#but it's never half as precise or half as quick as these small things are

[rik1sberry]

BREWING SOMETHING LIKE LOVE — park sunghoon

synopsis, a sunshine hearted new barista slowly melts the walls of her grumpy coworker… one shift, one smile, and one cup of coffee at a time

paring, park sunghoon

setting, cozy local café

genre, strangers to lovers, slow burn, grumpy x sunshine, fluff

content warning, mild language, emotional vulnerability, soft romantic tension

word count, 2095 words

perm taglist, send an ask to be added

The first thing you noticed about the boy behind the counter was that he didn't smile.

Not when customers complimented his latte art. Not when an elderly regular gave him a handwritten thank you card. Not even when a gold retriever puppy peeked through the glass doors and wagged its tail. He just worked in silence, his movements precise, expression unreadable.

“This is Y/N,” your new manager had said brightly. “She’ll be training here starting today.”

The boy didn’t even look at you. “You’re cheerful,” he muttered, his voice flat, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re not,” you replied, your smile warm and genuine, even though his words barely registered as an insult.

That got a glance. It was the barest flicker of an expression, just a quick glance before he went back to wiping down the counter, but it felt like progress.

You learned his name the next day: Park Sunghoon. It was written in sharp black ink on the staff schedule.

He wasn’t mean. Just quiet. Guarded. Efficient in a way that didn’t leave room for small talk. You’d try, of course. Commenting on the weather, the playlist, the new pastries. He’d respond with a nod or a hum, then go right back to steaming milk or scribbling names on cups with annoyingly perfect penmanship.

But you didn’t give up.

You told him about your failed attempts at latte art, the way you once accidentally served someone an iced espresso with salt instead of sugar, and how your favorite part of the job was the smell of ground coffee beans in the morning.

Sometimes he’d blink slowly, like your energy short-circuited his brain. Other times, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You counted that as a win. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something.

⸻

A month passed.

You noticed things.

Like how he only drank black coffee. How he always wore headphones before opening shifts, but the music was soft, classical, completely unlike his aloof attitude. How he always made an extra matcha latte on Thursdays and left it behind the counter for the regular who never ordered but always showed up tired. It was the kind of thoughtful gesture he never talked about, and you wondered if he even realised how much it mattered.

You started bringing him snacks. Little things like chocolate covered almonds, rice crackers, a tiny blueberry muffin with a post it that said “You look like someone who forgets breakfast.”

He never thanked you. But he always ate them. His face remained unreadable, but you noticed that his shoulders would sometimes relax, just a little, when you handed him the treats.

One day, it rained.

You came in drenched, dripping from your bangs to your sneakers, and slipped on the floor the moment you stepped inside.

Sunghoon caught you by the elbow before you hit the tiles.

“Careful,” he said, voice flat, but his hand lingered for half a second too long.

Your heart stuttered. “Thanks.”

He let go, like he’d caught you out of instinct. “Don’t drip on the espresso machine.”

That was the first time he made you coffee without asking. It came in your favorite mug, with a foamed heart on top. You didn’t even have to say anything, because his small gestures spoke louder than words ever could.

⸻

The following weeks were a mix of routine and subtle changes. You worked morning shifts together, the café quiet except for the occasional order and the soft hum of the espresso machine. You found yourself in the back room often, taking the opportunity to chat with him about the weather, your favorite books, or just random little things that filled the silence.

Sunghoon still wasn’t talkative, but he stopped giving you one word answers. He’d respond more thoughtfully, sometimes even offering his own opinions. The first time he laughed… really laughed, was when you told him about the time you accidentally made a macchiato with a shot of soy sauce instead of caramel syrup. It wasn’t loud, just a soft chuckle, but it felt like a small victory.

You started closing shifts together. Sometimes in silence, sometimes with music playing low in the background. Always something soft, like he’d chosen it for you.

⸻

Two months into your job, the little interactions became a bit more frequent.

One evening, after everyone else had left, Sunghoon stood by the counter, watching the light rain outside the window.

“You look pensive,” you said, wiping down the counter nearby.

“I’m not,” he replied, but his tone was softer than usual.

“You always look like you’re thinking about something.”

He glanced at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like you’re always somewhere else in your head.”

He didn’t answer, just took a sip from his cup and turned back to the window. You continued with your work, but you noticed the way his shoulders seemed to relax when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he leaned against the counter with an unfamiliar ease. Maybe it wasn’t much, but you felt like you were starting to get to him. Just a little.

⸻

A few more weeks passed, and you started noticing even more details about him.

Like how he always tucked a pen behind his ear when he worked. Like how he hated it when people were late, but was never overtly rude… just more quiet. Like how, on slow days, he’d doodle little sketches on the back of order tickets when he thought no one was watching. It was like his way of quietly letting out the tension he didn’t know how to express.

But one of the most surprising things you learned was how fiercely he took care of the café. He had this way of arranging everything just so, always checking the supplies, making sure nothing was out of place. You started to realize that, just like you, this place was one of the few things he allowed to matter.

⸻

One night, after a particularly busy evening shift, you were both left to close up. The lights were dimmed, the buzz of the espresso machine had died down, and only the sound of you wiping down the counter filled the space.

“You’ve been looking at me a lot lately,” Sunghoon said, voice low but steady.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, whenever I’m near, you always seem to be looking at me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t think of anything to say, so you just shrugged. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out.”

He stayed silent for a moment before answering. “What do you think?”

You took a deep breath. “I think you’re not as indifferent as you try to act.”

He shifted, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“You care. You care about this place, about the people here. And maybe… you care more than you realize.”

His gaze softened. “I don’t know how to care.”

“Well,” you said, walking closer, “sometimes it’s okay to not know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try.”

You paused for a moment, taking a chance you hadn’t dared before.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Why do you always do that? Try to keep things to yourself.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set down the rag he’d been holding and looked at you with a seriousness that made your chest tighten.

“It’s easier that way,” he said simply.

“Is it?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know.” He sounded a little unsure, a little vulnerable, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest.

⸻

A few days later, you both ended up working the closing shift again. The café was nearly empty, the last few customers having left, leaving behind a quiet that only the two of you shared.

You were both cleaning up when he spoke again. “I think you’ve changed the way I see things.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “What do you mean?”

He looked at you for a long moment before replying. “I think… I’m starting to care a little too much. And it’s not just about the café.”

Your heart did that thing again, an unexpected skip. “What do you mean?” you whispered, a little afraid of what he might say.

He took a breath, stepping closer. “I think… I’m starting to like you.”

You smiled softly. “I think I’ve known for a while.”

He blinked, surprised by your response. “Really?”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy,” you said. “Nothing’s easy.”

He reached for your hand, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It doesn’t have to be.”

⸻

The days that followed were a quiet rush of small moments. You both tiptoed around the tension that had bloomed between you… careful, uncertain, but undeniably there.

There was the moment when he passed you a fresh cup of coffee, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest instant, and neither of you spoke. Just the soft flutter of that touch lingered in the air.

There was the evening when you both stayed late to clean up, and he surprised you by ordering takeout for both of you. His way of offering something, even though he didn’t know exactly how to do it.

Then there was the night when he looked at you, not with his usual distant expression, but with something softer, something warm. “I think I’m getting better at this,” he said quietly.

“At what?”

“At caring,” he replied, voice so low it was almost a whisper.

You smiled, not needing to say anything else. Because in that moment, you both knew. Something slow and quiet had built between you. Something real.

⸻

The night was quiet when the café closed. The lights were dimmed, and the soft hum of the espresso machine was the only sound, almost like the calm after a storm. The air smelled faintly of coffee and cinnamon, comforting in a way only a café could be.

Sunghoon was wiping down the counter, his movements slow and deliberate. You stood beside him, gathering your things, the soft silence between you feeling… different now. The shift was subtle, but it was there. Something had changed.

You couldn’t help yourself.

You turned to him. “Sunghoon.”

He looked up from the counter, his eyes locking with yours. There was no more hesitation in his gaze, no more distance. Just something warm, something patient.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his words. “What?”

He gave a small, almost shy smile, and for the first time, you saw him open up, just a little. “I’m glad you’re here. I think… I think I’ve needed this.”

Your heart swelled at his admission. You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. You stepped closer, your fingers brushing against his in a quiet, meaningful touch.

“I think I needed this, too,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

And in that moment, standing in the soft glow of the café, you realised something. It wasn’t just about coffee. It wasn’t about the late nights or the small gestures.

It was about something more.

Like a cup of coffee left to brew, slowly and carefully, the warmth that had been building between you over the weeks was finally ready. It had taken time. It had taken patience. But now it was something that could no longer be ignored.

Sunghoon tilted his head, eyes searching yours for something you both knew deep down, but had never quite dared to say. “I think… we’re brewing something.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the meaning behind his words sinking in slowly. “Something like love?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, his smile a little crooked, but softer than before. “Yeah. Something like love.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Something so quiet, so gentle, had been growing between you. No grand gestures. No explosive confessions. Just slow, steady, and real.

And maybe that’s how love was supposed to be. Something brewed over time, warm and comforting, a little messy at first, but finally perfect in its own way.

“You’re not wrong,” you said softly, your fingers brushing his once more.

And as the café’s lights flickered off, the two of you stood there, together, knowing that the quiet, patient love you’d been brewing for so long had finally come to life.

Something like love. Quietly brewing.

Just like coffee.

Just like you and him.

© rik1sberry

[baby-yongbok]

Partition

Kim Seungmin x afab!Reader

⤷ Smut - dom!Seungmin x sub!Reader [MDNI]

⤷ WC - 1.4k

⤷ CW - public tension, car sex, possessiveness, power play, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering (f.rec)

 Every spotlight has a shadow. You two just happen to fuck in it.

⤷ Partition by Beyonce + This Seungmin from the Chaumet event that lives in my mind rent free... yeah... anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ [i didn't proof read this one bit..haha]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The gala ended with a standing ovation. You smiled like you meant it, fingers wrapped around Seungmin’s arm like a perfect, polished accessory. His hand on your waist was steady, his jaw sharp under soft lighting, not a hair out of place.

You’d kissed cheeks, waved politely, complimented outfits you’d mentally berated. You played the part. Both of you did. Seungmin smiles, starts engaging conversations and listening with bright and perfect smiles.

 And maybe that’s what gnaws at you most - how good he is at it. How he can charm the room and still ignore the way your thighs press together under the table. You wanted to ruin that mask, even if just a crack. You wanted to remind him - remind yourself - what happens when the curtain falls.

You can already feel the tension in his fingers where they rest on your waist - just the faintest tremble. Like he’s holding something back. Like if you press even slightly, he’ll crack down the middle and take you with him.

You test the theory.

Under the table - when the cameras weren’t looking - you let your fingers drift up the inside of his thigh, just enough to make his fork freeze mid-cut. Just enough to make him turn his head slowly toward you with a look that promised you’d regret it.

And now?

Now you were in the back of a black car, sealed away from the flashing lights trying to capture the slightest slip up. The city lights flashing across the tinted windows is all that witnesses you now as Seungmin presses the sleek black button next to him. The partition slides up with a smooth click, concealing you.

You left the venue five minutes ago, that’s five minutes of your mask as the prim and proper ‘it’ couple being tucked away, but Seungmin still hasn’t spoken.

Not until you reached for his tie, playful, half-drunk on boldness.

That’s when his hand caught your wrist.

Hard.

"You play too much, you know that?” he says, voice a low growl that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. “You love starting things that you can never finish.”

You barely have time to process the change in him before he’s tugging you into his lap, dress riding up your thighs, panties soaked and sticking. His hands are rough, not like the Seungmin the world knows - these aren't careful touches. They’re claims.

“Was that the plan? Get me worked up in front of everyone just so I’d lose it the second we were alone?” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as he pulls your hips flush to his. 

“You didn’t lose it,” you breathe.

He chuckles. Dark. Dangerous. “No. But I will.”

He’s quick, your back hits the leather seat with a shift that has him hovering over your buzzing body. He doesn’t undress you - just shoves your dress higher and hooks your panties to the side. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you keen. That makes him smile. The type of smile that means trouble.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost amused. “You get off on being watched, baby?”

His fingers slide through your folds like he’d done it a thousand times, precise and merciless. You moan, try to reach for him - he doesn’t like that.

Seungmin grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, “Look in the mirror.”

“What?”

He nods at the small black mirror above the partition window. “That’s what I see when I look at you. That’s what they’d see, too, if I opened this window.”

You whimper.

“I said look.”

You obey.

And what you see is a version of yourself that only he awakens - makeup smudged, mouth open, thighs spread. Seungmin’s hand teasing where you drip for him while he whispers filth against your skin.

“You think you’re in control when you tease me,” his teeth graze your collarbone. “But look at you now. Dripping all over my hand just because I told you to.” He slips two fingers in, sinking them deep before curling them right where he knows it melts you. 

“Where’s that bold attitude now, baby? Where’d my brave girl go?” He pumps his fingers deep, fast, hitting your sweet spot and then some until your panting, gasping - begging.

“Please,” You don’t even know what you’re asking for.

He pulls his fingers out. You almost sob.

“You want it?” he asked, voice suddenly cool again. “Then earn it.”

He unzips his pants, letting his cock spring free - long, flushed, leaking at the tip. And fuck, the look in his eyes - feral and focused. It makes you ache. He shifts, takes your hand, guiding you to hover over him and sink down without hesitation. You sink down slowly, the stretch making you tremble and whine.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Just like that, baby. Take it.”

His hands grip your waist, controlling the pace, the depth, you. When you try to speed up, he holds you still. When you try to slow down, he bucks up hard, making you cry out. 

“You feel what I let you,” he pants, his voice broken with heavy breath. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your cunt drips, swallowing him whole and clenching with each and every ragged drag of his cock. Seungmin leans forward, his lips press against the exposed skin of your neck messily, it’s all tongue and teeth, nipping and soothing over and over. 

“Is this what you wanted so badly?” his words break with pleasure and you answer with a moan, you’re sure the driver heard you. “Wanted to feel me in your fucking stomach? Fucking that pretty polite smile off your face.”

Your nails sink into his shoulders, holding you steady while your head spins with all he’s giving. Your breath feels thin, your crash building higher and higher low in your stomach until you feel it start to sway. Seungmin notices. 

He snaps his hips up, making sure that you know what this is - punishment, a display of control, his control.

“Please, please,” this time you’re asking for release. Permission to shatter in his arms. “Seungmin, please.”

He pulls back, eyes on your and one of your hands moves up to his neck. One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, steering your lips to his in a kiss too tender for the moment you're wrapped in. 

“Do it.” he mumbles, “I’ll do it with you, cum, baby.”

You tremble around him with a scream muffled against his shoulder, body quaking and cunt fluttering with a gush that’s matched with his flood. He spills into you with a low, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck, hips jerking through it. Then silence.

Only your ragged breaths. Your heartbeat in your ears. And then he feels the car stop, you’re at the next venue, the afterparty.

Seungmin doesn’t speak, just a kiss to your forehead while he pulls out, a gentle squeeze to your hip while he helps you pull your panties into place, keeping his load from leaking, for now.  He straightens your dress and then he fixes himself - silent, controlled, masking slipping back into place, like you hadn’t just ridden him like a madwoman in the back of a moving car.

He adjusts his cuffs. Smooths back his hair. Then wipes your ruined lipstick off with his thumb.

“Smile when we get out,” he says casually. “Don’t let them know you just came all over my cock.”

And with that, the partition slides back down.

Seungmin gives the driver the green light.

And he sounds the part - perfect and composed. As if he hadn’t just ruined you behind the glass.

You step out first, heels steady despite the aftershocks still rippling through your thighs. Seungmin follows, hand on the small of your back like a man who owns everything he touches.

The crowd roars. The lights blind.

You smile like nothing happened.

Like he isn’t still inside you, seeping into the cotton of your panties.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, deliberate. A warning masked as affection.

No one sees the way his touch lingers, like a silent reminder.

No one hears him murmur under his breath, lips not moving:

“Next time you tease me in public, I won’t wait for the car.”

And just like that, the cameras capture perfection.

Not the mess just beneath.

The perfect couple.

❥ Wanna Be On My Taglist? Click here for the Taglist Form!

All Content Tag list: @wealwayskeepfighting @whokno-ows @stay-tiny-things @yaorzu-blog @krayzieestay @nxtt2-u  @armystay89 @kayleefriedchicken @compersian  @kibs-and-bits @whokno-ows @poppet05 @estella-novella @unbel1ve4ble @pixie-felix @catsforlife6864 @lisaskz @chloe-elise-2000 @jaeminie-cricket @gingerrracha @wickedbutlovely @lolareadsimagines @h00d-tr4sh @felixleftchickennugget @jeyelleohe @hanjiyunho @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @iminc0gnito - @dreamingaboutjisung @lixiluvs @lghtdarling @teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123,, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @lghtdarling @joonkki @my_neurodivergent_world@tricky-ritz @linospetsitter @0sunshinecryptid0 @miyaluvvsyou @minhooofr @Chansfavoriterubberducky Written Fics ONLY (including series) tag list: @moonchild9350 @daveah @bangchanslvt  Written Fics ONLY (no series): @dollxkill [Red names are tags that seem broken]

[readwritealldayallnight]

I am obsessed with your page and EQUALLY excited for part two to the coffee-place-stalker-fic !!!

I saw your requests were open and was wondering if I could request Simon with a teacher!reader? Maybe he’s helping her with crafts for Valentine’s Day or hes back from deployment and surprises her at school?

Just something wholesome and fluffy?

Thank you🩷

Part two of the coffee place stalker fic

~~~~~

“Well, what should we do-”

“It doesn’t look like he’s got anything with him-”

“Definitely not any parent I recognize-”

“Do we go into lockdown? Or safe school-”

“He hasn’t done anything wrong, I mean he’s just standing there-”

“Yes, but why is he standing there-”

“Hi ladies.” You murmur, walking into the staff room you notice a group of your coworkers huddled up around the window, peering intently outside at something

It’s not often that anything going on outside of the staff room during recess could be important enough to pull their attention away from the food they have 20 minutes to scarf down before they’re back to caring for other people offspring, those issues are precisely why the board hires lunch monitors

But apparently whatever is happening outside in the school parking lot is interesting enough to have nearly half a dozen of your colleagues poking their heads between the blinds to catch a glimpse, pre packed lunches and yesterdays leftovers forgotten

“There’s some weird man standing in the parking lot.” One of the younger teachers says, pulling the dusty blinds back for another not so subtle peek

“What’s he doing?” One of the schools educational assistants asks, having come in just behind you

“Nothing. Just standing there, this whole time.” The math teacher shrugs, never moving her eyes off the window

“Well how long’s he been out there?”

“Mrs Ashton says she first saw him almost a quarter of an hour ago, just before the bell rang.”

“We’re sure he’s not a parent?” One of the newer student teachers poses the question

“Well, no. But he certainly doesn’t like any of our parents.”

“He’s not done anything wrong, technically. Just odd that he’s lingering like that.”

“You don’t think the mask is odd as well?”

At that last remark from your colleagues, your head perks up, glancing towards the gaggle still gathered by the glass

“Has anyone told the vice principal yet? Maybe we should-”

“That’s aright, actually.” You say with a sigh, peering out the window for the first time and confirming your suspicions. “That one’s mine.”

You’re pulling your jacket tighter around yourself as the wind whips your hair all about, shaking your head in playful disbelief, but the smile stretching across your face cannot hide your delight in seeing him as you walk closer

“Okay, no more mask when you drop off my lunches from now on.” You tease, finally stepping near enough to see the slightly crinkled paper bag sat in the passenger seat of his truck

“Well maybe if someone didn’t forget her lunch, wouldn’t ’ave to be in this situation, would we?” He teases right back, both of you knowing very well that Simon lives for these small, mundane moments when he’s off from deployment, able to drop you off and pick you up from work, bring you lunches, have dinner ready when you get home, the small things that might seem tedious and boring to others, he lives for, knowing he gets to do them with you

“Well maybe if someone didn’t keep me in bed for an extra half hour this morning and had me rushing for work-”

“Don’t remember hearin’ many complaints this mornin’ about that extra half hour you spent bouncing on my c-”

The sound of the school bell ringing cuts him off, the both of you letting out small chuckles before you’re standing up on tip toes, reaching to give him a quick peck on the cheek over his mask, his large gloved hand giving your waist a slight squeeze before he tells you he’ll be around to pick you up soon as the dismissal bell goes off

You tell him that if he makes your favourite for dinner tonight, you might have dessert ready for him back in bed afterwards, an idea which the glimmer in his eyes tells you he’s more than okay with

You’re still grinning to yourself, walking back towards the front doors with your sack lunch held tightly in hand, when you send a quick wink to the now even larger crowd of colleagues watching you from the window

———

Thank you so much for the sweet words and the suggestion! I hope you’re okay with the way I took this lil prompt

I’m hoping to have stalker/fluff Simon posted by the end of the week, I’ve changed and edited that story more times than I can remember now, I just really want it right before it’s out there!

- M 🫶🏻

[xianji]

tied by ink | choso x reader

for the @phantasmaebg event

wc: 1350

your soulmate tattoo showed up on your sixteenth birthday, scrawled across your wrist like a bold declaration: “stay.” it wasn’t cute, romantic, or poetic like you imagined. it was blunt. vague. frustrating.

and years later, you still had no clue what it meant.

that’s why you were here now, sitting in a tattoo parlor that smelled like antiseptic and fresh ink, the fluorescent lighting humming faintly above you. you didn’t know what you wanted yet, but you knew you needed something.

“you here for a consult?” the girl at the counter asked.

“yeah,” you replied, your fingers twitching nervously at your side.

“choso’s got time. best hands in the shop.” she grinned, jerking her thumb toward the back.

you nodded, muttering a quick thanks before heading toward the artist’s booth.

as you turned the corner, you saw him sitting there—dark hair pulled into a messy half-bun, loose strands falling around his sharp face. tattoos covered his forearms, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt.

hot.

his dark eyes flicked up as you approached, pinning you in place.

“you’re here for a tattoo?” his voice was deep, smooth like it didn’t belong in this tiny shop.

“uh, yeah,” you stammered, your heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

he gestured to the chair in front of him, and you sat, trying not to fidget as his gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long.

“so, what are you thinking?”

you hesitated. “something small, but meaningful. i just… need something new.”

he tilted his head, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read you. “first one?”

“yeah.”

he hummed, his gaze dropping to your wrist. you’d forgotten to cover the soulmate mark today, and his eyes lingered on the word inked there.

“soulmate tattoo,” he said casually, like it wasn’t the most personal thing he could’ve pointed out.

you tensed. “everyone’s got one.”

“not everyone,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “what’s the story with yours?”

you glanced away, your face heating up. “there’s no story. it says ‘stay.’ it’s… complicated.”

“complicated how?”

you met his gaze, your frustration bubbling up. “it doesn’t mean anything. not yet, anyway. and honestly, i’m not holding my breath.”

his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “so you’re one of those people who doesn’t believe in soulmates?”

“i didn’t say that,” you shot back. “i just… don’t think everyone finds theirs. or if they do, maybe it doesn’t work out.”

he didn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smirk. “fair enough.”

you watched as he grabbed a sketchpad, his tattooed hands moving with practiced precision. “let’s figure out something that fits,” he murmured, his focus shifting to the page.

the way his fingers moved, the way he hunched slightly over the paper, made it impossible to look away. he radiated confidence, like he knew exactly what he was doing—not just with the drawing, but with you, too.

“so,” he said after a few minutes, his voice breaking the silence. “you’ve never thought about finding them?”

“my soulmate?” you asked, trying to sound casual even though his words sent a weird shiver down your spine.

“yeah.”

you shrugged, leaning back in the chair. “not really. it’s not like they’re going to show up out of nowhere.”

“sometimes they do.”

his tone was calm, but something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. you glanced at him, your brows furrowing.

“has it happened to you?”

he didn’t answer right away, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a split second before returning to his sketch. “maybe.”

cryptic much, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the way your pulse jumped.

“what does your tattoo say?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

his lips curved, but he didn’t look up. “you really wanna know?”

“obviously.”

“you’ll find out.”

“that’s not an answer,” you muttered, but he ignored you, his focus back on the page.

when he finally turned the sketchpad around, your breath hitched.

“what do you think?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“it’s…” you swallowed. “it’s perfect.”

he gave you a small nod, standing to prep his station. “this’ll hurt a little,” he warned as you settled into the chair, rolling up your sleeve.

“i can handle it,” you replied, though your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

his hands were steady as he guided the needle over your skin, the soft hum of the machine filling the room. the sting was sharp at first, but it quickly dulled into a strange sort of comfort.

“so,” he said after a while, his tone almost conversational, “if your soulmate walked through that door right now, what would you say?”

you hesitated, the question catching you off guard. “i don’t know. maybe… ‘where the hell have you been?’”

he let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a tingle down your spine. “bold.”

“what about you?” you asked, desperate to turn the attention off yourself. “what would you say?”

his hands didn’t falter, but his voice dropped a notch. “depends on if they’d stay.”

your heart skipped, his words hitting deeper than you expected. you glanced at him, but his expression was unreadable, his focus entirely on your arm.

when he finally pulled back, he wiped the tattoo clean, tilting your arm toward the light.

“done,” he said simply.

you stared at the design, your chest tightening. it was beautiful, perfect in a way that almost felt… familiar.

“thank you,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

he leaned back, his gaze meeting yours. “anytime.”

as you stood to leave, you caught a glimpse of his wrist as he reached for something—a single word inked there in bold black letters.

“stay.”

your blood ran cold.

he noticed your pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as he followed your gaze. when your eyes met again, there was no denying it.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered.

he smirked, leaning casually against the counter. “took you long enough.”

“you—” your words caught in your throat, your pulse racing. “why didn’t you say anything?”

“wanted to see if you’d figure it out,” he said, his tone maddeningly calm.

you took a shaky breath, your mind reeling. “so what now?”

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer until the space between you felt suffocating.

“now,” he said, his voice low, “you decide if you’re gonna stay.”

[cheriecoke]

˚₊‧꒰ა skin — chuuya nakahara

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. chuuya's acting different… but you brush it off and don't think anything of it.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. fluff, suggestive but sfw, f!reader, domestic life, established relationship, implied dubcon, open ending, horror/mystery elements, wc: 2.5k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. i'm a bit nervous to see how this will be received, so pls reblog or drop a comment if you enjoy <3

part of my summerween series !

the scent of freshly brewed coffee and your favorite breakfast food are the first things that you smell when you wake up. for a few moments, you think it’s a dream — when’s the last time chuuya cooked this early in the morning? you half expect to walk out there and wake up again later, finding that you’d never opened your eyes at all.

but when you roll out of bed, tug a robe over your shoulders, chuuya is there, a presence larger than life, almost, standing in front of the stove, and you are undeniably awake.

you wrinkle your eyebrows together, glancing at the plates scattered across the counter. in your two years of marriage, this is the first that you’ve seen such a display. chuuya isn’t a morning person, he never has been, and usually something quick is enough to settle his stomach for a while.

“chuuya?” you asked, sitting at the table, his back still turned to you. he’s fully dressed, hair falling in loose waves over his shoulders, burning brighter from the sun filtering in through the window. “what are you doing?” 

your husband turns, smiling at you over his shoulder. as always, it takes your breath away. he is so handsome, sometimes, it makes you forget yourself. “can’t i cook for my beautiful wife?” he asks, sliding a cup of coffee to you on the tabletop. 

you smile, as his hands graze your temple, brushing your hair behind your ear. “you never cook breakfast. you don’t like it.”  besides, this is far too much for two people to enjoy.

he laughs, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then the small, confused wrinkle between your eyes. it slips away as you sit up straighter, capture his lips with your own, tasting the coffee on his mouth.

“but you do,” chuuya says.

you’re honestly indifferent towards breakfast, but you let it slide, tucking your chin into your hand as you watch him work away. if he wants to do something nice, you’re not going to stop him. “weren’t you supposed to leave for a job this morning?” 

chuuya shrugs, “i’m reassigned, i guess the boss wanted to send akutagawa instead. i’ll be staying in the city for this one, so you won’t get the chance to miss me.” 

it makes sense now, why he had so generously made you breakfast. you stand, taking a longer sip of your coffee, before going to wrap your arms around his stomach, smell the hot food that wafts from behind him. “oh, so you had some time to kill?” you tease, running your hands across his abdomen. “and you decided to cook instead of doing… something else?” 

your fingers trace a pattern around the zipper of his jeans, which are steadily growing tighter. chuuya grabs your wrist, tugs your hands away with a pointed look. “yes,” he says, through his teeth. “and you’re making it difficult.” 

you lazily grin back, pressing one last kiss to his jawline before grabbing your coffee again, and standing beside him at the counter. 

chuuya cooks with a precision that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before, delicately measuring each ingredient, tapping them into the bowls and pans. usually, he goes by his own instincts, and while he is by no means a great cook, he pulls things together in a way that only he could do. now, though, he seems almost uncertain, like he’s silently praying that everything will turn out alright.

“chuuya?” you ask, watching him carefully. his face contorts strangely as he looks over at you, but then it clears up, and he smiles, looking just as warm as he did the moment you walked into the room. 

“yeah, baby?” 

you want to ask him if he’s feeling alright—but that would shatter the mood, wouldn’t it? the serene morning bliss that has settled between you, as it so rarely seems to anymore. and it’s a blessing, not to have to watch him walk out that door and put himself in danger, able to spend more time with you. 

shaking your head, you smile, and kiss him on the cheek softly. “never mind. i love you.” 

“love you too.” he says it back immediately, which is also a little unlike your husband. there is always a pause before, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to maintain this sort of affection, like it’ll be taken away if he dares to speak the truth. he cherishes the love he has for you in that tiny pause, before relinquishing it, shoulders only relaxing when he sees you standing there, safe and sound. 

but it’s been years since you’ve been together. you’re married, settled down — as settled as he can be as a mafia executive. perhaps he’s just relaxed into the fact that your love is eternal, and he's more confident in the notion that it won’t be taken away from him. 

the rest of the morning passes quickly, when you and chuuya find yourselves back into bed, mouths still tasting of coffee, the windows open just enough to clear out the smell of sweat between you, and the pans that have not fully been scrubbed. 

at some point, you feel asleep, and you wake back up, overheated from the sheets tucked closely to your naked body. the sunlight filtering in through the glass is worse than metal of a furnace. your hair sticks to your scalp, and you spend the next half hour in the shower, dreading the looming months of summer and the heat that comes with it.

although there’s plenty of things for you to do while chuuya’s gone, you don’t feel like doing much of anything. just one of those days, you reason, even if it’s hard to rationalize that, when chuuya’s out there risking his life, and you’re inside, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and the picking up books you can’t bring yourself to read.

it’s a blur of a day, between very slowly making your way through the pile of laundry you’d forgotten to fold, and cleaning the sheets that had been washed just a few days earlier. chuuya returns, and suddenly, your foul mood caves into something much more pleasant, that pit in your stomach dissipating. 

you still worry about him, constantly, even though you know he’s chuuya nakahara, and there are very few things on this earth that can challenge him. still, he’s your husband—you can’t help it.

chuuya kisses you as he returns, smiling into it, his fingers curling into the hair behind your ears. 

“i can make dinner tonight,” you say, even though you don’t really feel like it. but he sees right through it, just like you knew he would. you can’t hide much from him. 

“it’s okay. i’ll pick something up. know you haven’t been feeling up to it this week.” 

you smile and kiss the palm of his hand, the leather of his glove cool against your mouth. how nice it is to be so loved by him, to be seen, for even the simplest of signs. “okay. thanks.” 

he nods, leaves to retreat into the bedroom and change his dirtied shirt into a clean one. it’s then, that you notice he’s laid his coat across the back of one of your chairs — unusual, for him to wear it so far into the house. 

you furrow your brow and pick it up, planning on hanging it on the rack by the door. but you notice, then, that it’s an older one, different from the coat he normally wears. the designer is the same, but there’s a hole in the pocket, which tells you he didn’t care enough to have it fixed. 

an odd feeling twists itself inside you again. a bout of paranoia, likely. that’s all, isn’t it? you’re just having an off day, an off week, and you’re projecting that onto your husband, for no reason at all. 

a sigh escapes you, and you shake your head, simply hanging it back up on the coat rack, when you notice his hat isn’t there either. 

you frown, glancing back over your shoulder to the chair, the rest of the room. chuuya hadn’t been wearing it when he’d walked in, and you can’t remember seeing it on the rack before he left this morning. 

which was odd. chuuya never went anywhere without it.

you jump, a vibration pulling you out of your thoughts, your cell phone ringing, buzzing on the table right by the doorway. it’s chuuya’s name flashing across the screen, a photo of him bright under the glass.

“hello?”

“hey, baby.” 

you release a breath at the sound of chuuya’s voice. it instantly relaxes you, even though you, really, have no reason to be so alarmed.

your shoulders sink down, the tension draining from your body, and you smile instead, amused that he’s calling you from just one room over. the affectionate name twists your stomach up in butterflies and knots, and you roll your eyes. “hi, chuuya.” 

“you have time to talk right now?” 

“i suppose.” 

“you suppose,” chuuya replies, snorting. “and here i thought you’d be happier to hear from me. i was about to apologize for not calling you earlier and everything.” 

that’s a weird thing to say, you think. “chuuya, you know, you didn’t need to call. you could’ve just walked back in here.” 

there’s a pause on the other end, a muffled sound in the background, like he’s getting out of a car. “what do you mean?” 

“i mean you could’ve just walked back in here.”

he doesn’t seem to understand, and fakes a laugh. “very funny.” there’s a voice on the other end, and chuuya says something to the sound, before turning his attention back to you on the phone. your brow furrows, eyes drifting over to the door. “anyway, i only have a few minutes, but—”

 “chuuya,” you say, feeling a tiny rush of fear swallow you. something is wrong. there’s no one in your house besides you and chuuya, and he’s been in your bedroom for minutes. you turn back around, facing the front door. "where are you?” 

“huh? i’m in osaka, remember? i told you about the entire thing last night.” he sighs, something between irritation and amused fondness.  “we had a pretty long conversation about it.” 

“osaka?” you repeat. “but—i just saw you. just a few minutes ago. just this morning”

there’s silence on the other end of the line, as chuuya breathes, gathers his thoughts. you can tell, even within a second, that he’s either trying not to panic, or let his confusion give way to anger. “no, you didn’t. i left early this morning, you were still sleeping—”

“who are you talking to?” 

you freeze. it comes from chuuya, but the chuuya that’s behind you, not the one you’re talking to on the phone. there’s a pinched look on his face as you turn, pretending like nothing is wrong. a guarded expression that wasn’t there before. 

your mind goes blank as you stare at him, mouth growing dry. “i—”

“say dazai,” chuuya says through the static of the phone. you’re not sure how he heard the imposter at all, but it settles you, snapping you back into action.

“dazai?” you nearly spit.

it’s not often you chat with dazai, of all people, on the phone. you’re not particularly close. but it’s a good call by chuuya. dazai wouldn’t be keeping tabs on the port mafia member’s whereabouts, wouldn’t know that chuuya was out of town, and akutagawa was never reassigned. but he’s still dangerous. still someone that could be a threat to whoever is pretending to be your husband.

“dazai," you continue, recovering from your questioning response smoothly. "can i call you back later?”

chuuya speaks to you the other line, playing along. “i’m going to call someone to come over there. pretend like nothing’s wrong. everything will be okay.” 

you feel tears prick the back of your eyes — you don’t want chuuya to hang up, but if the fake chuuya finds out you know, it could be an even worse outcome. 

“okay. got it. i'll call you tomorrow then.” 

“i love you.”

you resist the urge to answer the sentiment, and hang up the phone. 

the fake chuuya stares back at you, as intently as you stare at him, neither of you blinking as you put your phone back into your pocket.

“what did dazai want?” he asks, standing straight, his back tense as you take a step forward. 

there are a lot of weapons hidden around this house—chuuya has more than a handful of enemies, and wants to be prepared in case they ever find where he lives. where you live. 

you’d thought it overkill. now, you’re grateful to have at least a fighting chance; if you can only get to the pistol that he keeps in the closet, at the end of the hallway. 

“he’s working on a case. thought i might have some intel. i told him i’d look over the details tomorrow.” 

“i see.” chuuya — not chuuya, you remind yourself, even though he’s wearing his face — nods. he watches you walk closer the closet door, eyes darting between the handle and your body. his eyes flash. 

“you know,” he says, crisply, stopping you in your tracks. “i thought the phone might cause some issues. should’ve blocked the number this morning. amateur mistake on my part.”

“what do you mean?”

“i mean your husband called, didn’t he? the real one.” not chuuya smiles, but it’s ugly, almost as if it’s contorting, melting off his face. “you know he’s been gone all morning. it wasn’t him who made you breakfast, took you to bed after.” 

nausea fills your gut, and you look away, swallowing down the disgust that you feel. you can’t think about that. not now. 

“although, you wouldn’t have known by the way i touched you, would you? how i knew exactly what you enjoy. i have every one of chuuya’s memories now. i know all about him, all about you.” he takes a long stride. you’re both just a pace away from the door, from the gun. if he has any of chuuya’s strength, you’ll lose—you’re no match for that kind of power. 

you just need to hold him off, long enough for whoever chuuya sends over to help you. 

“and also,” the fake chuuya continues lazily, a laugh clipping at the end of his words. “i know about the gun you’re looking for.”

there’s a dark grin on his face that propels you into action. you lunge towards the closet door, throwing it open, and chuuya lets you. he laughs darkly, doesn’t make any attempt to stop you from fumbling around the inside of closet for a gun that he put there. it doesn’t take you long to figure out why.

the gun isn’t there.

thank you so much for reading! ❤︎ title and inspiration come from ep 1.06 of supernatural- tag list: @little-miss-chaoss @erebus-et-eigengrau @soleelia @k0z3me

[screamingcrows]

I confess I was going to send in a nsfw spring event request (short) but started writing an essay (long) so instead of that whole thing could I please ask for Zandik with hickeys? Getting them or covering them up all embarrassed, or giving if you think it fits better? Can be nsfw or sfw, I just miss embarrassed Zandik a little! Write this one only if it’s not too much tho. Thank you! - Singed

Cannot believe you're not even sharing the nsfw idea :< Also shaking your hand, how could someone not miss embarrassed Zandik?

Tags: Akademiya!Zandik x reader, implied prior nsft activities, hickeys, fluff, established relationship, silly-

Having a relationship - or whatever it was you had - with Zandik came with certain perks. It also came with the aggravating experience of waking up with a sheen of sweat, a pounding headache, and a dry throat. All of it because of the wrong reasons.

Said reason being the poor placement of his bed in direct line of the east-facing window and its glaring lack of curtains. He hadn't gotten around to putting any up yet. You were certain he'd become a Dastur long before 'getting around to it'.

"Zandik.. water…" You whined, swatting at the space beside you with increasing frustration as your hand found nothing but his bed.

Mildly perplexed, and severely dehydrated, you shuffled into a sitting position, temporarily satisfied as your hands found the shirt he'd slept in and slipped it on.

Right. He was presenting a research proposal today.

A raspy chuckle caught your attention just in time to see Zandik wobble as he failed to properly put on a sock.

"So dignified." You merely grinned as he shot you a half-hearted glare, the subtle heat that rose to his cheeks not lost on you.

"You're hardly one to speak of dignity, waking up and acting like some spoiled housepet." There was no real bite to his words, nothing compared to how he snapped like a rabid animal whenever others would push his countless open books aside to make room for themselves in the House of Daena.

A small yawn escaped you, with Zandik swiftly following suit.

"And you're a terrible host," you retorted, beckoning him closer to fix the mess of tousled hair that he always insisted looked 'fine'.

"That so?" Zandik huffed, quick to grasp your chin and force your gaze to the nightstand where a full glass of water glittered tantalisingly in the sun. "Use your eyes next time, it's what they're there for."

Sheepishly, you brought the glass to your puckered lips, squirming until Zandik released his hold. An unfamiliar hint of blue caught your eye in the distorted view through the glass, the odd discoloration around his lips making him look almost anemic.

"Zandik," you tugged on his uniform to prevent his hasty retreat (no doubt anxious to go through all his plans and sketches one last time), "you've got some jam- let me.."

Most graciously, your efforts of licking your thumb and rubbing at his skin were afforded exactly five seconds before Zandik grew restless and swatted your hands away. Odd. It was still there.

"Had your fun?" He huffed, capturing both your wrists in one hand and squeezing them in warning. You couldn't help but parrot the question, clearly much to his dismay based on the tone he continued in, "at least pay attention if you want to rattle me, haven't even had any breakfast yet."

Although he would never admit to it, Zandik sounded nervous. And with good reason, a single mistake could easily cost anyone the support of the Akademiya, so for someone with his reputation? They would expect nothing short of perfection and full compliance with all regulations if they were to even consider backing his project.

Haven't had breakfast yet.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as a dreadful hypothesis formed in your mind. In all honesty, it was less of a hypothesis and closer to fact, there were at least few other options available that would explain the observed phenomena quite as precisely.

Zandik's startled squeak mere seconds after confirmed your suspicion, body already half hidden beneath the blanket as you desperately attempted to disappear. If he hadn't known exactly where you were, the rapid beating of your heart would've surely alerted him.

"Get. Out. Here-" you wrestled him for control of the blanket, catching glimpses of how the color of his eyes had spread to his cheeks, hot puffs of air hitting your face with every word he huffed.

The air was knocked from your lungs as you both hit the floor, laughter bubbling in your chest as the wrestling turned to Zandik merely laying splayed out atop you, his unruly hair tickling your skin. Once he'd settled against you, sharp teeth nipping almost painfully at your neck, it was too tempting to thread your fingers through his hair and pull his head back so you could admire the accidental masterpiece.

"How didn't you notice when I did that?" The question was free of accusation but filled with wonder, your free hand coming up to brush a thumb across his delightfully swollen bottom lip.

You tutted softly at his attempt to sneer, eyes locked on the blooming hickey, fascinated by how dark it appeared. "In case you don't remember, I was preoccupied.." Zandik muttered the words before diving back to bite and suck at your neck, most likely keen on taking revenge.

He ignored the first two calls of his name, one broad hand swatting at your face as you continued to writhe and giggle, "-Zandik! We're not gonna have time to cover it if you keep going-"

A/N: Yeah. It's easier than you think to make a hickey on someone's lip. No, they probably won't feel it. Yes, it's difficult as hell to cover up.

[livelaughloveluffy]

first love - black leg sanji

a/n: this is totally not another dream scenario that i'm writing into a fic..... sorry to be posting a bit slower, i've just been trying to experiment with and improve my writing and finally felt ready to finish this draft!!

a/n: hopefully this fic was worth the wait!! just a little treat to help you guys prepare for the new year!! also in typical me fashion, this song is just soooo perfect for this fic so here you go.

nothing but fluff here 💗

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

you never thought you'd reunite with black leg sanji on this tiny island buried in the corner of the grand line. but you'd recognize that fluffy blonde hair and curly brow from a hundred miles away. your feet moved beneath you before your brain could even register what was happening. and before you knew it, the two of you walked side by side, his hand gently resting of the smalls of your back as he escorted you to the beloved ship of the straw hat pirates.

���♡•

it only made sense for sanji to introduce you to the crew over a meal he prepared. the familiar sight and smell of your childhood crush in his element, assembling dinner with such elegance that his movements could be seen as a choreographed waltz, reminding you exactly who you fell in love with all those years ago.

the table was already set to precision as the crew filed in ready to enjoy the freshly made meal. taking their places to their usual seats, smiling at you as a greeting. you couldn't help but admire the people who had taken care of sanji all this time, letting him pursue his passions, and supporting him along the way.

•♡•

with his mouth full of half-chewed food, luffy mumbles out the question everyone had been wondering "so, how did you and sanji meet anyways? from the baratie?"

with a casual smile and a quick glance to sanji, you began to reply to the captain's question, "it's been so long, i might as well just tell you the truth. sanji's actually the first guy i ever had a crush on."

•♡•

when the two of you finally manage to escape the absolute chaotic freakout of the crew, sanji's nice dinner now growing cold, but not forgotten, as you gazed at the very first boy you'd ever loved. hidden away in the pantry of the kitchen, bodies only half an inch from being pressed together, awkwardly trying to avoid the rapid fire prying questions of the other straw hat pirates.

looking at the cook now, you can't help but be reminded of the version of him you fell in love with as he shyly attempts to look everywhere but at you. his arms cage you in between them as his hands press against the ledge of a shelf to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible.

"you know... it's funny you mentioned that... the whole crush thing.. well not funny but..." even in the dark, you can see the pink flush growing in sanji's cheeks as he struggles to convey his feelings. you watch as the curly-browed blonde takes a moment to calm his nerves. "you're also the first crush i ever had..."

your eyes widen in shock and disbelief. it took you longer than you'd care to admit to remember how to breathe and form sentence just to reply to his confession. all your strength is going towards not dropping to your knees, bringing your voice barely to a whisper you reply "i can't believe you liked me all this time..."

the words spill out of sanji's mouth before his brain has time to catch up. "how could i not? i've been in love with you since we met. you just seemed to glow. everyone else was so dull compared to how brightly you shined. you radiated warmth and kindness, i couldn't help but be drawn to you." you can almost feel the warmth of sanji's blush due to your closeness.

the already-small space between the two of you is almost microscopic as you stepped forward to close the gap. looking up at the beautiful blonde man in front of you, you finally found the courage to tell him everything you wished you said before you parted from the baratie all those years ago.

"sanji.. you know... the first time i saw you, i thought my dream had finally come true. when i was a little kid, my imaginary ideal partner, looked exactly like you. i thought i had wished so hard that i conjured you into reality. i was the princess and you were my prince and it sounds silly now but..."

your rambling now cut short by the sound of sanji's voice, honeyed and slightly gruff, interrupting you with a question. "...can i kiss you?"

you faintly reply "i've only waited 16 years for you to ask.."

and before you know it, sanji's soft lips finally touch yours. his slow and gentle pace was torturous, and soon to be forgotten as your carnal hunger and desire for the blonde turned his kisses ravenous and rough. your whole body seemed to be buzzing at the sensation of his touch. years of lust and adoration only adding fuel to the fire.

hehehe the end...

for now..

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

a/n: there will definitely be another installment of this fic, because i'm not nearly cruel enough to leave such a juicy cliffhanger AND make this a oneshot 😌 i had sooooo much fun writing this and i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did!!

a/n: bahaha i'm in peak loser mode tonight, writing one piece fanfic in my new one piece snuggie.... and im loving it *evil laugh*

tags ♡: @twiishaa @3v37773 @irethepotato @peachycat17 @dreamcastgirl99 @sanji-soup @suga-tofu @vamphoria @hamhamhamtaro @kcch-ns @raddelusionaldive @sparkyvibes

want to join the taglist? click here!

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, masterbation, send nudes, quick mention of breeding

Sequel to: Think of Me When You Cum Later

Almost an entire day passed without a word from you. Smug as he could fucking be, Simon was certain that it had everything to do with his little impromptu video he sent keeping your hands far to busy to type and God did that fuel him with a new secret passion; perhaps he’d have to send you another before he got back, just to be sure that you were a complete goddamn mess for him when you came to pick him up from base.

If he was really lucky and did his job right you’d have to pull over on the ride home just so he could fuck your brains out in the back seat of your car, so needy you wouldn’t be able to wait the short ride back to his place. You’d both have those window panes fogged up real fucking quick.

But there was one thing the self-assured military man forgot about and that was that you were never one to let him go empty handed. The moment Simon had sent his bit of personal porn for your enjoyment, he should have known that you would not want him to miss out on something special for himself; he needed to see with his own two eyes just how much you needed him. And since he had only made that ache worse for you, he had to have a bit of it back.

It was only fair after all.

So eventually once you were able to clear your head and calm your raging heartbeat, you got to work plotting. It had to be a cinematic masterpiece, something so good that he would definitely have to save for private viewings over and over again whenever he was away; you never did anything half-assed and since it was for him it had to be perfect.

The day had been uneventful and that gave ample time for Simon’s devious mind to wander back to you, wondering how many times you’d viewed that spicy clip and how absolutely soaked your panties were from it. Something about the silence from his phone only led him to fantasize about you being nothing more than a puddle in the middle of his bed, legs shaking from how many times you’d cum.

God, to be a fly on the wall he would have given anything.

BZZ…BZZ…

As if prompted by his thoughts alone, his phone buzzed to life as he sat in his bunk wiling away the hours until sleep finally decided to take over. He pulled small rectangle out of his bag that lay beside his bed with a cocky grin plastered to his lips, ready to read the long string of texts about how his distraction was more than satisfactory. The older phone that Simon liked to take into the field didn’t allow him to preview messages before he opened them, so he had no idea what awaited inside until he clicked the icon; his jaw nearly hit the floor and he had to immediately look around him to make sure that there was no one skulking about that could possibly catch a glimpse of his screen.

This was for him and him alone.

It was a picture… not what he was expecting, but he should have known better after his little stunt that you were bound to do something like this. The message directly underneath it read: “Shit, baby, I can’t seem to stop watching your video. Look what you’re doing to me.”

Nearly choking on his saliva, his heart stopped and forcefully restarted in his chest at the glory of image before his eyes. Goddamn he could not pull his sight away; you had to have gone to a lot of trouble to set this all up, but fuck was it worth it just so that he could see you like this.

There you were spread eagle across his bed, completely naked save for the singular hair tie dangling from your wrist that had become a staple of your everyday attire. Your hand was precisely placed between your thighs, fingers clearly buried in that juicy cunt of yours. Head fallen back, presumably eyes shut tight, tits up with your nipples hard, goddamn you were the prettiest fucking picture he had ever fucking seen.

He was falling head over heels all over again.

The pressure of his cock straining harshly against the zipper of his pants became incredibly painful all of a sudden and he rushed to undo the restraining fabric in a hurry; such a visceral effect that you always seemed to produce in him no matter how many times he saw you bare. Pulling the waistband open he lay there with nothing but his boxers to keep him covered.

It had been a long minute since your body was available for his viewing pleasure and he sucked every last drop of that photo down, transfixed as if he had been put under hypnosis. Eyes scanning every inch of that tiny picture glaring back at him through the darkness, the ache in his chest grew as did the heat so that even though his shirt was off he was still boiling to the touch; fuck he needed you so bad it was agony. There was no lie when Simon had said he was desperate to make you cum, he would give anything to feel you writhe beneath him right now, body burning as he put all his focus into making you slip over the edge as many times as humanly possibly.

Whatever he had to do, whatever sin he had to commit that would get him to you fast enough, he would in an instant just to ride straight to hell between those luscious thighs.

Satisfying your temptation was worth the damnation.

How much time had passed since he become consumed by your image he didn’t know, but now there was something on his phone that was beginning to download. His heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears as he waited on baited breath, barely moving a muscle in anticipation for whatever it was you had sent him. Auburn eyes were boring holes into his phone as he watched that slow fucking progress bar inch its way forward at a turtles pace; Christ, it was going to make him drop dead from the excited expectation of what was to come once it was done.

BZZ... BZZ…

Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity, the damned thing was finished and ready for him. A video was what waited for his viewing pleasure, slightly longer than the one he had sent the night before. With shaky, unsteady hands Simon dived head first for his headphones in his bag without a second thought, nearly ripping the canvas apart trying to pry them out as fast as his hands would allow. Shoving the buds into his ears as his pulse raced through his veins, he pushed play...

And his blood pressure shot through the goddamn roof.

“Ahh, Simon…” your breathy moan hit his ears first and his brain flat-lined as he nearly came just from just the sound of your sweet tone calling out his name. How long had it been since he had heard you mewling his name in the throws of passion? So damn long it should have been a crime.

The way you had the camera set up he could see it all, the perfect goddamn angle as if he were sitting in the room with you, watching as you touched yourself. Why the ever loving fuck could he not reach through the screen and get to you? That was the worst part of it all; he desperately needed to be the one to make you produce all those pretty sounds.

“Fuck, Simon, I miss you so much,” you continued, your body jerking as your fingers continued to dance around your clit, your toes curling around the sheets. “I’ve been so empty it hurts… need you to fill me full again baby. Reach that ache deep inside that I can’t seem to get. It’s only getting worse without you.”

Simon’s cock throbbed forcefully, pressing harshly against his lower abdomen as the video continued to play; it felt as if he might burst just from the sudden rush of blood to that beastly appendage. Swallowing down a stray groan that threatened to escape his lips and give him away, he nearly gagged on it just to keep it down, but fuck did he want to let loose. He was being consumed by his desire: skin on fire, eyes transfixed on your gorgeous rocking form, mouth agape as he breathed heavy, he took a hold of his engorged member and pulled it free from his boxers before he began to stroke the length; there was no way he could sit here and watch you like this without touching himself.

Back on the screen, your legs were jerking sporadically as you pictured Simon there with you, pumping in and out of you with all that he had. “Need your fat fucking cock to stretch me out good,” you whimpered pathetically, using all that pent up frustration to aid in your performance; it was torment. “Oh God baby, I need it so bad…can’t take it.”

Fuck it hurt to hear your need and not be able to do a damned thing about it right then and there. He swore to himself that by the time he finally got his hand around those curves he was gonna fill you so full that your pussy wouldn't know what to do without him inside you.

Simon hissed under his breath as his grip tightened around his dripping, aching cock, rapid strokes gaining speed so as to perfectly match your rhythm just so that he could trick his brain into imagining himself pumping in and out of your tight, wet cunt. It paled in comparison to the real thing because there was no replicating how you felt wrapped around him, but it would do for now. Together you both worked yourselves on opposite sides of the screen, just trying your hardest to ease the torturous longing.…as if fucking each other across the space between you.

You were completely losing yourself in the moment, unable to hold back all those needs that had been put aside as he was gone. The image of Simon touching himself to the thought of you, his words sounding so desperate, played over in your mind as you worked yourself and you could not stop the way it made you feel, the yearning need for him to completely and utterly wreck your body to the point that even the idea of being with anyone else would never be able to come close to what he could give.

“Shit Simon, I want…

I want…" you had to say it, it was gonna come out anyway…

"I want you to breed me,” you said stammered out the plea as your free hand massaged over your breasts. That warmth was building, rising in the pit of your stomach as you said those forbidden words aloud. “I need you to breed me good Simon, make sure I’m ruined for anyone else. Oh God, please, baby. I need it, I need you.”

Christ that was his fucking kryptonite, his Achilles heel, the one thing is the whole wide world that could stop him dead in his tracks and bring him to his proverbial knees. The minute those delicious words exited your mouth, there was no stopping his ecstasy from overwhelming him to the point that he could he was gone.

Oh he was gonna make sure that sweet little cunt had his name written all fucking over it.

Nope that was it, what little straggling bit of sanity he had left had flown and he could not hold back the pressure any longer from reaching its peak and violently throwing him off the ledge. With a strenuous grunt that echoed in his chest and a few hard tuggs up and down his shaft he came with such force that his body shook his entire cot as he stroked out every last bit of milky white fluid from the tip. His cum coating his lower abdomen, getting caught in the sparse bit of hair the covered the area was making a mess, but he didn’t care; the euphoria currently surging through his veins like electricity clouded any negative thoughts.

The sound of your orgasm your mewls as your rocketed through you played into his ears, the perfect soundtrack to finish out the rest of his own pleasure. You fell back against the mattress, chest heaving with exhausted breaths as your legs shook and relaxed stretched out as the video finished.

Fuck, he was gonna need a cigarette after that, his body still vibrating with the sheer intensity of it all.

BZZ…BZZ…

The phone vibrated one last time, a final text to send him off into the night.

“I hope it was just as good for you as it was for me,” it said, followed by a sneaky winky face. “Sleep tight.”

If he thought he was missing you before, but that was nothing compared to now. It was overwhelming the need he had to have you making those sounds for him again. You had better be ready to getting the car cleaned and detailed because there was no way you weren’t going to be pinned down in the back seat after that one…because you had just made that ache so much worse.

Part 3:

[decayedsword]

Drawing of Darkness (artist!reader x kc!ronin)

I LOST THE ASK BUT THIS IS FOR AURUM!! HOPING I DIDNT STRAY TOO FAR AWAY FROM UR ASK THIS TIME HEHEHEHE

(i thought id post this in the morning but hey! better late than never :P)

(/j IM SORRY LOL)

Warning for slight depictions of blood/gore, possible obsessive behavior

When you had clicked the ‘accept call’ option, you didn’t expect to be so enamoured by the devil, who peered in his swivel gaming chair, posters decorating the blood-red walls around him. 

You sat there, mouth slightly agape for a few beats, simply taking in the epitome of a painting of a thousand words that was stuck behind a web camera. This was the first time you had ever thought a grotesque serial killer known for fucking up the bodies beyond repair looked beautiful—and as sardonic as it were, he looked like an angel.

Atop his burgundy hair sat a striped gray beanie with two red horns standing tall on the fabric. Piercings adorned his ears, industrial on the left and double lobe on the right. His neck was decorated with a collar imbued with spikes, and a necklace with a sword charm that vaguely resembled a cross. He wore a soft black shirt with a skull graphic on the front, a leather jacket spilling from his elbows. You don’t fail to notice the varying pins he’s stuck onto his clothes to make them feel more like him, giving his clothes his signature edge, as well as the multitude of bracelets that peek out from his sleeve. 

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me already?” 

Ronin’s voice barely snaps you out of the trance he’s put you in. You’re in-and-out of your loops when you two talk over voice call, your eyes piercing into him, trying to capture his essence into the back of your mind. 

You bite your lip and curse yourself internally. There was no scrap paper lying around, and your sketchbook was laying on your bed. Deeming too suspicious to go and get it right now, you decide you’re better off trying to memorize what Ronin looks like. 

When, at last, he ends the video call, you scramble for a mechanical pencil and hit your bed with a loud thump. Your hand moves on its own, drawing quick strokes in an almost-obsessive manner. You draw Ronin with such precision that you can’t comprehend that you just met him 15 minutes ago.

His eyes, his hair, the way he holds himself tried and true, his pride, his ego, his esotericism—you’ve captured it all so perfectly, you’ve captured him so perfectly. 

You need more.

Days, weeks pass and you two talk more often, truths are told and dares are done, and you’ve never gotten a bad case of artist’s block since you’ve seen him. Ronin haunted your every thought. Your sketchbook couldn’t keep up with you, now half-filled with him, ranging from simple doodles to full-on full body drawings. 

It’s become a habit for your hand to move across the page, fleeting yet full with passion, as you watch him through his web camera. Your eyes dart between him and your sketchbook, subconsciously biting your lip whenever figuring out how to portray him in all his rottenness.

“Y’know darl’, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d say you’re a little too quiet right now.” Ronin mutters, eyes half-hooded with a smirk on his face. “Plannin’ my death, aren’t ya? In that little book’a yours?” 

His expression shifts. It’s dark and devious and you can tell he’s expecting a certain answer from you. 

“I’m just bringing you to life, Ronin.” You retort, a small smile on your face. It masks your emotions. He sees right through it.

You hear him chuckle, it’s short-lived, which is a good thing. You’ve surprised him with your answer, kept him on his toes for six months. In this dance with the devil, you two prowl on each other’s every move—every step, every turn and every dip—and if you’re obsessed with him, he returns the favor and adores you with his bleeding heart. 

You’re sure Ronin’s aware of how infatuated you are with him. It’s no secret, especially when he asks you about how your book’s going and he taunts you; rambling about how he’s hacked into your computer and read the copy you sent to your editor, and teases you when the main character’s a little too much like him, sinful and decaying, the devil incarnate.

Uptown has an alley they call Purgatory. Your heartbeat’s erratic in your chest as you turn the junction to enter the deserted lane. It smells heavily like iron, but you don’t shy away from it. The half-empty sketchbook rests under your arm, waiting for a butcher—the Butcher—to spill blood all over its pages.

“So, we meet!” Your head turns to find the voice, the very same voice you’ve been listening to for the past few months, bedeviling your dreams and tainting your pen. Ronin’s just—no, more—he’s more enchanting in real life than he could ever be over video call. 

Your heart stutters in your chest and you stumble over your words, and he laughs, he laughs. 

“D’aw. Devil got your tongue, darling?” he sneers, enclosing you against the stone wall. He’s heavenly, you think to yourself, clutching your sketchbook tighter in your arms. In all his omniscience, Ronin doesn’t miss it.

He whispers, it’s a song for the half-damned—for you. “What’cha got over there? ‘s it a gift, an offering, for me?”

You grit your teeth, and he knows he’s right. “Why did you invite me to the server?” You ask, diverting his attention elsewhere. There’s a need inside you to just observe him a little bit more. This meeting in Purgatory is beneficial, after all. If you got out of here alive, if you played by a serial killer’s rules, you’ve granted yourself Lucifer, deliciously tempting and in all his glory. You two waltz in each other’s palms, waiting to see who offers the forbidden fruit to the other first.

“I did it for you,” began Ronin, body relaxing, “You were starving, so I gave you insatiability.” His eyes are dark, darker than they could ever be. You’re lost in them, a sea of black, the constellation of the Crux in the night sky.

“You wanted inspiration, so I became your muse.” Your eyes follow his finger as Ronin gestures to your sketchbook. He knew. You knew he knew.

He shifts, bringing his face closer to yours, hiding you from the outside world, trapping you in his Garden of Eden. “You wanted love, darlin’, so I gave you love.” 

You don’t wait for him to finish. Your lips crash into his—wanting and wanton, reckless abandon—and he kisses you back, exactly how you wanted him to. The Devil delivered, and who are you to bite the hand that feeds your hunger?

When his hands ghost over the sketchbook, you let them. Gently, he pries it from your arms that had once kept your secret safe. You miss his kiss when he pulls away, but you’re intent on watching him, seeing his expression when he realizes that you two are woven from the same thread, built from the same stone—the similar atrocity of romance.

His back slides against the wall, hitting the ground with a grunt as he sits on the pavement. You do the same, scooching over so your sides are touching. He doesn’t protest when you rest your head on his shoulder.

Ronin flips through the pages. There’s no emotion in his face, a hand over his tightly closed mouth, but you can see it in his eyes, a mix of mutual understanding and complete ecstasy. 

On the page is a full-body drawing of him. Ronin sits on a throne of skulls and bones, his shadow forming devil horns and angel wings. There’s an inscription on the base of the pedestal, read “prince of darkness.”

The next page is a combination of doodles of him. Your hand against his face, cupping his cheeks. His lips kissing your knuckles. The muscles on his back. The look of love in his snark.

When Ronin reaches the current end of the book, he’s met with a twisted illustration. His jaw is open uncharacteristically wide as he holds a human heart above his mouth, ready to devour it. The blood drips all over his face, all over his tongue as he squeezes the organ in his hands. 

He bites his lower lip, running his teeth over it. A shit-eating grin is present on Ronin’s face as he huffs out a small laugh. “Are ya obsessed with me or somethin’?”

You laugh. It mimics his—deranged and sweet, a serial killer’s.

“Aren’t you?”

FINALLY GOT SOMETHING OUT AFTER LIKE A WEEK OF WRITERS BLOCK!! HOPE U GUYS ENJOY!!!

[pro-depresanti]

~Valentino comes home late and is a bit too impatient to wake you up first~

~🔞🔞🔞~

Tags : somno, dub-con, soft-ish, gender neutral language used for Reader

drabble requested by @celebritxtum

Requests are open :))

___

It's the middle of the night, and you've long gone to bed. You're in Val's room, in his bed, tugged up and sleeping soundly laying on your side.

Valentino usually stays up late, whether due to work, spending the night in a club, or getting carried away with his brand new plaything on the couch. You don't wait for him, and he never makes it a problem unless you get bold enough to complain.

He sneaks into the room in the early morning, heels discarded, and takes in your silhouette under the blanket. He crawls up on top of you, pulling away the covers.

There are hands all over you, deceivingly gentle at first. You feel the heat from his body, the weight on your back that's caging you against the bed, his breath against your neck, fur tickling your nose, fingers pulling down whatever you're wearing from the waist down, a careful grip pulling your leg aside.

You try to stir, still dazed from sleep. You call out his name barely louder than a whisper, confused and disoriented.

He tugs his head under your chin to leave lazy kisses on your neck. "Go back to sleep, it's still early."

Contrary to popular belief, Valentino is a clingy fucker, whether he admits it or not. It's not uncommon for him to wrap himself around you like an octopus with abandonment issues and sleep like that, especially if he had one too many drinks. You figure that's the case this time too and decide to doze off again.

You might have stolen five more minutes of sleep, but then you feel wet fingers wondering up your inner thigh and sinking into you. You whine softly, still half asleep, trying to stir but he keeps you in place.

He stretches you out, fast but careful. His saliva works its magic into your system, your muscles relaxing, tingling pleasure shooting through your nerves. Your breath hitches when he brushes against your sweet spot, again and again with practiced precision.

"There, just relax, I'll be quick," he offers as a reassurance, his voice uncharacteristically soft against your skin.

You're so tired from the previous day, tired enough to actually believe him. You sigh and relax, shifting your body to get more comfortable. Valentino chuckles right beside your ear, pulling his fingers out. He shifts over you, and you vaguely hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down.

You fully awake when he thrusts into you, both of you sighing at the contact. You turn your upper body, laying your shoulders as flat as you can on the pillow beneath. You blindly search for something to hold onto in the dark, finally finding Val's upper arms and grabbing them loosely, your muscles still feeling like mush. A moan slips out of you when he finally bottoms out and starts fucking you properly, like he's been desperate for it the whole evening.

You might have joked about it if you could actually catch your breath.

"Didn't I just tell you to go back to sleep?" Valentino rasps out, half a laugh and half a content sigh. "Or were you just waiting for me the whole time, hm? Can't even handle a single night without me?"

You barely catch what he's saying, but you nod in agreement regardless, hoping it would be the right answer. He seems to be in a good mood, last thing you'd want is to ruin it by 'ignoring' him. Instead you concentrate on the pressure steadily building with every thrust. You weren't horny in the slightest a few minutes ago, but right now you just hope he'll let you cum.

Still, Valentino seems more concerned with chasing his own release rather than yours, but who are you to complain? He grasps your chin and pulls you into a messy kiss, more tongue and spit than actual affection, swallowing down the small sounds you make.

You realize through the haze that he's letting out those moth squeaks that either mean he's really horny or too spaced out on alcohol and drugs to care. It's endearing, really, how you're one of the few who can get him so out of it. You adjust your arms to wrap around his back and keep him close, savoring the warmth.

He pulls back once he cums inside of you, his eyes glowing in the dark slightly as he takes you in, lids hooded like a satisfied cat's. "Have I ever told you how adorable you look when you sleep? Such a pure little thing."

You smile at the compliment, a rare commodity coming from Valentino unless he's using it as manipulation. Not like he needs to abuse flattery on you.

"But," he continues with a purr, as he lays you flat on your back and slides down, all of his hands on you. He finally settled between your legs, his upper arms wrapping around your thighs to keep them open, "this angle isn't too bad to look at either."

He makes a show of slowly uncurling his tongue and licking his lips. He locks eye contact as he sinks down, humming softly. The tiny vibrations travel up your spine and you shudder. Well, at least you'll start your day on a positive note.

[madschiavelique]

F8

(i had written this in june and forgot to post it. after seeing you guys agree a lot with this post about isekaid reader i just had to put it out there)

What if Tav is conscious of the quick saves and the F8s, but not the rest of the team ? What if they remember every moment where their adventure companions stood on the very precipice of death or on the extreme of it ended up soulless, laying on the ground like a bag of cold limbs, deprived of any life ? 

What if they used F8s in the hopes that somehow, on the next try, no companions would receive a critical hit that would bring them to the abominable sight of matte eyes, missing the glint of light that shines when one’s spirit still remains ?

Perhaps then someone else could replace one of your companions in the group? Perhaps by using Withers' hirelings you could prevent the others from being affected?

Imagine one night after a long day,, you’re by yourself next to the campfire for the long rest.

The stars have been piercing the black sky like pins in the web of night for a long time now, and it's your turn to keep watch.

Everything was quiet, so quiet, too quiet. It was a sharp contrast between the little crackles of the fire taking hot splinters into the air, and the raging storm of your mind.

Your eyes are immersed in the flames, as if they alone held the precious strategy that would allow you to overcome the horror of the many deaths you wanted to prevent.

You consider the strategy you might employ for the next day. Maybe start with a small bomb? No, if the range is missed it could cause more area damage than necessary. 

Maybe throw a bottle of grease to slow them down? Except that if any sparks flew, it could get complicated.

Then maybe shoot an arrow of many targets... 

‘Can't find sleep ?

You could have expected any of the companions. But the one who came to see you was Karlach.

“No.” you replied simply, without taking your eyes off the fire.

“What’s on your mind soldier ? You’ve been… absent minded today.”

Absent minded was a euphemism.

You had seen up close all of your companions nearing the party wipe, more than a half of them on the ground trying to get their death saving throws as the rest of the party barely had any health remaining.

And out of the few dialogue options you had for her tonight, between them all, was : 

[PERSUASION] Nothing, it’s a bit of a personal matter, you’d find it very boring.

The rest of the options were either too rude for your taste, or would ultimately lead you to unveil of the true reason you were here. You knew that, it wasn’t the first time you were having this conversation.

The dice to roll was 15, and you had no guidance to get from Shadowheart, nor friends from Wyll. Barely a good bonus, you’d have to deal with it.

The first roll was a miserable 4, luckily for you, you had as many points of inspiration. The second roll was a 10. 

Maybe you should embrace it and tell her ? you thought.

The next was a 7, and the one after was a 14. 

Was the game really pushing you to reveal your situation?

Your last roll came, a natural 1.

“Come on, you know so much about all of us at camp !” she said as she sat down next to you. “Let us know more about you.”

You weren't surprised that it was Karlach who came to talk to you. You'd seen the video of Karlach breaking the fourth wall a while back, before you were transported into the game. But it intrigued you, why should she come at this precise moment of rumination.

“I just wonder... why can't the past just die?” you say, turning to her.

“I guess because sometimes you gotta kill the past yourself ? Or something like that, I don’t know, probably something wise about it. I could ask Gale if you want ? I’m sure he’d bounce on the occasion to talk about something that requires his intelligence!”

“No please, don’t get him up.”

Gale would ask too many questions, too many right questions, and would never get away from the subject. This was the last thing you needed at the moment.

“Why do you wonder that ? Something from your past chasing you ? I could take care of that.”

“I doubt you could.” you scoffed.

“Oh come on, there’s nothing that can surmount us.”

You observed her for a moment, her undying joy and energy feeling so natural. How could it feel so natural ?

“You’re not real.”

The sentence came out of your mouth, dialogue options all gone and unneeded.

She frowned, confused as the joy that inhabited her calmed down.

“What ?”

“You’re not real,” you repeated, the emotions twisting your throat.

“What do you mean ?”

A sort of panic slowly took hold of her as a heavy rumble echoed in the distance, like thunder.

“You remember all these memories, you feel all of these emotions.”

The rumbling grew louder, the ground beginning to tremble. 

“Your anger, your joy, your sadness.”

The camp floor cracked, Karlach standing up suddenly.

“None of them really belong to you.”

Beams of green light passed through the fissures of the cracked floor.

“Because you're not real.”

Your eyes landed on Withers, his gaze urging you to do the right thing.

“F8.”

A moment passed, and before long you were back in front of the campfire.

Back with your thoughts, with your torments, with heavy choices. 

They can't know, at least not yet.

______________

i wrote this while listening to this and gosh it matches so well

[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Sanemi Shinazugawa with a Thunder Hashira S/O

Sanemi’s intense, no-nonsense personality fits perfectly with a Thunder Hashira S/O, whose own electric energy matches his ferocity in battle. Both are known for their aggressive fighting styles, and together, they’re a storm of power, lightning and wind clashing in perfect, chaotic harmony.

Sanemi is drawn to his Thunder Hashira S/O because of their explosive nature. He admires their speed and precision, and how they can strike down demons with lightning-fast attacks. Their agility in combat fascinates him—there’s something about watching them dart through the battlefield like a bolt of lightning that makes his heart race.

Their fights are a sight to behold. Sanemi’s wind techniques whip through the air in tandem with his S/O’s lightning strikes, creating a tempest of raw power that tears through even the toughest demons. The mix of wind and thunder is both destructive and awe-inspiring, leaving behind scorched ground and shattered enemies in their wake.

While they’re both hot-headed and intense, Sanemi and his S/O often butt heads due to their similarly fiery temperaments. Arguments can get loud and heated, especially when they disagree on tactics or how to handle a situation. However, they never hold grudges for long, knowing that their shared passion only makes them stronger as a couple.

Despite his rough exterior, Sanemi deeply respects his Thunder Hashira S/O’s strength. He’s the first to compliment their speed, precision, and unwavering determination, though his compliments are usually gruff and unpolished. When he says things like, “You’re not half-bad,” they know it’s his way of saying he thinks they’re incredible.

His S/O knows how to handle Sanemi’s brash personality. They don’t let his tough demeanor get to them and are one of the few people who can match his energy without backing down. When Sanemi gets too aggressive or stubborn, they call him out with equal intensity, which Sanemi secretly loves. He appreciates having someone who’s not afraid to stand up to him.

Despite the constant intensity between them, Sanemi and his S/O have a deep connection. Their passion for fighting demons and protecting others bonds them, and though they don’t often express their feelings with words, their actions say everything. Whether it’s the way Sanemi fights alongside them without hesitation or the way they watch his back during missions, they trust each other completely.

Sanemi has a soft spot for his S/O’s quick wit and sarcastic sense of humor. He might pretend to be annoyed when they tease him, but he actually loves it. Their playful banter is one of the rare things that can lighten his usually serious mood.

Even though Sanemi is fiercely independent, he finds comfort in knowing that his Thunder Hashira S/O is by his side. When they fight together, he doesn’t have to worry about them; he knows they can handle themselves. This mutual trust allows them to push each other to new limits, making them an unstoppable force.

While Sanemi isn’t the most outwardly affectionate person, his Thunder Hashira S/O knows he cares deeply. He shows his love through his actions—bandaging their wounds after a fight, giving them his cloak when they’re cold, or standing silently beside them after a tough mission. It’s in these small gestures that Sanemi’s protective nature shines through.

Together, they’re a powerful, unstoppable duo. Sanemi’s wind techniques and his S/O’s thunder strikes create a deadly combination that leaves no room for hesitation. Their shared intensity fuels their relationship, and though they may clash at times, they both know that they make each other stronger, both in battle and in life.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[cami040405]

Between Art and Silence - Vincent Sinclair x Reader

Chapter 4: Conflicts

Summary: Bo starts to feel uncomfortable with you and Vincent getting closer, the brothers start to have small conflicts, and you, in the middle of all this, may end up discovering a terrible truth.

Chapter 3 here!

Time passed without you realizing it. The wax museum, which had previously seemed like a disturbing place, now had an almost welcoming air under Vincent's silent presence. You continued to sit there, watching his precise movements as he sculpted. The way his hands glided over the wax, molding each detail with patience and perfection, fascinated you.

You took out your own sketchbook, which you always carried in your backpack. Almost without thinking, you began to scribble. For a few minutes, the two of you worked in complete silence.

Then Vincent stopped.

You noticed him watching you, and without saying anything, he tilted his head, curious to see what you were drawing. You smiled at him and turned the sketchbook towards him. It was a quick sketch of him, sitting exactly as he was now, his shoulders slightly hunched and his skillful hands working on the sculpture. Vincent remained still. His eyes behind the mask slowly passed over the drawing.

After a moment, he picked up the sketchbook again and wrote:

"I have never been drawn before."

You blinked, surprised.

“Really? Not even when you were a kid?”

He shook his head slightly. You bit your lip, thinking. Then, you tore the sheet out of the notebook and handed it to him.

“So… now it’s done.”

Vincent hesitated before taking the paper. He held it carefully, as if it were something valuable. You noticed the way he traced his fingers over the drawing, feeling the paper. It warmed your chest in a strange way. Behind the mask and the always silent posture, there was something gentle about him. Something lonely. You sighed and looked around, noticing the day already darkening through the windows.

“I think I should go home…” you murmured.

Vincent stood up immediately.

You blinked when you saw him make a clear gesture for you to follow him. He wanted to accompany you back. You didn’t argue. You just stood up, put the notebook away and walked beside him. For the first time, you felt that you weren't just lost in that city, you were being guided by someone who, despite everything, seemed to want you there.

Vincent accompanied you back to the house in silence, his steps heavy but soft, almost like those of a predator who didn't want to be heard. The cold wind blew through the ghost town, making you pull your jacket against your body. You arrived at the house, and before you entered, you looked at him. 

"Thank you for accompanying me," you said, a little awkwardly. 

Vincent tilted his head, as if that simple gesture intrigued him. You hesitated for a moment before adding: 

"And... for the sculpture too." 

He didn't answer, but something in the way he held the sheet of paper you had given him told you that it meant more to him than he let on. You went inside and closed the door carefully. 

The house was strangely silent. You walked slowly through the room, feeling that something was different. Then you noticed: Bo was sitting in the armchair, in the half-light, twirling a pocketknife between his fingers and drinking a beer.

You stopped.

He looked up at you with a lazy smile.

"Back late, huh?"

You crossed your arms. "I just went for a walk."

Bo laughed through his nose, tapping the tip of the pocketknife on the arm of the chair.

"And did you get lost on the way back?"

"No," you answered firmly. "Vincent brought me."

His smile widened.

"Ah... so you and my brother are really close, huh?"

You felt uncomfortable at the way he said that.

"He's... different," you said, choosing your words carefully.

Bo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Different?" he repeated, as if he were testing the word.

You nodded.

“He’s talented. And… kind.”

Bo let out a low laugh, as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Kind? That’s a good one.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

Bo stood up slowly, putting the knife back in his pocket.

“Careful, sweetie,” he said, walking over to you. “You don’t know Vincent like I do.”

He walked past you, heading to the kitchen, leaving you there, with a strange weight on your chest. Something about that conversation bothered you deeply. It wasn’t exactly what Bo said… but rather what he didn’t say.

.

You went up the stairs and walked down the hallway, observing the details of the house. It was an old place, with heavy furniture full of history. But what caught your attention the most was a door at the end of the hallway. It was slightly open.

You hesitated, but curiosity got the better of you. Carefully, you pushed the door open. It was a room. But not just any room.

It was Vincent's room.

The air there was warm, filled with the subtle smell of paraffin, aged wood and the metallic touch of tools. The walls were covered. Not with ordinary paintings, but with drawings. Some were framed, most held together with tape or crooked nails. They were anatomical studies, faces — many faces — with different expressions: pain, serenity, fear, curiosity. Some were unfinished, scribbled with hard lines. Others were done so delicately that they looked like pencil photographs.

The center of the room was occupied by a long wooden table covered with surgical tools, plaster molds, jars of colored wax, and sculptures in various stages of creation. In one corner was a worn armchair with a worn blanket thrown over it, and next to it, a crooked lamp that looked as if it had been assembled from scraps.

On the opposite side was a bookshelf. There, you saw notebooks stacked, carefully organized. Your instincts as an artist told you they were drawing journals—sketches, ideas, thoughts.

But what made you catch your breath was the small area separated by a screen. Disguised by the shadows, it looked like a personal space, a shelter within a shelter. You walked closer, almost without meaning to, and peered in. There was a narrow bed, perfectly made, with simple, white sheets. Above the headboard, fixed to the wall, was a cracked mirror: The frame was hand-carved. A work of art.

You approached slowly, your eyes sweeping over every detail. That’s when you saw…

You.

Three drawings of you, stuck side by side with the same improvised tape. One was just the outline of your face, another showed your deep gaze, and the third… was you smiling. A smile you didn’t even remember having made since you arrived at Ambrose.

Before you could process it all, you heard a noise behind you. Your heart raced. You turned quickly, and there he was.

Vincent.

He was standing in the doorway, huge and silent, his mask hiding any expression. For a moment, neither of you moved. You swallowed hard.

“I… I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” you said, raising your hands in an apologetic gesture. “The door was open, and I just…”

Vincent didn’t move immediately. Then, very slowly, he entered the room and walked towards you. You didn’t step back. He looked at the drawings, then back at you.

He picked up a notebook that was on the table and wrote something down before showing it to you:

"You shouldn't be here."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. But Vincent didn't seem angry. His body wasn't tense, and his movements weren't aggressive. There was something else there.

"I saw the drawings," you said softly. "You drew me."

Vincent held the pencil for a moment before writing again.

"You're different."

You read the words, feeling a strange chill in your chest.

"Different how?"

He hesitated.

Then he picked up another piece of paper and, this time, drew something quickly. You leaned in to see. It was a small silhouette. A person surrounded by wax figures.

What did that mean? Before you could ask, you heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.

Bo.

Vincent quickly grabbed the paper and crumpled it, throwing it aside before walking away. You felt your heart race. He didn’t want Bo to know you were there. And that meant… you shouldn’t be there.

Before Bo could enter, you left the room, quickly passing your older brother. The bedroom door slammed softly as you left.

“Good night, honey” Bo said with a smile, but his eyes looked sunken and suspicious.

You just nodded, Bo watched you disappear into the hallway, the smile on his lips fading as soon as you turned the corner. He stood there for a few seconds before entering Vincent’s room—his footsteps heavy, impatient.

Vincent had already gathered up the drawings he had made of you and hidden them in one of the drawers, but Bo didn’t need to see anything to understand. The smell in the air, the mood in the room… the way Vincent was standing still, almost defensive.

Bo slammed the door shut, crossing his arms.

“So that’s it,” he said in a low but heavy voice. “You let her in here? Into your room?”

Vincent stood still. His mask hid any trace of reaction, but the slightly clenched fist at his side was a subtle sign of tension.

“You know what she’s going to do, don’t you?” Bo continued, pacing in circles like an animal about to attack. “She’ll start asking questions. She’ll want to know everything. She’ll snoop around. So what do we do?”

Vincent didn’t answer. He slowly picked up his notebook, wrote something, and turned the paper to Bo:

“She’s not like the others.”

Bo snorted, laughing in disbelief.

“Oh, please, Vince… Don’t start that.” He took a step forward, his tone changing—darker, more impatient.

“You always do that. You always think you’re something special. But you know what happens? They run away.” They scream. And we kill!

Vincent wrote again, more firmly:

“She won’t. I know.”

“You know?” Bo exploded, approaching him. “You don’t know anything! She looks at you with pity, Vince. Do you think she’s here because she wants to be? She’s here because she got trapped! She only smiles at you because she’s afraid of what we might do to her.”

Vincent backed away a little, as if that had hit him hard.

But Bo didn’t stop.

“I saw you carving her. I saw you protecting her with those stupid looks. What do you want to do now? Take her into your fake life, to pretend she’s going to stay?” Bo spat the words. “She’s going to leave. And she’s going to come back with the fucking police with her!”

Vincent shuddered.

Bo, panting, ran his hand over his face, trying to compose himself. Then he looked at his brother, and his voice dropped to something lower, more venomous:

“If you don’t do what you have to do… I will. My way.”

Vincent turned his face away. Something in that gesture was stronger than any words.

Anger. Pain. A silent refusal.

Vincent took out his notebook. He wrote something firmly, and when he turned to Bo, the paper said:

“She doesn’t have to die.”

Bo read it and gave a short, almost bitter laugh.

“Everyone has to die eventually, brother. It’s just a matter of when.”

Vincent ripped the page out of the notebook, crumpled it tightly, and threw it on the floor. His eyes burned behind his mask. The tension between them was as thick as the wax that molded Ambrose. Bo stood there for a moment longer, waiting. But Vincent didn’t give in.

Finally, Bo let out a dry laugh and took a step back.

“Okay. If you want to play house with the little artist bitch, go ahead. But remember what I said, Vincent…

He pointed his finger firmly.

“If she tries to run away, or if she finds out what she shouldn’t… you know what I’ll have to do.”

Bo left the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Vincent standing there alone… his chest heaving with anguish and conflict. He knew Bo could carry out his threat. And that you were in real danger now. Vincent’s hand shook as he picked up the notebook once more. He stared at the blank page. Then he wrote slowly:

“I won’t let him.”

He would protect you. Even if it cost him everything.

.

Chapter 5 here!

[taxes-evasion]

TICCI TOBY RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS!! I'm an absolute sucker for this men. Maybe put smth like first kiss here or sum like I love how ppl make first kiss headcanons. TYSM!!

OMFG YES PLEASE!! I also absolutely love headcanons for first kisses ^^

Characters Included: Toby and Reader.

Small Warnings: mental illness, bone-breaking, tics, stuttering, very rapid change of personality and/or mood, hallucinations, violent fits of rage, kisses, hugs and a swear word.

𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆𝐻𝐼𝑃 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁𝑆 + 𝐹𝐼𝑅𝑆𝑇 𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝑂𝐵𝑌

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS

If you managed to have a relationship with Toby: my sincerest congratulations!

Toby is a guy with big trust issues;

As soon as you arrive at the mansion he will most likely be suspicious of you;

Don't be too mean to him for this, it's the voices in his head that make him doubt about everything;

But when do you enter in a relationship with him? Oh, dear God...

He'll absolutely be the sweetest guy (if he's not yandere/if he doesn't have a fit of rage);

He will bring you small gifts such as: flowers, stones that he finds particularly cute or even deer antlers, why not?

All things he finds during missions/walks;

I can't get it out of my head that he will take you to look at the stars on the roof of the mansion and, I confirm that he will;

There is a possibility that, when he realizes that he is losing control, he warns you;

Not that you wouldn't have noticed, I mean, his tics and stuttering will begin to increase;

But it's so nice that he does this;

If Toby isn't yandere I don't imagine him as a toxic person;

If he REALLY cares about you, he'll only forget your birthday, but our boy here has a lot to think about;

But please, remind him of your birthday!

He will gladly give you a gift although late, he'll find the time for sure!!

FIRST KISS HEADCANONS

At first, it will be difficult for the two of you to have physical contact such as cuddle sessions;

Especially because Toby will be nervous;

Given his particularly difficult past both at school and at home, he has never had a romantic relationship with anyone;

So he is totally inexperienced;

(please don't laugh at him);

Precisely because he doesn't have any kind of experience, he will be very stiff the first few times you see him and run to hug him;

His tics will increase slightly;

As time passes, he notices that your pats, hugs, and kisses on his forehead/nose/head calm him down enough;

And he gets quite curious about how your lips would feel on his;

But Toby wouldn't admit it!

He doesn't want to ruin his first and very good relationship because he becomes impatient;

He also cares a lot about you;

But, when does the first kiss happen?

I'm pretty sure you'll start the kiss, Toby wouldn't know where to start or how to approach you;

He'll be absolutely red in the face, he didn't expect it at all and it was magnificent;

Toby will remain quite rigid even at that moment and, to give he his space, you'll probably decide to take a step back from him;

He watches you for a few seconds before dragging you into a bear-hug and kissing you again;

Then the cuddles begin;

Most likely, a few days after this event, he would ask you to kiss him again and/or if he can kiss you;

He'll ask you to teach him how to kiss for sure, and he's actually a quick learner ^^

The stars shone in the dark blue sky, sending Toby calm and serenity. It had been a difficult day and he was very happy to rest and do the thing he liked the most with his favorite person next to him. You.

He was so focused on stargazing that Toby didn't even notice that your focus was on his face.

You smile at the sight of his chocolate eyes lit up by the light of the stars. You and Toby had been a couple for a year and a half and it had been the best choice of your life, really. You loved everything about him: the way he hugged you, listened to you with a lot of attention, his little gifts from the forest for you, everything. However, you didn't think you were doing enough: Toby deserved the best and all the love he could get.

You knew about his past and the traumas and insecurities it had created for him. So you knew what the next step was for your relationship.

"Toby..." his name comes out beautifully from your lips and the boy can't help but look at you. His eyes light up when he sees your face: beautiful, smiling and brighter than all the stars in the sky. His heart melts. He's about to say a few words when his melted heart loses a beat. Your lips on his stop all thoughts. You're so close to him that the only scent he can smell is your own.

But before he knew it, you had already distanced yourself from him. Did he really forget to kiss you back? Fuck...

You were just going to ask him if he was okay but his long, thin but still strong arms pull you into a really big hug. Your head is pushed against his chest and you can clearly feel his heart speeding increase.

"I'm-I'm sorry... I-I've never kissed s-someone be-before..." his breathing increases slightly, you can feel it from his frequent exhales and inhales. "Shhhh... it's all right, you know it's not your fault, Toby." You tried to comfort him, you didn't want this to be a time to remind him of his social shortcomings. It seems to work and you lift your face from Toby's chest to meet his eyes.

A shy smile appears on his lips before bringing them closer to yours. This time he starts the kiss, and it's the best thing in the world. Giggles start pouring out of both your throat and his as you two continue to kiss, and Toby can't help but think about how lucky he is to have you by his side.

Ok... What the hell did I just write? I mean it's my first time writing a prop, if you can call it that :')

I hope it didn't come out a crap :'3

♡

[falling-star-cygnus]

me when i realize getting comments on my fics means i have to actually WRITE my fics: ... *sobs* -> nah, i love writing, really- even when my head tells me i suck at it

i wanted to write a scene in my last dbd fic, 'like a wishbone' that was after Charles reformed from being Chorb ↑ however, it was 5AM and i was tired and i wanted to post a fic. so i scrapped it. until now {tumblr post}

It takes nearly a week before Charles comes back to himself.

Being in orb form is.. kind of nicely fuzzy. It's warm and safe and he doesn't have to think and that makes it dangerous. Because Charles had never been safe a day in his life.

Being safe in death was.. well, if he was then that meant Edwin was not.

And that wasn't okay.

So he forced himself to recover faster, to reform quicker, even at the expense of his sturdiness.

The last time he had- ..hm. Edwin would have a word for... whatever this was. But he had been back in proper human shape within the hour.

He should not have been back in proper human shape within the hour.

Maybe he could've squeaked by with a quick reformation, if it had been less severe, but if it had been less severe he wouldn't of orbed in the first place.

Heh, orbed.

He'll have to pitch that one to Edwin.

Anyway- everything had seemed fine, at first. Charles' form had held up, as paper thin as it felt, as weak as it felt. All things considered, it had been pretty aces to be up and moving again.

If he ignored the way he could see the floorboards through his feet.

It had been fine.

Until he'd tripped.

Bloody tripped and hit the ground and then he was a goddamned orb again.

Unlike with the Edwardian, who's form sucked into itself as if trying to hide, Charles' form split like ripples in a puddle.

Why couldn't his earring ever stay on when this happened?

Unfortunately, he'd given his best mate a right scare during that stint. As obvious by the way Edwin had practically sandwiched him between his palms after.

Practically, because honestly Charles could've wriggled just slightly and been free.

If Edwin hadn't up and tossed him over his shoulder that one time, the younger ghost would be extremely worried about his lack of physical strength.

As it was.. Edwin was just gentle.

And pissed.

"Charles, what were you thinking," he'd hissed, thumbs shaking when they'd pressed over the little ball of light, "Did you forget you were cleaved in half!?"

Well.. no.

That had been exceedingly painful. But at least it hadn't been-

"I can tell what you're thinking and no, it is not better-"

Which brings them to the now.

If Charles had to rank all the different ways he's been orbed, which was four including this one, he'd put the first one at the very top. He'd only been out of commission for a day or two.

Why was it a cardinal rule that things had to get worse the more they happened? That wasn't fair.

Though... every time he reformed, Edwin was there to put his earring back in for him.

And that was nice.

"Oi! What are you-" "My apologies, Charles, but I thought this might be safer than letting you poke around in the dark and get a new hole. We don't exactly show up in mirrors." "...that's vampires, though, isn't it?"

It was nice, because Edwin's hands were always gentle- always precise- when it came to Charles. Like he couldn't bear to be the cause of any potential ache.

He hadn't been treated so carefully since.. well. Ever really.

Back in the office, a full week after his skull had been caved in, Charles sits on the armrest of their small couch. [Their small couch- his and Edwin's'- the younger ghost's chest sings.]

Edwin sits properly on the seat next to him, leaning just slightly into his side as if to assure himself that Charles hadn't gone and- Niko called it poofed?

...he liked orbed better.

"Oh-! Charles, your earring," Crystal suddenly leans to grab the little gold accessory from off Edwin's desk, "Here- let me.."

And.. he doesn't know why he feels disappointed.

He liked Crystal, a lot actually, even if they'd decided on keeping things platonic in the end. But..

"Give it here," his best friend all but demands, with his palm out all posh like.

Charles loves him, so much.

"What? Why?"

"Because we can't all move for one activity, Crystal, and I'm already on the proper side."

For some reason, Edwin's sudden insistence makes Niko let out a soft gasp.

"He's the boy you like.." and- well. Well.

Dwelling on that- on the fact that his best friend talked about liking him- would surely be enough to make him poof- orb- whatever again. So- so..

It's unbelievably lucky that Charles doesn't have to.

..or maybe not, actually.

Because Edwin was gently pulling him down by his chain to slide in the little gold star he'd been wearing all his afterlife back into place and that's something else he's going to dwell on for a very, very long time.

The older ghost runs his thumb over the lobe when he's finished, to make sure it sits neatly, before letting go.

"Cheers, mate," Charles croaks out, not quite having the right of mind to straighten up yet.

Crystal clicks her tongue and leans into Niko.

"Disgustingly domestic."

...what?

[tallulah477]

The Mighty Handyman

Kinktober Day 7: Blowjob

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Oral (male receiving), Deepthroating, Cum swallowing, Slight nipple play, Slight dirty talk

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I've missed 2 prompts so far . . . but at least this one's on time!

Summary: Things have just kept going wrong for you during the last week. Luckily, Neteyam is always around and always willing to help you out. If only you knew how to properly thank him for all his hard work.

Translations:

Tewng - Loincloth

Tanhi - star, bioluminescent freckle

Yawne - Beloved

Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)

The week starts out like shit.

You’re hunting a yerik, a large buck that’s going to feed a respectable amount of people at the night’s communal dinner. It’s in your sights, head bent low as it nibbles on a golden flower just to the left in the small clearing. The bow in your hand is steady, pulled taunt and ready to fire. With a deep breath, you release the string, but the arrow never reaches the yerik. Instead, the upper limb of your bow snaps in half just as you release it, the arrow flying way to the right and falling short of the animal. The yerik’s head snaps up at the cracking sound and you curse as it quickly turns to run only to be stopped in its tracks by another arrow cutting through the air and piercing its chest with expert precision.

Your gaze flies to where the arrow came from and from the cover of vast foliage appears none other than Neteyam Sully. Beautiful, smart, capable, your crush since forever, Neteyam Sully. His steps are quick as he approaches the dying animal and you can’t help how your mouth and eyes are stuck wide open in shock as he kneels next to the yerik, reciting a prayer to Eywa. 

He turns to you as you walk towards him, a small smile on his face as he greets you with the respectful ‘I see you’ hand gesture.

“I heard your bow snap,” he says, eyes sliding down to the broken weapon still held in your hand. “You worked hard to track this buck and I didn’t want you to lose your hunt. I hope you’re not angry with me for taking your kill.”

Your heart races at his words and the way his amber eyes shine in the sunlight of the clearing. Eywa, he looks so fucking good just standing there in his hunter’s clothes, cummerbund wrapped proudly around his lean torso and arm and leg guards covering his strong forearms and calves. 

Your eyes flick back to his and you clear my throat, face heating up at being caught staring. “Oh, yeah, no. I’m-I’m glad you got it.”

“It’s a good kill,” he says, attaching his bow to his back and crouching down to grab onto the animal. “It will feed many of the People tonight. You should be proud. I’ll help you bring it back to the village, yes?”

Your brows furrow, feet shuffling awkwardly against the soft grass. “Why are you acting as though it’s my kill?”

“It is yours,” Neteyam says. He hauls the large animal over his shoulder, grunting with effort. “It was not my intention to take your kill. You tracked it and it would have been your arrow that pierced it had your bow not broken. You deserve it.”

“It wouldn’t feel right,” You say, voice tight. “You killed it, you deserve the recognition.” 

A quiet hum sounds from the back of his throat, gaze fixed on you as he adjusts the animal into a more comfortable position. Your heart just about leaps out of your chest when he leans forward and nudges your shoulder with his. 

“A combined effort then,” he relents, beginning to walk towards the village. He shoots a goofy and devastatingly handsome grin at you over his shoulder. “Our kill. Together,” 

Oh, Eywa. Have mercy. 

There are moments when you think Neteyam might like you back. Things he does that make it seem like the idea is possible: like when he seems to reserve little secret smiles during group hunts just for you, or the way your name rolls off his tongue, voice soft and low like syrup, like he takes great care in saying it.

Or moments like this when he says out of the box shit like “Our kill. Together,” like he’s purposefully trying to give you heart palpitations. 

“It is a shame about your bow,” he continues, as if he has no idea he’s just rendered you completely stupid thinking about every other thing you’ve already imagined doing with (or to) him. “I can help you carve a new one, if you’d like?” 

Mercy! Please, Great Mother, mercy!

He does help you carve a new bow, deft hands working diligently as they manipulate the wood into the shape he wants. His voice is low and soothing, caressing your eardrums as he describes what he’s doing, fingers pausing from where they’re pressing his blade up to the wood to point to the upper limb, the long digits dragging gently up and down the wood there.   

And honestly? You have no idea what he’s even been saying. If he wants you to listen, he should put his damn hands away. 

“Carving it this way instead of the normal way makes for stronger limbs, you see?” 

“Mhm,”

His fingers wrap around the top of the bow and stay there. It’s only when they don’t move for a while that you snap out of your daze and find his gorgeous face smirking at you. 

“Y/n, are you listening to me?”

“Fuck, oops! Sorry, yes. I mean yes. I mean—uh, no?”

He chuckles, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “Shame on you,” 

You let out a shaky laugh, thankful that he’s not angry for you basically wasting his time when he was trying to teach you something useful. 

“Sorry,” You say again, carefully taking the bow from his hands. “I’m just tired. Thank you for the bow, Neteyam. It’s really beautiful.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m always happy to help you, y/n,” 

And fuck, if that isn’t the most earnest thing you’ve ever heard. You know he means it, and you try to remind yourself that he would say it to anyone - he is the future Olo’eyktan after all. But he’s looking at you when he says it, not anyone else, and the blush that creeps on your cheeks can’t be helped. And neither can the small smile that plays on your lips as you squeak out a tiny, high pitched ‘thanks’.

The rest of the week is more of the same. Problem after problem that are just minor inconveniences more than anything, but they still send you into fits of exasperation all the same. 

Especially since Neteyam is there for them all.

When you trip over a hidden root on your way to the communal dinner with a basket of fruit in your hands sending all the cleaned fruit, basket, and yourself flying to the ground; Neteyam is there, wide eyes filled with concern as he pulls you up and makes sure you’re okay before helping you regather the fruit with a teasing “You know, if you didn’t want to carry the basket to dinner, all you had to do was tell me and I would have carried it for you. You didn’t have to throw it.”

And when you stumble into Mo’at’s tent, knee bleeding and scraped up from a game of tag with your younger sister gone wrong; Neteyam is already there, mid conversation with his grandmother. He respectfully waves off his grandmother when she goes to put down the stone bowl she's using to crush herbs and grabs the premade ointment from off a shelf. 

“I can tend to her, Grandmother,” he says, moving to sit in front of you. 

His fingers are gentle as they apply the healing paste to your wound. The cuts aren’t deep, just the usual scrapes and bruises one gets when falling to the ground. But the ointment stings, and you can’t help but flinch despite his considerate touch. You try to distract yourself by listening to the deep timbre of his voice as he coos at you and tells you that you’re doing such a good job. 

And then yesterday, you just about died from embarrassment.

You had been working on a new beaded top for a while now. A new intricate design you were trying out but couldn’t seem to figure out how to properly tie it off to secure it. But it was beautiful and as much as you wanted to save it for a special occasion, you were dying to wear it. So when you finished it, you immediately threw it on, intending on just walking around the village to see how it felt and if anything needed to be adjusted. 

The end of your top came in the form of your best friend, Yena. She’s admiring the beading, looking with her fingers because she’s incapable of just examining something with her eyes, when Neteyam shows up. He’s in the process of taking off his cummerbund when he spots you two, a smile curling on his lips in greeting. Yena goes to pull her hand back to wave at him, but her bracelet gets caught on the beads of your top and snaps the whole thing apart when she yanks her hand away too fast. 

The beads go flying and the whole top unravels around you and falls to the ground. With a horrified squeal, you wrap your arms around your chest tightly, panicked eyes darting between Yena and Neteyam’s wide, shocked eyes as they stare back at you, frozen. 

Neteyam is the first to move. He steps behind you and wraps his cummerbund around your front, tying it tightly in the back so that it covers your chest. It’s not perfect, the makeshift top is not enough to fully cover your breasts, but it's enough that you don’t have to worry about a nip slip on your way home. 

You can’t look at him, embarrassment rushing through every fiber of your being, and you run, hightailing it home with your tail between your legs and Neteyam’s battle band pressed tightly against your tits.

All of this leads you here, to the current problem at hand: the broken support post in your hut.

The storm last night had been brutal and, despite the cover of the canopy above, many huts in the village still took damage. Yours included.

It’s not all bad though, you think, your eyes glued to the way Neteyam’s back muscles contract and shift under his cobalt skin as he lifts the partial beam replacement in place. You bite your lip as your eyes trail down the smooth canvas of his back. His shoulders are broad and strong and you just know that he could toss you around like a ragdoll if he wanted to. Your eyes trail down lower, over the line his very lickable spine, and falling to his tapered waist. His tail swishes slightly as he works, back and forth, and you follow the movement, almost hypnotized, and thoughts of Neteyam wrapping that tail around your thigh as he fucks into you invade your mind without permission. 

“Okay,” Neteyam says suddenly, pulling you out of your trance. He pats the temporary beam a few times, admiring his work. “That should do it for now. At least until the new beam is crafted for you,”

He turns to you and you plaster a quick smile on your face, trying to not be too obvious about the fact that you were just checking him out and having fantasies of him railing you through the floor. 

“Great! Thanks so much, Neteyam. You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” 

“Of course,” he says. “I’m always here to help you, y/n.”

“Yeah,” You say, softly. “I’ve noticed.”

“So,” Neteyam says, eyes darting around the rest of your hut, seemingly looking for something. “Anything else I can help you with? Anything else broken? I mean, if you’re going to drop anything or get scrapped up again, now is the time.”

You laugh, pushing at his shoulder. “Stoooop! Don’t make fun of me,”

He chuckles, returning your shove good-naturedly with one of his own. “It’s easy with all that’s happened to you this past week,”

And he looks so gorgeous just standing there, eyes alight with mirth, lips twisting into a playful smile, fangs poking slightly into his bottom lip. You want your own fangs to take their place, you want to capture his lip between your own and suck on the plump flesh until he’s moaning in your mouth. You want to feel him hard against you, hips pressing into yours with the clear evidence of his desire for you. And in that moment, the air is suddenly too thick - the heat of his hand still on your shoulder feels like fire as it soaks into your skin and spreads through your entire body. 

Neteyam’s smile is gone now, eyes intense as they stare back into your own, and it's almost impossible to believe that he isn’t feeling the same insane pull towards you too. For a crazy moment, you're sure he’s going to kiss you, but then he drops his hand from your shoulder and steps back.

“Well, if there’s anything else I can help you with, you know where to find me, yes?” 

You watch, feeling sick, as he gives you a friendly nod and makes his way towards the front of your tent. The word erupts from your throat before you can even think about what you’re doing, desperate sounding and louder than you would have ever wanted.

“WAIT!”

Neteyam freezes, hand reached out for the entrance flap, and he turns to look back at you, confused.

“S-sorry,” You stutter. You step closer to him, heart in your throat. “I just-- I just wanted to thank you. For all you’ve done for me, you know?”

Neteyam’s eyes soften. “Oh, no problem, y/n,”

“So will you let me?”

His brows furrow. “Let you what?”

You step closer still, so close until you are nose to nose, and his eyes widen, the yellow of his irises rapidly disappearing as they get swallowed up by his pupils as he stares back. 

Your lips just barely brush against his. “Let me thank you,” 

Neteyam lets out a harsh breath as you drop to your knees. Eywa does not pick favorites, you’ve heard it said many times before. She holds all her children in her heart equally. But it's clear as you look up at Neteyam’s visage, that everyone else has lied to you. The Great Mother does indeed have favorites, and Neteyam is her most prized creation. And this is where you belong: on your knees before him and worshiping him.

Your hands creep up the outside of his thighs, caressing the toned muscles and feeling how they flex and tense under your gentle touch. Neteyam’s stomach is taut, dipping slightly as his breathing shudders above you. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They stay clenched at his sides, twitching occasionally as if they want to move but don’t know where. And he’s looking down on you, clearly nervous but also in awe, as if you yourself are one of Eywa’s favorites and he’s currently the one being blessed. 

You grin deviously, confidence flooding through you at the confirmation that you had been right - he does like you. Wants you.

Your fingers play at the band of his tewng as you look up at him through your lashes, mouth inches from his growing bulge, so close he can feel your hot breath on it as you speak. “Can I, Teyam?”

“Oh, Great Mother,” he breathes, punched out like the words hurt him. “Please. Please, y/n,”

You press a gentle kiss to his abdomen and untie the strings holding up his tewng. It’s like unwrapping the best present ever as it falls to the ground, revealing his gorgeous cock - long and hard as it slaps against his belly.

Your mouth waters at the sight and you don’t hesitate to press your lips to his frenulum, kissing the hard length reverently and smiling at the way Neteyam gasps. Your hands find their place on Neteyam’s hips again, holding him steady as you nuzzle your face against his cock and feel how it twitches against your cheek.

“It’s so big,” You hear yourself saying. “You carry this around all day long?”

Neteyam lets out an aborted sound at your joke that turns into a whine as you run your soft lips up and down his length, teasing him with just the softest of touches. You press another kiss to the underside of his cock and one of his hands finds its way to the back of your head, cradling it gently.

“Please, y/n,” he whispers. “Please put your mouth on me.”

Obviously, you have no choice but to oblige him. Your head dips down and your tongue runs a wet stripe up the entire length of his cock. Your moan echoes his and you can feel how wet you’re getting in your own tewng at the feel of his hard, hot skin on your tongue. Your tongue traces along the darker stripes decorating his length, lavishing attention on each one, not wanting to leave any unexplored,  and your lips press devotedly to each and every tanhi you pass. In the back of your mind, you're a little sad this isn’t happening outside in the forest, under the glow of the moonlight where the little bioluminescent freckles can shine brightly against your tongue. 

Neteyam’s hand curls in your braids and holds you still, keeping you from your exploration, while the other hand guides his cock down so the head brushes against your lips. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You giggle, tasting the drops of precum that smeared against your lips. “Was I not going fast enough for you?”

“You’re such a tease,” he says, eyes wild.

His cock slips between your lips and your eyes slip shut as his long, hot length invades your waiting mouth. It starts out sweet as Neteyam slides his cock inside, inch by glorious inch, dragging it against your tongue. He makes it about half way before he pulls out to the tip, letting you suckle on the mushroom head for a moment, the taste of his precum exploding on your tongue, before pushing back in. 

He guides your head in the rhythm he likes, a gentle back and forth along his length, occasionally slipping in another inch until you feel his cock hitting the back of your throat with each pass. You hum around him at the feeling and look up at him, desperately asking with your eyes for more.

“Hah-fuck,” he curses, rapturous expression on his face as he stares down at you. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

His confession unleashes a warmth in your chest and your brows furrow in concentration, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder around his cock. He groans louder, hand tightening into a fist in your hair and you moan around his length at the pleasurable sting. 

“T-take off your top,” he begs. “Take it off. Please, y/n. Please take it off.”

You bob your head faster as you reach behind you for the string of your top. With a few practiced movements, the top is loosened and you let it fall to the floor, revealing your breasts to Neteyam for the second time that week.

“Oh, Eywa,” he moans, eyes locked on your perky breasts. You cup them in your palms and press them together, looking up at him through hooded lids. You squeeze your nipples between your thumbs and pointer fingers, imagining that your fingers are his. You’ve thought about it so many times, how his hands would feel on you. His hands are so beautiful, long fingers that you know would just play with you perfectly, teasing and tormenting the hard buds until you were a puddle of tears and arousal under him. 

He presses his cock deeper into your mouth and you gag, loud and wet around him, loving the way he whimpers as though he’s dying just from the sound alone. You try to take more of him in, pressing against him harder and trying to open your throat, wanting to feel your nose press against his soft skin.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, breathless. “So perfect for me, yawne. Shit!” 

Your nose hits its desired mark, pressing snuggly against the warm skin of his pelvis. His cock is buried in your throat now and you can’t breathe, can’t do anything except gaze up at him through your tears and see what you're sure is a literal god in front of you. 

“Loved seeing your tits yesterday,” he tells you, voice gravelly. “They’re so beautiful. Hated having to help cover them up.” 

You try to groan at his words, the sound cut off by the large intrusion in your throat. You pull back, needing air, but your lips stay connected to his cock by a thick strand of saliva. He whines at the loss, but you make it up to him by dragging your tongue up the soaked underside of his cock before taking him back in your mouth, sucking greedily on the hard flesh like the world’s best tasting lollipop. 

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes again. “Feels so good, yawne. So much better than I ever could have imagined,” His cock throbs against your tongue. “The Great Mother is blessing me for my good deeds.”

You nod quickly, hands reaching up to grip his thighs as you take him back in your throat. He moans loudly, thighs shaking under your hold, both hands fisting in your hair to keep you still, hips finally moving on their own to fuck your face. 

You gag again, choking on his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin and his balls, and you're dying - dying the most perfect death in existence and there’s no other way you would rather go out than by choking on Neteyam’s perfect cock. 

And then he’s gone again, cock dripping and twitching as he gasps for breath. “Gonna cum, y/n. Where...?”

“Cum for me, Teyam,” You pant, chest heaving. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking firmly. Your tongue lulls out of your mouth just in front of the tip, a clear invitation. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” he moans. He cums explosively, thick white ropes shooting out from the purple tip and landing on your tongue, coating your tastebuds. Your eyes roll back into your head as you swallow it up, relishing in his taste and leaning in to run your tongue along the sensitive head just to get every single last drop.

He falls to his knees in front of you, panting and shaking as the aftershocks rock through him. He cradles your face, his blissed out eyes meeting your teary ones before he pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips dance together like they’ve been doing it forever, like they know each other, a sensual press of give and take that leaves you both breathless. He lowers you to the ground gently and hovers over you.

“So,” he starts, voice low and husky. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What else can I help you with? Tell me, paskalin. Put me to work.”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!