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yongislong · 2 years ago

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intimate moments + 127

wc/genre: 2,010k... fluff, domestic, angsty?? suggestive? mayhaphs. established relationships with nonidol!127. not proofread oof

cw/note: no cws i dont think but lmk! ty for requesting anon! requests are always open btw hehe! but YUUPP yknow what time it is my first 127 headcannons muahaha so here we go :> mark and haechan are in the dreamies post. i used and and like a lot im SORRY LMFAO but tysm for the support :") i was surprised people liked my other stuff sm! im quite insecure about the way i wrote bc.. i write how i talk haha, its kind of a mess. i wish i could make my posts a lot cuter and stuff but school is tiring, i appreciate all of your love lately though, this was all for myself and first bc i was going through it but im glad people enjoy it! sorry this is so long i just wanted to let yall know a bit more abt me! :D

taeil… cooking: GOD im having taeil brainrot bc he was on that baby show, and him ripping that crab with his bare hands.... sickening. bc UGH he is such husband material. imagining you both in the kitchen cooking and he's genuinely such a menace and you cant hear the music you suggested to play, anymore bc his smooching noises are so LOUD and suddenly the homemade pho you were both attempting to make while wearing matching aprons is on the verge of being forgotten lol. you finally give in after much name calling from him and let him press your cheeks together to give you a wet, loud smooch on your forehead. theres something about cooking to taeil thats so personal and adult-y to him. like oh my god here you both are, sitting in your VERY cute shared apartment, sharing a very nice bowl of noodles as the roses he planted now lay in a small mint green vase on your tiny dining room table. its something about the domesticity of working on something together, enjoying yourselves while doing it AND getting to eat the end product of said hard work, that he finds incredibly fullfilling. sitting across the love of his life. another thing he likes to do is prop his feet next to your right thigh on your chair and you do the same. you guys have your legs resting on each others chairs under the table. sometimes he pulls on the skin of your calf and when you complain you haven't shaven he rolls his eyes and seems to swat your words out of the air in front of him. long story short he just watches you ramble on about your day at work, until he stares for too long and hasn't realized you're practically shaking the life out of him because he never answered your questions about whether or not he gave brina and brita their fish food

johnny... sharing a book: johnny pegs me as someone who's super patient! maybe he's not bc... parasocial relationships LOL but in his interactions with everyone else, like that one jcc where mark doesn't want frozen yogurt and he was so nice abt it! but similarly to renjun, its nice to share something in bed but also both be consuming the same content yknow? he also seems to me like the type of guy who, likes to finish something before moving on to the next big thing WHICH means.... you spending about 5 months going through the entire percy jackson series PFTT. but its SOO GOOD and you both get so into it and after you finish the first two books you immediately both skip lectures or work the next day just to watch the movies and you both lose your minds at how bad they are TT. but yes its such a nice time to unwind! he loves having you lay between his legs, head on his collarbone as his arms circle around your torso to lay the book on your hipbone. he always waits for you to finish before he turns the page ofc! he also bought a little reading light that can be clipped on the the binding of the outside of the book and illuminate the pages in case reading went on a lot longer than expected. the bookmark that holds your place in the story was a polaroid picture of you sleeping HOWEVER it got replaced to a picture of you looking thru a glass of wine and it makes your face look all warped and funny lol. johnny always smiles when he sees it so its a good way to begin reading time hehe. kinda obvious but his body heat + his room + the smell of his lingering cologne on his sheets is chefs kiss, extra points if the apartment still smells like coffee from this morning OR the bottle of red wine he opened that sits on the nightstand </3

taeyong... customizing clothes together: GODDDD ya'll would be the most well dressed couple ever dude. yong is so creative, and i sense that he would want his partner to share his same taste at least when it comes to clothes and art! this isn't something you both do often bc... life lol but it started when you were cleaning out your shared closet. both sprawled on the floor, as you begin complaining about how you've both found pieces of clothing that you felt guilty about throwing away. then! yong suggests going to the craft/vintage store to see if theres any way to up-cycle what you've found. so thats how you spend the summer weekend. sat on the plush fuchsia rug in your living room, surrounded by denim, fabric squares, 80s brooches, lace, ribbon, etc etc as you spend the humid and sticky afternoon binging nana while you both sit in creative/comfortable silence, gluing and pining and sewing things to various articles of clothing. its SO cozy, funk music plays from the mini speaker you guys co-own and at the end of the task, you give each other a private fashion show styling your new clothes! he adores watching you pretend to model and eggs you on sm "y/n you need to consider doing this for real, everything looks good on you its not fair," this day is something that you both remember for a while. there were shared childhood stories, insecurities, dreams and you both were so much more vulnerable because there was something to distract yourselves with. the night ends in an absolute destruction of your living room floor, but accompanied with a cuddle session in his bed, the sounds from the ceiling fan and his heart beat almost make you sleepy, almost missing his whispered compliments and soft neck kisses.

yuta... hair: ok i know this is super vague but as a fellow scorpio who loves doing things to their hair, theres nothing more i want in life than someone to be able to do those things with! like ugh late night hair salon time with yuta, yup. this goes along so well with trust as well. i mean he's letting you cut, dye and style his hair and vice versa. i feel like he'd be with someone who's more edgy and this would be such a raw moment for you as a couple LIKE you're changing each other's appearances and its a time of patience. listening is extremely important as well and whenever you go through a new hair phase, sitting down at the sink and soaking up what the other has to say and practically baring their souls out while the bleach is very much stinging the top of his scalp is really fascinating LMAO, needless to say you guys aren't the typical couple, but it works. the amount of understanding and empathy you've both adopted for one another is lovely! and not to mention is super cute when yuta crinkles his nose, his teeth peeking out just a bit from the opening of his lips, because he absolutely needed a blonde wolf cut and hair is very much getting all over his face. in moments like this he doesn't think he would trade your adorable and super hot according to him concentration face. ALSOOO angsy, hot, jrock inspired couple photos are a must and yes, everyone on campus is jealous.

doyoung... driving: CORNYY BOOO yes ik, but guys? him driving, in that domestic ass button up and black thick rimmed glasses. he needs to be in jail bc he absolutely would be that bf to throw rocks at your window even though, yes you live together and yes its an apartment complex but, he wants you to feel that super giddy like, puppy bunny love again and he almost brought a boombox to play to play head over heels by tears for fears but... too much according to jaehyun lol. so anyways he loves late night drives with you. or any drives really! his favorites are a combination of picking you up late night from work and getting to hear all the drama whilst you guys eay in-n-out in the parking lot. and listen, im not trying to push the doyoung medical student agenda but... i 100% am and his reasoning for these late nights is because he's soooo busy! he feels guilty he doesn't take you out to nicer places and you always have to reassure him that anywhere he goes with you, is automatically a win in your books. its moments like these where he really grasps how lucky he is. oh wow.... you really do love him and it FREAKS him out in the best way. every night always ends sappy bc he's so GROSS geez. he's such a romantic in a way you would never expect. he's not cheesy or arrogant about loving you, and he never considers it something he has to do either. he just fully, truly and honestly wants to worship the ground you walk on. DON'T even get me started on drive-in movies omg. basically his cherry red car is your safe space lol </3

jaehyun... record swapping: tha music man muahaha. my heart tells me you both met in a vintage record store AHH, he saw you and his heart physically ached like when you see a pretty person in public, yeah but x 100 like he got the wind knocked out of him and he fucking drops, the stack of chet baker records he had on hand and his ears look like red bell peppers and he wants to crawl away until you rush over not like run but brisk walking? lol as you help him pick up all the vinyls he dropped.you noticed in between the pile of 50s music he had a limited edition vinyl of on of your favorite bands and that had you whipping your head up and noticing how soft he looked all flushed and dimples peaking out from the thin line on his lips. definition of he fell first but you fell harder ESPECIALLY on ya'll's second/third date. he invited you over to his house and requested you to bring your best albums. AND GODDDD the date was... truly when you fell harder for him. you spent the night swapping albums aka baring your souls and sitting on his kitchen counter as he paces back and forth in front of you as he goes on a tangent about his favorite artist. its like the world slows down and you both leave that date with a new record from the other and a notion that you were definitely falling in love with each other

jungwoo... bubble baths: GAAHHH TT. tell me, that jungwoo wouldn't adore relaxing with a full on bubble bath with you. and i'm talking like bubblegum flavored soap, bath bombs, dried flowers, candles, mood lighting???? its too good. after the first couple of times you've done it, he learns your habits and favorite smells as well as the right way to position you in the tub bc he takes up sm of it LOL. and if you're both tall... you make it work! hehe. but DUDE once he learns how to juggle this intimate activity LMFAO he buys stuff specifically for your sunday reset bubble baths OMG, like that board that stands across the tub just so he can set his laptop on it. yes its just bc he wants to watch disney movies and real house wives while unwinding haha. he's so sweet though, being all pretty with his skin a little glowy because of the steam coming from the water, his eyebrows brush up from when he swiped water on his eyes and his eyes twinkling once he stacks a bunch of bubbles on your head in a makeshift crown. he likes to give u bubbly shoulder kisses BOOOOOOO yes im jealous bc he's perfect and OFC he picks out the perfect pjs and warms them up in the dryer and sits you on the bathroom counter just so he can do your skincare for you </3

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scorchieart · 2 years ago

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Hey!! I have an idea for a headcanon. It’s alright if you don’t like it ☺️. Basically it’s about how the princes would wake mc up. In this case i would assume that mc is a heavy sleeper, who’s got trouble waking up…

Yeah, that’s basically it… 🤭 it’s your choice if you want to do it in a funny manner or rather in a cute style… or maybe they even wake her up in a mean kind of way (*cough, cough* clavis) 😂 yeah it’s up to you.

It would be cool if you could write for clavis and leon. For me those two are enough 😁

Cheers! Love your blog btw. 😊

Clavis, Leon, & Yves Waking a Sleepy Reader

So sorry this took ages @rosestowrite. Guess you could say I've been sleeping on this one, hehe... I added Yves because of that Garfield gif, but it ended up being a bit of a tirade.

Clavis Lelouch

Two to the right… three left… once more right… Click!

Clavis pocketed his lockpick and silently strode into the room, closing the door behind him with the faintest snap. He followed the dim pattern of morning sun seeping through the curtains toward the bed to find the blanket slowly rising and falling in rhythm. Smiling softly, he tiptoed to your desk, laid the small stack of papers he brought with him, and sat down to work.

He couldn’t quite remember when this little routine of yours began, though it had been long enough to the point where you’d ceased boring your unamused gaze into him upon waking. Every irate gawk was warranted, he believed, as the first ones he received were as a result of some cleverly convoluted contraption he used to rouse you from your slumber. There was the time he climbed in through the windows bearing a bouquet of the freshly bloomed corpse flowers he’d been cultivating for months — you awoke with a scrunched up face and the atrocious smell lingered in your room for days. And the time he released a swarm of newly-hatched chicks on your bed — they adorably pecked at your eyelids until they shot open. And who could forget the Amazing Ambush of August — yours was an expression he would relish for the rest of his life.

Of course, this was all due to the fact that you were naturally a stubborn sleeper. Such a tricky customer demanded only the most eccentric of wakeup calls. But as the months went on, Clavis found it harder to come up with exciting new ways to get you up (the same trick never worked on you twice, it seemed). He remained determined and pushed through these creativity blocks, he was the only person to survive the Brutal Beast in the morning, after all. There were some days his conviction faltered and he seriously considered reusing his methods for waking Chevalier on you, though he’d always push those thoughts and his sword aside. He would never lay a finger on you.

Eventually his exhaustion overtook him, and one day he simply sat by your desk at the cusp of dawn, tinkering with some parts for a new trap he was developing, watching the sun climb over the horizon and waited. To his surprise, it didn’t take you nearly as long to wake on your own as he’d expected; several hours before Chevalier normally would, in fact. You merely stared at him, that skeptical look fighting your snoozy countenance as he greeted you, tricky gadget in hand, and from then on the over-the-top wakeup calls ceased.

He knew he could always pop in just before you normally woke, but he found himself unfathomably drawn to your room in the early mornings. Perhaps it was the way your windows faced the rising sun, with desk perched at the perfect angle so that the light never stung his eyes as he reviewed documents. Or it could be the soft colors of the walls that gleamed almost ethereally as the rays hit them, turning the tiny room into a private enchanted chamber for a precious few hours. Or maybe it was the fact that he could simply turn his head and find you resting peacefully under his care that brought him peace in these precious moments before the hustle and bustle of the workday.

The bed stirred, and Clavis watched with rapt attention as you groggily sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. He could always acquire a key to your room, but like he savored cataloging hundreds of your waking expressions, he felt the honor of getting to be the first thing you saw in the morning must be earned.

Leon Dompteur

The door barely managed to hold onto its hinges as it burst open, Leon Dompteur proudly prancing through it in its wake.

“Who’s ready for the most epic hike of the season?” he bellowed to the cavernous room, carrying two immense loaded backpacks in his hands. When no one responded, he lowered his arms and squinted through the dark to find your form still entombed in blankets.

“Hey!” he called, striding up to your side. “You’re still in bed? The Sun’ll be up soon!” He dropped the bags to the floor with two loud thumps! and clutched the end of the mattress, shaking as hard as he could manage without making you fly off the bed. Aside from a wheezy snore, you made no indication you’d heard the prince or felt his mini quake.

“Come on,” he pleaded, now moving to lightly shake your shoulder. If you were any of his brothers, he wouldn’t have bothered with the courtesy and chucked him straight to the floor. But even though you were bold enough to suggest an early-morning hike with him up the mountain in the dead of winter to watch the sunrise, he still had his dignity as a prince to maintain.

Well, that was only partly the reason. He’d also bore witness to you falling victim to one of Clavis’s more… bonkers wakeup calls last August. You had chased him halfway through town before Leon caught up and held you back. He had never seen a more determinedly savage look on anyone before, and he grew up watching Clavis prank Yves multiple times a week.

Safe to say, Leon wasn’t too keen on getting too close to you while you were unconscious, so he applied every unobtrusive method he could think of to break your slumber.

But he had tried everything; whistling birdsong to match the morning doves, tickling your nose with a feather quill, cracking his knuckles right beside your ear. Nothing worked! You were really knocked out this time, but drastic times called for drastic measures. You did authorize the use of force if it came to it, after all…

Leon unclasped his sword from his belt and, still sheathed, brought the tip to your side, making sure he stood far out of your armsreach. Applying the slightest bit of pressure, he ran the end up your spine in undulating movements.

“Look out! A rat’s crawled into your sheets!” he called, failing to hide the amusement in his voice. Not that you would have noticed, the way you rocketed out of the bed and sprinted toward the door. Clavis may be on to something, your morning reactions were really fun.

“Great, you’re up! Come on, we’d better get a move on if we’re gonna make it before sunrise,” Leon said, tossing a pair of jogging pants and a sweater to your scowling face.

Yves Kloss

Sweat pooled along his brow, and Yves elegantly wiped it off with a flick of his handkerchief before knocking on your door, a silver tray perfectly balanced in his other hand. He waited exactly sixty seconds before knocking again and, allowing another sixty-second intermission, resolved to opening the door himself.

Sunlight dully filed in from the open curtain, illuminating the stacks of books and bottles of ink haphazardly piled atop your work desk. Yves carefully shifted the lot aside enough to set his tray down and scan his surroundings. As he feared, the room was in no better condition. More books littered the floors, many of which still open with pieces of parchment covered in your handwriting stuffed inside, bags and shoes piled in every corner, and there didn’t seem to be a single piece of furniture that didn’t have some article of clothing haphazardly hanging off it.

“Honestly,” Yves muttered, plucking a satin dress from an armchair. His scowl quickly melted away as he studied the dress more intently, memories of the ball you two attended the prior week flooding his mind, and he let out a sigh.

He truly admired the persistence and dedication you put into your work, it made him puff up with pride to reminisce the day you’d proclaimed you wanted to replicate his work ethic, but there was a fine line between effort and exertion. How very fortunate you were to have such an understanding and considerate prince by your side to reel you back whenever you overdid it, he thought. He had just hung the dress back in your closet when he heard a stirring from the bed.

“Oh, good morning!” he said brightly as he retrieved the tray. “That didn’t take too long, and what luck, because I’ve brought breakfast. Tea today is a fruity blackberry blend, it should be finished steeping now, and I’ve just taken this souffle out from the oven, so it should still be perfectly —”

But he cut himself short when he saw you still snoozing. Pink-faced and hurt, he slammed the tray back onto the desk, a splash of tea jumping out from the pot and onto his finger.

“Ouch!” he cried, but quickly covered his mouth. You made no sudden movements, and Yves lowered his hand. It was an odd feeling, he wanted so badly for you to wake up and enjoy breakfast with him, but at the same time he wanted you to rest after all your work. It was like his body was conflicted between the two and couldn’t settle on what he truly desired.

Yves solemnly sucked on his finger and approached the bed again. You looked like you were having a very peaceful dream, a quaint smile draped across your lips, and once again Yves felt the contradictory sensation of letting you continue or asking you to share what made you smile so. He sincerely hoped you were dreaming of him.

Ridiculous. What did it matter what you were dreaming about? Or who? Nope, nope, nope! He wouldn’t dwell on that. He turned away to look at the tray again and an idea popped into his mind.

Right, he’ll just wake you up before the breakfast gets cold. Then while you two were eating, he could casually slip the question. Easy as pie!

Easier said than done. He didn’t have the nerve to rustle you when you looked so tranquil. And if him yelping in pain wasn’t enough to wake you, what would?

You are a prince, whispered a voice in his head. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jin’s. And how do princes wake sleeping maidens?

Suddenly Yves’s legs felt as though they were made of souffle. How absurd. Ludicrous. Preposterous. As if he could do that.

He looked at your sleeping form once more and thought, for just a moment, how lovely it would be to have those smiling lips directed at him when you awoke. He couldn’t feel the pain in his finger anymore, because the overwhelming sensation of his hands growing clammy overpowered it. No! That wouldn’t be right, you weren’t conscious.

Although, you did once say that it would be nice if he was more open with his affections. Spontaneous was the word you used.

The room became stifling as an oven. Yves stood at your bedside, perspiration building again in his brow, his hands… his everywhere. He hovered only a foot away from you, a bead of sweat trickling down his nose and dropping to the floor. Was this how Jin felt when sneaking up on a woman? No, Yves wasn’t sneaking, that sounded like he was doing something shameful. But then why did it feel like his mouth was the only dry place left on his body?

He leaned forward but halted as soon as he felt your tiny breaths on his face. His knees wobbled immensely, threatening to give out any moment. Tipsy and excited at the same time, he held his breath. It was now or never. He closed his eyes and took a step closer —

Bonk! A tiny pool of sweat gathered at his feet, enough to make him slip, and Yves’s forehead slammed hard against yours. He jerked back just as you let out a squeal, and the two of you rubbed your temples furiously before staring at each other. Deep pink blushes sprouted on your cheeks in unison.

“Wh— who were you dreaming about?” stammered Yves, and he wished more than all the desserts in the world that the head bonk would have just knocked him out.

Leon's bit is based off an episode with my roommates ^^;

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri headcanons #clavis lelouch #leon dompteur #yves kloss #ikepri clavis #ikepri leon #ikepri yves #scorchie writes

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absinthe-and-tea · 3 years ago

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Hii, you wrote slashers and s/o with big boobs, but what about the opposite? S/o with small boobs who is insecure about that and feels less like a woman?

Btw I love your writing and your headcanons. They make my day ♥

I myself have pretty tiny boobs soooo- also I got this request twice kinda so I hope you guys dont mind me putting them into one ❤ Also super happy you like my stuff!!

P.S. I got half way through this and had to start over cause Tumblr deleted my progress 🙃

Slasher HCs || S/O W/ Small Breasts

Warnings: N//SFW

Jason Voorhees

He loves you no matter what. Honestly he loves how small they are. They easily fit in his hands, making it easier to touch all of you in a shorter amount of time.

If he sees you're down about them, he'll wrap his arms around your waist and pick you up gently. He'll then proceed to cover them in kisses.

He can't speak so he often uses his hands or mouth to praise them in other ways.

Loves running his thumb over your nipple to watch the small bud harden from his touch.

When you're intimate with him he makes sure to give them lots of attention. He prefers using his hands, loving how soft they are.

He's always loved them so he'll always continue to touch them and whatnot.

Michael Myers

He's fairly indifferent about them. He prefers was anyways.

Doesn't really compliment them or pay much attention to them the first time you two are intimate.

He doesn't notice how you feel for a while but when he finds you criticizing them though, it's fair game.

Will start coming up behind you, running his hands up your sides and to your breasts to engulf them in his large hands and gently squeeze.

He loves messing with them, that includes lightly pinching them. But he loves using his mouth on the more. Beware, he will nip and bite just hard enough to get a reaction from you.

Even after he's convinced you they are perfect, he'll continue touching them abd whatnot cause he'll have realized how much he likes them on you.

Brahms Heelshire

He's a manchild. And it shows. He definitely prefers bigger but he's alright with small breasts too.

100% has an oral fixation. Meaning he'll suck on them a lot. Whether he's partially laying on your lap or if you're on his lap stradling him, he's gonna have his mouth on them.

He'll say something about wishing they were bigger, not thinking about how it would make you feel.

If you start wearing sweaters more often or staring into mirrors longer, silently judging yourself, he'll start to take notice.

He'll start to grope them more and give them more attention while whispering how much he loves them.

He's an ass sometimes. But he loves you and your body. He'll make sure you know it too.

The Other

He's not home often and when he is, he spends a lot of time with his daughter but the moment its just you two, he's immediately walking towards you like a predator stalking it's prey.

He doesn't care about your boob size at all or if you have a nice ads. He just loves you.

When you cuddle, he'll always have a hand under your shirt. Either resting on your tummy or one of your breasts. Usually the latter.

If he sees how much you resent them, he'll show his love for them and your vidy in general by getting you lingerie.

The moment he sees you in it, you're getting thrown on the bed and getting the best night of your life.

Prepare to always be worshipped.

Vincent Sinclair

He loves them. No matter what, you are his muse. His inspiration.

He loves putting his hands on your sides and gently running his thumbs underneath them, against your ribs. Almost like he's sculpting a masterpiece.

He adores that they are small because he can pull your body even closer to his. He loves feeling all of you.

He prefers using his hands on them but he will gladly suckle on them as well. He's a bit shy though so you'll have to tell him you want it.

Absolutely hates that you feel badly about habing small boobs. So, he'll make countless sculptures, paintings, and drawings of you. He'll have so many things of just you that it feels as though he knows your body better than yourself.

Bo Sinclair

Another ass man but a nice set tits is great too. And that includes yours.

He enjoys them. How soft they are especially. His hands are very rough from doing mechanic work on the side so he enjoys the difference in softness.

If you say anything bad about them or judge them, he'll sit you on his lap and suckle them until you're writhing on top of him from sensitivity.

Not afraid to grope you in front of others or slide his hand under your shirt. Your his and he'll make that known real quick.

Loves to leave bitemarks and bruises on them to show you how much he likes them and how much he fully claims them and you.

Lester Sinclair

He likes boobs in general. Small or not. He just really likes the soft mounds.

Loves the feeling of your soft, squishy flesh under his hands and your hardened nipple brushing against his palm.

Gets super wide-eyed and excited if you wear lingerie that lets your breasts hang out. He'll sit there in awe until you get on his lap.

The moment you're on him, he's on you. Licking and nipping them softly, his hands gently groping and squeezing.

His heaven is either his head between your legs or against your breasts so expect him in either place at least once a night.

Solomon Goode

He worships every bit of you. You are his love after all and he would do anything to make you happy.

He enjoys the fact he can hold you close to his chest without large breasts in the way.

Enjoys teasing you every so often when in passing or not busy with work around the house or garden.

Seeing you topless makes his throat go dry and he begins hesitantly walking to you. You'll have to give him the okay to touch you but once you do, his mouth is attached to one of your nipples. His hand moving to rub the other.

He loves your softness and the smell of flowers that seems to surround you without your knowing. Being so close to you and tasting you is intoxicating to him.

Will always compliment them when he gets a good view. He'll never let you feel down about yourself. And if someone does something to make you feel that way, oops. Where'd they go?

Harry Warden

He's so happy anytime he can touch them. For a while though he won't take his gloves off, afraid you'll find him repulsive.

Though once he does and he feels the soft flesh for the first time, he'll never want to let go.

He loves the small mounds almost as much as he hates Valentine's Day. Between the softness of your flesh and the way your nipples harden at his touch, he's completely addicted to them.

Enjoys covering them in kisses while he praises you and compliments you. You're his precious lover after all.

Expect him to compliment them every time he sees you once he realizes you think they aren't perfect. They are gorgeous. Just like you.

Bubba Sawyer

Absolutely loves them. He couldn't even mildly dislike anything about you. You're perfect in his eyes. He'll even make you sundresses that show them off perfectly.

Though be careful when wearing said sundress because he'll get distracted by you really quick, causing him to forget about his work.

When laying in bed he'll always have a hand on one of your breasts subconsciously. Not even on purpose most times, he just wants to hold you.

Definitely another with an oral fixation. He enjoys gently playing with your hardened nipples with his tongue when in a more intimate moment.

Won't publicly do anything like groping because he's a good boy but will attempt to compliment you. You'll know what he's trying to say when he does.

Thomas Hewitt

Very handsy with you once your relationship starts to take off. Your breasts being something that fascinates him despite the size.

When you two are cuddled up in bed he will lightly run his fingertips over them to watch the goosebumps form and your nipples harden.

His favorite thing to do is grab your sides and use his thumbs to rub the little nubs. His eyes will wonder from your breasts to your face, wanting to catch the faces you make.

After a while he'll attach his mouth to one, his eyes never leaving your face. He adores how much pleasure he can give you from something so small.

His opinion when you bring up how you feel about them is "Good things come in small packages."

Eddie Gluskin

Well you already have a one up on his exes. They didn't even have anything at all. Barely even mosquito bites.

He'll run his fingertips over the mounds, lightly pressing down to see the small squish it makes.

You're his perfect bride. His Darling. So different from the whores he was with before. Your body is something else to him.

The mounds may be small but boy does he praise them and cover them in affection.

If you ask, he'd be happy to add an modifications to your wedding dress to make you feel better about them.

Though he'll need to do a lot of... Researching... To make sure he gets the measurements right.

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theruseandthecaper · 3 years ago

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Hey~ could I request a diluc x reader cuddling scenario where like the reader having a long day and wanting to relax with him, maybe him giving them a shoulder massage or sumn is that too specific I'm bad at requests- also gender neutral pronouns would be preferred✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧

HI OMG IM SO SORRY I DISAPPEARED AGAIN AND THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG!! School's gotten to be incredibly hectic and busy! however it's summer now and I'm done with junior year, so I should be able to write more :) that's not too specific at all btw, specific requests are always welcome and easier for me to write honestly so thank you for requesting!! :)

🔥 | DILUC RAGNVINDR

Diluc Ragnvindr was exhausted. He was such a hard working man, what with running the Angel's Share and keeping up with the booming wine industry and just overall policing Mondstat to make sure everything was in order. Being the Darknight Hero was difficult, but it was worth it. He just wanted to ensure the safety of everyone in his beloved city, especially his beloved [y/n].

Diluc wasn't one to open his heart easily. He didn't let anybody in, especially after his dad and Kaeya. He's lost one too many people he held close to him, and so protecting the city with his loved one in it was a necessity despite how tired he seemingly always was.

However, today, his loved one was the tired one. Diluc had just gotten off of a shift at Angel's Share, and luckily for him it was a pretty light day. On this day, he didn't really feel like getting up and going to work, but he had one motive in mind- a date night he'd planned with you. The thought of being able to come home to you made it all worth it.

You'd both agreed to meet back at his place after his shift, and that's what you both did. He headed home after his shift and found you waiting at the door to Dawn Winery. You were sitting on the front steps, and he could notice you seemed a little droopier than usual. You seemed pretty tired.

"Hey," Diluc said, dropping beside you and offering a hand. He was always so gentlemanly towards you. "Are you feeling alright?"

You looked up at him and took his hand, letting him lift you up. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just had a bit of a long day." You offered him a small smile, one he returned in earnest. You hooked your arm around his waist as he helped you inside, and he gave you a small squeeze on the hand- a tiny way of saying "I love you."

"Then I'll take care of you this time," He said softly. Usually it was the other way around. Usually he'd be the one to come home tired and worn out and you'd be the one to lend him a helping hand and help him relax. It seemed like tonight would be his turn instead, and he was happy to help.

You two took the stairs up to his room, and then he sat you down on the bed which you collapsed against. He turned his attention to starting a fire in the fireplace, and then he returned right by your side and wrapped an arm around you.

You leaned against Diluc and looked up at him, your eyes filled with love. He treated you so well. You didn't know what you ever did to deserve him, but surely you did something, because you're tucked safely under his arm and he's not letting go of you.

And so, the night progressed until you were laid stomach down on Diluc's lap, him rubbing your hair as he read something to you. That's when Diluc got an idea.

Every time he's been tired and collapsed into your arms for refuge, you've given him a shoulder massage. He always loved it- maybe you'd love it too.

Suddenly, Diluc placed the book down and looked down at you. Not knowing why he stopped, you looked up at him and locked eyes. You could see an idea flickering behind his ruby eyes.

"Everything okay, love?" You'd asked him, and he offered a soft smile.

"Roll over," He instructed, obviously meaning to surprise you with whatever it was that he was about to do. You did as he said, trusting him with every fiber of your being and every inch of your body. He shifted his weight and hovered above the small of your back, and he placed his hands on your shoulders and started to massage you.

You let out a little sigh of content. How did one person make you this happy? He was nothing but kind to you, always. He loved you so much. You were his everything, and he made sure you knew it. Whether it was from silent cuddling like this, from buying you flowers, from having random little gifts being left at your doorstep, from just always finding time to fit you in to his busy schedule, he was perfect. He made sure you knew you were the center of his world, always. He may have been famous and rich and have so much going for him, but he always made sure you knew he loved you more than any of that and he'd give away his fame and riches in a heartbeat if that's what you wanted. He always wanted to make sure you were top priority, and he needed you to know you were always at the center of his life. That's why he went out of his way to make time for you and do all those cliche romantic things he did. He just wanted you to know he loved you more than anything in the world, and it worked.

How did you get so lucky with someone like him? His hands massaging circles into your shoulders spelled out love. Everything he ever did spelled out love. He breathed warmth and passion with every word he spoke to you. You truly were his everything.

You were his world. His everything. Diluc loved his partner. They were simply beyond compare. Nobody else could catch his eye like you did. You were stunning and perfect and nobody could compare.

And so the night drifted away, just as your tiredness from your long day did, and guided by Diluc's strong steady hands on your back, you drifted off to sleep, knowing you were safe and warm in his arms.

I hope you liked it!! I haven't played Genshin in a while so my Diluc writing might be rusty, I'm sorry :( this was such a fun request tho! thank u for requesting!

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ticklygiggles · 2 years ago

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Ommmgg hiii I haven't interacted much but I have followed you for quite some time bestie and you keep slaying xoxoxoxoxo

As you've opened requests I would like to send one in, the fandom would be tian guang ci fu (hope I spelled that right-)

It's been a while since I've requested something for this fandom even though I absolutely love these idiots and Hua Cheng means quite a lot to me lol, being my first ever comfort character in hard times and NOW even being the inspiration for my non binary name, it's San btw, from San lang you know :>

ANYWAY- I kinda got off topic there hope you don't mind lolol, the request would be maybe something comforting with tkls focused on like the underarms? I've just been not doing that hot and it's my fav spot lololol

Thank you for reading my, perhaps too long but I don't care, ask :3 I appreciate you xoxoxoxo

Aaa thank you so much! I love HuaLian so so much 😭♥️ and I hope you enjoy this!

"Gege, are you asleep?"

His voice was barely a whisper, after all, he knew that Xie Lian was actually asleep, his breathing was still even and his eyes moved from side to side under his closed lids, probably dreaming.

Hua Cheng smiled tenderly. Xie Lian couldn't look more adorable right now. He was laying on his back, body naked under the soft sheet. His hair was messily sprawled all over the pillow and his cheeks were pink with the warmth of sleep.

If there was a beating heart inside Hua Cheng's chest, it might have exploded out of him at that moment. His fingers itched to touch his beloved, but he didn't want to interrupt his sleep, not when he looked so comfortable with one arm under the pillow and the other across his stomach.

He could let him sleep a little longer: five minutes, two hours, six days- as long as Xie Lian wanted, but Hua Cheng missed seeing Xie Lian's beautiful eyes and hearing his wonderful voice as soon as he opened his own eye, and even though he fought the urge, in the end he just couldn't help it and so, he gently dragged his fingertips up Xie Lian's side.

As expected, Xie Lian twitched slightly, his mouth curling into the tiniest of smiles, which could not be compared to the big grin on Hua Cheng's face. Oh, how much he loved how ticklish his lover was. It was definitely one of Xie Lian's many charms. Hua Cheng just couldn't get enough of that sweet laughter filling his ears.

Of course, he wouldn't tickle Xie Lian out of the blue when he was sleeping so comfortably, (at least not today), but he could still stir him up a awake a little, right?

"Gege," he mumbled, fingertips tracing the perfect curve of Xie Lian's waist, his warm skin covering in goosebumps. "Gege, it's time to wake up. Do you hear me?"

Xie Lian made a small noise, something between a hum and a small giggle as Hua Cheng's fingers found his ribs. He traced the bones softly, from the front and all the way to the back, each and everyone of them, causing Xie Lian to squirm slightly and flinch at every extra sensitive spot.

"S-Sahan Lang?" Hua Cheng retracted his hand immediately and he looked innocently at his gege. "What are you doing?" Xie Lian asked, bringing the hand over his stomach to rub at one of his eyes, trying to remove the cobweb of sleep.

"Nothing, Gege," Hua Cheng lied, his smile as mischievous as it could be. "I was just calling you."

Xie Lian hummed, his hand left his eyes to scratch as his tingly ribs. "Hmm, yes, I'll be up... Just a bit more... Yes...?" Before he could get an answer, he fell asleep again.

Hua Cheng looked at him relaxing into their bed again, his chest raising and falling slowly and his hand went into action again. He continued tracing Xie Lian's ribs, chuckling himself as he watched his lover twitch and squirm and even let out tiny giggles the more he moved upwards.

His arm threatened to pull back, but Hua Cheng gently, and quite discreetly, placed his other hand close to Xie Lian's arm as a kind of stopper so that he couldn't lower it. Xie Lian barely noticed.

"Gege," Hua Cheng mumbled, his fingers finally reaching Xie Lian's highest ribs, the one that was making him giggle a bit harder. "What's so funny, Gege?"

Xie Lian let out a giggly hum, arching his back and letting out a delighted squeal when Hua Cheng's fingers traced up his armpit. The touch was light, but Xie Lian was the most ticklish in that spot, so sweet giggles bloomed from his smiling lips, his eyes still closed, clinging to sleep just a little longer, but Hua Cheng thought that maybe that would be unlikely.

He chuckled, "Why are you giggling so much, Your Highness? Are you having good dreams?" He teased, his fingers gently drawing circles against Xie Lian's exposed armpit.

The smooth skin covered in goosebumps as Hua Cheng lightly tickled him there.

"Ahahaha! N-Nohohot thahat plahahace!" Xie Lian giggled brightly, his nose scrunching at the sensations, when Hua Cheng looked up at him, he found Xie Lian's bright eyes trying to focus on what was tickling him. Hua Cheng chuckled.

"Good morning, Gege."

"S-Sahahan Lahang! That- Thahahat-

"What's the matter? Does it tickle, gege?"

The word itself seemed to surprise Xie Lian and he quickly tried to protect his underarm, but Hua Cheng was faster and he gently held Xie Lian's arm in place as he started to scratch at the sensitive skin.

Xie Lian, now wide awake, threw his head back with loud giggles; his legs kicked softly and he weakly tried to pull at his trapped arms, but Hua Cheng knew that he was still lacking some strength after waking up and... Well, he knew that Xie Lian didn't actually minded the tickly attention.

"Your Highness, are you feeling ticklish so early in the morning?"

Xie Lian shook his head. "Nohohot tihihicklish!"

Hua Cheng giggled, as stubborn as always his precious gege, always wanting to rile him up, even if he denied it every time, but that was okay, Hua Cheng could tell what Xie Lian wanted just by looking at him and he'd be happy to provide... Not without being the mischievous Ghost King that he was.

"Eheheek! N-Nohoho! Not thahahat!" Sweet, bubbly and happy giggles filled the room when Hua Cheng cold fingers where replaced by his cold lips. He pressed tender butterfly kisses against the delicate skin and Xie Lian giggled, trying to cover his armpit with his free hand.

Thankfully, Hua Cheng had the upper hand right now, so he carefully caught Xie Lian's wrist and made it join the one under the pillow, gathering both in one of his hands.

Xie Lian squeaked in protest, but to Hua Cheng, he sounded more excited to have his arms pinned than desperate to free them.

"S-Sahahan Lahahang! Ihihit's too ehehearly!"

Hua Cheng chuckled, playfully nibbling at Xie Lian's armpit, making his giggles turn more frantic. "But Gege, I'm just trying to worship you! I don't understand why you're giggling so much!"

"Thihihis is nohohot- wahahait!" Xie Lian protested when Hua Cheng gently ran his fingertips against Xie Lian's other underarm.

The god arched his back slightly, but his arms stayed obediently over his head as Hua Cheng relished on more of that wonderful laugh: his lips pressing kiss after kiss and even some baby raspberries in one of his underarms as his fingers gently fluttered against the other.

Xie Lian's giggles, even though frantic, it was also soft, tender and light. His body, flinching and squirming just slightly, kept pressing against Hua Cheng's attention and Hua Cheng felt hundreds of his dangerous butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"So giggly today, gege," he teased tenderly, his lips leaving their playful game go whisper against Xie Lian's ear. "Are you having a good time?"

Xie Lian squealed, his cheeks and ears pink. "Sahahan Lahahang is sohoho nahahaughty!"

Hua Chang chuckled, "Am I? But gege, you could've just lowered your arms! I'm not holding you, am I?"

Xie Lian giggled, trying to hide his face away from Hua Cheng. At some point, Hua Cheng had relaxed the hold on Xie Lian's wrists to let his lover cover himself, but Xie Lian didn't even move his arms and held his own hands together, keeping his arms in place.

"Does gege like it when this lowly one tickles him?"

Xie Lian whined, "Stohohop teheheasing mehehe!" He giggled, still suffering from those super light tickles under his arm. "It dohohoes tihihickle!"

Hua Cheng laughed at that and he stopped his playfulness at once, letting Xie Lian relax against the bed again.

"Good morning, gege," Hua Cheng whispered, pressing a tender kiss to Xie Lian's warm cheek.

"Good morning, San Lang," Xie Lian answered, kissing the tip of Hua Cheng's nose before pouring softly. "Why did San Lang tickle me awake again?"

Hua Cheng grinned, "I wonder, gege. I think I just missed His Highness' giggles."

Xie Lian huffed, "didn't you tickle me plenty last night?"

Hua Cheng laughed, "it's never enough, Your Highness," he said, nibbling at Xie Lian's cheek before looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "But why are you arms still up, Gege? Should San Lang tickle you again?" Xie Lian giggled, hiding his face under his pillow, arms still up. "Is that a yes, gege? Is it? Don't scold me later~," he said and his thumbs pressed in, rubbing slow circles hard enough to bring those sweet giggles out again.

"Oh, Sahahahan Lahahang! Thahat's unfahahair!"

"Should I kiss you here again, then?"

"N-Nohoho! Thahahat's embahaharrassihihi- Sahahan Lahahang!"

Hua Cheng of courses peppered kisses there again and Xie Lian giggled brightly and kept his most ticklish spot exposed until they were both satisfied.

#Tian Guan Ci Fu #TGCF #HuaLian #Xie Lian #Hua Cheng #ticklish!Xie Lian #tickle fic #tickle drabble #mia's things #mia's drabbles

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the-insomniac-emporium · 4 years ago

Text

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

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

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

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The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

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

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

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

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

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

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

heated, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: An (innocent?) conversation about D/s dynamics accidentally leads to you confessing that you think about your childhood best friend while getting off. To your childhood best friend, Jeon Jungkook. Erm. This is after he told you that you would be “an awful sub”, btw.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; reader is bisexual; smut (fem reader, dry humping, fingering, [tiny bit] m-receiving oral, penetrative sex); fluffy af; non-idol!AU; F2L; softdom!Jungkook x softbrat!reader; you kind of have a forearm kink and you never let Jungkook have his lovey-dovey moment, whoops

MMA 2020 ‘ON’ Jungkook? Yeah. That one.

“I could never be a sub.”

You clicked rapidly as you spoke, mashing the right button on your mouse. It was quite loud, paired with your mechanical keyboard.

“Why not?”

The music coming from Jeon Jungkook’s smartphone was a rhythm game, nearly as loud as you, since he was grunting angrily at it. It was very obvious when he missed a beat.

“I can’t imagine that being me, you know?”

You, on the other hand, were on your computer, playing with the new items in League of Legends from the latest patch. Using the practice tool, you had loaded up your favorite champion, Jhin, the Virtuoso, and messed with various builds, trying to find the best combination. So far, Lethality was feeling pretty good.

“Like why would I ever let my pleasure be handled by someone else?” you mused, reading the high damage numbers of each shot. Oh, the fourth shot felt nice. “That sounds stupid.”

Jungkook rolled over on your bed, growling in his throat as the level ended. He restarted it, trying to get a better score. “Maybe people like to let go sometimes. You know, not always be in control.”

You snorted. “I could never trust someone else with my body.”

“You got an alien body or something?”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“Anyway,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your outburst. “I didn’t ask if you could be a sub, I just asked what you thought of domination and submission as a dynamic in general.”

You shrugged, trying to see if you could do Baron alone. Welp, you needed lifesteal, of course. “I mean, I’ve tried it in various situations. I was never the sub.”

“Kinky.”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.” Jungkook suddenly sat up, excited that he achieved a higher score. “Look, look. I got ninety-eight.”

You craned your head to look at his phone screen. “Why isn’t it one hundred? You’re a disgrace to this family.”

He bopped you on the nose with his phone. “If I was part of your family, your family would be even more dysfunctional than it is now.”

You rubbed your nose and looked up at him. “How much gel did you use in your hair? You look like a wet dog.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows went up and he touched his long black hair. “It’s not crunchy though.” He grabbed your hand and lowered his head, placing your palm on his slicked back hair. “See?”

You pulled your hand back, staring at your palm. “Still feels weird though. I call sorcery.”

He shrugged, creaking the black leather jacket he was wearing. He wore a black t-shirt under it. The black jeans he had been wearing were on your bed, swapped for the black joggers he kept at your place. You weren’t really sure why he left the jacket on. Maybe he was cold or something. It was pretty cold in your apartment. You were wearing fleece green pajamas with Pikachu all over them.

“You want me to turn the heat up?” you said, gesturing to his jacket.

Jungkook looked down at his chest. “Eh. It’s fine. Saves you money.”

You shrugged, getting up from your chair, leaving the League client open. “You’re only staying a little while, right? Party to go to and all that?”

Jungkook followed you as you left your room. “Told you it was cancelled, so I was just going to sleep over. No reason to go back home.”

You turned around, walking backwards. “When did you say it was cancelled?”

Jungkook raised his dark eyebrows. “Literally when I walked in your apartment.”

“Hah.”

You turned back around and went to your fridge, grabbing an aloe juice. Jungkook went to your water kettle, hunting for hot chocolate among your tea packets.

“You’d make an awful sub anyway,” Jungkook said, returning to the original subject as he filled the kettle with water from your filtered sink faucet. “Like, probably the fucking worst.”

You took a large swig and glared at him. “Alright, first of all, you wouldn’t even–”

“You’re terrible with authority.”

You paused. “Okay, true.”

“You’re angry, twenty-four, seven.”

You walked up to him and slapped him in his very hard pecs. He gestured at his chest, as if to indicate, exhibit A.

“And you’re super uptight.”

“I am not uptight.”

“Control freak.”

“That’s–”

Jungkook turned around and placed the kettle on its stand. You swooped in with a Pikachu-themed kitchen towel and wiped the excess water away, scowling. Jungkook raised his eyebrows at you, brown eyes laughing.

“That’s literally a safety hazard!” you exclaimed, waving the towel at him.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and pressed the button to start heating the water. “Haven’t you ever just… not freaked out over every little thing? Done something spontaneous and stupid?”

You placed the kitchen towel back in its proper place. “No, because that would be spontaneous and stupid, Jeon Jungkook.”

He leaned against the counter, watching you perfectly fold the towel into three parts and hang it on the rail. He scratched his nose, shaking his head. “You should be more like me.”

“Having the police called on you because you were standing on a lawn chair tooting a party horn at four in the morning?”

“That was one time! Stop bringing it up,” Jungkook groaned.

You raised your hands in innocence. “Well, I was the one called to pick you up because you literally couldn’t remember any other number and I was very disturbed on New Year’s Eve, where I should have been peacefully sleeping and not hauling your drunk ass across town.”

Jungkook sighed exaggeratedly. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t drink that much again. Jimin made me do shots–”

“You always blame Park Jimin,” you interjected, smiling. “Jimin’s the kind of guy who only wears clothes to take them off.”

“Well, it gets him laid, so I guess it’s working.”

The kettle whistled noisily, cutting through the conversation. You took a sip from your aloe juice as Jungkook grabbed a mug from your cupboard and poured the hot chocolate powder into it.

“You want some milk?”

He looked up. “You have milk?”

You went to the fridge and took out a small carton. “Because you said you were coming.”

“Aw, what a sweetie.”

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No.”

That’s how it was with you two. Growing up together was the same conversation over and over of you constantly saying shut up and Jungkook always replying with no. If both your dads hadn’t been such good friends, you probably wouldn’t have been able to tolerate him. Since they were, you were forced to, which turned out to be okay, since it turned out you had similar interests in games and such. It drifted apart a bit when you two entered high school, but you two reconnected once university started.

The dysfunctionality Jungkook was referring to was your two older sisters, who both got pregnant out of wedlock and thus caused a lot of tension between them, your parents, and you, the one who hadn’t actually done that yet. And you were trying to keep it that way.

Jungkook poured half-water and half-milk, stirring it with a silver spoon he found in your drawer. You lived alone, having gotten a full scholarship to be able to pay for tuition, meals, and part of a small apartment. Your parents paid for the rest – another point of strain between you and your sisters. That’s why you kept your grades up and rarely went out.

“When was the last time you fucked a guy?”

You sucked the inside of your cheek. “Dunno. Maybe two years ago.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and took a long sip. “So, only girls, huh?”

You tilted your head and sighed. “They don’t get you pregnant.”

“Neither does a condom.”

“That’s a ninety-eight percent chance, not one hundred.”

He licked the excess off his pink lips. He looked like he wanted to say something, but reconsidered, taking another sip before replying. “You don’t miss dick?”

“I mean, a dildo is a dick.”

Jungkook nearly spat out his hot chocolate. You snatched your Pikachu towel again and threatened him with it. He raised a hand, coughing.

“A dildo is not a dick,” he hacked out. “You insult me.”

“Hmph.” You turned back around and placed the Pikachu towel back in its place, making sure the graphic was perfectly centered.

“You tell your parents?”

You narrowed your eyes. ‘Why the fuck would I tell my parents that I fuck girls instead of guys to avoid getting pregnant?”

He shrugged. “Give them peace of mind?”

“You think too highly of the generation before us.”

Jungkook gave you a weird look. “So… you’re just using them?”

“No.” You paused. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s not because they’re girls. I guess I haven’t found someone who understands me yet.”

He took a long, noisy sip of hot chocolate. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“No one can understand you if you only fuck once and drop them.”

“Wouldn’t you fucking know,” you replied irritably.

“Now, I fuck multiple times before I realize it’s not going to work out,” Jungkook countered.

You shoved your bottle of aloe juice back into your fridge. Suddenly, you weren’t thirsty anymore.

“Is that the only reason?”

You closed the fridge door.

“Reason for what?”

“Is fear of pregnancy the only reason you fuck girls?”

“I don’t know!” you shouted, throwing your hands up. You spun around, blowing hot air. “I don’t fucking know why I do it, Jungkook. I don’t know why I load up dating apps to only hook up with girls, I don’t know why I don’t try to get into relationships with them, I don’t know what is wrong with me and why I can’t give anyone a chance and I don’t know why you pop up in my head every time I try to fucking masturbate! It is annoying and I do not like it, so I try to get off with someone else!”

Your chest was heaving with exertion and annoyance, hand curled onto a fist and planted on your kitchen counter, glaring at the space past Jungkook’s head, muscle twitching in your cheek. Your heart was beating so fast it didn’t feel real.

Silence.

“Fuck you, Jungkook.”

And then you turned around, stalking back to your bedroom.

Or would have, if you didn’t hear the clink of the mug touching the kitchen counter and Jungkook grabbing your upper arm, yanking you back, slamming you against his muscular body. You hissed, staring into his chest.

“Let me go.”

“Hold on a second.” You watched Jungkook take a deep breath, his toned, tan skin rising and falling. The silver necklace on his collarbones flashed as he breathed. “Just hold on a damn second.”

Your eyes were on the low neckline of his black shirt. It felt weird being close to him. Not that you two haven’t been physically close, because you had. But it had never been like this. Since you realized he wouldn’t leave your mind every time you tried to masturbate. Since you started looking to other people to push him out. Since you were sure that it was not just a passing thought, not just your brain playing tricks on you. And being this close to him now, you understood.

And it scared you.

“You cannot dump all that on me and expect me not to react,” Jungkook said quietly.

“Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No,” he snapped. He grabbed both your upper arms and shook you violently, making you jerk your head up to blink at him. Jungkook furrowed his brows, his dark eyes glaring at you, jaw clenched tightly. “I will not shut up. Why should I shut up? I should shut you up.”

And then he kissed you.

Your eyes widened. Jungkook’s pink lips were on you. You. On your lips, pressed firmly against them, gripping you so tight you were losing feeling in your arms. You tore back, stumbling, touching your lips, shoulders shaking, not sure why your heart was beating out of your chest, not sure why your lips tingled and wanted more, not sure why Jungkook slowly opening his eyes and flickering to you made your knees knock together uncomfortably.

“What are you doing?” you sputtered. “You don’t even… what…?”

“I’m kissing you,” he growled, walking up to you and pinning you against the counter. “I’m fucking kissing you because you want me to.”

“I don’t…”

“Just shut up, please.”

And then Jungkook kissed you again, harder this time, pressing you against the kitchen counter, hands coming up and taking you by the waist, pulling you to him and his leather jacket, him and his black shirt, breathing your name into your lips, your hands grabbing his t-shirt and yanking him to you, gasping into his mouth. And you wanted to say, no, no, you weren’t supposed to know, but it was too late because you were shoving his leather jacket off, grasping his shoulders, fingers pressing into his hard muscles, sliding down his biceps.

You yanked your head back and his hand came up to grab it back, kissing you more, more, tongue licking your lips, hissing your name, grinding his hips against yours. Your hand came up in between you two, stopping him, stopping him and his insatiable lips.

“You have to s-say–” You moaned, feeling him harden against your fleece pajamas. “You have to say it.”

“Say what?” Jungkook muttered impatiently, kissing your hand, speaking into your palm.

“Say you’re okay with it,” you gritted out as he rolled his crotch into yours.

“Obviously I’m okay with it,” he grumbled. “Why else am I humping you in your kitchen?”

“You said I’m a c-control freak,” you groaned, throwing your head back as Jungkook slid his hands down to your ass and squeezed it, grinding against you.

“You are,” he grunted. “You can’t let go, you can’t enjoy yourself, you can’t even tell me you like me so I can fucking fuck you already, instead of me cancelling my parties so I can spend time laying on your bed and staring at you playing video games wondering when you’re going to fucking notice that I want to bang you.”

“What?” you replied breathlessly.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “You’re so busy controlling your own life that you don’t even notice the people around you anymore.”

“What?” you repeated again as Jungkook hoisted you up by your ass and began to walk, forcing you to grab him by the shoulders and stare down his right arm, the fully tattooed one with flowers and script and the tiny circle with angry slits for eyes and a frown on the inside of his elbow, the one Jungkook said was for you and you had slapped him in the chest and told him to shut up.

“Let me take over for once,” he mumbled, placing his chin on your shoulder and nudging you with his head and his non-crispy but still not quite soft dark hair.

“You said I would be an awful sub.”

Jungkook dumped you on the bed, shooing you upwards. You didn’t move, frowning at him. He sighed dramatically.

“You would. You are,” he corrected, planting a hand on your chest and pushing you down, bouncing you against your Pikachu bedsheets. He sandwiched your arms at your sides and straddled your torso. The bed bowed far too low and you almost slid off. Hurriedly, you scooted upwards and Jungkook followed, unbothered.

“You said I’m terrible with authority.”

Jungkook wrestled your arms back down and pinned them with his strong thighs. “You are.”

“You said I’m angry, twenty-four, seven.”

He cocked his head, slowly unbuttoning your pajama shirt. “Still true.”

“And you said I’m uptight,” you added ruefully, pouting.

Jungkook shrugged, reaching in between his legs to unbutton he last few ones. “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

“Jungkook!”

“What?”

He paused, towering above you, eyebrow raised. His black hair curled around his ears, against his silver hoops and base of his neck. His dark eyes pierced down at you, tiny mole under his lips clearly visible from this position. You could see the bottom of his sharp chin, the black t-shirt clinging to his chest, the shape of his tan arms, one tattooed, one not, from below.

“Y-you’re pinching my right arm…”

Jungkook looked down, moving his left leg. “Sorry.”

You winced, pulling out your left arm to rub the other. He tapped your forearm impatiently with his finger.

“You’re ruining the moment,” he scolded.

“You ruined it by bruising me,” you shot back, backing up to your pillows on your elbows, grimacing as you soothed your arm.

“I’m going to bruise you more if you keep being a little brat,” Jungkook growled, following you on hands and knees, the neckline of his t-shirt hanging down, revealing way too much of his skin. Your eyes widened and you slipped, a white plush Poro bonking you in the head. He grabbed it and tossed it aside, the poor guy rolling on the floor.

“That’s very rude,” you muttered, but he was over your body now, breathing hard, staring down your now open shirt and the curve of your breasts into your black bra.

“Why do you get hotter every year?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I… don’t?”

Jungkook shoved the sides of your pajama shirt apart impatiently, reaching under your back and pinching the bra clasp, undoing it with one hand.

“Yes, you do,” he exhaled hotly. “Every year you get prettier and prettier and it pisses me off so much that I have to work out to look half as good as you.”

You felt your ears and cheeks get hot. “Well… you do look very, erm, good.”

“You’re very convincing,” Jungkook chuckled darkly, pushing your bra up and sucking in his lower lip as he revealed your hard, quivering nipples.

Your eyes shifted away from his hungry eyes. “I, uh… am very wet.”

A single, perfectly shaped eyebrow ticked. “Show me.”

“Um…”

He lifted himself off you, pointing down.

“Show me,” Jungkook commanded.

You tried to move your arms and found them tangled in your clothes. You frowned and shrugged out of your pajama shirt, chucking it and your bra aside, before gripping the waistband of your green fleece pants. You hesitated and looked back at Jungkook, who just flapped his hand downwards, giving you a neutral expression.

You puffed your cheeks and raised your hips, yanking your pants and panties down your thighs. You had to bend your legs a bit to fully take them off since Jungkook’s knees were on the outside of your thighs.

Now you were fully naked in front of your childhood best friend. And he was still fully clothed.

“Er, aren’t you going to–”

Jungkook cut you off. “You still haven’t shown me.”

You blinked at him. “What do you want me to do, become a fucking pretzel?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Any way you can prove to me you’re wet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fucking…” You bent your right leg and slid it up between his thighs, brushing against his sweatpants and feeling his hard-on for a hot second before you jammed your leg into your chest and lifted it out, pressing your thigh against your torso and raising your calf into the air. You turned your head to the left, letting out an exasperated huff.

“There. You see it?”

Shit, this position was embarrassing for some reason. You could feel cold air on your dripping pussy. Maybe he couldn’t see or something. You lifted your right arm to wrap around your thigh, pressing it down against your breasts since Jungkook wasn’t saying anything.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook breathed.

“Okay, going to put my leg do–”

You gasped, suddenly feeling Jungkook’s fingertips touch your heated core, smearing your juices around the lips, his hot breath against your ear as he touched you. You shuddered as he stroked your folds, your name on his lips, his lips kissing your ear.

“Had to touch you,” he whispered against your neck, tone desperate. “I’m sorry, I just had to touch that beautiful pussy, all wet and slopping for me.”

Your eyelids fluttered as his middle finger found your clit, pressing on it. “J-Jungkook… That’s my…”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “Yeah? That’s your what?”

Slow, lazy circles, pushing it around, moan leaving your lips. “My c-clit…”

“Want me to touch it?” Jungkook purred. “Want me to handle your pleasure?”

But he as already touching it, nursing the sensitive bundle of nerves and rousing your lust, igniting it and setting it on fire.

“Y-yes…”

He kissed down your neck, whispering softly, licking your collarbones. “You trust me? You trust me with this pretty, perfect, hot, sexy, fuckable body?”

You arched your neck, giving him more access as he ran his pink lips all over, rubbing your clit, mouth on your throat. Your whole body shook, hips rolling into his finger.

“Y-yes…”

His breath so electrifying that you could barely focus, barely speak as Jungkook’s other hand came up behind your head, long fingers burying into your hair, holding tight, so tight it almost hurt, teeth nipping at your skin.

“Want to mark you,” he mumbled. “Want to give you a big fat hickey you can’t explain, want to bruise you so bad you’ll be staring at it for weeks, thinking about my lips on you, remembering my teeth gave you that.”

He pressed another finger to your clit, increasing the pace, and all you could do was hiss out a yes, a burning yes, a pleading yes, please, Jungkook, whining as his teeth sank into the spot where your shoulder and neck connected, sucking hard, his tongue licking away the prickling pain. His hips rolled into your thigh, his hard cock pressing against you, straining against his pants.

Jungkook moaned into your skin, so hot, so intense, rubbing your aching clit faster, harder, more urgently. Sucking and humping your leg as the feeling of his teeth and his fingers overwhelmed you, one hand clutching his shirt and one hand curled into your sheets as your thighs shook, trying to close but unable to because Jungkook was so strong, so there, so overpowering that you could only lay there and take it, take it as his name poured out of you in a breathless wail, throwing your head back as you felt your pussy clench around nothing, your juices becoming slicker, thicker, the scent of your orgasm staining the air.

He shoved the two fingers inside you and unlatched his mouth, moaning with you as he felt you squeeze his fingers, pumping you in long, slow strokes, all the way to his knuckles. You whimpered, tightening your core and Jungkook moaned again, eyes closed, his hair in disarray as you fucked his hand, clamping your hands on his right forearm, gasping at the feel of his muscle. Pussy throbbing around his fingers, hips meeting his knuckles over and over.

His eyes opened, watching your fuck yourself with his hand, an almost bored expression on his features, but you didn’t care because you felt him flex his fingers and his arm, telling you to continue, telling you he liked it.

“I thought you were going to let me do it.” Jungkook’s voice was low, trying to stay even despite his shallow breathing. “Have to control everything, don’t you?”

You caught your lower lip in your teeth, eyes moving to his face, his handsome, angular face with his black hair curled around his forehead and his cocked eyebrow, smirk on his lips.

“I’m not in control,” you panted. “Your forearm is…”

Jungkook flexed it under your hand and you moaned pathetically, breath hitching.

His smirk grew wider.

“It’s getting you off touching it.”

You swallowed, close, so close and Jungkook was taunting you and for some reason you couldn’t tell him to shut up, because he kept tensing his arm and it was so fucking hot that you really were going to orgasm.

“Say it,” he purred, breathing your name. “Tell me you like my forearm.”

Your eyes shifted down to his arm in your hands, the tiny angry face tattoo in his inner elbow frowning at you.

“I fucking love it, Jungkook,” you gasped. “Fuck, I love your delicious, sexy-as-fuck forearms.”

He grinned and began to thrust his fingers into you, fast, so fast you couldn’t even fathom how he could be that fast like a fucking vibrator, sending torrents of pleasure through you and his arm was so hard and his skin so soft that your eyes rolled back into your head, moaning his name far too loud. Jungkook placed a hand over your mouth and you screamed into it, liquid gushing down your thighs, but he didn’t stop, he kept going until you felt it again, pussy throbbing, back-to-back, eyelids fluttering, nails digging into his arm as the crescendo slammed into you, taking your breath and senses away, lost only in the feeling of Jungkook’s secure presence above you.

He slowed, breathing hard. Gently, carefully pulling his fingers out of your pulsating pussy, gasping as he removed his hand. You vaguely heard Jungkook place his fingers in his mouth, sighing wantonly at your taste.

“You taste so good,” he whispered around his fingers. “Fuck, so sweet and thick and delicious.”

Your brain could not compute what the fuck was happening. Did Jungkook just give you three mind-blowing orgasms in a row after you exploded at him and admitted to thinking about him while masturbating?

Holy shit.

He pressed his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

You swallowed thickly.

“Jungkook, do you, ah… want something too?” you asked quietly.

You heard him snicker. “If I take my clothes off, I’m going to want to put my dick in you.”

“… I’m cool with that.”

“I thought a dildo was the same as a dick?”

You cleared your throat. “Ah… Well, I didn’t think you’d want to put a dick in me.”

Jungkook laughed. “If I had five dicks, I’d put them all in you.”

“Erm… mathematically speaking, that doesn’t really work…”

“Shut up.”

Jungkook sat up, looking down at you with a smile. The same smile he always had, but a little different now, because he didn’t have to hide his attraction to you anymore.

“You really let me put it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “With a ninety-eight percent chance, only.”

His smile became mischievous. “That’s not one hundred percent.”

You puffed your cheeks.

“I’ll take the two percent chance for you and only you, Jungkook.”

He grinned and turned around, throwing himself to the end of the bed where his jeans were barely holding on. Fishing through the pockets, retrieving the foil packet from the back pocket. You blinked at him.

“How long has that been–”

Jungkook gave you a silencing look. “I bring a new one every time I come over, in hopes you become drunk enough to sit on my dick.”

You blinked at him. “What.” Not a question, just you stating it.

“Because you’re paranoid.”

You frowned. “I’m not–”

He launched himself over the bed and silenced you with a kiss, deep and longing. You leaned into it, breathing softly, tongue against his, pressing back against him. Jungkook drew back slowly, thumb on your cheek. Eyes looking into yours, careful and tender.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said against your lips. “I’ll do anything you want. I know it’s not easy for you. I know you’re not ready for the million babies I want from you.”

“I can’t have a million babies. It’s not scientifically possible,” you interjected.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Can you just let me have one romantic moment?”

“Erm, sorry.”

“You want me to have a damn vasectomy or something? Because I’ll fucking do it. That shit’s reversible.”

“No, that kind of requires more time and I’m pretty horny for your dick right now. Condom will do.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “You are a shitty sub.”

“I will do better after I’ve had the dick.”

Jungkook straightened and yanked his black t-shirt over his head. “No, you won’t.”

Your eyes roamed over his toned chest. Damn, he was ripped. Maybe he was insecure about you being hot or something, but you were certainly benefiting. “You never know?”

Jungkook sent you a pained look and pressed a hand to your chest, shoving you back into your bed. “I’ve known you way too long to believe those words coming out of your mouth.”

You were going to reply, but he ran his hand over your chest, inhaling sharply as he brushed against your nipples. He ran his fingers over them, squeezing a little. You whined, trying to get more, but Jungkook pressed his palm down on your breast, breathing hard.

“Listen, woman, I’m about to explode in my damn underwear. Stop sounding so sexy this instant.”

Your eyes found his, pupils blown wide, lips pursed, and jaw tight. Your lips parted a little, tongue peeking out, a soft moan of his name emitting from your throat. You saw a muscle in his eyebrow twitch. He looked like he wanted to throttle you, at least a little bit.

You grinned.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

“You are lucky you’re cute,” he muttered. “And lucky I want to be in this pussy more than I want to be alive.”

“Don’t you ne–”

Jungkook planted his hand on your mouth. “The only words I want to hear out of you are, “Fuck me harder” or my own name, you got that?” he snarled, pressing his hand into your face for emphasis.

You nodded quickly.

He sighed, almost in relief, and yanked his pants and underwear down, wincing. There was a large wet spot on his boxer briefs, strings of pre-cum clinging as he pushed it down his muscular thighs.

“You made me a giant mess,” he muttered, eyes flickering up to you. “What do you have to say?”

You blinked at him and gave him a thumbs up.

He grinned. “You do know how to listen.”

In truth, you couldn’t say anything because you were breathlessly staring at Jungkook’s thick cock, red head glistening with pre-cum, dripping everywhere. You slid down quickly, startling him, and wrapped your lips around the head, moaning as his strong taste invaded your mouth. He hissed, gritting his teeth as your tongue swiped around, licking his length all over, feeling the veins and contours, memorizing them.

“F-fuck,” he gasped. “You wanted to clean me up that bad?”

Your eyes traveled up his abs, his pecs, his neck, to his face, giving him your best imploring look. He smirked, placing a hand on your forehead, and gradually, with great effort, pulled out of your tight mouth. Tight because you sucked in your cheeks, not wanting to let him go, but Jungkook was stronger than you. You frowned, but he shooed you away.

“I allowed it this one time. Now back to your spot.”

You backed up, tsking as you watched him roll down the condom, groaning as it covered him.

“I’m actually glad I have this fucking condom,” Jungkook muttered, glaring at you.

You couldn’t say anything, so you spread your legs. His eyes dropped down and he bit his lower lip, crawling to you, grabbing your thighs. Placing himself right in front of your soaked entrance, staring down at your pussy as he guided himself, sinking into you.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

You moaned, feeling Jungkook’s cock stretch you out, so different from a silicone dildo or multiple fingers, because it was Jeon Jungkook praying for air as you clenched around his length, his cries of pleasure as he rocked his hips into you. Those long nights with your vibrator and his Instagram open on your phone were incomparable to his cock molding to your walls, his hard hips finally hitting your thighs, all the way in, and it was so good that you throbbed around him, shuddering.

“J-Jungkook…” you pleaded.

“I know,” he panted, hands gripping your knees tight. “I know, but give me a second to appreciate this pussy, holy fuck.”

He jerked his cock inside you and you cried out, definitely crushing your sheets, but Pikachu had seen a lot by now and there was only going to be more.

Jungkook finally began to slide out and push back in, groaning, starting slow and deep because quite frankly he needed to last more than five seconds and your pussy was not letting up. You had too much control over your vaginal muscles and he was too into you to not be hugely turned on by it, shoving your legs up higher so he could go deeper, feel more of you surround him and massage his length.

“H-harder…” you whimpered. “Please, Jungkook, fuck me harder…”

And how could Jungkook say no to that? Begging so perfectly, with just the right amount of desperation, and you didn’t even know it was driving him insane, because he knew normally you were so wound up, always worrying about being perfect, always worrying about doing the right thing, but now you were unraveling on his cock as he bent down and put more force into it, pounded you harder, watching the ecstasy in your eyes, your mouth opening and tongue peeking out, hot breath in his face. Knuckles white as you clutched the sheets, pleasure radiating up his length as you came with a cry, his name, his name on those perfect lips, lips he always watched with envy, wondering who had them, wondering who was so lucky to capture them.

And now it was just him, just him and you, and his hips slapping into your hips, pussy nearly choking his cock, but it felt so good, so fucking euphoric as you fucked him back, raising your hips to meet his, loud, wet, and lewd, probably causing a ruckus next door. But neither of you cared, your names mixing together, your eyes staring to Jungkook’s piercing brown ones, hot pleasure radiating up your stomach, your chest, to your head and there was no one else.

No one else but Jungkook’s name tumbling out of your mouth as the wave soared into you, pussy spasming as you came again, unsure at what number it was, but it was the one Jungkook wasn’t prepared for and he groaned, smacking into you one last time before you felt his cock throb and pulse against your walls, spilling into the condom. You gasped at the feeling, clenching around him, his right hand reaching over to grasp yours and hold it tightly, intertwining your fingers.

“W-wow…” you whispered breathlessly. “Nice cock.”

Jungkook burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable.” He reached down and gingerly felt around in your dripping folds, finding the end of the condom and pulling out carefully.

“Fuck. It’s so much,” he gulped, brows knitted in worry.

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. I finished my period yesterday. Likelihood of you getting me pregnant is pretty low.”

Jungkook jerked his head towards you.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say that sooner?” he roared, slapping your leg. “I was scared shitless over here!”

You placed your hands over your ears. “So loud. Shut up, Jungkook.”

“No!”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut

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afandommultiverse · 4 years ago

Text

Enemies - Zora Ideale

word count - 2.5k

request - Z3ll0us

warnings - uhh none really, language probably, just some fluff

a/n - ya'll, my bad, I'm not dead just not creative, I somehow came up with this in the matter of like 5 months, and it's still shit I'm sorry guys, but I hope you all enjoy! Btw I'm going to be trying my best to come back!💕

~~~

It seemed no matter where he went, no matter what job it was if they were there, there was no chance for him. How many bounties had he lost? How many relics had they stolen right from under him for contracts? Zora was sick of it and made it a rule to himself that he would drop everything and turn the other way when he saw them, but what was even the point? Because no matter where he went, they were always there.

Even now, a member of the Black Bulls, he was having a hard time holding back from releasing magic spells. He wanted them gone, at least that is what he thought. Why else would he get this burning feeling looking at them to speak to Magna like they have been friends for years? But, of course, Zora could never tell them. However, he wanted them to talk to him like that, not like he was just some scum on the bottom of their shoes, but it is not like all he has done has exactly helped his relationship with them, which brought him to his current predicament.

"With who?" Zora could not believe his luck. Of course, he was going to be with them. What else would the fates do but trick and play with him? His suffering must be amusing. Yami puffed on his cigarette as he handed Zora a pack of mission information.

"You are with Y/n. Now go find them and get on; I forgot about that one under some stacks of papers, due dates in 3 days." Yami kicked Zora out of his office and left him there to stare at the door as he thought about how fucked the next four days would be for him.

~~~

It was a cave expedition. Some wild animals had been going in there and coming out with big mana. It was beginning to make it dangerous for the surrounding villages who hunted wild game to put dinner on the table. But, thank the gods, Yami had cleaned off his desk; if not, who knows what kind of trouble the guild would have been in the next few days.

Walking to their room, Zora had heavy feet, which seemed only to get more weighted and weighted as he got closer to their door. Then he heard their laugh vibrating through the walls and ringing out to the hall where he could listen, halting his step and his heartbeat. Zora swallowed a knot before bringing his hand up to the door and knocking heavily. He heard their steps before the door opened, and they stared at him, sitting into their hip and glaring.

"What?" They seethed, narrowing their eyes as if looking for a trick. He sighed and handed them the folder, not even bothering to mess with them right now; they will prove him wrong later anyways.

"Be ready in thirty minutes." And then he walked away.

Y/n P.O.V

I watched Zora skulk away, a different air around him, almost defeated. I frowned before closing the door and turning back to the guest.

"Who was that?" A friend of mine from hell, a tiny demoness who specialized in brews and potions. Aliza was her name, and she was a stout little thing with filled-out curves and gorgeous maroon skin that glowed. Her nails were sharp and black, seeming to glitter in the light as she lifted her cup, which was much more prominent in her little red hands. Red swirly horns curled around her ears before pointing up in effortless black points that seemed to drip back down her horns like minor oil spills. Most enticing were her pink eyes, slit-like a cat and equally as sharp.

"Zora, a team member." I settled back down in my seat in front of her and sipped my tea. Her tail swished around her curiously as she stared at me pointedly. Since she was so short, she had to stand on the table to see eye to eye; she looked adorable under the flowers in the vase sitting at the center of the table.

"Just a team member?" Her pink eyes seemed to glint in knowing, knowing what? I did not know. I eyed her suspiciously as I finished up my meal.

"Yeah. Just a team member who, by the way, gets on my nerves sometimes and is a huge asshole." I took the final sip from my tea and gathered the dishes before throwing them through a portal to hell. Aliza looked unimpressed as she watched me close the said portal. "What?"

"You cannot keep expecting Helltower to keep doing your dishes." I grinned, dusting off my hands and moving to change.

"Of course I can! He loves me! Plus, I always repay him with little trinkets from the middle world." I mused, throwing on my guild cape and walking out of the room, Aliza following me. Her heels clicked on the stone hall as she followed me, surprisingly keeping up for being so small.

"Where are you going?" She continued to drink her tea, which she had reheated with a small flame in her hand.

"Some mission, talk shit later, okay?" She laughed before slipping through a small red vortex in front of her effortlessly, and I continued to meet Zora.

It has been silent ever since we started walking, stale moods rising from both of us. Yami had mentioned that the mission would be within walking distance. What he had failed to mention was that he thought thirty-five miles was within walking distance, which brought us here, stumbling on the only trail that would lead us to the village in need. Wind around us blew softly, whistling through the trees and making the leaves above our heads shutter and shake. Orange and yellow leaves were falling overhead to frame our little journey. Now and then, deer or a rabbit would hop across a few feet ahead of us, some even stopping to stare at us with their beady eyes before walking off.

As silent as it was between us, the forest made up plenty of sounds, birds chirping tiny tunes to each other from the high treetops. We had even heard the roars of hogs fighting by a pond over a mate. We stopped to watch them for a second but continued a little after. Eventually, Zora let out an irritated sigh and walked over to a tall, thick tree, probably hundreds of old- and kicked it so hard, the roots ripped out from the ground, well, mostly. Before any dirt or rocks could hit us, Zora quickly set up a magic circle and reflected it all. I watched in astonishment and confusion. What the hell was he doing? Then, as dozens of birds flew away from the scene, scared of such commotion, he spoke.

"Cut this for me, dear?" I scoffed at the nickname, trying to ignore the sweet pound of my heart that followed after his raspy voice wrapped around that word in an unreasonable amount of attractiveness. Then I thought of a particular pair of pink cat eyes glinting at me. So I shuffled forward, opting instead of asking questions to pull an ax out of a small portal. "I always forget your weapons are double the size of Cap'n Yami." He muttered off to the side, watching as I walked up to the top of the tree and measured up the ax to swing. As I swung down on the trunk, cutting it just as it began to branch out, I heard a low whistle, and secondly, his footsteps walking along the tree trunk back to me.

"Clean shot, doll." He grinned down at me, then looked back at the severed trunks. "We'll take the long one for the rest of the ride, whaddya say?" He asked, reaching down to pull me up. What the hell is going on? As I gripped his hand, I was almost in a trance, confused and running through millions of thoughts. Setting my body on auto-pilot as I tried to figure out why the hell he was so lovely. Which, in the end, was a bad idea, or maybe a good one.

My foot slipped, and just when I thought I was going to eat shit, a specific pair of hands gripped me, pulling me up fast. We fell back, landing against the wood hard; well, Zora did at least.

"Fuck." He groaned, rubbing his head before looking up at me, his mischievous eyes and smile gone, there laid concern. "Are you okay?" He moved me off of him gently, surprisingly not making any inappropriate comments on our position.

"You saved me," I spoke, still flabbergasted with what happened and the events leading up to it.

"Yeah, it didn't look like it was gonna be a soft fall, sweetheart." He stood up, convinced that I was all right, and gave me a hand again, this time watching me intensely as if I would misstep again. After I was up, he walked away, going to the head of the tree to fill it with mana. Slowly, the trunk began to rise, higher and higher, until we were above the surrounding trees. Green leaves blocking the view of the forest floor we once stood on, and a soft sunset began in front of us. The trunk began to move forward, slowly speeding up before staying steady. The wind whipped my hair around, along with a few of my things, making me hold on to them tightly after tying up what I could of my hair. I walked up to Zora again, coming to sit beside him. The trunk was thick enough for us to sit side by side, but it was a tight fit nonetheless. So as I settled beside him, he moved slightly for me, but our legs stayed glued to each other.

"If you could just do this the entire time, why didn't you just leave me back there?" I laughed it off, so used to him being a pain in the ass, and it is not like it would not be the first time he screwed me over in some way. Our relationship was not one of the niceties or cordial words. So often, you would find us fighting or screaming to see the other because of something they did, which eventually leads to a fight. Zora did not look at me for a bit, but when he did, I wished he had never turned his head. His eyes were sullen, sad, and overthinking, foggy with millions of thoughts that looked to be running through his head. The evident frown that towed down his face bothered me, so used to the shit-eating grin he pranked me or others, or when after putting someone in their place.

"I guess I can be really mean sometimes, huh?" I did not know his voice could be so soft. Honestly, I was surprised I heard him at all, but I did and could not stop thinking about it. I did not feel it necessary to talk after that, instead finally shutting my trap and moving on to watch the sunset. Colors blurred and blended across the sky, framing the mountains and trees rising to kiss the sky. It was quite the sight with bright pinks, oranges, and even some purple painted across the blue sky. When we reached the village, the sun was long gone, replaced by the moon, just as bright and beautiful with specks of stars across the sky. At some point, I remember getting bored and searching for the different zodiacs and patterns defined by the stars. As soon as I had found my sign, the tree trunk began to descend.

The trees we once flew over surrounded us and shut us off from the sky once again as we settled on the forest floor. The tiny little path we had been following earlier continued beside us, looking as it had when we left it hours ago. Up ahead, I could see the village glowing lively. Its name is written proudly on a wooden sign almost overcome at the bottom in ivy. However, before we got there, I opened my big mouth again.

"I don't blame you for being so mean; I mean, I would be mean too if my guild partner beat me at everything." That is not how it was supposed to come out, I mean, I was genuinely trying to be nice, but I did not filter the words that left my mouth before. Zora's head turned to me, eyes gaunt and eerie, his brilliant smile no longer on display.

"You wanna run that by me again, Doll?" The venom that surrounded the once cheery nickname made my stomach drop. I felt backed against a corner with miles surrounding me to run off. Quickly I tried to explain what I meant.

"Wait, Zora, that's not what I meant- not how I-"

"No, I think I got it doll, you just think you're that much better than me, huh? So what, you got to some quests before me, stolen relics under my nose, and joined my guild, passing me up in less than four months. I don't care, Honey, 'cause ain't nobody better than me- 'cause ain't no one like me! I don't care how much mana you have, how many spells you cast, how skilled you are, or how fucking perfect you are! None of that is gonna change no matter how gorgeous you are!" Zora's eyes widen, and he clenched his mouth shut, turning away with a growl and turning to walk off toward the village ahead of us.

"You think I'm perfect?" I called out, watching him stop and turn back to look at me. Zora's face was blank as he spoke.

"Are you telling me that out of ALL that, that is the only thing that stuck?" He scoffed, and his eyes narrowed slightly, sharp jaws sent in a deep frown. I walked up to him and stopped a step ahead of him. I held out my hand slowly, making sure I held eye contact with him.

"Truce?" Zora looked at my hand, astonished, which slowly melted away and revealed mixed relief and annoyance. Then, finally, he moved to grip my hand and shake it firmly.

"Truce. Whoa-" I yanked Zora forward, pulling him close, catching his surprised blue eyes before closing my own and going in for a kiss. Fortunately, Zora fell into it almost too easily, slipping his arms around me tight and returning the kiss with a bottled fever. However, after a few seconds, he pushed back, letting me go.

"W-What was that for?" I stared at him, lips still buzzing slightly from the contact.

"I don't know; it felt like the right thing to do. I think you're perfect, handsome too."

#black clover #black clover zora #zora ideale #zora ideale x reader #black clover oneshots #request #x reader #im back bitches #fluff

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gureishi · 4 years ago

Note

dude okay so this is kinda specific and also probably not very original or anything ekdbsisj

but-

how do you think saeyoung would react/feel if (during the apartment days), his MC started crying (or almost) after that one (or maybe two? cant remember, and im only halfway through day 7 on the current playthroygh) time where he just... got really mad n yelled... hhh his expression was scary,,

getting yelled out is already a lil agitating for me... and I know i would be automatically already a lil sensitive cos i would be nervous from the last few days (rsd would nerf me) -- meaning i would be a lil more emotional/easily affected than usual ;;;

on top of that ive never had a guy yell at me djvdjdj so it would be a lil scary, i wont lie.

wanna clarify: the crying wouldn't be on purpose lol, i would definitely try n hide it. easier said then done though... OTL

jsvfsh this is so long n specific n kinda personal to me?? im sure im not alone regarding the general idea though. anyways jdbdjs sorry lolol-

and im jus asking for your thoughts or maybe HCs? whichever you feel works best!

also sorry if we've talked about this before i have a bad memory-

[417]

btw ur amazing love u

Love you too dear Four! And oh boy do I relate to this. I do not handle being yelled at well and would, without a doubt, cry multiple times in this scenario (/ω＼)

Saeyoung reacting to his MC crying in the apartment

He’s never felt like this before. He sort of thought he’d been through it all: wrung every last bit of love and fear and desperation out of himself till there was nothing left but the things that make him useful: his clever hands and his brilliant (weary) mind.

When you speak to him so tenderly—hovering just at the edge of his space, eyes full of something he can’t (won’t) identify—he feels like his heart is too big for his body, and he can’t think straight, or see straight, or make his miserable mind form the words he needs to say to you.

He’s angry because he can’t understand why you’re gazing at him that way, like you’d do anything to ease the pounding in his skull; he’s angry because none of his words are getting through to you, and he doesn’t know how to make you understand that he’s not the person he made you believe he was. And he is angry because he knows, without a doubt, that he’s in far too deep already, and that if anything were to happen to you now, his desperate heart would break for good.

He knows how to lie (it is, in his opinion, the only real skill he has)—so he does. He tells you he wishes you’d leave him alone—tells you to stay away—tells you he feels nothing for you at all. He raises his voice (but oh, as the stinging words tear from his throat his heart wants to crawl out of his skin and throw itself into your arms).

You say nothing. Good, he thinks; and he forces his attention back to his screen (eyes blurry, hands shaking). He hears the sound of your footsteps as you retreat to the farthest corner of the apartment, and something inside him seems to go with you—since the very first time he heard your voice, he thinks, a part of him is always with you. With every day that goes by, that part gets bigger: soon, there will be nothing left of him at all.

With his eyes trained on the screen (and most of his attention on you), he hears the tiny sounds you’re making: shifting, he thinks at first, getting comfortable. Maybe even going to sleep.

But no: you are so quiet only somebody with senses that have been heightened from years of training (years of hiding, and fleeing, and fighting for his life) would hear. But there’s a whimper—a vague, almost indistinct sniffling.

Oh no. Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh god.

Years of agency training have taught him to turn his back on people who are begging, or whining, or crying—but he’s never been any good at it.

And this is you: and his scrambled mind races, his heart drumming so loud against his ribs he is sure you can hear it. He would, he thinks wildly, do absolutely anything in the world to never hear you make such a miserable sound again.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stands. The room spins; he’s weak, and hungry, and angry, and scared; his stomach is in knots and the darkened room seems to tilt sideways around him.

You don’t seem to have noticed that he’s moved; you’re hiding your face in your shirt, back turned to him—and you are still (so very still). He doesn’t remember how to breathe.

“Uh...” he says, and the sound echoes horribly in the dull, sparsely furnished room. You say nothing. He clears his throat, takes an unsteady step toward you. He’s not thinking rationally anymore—not thinking about scaring you off, or keeping you safe. All he wants is to see that look in your eyes again: that soft one, the one that makes his hands and feet feel too big and his skin seem to burn and his breath catch in his throat.

“Are, uh...are you okay?” he rasps. You’re still ignoring him, which is a first; your face is turned away, so he goes to your side, kneeling on the floor beside you. You sniffle. He feels like his heart is going to burst.

“Yeah,” you say—and unlike him, you are not such a good liar. Without meaning to, he reaches for you: finds his fingers (of their own accord) doing what they’ve been itching to do since the moment he first laid eyes on you. He touches your hair—brushing it off your face, tucking it behind you ear.

Your eyes, he thinks (fiercely, irrationally): he needs to see your eyes.

“Don’t believe you,” he says. With a sigh of exasperation, you turn to him: oh, and your eyes are blazing, red-rimmed. And he is the one who has done this to you—he is the monster who has made you suffer.

His mind seems to have driven itself into the ground. Suddenly, he can’t remember how to do anything at all.

But his body moves of its own accord, because his heart has always been eons ahead of his (brilliant and foolish) mind.

“Hey,” he finds himself murmuring, brushing your cheek with his rough fingertips (and he knows he shouldn’t, but now that he’s here, he is finding it almost impossible to resist). “I know,” he says, without even quite understanding what he means. “I know.”

You watch him; and there it is again—just for a moment, that softness deep in your eyes that sets him on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words springing to his lips before his brain can get in his way. “I’m so, so...I didn’t mean to...I never...”

You shake your head, and your hair falls into your eyes again. He brushes it back, finding that there is nothing—nothing—in the world quite as wonderful as the feeling of your warm skin under his fingers.

“I get it,” you tell him. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I can’t...” He makes himself take a deep breath, and regrets it instantly as his senses are flooded by the warm, enticing scent of you. He feels you all around him now. “I didn’t mean it,” he says quietly. “Please. I can’t stand to see you making that face.”

You force a watery laugh, and the effort you are making for him is almost too much. His mind races. For a moment, he imagines how it would feel to wrap your small body in his arms—to press his lips to your temple and feel your heart beating against his skin.

“How’s this?” you say. You offer him a passable impression of a smile, and he wants to throw himself at your feet.

“Terrible,” he says. You laugh, and it sounds a tiny bit more believable this time. You are looking at him, and there it is again: that softening in your eyes that makes him think (just for a moment) that there could be a happy ending for him after all.

“I...” he starts. What? He can’t tell you how he feels—what he wants—what he is afraid of. Not here. Not now. Not yet. “Please,” he finds himself whispering. “Can you...just give me a little more time?”

You nod, and there is a strength in you that nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Yeah,” you say: and this time you sound like you mean it.

Against his will, he pushes himself up—makes his way back to his miserable little corner of the room. But he pauses—turns—and you are still waiting, still watching him. Of course you are.

“I’m gonna make it right,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes. Never, he thinks: he will never ever make you cry again.

“I believe you,” you say.

It is the first time anyone has ever told him this.

His heart shivers.

“I won’t let you down,” he says—promises. He means it with all his heart.

#mystic messenger #saeyoung choi #707 #headcanons #asks #417 #fwends 🥺#<3 <3 <3

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15-dogs · 4 years ago

Note

hi!! can I request #1 from promp list 2 for fred x reader? maybe y/n helped Fred and George pull a prank and now they’re all running from filch. I love your writing btw!! <3

assumptions |f.w.|

pairing: fred weasley x reader

summary: you just keep ending up in small spaces with your crush fred weasley, don’t you?

prompt: there’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close

warnings: none

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/N/N) = your nickname, (Y/L/N) = your last name, italics = flashback

word count: 1990

a/n: omg I absolutely ADORE fred like so so much!! I haven’t written him in so long so I hope this does him (and your request !) justice :) hope you like it!!

“Go, go!” Fred shouted at you, taking you by the wrist and tugging you down the hall. George ran beside you, throwing glances over his shoulder at a particularly angry Filch charging at you three.

“What did you get?” you asked between pants.

“Now’s not the time for questions, love!” George replied. You didn’t notice as he received a sharp glare from his twin over your head.

“Lookout, (Y/N), lookout. Does that word mean anything to you?” Fred stared down at you, feigning anger.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted!”

By what, you’d never tell him. As the twins had browsed through Filch’s office in hopes of finding their canary creams prototype, Fred had gotten rather warm. He decided to remove his sweater, accidentally tugging his shirt up with it to reveal his Beater-toned body.

You had fallen for Fred a long time ago. It was a few years back, you were staying at the Burrow. Your ex boyfriend had broken up with you a few days prior, claiming that you were just too close with those Weasley twins, especially Fred. You were up for days, racking your brain about what you did wrong. You felt you made a terrible houseguest in that state, rather opting to wear a bright smile around the family when you truly weren’t at your best.

You couldn’t sleep that night. You tiptoed down to the kitchen for a glass of water and jumped out of your skin when Fred popped out at you. He muffled a chuckle at your mortified demeanor before frowning and quickly apologizing when he saw your puffy red eyes.

“Are you okay? I swear I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he whispered, bending down to meet your eyes.

“No, no. You didn’t do anything, Fred. It’s just...the breakup has been hard.”

“Oh.” Fred looked off to the side, his brow knit together. “Do you want to stay with me tonight? I know that that sorta thing is terrible when you’re alone.”

Your traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Your mum would kill us.”

“That’s not a no,” he teased in a singsong tone. A soft giggle escaped your lips; wait, since when did Fred make you blush?

“Come on,” he offered. He motioned you towards him with a flick of his hand as he stalked towards the couch in the living room. He turned around, noticing that you hadn’t budged. “Come on, love, it’s just me.”

“Why does that give me a bad feeling?”

Fred shot a devilish grin at you that had you weak in the knees. He sat down on the couch, tugging you down beside him. You sat politely beside him, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“What’s all this? Since when have you been afraid of cuddling with me?” His face grew wide with embarrassment. “Merlin, I smell, don’t I?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to fight back a cackle. “No, no!”

“Then get over here!”

Fred outstretched his arms and you clambered into them, your face entirely red. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the soothing rise and fall slow down as he, too, began to fall asleep. His arms moved up and down your back, calming you instantly.

At some point, you had fallen asleep. You only woke up when Fred had picked you up to put you in your bed. He had no idea you were awake and you weren’t about to test that theory by saying something as he carried you up the stairs. He placed you in your bed, tucking you under your sheets with care. He faltered a moment before leaving, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

It was then you knew you had completely fallen for Fred Weasley, whether you liked it or not.

Your head turned for a fraction of a second but that was enough time for Filch to catch up to you. George groaned, rolling his eyes as he breathed, “You two better thank me for this!” He then shoved you and Fred in a tiny broom closet as he ran off with the stolen items.

Filch ran past your little hiding spot and Fred tucked you close to his chest. You could feel his heart hammering and his breath was hot against your face. You had heard Filch’s footsteps trail off towards George but you didn’t dare say a thing, not with the position you were in.

“You know,” Fred began, “I believe that Filch is out of the way thanks to Georgie’s little stunt.”

You hummed in content. “Maybe we should wait around for a few more minutes just to make sure that he doesn’t come back.”

Fred’s lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re using this as an excuse to be close to me.”

“W-what?” You cursed yourself for getting so flustered by him.

“That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips. Was he implying what you thought he was? He most certainly was as he was slowly inching towards you, his strong hands anchored on your hips.

“Oi!” George called out. You jumped so fast out of Fred’s arms that you slammed against the wall behind you. “Get a room!”

“That was kind of the plan,” Fred added, throwing you a glance. You were sure that you had never looked so embarrassed in your life.

Just to make matters worse, Filch appeared beside George, sneering at the two of you. You and Fred let out a loud groan as you stalked over to the man, prepared to get punished unjustly for your crimes.

Things had been so strange after that. It certainly felt like a heat of the moment situation so you didn’t dare bring it up with Fred again. However, you seemed to catch a few lingering glances from him but brushed them off as nothing but a friendly stare.

You had gotten a week’s detention with the twins, doing anything from cleaning off the desks in the Potions classroom to setting up the materials for the next Charms class. Unfair? Absolutely. Grueling? Never, not when you had Fred and George with you. They always found ways to have fun during detention, even if it meant getting scolded.

Fred, George, and you were placing down small white feathers for the first years to use during Charms the next day. You three circled the desks, positioning the feathers ever so carefully atop them.

“Hey, (Y/N/N)!” Fred called out.

As you turned around, you were attacked by a feather that Fred had enchanted to tickle you. You cackled involuntarily as you patted your pockets for your wand, yanking it out and enchanting a hoard of the feathers to do the same to him.

Just as the fun began, it ended.

“Miss (Y/L/N)! Mr. Weasley! And...er, Mr. Weasley?” Professor Flitwick bellowed as he entered the classroom. The feathers fell to the ground an instant.

“What?!” George threw his hands up in the air. “They started it! I was just a spectator! Honest!”

“That’s exactly what the true perpetrator would say.” A wicked grin spread across Fred’s lips that had a fleet of butterflies occupying your stomach. Fred then turned towards you as you walked over towards him, leaning against the desk beside him. “Don’t you agree, (Y/N/N)?”

“I most certainly do, Freddie.”

“I hope you three understand that I’m not blind. I know that Mr. Fred Weasley and Miss (Y/L/N) were ignoring their duties,” Flitwick informed, his arms crossed. “Detention. Just you two, tomorrow night.”

“But Professor-” you began to protest.

“I expect you to be here right after dinner.”

Flitwick left the room shortly after, throwing careful glares over his shoulder. George sneered at his twin, feigning annoyance. However, you didn’t have to pretend. You slapped Fred’s arm as he snickered.

“What’s so funny? I have to spend another night with you! And without George this time!”

Fred threw a wink at you that had your heart skipping a beat. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

You could feel your face heat up as you scrambled for a response, praying to Merlin that it wasn’t obvious how flustered a single action made you.

“Anything that has Fred Weasley in it is a bad thing.”

You thought that you were going to faint, Fred was so close to you. Flitwick had forced you two to clean out the supplies closet. You were pretending to be upset with him for landing you yet another detention but his stupidly handsome face made it so difficult.

You were just about to scold him for the thousandth time that night when he had placed a hesitant yet firm hand on your hips as he reached above you, placing a small glass jar on a shelf. All intelligent thought flew right out of your head. All you could do was blush-- it was embarrassing.

Fred leaned down so that his breath fanned over the back of your neck. You shivered at the sensation while he whispered, “This just keeps happening to us, doesn’t it?”

“H-huh?”

Smooth, so incredibly smooth.

“Getting stuck in broom closets and such together.” Fred stood up to his full height but his hand was still anchored onto your hip. “If no one knew any better, they’d start assuming things.”

You chanced a look over your shoulder at him-- that was a mistake. He had that lopsided grin that made you want to melt. You cleared your throat and turned back around, hoping that he hadn’t noticed.

You settled on avoiding the topic, seeing as you couldn’t do or say anything without sounding like a complete idiot.

“Assuming things?”

So much for avoiding that topic.

“Yes, assuming things.”

“What sort of things?”

“If I saw two incredibly attractive people going in and out of broom closets, I’d assume that they were snogging.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. Your body went rigid and your eyes wide. It took your brain a few seconds to process what he had just said. A quiet chuckle left Fred’s lips, his chest rumbling against your back.

“You think that I’m attractive?” you asked, gaining confidence.

Fred spun you around so that you were flush against his chest. You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the upperhand slip from you.

“Love, I think you’re gorgeous.”

You laughed nervously and stepped backwards out of his grasp. “These things sure are small.”

“You’re doing that thing,” said Fred, stepping towards you.

You gulped. “What thing?”

“That thing you do when you’re nervous. That adorable little laugh.” Fred brushed some hair from your eyes, his gaze piercing. “Do I make you nervous?”

“What?” That same nervous laugh fell from you again. You frowned, pursing your lips in a tight line.

“That laugh. I do make you nervous, don’t I?”

“What? No.” Your laughing spilled into your speech now. Merlin, this was humiliating.

“Is it me? Or is it the assumptions about us?” Fred quirked a brow up, awaiting your response. When he didn’t hear anything, a lazy grin twitched his lips upwards. “It’s both, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

You did not mean to say that.

“Oh?” Fred placed a hand on the shelf over your end, effectively boxing you in.

“No, wait-”

Fred leaned down, planting a passionate kiss on your lips. It was heated, like it was pent up from years and years of yearning. Your hands ran up his chest and tangled in his hair. You felt the world was spinning; it didn’t feel real.

Fred was the one to pull away, placing gentle pecks on your lips. He rested his forehead against yours as he panted, a wide smile on both of your faces.

“So,” he breathed, “how about we confirm those assumptions?”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fred weasley imagine

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allforyoumylovely · 3 years ago

Note

emma, hiii. you're taking requests, like that's the best thing ever hihi. idk why but I've had this image in my head of sander resting against robbe's chest as he robbe reads to him, while he runs a hand through sander's hair. maybe sander is coming out of a bad episode or maybe they're just relaxing on a sunday, but yeah.... maybe something like that hihi. much love to you emma <333

Cille, this was an absolute dream prompt for me, my gosh 💘 📖 I went off on a few tangents but hopefully that’s okay sfhjg. Walk, shower, read. It’s their little routine 🧡 Thank you for sending me this. Love you! Btw let me know if I should upload these on ao3 or if they should just be little tumblr exclusives?

Sander always knows when he’s fading away, when he’s turning into a shell of himself. But he never knows when he’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. Until it’s too late, until he crashes. And that’s when he loses all sense of who he is, of what he enjoys or how he likes to dress or what his voice normally sounds like. Sometimes the only indication of time passing is his alarms that tell him to take his meds and eat at set times.

Although he doesn’t reach the point anymore where he wants to be physically erased – he knows that this seemingly perpetual state of sadness isn’t definitive no matter how much his brain tries to convince him otherwise – some days all he can drag himself out of bed for is a cup of coffee and a cigarette or a few slices of tangerine, the scent reminding him of his boy, his college boy. He’ll crack open a window in the living room and curl up against the cushions in the window-seat, the hood of his black hoodie over his head, and there he’ll try weaving his way through the weeds and the tangled neurons in his thunder-stained mind to anything resembling an actual thought with a pinch of substance.

For the days where he’s more clear-headed his mama puts up little post-its around the house with simple tasks for him to do to help him feel useful and necessary. And in the mornings whenever Robbe has spent the night, Sander finds little notes from him too; there’ll be an I love you on his pillow, an I’m so glad you exist placed on his desk and I’m bringing you flowers later <3 hanging on his door. The first time Sander doesn’t think Robbe actually means the one with the flowers, but when he buzzes him in later that afternoon, the first thing he sees is a bouquet of light pink lilies cradled in his arm against the autumn brown of his jacket, the hues so lovely and gentle, just like Robbe. It’s more than Sander’s frail mind can take, and Robbe wipes away the thin streams of warm tears with his sweater paws, and they laugh softly when it only makes it worse.

Since before Robbe, Sander has been figuring out what soothes him, what makes him feel more at ease, what helps him settle back into his body and bones when coming out of a bad episode, and he has slowly built up a list of things that assist in bringing the puzzle pieces of his mind back into place.

Walks

Sander’s aunt has a golden retriever, Bella, who goes on a little holiday at Sander’s when he’s down and spends most of his days at home. In the mornings she’ll pad over the hard-wood floor to his bed and nuzzle her nose against Sander’s face until he wakes up, waiting patiently for her walk. It’s easier for Sander to get out of bed knowing there’s someone relying on him for their needs and wellbeing. He’ll take her and himself on a walk in the fog-blue mornings when the morning traffic is yet to come, and then again in the early evening when it’s still light out but the streets are quieter, enough for him to give his brain some stimulation when it feels like it has slowed to a halt. The sound of his boots against the sidewalk reminds him that he’s still part of the world, that he hasn’t completely vanished after all.

Sometimes he goes by himself, just listening to and observing the city around him with pale eyes. Other times Robbe goes with him, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked in the mornings, relaxed and loose-limbed at night. He doesn’t curl his hand around Sander’s but lets it hang by his side with their pinkies brushing, open and inviting, for Sander to take if and when he feels like it. Sander will thread their fingers together always, but he loves Robbe for giving him a choice and never forcing anything on him.

Often, they find a bench somewhere, in a park or at the river, a place that isn’t too crowded but still has plenty of things for Sander to rest his eyes on. It’s only the middle of September but some leaves are already falling, lying yellow and limp on the ground, and Robbe notices Sander’s wondering expression.

“It’s probably because the weather has been so dry; they’re shedding their leaves to conserve water and energy,” he says.

And Sander instinctively inches closer, a small smile on his lips. “Clever you.”

Bella sits by Sander’s legs with her head propped on his knee, her deep brown eyes alternatively scanning the place and glancing up at him, sensing his sadness. She’s calm and curious and cuddly, reminding him of a certain someone. When Sander tells him, Robbe breathes out a little giggle, making Sander gaze at him more deeply than he has in days, at the silky curls around his ears and the blinking hoop and the crescent dimples curved into his cheeks, and he’ll quietly rest his head on the slope of Robbe’s shoulder, a few tiny clearings of blue sky starting to appear in his overcast mind.

Showers

Back at home, he and Robbe linger in the hallway for a bit, their hair messy, the scent of fresh air in their clothes. When Robbe says that his green, sparkly eyes are coming back, Sander curls a few fingers in the front of Robbe’s shirt, feeling the firm plane of his stomach against his knuckles as he mumbles, “Shower.”

Some nights Sander can’t stand the mere idea of catching glimpses of himself in the mirror; hates the way he looks with his violet circles and dull, greasy hair. So Robbe will light a couple of candles, and they’ll undress in the dim orange glow and quietly get under the shower spray. And there, with Sander’s forehead resting against his own, Robbe will wash Sander’s hair and tell him that he looks beautiful in this light, while his fingers work in small, bone-melting circles. The near orgasmic pressure on his scalp helps reconnecting Sander’s mind and body, making him press up tightly against Robbe, finally diving back into the swirling, velvety heat that licks into every cell of his being.

“Thank you for… For staying with me,” he says between hushed breaths and light kisses. It falls clumsy from his lips, sounding graver than he intends it to, but Robbe, the angel soul that he is, moulds his answer into five words of pure reassurance that protectively wrap themselves around Sander’s heart.

“I’m going to marry you.”

Sander doesn’t cry. But he’s very damn close.

Reading

This one begins one night maybe a year into their relationship. While Robbe brushes his teeth, Sander wanders Robbe’s room, taking in the familiarity of it, running a hand over the forest green sweatshirt draped over his chair, trailing the edge of his desk with a few fingertips. When he reaches his set of shelves, he sees it wedged in between a plant and some school supplies: a book of bedtime stories filled with beautiful watercolour illustrations, the cover a painting of a dark blue night sky with a full moon reading for her stars over a little sleeping village. The spine is threadbare, seemingly from the countless times of being opened and closed. As he flicks through the crinkled pages, soft lips press against the nape of his neck and the back of his shoulder.

“Are you snooping around my room?” Robbe mumbles.

“Mhm,” Sander hums. “What’s this book?”

Twining his arms around Sander’s stomach from behind Robbe says, “When I was little my mama used to read these stories aloud for me at night. She was looking through some stuff the other day and found it again.” He hooks his chin over Sander’s shoulder. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sander glances back at Robbe with a squeezing feeling in his chest. “Did it make you fall asleep?”

Robbe smiles. “Every time.”

Sander drops his gaze back to the book, asking quietly, “Will you read for me?”

And Robbe brushes a “Sure” and a kiss behind his ear, tugging him along to the bed.

It’s something they do now: Robbe reading aloud for Sander whenever he feels low and doesn’t have many words to offer. Sander then tucks his head under Robbe’s chin, and Robbe tangles his fingers in his freshly washed and citrussy-smelling hair, scraping over his scalp in endless, soothing motions. Safe and sound, Sander listens to stories about naughty star-children, wizards flying about in rolled up rugs, and a Goodnight-ship with live stuffed animals as passengers. They flow over him like dripping streams of honey, Robbe’s voice lovely and wonderful and a little sleepy, and Sander tries so desperately to make his foggy brain hold onto the words.

Sometimes when the night air is cooling Sander’s room and Robbe feels a little cold, he’ll wear a thick hoodie to bed. Sander loves the scent and the comfy feel of the well-worn fabric under his palm, but sometimes he gets a little frowny and frustrated at having to fumble for his small waist; so Robbe pulls it off despite the goosebumps rising on his skin, and Sander presses his ear to his heart and tightens his hold around him, sharing his body heat his only job while he listens to stories from when Robbe was little. And Sander feels little too; but it’s something he allows himself. A few years ago, he didn’t dare dream that he’d ever have this with someone; didn’t think he even had this level of softness in himself.

But here he is. Here they are.

He has never wanted to be someone’s more than he does Robbe’s; it’s so clear that he belongs to him. And it’s crazy, Sander thinks. Because no matter how feeble and numb around the edges his body and mind feel, his love for Robbe is always right there in a molten pond at the core of him, and Sander could cry at the fact that his brain always lets him have that.

In the days following, when he finds that he has enough energy to send Robbe little dorky, flirty texts throughout the day, such as Bella woke me up with wet, sloppy kisses. Wish it was you or when you’re in the mood for a snack but you’re not there💔 with an attached photo of himself pouting at the open fridge, he knows that the darkness in his chest and brain is releasing its hold and taking flight.

#drabbles 💗#wtfock #cille 💗

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vanserraseris · 4 years ago

Note

END OF PART I - Literally can’t believe I just sat here and posted that 500 characters at a time lol I hope you’re not too disappointed with this, I’m well aware it’s a bit of a disaster but it’s been real nice sending it to you :))

haha its unreal but i loved it sm!!! thanks for sending <3 btw if you want to send me a summary, i can add it into the masterlist!

here’s part 1 in full!

Prince of Ashes. Part I.

masterlist.

Eris could feel his heart beating as he ran through the halls of The Forest House. His breaths were unsteady and panicked, but he tried to school his features into a mask of calm in case he ran into his father. He adjusted the sword at his side, had grabbed the weapon and shoved it messily in his belt as he’d rushed out of his room. The torches he passed along the walls flared brightly, as if in warning. Eris hoped his father hadn’t done anything foolish.

The rumble of magic that had passed through the estate could only mean something horrible had happened. Eris didn’t slow down as he practically slammed through the doors of his mother’s chambers, not caring that he hadn’t bothered to put a tunic over his thin undershirt and knowing he looked ridiculous in an old pair of brown leather boots.

Eris paused at what he saw once he spotted the woman who’d raised him. He was not expecting his mother to be weeping at the healthy babe in her arms, her shoulders hunched as her breath hitched every so often.

Eris had perfected his carefully crafted image. He was the Tamer of Flames, the Heir of Autumn, the Prince of Ashes. He was calculated and hateful on his good days, cruel and horrible on his bad days. He wanted to be a son his father could be proud of, and he wanted to be a son his mother could look in the eye. As he stood in the doorway of his mother’s room, he bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling very much like a nervous child instead.

“Mother,” Eris breathed, not knowing if he should approach. Eris had been in the middle of reading through some reports when he’d felt the magic, he must have looked a mess after having run through the halls of The Forest House like some youngling.

“Eris?” His mother asked through her tears, more emotion than Eris had seen from her in centuries. “What’s happened?” Eris said as he walked towards them, his tone uncharacteristically soft. The pulse of angry magic that Eris had felt minutes before had worried him, but looking at both his mother and the seemingly healthy child had Eris very confused.

His mother merely shook her head and carefully placed the little bundle in Eris’ arms. Eris had only ever held one of his brothers when they’d been this small and fragile. It must be a girl, Eris thought, why else would his father be so angry, why else would his mother weep. He felt an odd sadness, pitying any female born into this court. “I want to name him Lucien,” his mother whispered, as if it were a secret.

Eris was only more confused, “Cauldon bless him,” he muttered, moving the blankets so that he could peer at the face of his brother. The baby’s eyes were closed, his mouth slightly parted as he huffed tiny breaths in his sleep.

“Eris, I must ask something of you,” his mother tugged on the loose sleeve of his shirt, her other hand wiping the tears from her cheeks. Eris was still looking at the child in his arms, but he nodded for her to go on. His mother never asked anything of him and Eris had never asked anything of his mother. “You must protect him.”

Eris nodded again. He thought he’d done a particularly good job at taking care of Rufus since his mother had been an empty shell when he’d been born. Not that Eris could blame her, he figured spending too much time around Beron was the cause. Eris had kept Rufus as far away from his father as he could, and while Rufus had a reputation for taking nothing seriously, all things considered, he was a good male.

“Give me your vow.” Eris furrowed his auburn brows, glancing to his mother as she gently took the child from his arms and placed him in his cradle. Strange, Eris thought, but would not question it. His mother had said it so firmly that Eris had been reminded of the female he remembered from his childhood.

“I give you my vow, my solemn oath, to protect this child,” Eris said, unwavering eyes on his mother.

“Beron wants him dead,” she said softly, calmly.

“What?” Eris snapped, probably much harsher than he needed to be.

“Your father wants to leave the babe to the elements,” she reached for Eris’s hand, but he jerked away from his mother. Fool, Eris thought, he was a fool. Hadn’t his father taught him since he could speak to never give anyone his oath.

“Why?” Eris growled, and while he might have been frustrated with having agreed to his mother’s wishes, he was horrified at the thought that his father would kill an innocent child.

Even if the High Lord of the Autumn Court did not care much for his sons, he had always valued them as political pawns. Fae children were rare, his father had always known they would grow to be assets. Eris had spent much of his life fearing what his father would do to him and his brothers in anger, but he found a strange comfort in knowing Beron would never kill one of his sons. Eris looked at his mother, mouth dropping open slightly.

Eris took great pride in the fact that his emotions never openly showed on his face, not unless he wanted them to, but he couldn’t help it. Eris was a little horrified, a little concerned. His mother had gone off and had an affair, right under Beron’s nose, the runt in the cradle was his half-brother. Eris needed a strong fucking drink to swallow that realization. No. Beron would never kill one of his sons.

His mother looked at Eris with devastation, she sniffled once, ran a hand through her hair. She looked tired, but Eris couldn’t remember the last time his mother had looked so alive. “Eris, please, he… he is still your brother, please. Your father has doubts, but it is mere speculation.” She lifted her face to look up at her eldest son, “If he is under your protection …” She broke off then, looking at Eris with hopeful russett eyes.

Eris nearly flinched at her words, of course Lucien was still his brother, he thought. And not only that, but he’d vowed to keep the runt safe. Eris didn’t need to be a seer to know this vow would become a problem at some point, but he pushed those negative thoughts from his head. Eris moved to look into the crib, at the small babe inside it, “Are you sure about calling him Lucien?”

His mother’s shoulders sagged with relief, “What’s the matter with it?”

Eris tilted his head to the side as he continued to stare at his youngest brother. “Mother, his name means sunshine in the Old Tongue, perhaps you should reconsider.”

His mother flashed him a small smile, momentarily shocking Eris, “It means light.”

“I hardly think that’s any better,” Eris was debating whether or not to ask who the father was when he heard the loud steps approaching the room, and he turned to face the carved doors of his mother’s chambers with a deep breath.

The doors slammed open with a loud crash, Eris was surprised the babe didn’t wake. “Give me the child,” Beron said with a frighteningly quiet voice.

“Father,” Eris said, warning in his tone. Eris was many things, but he wasn’t an oath-breaker.

“Do not involve yourself in matters that do not concern you,” Beron spat, “Give me the child.”

Eris moved closer to his father, his hand moving towards the sword at his side, “Father.”

The High Lord of Autumn paused, looking at his son carefully. Eris let golden flames flare in his eyes. His father stood straighter, eyes flicking to the hand Eris had placed on the hilt of his weapon. “You would fight me, boy?” His father laughed with no amusement before he flashed a taunting smile in Eris’s direction, “You would fight me?” Eris knew that perhaps he should have reconsidered his approach to the whole situation when he felt the magic in the room swell.

The crackling magic that flowed through Eris’s veins was lethal, but not as strong as his father’s. Eris lifted his chin, “Father, leave the child.” Beron reached for his own weapon, and Eris drew his sword. His father was more experienced, and Eris knew his talents did not lie in combat, but he would fight for this. If he died, though, he worried what Beron would do to Rufus, but he wouldn’t let Beron leave Lucien to the elements. At least not without a fight.

“Eris!” His mother moved to stand between them, but Eris pushed her back with his arm. He would regret sending her crashing against the wardrobe later, but he was much too focused on his father to care too much about that now. Beron lunged at Eris with his sword, and Eris easily deflected the blow that was aimed at his chest. Eris’s amber eyes widened, but he wasn’t entirely sure why it shocked him to know that his father would strike to kill.

Eris had to lead his father away from his mother and the child, so with a small snarl Eris threw himself at his father, his sword arcing in the air. With a powerful blow, Beron stumbled out into the hall. The servants that had dutifully been attending to their business shrieked as their swords slammed together, the sound of metal against metal echoing as the servants ran away from them.

Beron was much stronger than Eris. He had been fighting for much longer, and Eris knew that if he started using his magic against his father, his father would respond with magic much stronger than his. Eris parried his father’s first series of blows, but it was an effort. High Lords were a different breed, and with each clash of their swords, Eris was reminded of that fact. “Ungrateful,” his father spat, cutting Eris on the thigh with a long swipe of his sword.

Eris heard his mother screaming at Beron to stop, and he knew that the cut along his leg was deep, but he managed to whirl out of the way of his father’s blade as it came frighteningly close to his neck. Eris put all his weight in the next swing of his sword, and Beron grinned as their swords met and they faced each other. “Why protect the little runt?” Beron’s grin merely widened, “You wish to have another brother fight you for the throne?”

Eris flashed him a crooked grin in return, ignoring the pain in his leg as he spoke to his father over the cross of their swords. “I am not afraid.”

“Perhaps you should be.” Eris could not respond fast enough as his father stopped pushing against him, and Eris lost his balance. It was only a moment, but it was enough. Beron’s blade skidded across the edge of Eris’s sword, and Eris knew he had made a terrible mistake. Beron thrust his blade into Eris’ side.

Eris felt blank, he vaguely realized he’d cried out as his father twisted the blade before his own weapon fell from his weak fingers. He didn’t hear the sound of it as it dropped against the floor, the roaring in his ears was much too loud. “Are you happy now, Eris,” Beron said, putting a hand up to his son’s face in a strangely father-like gesture, the other still tightly gripping the sword in Eris’s side. “I have lost a son this night.”

Fingers curling in Eris’s long hair, Beron pulled his eldest son to him and placed a kiss to his temple. In his entire life, Beron had never shown any affection to Eris, and if Eris had been able to think properly, he would have been shocked. Eris groaned as his father yanked the blade back, his shaking hands going to the wound at his side as his legs faltered and he fell to his knees. Ruby red blood glimmered on the silver blade of his father’s sword.

Eris tried to take a deep breath, but found that his lungs wouldn’t let him. Eris coughed, feeling blood drip down his chin. He supposed that he should not have expected to beat his father in a duel. Eris felt like he was drowning. As a youngling he’d tripped on a rope and fallen off a dock in the Spring Court and into a lake, not knowing how to swim and in a panic, Eris had thrashed as water filled his lungs.

Each breath had burned in a way that Eris had never imagined he’d feel as the heir of the Autumn Court. Surely, Eris would have died had his mother not pulled him out of the water, sobbing as she’d told him to hold her hand next time. His mother was sobbing now as she fell to her knees in front of Beron, begging him to stop. Eris slumped forward with a gasp, the burning feeling in his chest becoming nearly unbearable.

He made a strange choked noise as more blood filled his mouth and Eris gritted his teeth as someone dropped down by his side. “You alright, Eris?” Rufus asked, his face close to Eris’s as he put his hands around Eris’s arm, trying to help him up. Eris looked at his younger brother through the curtain of his red hair, “Hello, hey, you alright?” Rufus repeated, russett eyes wide.

“Never better,” Eris rasped as more blood dripped from his mouth onto the marble floors. Eris tried to lift himself up with Rufus’s help. He couldn’t stand, Eris noticed, and put all his weight on his younger brother. Rufus laughed nervously, the sound hollow to Eris’s ears. Holding a hand to the wound on Eris’ side and abandoning his attempt to get Eris up off the floor, Rufus moved the hair from Eris’s face. With the back of his hand, Rufus wiped at the blood along Eris’s chin before he spoke. Eris wasn’t really worried, but he could tell from the tone of Rufus’s voice that he probably should be.

Cato’s voice rang like a bell in the nearly empty hall, “What the hells happened here?” Calm and steady and definitely not worried. Cato would soon become heir, Eris thought briefly, all his brother had ever wanted and he hadn’t even lifted a finger to get it.

“Your brother seems to have forgotten his place,” Beron replied with equal calm.

Rufus snarled softly, having been the youngest of six for thirty years, no one paid him any attention, especially not father, and Eris knew Rufus favoured him. Eris would be lying if he told anyone he didn’t favour Rufus as well. Eris could feel his eyelids drooping, but he watched as Maddox ran towards them from the other side of the hall, Priam close behind him. Eris felt heavy, so he leaned into Rufus, pain flaring through his side.

His vision was becoming blurred and he could barely hear his mother begging Beron to spare him and Lucien. The last thing Eris remembered before he lost consciousness was staring at his sword, thinking that the ruby eyes of the lion’s head on the hilt glowed with flames.

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