching it messily slide out then in, then out then in, over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and can’t help but want more.

Tartaglia—like the pathetic man he knows he is—can’t take it anymore. He pushes in fully, but just before he does, spits a large glob of drool from his lips to the tip of your spent cock watching it twitch under the feeling. He laughs, watching your dick twitch back to life. “And to think you get off to me spitting on you.” He murmurs, before finally thrusting in fully, in one, harsh movement.

The moan you let out is so pretty and high, and Tartaglia can feel his balls grow heavy at the sound. Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the lewd squelch of his dick pressing in, in, in and against your prostate, his tip knocking easily at it.

Tartaglia pistons his hips into you, basking in the moans and pleas for “more, more, more!” that slipped from your pretty lips. He’s pounding into you, and Tartaglia watches your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands shake as you desperately reach out to grab onto the sheets for leverage as he pushes your legs up, leaning down onto your body as he forces you into a mating press.

And, oh, Tartaglia feels like he just slipped so much deeper into you, and with the way your walls squeeze and clench and you moan his name like a mantra—Tartaglia is sure he’s just died and reached heaven.

His thrusts start to lose their rhythm, but they still manage to fill you up so much that, before Tartaglia can process what’s happening, you're crying out, your ass clenching so tightly against him he thinks he sees stars.

“I—I’m close, ‘m so close!” You cry and Tartaglia can’t help but bury his face into your neck as he thrust into your ass.

“Me too, baby.” He whimpers out. Tartaglia reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones, before letting out a loud moan. “Together, please, baby, cum together.”

And you’re eagerly nodding your head, a mix of “yes” and “please” leaving your lips. Tartaglia isn’t even pulling out anymore, just knocking his hips against yours—no rhythm or pattern, just instinct as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cummin’ o-oh—fuck!” You whine and Tartaglia instantly does too, feeling the way your dick spurts thick ropes of white onto your chest and his only drives him to the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can before collapsing onto you, pressing his full weight onto his hips. Tartaglia shoots a thick load of his seed into your awaiting hole, whining in content as he feels you milk his cock, squeezing down on him.

You’re panting, laying on the bed with Tartaglia pressed on top of you. His arms snake around your waist, tugging and twisting your connected bodies so that he’s spooning you, his chin resting on top of you’re head.

After a minute of rest, Tartaglia’s arms squeeze around your waist. “Love you, so much.” He murmurs tiredly.

“Promise?” You giggle back, despite the feeling of your exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.

“Always an’ forever.” Tartaglia whispers sweetly. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you bask in the afterglow in each other’s arms. “I’ll love you, always and forever.”

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[logos0]

From Ice to Fire

Leah Williamson x Reader Enemies to Lovers | Happy Ending

The wheels of the plane touched down at Heathrow, and the hum of the engines died as you peered out the window at the grey skies over London. It was a far cry from the snow-dusted landscapes of Scandinavia that you called home. But here you were, ready to embark on the next chapter of your footballing career. Arsenal FC had been a dream for years, and now you were one of their newest signings.

As you stepped out of the taxi at the training grounds, nerves prickled at your skin. You had achieved so much to get here, yet a voice at the back of your mind whispered that the hardest part was still to come. Meeting the team, proving your worth, adapting to the intensity of English football—all of it loomed large.

The team welcomes you warmly on your first day at Meadow Park. The first person to greet you was Beth Mead, her grin wide and her energy infectious. "Ah, the new signing! Heard you’ve got a killer left foot. Let’s hope it’s true." Vivianne Miedema followed with a calm nod, and Kim Little, the captain, offers a handshake that carries a quiet authority. But then there’s Leah Williamson.

The Lionesses’ captain greets you with a polite, almost perfunctory nod. Her reputation precedes her: confident, charismatic, a born leader. But something about her intensity feels off. The Lionesses’ captain carried herself with a quiet intensity. Her eyes assessed you from head to toe, and her polite nod felt more like a formality than genuine welcome.

For the rest of the day, her presence loomed. During the first drills, she was the one who barked out directions, corrected positioning, and, more than once, seemed to single you out for criticism.

"You need to stay tighter to your mark," she said sharply after a defensive drill.

You clenched your jaw. "Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you’d tracked your runner."

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension.

It was going to be a long season.

Your integration into the squad is smooth… except when it comes to Leah. The rivalry between you two grew over the weeks. On the surface, everything seemed fine. You worked well enough together during games and even exchanged the occasional word of praise when necessary. But in training, it was a different story. She seemed to find faults in everything you do. A misplaced pass? She’s the first to point it out. A moment’s hesitation on the field? She’s already barking instructions.

"That’s not how we press here," Leah said during one particularly gruelling session, her tone clipped. "Maybe in Scandinavia, you can take your time," she snaps after one particularly tense drill, "but here, we move fast."

You wiped sweat from your brow, shooting her a glare. "I’ve been playing football since I could walk. I think I know how to press."

"Not in the WSL, you don’t," she snapped back. You glare at her, chest heaving from exertion. "Maybe if you passed the ball sooner, I wouldn’t have to clean up your mistakes."

The tension between you was palpable, and the team could feel it. Beth smirked knowingly, muttering, "Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch."

During the next weeks, your Scandinavian coolness continued to clash with her fiery intensity at every turn. The team, much to your dismay, seemed to find your friction entertaining. Beth Mead started taking bets on when the two of you would finally explode, and even the usually reserved Vivianne Miedema would smirk when you and Leah squared off during drills.

It wasn’t that you disliked her—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But her constant nitpicking, her relentless need to push, got under your skin like no one ever had before.

And yet, you couldn’t help but notice her. The way she commanded the field with such confidence, the way she celebrated every goal like it was her first, the way her laugh—rare as it was—lit up the room during team dinners.

But noticing wasn’t the same as liking.

One evening after training, you stayed late to practice free kicks. The floodlights cast long shadows across the empty pitch as you lined up ball after ball, aiming for the top corner.

"You don’t rest much, do you?"

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Leah leaning against the goalpost, arms crossed.

"And you don’t know when to leave people alone," you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

To your surprise, she didn’t respond with a snarky remark. Instead, she grabbed a ball and joined you. The two of you fell into a rhythm, each taking turns at the goal. There was an unspoken competition in the air, but it felt different this time—less antagonistic, more playful.

When you finally stopped, both of you breathless, Leah gave you a small, genuine smile. "You’re not bad," she said.

"Coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment," you replied, earning a quiet laugh.

For the first time, the tension between you seemed to ease.

The match against Chelsea was a turning point. Arsenal was down 1-0, and the clock was running out. You intercepted a pass from Sam Kerr and drove forward, weaving through defenders before threading the ball to Leah, who was perfectly positioned. She scored with a thunderous strike, and the stadium erupted.

Before you knew it, Leah was running toward you, a wide grin on her face. She wrapped her arms around you, her excitement contagious. "That was all you," she said breathlessly, her forehead briefly touching yours.

For the first time, her words felt entirely sincere, and something shifted between you.

After the Chelsea game, the team celebrated with a night out. You found yourself seated next to Leah, and to your surprise, the conversation flowed easily. She asked about your life in Scandinavia, and you told her about the snowy winters, the northern lights, and the small village where you first fell in love with football.

"You’re full of surprises," she said softly, her eyes searching yours.

"So are you," you replied, feeling a warmth you hadn’t expected.

A few weeks later, after a late-night training session, you and Leah ended up alone on the balcony of the team’s hotel. The city lights glittered below as silence stretched between you.

"I was wrong about you," Leah said finally, her voice quiet.

You turned to her, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you were just another hotshot here to make a name for yourself. But you’re more than that. You care about the team. You push me to be better." She hesitated, her usual confidence faltering. "And I… I think I like you."

Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

"I like you too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned closer, her hand brushing yours. When she kissed you, it was soft and tentative, as though testing the waters. But when you kissed her back, it was with all the passion and fire that had burned between you from the start.

The shift from enemies to lovers wasn’t seamless. You still bickered during training, but now it was laced with humour rather than hostility. The team noticed the change immediately.

"You two are ridiculous," Beth teased one day. "Just get a room already."

Leah rolled her eyes, but her hand found yours under the table.

On the field, your partnership flourished. Leah’s leadership and your creativity drove the team to new heights, and Arsenal climbed to the top of the league. Off the field, your bond deepened through late-night conversations, stolen moments, and an unspoken understanding that you had found something rare.

The season ended with Arsenal lifting the trophy. As confetti rained down, Leah pulled you into her arms, her smile brighter than ever.

"We make a good team," she said, her forehead resting against yours.

"We always did," you replied with a grin.

In that moment, surrounded by your teammates and the deafening cheers of the crowd, you knew this was just the beginning—for Arsenal, for your career, and for you and Leah.

From enemies to lovers, from ice to fire—you had found your home.

[saerins]

─── 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 4k | content: angst, best friends to lovers to strangers type beat, i did not proof this besties

notes: lmao me , thinking i could get away from this man . guess who’s back with more sae ??? <3

summary: you’re the one sae can’t get over. he’s beginning to think he never will.

the freshly cooked bread is on the floor. it litters the nice marble tiles. the chit of paper with the order writes mr. rin hatoki.

“i'm tired of this, sae.”

sae doesn't say a word. he's listless, sitting on the kitchen table, staring at his own reflection on the glass, wondering where it all went wrong.

“why don't you love me anymore?”

it's weird. he can hear the sorrow. he can feel the pain. yet he feels nothing.

“what does she have that i don’t?”

maybe you're right. maybe he's an asshole. maybe this is his punishment.

the first time sae laid eyes on you, you were five and he was six.

he saw you playing with rin on the slides, and he remembers the way you smiled at him when rin told you sae was his older brother.

and even back then, even if it was a tiny crush based on superficial reasons like how sae liked your smile or your eyes or the way your hands felt on his when you locked hands and forced him to play with you and rin, he remembers you mocking rin and calling sae nii-chan.

sae remembers how he cringed inside because no. no no, he didn’t want you calling him that because that wasn’t what he wanted you to know him for. he didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but definitely not an older brother.

"itoshi-kun!"

“sae,” he corrected you, watching as you ran up to him on the field.

he loved the soft smile you wore on when you heard him. he especially loved the first time you said his name.

“sae.”

the first time he saw you cry, it was when you scraped your knee after some boys accidentally pushed you over.

you were nine.

sae scared them away afterwards.

you weren’t exactly sobbing—he found out you were funny like that, like you wanted to cry but didn’t want to let anyone see. but it was frustrating because sae wasn’t just anyone. or so he liked to think.

“get on,” sae told you, getting down on one knee with his back turned to you.

“what?” you sniffled, vision still blurry from your would-be tears.

sae craned his neck to look back at you, a faint smile on his face. “come on, i’ll carry you home.”

“i’m not weak, you know,” you argued, and sae would’ve told you to just accept his offer when he realised you already did, obediently climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms around his neck.

it was a relatively silent walk back. sae could hear the rapid beating of your heart though.

maybe it was a tiny crush too. the kind that stuck with you for three years and four months and threatened to stick with you for the rest of your life.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

a pregnant pause. you held him tighter before ultimately loosening your grip.

“mm, nothing.”

sae really wanted to hear you. but he let it go.

it was torture, really—you were fifteen when you got your first boyfriend. some guy called oliver aiku. who looked way too old for you, by the way, but fine, if you said he was only a year older than sae, who was he to question you?

sae hated it, really. watching you at the swings, laughing along with him, watching oli feed you ice cream. and you said oliver was a good striker too? sae bet he was better.

what did he have that sae didn’t?

and sae thought he’d love to witness the day when the two of you broke up. but he never counted on the fact that you’d be a mess when your heart was broken.

you ignored sae and rin for a couple of weeks, choosing to stay isolated, refusing to see anyone. you weren’t even replying sae’s texts.

[17:34] hey y/n, pick up the phone, idiot.

[17:34] rin misses you.

okay so that last part was a lie, but it was fine, rin didn’t have to find out.

[17:35] hey sae. :)

[17:35] hmm… so you don’t miss me?

sae had to do a double take at your text. since when did you become this cheeky? he didn’t even know why he was suppressing a smile.

it took him less than a minute before he got up.

[17:36] maybe.

[17:37] be at your place in 10, let’s get ice cream.

funny how he wanted to replace all of oliver’s memories. sae wanted you to lick the ice cream that he was holding. sae wanted you to play on the swings with him. everything him, no other stupid boys who would make you cry, who didn’t deserve you.

that was exactly what sae did—asked you what you did with oliver. you’d answer him, and he’d do the exact same with you, and he’d rewrite all the memories you thought would be so hard to forget, the very same memories you thought would be impossible to replace. yet sae did it, replaced the bad with the good.

sae wasn’t a mind reader, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking as he got you ice cream and fed it to you, couldn’t tell if you liked how he walked with his arm around your shoulder. couldn’t tell if you knew what he was doing.

he wished that you knew how he felt—then that’d make one of you. because sae had no clue.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

he got deja vu there.

and this time, you continued.

“do you do this for other girls too?”

sae nearly choked on that question because no, he didn’t do nearly as much for other people in general. you were the only one he’d ever put this much effort to.

“no.”

he can still remember your little smile to this day. it was pretty, even prettier since it was because of him. it was like a silent knowledge you both shared—you didn’t want him to do that for other girls, and he didn’t want to share you with other boys.

simple, but complicated. complicated because you were both shit at feelings and shit at admitting but it was still beautiful, if only because neither of you ever strayed.

back then.

“what about a house?”

“i’ll buy you the nicest, cosiest one there is.”

“anywhere in the world?”

sae nodded. “anywhere you want.”

“i want to open a bakery one day. you gonna help me with that?”

“i’ll help you with anything you want.”

you giggled. “yeah? you and what money, sae?”

he rolled his eyes, resting his head against his palm, elbow propped up on your study table. “when i become the best soccer player in the world, genius.”

sae flicked your forehead gently, as he remembers he liked to, smiling softly when you winced in faux pain.

it’s funny how comfortable he felt talking about shit like that with you, only half-joking. it was an innocent conversation on how sae said he would be able to take care of you when you were both older. even if it wasn’t his place, even if he wasn’t even your boyfriend yet then.

“oh? so i’ll get the world’s best soccer player itoshi sae all to myself?”

it all sounded dreamy and attainable when you were both eighteen and sitting on cloud nine. when the both of you were dreamers with rose tinted glasses and honeyed tongues to match.

“is that a confession, y/n l/n?”

he remembers he caught you off guard. he knew because the way you behaved when you were flustered was already ingrained in his mind. the way you fumbled over your words, the way you couldn’t hold eye contact, the way you made him melt with how you seemed so vulnerable for a split second.

“what if it was?”

that was the first time you ever managed to render him speechless. only because of how honest you were being. only because sae wanted you to want him and you did and then he was reduced to some infatuated idiot.

“good, me too.”

and maybe that was his first mistake. when he didn’t make sure you knew he wanted you for more than just that moment, that he had wanted you for a long time coming.

maybe that was the first in line for the domino effect.

life hit hard and fast by the time sae made a name for himself as one of the best midfielders in the world. he opened his eyes and saw that japan was not for him—he wanted more for himself, for his career.

sae wanted to move. and at the time, he wanted to bring you with him.

“how’s spain?”

it was the usual call the two of you had—a routine set in place because sae found he’d miss you too much if he didn’t hear from you for a while. it sucked that he couldn’t bring you with him now, not when he wasn’t best yet and not when you had a degree to finish.

“great, i play in the official match tomorrow, starting eleven.”

mundane updates about each other’s lives. he’d tell you about his soccer trainings and you’d fill him in on school. but for sae, it wasn’t enough. so he took a leap of faith this time, he was sure what he wanted.

“hey, what if we moved out here next time?” sae asked, cutting you off.

you stuttered, flustered and overwhelmed. in hindsight, maybe asking you that sort of thing when the both of you weren’t even officially together was kind of a stretch.

but sae had been sure at that point of time.

“there’s a lot to consider, sae.”

it was that tricky line where you were both more than friends but less than lovers and sae knew that over the phone wasn’t the ideal place to do it but he didn’t want to drag it on any longer.

“i mean, we’re not even together and we’re both just still kids, and—”

“then be mine.”

“i- what?”

for the first time, he was thinking about the future. and it had to be with you. he couldn’t imagine it another way. and when you agreed to be his that day, when you agreed you’d consider it for the future, sae was happier than he let on.

for the first time, the future was a little clearer. become the best midfielder, find a good forward worthy of his passes, and when all that was done and dusted, he’d always come back to you at the end of the day.

sae had thought hard about it.

but evidently not hard enough.

reality hit like a truck.

because fast forward five years into the future and you had moved out to spain to be with sae, your future husband, the diamond ring nestled comfortably on your finger.

moving in with sae was fun, exciting. it was a new place, new continent, new start. sae was with you every step of the way, choosing the house, choosing the furniture. turned out, being one of the most in-demand soccer players paid way too well.

what sae never considered was the gravity of what he asked you to do—uproot your entire life to be with him. you were both still young and full of life and loved seeking thrills and you both failed to grasp what the consequences would be.

it was harder than you bargained; adjusting to the new country, learning a new language, making new friends and learning the culture. sae was a pivotal part of your support system, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice; he couldn’t be there for you a hundred percent. he had soccer, contracts to fulfil, people to please. you needed him more than you realised.

and when you moved in together, both of you saw sides to one another you never really saw before. like how you get frustrated when sae messes the entire bedroom up after you spent the entire day cleaning the mansion. or how sae shut down whenever he was having doubts about his team, his plays.

it was difficult. but it still worked.

for a while.

but arguments were getting more frequent. and sae forgot why he did this in the first place. maybe you should’ve spoken up more too, whenever something bothered you, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt this resentful.

you blamed sae for asking you to move out here. but it was what you wanted too.

it got to a point where there was an animosity between the both of you that you couldn’t handle. the type that made you sad because somehow sae turned into someone you didn’t even recognise.

“where’d you go last night?”

sae sighed, like you were a bother, but really you weren’t. he was just being a dick. it was never okay to just abandon your fiancé at home all because of a dumb fight which he couldn’t even remember by now.

“stayed over at the captain’s,” was all he told you. didn’t even bother explaining.

he wishes he did, then maybe you’d stop getting the idea that this relationship had hit a dead end.

“is that what we’re going to do now? just leave the other one alone, not talk when we fight?” you were soft, because you were tired. you’d been tired for a while.

you were tired. sae lost track of himself. everything was a mess and neither of you had the capability to handle it. sae was thinking maybe he made a mistake, and you were thinking it wasn’t too late to turn back. he couldn’t be bothered to remember how you got here in the first place, and he missed all the signs you gave him.

how you had stayed up late just to wait up for him whenever he had practice. how you agreed to be with him through everything and kept a smile on your face even when things were hard on you personally. how you cooked for two even when sae said he wouldn’t have time for dinners at home, just in case.

he’s sorry; you thought of him way too much, and he didn’t give you enough.

“sae, say something, please?” you were on the verge of tears, and he was on the verge of giving up.

sae knows what you wanted to hear now. but back then, he didn’t. he was too pressed on his own feelings that he just couldn’t find it in himself to think for you.

“what do you want me to say?”

you sat next to him on the couch, and he could hear you sniffling. he didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t ask about you, didn’t try to console you. for his own good. because he thought he knew where it was going, and it was better if he didn’t.

“sae… do you still want this?”

that was the first time he was unsure. because what he knew was that there was no one else for him. there was only you. he wanted only you, but everything turned out like this and he felt conflicted, tired.

he just wasn’t sure.

“i don’t know.”

but that was as good of an answer to you as any.

you’d watched him over the years. you’d tolerated all of his misgivings, you’d watched him train even when he was injured, even when you begged him to rest. you’d supported him throughout everything. you were everything to him, but at that moment, sae failed to tell you, and you couldn’t hold on to something that seemed so futile, something that was hanging on by a single thread.

something that might’ve snapped at any moment.

the next day, all sae woke up to was the engagement ring on his bedpost and your absence from his life.

it’s been another five years since then.

sae’s back in japan. for some reason.

no, not some. just one. just you.

to think that up until now, sae still thinks of you. you’re always there somehow, in his memories. when he scores a goal, he still instinctively looks for your face in the crowd. when people interview him and ask him about possible partners, his first thought is your name. when he goes on his socials, he looks for you first. it’s habit.

sae’s jealous, still. even after four years apart. he still loves you. he’s still stupid. he’s still too late.

you’re happy now, if your posts are any indication. you live with him too. sae sometimes wishes he was him. then maybe he’d get to feel you again, be around you, hover over you and annoy you to no end. maybe he’d get to hear you call his name again.

but that’s a long shot.

you’re about to be mrs mikage soon. reo’s a lucky guy, whoever the fuck he is. sae hates him, but it’s biased. he’s probably good to you. he helped you build that bakery you always wanted, after all.

the bakery sae always orders from under a fake name because he doesn’t know whether you hate him and he’d rather not risk it. it’s the only way he knows how to hold on to you, to still feel close to you.

so he’s mr. rin hatoki.

“tell me!”

his girlfriend’s voice is shrill, it brings him back to the present, to his current predicament. to the fact that he’s been trying to put you in the past, but he’s not able to. and she knows it, too. she’s not dumb.

she probably stalked you ever since she first started dating him. she probably knew all along that the breakfasts sae buys for her is his pathetic excuse to just support your business. she probably knew that from the start, she stood no chance against you.

“i beg you, sae,” she’s crying now, and sae feels bad for regressing to this state, to hurting other people but most of all, he feels bad for flat out wishing she was you. “just break my heart already if you’re going to do it.”

two years with her down the drain. because he can’t forget about you.

sae doesn’t even look up at her because he’s filled with the vision of you smiling in his head. that’s all he’s staring at.

she asked what you had that she didn’t. and sae only knows the one answer is his heart.

“you’ll never be her.”

sae stares at you from the driver’s seat. he’s parked on the opposite side of the road, it should be safely tucked away enough that you won’t notice.

you’re closing up. you look like an angel. you’re dawdling, slowly mopping up the floors, your hair so messy and you’re still so perfect.

he wants to go there, wants to run to you and hug you, wants to grip onto you and take back what he lost. but he of all people knows that’s impossible. so he stays in his driver’s seat, stays in his fantasies, stays away from you.

maybe he should just drive away. maybe he should stop pining for you. this is stupid.

especially stupid when he sees your future husband pull up and run up the sidewalk, runs into your arms, carries you and spins you around and presses a kiss onto your perfect nose.

sae can only vaguely make out what he’s saying.

“have a surprise for you at home, baby.”

and sae can’t tell what you said, but he can tell you love him by the slow, affectionate kiss you give him, the way you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh against each other’s lips.

“wait here for a bit, yeah?” reo tells you, and you nod, obedient.

it’s like a drug, now that he’s here, sae wants to stay and watch the show play out to the end. he watches as you store away your broom and mops and as reo walks back to his car—wait, no, fuck, he’s walking to sae’s car.

fuck fuck fuck.

reo makes sure you’re back in your bakery and out of view before he smiles at sae. “i’m very honoured that a world-class soccer player is stalking us,” reo beams at him the moment sae winds down his windows. “wanna go over there and talk to her?”

he definitely knows of your history with sae. it doesn’t bother him though, apparently. not if he’s offering sae the chance to talk to you, and alone, by the looks of it.

sae’s not really sure what he’s doing, taking reo up on his offer. he walks through the doors to your bakery and the shopkeeper’s bell rings, inciting you to spin around, expecting reo, but your eyes widen when you see sae there instead, sheepishly standing there, staring dumbly at you.

“sae,” you call his name, breathlessly. “w-what’re you doing here?”

“i… don’t know.”

he doesn’t. zero clue. fuck.

you’re not smiling, you’re apprehensive, you’re still in shock as to why itoshi sae didn’t contact you ever since you left him and why he chose now of all times to show up. there’s tears in the corners of your eyes and he knows you’re trying not to let them fall. the corners of your mouth try not to but they form a small frown.

“i just wanted to tell you…” sae trails off because he starts to remember everything.

he remembers five years old and you on the slides. he remembers your nii-chan and how he hated it. he remembers your smile and him being lovestruck and pathetic. he remembers making you happy and then making you sad, going from everything you loved to everything you grieved. he remembers all the signs he thought you didn’t give. he remembers your newly opened bakery and the heart on his first order chit. he remembers his now ex-girlfriend hating his guts and throwing your bread on the floor.

most of all, he remembers how happy you look with reo.

so sae swallows all the words he wanted to say and gives you a knowing smile. “just wanted to come by and wish you a happy marriage.”

i miss you. i still love you. i want you back. i want to be yours again. i promise i’ll love you properly this time.

he bites back all his words.

your expression turns soft and you smile at him for the first time in five years. “thanks, sae,” you tell him, holding your hand out.

sae shakes it, resisting his urge to pull you close.

“how are—”

“i have to go,” sae interjects, because he doesn’t think he can act any more normal than this. he wants to see more of you, but he forces himself to leave, and you understand anyway, you and your weak knees because as much as you’re over itoshi sae, your lover, you still miss itoshi sae, your best friend.

reo walks past him on the steps, noticing his rush. “hey, leaving already?”

sae doesn’t stop. “yeah.”

“look, y/n’s clueless but,” reo continues, raising his voice slightly as sae gets farther away. “thanks for all the support!”

sae stops short of his car, turning around to look at reo, who’s looking at you, cleaning up the last of your cash.

“what are you talking about?”

reo turns back to sae, hands in his pockets. “i wanted to thank mr rin hatoki personally so—” sae’s eyes grow wide at the mention of the name— “thank you.”

how does he even know?

“you know, she was so nervous when it first opened, thinking that nobody would buy anything,” reo tells him, and sae listens, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i wanted to be the first customer but apparently a mr rin hitoki beat me to it.”

reo sighs, noticing how sae’s eyes are now glued onto you.

“y/n’s the kindest person i’ve ever met,” reo continues, turning his back on sae. “if you want forgiveness, it’s always there for you.”

reo’s revelation and offer sticks with sae, but he shelves it in the corner of his mind. when he sees you, crescent eyes and all smiles, sae drives off.

it’s fine. knowing you’re happy is enough.

that’s a lie. it will never be enough for him, but he’ll just keep trying to convince himself. sae loves you, and he might just love you enough to let you go.

[majoryeager104]

I NEED MORE TOUYA HEADCANNONS PLEASEEEEEEEEW

AHHH OK IM ON IT RN HERE U GO <3

Summary: Touya random hcs w and w/o s/o

Warnings: Language, Touya being too precious for this realm

He definitely has a teddy bear from childhood that he stole from the house after he woke up from his coma

It has a few little burn marks on it, but he thinks that gives it character

Can’t fall asleep without it 

Unless he has you, but still

That teddy bear is always within arms reach when he’s trying to sleep

One time Toga found it when she snuck into his room for a jacket cos she was cold

She’s been sworn to secrecy (he threatened to burn up her cardigan collection)

The first time you slept in his room, you asked about it

At first he was defensive

Like “yeah it’s mine tf u gonna do about it”

But then one day he walked in to see you asleep on his bed

Cuddling his teddy bear

He coulda died then and there

Definitely one of the very few pictures he has on his phone

Because he’s barely on that thing

It’s probably not the first one he’s had

I bet he accidentally burns them up on missions

So he just never takes it with him anywhere

Which always scares the shit out of you

Bc what’s the point of having it otherwise

You didn’t get it till he showed you all the pictures he had of you on there, and you realized he just didn’t want to lose them

Bc it’s a burner phone, so he doesn’t use it for much else

He has another phone for work, but that’s the one he keeps for pictures of you

And all the videos and memes you send him

He looks at them like a week after you send them

Yes he’s one of those 🧍

But he does look at every single one 

You make him playlists too, and he DEFINITELY listens to those

Bc he’s music addicted (might be a bit of projection hehe)

But yeah

It’s just a whole phone he keeps just for you

He wants those videos, memes, playlists, and cute photos of you bc he’s scared that one day he won’t have you anymore

But he’d never say any of that out loud

Even though he knows you’d understand 

Bc he’s scared 

Moving on before I cry 

He’d like Taylor Swift 

Hear me out guys

The emotional lyrics? The topic of betrayal? The style? The vibe? He’d love it. (Secretly ofc)

He’s literally “who’s afraid of little old me”

Like I can see him singing “The smallest man who ever lived” while crying in the car

“WERE YOU SENT BY SOMEONE 😭😭😭WHO WANTED ME DEAAD”

He’d secretly adore her country eras too

And you may or may not have dragged him to the Eras tour

And he may or may not have secretly been looking forward to it

He wore all black (he’s literally reputation) and ended up with a shit ton of friendship bracelets by the end of the night

He still has them

Tucked away in a drawer 

never to be seen by anyone else

But you ofc because the two of you trade

Moving on tho hehe

He’d be either a heavy af sleeper, or a light af sleeper

No in between

Like hes either not moving or he’s not sleeping. 

Maybe both

He probably watches you sleep when he can’t though

And if you have a nightmare he’d wake you up and get you water

And if he had a nightmare, he’d either wake up in a panic and just lay on top of you

Or you’d wake him up, and he’d still lay on top of you

You’re his personal pillow now

But he’s your heating pad 

So it’s fair. 

(He’s also this song tbh lmaooo and all the songs I mentioned are from TTPD but that’s because the album is so Touya coded ughhh 😭😭😭)

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Hi, big fan of your work in the whump community :3

Do you have any prompts/thoughts for one of my favorite phrases: "I thought you were dead" ?

thank you so much!!

dialogue prompts in responses to ❝I thought you were dead.❞

❝I’m not dead, babe. I just ghosted you.❞

❝cheating death is what I do for a living.❞

❝that was weeks ago/months ago. people change.❞

❝not dead. I am Death.❞

❝and it sucked. being on the verge of death. would not recommend.❞

❝that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I literally cannot die.❞

❝no, but you will be if you don’t start running.❞

❝a bullet to the heart can’t kill me. you, out of all people, should have known my heart has already been blackened and dried up a very long time ago.❞

❝surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.❞ (the classic one, I couldn’t not add this.)

❝of course, you did. after all, it was you who tried to kill me.❞

❝darling, you’re going to have to try harder than that.❞

❝this is gonna sound crazy, but I am dead, and apparently I’m assigned to be your guardian angel now.❞

❝you know I’m not actually real, right?❞

❝no, you left me to die. I was just a survivor.❞

❝yeah, yeah, I heard that before.❞

❝I am.❞

❝did you really have so little faith in me?❞

❝me too! another thing we have in common.❞

❝I did, but it turned out death didn’t want me.❞

❝who’s going to look after you if I’m dead?❞

❝I’ll always come back to you.❞

❝dead? it was just a cut on a finger. stop being so dramatic.❞

❝sorry to disappoint.❞

❝boo.❞

❝you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you?❞

❝I’m stubborn just like that.❞

❝is it because I disappeared from your life for 20 years?❞

❝why? what happened? why would you think that?❞

❝oh, I am. and so are you. welcome to the land of the dead.❞

❝I’m a ghost, and I need your help.❞

❝I don’t have much time. you have to find my murderer.❞

❝I am. you’re just hallucinating.❞

❝if I am dead and you’re talking to me, doesn’t it mean you’re dead, too?❞

❝I’m not Dead. I’m (insert character’s name).❞

❝I did. I just crawled out of hell.❞

❝hell was boring anyway. so here I am.❞

❝you can’t get rid of me that easily.❞

❝nothing could kill me. not even death.❞

❝you know I’d never leave you.❞

❝God says it’s not my time.❞

❝well, this is awkward.❞

❝oh, I am. I’m here to take you with me.❞

❝did you cry?❞

❝did you mourn?❞

❝oh please, I was gone for less than an hour.❞

❝there’s been a misunderstanding. It wasn’t me who died.❞

❝I understand why you’d think that.❞

❝I can explain.❞

❝I am, and you will be just as dead as I am if you don’t turn around right now.❞

❝you’re not gonna believe what I saw on the other side.❞

❝why? you already replaced me?❞

❝I was hoping so too.❞

❝I really need to stop dying. let me tell you that shit is not fun.❞

❝I’m sorry if my survival is so inconvenient for you.❞

❝I have always been dead.❞

❝I died a long time ago, actually.❞

❝what are you going to do about that? try and kill me again? because it certainly didn’t work the first 6 times. but hey! maybe seventh time’s a charm!❞

❝I fooled you, didn’t I?❞

❝I’m not going anywhere.❞

❝I’m sorry. do I know you?❞

❝it’s a long story.❞

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Can you write something for: "being Tommy's wife"? Please. The girl would have been raised by Polly, who raised and loves her like a daughter. She grew up with the boys, especially Tommy. She witnessed Finn's birth and everything. When he goes to war, he promises to stay with her when he returns. Another, Tommy's brothers have her as a sister so they will defend her as one, Ada and her are best friends and Isaiah had a crush on her as a kid... Kisses, sorry for the long thing, I love your stories, see u later 🩷.

Hey Love,

I am deeply sorry this took a million years to write. Thanks for sending this in and for being so kind. I'm so happy that you enjoy my writing. Hope you like this one <3

Warnings: Peaky related themes like violence, murder, drunk dads, beatings, suicide, childbirth - and of course kissing and cuteness

You had always been close with the Shelby Family. Your mother died in childbirth leaving you without siblings, something that was easily remedied with the constant chaos of your next-door neighbors. You were often lumped in with them as your father worked constantly. You traded what extra things you had for their company. You weren't rich living on Watery Lane, but you always had extra bread which was kind of like being rich. 

As you got older you started to understand what happened down at the Betting Shop. You remembered Arthur taking Tommy aside and telling him to keep you as far away from there as possible. So he took you down to the cut and you spent most of your time with the horses in Charlie’s yard. 

Those moments were your happiest. Tommy was always around to get into trouble with. One night when your dad had laid a beating on you for ruining a pair of shoes in the stable he’d helped you climb out of your window across the ledge and into his bedroom. He’d fixed your swelling cheek with some ice wrapped in a kitchen towel. 

There was an unspoken easiness between the two of you. John and Arthur were different. John was always teasing you loudly and Arthur was always laughing. Always fun and games until someone was giving you a hard time, then they were all business. 

You’d been there for Finn’s birth. A memory that was both happy and sad. You normally avoided the Shelby parents at all costs. Mrs. Shelby had a dead look in her eyes and she would twirl around the kitchen talking to ghosts, other times she would cry out in the night so loud you could hear her in your own apartment. Mr. Shelby was mean. Not much to him other than that. Finn was special, he was the first baby you ever held. You had to help Polly clean him off and get him sorted when he was born. You remembered sitting down once he had been fed and fallen asleep. You sat down covered in after birth swearing you would never have children. Ever. 

Watching Tommy come into the room and hold his sleeping brother with a look in his eyes, something deep inside you reconsidered. 

Polly was alright, she’d always put bows in your hair and read your tea leaves. Out of all the adults in your life, you had the biggest soft spot for her. She had all the juiciest stories that made you want to go out and start living your own life. 

Something you were just on the cusp of doing before the war started. 

The boys left and you tried not to let it break you. The unmovable safety they had brought you was gone and the city seemed vicious. Tommy wasn't there when your father was drunk… Tommy wasn't there at all. You’d stayed awake all night before he left. Laying there with him talking about everything you wouldn't be able to talk about while he was gone. Well, almost everything. You held his hand and laughed till your ribs hurt at all his jokes about what it would be like and what he would do while he was gone. Anything to keep the truth of it at bay. You wanted to tell him how you felt but you didn’t want him to carry more burdens with him when he left. You promised him that Ada, Finn, and John’s kids wouldn't starve and he’d kissed your cheek and promised he’d come back for you. Those words haunted your every moment.

To avoid your father and the emptiness of missing Tommy you threw yourself into your job as a mid-wife. At the end of the day you would sneak food out of your pantry and bring it over to Polly. She ran a tight ship void of all the things you had enjoyed about her when you were a kid. She was hard on the kids and they were mostly Ada’s responsibility as Polly shouldered the betting shop. There was a balance, most of your money went to the household and Polly was always grateful for your help. Things were fine until they weren't. Young boys who weren't quite yet fighting age had started up gangs and more drugs and conflict swept through the streets of Birmingham. You ended up working while also causing lots of trouble. 

The worst night of it came just before Tommy had come home. You’d killed another stupid idiot pushing his wrapped body into the cut in the middle of the night. It was exhausting, for every life you brought into the world you ended another. A cycle you didn't think you would ever end up in. You knelt by the side of the river letting the rain soak through your clothes. Looking down into the black water you could feel the same pull that took Mrs. Shelby. It was calling out to you softly but you shook your head. You had a lot more fight still left in you. 

______________Tommy’s POV 

Coming home wasn't the relief he thought it would be all those years ago. He came home and you hugged him tightly. While you looked like you were bursting with life he felt like like he was dead on the inside. Your cheeks were flushed and your eyes bright. Your fingernails had a pink tinge to them. He’d hoped it was from your job as a midwife but he knew how bad things had gotten here. He could feel it in the way people looked at you on their walk home from the train station. Settling in was awful. The nightmares that kept him up at night, the sad sense of rejection that was growing around you. But the weight of the business is what was crushing him. He needed you and Polly out of it, he needed to step up as a man should. You especially should have never had to get your hands as dirty as they were. But there you were all those names etched into your soul, and you still looked at him with girlish adoration, as if he wasn't the man who had commended your life. 

Things between him and Polly had never been worse, any move he made she would disagree. You still kept looking at him with your big eyes full of emotions he didn't know how to feel anymore. 

Ada was a few years younger than you but you were both old enough now that it wasn't noticeable. He saw the both of you sitting on the front step watching some men moving furniture out of the house down the street. There were glasses of wine between you and the sun made the flush of your cheeks look so red. Ada mumbled something and waved to Isiah as he passed by and both of you burst into giggles. That’s when he realized if he didn't make good on his promise, you wouldn't be around. Men looked at you with fear, but they also acknowledged the fierce competence and loyalty you have. By the time he got the business up, and then got it legal, you would probably be married off. He hated the sense of panic he felt bubble up in his stomach. Just once he would like to feel something pleasant. 

All day he thought about what to do. They were drinking beer around the table. He was always happy listening to John and Arthur tell jokes. It made him happy that they had managed to keep more of themselves alive than he had himself. 

“Going to head out for the night. I’m on call tomorrow so I can only help around the house.” You looked at Polly who nodded. Your eyes flashed to him for a second before wrapping your wool shawl around your shoulders. 

“I’ll walk you home.” He could feel John and Arthur’s eyes narrow in on him as the silence rolled through the room. 

“You haven't forgotten I only live next door have you?” You smiled at him and gestured for him to come along. He followed you down the stairs and out the front door. Three steps to your front door and you turned to look at him.

“Well, this is me.” You pointed at the door giving him a smile. “I’d invite you in for a drink but my father wouldn't approve.” 

“Walk with me?” He asked and he wished there was more emotion in his tone. You raised your eyebrows and he almost wanted to laugh. 

“A private meeting with Mr.Shelby. Wow.” You linked your arm in his and he could tell that there was hurt under your humor. 

“Things-” His voice trailed off as he lost all the things he had thought about telling you. He wanted to tell you to marry him but that was much to forward you deserved something nice and for it to move at your own pace. 

“Are different” You finished. “You're not you, Polly is pulling her hair out, and your secret-keeping is making it impossible to help with the business.” 

“Precisely.” He said in a cold tone. He wanted to explain but the words were still gone. 

“Well, fix it then.” You said in a short tone. “You came home and made a mess of things, so fix it.” 

“It’s not that easy.” He pulled a cigarette out and offered you one. You nodded and he lit one, taking a drag then watched as you took it from him. Your lips perched where his had been a moment before. His eyes focused on your mouth and he could feel the tension become obvious. 

“I want to make things right between us. I’m just not sure how.” He said the words slowly finally dragging his gaze from your mouth. Your cheeks had flushed again and he fought the urge to stroke your cheek. 

“Thomas. All you have to do is trust me. Then talk to me. We spent our whole lives that way. Only four years were apart.” There was pleading your eyes and he wondered if he would ever be able to deny you anything. 

“Alright. I want to shoulder most of the business.” You sighed and he continued on. “Not because you and Polly aren't competent, but because things are even higher risk than they have been. I want to shoulder the consequences. To do that I need to keep you out of it.” 

“I don’t want you to face things alone. Not the risk or the consequences.” It was his turn to let out a sigh. 

“I know you don't, that’s why I -” He what? Was in love with you, wanted to marry you? Wanted to build you a life that would make any other woman on the planet die of a jealous heart? 

“You what?” They were by the cut now and you turned to look at him. You were angry and you had every right to be. 

“I want to marry you.” He blurted the words out and ran a hand through his hair. Your hands flew to your mouth and you looked at him with wide eyes illuminated by the moonlight. Was this positive or negative? The regret and embarrassment started to creep up his neck when you lunged at him. 

He stumbled slightly before properly handling your weight. Your arms were tight around his neck and all he could smell was the perfume along your neck. He took a deep breath, the first real breath he had taken since leaving France. He wanted the weight of you pressed up against him all the time. The feeling you brought him was enough to keep the demons at bay. How selfish was it of him to take this easy path out. He should have worked out a proposal and should have courted you properly. 

“We don’t - we could -” He tried to figure out what he wanted to ask. 

“Shut up and let me have my moment.” You said before pulling away enough to kiss him. It was soft and slow and he knew without a doubt he was yours forever. 

After a good amount of kissing, he smiled at you and meant it. He walked you home and then took his beating from Arthur and John. 

“I don’t care if God himself descended from the sky to claim her. She’s my sister and you won’t hurt her Tommy.” Tommy couldn't remember the last time he heard his brother’s voice sound so lethal. 

“You’ll be held to the same standards as any other dumbass wanting to date her,” John added. 

“Trying to do the opposite of hurt her.” He said wanted them to see he was trying to make you happy too. 

“That’s what they all say,” Arthur said with pointed eyes before bursting out into a booming laugh. “I want this to happen, brother I do. Just don’t mess around with her.” Arthur gave him a rough pat on the back and John started to make jokes about all the ways Tommy could disappoint you. 

Eventually, they let him go up to his room. You had already climbed across the ledge to his window and gotten into his bed.

“Took you long enough.” You said it as a joke but there was something in your voice that gave you away. You were starting to think he wasn't going to show up. 

“Boys had to rough me up a bit first.” Tommy shrugged his jacket off. 

“Why? what did you do?” Her eyes looked him over with concern. 

“Showed an interest in you. They had to do the usual.” He said absently changing into his pj’s trying to seem unbothered by your gaze watching him closely as he undressed. 

“What’s the usual?” You whispered.

“Bit of a beating, the usual threats. Part of dating someones sister.” 

“You mean any guy that’s wanted to date me has been roughed up by the three of you?!” 

“Yeah.” Tommy leaned against the wall looking at you laying in his bed in your night clothes. Head propped up on your arm. 

“I thought I was ugly.” You whispered still in shock over this news.

“What?!” Tommy laughed again. 

“None of the boys ever asked me out over the years. I thought I was ugly.” Tommy moved across the room and into the bed to assure you that you were never ugly.  

_____________________________

It took a lot of time to get out of that house on Watery Lane. Your father had passed before your wedding and Arthur walked you down the aisle. Ada and Poly felt all was right in the universe once you joined the family properly. They had a lot of fun planning the whole thing out. Your honeymoon was in the new house, a massive thing that Tommy had built for you.  It was large but warm.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus | What Once Was | Platonic

Jesus is stronger than any past and provides a family where others have failed.

Requested by Kalie

TW: Abusive behaviour (both physical and verbal), mentions of death at childbirth

They’re absolutely gorgeous, handcrafted with the utmost care, coming to life right inside your palm as you turn the little wooden statue around to inspect it further. It is as if nature itself slipped right into the woodcarver’s hand and streamed from his fingertips into the delicate doe that the decoration resembles. It is as if you’re standing in the middle of a luscious forest, surrounded by the same trees that the statuette in your hand is made from, and coming face to face with the small deer at the edge of a lake. 

Oh, how much you’d have loved to have this toy as a little girl, how many adventures you’d have taken it on, how you would have played around with it wherever you went— 

“—What do you think you are doing? Put that down!” You’re snapped out of your awe by the voice of your older brother Caleb. “I’m so sorry,” he directs himself towards the merchant offering his wares, “She doesn’t know when to keep her hands to herself, and everything she touches either breaks or dies.” 

The salesman’s kind smile evaporates and twists into something more uncertain as he looks from you to Caleb, taking the carven doe from you and putting it back where it used to sit. You flush in embarrassment, turning away your gaze. You are used to appearing smaller than you are. Caleb yanks you with him by your wrist, nails digging into your skin. 

Usually, the youngest child of the family is the most precious one, coddled by their parents or protected by their older siblings. Due to circumstances, however, your family sees you as a curse more than a blessing. 

Caleb pushes you into the custody of two of your sisters who are busy browsing the fabric stall. “Look after her while I go get meat. Make sure she doesn’t mess up again.” 

One of your sisters, Orpah, grips your arm. 

“I thought abba assigned you to babysitting duty today, Cal.”

“I am not bringing her there again since that ridiculously humiliating display from last time.” Caleb hisses, referring to the time you went to purchase meat and apparently bought the wrong kind, sending your oldest brother into a fit upon him finding out. 

Orpah rolls her eyes and turns to your other sister, Susannah, who lets out a scoff.

“Fine. We’ll watch her. Make sure she doesn’t get herself killed, even though you bet we’d love to see her try.” 

You swallow hard upon hearing their verbal abuse, their lack of care when it comes to you, their youngest sister. Abba never stuck up for you, either; even he acknowledges an edge of truth to the source of their behaviour towards you. 

You don’t think it’s fair at all. It wasn’t your fault that eema lost too much blood while she gave birth to you, nor was it because of you that her heart stopped moments after her final push. From that moment on, the burden of her death was bestowed upon you, the blame either lingering through in the background of every conversation or blatantly shoved down your throat through ungrounded accusation. Your siblings saw you as the black sheep of the family, the one who took their beloved mother from them, whereas your father saw your survival as a trial of Adonai as well as a punishment for his sins. 

This kind of existence is no existence at all. Day after day you wait eagerly for nightfall so that you can cry alone in your bed and wonder if things will ever change. If they’d be better off without you. You’ve considered running away from home, but know that you wouldn’t be able to survive all by yourself. 

“…Did you hear what I said? My, you really do have sheep dung in your ears.” 

You blink as Susannah gives you a death glare, looking at you like you have just stepped on her toes without apologising.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“I said, go get us some fruit.” 

Orpah impatiently crosses her arms as she glowers at you. “Be quick about it.” 

A pear and a persimmon. You know their preferred fruits by heart by now — learnt so the hard way — so you don’t need to ask before heading over to the nearest fruit stand, your sisters right behind you to keep an eye on you. At the stall, you browse the wares for a bit longer than necessary. You pretend to be selecting the finest specimen from the displayed ones, the merchant giving you an odd look. Giving her an apologetic smile, you quickly grab the two requested pieces of produce.

“How much?” The merchant names her price. You pay for it with the little allowance you have left and slide the items into your pocket heading back to your siblings to hand over the fruits.

“Here.” 

Susannah inspects her persimmon as if assessing it for imperfections. Orpah pushes her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she raises an eyebrow at you, not even as much as looking at the pear in her hand. “This one is bruised.” she hisses. “Look.” 

Susannah snickers as you lean closer to your older sister, apparently in on something, but you don’t have time to process what it might be about. Without warning, Orpah tosses the pear against your face.

Staggering back, you reach for your nose — the impact is not that bad, but it hurts nevertheless — your head momentarily spinning as you let out a noise that makes both your sisters laugh in mockery.

“You should have known better.” 

Sudden tears sting behind your eyes, for you feel humiliated in a crowded area, where several dozens of people bear witness to the scene your sisters are causing. Their laughter shunts through your chest, stinging deeply, the lump in your throat growing to the point you are short of breath. 

Without another thought, you turn away, rushing through the masses whilst hiding your face from view, tears streaking down your face as you run.

You don’t notice a handful of men and women surrounding the Teacher they’ve been following for a while as you rush through the crowd. A few concerned glances are sent your way before they turn to their Rabbi, Who gives them a certain look — the kind appearing on His face when He needs to do something without them asking questions until later. He nods in your direction, and the rest of the group silently follows Him.

Finding yourself in a remote alleyway, you lean against the wall as you heave for air, your lungs burning as you collapse behind a few barrels that fishermen have left there after their trades to be picked up later. Seeing white specks in your vision, you feel your shoulders start to shake. Behind the safe wood, you deem yourself secure and hidden. As a shadow casts over you, you feel your breath hitch inside your throat, immediately realising that you have been found.

“Hey, now.” The voice does not belong to any of your siblings. Still, you remain right where you are as your heart races inside your chest. A subtle brush of fabric being disturbed. Someone is approaching you.

Cowering, you hide your face from the shadow darkening above you, flinching as if afraid to be hit again. Instead of being met with a closed fist, however, you feel a warm hand land on your shoulder. Regardless of its gentleness, you jolt. 

“Daughter.” The voice of the Stranger is warm and melts right through the layers of your heart, causing it to stutter inside your chest, “Daughter, look at Me.” 

Tears leak down your face as you shake your head. No matter Who this Man is, you are not worthy of looking Him in the eye. “I want to see your face.” 

The request is made so warmly that you can’t help but remove your hands from your raw face. The moment a warm hand cradles it, tilting it upwards, you open your eyes again. 

Pools of deep brown gaze down at you with a gentleness you’ve never seen on anyone ever before.

“My daughter. (Y/n).” 

Your chin quivers as you attempt to find the first question to ask. The Stranger thumbs away a tear and smiles. 

“You don’t need to say anything. All you need is Me. My Name is Jesus. Come, stand up. You don’t need to hide from Me.” 

You feel some strength come back in your legs at the command, and you straighten out to stand next to the Man Who introduced Himself as Jesus. Surrounding Him are a few people with curious yet kind eyes. 

“There.” Jesus muses. “Now we can properly see you.” He readjusts your veil so it sits better on your hair and looks at you with an expression that floods you with unfamiliar warmth. 

“I am glad I met you here today,” he whispers, “That we run into one another while you are surrounded with the people who you should have been able to call your family.” 

Your vision blurs, but Jesus shushes you and shakes His head. “There is no need for tears anymore. You have been hurt enough. I know how you afraid you have been. How you have felt about yourself. Today, that all changes.” 

“There you are, you little—” 

Caleb freezes in his spot as he pushes through the crowd of Jesus’ followers and sees you standing near the Man Who treats you with more kindness in a single minute than your own flesh and blood ever has done in more than twenty years of your life. 

“Who are You?! Get away from my sister.” 

“She is no longer your sister.” Jesus states, “For you have never been her brother. She is a daughter of her Father in heaven.” 

Caleb frowns, shaking his head in confusion, rage starting to seep into his features. 

“What kind of nonsense are You spewing?! Our father is back home in—” 

“You and your family—” Jesus lets His gaze go over to your sisters, who have gathered behind Caleb upon hearing the commotion. “You and your siblings as well as your father, have blamed this young woman for something that was not her fault. You have treated her like cattle, to be talked down on, hurt her in ways that I don’t even want to say out loud. I am here to declare, no more of that.” 

Your oldest brother grits his teeth as Orpah puts her hand on his arm. “You know nothing about our family, You—” 

“—You will no longer hurt her. You will no longer hurt My creation.” 

Your face warms upon the words Jesus is saying. He is speaking with such authority that you don’t even consider it for a moment, accepting His words right away, believing them, for you had been depraved from any comfort of the sort all your life; This Stranger right in front of you, He is all you needed, and then, somehow, you realise that He is more. More than just a Man telling people they are loved and wanted. More than just a Man rebuking others for their wicked behaviour. Your entire soul is suddenly flooded by this understanding, and a large smile spreads over your expression. 

“(Y/n). As I said, I know you have been hurt by those who were supposed to protect and love you. But I will teach you a different kind of love. A true, Godly love. I will redefine the meaning of fatherhood for you. You will learn it is supposed to be like. What a true Father is supposed to do for His children.” 

“Don’t listen to this nonsense, (Y/n).” Caleb hisses, “He’s a madman! Some random rabbi with a Messiah-complex!” 

Jesus can’t help but let His lips quirk upwards at the irony of the latter statement, but no one catches on.

“(Y/n).” Jesus ignores your brother, focusing on you completely. “Will you follow Me?” 

There is no hesitation in your voice. “Yes!” you breathe, “Yes— Yes, I will!” 

The crowd of Jesus’ followers around you lets out a breath of happiness and seems eager to get to know you, whilst Caleb, Orpah and Susannah deeply frown. 

Your brother steps forward in an attempt to grab your wrist and pull you away, but two men of whom you don’t know the names yet shield you from him, looming over your sibling, who swallows hard. 

“Our— Our father will not be pleased! This is not the end of it, (Y/n)! You’ll be hearing from us, soon! Come on, let’s go.”  

With your sisters in tow, Caleb stomps off without as much as a look back. You let out a sigh of relief as your tears dry on your cheeks at last. Jesus smiles down at you and releases your face. Just now, you turn to the group standing with you, sniffling a bit as you smile.

“Uh, shalom shalom.” 

You are greeted with a few shalom’s from both men and women. 

“These are my followers,” Jesus tells you, “They will be your new siblings, if you will. And this time around, they will be kind and loving to you. It seems like they can barely wait to meet you. How does that sound?” 

You can’t help but laugh a little — genuinely so, which you haven’t done in a very long time — and nod, running your hands down your tunic. “Oh, I… I think I’d like that very much.” 

Jesus chuckles, nodding. “Very good. I’m sure they can tell you more about Me, too, hm?” As Jesus looks up at His followers, they all eagerly nod. 

Your heart swells with sudden happiness, a sensation you don’t even think you’ve truly experienced before, and you step forward to meet them more closely, surrounded by unexpected gentleness and acceptance. You have been so parched for Truth that you welcome the new feeling with open arms, at the precipice of something you have been dying to have in life. 

The Messiah fondly watches how His students involve you into their day right away, sensing the way the yoke of your family falls from your shoulders, replaced by His soft one.

[dyeher]

includes| miya osamu x fem! reader x miya atsumu— smut (840 words)

content| Cream Pie, Praising, Degradation, Double Penetration, Their dicks do be touching (i,e do not read this if you are not comfortable with themes that may reflect hard incest).

notes| welcome back old ass content.

you’re spread open on the dining table of your apartment, left leg over osamu’s shoulder, right leg held open by atsumu. you want to say this situation started out purely by accident but, you’d be lying. getting fucked by the miya twins has been a fantasy of yours since you first met them. of course, you were never brave enough to actually say anything about it but, atsumu has never been very good at hiding his attraction to you and well from the way osamu usually glared at his brother’s forwardness you’d assumed he was equally attracted to you.

it never helped that they’d sometimes team up to tease you whenever they could. this turned out to be your downfall, and it was during a teasing session that they’d learned of your desire to be fucked by them both. you didn’t even say anything out loud, but it was your silence after osamu had jokingly pointed it out that you never complained about their tag team teasing, that it was almost like you wanted it.

it’s how you ended up here. the thick vein along the side of osamu’s cock dragging against your gummy walls whenever he was inside you, and the mushroomed head of atsumu’s cock bumping into the entrance of your cervix. it was…everything you’d imagined and more. you figured they’d be competitive at least but, they weren’t, they worked like a well-oiled machine to make you into a crying mess before they even begun to fuck you.

by the time you realized they were taking turns fucking into your slicked-up cunt, you were three orgasms in.

“she’s so fuckin’ tight,” atsumu hisses, “the tightest little slut, fuck.”

“she’s such a good girl,” osamu coos, “god, look how well her pussy’s taking my cock.”

the mixture of atsumu’s degrading words and osamu’s praise let you dizzy, had your cunt clenching around air when osamu pulled out in time for atsumu to guide his cock in. the process repeats itself until you’re full-on crying, sobbing for one of them to stay put, to fuck you properly.

“we’re both getting in there, princess,” osamu assures you, the meaning behind his words don’t register until atsumu chuckles.

“bet her pussy can do it,” he pushes against your legs until your knee is pressed against your side ono the bed and osamu mirror’s his actions. you realize a little too late what that means but your cunt clenches at the thought of them sharing you like that, filling you like that. osamu slaps his cock against your pussy before lining himself up.

“if ya can’t take it, just tell us to stop,” he says, “and we will.” you nod and he eases himself back into you, fucking your walls slowly, teasingly, coaxing your slick out, drawing breathless thank yous from your parted lips. he leans down to kiss you, it’s slow and gentle, but firm, grounding, he tastes like spicy shrimp and mayo, the kind he makes at Onigiri Miya, it’s delicious, per usual.

he pulls back and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch atsumu squeeze the head of his cock next to osamu. the sensation is new, and your body reacts immediately, squeezing and sucking at them.

“ah shit, “atsumu curses, he leans his head against his brother’s shoulder when he bottoms out.

osamu stares at your face, your eyes are rolled back, and your breath are coming rapidly, “ya okay pretty girl? want us to continue?” he doesn’t try to hide the strained quality of his voice.

you can feel them, atsumu’s deeper than osamu but the stretch, oh God, the stretch was maddening. you barely nod before they begin to move, atsumu pulling out and osamu grinding against your walls.

“fuck, ya feel s’good,” osamu moans, “so fuckin’ tight.”

“yer cunts fucking stretched,” atsumu smacks at one of your breasts, and chuckles when all you can do is moan. “this really the first time ya did this?” atsumu knows you can’t answer, as they both speed up.

osamu wipes at the tears that begin to trickle down your cheeks and coos about how pretty you are, while atsumu grunts about how much of a slut you are for being able to fit both of them in you. it takes them less time than you expected to have you creaming around them, especially with atsumu’s fingers shoved into your mouth and osamu’s fingers toying at your clit.

they cum soon after, filling your cunt together, pulling out with an embarrassing pop. astumu prods at your entrance experimentally and they make identical sounds of surprise when he easily fits four of his fingers inside of you.

they step back to watch the way your hole gapes at them, leaking their cum down between your ass cheeks and onto the dining table. it dawns on you in the recess of your mind that, they’ve probably done this before. you chuckle at the realization that despite their short-comings and teasing nature with each other, the miya twins like to share.

[shadowdaddies]

hello! Dorian and reader had a bad argument and reader acts like she's right but then she understands she's wrong and now she has to make it up for him? And it's very hard for her. (And Dorian teases her a little about it?)

Thank you

I don't know what came over me when I wrote this. I couldn't write a serious argument with Dorian so I changed it a bit to be a prank on Chaol. It's so silly, it's low-key a crackfic. I giggled the whole time I wrote this

The Bet

Dorian x Reader silly fluff

You gave Dorian a deadpan stare as he arched a challenging eyebrow at you. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at him. “You cannot convince Chaol that you’re a ghost! He’s not that stupid, Dorian. You’ve seen him so many times since you and Aelin forged the lock - you’re the godfather to his children!”

Dorian simply gave you an arrogant smirk, shrugging a shoulder. “Do you want to make a bet, then? I say that I can convince Chaol that I died and I’ve been ruling Adarlan as a ghost, you say that I can’t... Whoever is wrong has to go down and listen to Mort rant for one hour without interrupting him.” 

With a sound of disgust, you shook your head and sighed, “Dorian, that’s horrible.” But you couldn’t help the smirk on your face as you shook his hand and winked, “have fun with Mort.”

~~~

Chaol and Yrene arrived with their children that evening, their little girl Josefin giggling as you scooped her up in your arms. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you!” You said, giving your goddaughter a kiss on the cheek before giving Yrene and Chaol hugs. You were rocking their baby boy, Brullo, in your arms when Chaol pressed, “where is Dorian? You think he’d be here to greet us by now.”

Confusion crossed your features as well as the question, and you became slightly worried as you yourself wondered where Dorian was. Before you could answer Chaol’s question, Dorian entered the room, looking more solemn than you’d ever seen him, a bluish light flickering around him. Chaol rushed over to embrace him, but Dorian merely held up a hand, halting Chaol in his tracks.

With a dramatic sigh, Dorian clutched his chest as he turned nearly transparent, a faint glow around his form. The rest of you stood frozen in shock, Dorian looking up with a sorrowful look on his face as he spoke softly. “I did not know how to tell you in writing, Chaol. We had only recently discovered that nothing could be done.” With a shaky breath, Dorian continued, “I died that day that Aelin and I forged the lock. I’ve been able to appear for some time in my old form, much like Elena, with our similar raw magic. But it seems to be fading, and I don’t know how much longer I will hold onto this spirit form.” Dorian choked out the last part with an overdramatic sob, crashing to his knees before Chaol to hide his fake anguish.

You gave Dorian a flat look from where you stood behind Chaol and Yrene, about to speak when Chaol himself started crying. “We’ll get through this, Dor. Yrene and I will help, we’ll figure this out together.” You cut him off, “Oh. My. Gods. What is wrong with you, Dorian?”

Chaol and Yrene whipped around to look at you, shock on their faces at your insensitivity. Dorian fell over laughing on the ground, returning to his normal appearance - Yrene quickly understanding Dorian’s stupid prank. “You’d better be glad that your goddaughter is playing out front, Dorian,” she scolded through the smile that tugged at her lips. 

Chaol looked at Dorian, tense for a moment before playfully shoving him in the chest. “You asshole,” he said as you all laughed at Dorian’s antics and Chaol’s concern. You stomach dropped when you realized what this meant for you, though, and Dorian flashed you a charming smile as he declared that he had won the bet. 

“There was a bet?” Yrene questioned, and you sighed. “Yes, because Dorian convinced Chaol FOR A SECOND that he was a ghost, I have to go listen to Mort talk for an hour.” Chaol let out a rough laugh, clutching his stomach as he shook his head. “No way you’re doing that on your own. Dorian deserves that punishment too for pulling that shit.”

~~~

And that was how you found yourself with Dorian, sitting on the damp floors outside the tomb as Mort droned on, making snide remarks about how the kingdom was once so great, now ruled by two idiots. You snickered at Dorian, pushing past him to run up the stairs when the hour was up only for him to catch you around the waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he teased, “I did win the bet, and I’ve yet to claim a prize since I had to join you... I’ll be thinking about what I want.” You rolled your eyes as Dorian took your hand, tugging you along as you went to join Chaol, Yrene, and your godchildren for dinner.

[yangbbokari]

hiii, im back again!! I’m totally inlove with your part 2 of the bet !! I just thought of another angst (I know sorry 😭) but what about stray kids pushing reader away, avoiding them at all costs because of something (idk😭) and reader thought the wrong idea and started to overthink but reader ended up going on a walk but ran into a friend and started to talk to them, not noticing the time, the sun setting, And their phone blowing up with miss calls and messages from their lover. They totally forgot about everything. Then reader finally heads home after their friend telling them they have to go and once they walk in they see their worried/sobbing significant other.

- 🧈

sry that this took so long anon😭I've just been real lazy as always

Needed Space

Pairing: Han Jisung x gn!reader Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/comfort Warnings: Yelling, crying, language, i think that's it Summary: You give Han the space he wanted so badly and he grows worried. A.N.: Hehe 🧈 anon…. I got lazy again as u can see but I’m finally done😭

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

This was the week of the comeback so you knew it’d be busier and Han would be more stressed. But even so, you didn’t expect him to distance himself this far.

It got to the point where only a few words were exchanged and you only saw him about twice a week.

One day, Han decided to take a quick break. It wasn’t really a break since he was still working on different pieces of music, but at least he got to stay at home.

“Hey… Hannie? Have you had something to eat yet?” You timidly asked as you stepped into the room. “Hi, baby. I’ll eat in a bit. Just let me finish this real quick.” You softly sigh, walking up to him and made him look at you. “You already said that hours ago. You need some food in your system to finish your work.”

He shoved you away, nearly knocking you off you’re feet. “Look. I already told you I’ll eat later! I don’t have time to humor you so just leave me the fuck alone.” Your boyfriend didn’t even spare you another look before returning to his work.

You could only nod your head slowly. You slipped out of the room and grabbed your things. You knew he was just stressed but you couldn’t help the tears that pricked your eyes.

You thought about tell Han that you’d be out for a minute, but he did tell you to leave him alone. So you just left the house. ~~~ You didn’t even notice the amount of time that had passed until the sun began to set. Your phone had died a while back but you wanted to spend a bit more time by yourself.

Seeing the sun set, you knew it was time to finally return home. You hoped that Han would have cooled down down by the time you got back.

You didn’t really want to return to an angry Han so you trudged your way home. The pebbles and leaves seemed so much more interesting all of a sudden.

There was still a good distance between you and your home when you heard someone running towards you. Your terrified eyes quickly softened when a very disheveled Han stopped in front of you.

He wrapped his arms around you and cried into your shoulder. Pushing you away a bit roughly, checking your sides to make sure you weren’t injured.

“Wh-where were you? I got so scared.” He asked, still worried.

Your eyes held the softest comfort in you for him. “I was just at the corner cafe, baby.”

“We’re you going to leave me? I saw that all your most important assets were gone and I began to think that I finally scared you away for good.” He threaded his fingers through his hair rapidly before continuing to ramble to you. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, sweetheart. I was just so so stressed and frustrated. I know that’s no excuse to treat you the way I did. But I’m just trying to explain to you because… because… because I’m scared you’ll leave me and I just really want you to stay by my side.”

“Hannie…”

“Please don’t leave me…”

“Hannie…”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Hannieeee….”

“You mean everything to me and I really don’t want to lose you.”

“Hannie!!”

He slightly jumped as his eyes met yours. “Y-yes?”

“You’re rambling again. It’s fine. I know you were stressed and that’s why I gave you the space to calm down. You mean a lot to me and I wouldn’t risk losing you over a small argument.”

Han let out a breath of relief with a smile before hugging you. “Thank you for forgiving me. I’m so sorry. I can’t promise but I’ll try to be better for you.”

The two of you walked back home together. You were glad that he was by your side and so was he.

[timaeusterrored]

(Let it out)

V doesn’t cry for a while.

You’d think after everything he had been through, losing Johnny, Jackie, and T-Bug, and losing himself would cause him to break. But it doesn’t. He doesn’t cry for a while.

He doesn’t cry until about two months after he and Kerry are married, and he’s admitting to himself that the relic ruined him in deeper ways than he thought. Rogue passed over the torch of the Afterlife to him, promised she’d still be around if he needed anything, and that was that.

Vax was standing in his massive penthouse, sounds of a bath running upstairs and soft music playing over the surround sound. A calm night, the husbands still deep in their honeymoon phase and their “holy shit can you believe we lived through that?” Phase.

“Vax?”

V wasn’t aware of the tears running down his face until warm hands cupped his cheeks and wiped them away. No judgement or harshness, just pure concern from his lover.

He tried to answer, say he was okay, but his voice broke and a sob wracked through him. He covered his mouth as Kerry brought him closer, petting his hair and whispering to him. He wonders how long this had been anticipated. How long people were waiting for him to break.

He cried for Jackie, the first one he lost in this chaos. Then for T-Bug, who died quicker than he had time to process, he didn’t even know she was dead until a week later. Then he cried for Johnny, the one he came to see as his other half. By the end of it, he was ready to accept that he and Johnny were one. That he could find a way to save them both. He loved Johnny, in such a way it hurt to not have him anymore.

He cried for his lost youth. For Vex, who had to become a mother quicker than anyone ever should. For himself, raising the both of them on the streets for 15 years. Then he cried over the burn on his hand, a signal for the start of the worst years of his life. Maybe if that night had never happened, he would have never met him. Maybe he could take showers like a normal person and swim in his perfectly good pool.

And then he cried for Kerry. For the poor man that didn’t deserve any of this. Who probably thought he was signing up for some fun with a young man and got stuck with a wrecking ball instead. Vax had spent the last few years trying so hard to be that. He hated watching Kerry take care of him after the space station, waking up to Kerry holding him to his chest after a nightmare. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, it was supposed to be the other way around.

“Hey… sweetheart, look at me.”

Vax felt his face being pushed away from the safety of Kerry’s shoulder. Back to the harsh reality of Night City… but in that moment, he was in their living room. Warm and safe from any horrors in the city below. The warm hands holding his face were full of love and as Kerry promised him on their wedding day, protection.

They couldn’t protect each other in the same ways, but they still loved each other.

Kerry bumped their foreheads together, forcing eye contact. Vax hated eye contact when he was vulnerable like this.

“I love you.”

Those three little words, ones that took them so long to say with confidence. Now he said it with his full chest, eye contact and all.

“How long have to been waiting for this?” Vax’s voice was broken from crying, still trying to catch his breath. But Kerry just smiled.

“A while. Crying on our wedding day doesn’t count either. Had bets with everyone going. I thought you’d cry about a month after you came down, Judy had two-“ Vax started laughing before Kerry could finish teasing him.

“Hey…” Vax closed his eyes, holding his husband’s wrists.

“Hey handsome.”

“I love you too.”

[yandecifi]

What It Means to Be Made of Stardust

☆ chapter one

⋆ masterlist

⋆ cw: child abuse, sa, mental illness

hawks/reader, psychological, wip longfic

You can feel him behind you. His hips are snapping into yours, his breath ragged and close to your ear. Despite this, you can still hear the whirr of the ceiling fan. It’s strangely loud.

You can see him from the corner of your eye. Wings spread wide, one hand against your back while the other shoves your head into the mattress - you really only feel the last two. You go to speak. You can’t.

Aizawa’s speaking at the lectern, hands gripping the sides as you watch his lips move. You can’t seem to hear him speak.

Whirrrrrr.

“…went to Hawks.” You jolt at your name. “It’s up to you if you want to continue your internship at the same agency.” A shaky breath leaves you as you realize he’s not calling on you. “That’ll be all.” The class erupts into chatter as Aizawa turns to his desk.

“Are you going back to Gang Orca’s?”

“Haha! Yeah, I think I will too!”

“Last time was fun!”

“You and Tokoyami going back to Hawks?”

It takes a moment for the question to register. It came from Kaminari, who’s turned around in his seat and staring at you expectantly.

“Uh.” You blink. Then, you grin, leaning forward on your desk. You can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. “Duh! Where else?”

“If only I could intern with a friend.” A second voice chimes in from behind. You turn, though you already know who it is. “You and Hawks hang out, like, all the time.” Mina then leans in, a hand over her mouth as she looks around. “I bet Tokoyami’s jealous.”

You laugh. “Oh, c’mon. We both know he’s not the type.”

“Okay, true, but it’s still crazy how well you two get along.”

“Yeah, doesn’t he, like,” Kaminari squints at you, "pick you up from school?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Mina’s faster. “Every Friday, Kam! Every friggin' Friday!”

“Whaaat?” You awkwardly laugh as the blonde stares at you, mouth open comically wide.

“Is he replacing Mina or something?”

“Denki!” The pink girl suddenly leans over, pulling you into a bear hug. “Take that back!”

“Guys, guys.” You manage to placate them. “I just hang out with him sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you haven’t been hanging out with us!” Mina’s grip suddenly tightens, forcing a choked cough out of you. “Am I actually being replaced?”

“What? No, Mina - please let go I can’t breathe- ” She jumps back, releasing you. Kaminari's got a dumb grin on his face.

“Turning a bit red there, huh?”

“Shut up.” Right as you’re about to tell off the cheeky fucker, someone hits the side of your head. You look over like they’d just called your name.

“Food’s gonna be gone if you don’t hurry up, losers.” He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s all scowls and frowns on that disdain-filled face. It’s Bakugo. If you can’t tell, it’s Bakugo.

“Oh, shit.” The three of you look around the room. Most of the class is gone already, save for Sero waiting at the door and Aizawa-Sensei sleeping at his desk. God, what wouldn’t you give for a nap right now? You’re running on, like, four hours of sleep.

Mina lets out a small, panicked squeal as she drags you from your seat. Kaminari, Bakugo, and Sero follow just behind as she leads the way to the cafeteria.

“Oh no, the chicken’s gonna be all gone!” You lift a brow at Mina as she pulls you along.

“You like chicken?”

“No, but you do! Last time it was out you looked like you were gonna cry!”

“What?” You burst out laughing. “When did that happen?”

“I don’t know - like, a couple months ago? Doesn’t matter!” Your laughing dies down.

“Oh.” Right.

Right, the day after your sixteenth birthday, when you’d shown up to school dressed in a tank and sweats that weren’t yours. You had changed into a spare uniform in Recovery Girl’s office and spent the entire day in a state of aloofness.

“You guys excited for your internships?” Mina’s voice makes you flinch out of your skin.

“Hell yeah! Who isn’t?” You feel Kaminari poke your side after a moment. “Except for this one.”

“Huh?” Your face scrunches up as you turn back to face him. “I am, though!”

“Uhh, okay, sure.” You hear Mina giggle as the blonde rolls his eyes. “Why are you so not excited, then?”

“Yeah, you went crazy last time.” Mina joins in as she pulls you around a corner. “You didn’t stop talking about Hawks for weeks when you got accepted. Now you don’t talk about him at all.”

“Guys, guys!” The five of you push past the cafeteria doors. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m excited! If I knew you wanted me to tell you more about Hawks-”

“No, God, please, that is not what I meant.” Mina scoffs as she pushes through small circles of chatting students, holding hands with you as she makes her way through the crowd. “I’m just worried.”

“What? About what?”

“I mean, you’ve just been so withdrawn lately, y’know?” She looks over her shoulder for a moment, black eyes meeting yours. “Something on your mind?”

Ever the socialite, Mina’s ability to see through even the slightest change in behavior is astonishing. She’s so good at it, in fact, that she can apparently notice your unusual behavior before you can.

“I’m… withdrawn?” Your voice comes out small as she leads you and the guys to the regular table.

“Uh, yeah.” You turn to look at Sero as he speaks with an obvious tone. “You don’t talk, don’t pay attention - you even avoid us in the dorms. Did you think we didn’t notice?” His quirked eyebrow and accusing eyes leave you fumbling for an explanation.

“No, no I just-”

“Are you guys making fun of her again?” The teasing voice comes from the table you’ve stopped at. “You never give her a break!”

“Not this time, Kiri.” Mina and Kaminari slide in next to Sero while you join Bakugo and Kirishima. They quickly form their own little world, the redhead chattering away as he shows off something on his phone. Bakugo grunts along every now and then with crossed arms.

“So, you going to say something?”

The words that come from Kaminari make you freeze up. You look at him - golden eyes, golden hair - the question rolling around in your head.

The room is dark.

“So, you going to say something?”

“I don’t…” Your words are broken up by panting breaths. Your head’s hot and fuzzy. “…know your name.”

He grunts in response as the grip on your wrists tightens.

“What?” Your brows furrow as he burrows his head into your neck again.

You feel bile rise up in your throat.

“I don’t-” You cut yourself off, gasping as he bites into your shoulder. “I don’t want to.”

“Say it.” He licks where he’d bitten you. “Or I’ll give you a

hickey.”

“Huh?” You slap a hand over your neck. “What?”

“I said,” Mina huffs, “it’s no biggie. If something’s on your mind, tell us. Maybe we can help.”

“No, no. Nothing’s on my mind. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Everything’s been… weird with you, lately.” Kirishima's slumped over on the table, a concerned look on his face.

“Guys. I’m fine. Seriously. I’ve just been out of it.”

Mina frowns. “You promise?”

“Yes, Mina.” You laugh a bit. “I promise. Can we go get food now?”

“Fiiine.”

You shuffle out of the table with the rest of your group, nodding along with Mina as she complains about finding foundation in her color. You try not to think about it. It. You have no name for it.

You enjoy naming things, usually. It gives whatever you’re naming some personality, some life - maybe that’s why you haven’t given it a name. You’d prefer it staying in that tiny recess you’ve made in your mind, far, far away from everything else that is real.

“Yay! Look, they have chicken!” You smile at Mina as she excitedly points at the dish.

It. It. You have no name for it. You want to keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s keep it that way?

“Let’s keep it that way.”

You stare out of the car window. Buildings and people fly by.

You try not to squirm.

You flick your eyes to your father’s. His gaze, one that has been shamelessly taking you in, immediately wrenches itself back to the road. You’ve learned that he always stares at you when you’re not looking.

You turn back to the window. The only thing you can hear is the gravelly sound of the car’s tires speeding down the road.

A quiet lisp catches your ears. You don’t turn your head, though your attention is fully on the sound. You already know what it is. It's your father, mouth contorting, opening, and closing in rapid succession, hands gesturing to someone who isn’t there. He’s speaking like a mime, face fully and angrily animated as he mutely talks to nobody.

Your thumb rubs soothing circles up and down the back of your hand.

“Thank you.” You say to Lunch Runch, punching in your lunch number.

“Should I post this?” Mina shoves her phone in your face, a photo of her and Kirishima singing on screen.

“Mhm.” You take a nice, deep breath. “It’s cute. Where’d you take it?”

“At the sleepover Saturday.” She scowls as she brings the phone back. “You should’ve been there. Then I’d be posting a bunch of cute photos of you.”

“Minaa,” you whine, laughing a bit. “I’m sorry! I'm training with Hawks on weekends.”

“He sucks.” She mumbles. You frown when you see she’s genuinely upset.

“No, Mina, he doesn’t.” He really doesn’t. “Um, how about I watch a movie with you tonight?”

“You’re not gonna fall asleep?” Her narrowed eyes shoot to you, honing in on you instead of her phone. You feel a bit nervous under her harsh gaze.

“I won’t.”

“You’re not gonna bail last minute?” You wince. She’s definitely trying to rub in any guilt you’re feeling.

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“YAY!” Her mood does a complete 180. She’s got a beaming smile on her face as she leans in and gives you a one-armed hug, her food nearly sliding off of her tray in the process. You stiffen, caught off guard - and then you melt. Your face warms up. You shyly pull your tray a little closer.

“Duude, what the hell?” The two of you look over at whatever’s got Sero mock gagging. It’s Kaminari, who’s shakily holding his tray with one hand and squeezing a mayo packet with the other. Squeezing mayo onto his already almost entirely white hamburger, that is.

“What, man? It’s just mayonnaise!”

“That’s your fifth packet!”

“God, Kam, what’s wrong with you?” To your disappointment, Mina draws away from you and joins their banter. You watch as Kaminari desperately tries to defend his questionably large amount of mayo, the group letting out loud laughs and retching noises. Except Bakugo, obviously, because he’s too busy staring at you.

You flinch, nearly dropping your tray. “Jes-”

“Jesus.” He curses for you, reaching out a hand to steady the tray. “Calm down.”

“I am calm.” He retracts his hand. “You just scared me.”

He snorts. “You’re such a pussy”

“Asshole.”

“Pussy.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to look annoyed, though your smile betrays you. He just always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?

You and your friends reach your table soon after. Kaminari and Mina chat as they sit down, Bakugo begins neatly eating his meal, Kirishima babbles about upcoming classes, and Sero’s still staring at Kaminari's burger with a mix of awe and disgust. You spend the rest of lunch on your phone. You do, however, occasionally throw a word or two into the group's conversations.

Once lunch ends, the rest of the day passes like usual. You get through English and Math just fine. Well, you’ve been assigned an essay, so you’re feeling a bit shitty - your final class doesn’t make up for it, either. Hero Studies! It’s an exciting class, sure, but it’s left you exhausted. It was tougher than usual. Your friends disagree.

“You kidding? He went easy on us, honestly.”

“Really?” Sero nods, leaning back on the dorm couch. Mina is sitting next to you, munching on a bag of chips that she offers you every five minutes. Bakugo and Kaminari are having an intense gaming session on the carpet in front of the couch, controllers audibly clicking and probably breaking. Kirishima cheers them on.

“Really. Yeah, we might’ve sparred each other-” Kaminari's groan of defeat interrupts temporarily. He must’ve lost, considering the way Bakugo’s raising his controller with a snarky grin. “But it was really just analysis. Working on our weaknesses and stuff, y’know?” Sero reaches for Mina’s chips as he speaks. She smacks his hand away.

“I guess. Yeah.” You watch Bakugo flaunt his unimportant victory like he’s just won the Grand Prix.

“Maybe you’re sore from last week’s classes?” Mina smacks away Sero’s second attempt at chips. You hum in response, reaching for the bag.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” Mina gives you easy access, and you leave with a good handful of chips. You have to hold back a smile at Sero’s quiet ‘what the fuck?’.

“Excuse me?” You jolt at the familiar voice. You turn to face the door, the rest of your friends curious and leaning over as well. It is weird, after all, because what could Aizawa be here for?

Your teacher doesn’t look happy. He never does, but it’s a bit more apparent right now - his voice is sharp as he says your name and he’s holding open the front door like he doesn’t want to be there. “Your father’s in the parking lot.”

Fuck.

Your face scrunches up in what can only be described as a mix of a cringe and a wince. You turn away, like maybe you can just go back to what you were doing - but no, the sound of the door slamming shut brings you back to reality.

God. Fucking.

This is the third time in the past two weeks. To cut it short, he’s mad at you because you aren’t coming home on weekends. You aren’t returning his calls or texts, either, and that has him practically steaming at the ears.

‘Fuck’ is written all over your demeanor as you keel over, hiding your face in your hands. Your friends watch in silence.

You know, logically, you shouldn’t be doing that. You know he’s just going to keep coming to school, that he’s just going to keep getting angry at you until you answer his damn calls and visit his lonely ass. But the satisfaction you’re getting, even when this isn’t helping anything at all - ugh! So therapeutic! Yes, you’re petty, but the knowledge that you have this one power over him feels good.

“You gonna tell your old man to leave?” Your head lifts at Bakugo’s gruff voice. “Sensei’s lookin’ real tired of it.”

You push yourself off of the couch. Bakugo is right - your teacher looks done with this. You need to grow up.

“I’ll be right back, guys.” You trudge to the front door. A chorus of ‘see you’s and ‘be back soon’s follow you out. You can’t help but curse again, though, when you hear their chatter pick up as the door shuts.

You notice it’s gotten cooler since earlier. There’s a breeze now, rustling your hair and the trees as you walk across campus. It kind of helps the pit in your stomach.

You hate this song and dance but keep doing it. You hate when he bitterly vents everything annoying him onto you, when he justifies it because you haven’t talked to him in a while, you’re ‘catching up’ - you hate seeing him. You hate his energy. You hate the aftertaste he leaves behind. You hate him.

You’re afraid. Yes, deep down, you’re afraid, though you’d never admit it aloud. That’s what the pit is: the bundle of nerves you’ve been shoving down since Aizawa said ‘father’.

You spot your teacher up ahead on the cement path. Great, you think, you can apologize in advance for your father’s passive aggressiveness.

“Aizawa-Sensei!” You shout, jogging to catch up. He pauses and turns to face you. You’re glad to see he’s waiting for you - he doesn’t totally hate you, yet. He even slows his pace when the two of you start walking again. “I’m sorry about him. Again.”

He sighs, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose. “I understand you can’t control your father.” You stare down at your feet. “But this - it isn’t any of U.A’s business.”

He’s being… direct, this time, huh?

“Right.” You swallow. “Sorry, Sensei.”

The rest of the walk is silent. You don’t mind, and neither does your teacher. He’s never been all that talkative and you’re afraid of pissing him off further.

Your hands start to fiddle with each other the closer you get to the parking lot. You can see the U.A gate, now - the front entrance. He’s probably just outside it. The last time you saw him he was raging, absolutely furious that you hadn’t listened to him. How will he react this time?

“He's right over there.” Your steps stutter to a halt. Your teacher has stopped at the bottom of the small staircase, farther than the last two times. He probably doesn’t want to hear it when your Dad raises his voice.

You don’t turn back to face him. For some reason, you can only seem to focus on the pacing figure that’s circling just outside the gate. It reminds you of a piranha.

“Okay.” You finally look back at your teacher. “Just, uh - can you not leave?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, his brows furrow, his mouth opening, no doubt to say something. A distant shout cuts him off.

You turn back to the gate. The piranha has stopped circling, it’s spotted you - it shouts something loosely resembling your name.

“Uh, okay,” You’re speaking to yourself at that moment. The nerves are getting to you. “I’ll be right back.”

“Alright.”

You start the descent. Continue it, really, since you’ve been on the descent since Aizawa opened the door. Your heart’s been beating faster and faster, your breathing speeding up - the knowledge that he’s waiting for you and mad always holds you in a state of suspense. Paralysis, really.

The suspense is coming to its peak. Your thumb’s digging into your hand, your steps quick but short. You want to take your time, piss him off, look like you could care less that he’s here - but with his eyes on you and what feels like no way of escape, you are a cornered animal. Your eyes drag through your surroundings. You’re looking at everything besides the man waiting for you.

You want to see Hawks. Just the thought of him brings a small smile to your face. Then you remember yesterday, and you start rubbing both sides of your neck with your hands.

You don’t realize how fucked up your vision is until you’re passing the U.A gate. You’ve got… what? It feels like a film over your sight, everything looks wonky - it’s like, like… you can’t quite put your finger on it.

Your breath hitches when you realize you’re here. You’re here. Your father’s right in front of you.

It doesn’t feel like that. You stare at him, him and his strange expression, and he feels surreal.

“Hi.” You say, eyes wide. You’re staring at him but not really - you’re staring at whatever this thing is doing to your vision. This… feeling.

Your father’s face is tight. Neutral, at first glance, but then you see the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes. You can never seem to stare directly into them, like they’ll burn you like the sun. They’re so intense when he’s angry.

He really is like the sun, in a way. Bright, glaring, making sure he’s always in your life despite being so far away from it - omnipotent, yet doesn’t even have a brain. He sees everything and yet you can’t look directly at him. He’s, though you’ll never admit it, intimidating.

He doesn’t respond to your greeting. He just stares down at you with those eyes, the fists at his side clenching and unclenching, and the way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s picturing all the ways he could break you limb by limb.

He grinds out his first sentence. You don’t think you hear him right.

“What?”

“We’re going home.” He repeats. You blink up at him with the stupidest face. Then, you look away, processing his words properly.

“Oh, uh.” You try to find a way to put this without accidentally siccing him on you. “I’m not allowed to leave campus.”

“I’m unenrolling you.”

“What?” For the first time, you're the first to raise your voice. Your head jerks back up to him and you cannot believe what you just heard because that must’ve been a fucking joke.

“You clearly don’t appreciate everything I do for you.” You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. “I’m tired of working so hard for a - for a bitch.”

Your eyebrows furrow, your mouth opening and shutting like a confused carp. He - what?

Were you a bitch? He has been working your whole life. You should be grateful for that.

He grasps one of your shoulders, tight like iron, pressing into that specific spot that makes you shrink and squirm. “We’re going home.”

You look down at your shoulder. You’re involuntarily holding onto his wrist.

What would Hawks do? What would Hawks say? Would he agree? Would he tell you you’re a bitch? No, no, he would - he would -

“You - you -“ You feel your eyes start to burn as you try prying him off of your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, per say - it just feels wrong. He’s pressing it wrong.

“You - you -“ He mocks like a child, his seemingly calm demeanor suddenly changing to that of a fucking schoolboy. He makes a face to go with it, even, and you stare at him in shock because he’s never done that before. His voice is condescending, nearly joyful as he leans down. “What? Fucking what?” His free hand holds onto your other shoulder. Though it doesn’t press into you like the other, it still makes you want to get away.

He sticks his face in close and then shakes you violently, his strength legitimately starting to scare you. You can’t wriggle out of his grip. You can’t get away.

This is different. This is different. This is uncharted territory - you’re feeling a different sort of fear. No, dread? Apprehension? Disgust?

Disgust because you didn’t think your father was capable of acting in this stupid, unbelievable way, because you knew he was bad but he’s never -

he has.

You can’t speak. Even when he stops shaking you, you can’t move, and this is that paralysis - you’re stuck. You can’t do anything. You’re at the mercy of your own mind and your father’s rage.

Is this how your mother felt?

You turn to look at Aizawa. Luckily, he’s seeing what’s happening, and has just started on a brisk walk. A walk with purpose - like a missile honing in on it’s target.

You should probably yell. Scream, make a scene, something - but your thoughts are too busy clouding your head up. You can’t think straight. You just feel scared, you’re scared, your father’s pulling you by the elbow. Fuck, fuck, you need to stop - he’s dragging you to the car.

“Dad!” You manage, digging your heels into the ground. It slows him down a bit, makes him struggle to continue pulling you along, and relief floods your system because maybe everything’s fine, but then he yanks you forward with more strength than you thought possible.

“Hey!” You hear, and your teacher has broken into a run, but the bulldozer that is your father doesn’t stop for a second. You stumble as he drags your heels along the concrete, he’s gripping your arm so tight it hurts, the door to the car’s opening - ah, shit -

The door slams shut the moment you hit the backseat of your car. His car. He’s mumbling curses as he hurriedly hops into the front seat, fumbling with his keys.

You sit up so fucking fast. You press yourself against the door so fucking fast, hands nearly tearing the handle off, but the door doesn’t open and the engines are already roaring.

You frantically look out the window. You’re already pulling out of the parking space. Your teacher follows, banging on the front seat window and shouting for your Dad to open the door. Your Dad, meanwhile, is acting like he isn’t even there.

Your teacher stops yelling and banging when the car is fully out of the parking space. Instead, he runs back inside U.A, which is logically the best decision but he’s leaving. He’s leaving. You’re alone.

You’re not, actually, not if you count the man in the front seat.

Hunched over like he’s driving a race car, which he kind of is with the way he’s going fifty in a twenty, he is entirely frightening. From his unusual posture, to the way he’s whisper-yelling to nobody, to the way he’s breathing heavier than you - oh, you should calm down.

Your lungs are on autopilot. They don’t even finish a breath before they take in another, they’re forcing your mouth open so you can take in more air though it somehow feels like less.

You need to calm down. You need to calm down. This isn’t happening, right? You’re fine. Calm down.

Your father slams his fist onto the dash. “Shut up!” You were already quiet, though, or you swear you were - is it your breathing? It’s hard to tell how loud your gasping is when all you're focused on is the panic clawing up your throat.

What’s going to happen? You’re alone with your Dad. He’s taking you somewhere. Where? Home? What’s he going to do when you get there? Oh, God, what’s he going to do?

A part of you tells you why. It shows you why - he’s going to fly into a rage, he’s going to do you like he did Mom -

So you sit there. You’re paralyzed. Your back is pressing into the corner of the seat, hands wrapped tight around the handle that just won’t budge, eyes bulging and unblinkingly trained on the man your mind is violently fantasizing about.

None of it is fantasy.

Or, at least that’s what your mind tells you for the rest of the ride.

[lamppost-t]

Should’ve been me

Gn!reader (I’m pretty sure correct me if I’m wrong)

Summary: finnick comforts the reader as they try and recover from survivors guilt from winning the hunger games

Word count : 756

Warnings: mentions of death and killing, the hunger games, hurt and comfort, no use of y/n, use of pet names (sweetheart)

A/N: No one requested this but I felt like writing a short finnick fic but I low key hate this so 😍

(snuck a few Mitski references in here 😽)

The hot blaring heat waves of the summer usually hit district 4 pretty hard. For as long as you could remember each summer you’d be a frequent visitor of the many many beaches of your hometown. As much as you hated the very violent heat of district 4 summers you missed it more than ever now. You were on your victory tour after just winning the hunger games and the only place you wanted to be was back home, tolerating the horrible flames of summer in district 4 but no you were stuck on the train as they paraded you through the districts. As you stared out of the window of the moving train trying not to remember your situation as the cart steadily moved along the train tracks. you heard the familiar sound of the door sliding open.

“There you are” said a comforting voice “they are looking for you, they want to make sure your in your next outfit before we get to district 8”

You stay silent as if trying to ignore the thought of having to do any of your duty’s of being a victor as it made you sick. Finnick glanced at you, sadness in his eyes. He placed his hand on your shoulder trying his best to comfort you.

“You did what you needed to do” he said softly. He knew what you were thinking as he had gone through the same thing, winning his games at 13 wasn’t easy and the guilt still chewed at him every single night. He knew the pain or having to wake up almost every night from the replays of the life being drained out of the eyes of the people he had killed to get out of the arena.

“But I didn’t deserve to make it out alive” you responded turning to finally face Finnick, your cheeks stained with tears. the thought of the games caused tears to well up once again in your eyes. “They shouldn’t have died it should’ve been me” you said, the guilt in your voice could be heard clearly trough every word “they had families Finnick they had lives and what did I do to deserve to make it out alive? I was just lucky the Capitol decided to bet on a loosing dog” you cried wiping the tears threatening to come out of your eyes waiting for his reaction.

“Don’t say that sweetheart” he said wrapping you into a tight hug. “You didn’t choose to go into the games and you did exactly what you needed to do to get out just like everyone else.” He said placing a kiss on top of your head “you’ve done nothing wrong” he spoke rubbing circles on your back. You cried silently into his arms. Finnick stood there with you, letting you get all of your emotions out, no matter how drenched his shirt would become from your tears, he just wanted to help you deal with the traumas of being a victim to snow and the capitols games.

“Does the guilt ever go away?” You sniffed looking up at Finnick your eyes tired from crying.

“It never goes away but I promise you it gets a bit better” he replied, his voice soothing you as you rested your head on his chest. The room was filled with a comfortable silence as he held you in his arms firmly and comfortably that you had yearned for your whole life. You felt yourself becoming tired as Finnick was quite comfortable to lean on

“Are you falling asleep on me?” He questioned letting out a little laugh

“Shut up” you said “I deserve a bit of a rest do you know how much of a hell this victory tour has been?” You complained, you were right you hadn’t really gotten much sleep on the tour and most of the crew could tell.

“Don’t worry just get a bit of sleep I’ll cover for you” he said laying you onto the couch behind you. He tried to walk out of the cart but you stopped him, grabbing onto his arm

“Stay… please” the desperation in your voice clear as you beckoned him to stay. He didn’t really want to say no so he sat next to you allowing you to use him as a pillow. You soaked in the silence and peace of the moment falling into a deep slumber, knowing this would be a rare occurrence moving forward, but you knew Finnick would be by your side to help you through it

I love Finnick Odair I wish nice men were real 😞😞

[shadyteacup]

I swear the best story ideas come to me when I’m in class-

[Chuuya x reader]

Chuuya gulped down the rest of his wine, desperate to blend all his thoughts into a meaningless mush. He hated that no matter how much he drank, all he could think of was your voice, and your piercing gaze. The way you discarded him so easily, and all he could do was fall to his knees and beg you to stay, it all haunted him. He loved you, that’s a known fact to both of you. But he had always thought that you reciprocated. Maybe Chuuya didn’t deserve people in his life. Everybody he meets, walks away from him.

Was he cursed? Or is it because he isn’t human?

Chuuya always questioned his humanity, and often beat himself up over it. But when the intrusive thoughts got to his head, you’d be there to rubbish them. You would always stay by his side, for hours, calming his racing heart and wiping his tears, softly kissing his face and repeatedly reassuring him that he was, in fact, human.

“Chuuya, look at me.”

Your soft voice pushed through his dark thoughts, and Chuuya hesitantly looked up to meet your worried gaze.

“Do you love me?”

Your question made him blink, confused. Yes, he did love you. But you knew that. He loved you enough to show you this vulnerable side of his. He knitted his eyebrows and looked away, too vulnerable and scared to maintain eye contact.

“Chu. Look at me and tell me, do you love me?”

The Ginger nodded, and whispered a meek yes.

“Then you’re human.”

Chuuya shook his head, denying his own humanity.

“To feel emotions is to be human. To love, is human. You love me, Chuuya, and that proves that you have a heart, a heart that beats for you, for me, and works tirelessly to keep you alive. I can bet all my possessions on this, on the fact that if anybody is human, it’s you. Because,”, you tilted his chin to look him in his gorgeous ocean eyes.

“Because you, Chuuya Nakahara, are the most humane person I have ever met.”

Chuuyas heart twisted at the soft memory, one that he held so close to his heart.

He couldn’t believe that the same person that held him so carefully on his down days, is the one who left him.

He couldn’t tolerate the pain any longer. All he wanted to do was not feel. He finally understood that idiot Dazai’s wish to die.

But every time he thought of killing himself, he remembered the version of you that would look so shattered and broken every time he came home with new injuries. He remembered the tiny sniffles you would try to hide as you bandaged him up, not wanting to show that you’re crying for him.

He promised himself that he’d stay alive because that version of you would be devastated if he died.

How ironic, he thought, that the person who once cared the most about him, is the one who is making him want to die.

You always knew this was going to happen. It was your fault for falling in love with the mafia executive. You job required you to spy on one of the executive members of the Port Mafia, and to make him fall in love with you to make your job easier. But you didn’t truly understand the concept of love, having never experienced it yourself before meeting Chuuya. And now, as you watched him drink his salary away in the club, you wished you could hold his hand and guide him home. But alas, you couldn’t leave the table you were occupying, as your job didn’t allow you to have any contact with the man you now loved. So you shrank back into the shadows of the corner table, and felt your heart break as Chuuya shouted a slurred, “Another!”, at the bartender.

Tag list:

@anarchy-black-cat @707xn @evalynanne @b-i-t-t-i-e-s @kuraxmasha @syynnaaah @roserosie05 @mikasa-stan-account @alittlesimp @greenshirtimagines @paradise-creator @kiyokoxd @ranposlover @the-foreigner @sakikoshi@h3xa413a @sukunas-cult-leader @ilOvedaydreaming @del1111 @craftypeachmoneyhound @notquitehereorthere @mikasa-stan-account @kenmasbbygrl @alphaofdarkness @duhsies @cees-sims @the-foreigner @uglapuglamuglafugla @sugarandsoft @jadegreenimmortality @flanelsantito @shiny84244 @one-hell-of-otaku-is-here@missrown @requiem626k @sukunas-cult-leader @ilovedaydreaming @roserosie05 @mikasa-stan @ukiyoo0430 @boineko @missrown @munakara @dazaiaiko @ravenina14 @nekokinax

[sinning-23]

Save a Horse (Jean Kirschtein x Reader)

Jean Kirschtein x Reader

Kinktober

Prompt/Warnings: Stripping/StripTease, p in v, spanking, orgasm denial. This is obviously a NSFW considering it's a kinktober-based prompt. 18+ Minors skidaddel.

Notes: yes yes I know I’m behind! But I turned 20 on Friday lol and uhhhh I’ve been busy lol oh and my dog died on Saturday

so…. Anyway enjoy!

Oh this is also season 4 jean

You scoff at the feeling of the shirt fabric clinging to your skin. The sun is high in the sky, baby hairs sticking to your face. This is that ASSface Jean’s fault. There’s no reason he had to sweet you into this goddamn mess that he was in! The menace is not far behind, collar loose and shirt unbuttoned.

“You’re seriously not gonna wait up for me?” He scoffs making you whip around with an equal scowl.

“No! You big bitch! I didn’t even wanna be out here and you got me caught up!” You yell, speed walking to the stables.

Jean is close behind, yanking you by your belt loops with a frown. It was false though, the true intention was hidden behind those stupid light brown hues.

“You know I love when you talk mean to me. But don’t you think calling me a bitch is too far?” He asks. Large hands firm at your waist.

It was, but you were just upset. You never wanted to be out in this goddamned head and if he never started an argument with the captain and dragged you into it you wouldn’t be here! But part of you loved the idea of being alone with him, working together, moving barrels of hay, and taking sips from the same water flask. The thought and feeling of an indirect kiss tingling your lips.

“It was mean. I’m just upset because it’s hot as hell and-,”

“Then strip.” He chuckles, taking his hat off his head and placing it on top of your own. Your breath hitches.

Strip?! STRIP?! I mean, this was a dream come true, but holy hell you are unprepared. And the hat?! He is quick to pop each button on his open, skin shiny and wet with sweat. He looks up at you with a smile.

“Go on.” He instructs, leaning against one of the stalls to watch you undress.

“I know you’re so pretty under there sweetheart. Let me see you. Besides it’s hot and I know you wanna cool off. Even though this is doing the opposite for you.” Jean states only slightly licking his lips.

You swallow hard, undying your shirt, popping each button as he groans at the sight. You can feel your heart pound, heat continuing to rise throughout your body. You slide the shirt off, the bra just barely pushing your boobs up and out, the fabric moist from how much you’d been sweating.

“Bet you feel cooler already huh pretty girl?” Jean questions, approaching you and placing his hands on your hips while he kisses down your neck, chest, and stomach.

He’s on his knees now, hands moved from your hips to the tops of your thighs. He looks up, almost begging for your pants to go. He undoes the button first, then slowly unzips them, pressing a kiss just a little below your belly button. He takes his time pulling your jeans down letting them pool at your ankles before gently lifting them so you could stop out of the fabric.

"Turn." He demands, hands running up the plush of your ass, a loud smack damn near echoing throughout the stables and your yelp from the impact, a sting soon begins soothed by him.

"Now before I do anything else, pretty girl, do I have permission? Even though it won't help you cool off much." He asks, his from pressed deliciously against your back. You can feel him poking you.

"Yes. Please." You exhale, feeling him slide his fingers under your panties and only slightly pulling them to the side. Hes just barely about to enter you, and your pussy if practically drooling, th sound of your wetness seeming to echo along with another smack against your already sensitive ass.

"F-Fuck Jean can you-" He comes down hard again, cutting you off as you cry out, the line between pleasure and pain blurring when he slips into you, each stroke calculated.

"For someone to call me a bitch, you sure do sound like one in heat now don't you pretty girl?" He teases, slamming back into you at a brutal pace, your body jolting against the stable door, making it creak.

You can't help but moan, tears filling your eyes when he comes down again, the harsh smack makes you almost scream. but he's gentle after, massaging the obvious print of his hand.

You can feel it now, your body feeling hotter by the second. You'd unwind any minute now, feeling Jean snap his hips back into you, his hand reaching around your throat.

"I can feel you squeezing down on me honey, and I'm not gonna let you." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek and giving you one last slap before pulling out completely, your orgasm ruined by the sudden lack of stimulation.

Yeah...hes definetly a bitch.

A big one at that.