#but there’s no way i’ll make it through this one without getting hopelessly lost in the chart

[after-perfect]

Me: I need to break out of this blackwork rut and do some other stitching for a change.

Also me:

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hii! Could you do Gojo + 65, please? But in a made me cry so much I’ll remember this for the next couple days way :)

There you go! This one took me quite a while and to be honest I'm not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think 🖤

55. "I think I might be in love with you."

She is my weakness

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Synopsis: Even though Satoru never admitted his feelings towards you, everyone is aware of the fact that you are his weakness - a weakness that Suguru gladly uses in order to fullfill his mission. While you are on the brink of death, Satoru realizes just how much you really mean to him.

Warnings: language, hurt, death, injury

Gojo can’t catch his breath, the road to Jujutsu High suddenly feels so long. He got distracted, too distracted to notice that you aren’t there anymore. It wasn’t until someone informed him about the fact that you just disappeared, seconds later a message popping up on his phone.

Don’t worry, she’s with me. Maybe you should hurry up though.

You are a very skilled jujutsu sorcerer, an exceptional talent without special status. Satoru spent so many training sessions with you that he lost count, the only thing remaining in his memory being your mesmerizing smile.

“Why are you laughing? I’m absolutely serious, you almost got me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Satoru, no need to pamper my feelings. Attack me instead!”

Fuck, how did he not notice that you’re gone? You’re always fighting by his side, trusting him blindly. He never allowed himself to lose track of you. Why today, when the name Suguru Geto is written on his display?

This doesn’t make any sense. It has to be a trap, Satoru just knows it. But still he’s on his way to Jujutsu High despite being urgently needed on the battlefront, hands slightly trembling. You are a great jujutsu sorcerer. But not good enough to face Suguru.

“Where is she?”, he yells, six eyes scanning the area around him in order to catch a glimpse of you or Suguru.

“Satoru, long time no see!”

“Where. Is. She.”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, blindfold ripped from his fury eyes.

“Woah, easy Satoru. Did you really just leave everyone else alone in order to save your little girlfriend from getting killed? That doesn’t look like you at all.”

“I make the world my enemy if it means saving her.”

You aren’t his girlfriend, the two of you never spoke about having a serious relationship with each other. He held you in his arms when you weren’t able to sleep, hands always brushing against each other when walking side by side, the two of you exchanging secret glances at each other all the time.

There’s no point in hiding it from himself any longer. Satoru is hopelessly in love with you since he first laid eyes on you and heard your angelic laugh. And the fact that Suguru put his dirty hands on you kills him from the inside.

“How touching. Too bad that she’s already dead. I have to say she fought very brave, tried to save your puny students from getting killed only to get stabbed herself. How self-sacrificing, how heroic.”

The world around Satoru collapses. You, dead? No, that’s not possible. Not even Suguru would dare to kill a skilled jujutsu sorcerer like yourself.

“Well, maybe she isn’t exactly dead already. I give you two options: Fight against me or save her. It’s up to you. See ya!”

And with that, he’s gone in the wind.

“Maki, Toge, Panda, Yuta, get out of the way. I’ll handle this.”

The confidence and rage in your voice had your students step aside immediately. You should have known that Suguru is here for Yuta, you should have realized it way sooner. There was no time or chance to inform Satoru about it. You gripped your katana tightly, eyes glistered in determination. You aren’t dumb, it is crystal clear that you aren’t able to defeat Suguru. But it is your job to defend your students, especially Yuta.

“Come on little (y/n), being Satoru’s girlfriend doesn’t make you the strongest. It doesn’t work like that. Both you and I know that this ends in blood.”

“I don’t need to be the strongest in order to distract you until he gets here.”

You fought back, over and over your blade crushed into another curse, you didn’t even stop when blood clouded your vision, whole body on fire from the countless wounds he has inflicted on you.

Is this really how you are supposed to die? Pictures of Satoru flooded your mind. You should have told him how you feel, that he makes your days better and your smile brighter. You noticed your feelings a long time ago, too afraid to lose a good friend by confessing. Now your words will forever be unsaid, he will never know how you truly felt. Your lips begin to tremble, eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry Satoru”, you whisper to yourself.

One last hit. A scorching pain. Then everything went black.

Satoru is aware of the fact that Suguru wants Yuta and nothing else, that you and the others have to be alive. Yuta can stand his ground until he has brought you to Shoko, back into safety. You simply can’t die without knowing about his true feelings, without knowing that you are way more than a simple friend to him and that he wants nothing more than to be by your side. If there’s a slight chance to safe you he’ll take it, fuck everything else. But firstly, he needs to find you and his students.

Maki’s and Toge’s bodies are plastered on the ground, seriously injured but alive – nothing that Shoko can’t fix. Sounds of battle begin to penetrate Gojo’s ears. So Yuta is still fit enough to stand against Suguru, huh? What an impressive kid.

His heart drops immediately when catching a glimpse of your body on the other side though. God, you are so covered in crimson that the color of your uniform is almost unrecognizable. Limb over limb, as if you just fell to the ground. Lifeless, drained, on the brink of death.

Satoru sprints towards you, ice cold sweat dripping down his face. He presses his fingers against your neck, praying to god that your heart is still beating, that there is a slight chance of you being saved by Shoko.

He has never seen you like this. Of course you were injured in missions from time to time, but the worst wound you ever had was a laceration on your forehead. No wonder, your fighting technique is very advanced after all, you spent so many hours training your ass off. But still…But still you are laying to his feet, Satoru’s shaky hands covered in your blood.

This simply can’t be true. He could never understand how Suguru could go down this path, Gojo’s last straw of his dignity being that he’d never hurt a jujutsu sorcerer or member of Jujutsu High. Why are you laying here, heartbeat almost gone and breath nothing more than a light breeze in the wind?

“Fuck!”, he yells, fists slamming into the hard ground until blood spills.

You can’t die like that, not after all the two of you have been through, not until he was able to at least tell you about his feelings.

“You might be the honored one, that doesn’t change the fact that pizza is better than burgers though. So sorry to break it to you, Satoru.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, (y/n)! Are you brainwashed? Maybe I should call Shoko, let me check!”

Your heartfelt laughter echoes through the room and Gojo’s core, hands halfheartedly fighting off his tickle attack. You are so beautiful when you shake in laughter, eyes squeezed tight until tears of joy spill out of them, your soft hands sending shivers down his spine.

“S-Satoru, please stop!”, you cry out and surrender in his arms.

Out of instinct you lay your head against his chest and close your eyes for a sweet moment. Oh, how delicious he smells, how much you love to be held like this. Your heart almost beats out of your chest when Satoru wraps his arms around you, pressing you even closer to his beating heart.

The words are hanging on his lips, it would be so easy to just tell you that he loves every little thing about you. Why does his mouth suddenly feel so fuzzy, why is all he can do stare at you in awe? Fuck, you are so lovely, he doesn’t deserve you.

“(y/n) I-… I think I might be in love with you!”, he blurts out, fists clinging onto your soaked uniform, tears glistering in his bright orbs.

If you will even survive the way to Shoko? He has to try. After all, he is the honored one. If he isn’t able to save you then no one will be? Fuck Suguru, fuck this whole useless battle. He can’t lose you today.

As gentle as possible, he picks you up in his arms, your lifeless head propped against his chest. Why does your body feel so cold? Why does the blood not stop running? Fright swallows Gojo completely, the thought of losing you getting realer and realer. Why were you here anyway? Maybe all of his student would have died if you weren’t so damn brave. You must have found out that Suguru is here. Fuck, why are you always caring about others and sacrifice yourself like that? Why didn’t you call him?

His hand caresses your face softly, tears now completely taking his sight. Because this is you, because this is exactly why he loves you so damn much.

It doesn’t take him long to get to Shoko, but it still feels like an eternity.

“Shoko, please help her!”, he yells over the constant conversations, voice completely immersed in pure horror.

Oh no, not you. Shoko pales in an instant when taking in your sight. This doesn’t look good, to be exact it looks absolutely terrible.

Satoru’s trembling arms lay you down on a makeshift sickbed, Shoko immediately by your side.

“How the hell did this happen? (y/n) is the only one apart from you that never gets hurt”, she comments while inspecting your multiple severe wounds.

“Suguru invaded Jujutsu High unnoticed despite the curtain. She must have found out. My students are there, (y/n) saved their asses from getting killed”, he explains briefly, gaze completely fixated on you and the way your chest dimly rises and falls.

“I’m gonna be honest to you, this looks totally awful. She is barely breathing and her heartbeat is way too weak. I’m trying my best but maybe…Maybe you should stay here with her, Satoru.”

It’s like the world around him is collapsing when Shoko’s words confirm his worst nightmares. You could die, right here right now. And you would die without knowing how much you really mean to him, that you are way more than just a colleague or a friend to him.

“I never told her”, he mutters, hands clinging onto yours for dear life.

“You don’t have to. Some things don’t need to be said.”

As if in trance, Gojo follows the movements of Shoko’s hands that are busy trying to save your life.

“What about the others?”

“Maki, Panda and Toge are injured but alive. Yuta is facing Suguru at the moment.

“Do you think he can handle this?”

“Sure, I’ll go back as soon as soon as (y/n) is out of danger.”

So there he sits. Seconds, minutes and hours passing by as all he can do is stare at you and watch Shoko stitching you up. You look like you’re sleeping peacefully, ready to get shaken awake by Satoru. He can’t help but stare and take in your striking features. Your face isn’t cute by any means. No, you are attractive in a more dangerous way, a woman that turns heads on the streets no matter what she wears. A woman that wraps men around her finger with one little glance. A woman that knows what she wants and how she gets it. You are treacherous and unattainable. There’s no greater feeling than seeing other men contort themselves after you as it is him that walks beside you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“You know that I can take care of men myself, do you?”

“Sure, but I just can’t resist.”

Little did you know that he dies to hold you in his arms and show everyone that you are his, that none of these douchebags will ever touch you like he does. Oh, how much he enjoys your attention on him, if he could he would spend every second of the day with you.

“Good morning sunshine, the earth says hello!”

“Satoru, why do you have to wake me up this early? And even more important: How did you get in my room?”, you groaned, still a slight grin plastered on your face.

“Nothing easier than breaking in here! Did you forget we have a rendez-vous today, sleepyhead?”

“Yeah, for training. In 3 hours”, you reply dryly.

“Oh, must’ve forgotten about that.”

“Or maybe you just wanted to see me”, you teased him, your very own heart beating out of your chest while waiting for his reply.

“Can’t say anything against that”, he admits.

Now he can’t wake you up this easily. You’re still not moving, eyes staying rested at all times.

“Ironic, isn’t it? That I’m the strongest but couldn’t prevent her from getting this beaten up”, he mutters, drunken gaze never leaving you.

“Every power has its limits. Suguru just seemed to have a good plan on hand and knew that she’ll come as soon as the students are in danger. That’s just how (y/n) is. You cannot influence that”, Shoko replies, her skilled fingers completely occupied by working their ways through your countless wounds.

“It’s all my fault. Suguru knew she is my weakness and that I won’t come after him when her life is in danger.”

“Stop talking shit, if she could hear you she’d probably punch you in the face for that. (y/n) isn’t helped by doubting yourself.”

Satoru buries his face in his hands, tears swelling up his eyes once more. None of this should have happened. You should have called and told him about it. You should have told him that you are in danger. Why do you have to be so suborn, so fucking brave, probably saving his students from death while risking your own life? God, he hates you for this. But also…this is exactly why he adores you so much. No, why he loves you so much. Why do you have to be on the brink of death for him to realize that you are so much more than just a friend to him?

“Satoru?”

His name. His name came out of your mouth. Satoru’s heart feels like a jackhammer inside his chest, shaky fingers intertwining with yours. God, you opened your eyes, you talked. You…you are alive.

“(y/n)”, he breathes out.

“Suguru is at Jujutsu High.”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, eyelids hanging heavy in your blood-smeared face.

“I know, darling. I picked you up from there. If you scare me like that again I’ll kill you”, Satoru jokes with tears glistering in his eyes, smiling over your concern about the others even though you almost died yourself.

“Satoru…I-I love you. Couldn’t die without telling you that.”

His hand tenderly strokes your bruised cheek, relief filling his whole body, absolutely enchanted by your sweet words. You love him. You, (y/n) really love him. Is he dreaming? Can this really be true? For years, all he could think about was you, you are the only woman that turns his head. And now you’re telling him that you are in love with him?

“Let me hear that again.”

“I won’t say it again until you say it back”, you reply, smiling widely.

“I love you too, (y/n). Was just too dumb to realize I guess.”

“Listen, I don’t want to interrupt your moment here, but (y/n) needs to rest and you need to look after Yuta", intervenes, still occupied by treating your wounds.

“Did you leave your students alone with Suguru?”, you ask in shock.

“Hehe, you need to rest now.”

And with that you watch as the man you love more than the entire earth disappears with one last look in your eyes. He saved your life that day. But not only that, after all these years he is finally yours. Maybe almost dying wasn’t so bad after all.

[fallingforfictionalcharacterss]

hi hi hi

this was just an idea that popped into my head & I had to share !!

ok first of all I love ur “I love to hate you” piece but I was thinking, what if the reader caught on after the first couple of time Draco compliments/flirted with them & they start to flirt with them back…reader doing this only because Draco started this of course *wink wink*

idk but I’ll that sexual tension 👀🥵

Thanks for your request! I´m so sorry that this took me literally forever to write. I had already started writing, but then I took a break for a few weeks and when I reread it I didn´t like it anymore, so I rewrote it. I feel like I still have to get into writing again first, so this probably isn´t my best work, but I hope you´ll like it anyway. Also, I loved the request and I had so much fun writing it both times.

Fanged Geraniums

“Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.”; Professor Snape´s voice sneered through the classroom. “You also have to start cutting your mandrakes within the next few minutes if you still want this potion to be anything but disappointing.”

You sighed. The draught of peace was for sure a very useful potion, but very difficult to make. Especially, when Professor Snape hovered over you all the time like an inordinately large bat. You could always feel his piercing gaze and foul breath on your neck, whenever he patiently awaited you to make a mistake. Which unfortunately happened rather often. It wasn’t like you were that bad in potion class, but since you happened to be a Gryffindor, he lurked for even the smallest mistakes, always greedy to take any points possible from you. He would for sure have ignored most of them if you would have been one of his beloved Slytherins, but as it was, you were a Gryffindor, and Godric, you couldn’t be prouder.

While you watched the potion in the cauldron in front of you simmering -you were pleasantly surprised, when it actually started to turn pink, just like it was supposed to- you noticed that you should have already prepared your mandrakes by now. You glanced at Hermione, who still looked at the instructions on the board with narrowed eyes.

“Do you want me to get some mandrakes for you as well?”, you asked your best friend.

Hermione just nodded, without even tearing her gaze from the board. Whenever she was concentrating, nothing could get her out of this state. And even though it was sometimes quite annoying, you were pretty thankful for that ability of hers. Not only Hermione was an amazing learning partner since she forced you to concentrate as well, whenever she simply ignored you while she was studying, but she also had a deep understanding of the material and was always willing to help you out when you were once again hopelessly lost in the sheer mass of homework you had to do.

You made your way to the shelf in the front of the class, scanning it for the mandrakes. You found it on one of the upper boards. You cursed yourself for being so small. You had always trouble to reach them and Professor Snape had strictly forbidden you to use magic to get the ingredients from up there, since one time a simple spell to summon the needed ingredients had ended in Neville being covered in a slimy mass, burning holes into his uniform. But you were also way too proud to ask someone else for help. Standing on your tiptoes, your arm extended as far as possible, your fingertips brushed against the vessel with the mandrakes.

A whistle made you stop trying and turn around. As you did so, you faced the one reason besides Professor Snape, you hated potions class more than most of the other classes. Because he was in there too.

Draco Malfoy was probably one of the worst human beings. Not only he was a Slytherin, but he embodied every single quality that was the reason for the fact the Slytherins were despised by the other houses. He was arrogant, heartless and the only things he truly cared about were the name of his family and the money and influence they had, with which he also bragged regularly. Plus, he didn’t get along with any of your friends, especially Harry. Not even speaking of how he treated Hermione because she was a muggleborn, which made her, in his eyes, less worthy than other wizards.

These were only a few reasons why you hated the Slytherin boy so much. And the fact that you were not afraid to show how disgusted you were by his behaviour, made Malfoy hate you just as much.

And now he was standing right in front of you, with a sly grin on his face.

“If I would have known what´s under this skirt before, I might have been nicer to you from the beginning (Y/l/n).”, he said, while his eyes lazily travelled down your body, scanning every centimetre of it.

You felt your cheeks redden as your hands automatically made sure your skirt was in place again after you had tried to reach up to the shelf, even if you were pretty sure, that there was no chance that Malfoy had actually seen anything he wasn’t supposed to, but just wanted to provoke you.

“And if I would know what´s inside those pants… But if it looks the same as inside your head, this is going to be very disappointing. But I´m sure you are already used to hearing this from girls, aren’t you?”, you responded.

“Oh, trust me, love, this would be anything but disappointing. I´m sure any girl will gladly tell you. And you will have to trust them, because unfortunately, you”, his cold grey eyes found his way back up to yours, eying you contemptuously, “will never find out.”

“Unfortunately for you, luckily for me.”, you smiled at him sweetly.

“And unfortunately for you, you have just lost your chance that I will give you any of my mandrakes. Because luckily for me, I´m tall enough to get them myself.” Without even having to try, he reached over your head for the vessel with the mandrakes. “But maybe if you would use that pretty mouth of yours to ask me for help nicely instead of insulting me again, I might be willing to help you out anyway.”

You just bit your lip. For sure, you weren’t that desperate. You hated to ask for help, but you would find someone who would do so. Someone, who wouldn’t take as much pleasure in this as Malfoy and wouldn’t use this opportunity to humiliate you for the rest of your life.

When Malfoy realized, you wouldn’t give in, he placed the vessel with the remaining mandrakes back on the shelf. As he did so, his chest nearly brushed yours, but you refused to step back.

Before Malfoy went back to his place, he looked at you with pity, but the glistening in his eyes betrayed him.

“Good luck brewing your potion, love.”

Then he left and you were standing there alone. But just as you wanted to start another attempt to get what you came here for, you saw Ron coming up to you. As you saw the red haired lanky boy, a smile spread across your face.

“Luckily for me, I have tall friends.

“I really need to go to Zonko´s. Fred and George told me, they just launched a new product line.”, Ron told you before he kept on rambling about why it was absolutely necessary and essential for him to possess some nose-biting teacups. Hermione and you on the other hand were more interested in visiting Honeydukes and having some warm Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, preferably with some ginger.

You were already used to this. Every one of you had your own plans on how to spend your time in Hogsmeade in the best way possible. Usually, before the weekend was coming up, you sat down together to make up a plan for the day, just like you did now, even though all of you were aware of the fact, that in the end, it still almost always resulted in pure chaos anyway.

“And the dungbombs….”

“Don’t act as if you could afford any of these anyway Weaselbee.”, you heard a familiar voice sneering behind you.

“I don’t think anyone asked for your opinion, Malfoy.”, Harry quickly responded, before Ron could say or do something he might regret later on since you could already see his ears turning dangerously pink.

“And I don’t recall talking to you, Potter. Are you even allowed to go there? I mean your parents can´t sign the permission, can they?”

“After all these years, don’t you think it´s a little bit pathetic to still bring up the same old stories over and over again? If you keep on doing this, people might think this is the only thing you´re capable of.”, you jumped in because even though Harry´s ears didn’t turn pink, you knew, that this was far below the belt for Harry.

Malfoy turned around, eying you unimpressed.

“And once again, I don’t recall talking to you. But if you are so creative (Y/l/n), go on.”

“Well, I could, but I don’t think I could insult you today without being rude to that tattered scrap of fur on your head, you said, while your eyes were fixed on the hat, Malfoy was already wearing, since the first snow of this winter had started falling this morning.

“That’s ferret fur.”, he responded, while touching his hat, slightly offended. “Very expensive and fashionable, but when I look at you, I don’t think you even know what these words mean.”

“Well, if it means I´m walking around with a stinky corpse on my head, I´ll pass, thanks.”

“Not everyone can wear what they want and still look good, (Y/l/n).”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze still fixed on the ugly hat.

“Obviously.”

“At least I don’t have to wear these horrible Gryffindor robes day after day. I have to admit, they probably wouldn’t even suit me.”

“Honestly Malfoy, green doesn’t suit you that much either. But then again, I highly doubt that the others would do any better.”

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders.

“I´m not interested in changing the colour of my robes anyway. You on the other hand…”, he stepped a bit closer, “I bet you would look absolutely amazing in green. Even though I´m afraid you, unfortunately, don’t have what it takes to be a Slytherin. But if you want to, I can lend you some of my clothes some time. Would love to see you in them. Or without them.”

“I´ll have to pass again. Also, I don’t think it´s that unfortunate that I don’t have what it takes to be one of you. I actually would call myself to be pretty lucky.”

“Don’t act like you would actually mind it (Y/l/n). You would rather be in a house with me. I know how much you miss me when I am not around.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh yeah, I just can´t stop thinking about you from the moment you leave.”

Malfoy grinned smugly.

“Oh, don’t worry love. I do just the same.”

Then he winked at you and went back to his friends, leaving you with your cheeks slightly red. From how much he annoyed you, of course.

And it went on like this for days. Whenever Malfoy saw you, he made a snarky remark, in which he included some kind of compliment, which sounded -in the way he said it- like the worst insult. And you gladly caught up on it. It felt refreshing to not make fun of the same things over and over again. And for some reason, Malfoy noticed things about you, no one else had ever complimented you about before. And even if you hated to admit it, he did his job well. So well, that sometimes you felt your heart beating faster in your chest when he opened his mouth.

One day, in herbology, when you laughed at Malfoy, who had just been bitten by a fanged geranium, he just smiled at you cheekily, just like he did so often lately.

“Wanna have a bite too, (Y/l/n)?”

“I prefer not getting poisoned, Malfoy.”

“You have no idea, I am actually quite enjoyable.”

“I bet you are.”, you chuckled. “Looks like it just can´t get enough of you.”

The fanged geranium had by now buried its fangs deep into the material if Malfoy´s gauntlet.

“You have always been better with those bloody creatures than me, I guess.”, Malfoy mumbled.

You looked at him in surprise. For sure, you had always been gifted in handling plants, but you had never thought that Malfoy had paid attention to it.

“It´s not that hard, is it?”

“What, you think you are better than me, Gryffindor?”

“Well, obviously I am.”, you said, pointing at your already replanted geraniums.

“Seems like you have many talents, don’t you?”, Malfoy asked with a smirk.

“Don’t take it too hard. I´m sure you got some things you´re not completely hopeless in as well.”

The grin on Malfoy´s face only grew wider.

“Trust me love, I´m a man with many talents.”

“Oh yeah?”, you teased him.

“Want me to show some of them to you? We could both benefit from this.”

“I´m sure this would be very interesting.”, you purred. “But you know, I´m not that much into disappointments.”

With that, you grabbed the fanged geranium that was still clinging on to Malfoy with a trained grip and pulled it away, placing it in its new pot.

“Oh, I´m sure it would be anything but disappointing. Just tell me what you want me to do love and I´ll do it the best way you have ever seen it being done.”

“There are so many things on my mind right now I would love to see you do. But for now, I would just be happy seeing you being able to handle your plants on your own.”

As you returned to your seat, after shooting a last glance to Malfoy who was fighting with the next geranium, you saw Hermione looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“What is it?”

“What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“Did you just… flirt? With Malfoy?”, your friend asked in a strange voice.

You looked at her in disbelief.

“Me? Flirting? With him? No way! Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just the way you looked at each other and the grinning and all that stuff.”

You shook your head vigorously.

“No one flirted with nobody. But just to make one thing clear. If one of us would be flirting with the other one, it would be him flirting with me! Not the other way around. As if I would be in need of such things. I still have standards!”

Hermione eyed you distrustfully, before nodding slowly.

“If you say so.”

The next week, you were still practising handling the fanged geraniums, which had by now grown a few centimetres, making it a lot more difficult to do so. You still managed to take care of them in the best way possible, earning not only some praise from Professor Sprout but also five points for your house.

But someone else still struggled to hold the plants in place. You glanced over to Malfoy, who frowned while trying to tame his geraniums. Unsuccessfully, of course. A giggle escaped your throat as you saw his fight with the plant, which strictly refused to do anything Malfoy had planned with it. When Malfoy heard your laugh and looked up, his gaze met yours and he raised an eyebrow questionably. But instead of making a quick-witted remark, you just looked away again, concentrating on your own plant.

The words Hermione had said to you in the last lesson in the greenhouse, had confused you more than you wanted to admit. You had always thought the bickering -that wasn’t just bickering anymore- with Malfoy was quite fun, but just because it entertained you. Or at least what you had thought before Hermione had asked you if you had been flirting with him. Because you had to admit, that for someone who wasn’t involved in whatever the thing that was going on between Malfoy and you was called, the idea that something was going on between the two of you wasn’t that far-fetched, considering how much time and energy you were willing to put into the other one. But you had always thought that at least your best friend knew that nothing was going on between the two of you, except for the fact that you just couldn’t stand each other. Because there was nothing more, was there? But still, for some reason, Hermione´s words were still echoing in your head, making you react irritated any time Malfoy was trying to call you out once more, which was while you now tried your best to just avoid him.

This was also the reason, why after the lesson you quickly got out of the greenhouse, without shooting the Slytherin boy still fighting with his plant another glace and headed towards the castle with your friends. It had been the last lesson of the day and you couldn’t wait to get to the common room to let yourself fall onto one of the couches and relax.

But as you had nearly reached the castle, you noticed, that in the hurry to get out of the greenhouse as soon as possible, you had forgotten your notes there. That’s why you quickly told your friends to save you one of the good seats in front of the fireplace and headed back to the greenhouse.

It had already gotten quiet here, since all the students had left and Professor Sprout was working in one of the other houses, taking care of the more complex plants, which weren’t made for students to take care of.

But just as you wanted to open the door, you heard someone cursing behind it. You frowned as you saw a shadow moving behind the frosted glass. You had expected to be on your own, but obviously, this wasn’t the case. However, you still needed your notes, so you opened up the door.

As the door swung open, the gaze of the person inside shot up. They seemed to be just as surprised as you, someone was still here, regarding to the startled look on their face. But then again, probably not as surprised as you, because, while for you it wasn’t that unusual to visit the greenhouses even after class, for Draco Malfoy it was for sure.

When he realized who was standing in front of him, the surprise on his face was replaced by a grin, making your heart for some reason jump.

“(Y/l/n), come to join me?”, he asked, while leaning against the table behind him, looking unfairly good like this.

For a moment you just stared at him, but then you remembered why you got here in the first place.

“Just forgot my notes.”, you mumbled.

You took a deep breath and entered the room, heading towards where you suspected the missing booklet. You felt Malfoy´s gaze following you, making your face for some reason heat up. Luckily, you found it quickly and wanted to turn around again, leaving the house without interacting with Malfoy any further. But the boy had different plans.

“You already want to leave again.”

You just gave him a short nod.

“C´mon (Y/n), it´s just the two of us. Why don’t you just stay a little longer and accompany me?”

When he called you by your first name, your heart stopped. He had never done so before. But for some reason, it still felt familiar to you. It felt right like this. You slightly shook your head as if you tried to get rid of the strange feeling building up inside you. Whatever was wrong with you, you had to get it under control again as soon as possible, so you wouldn’t make yourself a fool in front of Draco. Malfoy. You meant Malfoy of course.

“Still have homework to do.”, you mumbled, waving your notes as a confirmation.

“Don’t be such a tease (Y/n). I know you would rather spend your time here with me.”

“I really don’t have any time for your games right now.”, you snapped, sounding harsher than you had intended.

Malfoy seemed to notice the change in your voice because his changed as well when he spoke up again.

“You don’t have to. I just thought… I really could use your help but if you got something else to do…” It was strange to hear him talking like this. He almost sounded insecure as his voice got lost in the last sentence.

You knew that you should just leave like you had intended to, but for some reason, you didn’t. For some reason, you turned around and looked at the boy on the other side of the room. And for the first time since you realized who was in this room with you, you really looked at him. Malfoy was standing behind a table with some plant pots in front of him. It looked more like a battlefield than a greenhouse. From what you could see, he had tried his luck with the fanged geraniums once more, which had obviously been a worthy opponent.

“What is it?”, you asked the boy, as you stepped closer, justifying your readiness to help with the argument that Professor Sprout would probably get a heart attack if she would see what Malfoy had done to her precious plants.

“I wanted to practice with those bloody beasts once more, but it seems like I still don’t have as much talent as you.”

While he was talking, he raised his right hand, showing you some bitemarks, the fangs of the plants had left behind. You narrowed your eyes.

“What happened to your gauntlet?”, you asked.

“Forgot it.”, Malfoy mumbled.

You could see his cheeks turning slightly pink as he confessed his mistake. You felt a warmth flushing over you and you mentally slapped yourself as you caught yourself thinking that he just looked adorable, the way he was standing there, avoiding your gaze in embarrassment.

You sighed.

“Let´s take care of your hand first and then the plants.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement.

You knew Professor Sprout had some tinctures in her desk, some with antidotes for the poisonous plants and some antiseptic. Luckily, fanged geraniums weren’t poisonous, but to make sure the wound wouldn’t infect, you still pulled out the antiseptic.

“Show me your hand please.”, you said.

Malfoy did as you told him. When you took his large hand in your smaller one, it felt like an electric shock running through your body and you had to get a grip on yourself not to pull away again. You carefully dabbed some of the liquid onto the wound, making Malfoy hiss through gritted teeth.

“Careful!”

“I am.”, you responded. “It´s not my fault you are so stupid. Now you have to face the consequences.”

“If the consequences are a pretty girl taking care of me, I might have to act stupid more often.”

When you looked up, you saw Malfoy grinning down at you, making your heart flutter in your chest once more. You could have gotten lost in the way he was looking at you, the fact he was so close to you that you could smell through all the flowers around you his cologne and feel the warmth of his hand in yours. But you knew you couldn’t. You knew for him, all of this was just a joke. And so it was for you. You didn’t actually care about each other. That’s how it was supposed to be. But as you stared up at him smiling down at you, you could have sworn that, whatever was going on here, was real. But you knew it wasn’t, at least for him, and you wouldn’t be so stupid to show him that by now, you may or may not have some doubts about whether or not you hated the boy in front of you actually as much as you always stated you did.

That’s why when you had finished sterilizing his wound, you quickly let go of Malfoy´s hand again and took a few steps backwards. You could have sworn he looked slightly disappointed, but that was probably just another thing your clouded brain wanted to make you think.

When you had stowed the medicine back in the desk again, you dedicated your attention to the plants. You quickly got into some kind of flow, as you effortlessly fixed the damage, Malfoy had done to them unintentionally. And for a moment you forgot, that you actually didn´t want to be here. Or more precisely didn´t want to be with Malfoy.

Said boy was now standing beside you, watching your movements closely. “You could help me with those too, you know?”, you told him, without taking your gaze from the work in front of you.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take the ones who are back in their pots and place them next to the others.”

Malfoy nodded and grinned at you.

“Anything for you princess.”

You couldn’t help the smile that crept on your face as he called you by this nickname.

“A princess wouldn’t have to the work on her own.”

“I would love to help you but I am afraid I…”

“…you would only make things worse.”, you ended the sentence.

“Right you are.”, Malfoy said.

You rolled your eyes.

“As if this would be something new.”

“And you are right once more.”, Malfoy said, making the smile on your face only widen.

You put the last geranium back in her pot and looked up at the boy.

“You look really pretty when you smile, you know that?”, he told you out of the blue.

“Says you.”, you grinned, trying to hide the blush that crept on your face at his words.

“So you think I´m pretty?”, Malfoy teased you.

“You think I am?”, you returned, making him chuckle.

“Only when you smile.”, he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I´ll still take that as a compliment.”

“It was one.”, Malfoy responded.

The blush on your cheeks only deepened.

“Then thanks, I guess.”, you mumbled.

Then you remained silent for a moment.

“Why were you even in here?”, you asked to release the strange tension in the air.

“Told you. To practice.”

“Yeah, but why? Did Professor Sprout told you to? Because you´re such a disaster?”

“No, it was for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“For me?”

“You know everything I do is for you.” Even though his voice sounded genuine, you saw the mocking smile on his face. “And you said you had a lot of things on your mind you want to see me do after I can tame those beasts.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s how I understood it.”

Even though you knew that Malfoy was just making fun of you, the mere thought of him actually practising here for you after class, just to impress you, made the warm feeling inside you return. But then again you knew, that the chances he had some serious intentions with you were close to zero. Actually, not only close; they were zero.

You looked at the boy in front of you, who returned your gaze. Suddenly, Malfoy took a step so that he was standing right in front of you, raising his hand, as if he wanted to touch your face.

As a reflex, you took a step back, leaving both of you embarrassed.

“I… I didn’t mean to… You got some dirt right there.”

With his finger he tapped at his own cheek, glancing at you shyly, before looking at the ground.

“Oh.”

You didn’t quite know what to say.

“Just thought I´d let you know.”

“Yes, thanks.”

With your own hand, you rubbed over your face, right where you suspected the stain that had caused this uncomfortable moment.

“Is it gone?”

Malfoy tore his gaze apart from the ground and looked at you again. Then he shook his head.

“No, it´s still there.”

“Here?”

“No, like…”

“Like this?”

“A little bit more to the right…. No from my point of view.”

“Gone?”

“No.”

“Would you…?”

Malfoy nodded and took a step toward you once more. And this time, you didn’t shy away.

His thumb gently rubbed over your cheekbone, making you shiver. You couldn’t help but close your eyes fluttery at his gentle touch.

“Now it´s gone.”, Malfoy said, his voice sounding a bit huskier than usual.

You cleared your throat.

“Well, thanks.”

His eyes started to glisten again as he grinned at you.

“My pleasure.”

You sighed.

“I bet it was.”

“You have no idea.”, he chuckled.

“Probably there wasn’t even dirt there. You just did this to put me off my stride, didn’t you?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Put you off your stride.”

You cursed yourself for letting your guard down, even if it had been only for a few seconds.

“Don’t you dare to pride yourself on that Malfoy. Only because you annoy me that much.”

“Not as much as you annoy me.” “Wanna bet?”

“I will win.”

“You think so? Well, I don’t. Because you are the most annoying and unlikable and selfish person I have ever…”

But whatever you had wanted to say was cut off by some surprisingly soft lips pressing on yours. After the moment of surprise had passed, you gave in and melted into the kiss, forgetting all those -probably not very nice- things you had wanted to call the boy, who now held you close.

When you pulled away, panting heavily, you saw the blond guy grinning down at you.

“I am sorry love. I don’t think I have caught the last sentence.”

“You are unbelievable.”, you mumbled.

“I know, but I don’t think that was quite what you intended to say, was it?”

“Don’t wanna risk repeating that.”

“Why´s that?”

“Who knows if you will kiss me again then.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“Would that be so bad?”, he asked.

Even though his tone was jokingly, you could hear some serious concern in his voice, as if he wasn’t quite sure about the consequences of his own actions yet.

“Never said that.”

Malfoy´s grin only grew wider.

“Well, if you want to repeat this, you just have to ask.”

“If this is some sick joke of yours again…”

“No joke.”, Malfoy interrupted you quickly. “I want this. Well, only if you do so as well of course.”

You paused as if you had to think about it for a moment.

“I might have to try this kissing thing once more first I guess.”

Malfoy smiled as he brushed some loose strands of hair out of your face.

“As often as you want love.”

And this time, the kiss was softer and when you felt his lips moving against yours, it felt as if everything that had happened between the two of you ever since you knew each other had led to this moment.

“I always thought you were doing this just to annoy me.”, you mumbled against his lips, as the boy in front of you traced the features of your face with his fingers.

“I did.”, he admitted. “But only because you looked so cute when you were mad at me.”

“Just so you know, no girl likes it to be called cute when she´s mad.”

Malfoy placed a kiss on your forehead.

“I don´t care about all girls. I only care about you. And it´s not my fault you look so adorable when you were rambling about how much you hate me.”

“What would you say if I would call you cute when you are mad at me?”, you asked him.

“As if I could ever be mad at you.”

“Draco, I´m serious.”, you giggled.

But Draco just grinned at you cheekily.

“So we´re on a first name basis now?”

“Don’t get this wrong. I still don’t like you. And besides, you are distracting from the main topic.”

“I don’t want you to like me., I want you to love me.”

You looked at him in surprise. Now he had finally managed to distract you completely. Draco looked slightly embarrassed at his confessions, still, he returned your gaze.

“If you think you could.”, he added.

You smiled.

“I know I can.”

“How´s that?”

“I already do.”

Draco pulled you in a kiss once more.

“I love you.”, he whispered.

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @xodracomalfoyxo @marigold-morelli @writingwitch007 @army24--7 @lbhmoon @cappgyuccino

[house-of-unknown-horrors]

The Poor Dear Boy

As I step out of my car, I hear it again. It’s just a whisper, but I swear I can hear it.

            “Oh, the poor boy.” I can’t quite pin down where it’s coming from. Perhaps farther in the woods? But it can’t be too far, can it? After all, it’s only a whisper.

            But there’s no one else here. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me? It has been a long day. I’ve been driving for hours now, and the sun disappeared hours ago.

            I hear it again. “The poor, dear boy.” It sounds sad, but not quite mournful. I made up my mind. Whoever it is, they’re probably in need of help, so I set off to find them. “The poor, poor boy!” But it’s hard to pin down the direction of the whispery cry. I grab the flashlight from the glovebox of my car, and the first aid kit from the trunk, just in case. “Oh, the poor boy. The poor, dear boy!” Left, maybe, I think. So, I set off.

            After a while of wandering, I find myself deeper in the woods. There’s still no sign of anyone, and I can hardly see the moon through the trees overhead. I hear it again.

            “The poor, beloved boy.” Closer, I think, but still not there. At this point, I think it might just be the trees in the wind. Though it’s weird they should make that sound. I stumble a bit over a tree root, but regain my footing. I thought I saw something in the beam of the light, but it’s gone now. A deer, out for a nighttime stroll, probably. “Oh, the poor, sweet boy!” I keep walking, though I’m starting to wonder why.

            I check my watch. Midnight. I’ve been up for nearly 18 hours, and I still haven’t found anything, though I still hear the sad cries. “The poor, misfortunate boy!” I look around, trying to remember which way the road was, but I strayed from the footpath a while ago, and all the trees look the same. I pick a direction and start heading towards what I hope is my car. The beam of my light shines through branches, making movement where there is none.  I’m starting to get a bit jumpy, but then again, I’m tired.

            I keep walking, even on the uneven terrain. Hoping my car isn’t too far. As the ground starts to decline, I slip on a rock and fall. My flashlight flies out of my hand and hits the ground with a resounding thump. It’s a good thing it’s a rugged one, I think as I get up and brush myself off. I examine myself for injuries. Scraped elbows and a bruised shin, but otherwise fine. I grab the first aid kit from the ground and open it up to start cleaning the scrapes, but then I see something in the fallen light.

            She stares at me, droopy eyes and sunken skin. Sallow and pale. Long hair a tangled mess, but swept out of her face. Tattered dress blowing in the faint breeze. “Won’t you help the poor boy? The poor dear boy?” She asks, but her mouth doesn’t move. Everything feels off.

            I run.

            She doesn’t move.

            I stumble over the uneven ground, tripping in the darkness, fear gnawing at my back. I keep running until the gnawing fear stops, then look around. It’s pitch black, and I’m hopelessly lost without my flashlight. As I turn around, I hear her again. “Oh, please won’t you help the poor, dear boy!” I start running again, aimlessly. I think I see a cave in the distance. I might be able to hide there. Making a split-second decision, I run inside and hide behind a stalagmite. I try to slow my panicked breathing. Perhaps I should sleep here and wait until morning, if the thing doesn’t find me first. I hear something at the cave entrance. Dripping water, maybe? But I’m not so sure. I peek around my hiding space to the front of the cave. Nothing. I turn back around, back to the rock, and freeze. “I’ll take you to the poor boy. The poor, dear boy. Will you help the poor, beloved boy? The poor, unfortunate boy?”

---===+++===---

            There’s a knock on her front door. She gets up, wraps a robe around her and puts on her slippers. It’s been 3 years now. She sighs and opens the door. It’s the police. There’s a grim look on the man’s face. She knew it was foolish to hold on to that hope for this long, but still, maybe it’s not all bad. Maybe she’s still… the officer at the door speaks.

            “Ma’am, sorry to disturb you so early, but it’s your daughter. We think we found her, but… Would you mind coming with us?” She nods, grabbing her coat from the hook next to the door, barely holding back her tears. As she gets in the car, she hopes this time, for once, it’s not her. Please, don’t let it be her. They get to the morgue and the officer leads her inside. The mortician leads them to a table in a room and pulls back the sheets.

            Somewhere, deep in the forest, there’s a sad, un-mournful whisper. “Oh, the poor girl. The poor, dear girl.”

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[triptuckers]

Fix her - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing:  kaz brekker x reader Summary:  kaz sent you out to gather information, and you always return on time with the intel he needs. well, maybe not always. Warnings: angst, language, mentions of BLOOD, BRUISES, INJURIES, typical soc stuff, slight six of crows and crooked kingdom spoilers Word count:  2.2K A/N: hello my darlings it is I and I have read almost every book leigh bardugo has written in the past month. I am now hopelessly in love with jesper, kaz and nikolai. I'll be updating my character list soon! I still have a few wips but I don’t have any motivation / inspiration for those. so have my first kaz brekker x reader instead! enjoy reading :)

It was a rather easy job, really. Kaz had received word that the Dime Lions had an important meeting coming up. Because he always wanted to know what exactly was going on in the Barrel and with its gangs, he wanted someone to listen in on said meeting.

Normally, he would send Inej. She was the obvious choice when it came to gathering information. But she was still recovering from a rather nasty cut in her side, and so you had offered to go.

Inej insisted she could go. But all it took was you raising your eyebrows when she moved to sit up, only to wince and flop back down onto the bed. Though he didn’t quite like it, Kaz had assigned you to the job. 

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew there was something between you and Kaz. Neither of you had spoken about it. There were just a lot of lingering glances, smiles from you and what you think was almost a smile from Kaz, and you even had stolen his coat once when you had lost your own. He didn’t seem to mind though.

When you had left that evening to listen to the Dime Lions meeting from the shadows, Kaz had sent you a look that you knew all too well. He reserved it only for you. It was him telling you to be safe. You’d respond with a wink that basically meant always am.

The rest of the crows started a card game to pass the time as they waited for you to come back. They didn’t worry, you were always careful and are considered one of the most dangerous criminals in Ketterdam. They knew whatever happened, you could handle yourself.

But after Jesper had lost four rounds of card games, the tension began to rise between them. Most meetings typically didn’t last this long. Still, no one said anything as they started their fifth game. You would show up eventually, probably bringing valuable insight with you.

After two more games, there was still no sign of you. Nina was the first one to speak up.

‘She should have been back by now.’ she says, absently looking out the window into the dark street. 

‘Have a little faith, Zenik.’ says Kaz, though on the inside he was filled with worry. He shook it off and focused on the game again.

More than once he’d scolded himself for allowing you to get this close to him. For putting so much trust in you, especially after what happened the last time he’d really trusted someone. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he was drawn to you like Jespers trigger finger was to his revolvers. He couldn’t help it.

Still, he knew your skills. He knew you were smart, and a fighter. Whatever was going on with you out there, he had no doubt you’d show up at the door in a few moments, cheerfully announcing what good intel you’d gathered and wondering how many card games you’d missed.

But you still didn’t show. And one by one, they all lost their interest in the card game. They fell silent and looked out the window or fiddled with their empty glasses. The tension in the room grew. Until Kaz suddenly stood.

‘Finish the game.’ he says. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ says Jesper, getting up as well.

‘No.’ says Kaz, earning a frown from Jesper. ‘Just me.’ he says. And with that, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his cane and was out the door.

‘Right.’ says Jesper, sitting back down. ‘Anyone fancy another game? I have a feeling I’m gonna win this one.’

They played three more games. They were tired, and it was well past midnight. Still, none of them went upstairs to their rooms. Too anxious to play any more cards or to even have a normal conversation, they settled for silence and more drinks. 

Jesper was fiddling with his rings and bouncing his leg. Nina had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Matthias was trying to not look at Nina. And Wylan was attempting to build a house out of the cards. 

Finally, they heard the sound of the door opening. All of their heads shot up and turned to look who it was. 

Kaz stumbles awkwardly through the door, carrying you in his arms. Nina gasps softly and Jesper murmurs ‘Saints’ as their eyes land on your body. 

It’s bruised and bloody, and your eyes are shut. Was Kaz too late?

‘Clear the table!’ says Kaz loudly, limping toward it with you in his arms. 

Instantly, Matthias and Jesper seize the glasses and cards off the table as Wylan pulls some of the chairs back to make room. Kaz lays your beaten up body on the table and turns to Nina.

‘Help her.’ says Kaz.

But Nina is looking at you body, bruised and bloodied, nothing like the cheerful girl that buys her waffles and laughs as she teases Matthias. It’s almost impossible to find a spot on your body that doesn’t have a wound on it. There’s slashes from knives everywhere, bruising around your neck and the side of your face, and to top it off, blood is slowly leaking out of a bullet wound in your leg.

An expression of horror is written across Nina’s face, her hands pressed against her mouth. 

‘Nina.’ Kaz presses on. ‘I said help her.’

‘Kaz, I don’t think-’ stammers Nina. ‘Come on, fix her!’ says Kaz loudly, surprised of how much anxiety can be heard in his voice. Fix her, he thinks, because I need her to fix me.

‘I can try but-’ ‘Do it.’ says Kaz and then he turns away, he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Memories of Jordie flood over him, mingled with memories of you. Your laugh, how he fights his own smile every time you wink at him or send a flirty comment his way, the way you smell. How you look at him when he catches your eyes. 

Kaz shuts his eyes, attempting to drown the memories out. Taking deep breaths, he tries to focus on the voices behind him.

‘Jesper get the bullet out of her leg.’ says Nina. 

‘Just pull it out?’ questions Jesper.

‘Saints, you’re Grisha, Jesper, pull the fucking bullet out!’ says Nina in a loud voice laced with fear.

After a while of listening to Nina’s murmuring and instructions to others, Kaz finally turns back around to look at you. A wave of nausea hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard. 

Nina had treated most of the wounds, with Jesper’s help. But your entire body is still covered in bruises, and now bandages as well. Nina’s cleaned the dried blood off of your face, but your arms and legs are still covered with it. 

They’re all nervously looking at Kaz.

‘I don’t know if she’s going to-’

‘Don’t.’ says Kaz, interrupting her. He needed to think straight. He needed someone to help him focus. Normally, you’d be the one to do so. But you’re in no condition to softly talk to him to reassure him everything is going to be alright. He needed to be his own soothing voice tonight.

‘Matthias.’ he says. ‘Bring her up to my room. Nina, go with him, see if there’s anything else you can do for her. Jesper, get Inej up to speed. Wylan, clean this mess up before someone notices.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Kaz walks up the stairs to his floor. Several moments later, followed by Matthias, who is carrying you, and Nina and Jesper. Jesper disappears into Inej’ room, while Matthias and Nina continue to walk the stairs to get to Kaz’ floor. 

When they arrive, Matthias carefully places you on Kaz’ bed as he was instructed. For a while, the three of them look at you. Until Matthias and Nina go to their rooms as well, leaving Kaz alone with you.

None of them had questioned why he insisted Matthias brought you to his room and not your own. Of course, they were dying to find out exactly what was going on between you and Kaz, but they all knew tonight was not the night to push him.

As he looks at you, Kaz feels the strong urge to touch you. Lay his hand on your cheek, to see if it’s still warm. But he can’t. Instead, he merely pulls out a chair and sits down next to the bed. He lets his eyes travel over your body, wondering how much pain you’re in, and who the hell was responsible for it. 

He needed you to wake up. He needed you to tell him who did this so he could send his biggest most muscular members of the Dregs to them. Kaz wanted them to hurt the way they had hurt you. 

His mind is running at an alarming speed. But eventually, even Kaz can’t fight his tired body anymore, and he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position in his chair.

From that night on, he instructed that you shouldn’t be left alone. He doesn’t want you to wake up and realise you’re on your own. The next day, it’s business as usual. The members of the Dregs are coming and going like they always do. The familiar flow of people helps to take everyone’s mind off things, but as soon as they’re by your side, they remember. 

Nina had tried her best to heal you, but it still took you almost a week to wake up.

When you wake up, your first thought is that your entire body feels way heavier than it’s supposed to. You try to open your eyes but it’s like your eyelids are made of lead. After a couple more tries, you finally open them.

You take in the room, and realise it’s not your own. Kaz. 

Why would you be in Kaz’ room? Why aren’t you in your own room? And why does your body feel so damn heavy?

And then all of the memories flood back. Like a tsunami, they catch your breath in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You try to inhale deeply, but it’s like your throat is sealed shut. You start to panic when you notice you can’t breathe. 

Then a pair of hands land on your shoulders and gently push you back onto the bed. Whoever it is, is talking softly to you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. 

Then the voice yells out, but from much farther away, like they’re standing in the doorway, and not next to the bed.

‘Kaz! Nina! Get up here!’

It’s Jesper. 

You try to ask him what’s going on, but it’s still hard to breath normally. You try to focus on something else. Jesper’s voice trying to calm you down, his eyes looking into yours, but nothing’s helping. 

Then you hear a sound you know all too well. A familiar stumbling, of someone walking up the stairs with a cane. 

Seconds later, Kaz rushes into the room and roughly shoves Jesper away, taking his place next to the bed.

‘Who did this to you?’ he says. 

His voice is that familiar rasp, and normally you love it. But now it just makes your head hurt. You shut your eyes and softly shake your head, trying to drown the sound out. 

‘Y/N, who did this to you?’ says Kaz, more firmly this time.

‘Kaz.’ says Nina’s voice. ‘Let her rest. You can talk later.’ Nina’s voice is softer, more gentle than Kaz’. You try to focus on it as you open your eyes again.

Kaz is close. He looks down at you and you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. Was that a hint of worry you detected? You open your mouth to say something, but Kaz is faster.

‘Y/N, tell me who did this to you.’ says Kaz.

‘Couldn’t see their faces.’ you manage to say in a hoarse voice. Your throat feels dry and you start to cough. Immediately, Nina moves to get you a glass of water and helps you to drink it. 

‘Did you notice the way they moved? How they walked? Were they Dime Lions? Could you see any tattoos? What about scars? Clothing? Voices?’

Kaz keeps on firing questions at you, but you can’t focus on his words. Your head feels heavy and you feel your eyelids slowly closing again. 

‘Kaz.’ you say softly. ‘Tomorrow.’ 

You expect him to press on, to find out who did this to you. But instead, he looks at you and holds your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely nods at you. You know what it means. Despite his harsh voice and the million questions, he’s glad you’re safe. And the ones who did this to you will pay for it. He’ll make sure of it.

You offer a weak smile before closing your eyes, already drifting off. You hear two pairs of footsteps leave the room, and assume Nina stayed behind to check on you.

The chair next to you gets moved back and you hear how someone sits down in it. When you feel something brush against your fingers, you assume it’s Nina checking your pulse.

But then you feel a gloved thumb on the back of your hand. It slowly rubs over your skin. To most people it wouldn’t mean anything. But to you, it meant the world. A tiny smile reaches the corners of your mouth, as you fall asleep. 

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

okay okay could i request some nsfw with professor!techno giving a little extra praise to one of his students and asking to see them after class (presumably a bad grade of sort, but thats most certainty not the case). I love your writing by the way !! could i be <3 anon?? thank you so muchhh !!!! :DD

˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ welcome <3 anon ˚⸙͎۪۫⋆

im going fucking feral for this idea, thank you for gifting it to me. i- my mind went to dark academia!techno and i lost it. if y'all know me irl, you don't after this. also this techno fanart by EtecteraArt, if you don't have clear skin yet.

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒. ⚚ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫!𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨

pairing: professor!technoblade x fm!reader

± warnings: nsfw (minors dni), pure filth, professor/student, slight degradation, domination, minimal dialogue

It started out as shameless flirting for you. You’d wear the most revealing thing your closet held, crossing your legs and leaning over to pick up a pencil just so you could show him the curvature of your body. You’d tie your hair up or pull it away from your neck when you answered one of his questions, basking in the slight smirk painting his face as his eyes surveyed your movements. You chewed on the ends of your pens and wore a shade of lipstick you knew would draw in his attention. You were positive your fellow lecture members cast their eyes downward at you, believing he was giving you special treatment just because you toyed with him. 

You made sure to show him you knew what you were talking about and actively studying his assignments and works published by him. You were, in a word, hopelessly obsessed with Techno. This obsession led to his appraisal in class when you could fully grasp a more advanced concept he had posed. You didn’t even care about the other girls’ glared burning into your shoulder from behind you as he favored you over them. 

One day in particular, you came to class a bit earlier with a coffee for him in your hand. You stopped before entering, pressing your back against the outside wall beside the door as you heard a feminine voice cooing to him. You smugly enjoyed the tone of his voice as he countered their attempts to hit on him with a grace only a man like him could muster. He thanked the woman for coming in and told her that his office hours were open if she needed actual help on an assignment. You swiped your thumb across your bottom lip before smearing the hue of your lipstick against the white plastic lid of the coffee cup. It was barely noticeable, something only he would take note of. 

The woman exited the room, brushing your shoulder as she went past you. The two of you shared a look that could equate to two territorial wolves in a dispute. The only leverage you had was that he never shot you down, in fact, you noticed he usually enjoyed your under-the-collar comments. As you turned into the room, you noticed him lean back in his chair, running his fingers into his short pink hair and shutting his eyes slightly with a sigh. 

You chewed the corner of your cheek as you approached the lecture desk, his eyes prying open with a small smile as he spotted you. “Good morning, Professor,” you hummed, setting the coffee in front of him. He sent you a hint of a grateful look as students began to file into the room. You turned on your heel and walked to find your seat, swaying your hips slightly, only because you knew he was staring after you. 

As you settled in, you watched Techno bring the cup towards his mouth before his eyes darted to the edge of the lid. With the ghost of a smirk swirling into his expression, he looked up to make direct eye contact with you before pressing his lips to the spot and drinking from the cup. Your breath hitched, heat pulsing through your body at the slight gesture from him. You studied him as he swallowed, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips as if he were further savoring the mild taste of you from the lid; something an outsider wouldn’t have noticed. 

You clenched your thighs together as you thought about his rejection of other girl’s advances while now he was practically eye-fucking you from across the lecture hall. 

That lecture had been an hour and a half of agony. Your tongue wettened as he twisted a pen in his hand absent-mindedly as he lectured on Eros, his eyes surveying your reactions as he’d quietly roll the pen in his fingers. You weren’t sure how he could have such an effect on you without even touching you. You knew the other girls were squirming in their seats as he sat on the edge of his desk, leaning his elbows on his knees as he answered questions towards the end. 

All you wanted to do was get out of the lecture hall and do what you always did after his class: shower in cold water and plan your next phase of attack. 

Techno had other plans. 

He called out your name at the end of class, meeting your eyes as he instructed you to meet him for office hours. You hear someone whine next to you, nearly making you laugh as you agreed. 

And that’s how you found yourself, pulling the door shut to his office behind you. He dug into a folder on his desk, setting a copy of your latest essay in front of him. Your eyes raked down his arms as he pulled his gold-rimmed glasses on top of his head and leaned over his desk, muscle tightening against the rolled sleeves of his shirt. “Come take a look at this,” he stated. Your eyes darted to the red pen marks, his handwriting only scripting praise on the first page. You knew you aced that essay before you’d even turned it into him. 

You smirked to yourself, dropping your bag beside one of his client chairs and mimicking his stance, planting your hands in the space between his. The size of him dwarfed you, making your mind race vulgarly. This was always how it was, you invading his personal space and him teasing you to go further. “What am I looking at, Professor?” You quizzed sheepishly, feigning innocence. 

You leaned your weight on one of your hands, the fingers of the other tracing closer to his large hand. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you just barely close enough to him that you could feel his breath. Your cheeks flushed, goosebumps spreading over your body. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing?” He needled, voice dropping an octave to send heat straight to your core. 

You gulped, practically tasting him he was so close to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor. But I could learn,” you avowed; your words barely above a whisper. For a moment, you truly believed he would kiss you, his breath cascading over your face with sweet hints of mint and the coffee you’d bought him. 

His lips barely brushed against yours before he pulled away, sending fire to burn in your chest and your knees to turn to jelly. He stood back, his eyes dancing with a mocking ego, knowing he had you on a leash. He lowered into his seat, pressing his back against the leather of his chair, fingers tugging at his collar to undo a few buttons as he looked at your shocked and submissive frame. He chuckled darkly as he eyed you. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. You’re just a child,” he teased. 

You had half a mind to dig into your bag and sign over your ID to prove you were the opposite of his beratement. Instead, you let your breathing shallow, slowly walking around his desk. He tilted his head at you, watching you intently as you placed your hand on the back of his chair, and pushing him away from his desk. As you lowered to your knees, you allowed that hand to travel the length of his body. As your knees settled against the cold linoleum in front of him, you raked your nails down his thighs, making him chuckle softly, a sardonic expression flickering across his face. 

You sharpened your eye contact, your fingers nearly hooking around his belt loops. “Teach me then, Professor. Use me,” you practically begged, making Techno smirk, his hand moving to rest in the crook of your neck while the other supported his head. 

His fingers felt coarse against your skin, the feeling of him finally touching you nearly was enough to send you over the edge. You turned your head, pressing your lips to the inside of his wrist. “So needy. Like a lost puppy vying for my attention,” he mocked, gaze dancing from your lips to your eyes. “What would your boyfriend think of you like this? On your knees in front of a grown man.” His voice dripped with lust and restraint, yet he was completely calm and utterly in control. 

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, almost mimicking your gesture from earlier as if he’d pictured your actions with his coffee lid. “I don’t have a boyfriend, Professor. And if I did, I doubt he would taste as good as you,” you muttered, silently signing over your soul to him. 

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he debated what to do with you first. He pressed his thumb into your mouth, flattening your tongue with his finger pad. Your lips instantly closed around him, looking up at him with doe eyes. “Stop talking, pet,” he grumbled, the rest of his fingers angling your face closer to him and he leaned towards you. “If you’re going to beg like a toy, I’ll treat you like a toy,” he promised, making your heart flutter. 

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, only to wrap his hands around your throat, bringing your lips against his roughly. You moaned at the taste of him, wanting to swim against his tongue and give him your dying breath. He groaned into your mouth, kneading your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Techno tugged you to your feet, wrapping his hands around your thighs before pushing you on top of his desk. His hand slipped into your shirt, palming your breast while his other gripped at the flesh of your ass, pulling you closer to him as he ground his hips against yours. You tugged your hands through his soft hair, tugging slightly and savoring the moans he poured into your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to alleviate whatever distance there was between the two of you. 

Your fingers moved to skim down his toned body, unzipping his pants and palming his cock outside of his boxers. His lips moved to dig his teeth into your shoulder, muffling his groans of praise as he ground against your hand. You panted at the loss of his lips on yours, digging your nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply as he moaned your name. You were convinced you were trapped in one of your many daydreams involving him, but with each nip of his teeth sending a flush of pleasure to your core, you were reminded that he was in fact, about to ruin you. 

Techno pulled you off the desk, spinning you in his hold and bending you over the hardwood. You bit back a smirk as you heard him undo the rest of his zipper and discard his belt behind you. The anticipation of him made your knees shake as your hot breath drew clouds of moisture on his desk. His fingers pushed your skirt further up your hips, blunt nails dragging along the skin of your legs before gripping your hips. You felt him grind himself against your entrance, your mind already blurring with pleasure. He kicked your feet further apart. “God, I've wanted to do this for so long," he nearly growled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade before pushing himself into you. 

You moan, your body adjusting around his length, begging him for more. His hands gripped your hips, driving himself deeper into you, beginning an animalistic pace. You groaned out his name, one of his hands holding tightly onto your side to give himself more leverage. Your mind blurred, mouth hanging open slightly as your cheek was pressed firmly against the wood of his desk. 

Each of his thrusts sent a wave of pleasure coursing through your veins, as his deep, breathy moans hissed into your ear like a sinful symphony. His hand moved to thread his fingers through yours, giving you some kind of anchor as his large frame wreaked havoc on your body. You whimpered out moans of arousal with each of his movements. 

His teeth grazed against your neck again, dragging himself deeper into you. You picked your head up, reaching out one of your hands to grip the edge of the desk, hearing him chuckle behind you. His hand snaked around you to wrap around your neck, bringing you up a bit further as he pressed his lips to one of your flushed cheeks, probably basking in the beads of sweat dotting your hairline from his campaign. 

"Mark me," you begged. "I'm yours," you moaned, rolling your hips back against him. The satisfied moan that slithered from his lips sent goosebumps spreading against your skin. 

He dug his teeth into you, finger tightening around your neck and you knew the brushes he left would be enough of a sultry reminder to keep you wet for a week. 

He pulled you upward, pulling out of you only to put you back on his desk, pushing himself into you as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His lips melded against yours again, stealing your muttering of his name and replacing it with his hungry moans. 

You ground your hips into him, wrapping around him again as his lips moved to your neck, breath cold against the cold spots from his teeth previously and the thin sheen of sweat coating your skin. With the new angle and his hands digging into your back, your legs were beginning to shake, the tension he'd been binding was becoming too much to hold off. 

His hand tightened around your throat as if encouraging you to finish. He pulled your irritated lips towards him again, wanting to taste you as you went over the edge. 

After that day, you stopped dressing so provocatively. You could wear a turtleneck and padded jeans and you knew he'd still be looking. He knew what you looked like under those clothes: marked up from his teeth, quivering only for him. No longer was there shameless flirting, only glances that told you to wait for him after class. 

He was always hungry for you; whether it be in his car in a vacant lot, in his office to test his chair's range of movement, or in the bathroom of some random club you probably didn't have the qualifications to get into without him. It didn't matter, because he knew that you were his. 

You liked watching the other girls throw themselves at him like you had, mainly because he'd always praise you later with your lips around his cock. You were his favorite, his star student. In his eyes, you didn't hold a candle to the rest of them. 

[edie-baby]

Can we please have a smut with Lando where he’s never been that dominant before and decides to try it one evening

whiskey soaked cherries | lando norris smut

summary: Lando Norris decides one day that he'd like to try dominating his partner, and well, he's actually pretty good at it.

word count: 4541

warnings: swearing, smut; face sitting, choking, bound wrists, daddy + sir kink, hint of a breeding kink, aftercare

notes: i'm sorry this took so long, i kind of got carried away

There were always a few indicators when Lando Norris was thinking. It was a common occurrence, the man was an over-thinker till the end, yet it meant he never did anything without being sure. There were levels to his thinking moods however, and they usually gave away the true depth of his immersion in his brain.

Level one: glazed eyes, and slow reaction times. Often when you spoke to him during this time, it would take multiple seconds for him to even acknowledge that you had said something, the journey from his head to in front of you could take a while, but he was usually pretty easy to distract.

Level two: sitting completely still and not blinking. The first few times you saw him lost in thought like this, you were unnerved. He could stare at a spot on the floor for five minutes, unblinking, the only indicator of life being the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic breaths falling from his lips were reassuring in this state. You had noticed once that he was so lost in thought he didn’t breathe for multiple moments. Your head was against his chest, the subtle movements you had felt for many hours before that ceased, and after a few too many seconds, he gulped down a gasping breath. This level was usually reserved for racing thoughts, strategies and tracks all consuming within his chaotic brain.

Level three: mindlessly walking, parted lips, slow, laboured breaths. You had seen Lando like this only once, walking around his house for nearly an hour, never reacting to your voice, never stopping for longer than it took for him to pivot and turn back around at a dead-end hallway. The day after you saw him like this, he had asked you to move in with him.

Level four: laid still on the floor, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed, lights on. You had only heard of this Thinking Lando, Jon and Charlotte having caught him laid in offices or empty rooms on the floor, looking like a perfectly posed corpse. You questioned him about it, and he had never had a true answer for you, something about the rigidity of the floor was grounding whilst his closed eyes let him wander as far as he wished.

But level five, you weren’t entirely sure existed. So, when you arrived home after work one day to a completely dark house, curtains and blinds drawn with every source of light turned off or obscured, you were rightfully shit scared.

“Lando? Honey, I’m home!” You called, your voice wavering slightly as it bounced off the walls of the entryway, travelling through the house in eerie echoes.

“In the living room.” Lando replied, his voice oddly composed, and you began traversing though the house, avoiding walls and furniture from memory. You were tempted to use the flashlight on your phone to get an idea of what was going on, but figured you trusted your boyfriend enough.

“Hey baby, what’s with the lights?” Your voice was laced with confusion, eyes trying to find the silhouette of the man speaking from somewhere within the room, but you were completely lost.

“I’ve been thinking.” He simply replied, goosebumps erupting on your skin as his hot breath fanned on the back of your neck. You thought his voice had travelled from the other side of the living room, but there was right behind you. You tried leaning back, desperate for some contact in the makeshift sensory deprivation room you had found yourself in, but he was gone. You jumped when you felt his hand brush against your calf, his other hand tracing up the outside of your leg to your thigh. You sighed in relief, the barest of touches from him always made you feel alight with pleasure.

“You don’t usually think like this. What’s on your mind?” You asked, voice breathy as you felt the constantly moving palms on your legs, the skirt you had worn that day a barrier between where you really wanted him, and the rough calloused hands that left goosebumps in their wake. He didn’t dare move the hem of your skirt, choosing to roam over it with lazy strokes.

“I want to try something with you. But, I need your full consent, and we need ground rules.” Lando replied, the languid strokes turning to loving touches, the brief brush of his fingertips against a scar on your knee, the same fingers caressing a path down your calf to remove your shoes.

“You know I’d trust you to do anything. Anything you want to do, I consent to 100%.” Your voice was sure, strong and assured. You felt Lando’s fingers still for a bare moment, a long intake of air telling you Lando was revelling in the romantics of your words. He often did that when you spoke about your admiration for him, honey-sweet words warming his heart like nothing else.

“No, I need you to listen to this. I want your explicit consent.” Lando continued, his words firmer, causing anxiety to swirl in your stomach for a brief moment before you realised exactly who he was. It was Lando, your chaotic boyfriend who screamed instead of laughing. A man you had been hopelessly in love with for nearly three years, who treated you like a goddess, who worshipped you for your flaws as much as your perfections.

“Okay. So tell me.” You stated. There was no question, no anxiety, no confusion in your words. Because you knew this man like the back of your hand, and you knew he knew you just as well, if not better. His fingers, which had still been brushing against your skin like a whisper suddenly gripped into the skin of your thighs, a comforting presence as he prepared to let the words tumble from his lips.

“I want to be in charge. I want to have complete control over you. For you to submit to me. Be one hundred percent mine to do whatever I want to do. I want to tie you up, have you completely at my mercy. I want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re begging me to stop, that you can’t take it anymore. And then I’m going to give you one more, because I can, and because I get to decide what happens to you. I want to drive my cock into your pussy until tears of pleasure stain those gorgeous cheeks of yours. I want to spank you until you can no longer sit down. I want to wrap my hand around that little throat of yours until you see the stars I see in your eyes every day. I want to cover your body in marks, fingerprints, hickeys, bites, whatever I can to make sure everyone knows who the fuck you belong to. And after all that, I want to cum inside this pussy, because it’s mine and no one else’s.” Lando growled, his grip on your thighs wavering as he detailed his fantasy, one that you were all too happy to bring to life.

“Yes. I consent. To all of it. I’m yours Lando, and I trust you with every fibre of my being.” You spoke clearly, wanting him to hear just how willing you were to help him fulfill the dreams he had obviously been thinking of all day.

At your reassuring words, Lando surged forward, his eyes obviously more adjusted to the dark room than yours as he found your lips with ease, finally indulging you in your own desires of finally having his lips against yours after a day spent apart. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, an involuntary gasp leaving your mouth and allowing Lando’s tongue to move slowly against yours. His hands, still with a grip on your thighs, slid them apart, which allowed him to shuffle further forward on his knees.

His lips travelled to your neck, nipping, licking and sucking on the flesh that he knew would make you whimper. Your hands, previously resting on his muscled forearms, reached for the lamp next to you, your eyes desperate to see the hungry look you knew was plastered on his face. The warm light flickered on, bathing his tanned skin in rays of honey-gold that only served to make him look more like a God among men than he already seemed to you.

“Get up. Go to the bedroom. When I get there, I want you naked and spread on the bed for me. You’re at my mercy tonight, darling, so you best not disobey or there’ll be hell to pay.” Lando growled, the intrusion of the light having snapped the remaining thread that held the usually sweet, albeit passionate and hungry, man that you had been sleeping with for so long.

Your breath caught in your throat, the dominance Lando was showing shot heat and pleasure to your core in a way you had never experienced. You stood quickly, beginning a fast walk toward your shared bedroom. Charged nerves surged through your body when you heard Lando’s steps trailing behind you, your hands moving in a frenzy to rid the clothes covering the body Lando was about to devour. When you finally got into your room, you only had a black lace thong remaining, so you threw it across the room and dove onto the bed just in time for the shirtless Brit to appear in the doorway with an impressed look on his features.

“I’m surprised, and almost disappointed. I was sure I’d get to punish you tonight, but I guess I’ll have to leave that for another day. Look at you though, all laid out and ready for me like the needy little whore you are. I bet you can’t fucking wait to be wrapped around my cock, to be filled up with my cum and feel it drip down your thighs.” Lando’s words had you keening, your body almost curling in on itself as he spoke all the words, pressed all the buttons that you didn’t know you had. You already felt like you were dripping onto the sheets beneath your body, and from the way Lando’s eyes were transfixed on your pussy, you were sure he could confirm your hypothesis.

He started towards you, kicking himself off the door frame with a smirk that would make you jump his bones at any given moment. His gaze was predatory, planning all the different ways he could tear you apart and put you back together before you would be sobbing with pleasure, overstimulated to the point of pleasing pain. Lando stopped as his shins met the side of the bed, staring down at you like prey. You whimpered, this new dominant side of your boyfriend was ruining you, and you wished for it to never end.

“Please, Lando, touch me.” You whimpered, skin alight with anticipation and wanton lust, your hairs standing on end, waiting for the prickling feeling to dissipate with the touch of his skin against yours.

“Please Daddy. And I’ll decide when you get touched.” Lando growled, the title more of a command than a suggestion, and that alone had your body curling.

“I’m sorry Daddy.” The name tasted like whiskey soaked cherries on your tongue; all sweet and spicy, innocent and sensual, an invitation and an offering. A spark behind Lando’s eyes let you know exactly how much he liked the keening way you spoke, and in barely a moment, his body was covering yours.

Your legs already opened wide for him, allowing his hips to slot in right between your thighs, your wet core lining up with his denim covered cock, already straining against the material purely from words spoken and the way the light from the lamp in the corner made your pussy glisten with its juices. His hands beside your head caged you in, holding the weight of his torso and unbridled dominance from crushing you.

Your breath came out shaky, bottom lip quivering in anticipation of feeling his lips on yours, every muscle in your body working to keep you from launching upwards and taking exactly what you wanted. Lando granted those wishes, diving down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, the frustration he usually held back while fucking you finally manifesting itself as hot, fiery passion. He needed this release, and you were the perfect vessel to release into. Every nip of his teeth, stroke of his tongue and bare touch of his fingers against your naked skin, it was too much and not enough.

“I need you to tell me if you need me to stop, we need a safeword. Use it if I go too far, or if I hurt you, or if you just need a second. Because I don’t want to lose myself in you and not realise I’m doing something wrong.” Lando spoke, breathless from the head spinning kiss, and you almost cooed, there was really nothing Lando could do to you that would hurt you, and it was sweet that he still didn’t understand that fact, but you followed along for his peace of mind.

“Orange.” You replied, almost instantly. The colour was so deeply ingrained in your relationship that you felt it both fitting and comforting, and Lando agreed as he nodded along, repeating the word in his mind and tying alarm bells and stop signs to it.

“Good. Now sit on my face.”

“I’m sorry what?” You squeaked, the request having given you whiplash, and as you stared into Lando’s eyes, no hin of remorse or asking, you realised the man was dead fucking serious.

“Did I stutter?” Lando asked again, his eyes glaring at your face as you continued to try and process the last seventeen seconds, but when your body was flipped from lying comfortably against your mattress to straddling a muscled chest, you realised you’d have to be a lot quicker to keep up with Lando tonight.

“If I have to ask you one more time, you won’t like what happens.” Lando growled, the deep tones of his domineering voice filling the room and hanging heavily in the air. You looked down to his face, his chin barely five centimetres from your pussy, and decided it was now or fucking never. So you shuffled awkwardly up the bed, apparently too slow for Lando, because he hooked his arms around your thighs and dragged your body to exactly where he wanted it. Your dripping core suspended above him, his nose brushing your clit each time your thighs spasmed in your pleasure.

“Is this okay Daddy?” You whispered, your hands gripping the headboard in front of you like a lifeline. Lando’s entire body spasmed, his arms tensing around your thighs and pulling your wet cunt to his face just as a guttural moan tore from the depths of his chest, his arms shaking with the force of containing whatever beast had just been awoken inside of him.

Lando ate you out with a ferocity you had never expected a man to possess, his tongue lapped, tasted, prodded and fucked through your folds like a man starved. His nose brushed your clit every so often, jolting your hips and causing you to ride his face until a swift slap warmed your ass cheeks.

“Sorry Daddy.” You mumbled, embarrassment warming your cheeks as the pleasure built up much faster and harder than ever before. Lando slid one of his calloused digits into your cunt, his mouth moving to focus on your clit, sucking and licking at the bundle of nerves while you clenched around his fingers with a passion.

“You better not cum until I say you can.” Lando’s voice was muffled, but you understood exactly what he meant. Your whimper that followed made Lando chuckle, and you moaned as the vibrations and exhaled breath hit your core and made your entire body convulse, the pleasure was blinding, but your brain was fixated on not cumming until Lando allowed you to.

Your body was so hot with pleasure, your vision coated white to the point you didn’t know if your eyes were open or closed, and your perception of time had vanished long ago. Lando could have been eating you out for five minutes or five hours, you had no clue anymore, all you knew was that it felt so good, and it was Lando making you feel this way.

“You’re doing so good baby, fuck. If you keep making those sounds I might cum before you even touch me.” Lando’s voice brought you back to reality, as you had been so lost you didn’t realise you had been moaning, the sounds of pleasure verging on screams as you passed ‘about to cum’ and entered ‘about to pass out’.

“You make me feel so good Daddy. So fucking good, shit.” Your reply was garbled, moans and whimpers cutting off words. Lando hummed, his lips latching onto your clit and sucking exceptionally hard as his fingers curled just the right way, and you knew you were a goner.

“Cum now baby girl.” Lando mumbled, syllables lost to the flesh of your pussy, but you got the message. The relief that coated your body was like cold water on a hot summer day, drenching your screaming senses in a blanket of calm, your vision returning in flashes of colour, your ears ringing with high pitched screams, ones which you realised after a moment were your own sounds of pleasure. Lando continued his ministrations as you came down, prolonging your pleasure while you regained consciousness and became fully aware of what was happening around you.

Lando stopped, his eyes opening to see you already staring down at him in awe, and he helped you move from your position over his head to laying beside him on the bed, your skin already shining with a thin coat of sweat.

You looked over at your boyfriend, disbelief in your eyes as you stared at the wetness covering the bottom half of his face, and some of his neck. He looked smug as ever, a sliver of your young boyfriend shining through the dominant facade he had on tonight, but as soon as you started picking out the familiar pieces, his eyes turned cold again, the smirk being replaced with a tensed jaw. Your heart stopped for a moment, the one-eighty made your pussy flutter around nothing, and suddenly you were painfully aware of just how empty you felt.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, eyes wide and innocent, your bottom lip pouting as you looked up at Lando, hoping to run your hands across his chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the taut skin, to drag your nails across his thighs, dig your fingers into his skin as he fucks you.

“Do you want to try asking that again?” Lando replied, his tone almost patronising as he looked at you, practically vibrating with desperation to touch him. It filled him with unbelievable pride, to have you so wanting just to feel him, it stroked his ego more than winning any Grand Prix ever could.

“I’m sorry sir. Can I please touch you? I want to make you feel good too.” You whimpered, the new title falling from your lips naturally, and though he hadn’t answered you, or granted you permission to touch him, he pounced.

His lips collided with yours, sharing the taste of you in the kiss and you moaned at the sensation, your nails reaching up to claw at Lando’s back. His hands where everywhere, grabbing your tits with rough hands, flicking your nipples with calloused skin, gripping your hips with intent to bruise, desperate to leave the evidence of his claim on you. His lips traced the familiar path to your jaw, up to your ear where he sunk his teeth into the lobe, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

Except the sweet nothings tonight were anything but.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum. Watch it drip out of you and then fuck it back into you with my fingers. Gonna make you a mummy, huh? Have you walking around the paddock with my baby in you. That way everyone knows you’re mine and that I was the one that fucked you so good.” The filthy words being fed right into your ear, along with the strong grip on your hips and the rolling of Lando’s hips pressing his bulge into your core was going to make you go feral.

“Fuck me, sir. Put your baby in me please. Wanna be a mummy for you.” You purred, the words rolling off your tongue in waves that sent shivers down Lando’s spine. He leant back, sat back on his haunches as he took in the sight of your body, still trembling slightly from the powerful orgasm. He slowly undid his belt, your eyes trained on the movements his hands made, biting your lip as you got one step closer to seeing his cock, a sight you could and would never tire of. With his belt gripped tightly in his hands, Lando made a decision he would never regret.

He scooped your hands up in one of his, the other holding the belt, and positioned your hands above your head, fingers brushing against the headboard. He looped the belt through the wrought iron, fastening the leather around your hands tight enough to keep them there, but not tight enough to do any damage to you. You tugged on the restraints lightly, pouting when you found there wasn’t enough give to touch Lando while he fucked you into the mattress.

Lando gave the restraints a few investigative tugs, and when there was little movement and he was satisfied with the results, he leaned back, staring down at you yet again. You were starting to think he was getting more enjoyment out of just staring at you than anything else.

With heavy breathing and the occasional squeak of the headboard as you attempted to break free of the belt holding your wrists hostage, Lando finally began removing his sinfully tight black jeans. He pushed them down his legs with a carefree attitude, as though he had all the time in the world, whilst you were squirming around on the bed, desperate to get a look at, a hold of, a taste of what was hidden now by the thin black cotton that stretched over his painfully hard cock.

“If you keep squirming like that, I’ll tie your ankles next to your wrists and fuck you like that. Is that what you want?” Lando growled, pausing in his tantalising show of getting undressed to glare at you. You halted almost immediately, the image of Lando plowing into you while your wrists and ankles were bound together. You gulped, the vision was certainly tempting, however your pussy wouldn’t be able to take such a beating.

“No sir. I’m sorry sir.” You whimpered back, your words sent shocks of electricity through Lando’s body, and having abandoned his teasing display, he tore his underwear off and climbed onto your bed in a hurry.

He wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping a few times and letting out a shuddering sigh. His eyes cut to yours, a blazing fury warming them from the usual cool blue green to a warm green that made your pussy flutter. He slid the tip of his cock through your wet folds, biting his lower lip to contain the moans that were ready to fall past his lips. Your fists clenched around the belt, desperate for something to hold onto.

Lando thrust his hips into yours, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. You both moaned, the sweet relief of finally wrapping your velvety walls around his cock was overwhelming. Quite quickly, Lando set a punishing pace, his hips rolling out of you before snapping back to meet yours, his pubic bone putting delectable pressure on your clit, forcing moans out of your lips at an alarming rate.

His hands held a death grip on your hips, keeping your squirming body in its place while he used your body for his own pleasure. Your moans became louder, his hips forcing his cock deeper into your cunt, but Lando didn’t like that.

“You shut the fuck up and take my cock like a good little slut, yeah?” He spoke, his right hand reaching up to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing around the sides. The pressure only added to your mounting pleasure, Lando squeezing intermittently when you let out a particularly loud moan, reducing you to a pile of whimpers and pleas.

His hips began stuttering, the pleasure he was feeling overwhelming the perfect pace he had set. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him further into your hungry cunt, clenching around him like you were trying to pull his entire being into you. And maybe you were, if he kept this up, you were never going to let him out of you again.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” He whimpered, the first show of your usual Lando shining through, his hips moving with a renewed vigor. You couldn’t form words, his cock brushing against your g-spot with each thrust, forcing your body higher up the bed, your arms still bound above your head. The hand around your throat squeezed harder, and for a moment all you saw were stars, the pleasure of your second orgasm ripping through your body like a tidal wave. Each atom in your body was torn apart and stitched back together with the threads of Lando’s hot seed and rough hands.

Lando pulled out of you, watching his cum drip down your thighs for a moment before he jumped from the bed, hurrying into the ensuite as quickly as he could on shaky legs. You could hear the tap running, and after a few moments, he returned with a wet rag and your favourite lotion, leaving the bottle on the side table while he cleaned the mess between your thighs, becoming entranced with the sight for another moment before he finished up, tossing the dirty cloth into the ensuite. Lando crawled up the bed to you, undoing the belt that had begun to rub your wrists raw, and with your finally free hands, you cupped your boyfriend’s cheeks, pulling him into a sweet kiss to stop the steam train of thoughts inevitably running through his head.

With soft hands and caring eyes, Lando began rubbing the lotion onto your red wrists, kissing the skin briefly, then leaving another sweet kiss on your lips.

“Was that okay?” He whispered, insecurity rearing its head yet again, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the nervous look he was giving you.

“More than okay, baby. That was amazing. 10/10 would try again.” You giggled, caressing his shoulders with slow hands, grateful to finally be feeling his skin again.

“Well, I wouldn’t be mad at that. I have some ideas.” Lando replied, a cheeky lilt to his voice as he laid down beside you, pulling the covers up to cover you both.

“Oh, do you now? I’m all ears.”

[cryptidsnackpack]

Chapter One: The Present

Mirage x GN Reader; Apex Legend Reader; Fluffy fluff.

The tiny present sat accusing and abandoned on his bedside table. Damn it. It was Evelyn Witt’s birthday. A day that would have no more meaning to her in her current state. It meant the world to Witt though. He’d left in a rush, phone pressed to his ear, flapping his hand at your worried expression. He left for the nursing home in a rush. An echoing litany of “Uh huh. She’s calm now? I’m on my way. I’m on my way right now.” following him out the door. A compressed hiss and snick of the door’s locking mechanisms halted your feeble I’ll go with you.

Now you have to go. Present cradled against your ribcage you board the shuttle. Make small talk. Only one person recognizes you, a small blessing. The sun is slipping over the horizon before you make it to Whispering Glade. You’d been here once before with Witt, but never inside.

The receptionist smiles at you sweetly and when you press the nylon visitor tag against your chest her eyes light up in recognition.

“Oh!” You roll your shoulders, smile already in place. Yes, I do play in the Apex games. Yes, you can have a picture. Your practiced speech and smile is misplaced.

“You’re Elliott’s friend! I’ve seen you in some of the pictures in Mrs. Evelyn’s room. Come with me, I’ll take you to her.” She smiled like you two shared a secret, and she’d put a hell of a lot of emphasis on the word ‘friend’. She jabbed a finger into the comm pad and chirped that she was taking a birthday guest to Room 304.

Despite the conspiratorial looks she kept throwing at you and the neatly wrapped present, you would have been hopelessly lost without her. After taking two identical elevators to two identical wings, you ended up in a hallway that looked unsurprisingly identical to all the others you’d walked through.

“Here you are!” She ushered you into the room as if it held puppies that pooped credits and not the husk of a brilliant woman and her tragically dedicated son.  

The room was bright and cheerful. Every patch of wall was filled with vids cycling through several photo albums. Fresh cut flowers cluttered the bedside table in a clumsily painted vase. It evoked memories of your own handcrafted gifts created in a schoolhouse classroom. You would bet your last credit that if you tipped the vase over, you’d find Elliott’s initials carved into the clay bottom.

A flutter of movement from the corner distracted you from the vase, and Elliott crowded your field of view.

“Is everything alright? I didn’t get a notification-” Pulling out his phone he tapped on the screen a few times. As if that would jostle any missing correspondence loose.  

“Hey, did you know both you and your mom’s initials spell ‘EW’.” You said in the way of a greeting, lifting the present to eye level. Realization and relief warred on Elliott’s face and he carefully plucked the present from you.

“Mom, I want you to meet someone.” He wrapped a free hand around your waist and lightly shoved you toward the figure swaddled in an almost nauseating number of pastels. Evelyn Witt waved at you gently with a cake tipped fork.

“Oh, but we’ve met before.” She mumbled around a mouthful of cake. Elliott shot you an apologetic smile, full of tight lips and tired eyes.

“It’s nice to see you again Mrs. Witt.” You wink at Elliott and sat down in the cushy chair he vacated. “How’s the cake?” She was taking what had to be the smallest bites you’d ever seen.

She nodded and hummed approvingly, gesturing between Elliott and a small bakery box. Understanding the pantomime perfectly, he doled out a three-person sized piece of cake.

“Elliott there is no way I can finish this.” You looked up woefully from the behemoth portion of cake.

“I’ll eat whatever you don’t finish.” He sat at the foot of his mother’s bed, adjusting several pillows and a small blanket to cocoon her feet. He took great care to tuck the blanket around her ankles, making his mother look like a floral mummy from the chest down.

“How many pieces of cake have you had already?”

“One” He replied quickly, and just as quickly his mother corrected, “two”. Your laugh was more of a wheeze as it was squeezed out alongside a large chunk of cake.

The second time you almost choked on cake was when Mrs. Witt’s featherlight voice asked, “When is the wedding dear?” It was a simple question. One directed at you and Elliott. Her eyes seemed to grow ten times keener as they flicked between you two. You could hear Elliott’s eyebrows blast off into his hairline. You were coming to the unfortunate, yet unavoidable conclusion that your heart would forever live wedged behind you hyoid.

“Nonono. Mom when I said- y/n and I are- We. We uhm.” He was floundering, which you normally enjoyed.

“We haven’t set a date yet.” The lie slid out of your mouth like it had been rolled out on greased ball bearings. Your heart was now descending. It felt like a care package careening straight toward, what you assumed, was your rectum at maximum velocity.

“That’s right!” Elliott squeaked. “We haven’t even picked out a venue yet. Right y/n?” He looked relieved, so you supposed you were in the clear. At least he wasn’t frog marching you out by your ear, scolding you for telling his Alzheimer ridden mother a very big lie.

The remainder of the visit went by without a hitch. Mrs. Witt opened her present (a beautifully made charm bracelet) and Elliott made himself absolutely miserable on birthday cake. As Mrs. Witt began to nod off her nurse came in with a terrifyingly large container of medications. Elliott left his mother with a kiss on her forehead and soft whispers against her gray curls.

The harsh and unforgiving white cast of the interior lights fizzled into the neon glare of Solace City’s nightscape.

“Hey.” You bumped Elliott’s shoulder. “Why don’t we go to this bar I know? We’ll have to take a tram to get there, and the owner’s a bit of dick.” He opened his mouth to feign offense, but before he could you ploughed through.

“He is pretty great though, the owner I mean. Easy on the eyes. Likes to pretend he doesn’t care about anything. Kind of a mama’s boy though.” You were swept up into a non-threatening headlock.

“Wait, wait, wait. I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” You waved and gave a thumbs up to a concerned passerby. Elliott released his grip, and you took mock gulps of fume drenched air.

There was something unreadable about whatever emotions were clouding his face. Not for the first time you wished he came with a manual. Does your Elliott Witt have (insert facial expression here)? Join us on page 24 for our in-depth explanation.

“Thank you. For today. She won’t remember it by the morning, but it meant a lot to me.” No sarcasm, no deflection.

“Hey, what are friends for? You know, they do things like bombard their mom's room with pictures that could be misconstrued as couple photos, romantic even. Oh, or they tell their mom all about you.”

“Okay yeah, yep. I will pay you to stop talking.” He began to drag you by the arm to the nearest tram depot.

“Ooh! Maybe friend stuff like telling the receptionist about us. Did you mention that my eyes sparkle? That my smile is radiant? That I smell like dewdrops and orchids?”

Elliott stopped so abruptly you smashed into his back with an umph. Turning he cupped one hand to your cheek. Have his hands always been this big, or warm? They smell like cake. Your thoughts were becoming misty, unformed. Elliott was leaning very close to your face, his other hand reaching up to-

Flick the holy living shit out of your nose. You reeled back clutching your now throbbing nose.

“I will give you a five second head start Witt. Five. Seconds.”

You’d only ever seen him move that fast in the ring. His childlike cackle brushed passed your ears as you dodged through disgruntled city dwellers on their way home.

Two things were certain. He was headed to the Paradise Lounge, and you were going to beat him to it.

[ggidolsmuts]

Nymph(o) - (G)I-dle Yuqi

"Ugh, argh!”

You gasp as you stumble through the forest - you were supposed to gather up some dry wood for the campfire you were having with your friends, but you somehow got hopelessly lost. You curse yourself at forgetting that Google Maps is useless without a signal.

Stumbling through the forest you start panicking, your vision getting foggy, your throat dry, parched for water. You feel yourself begin to pass out, and you only hope that your friends realize you're missing before too long.

"Water!" You gasp in relief, seeing the fog clear over the still lake, tranquil with jade green lotus leaves floating on top. You crash through the bushes, tearing holes in your clothes as you get caught on the arms of the forest.

"No!" You trip over a branch, and your vision goes black as you hit the ground.

"Hi hi hi!" A cheery voice greets you, and you look up to find a beautiful young lady looking down on you with large round eyes. "What are you doing here? Are you here to play?"

"Hi umm..." You look around, "I'm lost, where am I?"

"This is Lake Yuqi, and I'm Yuqi, the nymph guarding it, the lake's named after me! You're here to play aren't you?" She leans even closer to you.

"No I'm not, I'm looking for my friends, can you show me the way back?"

"Yuqi wants friends too, play with me! You're a human right? I don't have a human friend, will you be my friend?"

"Uhh yes sure, but I can't stay to play, I have to find my friends, they'll be worried."

"What about me, won't you be worried about me?! I'll have no one to play with, you wouldn't want that would you?" She pouts cutely, but you spot her nails growing longer, almost turning into claws, and you gulp nervously.

"No, no of course not, sure I'll play with you." You figure it would be easier to play with her before having her help you. "What do you want to play?"

Your eyes open in shock when she presses her lips against yours, her tongue invading your mouth. Her nails run through your clothes, tearing your top to shreds. "Ooh, you look like a nice human!"

"Yuqi, what are you doing!"

"This is how humans play right? It's always one of you, and one of me, and they always get rid of this... layer. Oh, we should get rid of this too!" Her nails slash through your pants and boxers, giving you a new appreciation for the phrase "a close shave".

"Now my turn!"

Before you could protest the destruction of your clothes Yuqi's own clothing seems to melt away, revealing her petite nude body to you - she was small but curvy enough, everything in perfect proportion to her stature.

"Do you like my form? Ooh you do like!" She squeals happily as she notices your erection, getting up close to your cock and observing it curiously.

"Wait Yuqi!" You plant your hand and try to push yourself into a sitting position, only to find your arm... wet? Your jaw drops for two reasons: One, you are floating on water. Two, your cock is swimming within the warmth that is Yuqi's mouth, her tongue wrapping all over your shaft.

"We're floating?!" You shout before she interrupts you by making you moan, taking you deeper into her mouth.

"Of course we are! Now do you like this or not?" She licks your tip rapidly before popping off your cock once more. "I saw lots of them doing it, I guess you like it too?"

You can only nod mutely, too stunned by everything to even think properly.

"Good, what did they do next? Right!" Yuqi straddles you, and with a moan you feel yourself penetrate the nymph in one stroke - she was by far the tightest and wettest... person? Nymph? You've been in.

"Ooh this is nice, I see why humans like to play like this." She comments, and with a pleasurable mewl she begins bouncing on top of you, her small breasts jiggling with every drop of her hips on top of you. Splashes of water seem to echo in the still night, rippling outward from where she's connected to you.

This is insane

You think vaguely to yourself, but insanity doesn't feel that bad - in fact it feels fucking amazing with how tightly she is wrapped around you. You feel the give of the water beneath you whenever her hips crash into yours, and soon you realize you could thrust your hips up as Yuqi comes down on you, the water helping you push more powerfully into her, almost as if you were on a waterbed.

"Now you're enjoying yourself? Come on, play harder!" Yuqi demands, happy coos leaving her lips when she takes your shaft fully every time. "More more more!"

"Yuqi I'm going to cum!" You moan out, unable to handle her extreme tightness.

"Boo already? I saw other humans who could keep going for longer! Play with me more!"

"I can't!" You groan.

"I said, play with me more!" Her face lowered menacingly over yours, her nails turning to claws once more.

"Okay okay okay, can we change positions then?"

"Oh right, I think I've seen that. Like this?" Yuqi thankfully gets off you, getting on all fours on the water. "Or like this?" She gets on her back, spreading her arms and legs lewdly for you in the missionary position. "I think one of them did it like this?" She raises one leg up straight, her knee at her ear as she does a sideways split on the water.

"The first one is fine." You say quickly, wondering if you could run away while she has her back turned.

"If you run away I'll kill you." Yuqi calls out, as if reading your mind.

"How did you-" You fail to stop yourself before Yuqi turns around and smiles sadly.

"I had human friends before, but they don’t want to play and always try to run away. All they had to do was play with me, I even made them feel good, and they still ran away!" She flashes her claws once more. "You are not running away!"

"Okay I won't run away, I promise, but can you let me go after we play?"

"Deal, if you play with me until I'm tired then you can go."

"You promise?"

"Yes I promise, no backsies!" She gets on all fours again, wiggling her butt now. "Now come on and play with me!"

You gulp in apprehension but groan in pleasure as you press your head at and through her pussy, the tightness enveloping you once more. You slowly pump in and out of Yuqi, trying to set the pace of "play" so that you don't finish early, hopefully getting her off once first, if nymphs can even orgasm.

"Come on, more!" She whines, pushing herself back on you with every thrust. You reach one hand around her, reaching between her legs and rubbing her clit. "Ooh that feels really good, keep doing it!" With a sigh of relief you grit your teeth and work your fingers and hips overtime, trying to get her off before you reach your own orgasm.

"Something's building up!" Yuqi begins yelping as you frig her sensitive nub rapidly, and soon she is calling out her own building pleasure.

"Just let it go Yuqi!" You groan, your cock beginning to throb in time with her tightening walls. With a cry Yuqi starts quivering on you, ripples in the water bouncing from one end of the lake to the other as the pleasure blows through her petite body. Your climax overwhelms you similarly, sending your cum deep into her body. You collapse on top of her, staring at your pleasure-twisted expressions reflected in the water. Her eyes are shut temporarily, but soon reopen with a newfound joy.

"That was great, let's play again!"

"Yuqi wait!" You gasp, "I can't start playing again so quickly!" She pouts, so you quickly add. "Did you ever see a couple start playing again right after?"

"No but... I want to play again!"

"Okay, okay, let me show you how else to play." You lean her back on the water, her hair flowing on the surface. She arches involuntarily when you slide two fingers into her.

"That's nice too!"

"You can do it to yourself too next time."

"I can play with myself?"

"Of course you can."

"I'll try it next time, now move!" She squirms, trying to get your fingers to move in her. You oblige the nymph, scissoring your fingers inside her, she squeals in happy surprise as you move them all around in her, exposing her to the delights of the human body.

"Touch that again!" She gasps, and she coos happily when you find her sweet spot. "Do it do it do it do it do it!" Yuqi chants as you rapidly tap and rub on it.

"This spot is good too." You try to teach, but you're not sure if she hears you when you press your thumb to her clit, feeling her fluids rush over you as she arrives at another peak. When you pull your fingers out though, your hand is clean, as if you had simply just washed your hands. Also...

"Yuqi, where's my cum?"

"Your what?" She asks dreamily.

"When I cum I... released some liquid in you, where did it go?"

"Hm? Oh it was warm, I just absorbed it, why, did you want it back?"

"No no!" You reply hastily. "That's fine, I was just curious."

"Great, now play with me again!"

"Again? But-"

"Again! Can you try your tongue, I remember one of them did it with that."

"Umm sure." You get between her legs, and she immediately wraps her thighs around your head, pressing your face into her wetness. Strangely and interestingly, she smelled like... lotus flowers, and had no taste - it was like lapping water, so just like a cat you began lapping at Yuqi's slit, your tongue flicking rapidly over her fountain.

"That's kinda weird, but kinda nice, hmm." You hear her commenting to herself.

"Should I stop?" You briefly detach from her lips to ask her.

"No, keep going!" She pushes you back down, and you dutifully eat her. Unfortunately she wasn't feeling it, and she pulls your head off her in frustration.

"Wait, do this instead," She turns around and gets on all fours again. "Now put it in my ass!"

"Yuqi what?!" You gasp, shocked at the sudden dirty outburst.

"That's what I heard one of them shout, and then she began screaming when he did, I assume it feels good, it's this other hole right?" She points to her own puckered hole.

"Right, but it doesn't always feel good, it's not for everyone."

"Well I want to try! Do it!" She sees your half hard cock and tosses her hair back with one hand, looking at you seductively. "I want you to put it in my ass!" The look is enough to get you hard, and Yuqi giggles. "Wow I can't believe that worked!"

"You learn all the wrong things..." You grunt as you press against her tight hole, and surprisingly you shove yourself into her smoothly, with no sign of resistance from Yuqi.

"What, that wasn't painful at all, I feel stretched though."

"Well it hurts for normal humans, it takes a lot longer for them to adjust."

"Whatever, start moving!" You begin penetrating Yuqi's ass, your cock easily filling her backdoor with every thrust. Your hands go naturally to her squishy cheeks, and you grab a handful of her with every deep thrust, causing her to throw her head back. "Just keep doing that!"

"This?" You squeeze a cheek, and Yuqi moans gleefully, looking back and nodding at you. You take her advice and squeeze her with every thrust, feeling her ass grip your tighter the harder you squeeze. An idea strikes you, and you bend over Yuqi, your free hand reaching around to grab a jiggling breast.

"That's even better!" She whines happily, and with a hand on her butt and a hand on her breast you begin humping Yuqi's ass, both of you moaning loudly across the otherwise silent lake.

"Ah it's coming again!" She cries out, her hand finding the one on her breast and squeezing your hand, making you grope her even harder. Yuqi screams as she reaches her climax, and you can't help but go over with her, filling her ass with seed. You pull out of her and fall on your back, and sure enough nothing from you leaks out of her hole, your cum being absorbed by the nymph. Yuqi quickly flips to face you.

"I see why she was screaming, that was really good."

"Great, you're done playing now right, can I go?" You ask, still panting from your exertions.

"No, I want more!" Shit, at this rate she was going to kill you from fucking you too much rather than you running away.

"Here, let me show you how to play with yourself." You say, inviting her to sit between your legs. Yuqi does so eagerly, happy for more "playtime".

"One hand here," You place her hand over a breast. You place your own hand over it and squeeze, showing her how to knead and grope herself. Yuqi's a quick learner, and soon when you let go of her hand she is cupping and squeezing herself, switching between one and the other.

"You can also pinch this." She squeals when you pinch a stiff nipple, making her squirm against you as she does so.

"That's really nice!" She says in blissful surprise, and she begins playing with both nipples, soft moans escaping her as she does so. She looks back up at you, "Teach me more!"

You take her other hand and pull it down between her legs, having her rub her fingers over her slit, "That feels good too right?"

"Mmhmm." Yuqi gasps as she begins rubbing herself. "And then you did this right?" She slides a finger inside herself, shuddering as she does so. "That feels so good!"

"You are doing great, now try to find the spot you liked." She has no trouble doing that, and soon she is off to the races, one hand on a breast while the other plunges in and out of her pussy, the sound of sloshing water filling the air the still water rocking in time with Yuqi.

"Yes yes yes yes!" With a shrill cry she orgasms over her own fingers, her slick leaking out of her before seeming to disappear into the water. Yuqi takes a while to recover, and you breathe a sigh of relief, hoping that it means she is getting tired and will let you go.

"That was nice, thanks for teaching me!" She says brightly.

"No problem... so can I go? You must be tired." You say unconvincingly.

"I am, but you are big again!" You had gotten hard watching Yuqi masturbate herself in your lap, and now she was taking full advantage of it. Yuqi gets on her back, inviting you on top, and driven by your own lust you get back on top of her.

"Wait, one sec." To your surprise she puts her legs on your shoulders, allowing you to bend her flexible form almost in half. "What was the line again?" She looks cute as she ponders what she wanted to say, before changing expressions and looking up at you with needy eyes. "Fuck me hard daddy!"

"You really need to stop learning the wrong things!" You growl as you thrust into her roughly, your mind chiding yourself as she heightens your arousal even further with her lewd words. Your body does as she says, pounding her hard against the water, waves splashing over you as you saw in and out of her roughly.

"Oh god pound me harder!" Yuqi screams, the new position seemingly her favorite. She begins spewing all the dirty talk she's heard from couples at the lake, each one turning you on even more.

“Fuck you’re so big, so deep!” "You're stretching me out baby!" "Don't pull out, oh my god fill me!"

"Shut up..." You grunt, your hand going to her throat and trying to keep her quiet. It is pointless, you might as well have been squeezing water.

"Yes choke me daddy!"

In your own ecstasy you barely notice the waves crashing over the two of you - Yuqi's mouth drops open in a silent "O", her eyes closed tightly as she reaches her climax, gripping you tighter than ever.

"Fuck Yuqi- Urgh-" You feel her nails on your back, and your moan of release is drowned out by water suddenly filling your mouth. But your orgasm is still surging through your body, making you seize up - You can’t breathe! Water fills your lungs, your muscles still tensed from releasing your load. Your vision begins to go dark, and although you can still hear Yuqi scream ringing in your ears, her voice separately floats through your mind.

Thanks for playing with me today! I'll miss you, remember your favorite nymph Yuqi!

Your world goes black.

*HACK*

You spray water all over your friend standing over you, retching and coughing as you do so.

"Dude what the fuck!" He says, recoiling from you.

"Sorry, sorry!" You gasp, panting heavily for breath, looking dazedly at your friends' pale faces.

"Thank god you're alive man, we must have circled the lake like 10 times, I don't know how we missed you but I'm glad we found you." Your other friend says.

"Thanks, I’m glad too." You look down at yourself, only to find yourself completely dry and clothed, with nary a scratch on you. "What happened?"

"I don't know, you went missing, we looked all over to find you, only to find you lying here. We thought you drowned, but you’re dry? Did you fall asleep?" You shake your head. "Also your fly's undone."

Your other friend cracks up as you quickly zip yourself up. "Maybe you ran into the lake nympho!" You freeze and go pale.

"The what?"

"The lake nympho! Apparently there's a story about a beautiful girl around Lake Yuqi that takes young men and fucks them silly, and then they never return. It's just a myth, people end up getting lost like you did man, and well, shit happens."

"Huh, right..."

"Yeah, you should have asked one of us to come with you to get wood, it’s easy to get lost."

"Right, sorry."

"Anyways let's head back, we already got the fire started, you must be cold, go back and warm up."

You turn around to look at the lake once more, finding nothing at all - no fog, no lotus leaves, no Yuqi, just still water.

You make it back to camp with your friends, and after a quick dinner feign fatigue and retire to your tent, assuring your friends you were fine. You take off your clothes, examining yourself for any signs of... well anything, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.

You reach behind your neck, feeling a scratch under your fingertips. Oddly enough it feels wet, but it wasn’t blood when you look at your fingers. It was clear.

And it smelled like lotus.

A/N: Had this stupid crazy idea because I saw that picture set of hers (she looks so beautiful in it) so I ran with it, thank you for reading!

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

nugatory | p.jm. | drabble

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. taehyung)

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | angst | college!au

summary: Park Jimin is many things. Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt. Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend. Park Jimin is a good friend. Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker. Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

warnings: swearing + sexual situations (nudity, semi-public sexual acts in a car, fingering, penetrative sex) + possible allusions to some infidelity if you squint?

word count: 3.2 k

note: y’all. i couldn’t let butter!jimin keep ruining my life without acting out a bit, could i? this one started off as a pwp, but then i ended up combining it with a plot i had in my head for a while, and this turned into more plot and less porn, but. i’m okay with that, tbh. also! i’ve used one my older styles of writing (going back to 2016-ish) with this one. hope you all like it~ 🥺💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Park Jimin is many things.

He is an astoundingly handsome, cheerful – and yet somehow mysterious – psychology major that you shared Freshman year's communications class with. He is the only rich kid among the majority on campus that doesn't flaunt his wealth to scholarship kids like you. He is kind, helpful, generous – did you mention handsome? – perfectly athletic and perfectly aesthetic.

Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt.

He is also someone that gets excited at the prospect of claw machines at fairs. He is also someone that looks at the universe with galaxies in his eyes. He is also someone that doesn’t realize he will always be more exquisite than any art his best friend might ever create.

Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend.

He is the guy that stood next to Kim Taehyung when Taehyung asked you to the Freshman dance. He is the guy that told you Kim Taehyung has the most gigantic crush on you. He is the guy that set you up on the first of your many dates with Kim Taehyung.

Park Jimin is a good friend.

Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker.

Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

"You really don't have to worry about me, Jimin," you mumble, eyes flickering all over his face – you always tend to drink him up the best you can, whenever you can. “I know I stupidly called you here, but I was just in shock. I’m okay, now. I’ll be fine.”

"No, I do have to worry." His fingers thread through his hair, your eyes hopelessly follow. "This was stupid and reckless of Tae. I'm sure he'll come back to his senses soon."

You blink. Jimin really has absolutely no grasp of this situation. But he obviously thinks he knows everything, which is making this conversation progressively difficult.

(His muscles bulging beneath his jeans and the t-shirt he wears are a contributing factor in making this conversation difficult, too, you won't lie.)

You breathe out, partly to collect your thoughts, and partly because you've been inhaling too much of his heady cologne and it’s making you think about—

Things. 

It's making you think about things. That you should have no business thinking about. Because you and his best friend have been going on dates. The same best friend who is currently, as you speak, on a date with someone else. Alluding to the reason why you have called up Park Jimin to see you in a confused panic, after ten, at night, at your place.

"Taehyung – he, um. He didn't see us going anywhere. We'd been on nine dates, but… He said he didn't think I was actually as into him as he is into me. He didn't want to go on like that." 

Jimin’s lips part. His brows hike up. You shrug, forcing your gaze away from the gloss on his lips.

“It’s been that way for a while. We were barely even texting. I think he has concluded that I don’t like him like that.”

Jimin rests his forearm on the steering wheel, almost leaning over the center console to catch your gaze. "Do you?"

His eyes pull you in like always and you're lost, just staring into their depths, as your mind ceases to think up thoughts that don't involve you and him naked and tangled up with each other in—

"Sweetheart?"

Your intake of breath is sharp, short and cold. Your insides are just as warm, turning everything in your head into incomprehensible mush. "Y–y–yeah?"

"Are you into Taehyung the way he is into you?" he whispers, and you follow the shape of his lips as they move. “Because you must know, he’s liked for a whole semester.”

You lick your lips, mindlessly nod, and then reach out with a finger to trace his cupid's bow. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't even flinch. "What do you think?"

His warm breath washes over your fingertip as you press it against his lower lip. His body jolts when your nail rims the plush cushion. "I… think he's my bestest friend in the world and he's basically in love with you…"

You shake your head, and your other hand travels past the console to grip his thigh. Your nails dig in. His breath catches. "He's on a date with someone else, as we're speaking."

"I just—he was so into you, I thought you'd be good for each other." 

Past the cloud of, well, something incomprehensible, there is disappointment in Jimin's gaze. And that is how you know he means it. You shouldn't be surprised, really, because Park Jimin always means everything he does, he doesn't have a single conniving bone in his body, but you still are. Part of you has hoped against hope that he set you up with Taehyung to get closer to you, himself. Which – sounds like a really flawed plan and doesn't really make much sense, now that you think about it.

But you still hoped.

Now—

Now, though. Now you know otherwise.

"How can I be good for someone else when I have never even been good for me?" you don't know why you confessed to that, but the words just tumble out of you and you let them. "I'm a mess, Jimin," you whisper, accentuating your point by massaging his lower lip by your index finger. "I destroy people, and I nearly destroy myself in the process. I am an emotional and psychological train wreck. He's better off without me. Anybody would be better off without me."

Jimin grips your hand on his thigh with his own. “Not anybody,” he murmurs, and through his furrowed brows and muddled eyes, you catch an emotion you have been well acquainted with for years, now.

Longing.

Your heartbeat picks up as Jimin massages small circles on the back of your hand. You remove your other hand from his face.

“Yes, Jimin, anybody,” you say with conviction, even as you desperately hope for him to offer himself up as an alternative. “Everything is a wreck inside of my head. I can’t do relationships, I can’t even date someone without messing up.”

His pupils expand and his tongue flicks at his lower lip. His hand tightens in a grip on your other hand. His gorgeously bleached hair curl over the side of his head. "You don’t have to date, then.”

You scoff. “Taehyung would never go for—”

“I’m not talking about Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice comes out three octaves lower. “And you’re not talking about just anybody.”

You nearly stop breathing as he brings his free hand to your face, pushes a tendril of your hair behind your ear and traces a knuckle down the side of your face, your jaw, to hold your chin.

“You say you’re not good for you. Can you try to be good for me, then?" He pulls your face closer to his. “Would you let me save you from destroying yourself? Let me try to take care of the wreckage, hmm?”

Your body spasms when he reaches for the hand you’d retracted, pecks your finger before pulling it into his mouth. His tongue swirls, his teeth scrape and his eyes roll back as he sucks. He lets go with a pop. 

Boy, would you let him take care of whatever he wants.

"Can you, sweetheart? Can you be good for me?" He sounds like he’s at the brink of something, just teetering on the edge, waiting for you to flick a finger before he free-falls.

Well. You’ve been teetering for years now.

"I want to be.” You don’t sound like yourself when you speak.

And you don't sound like yourself when he pulls you on top of him. You don’t sound like yourself when your back hits the wheel, your thighs cage his, your hands instinctively twirl in his hair, and –

Your core presses up against his length. 

He's hard and straining against his tighter than sin jeans. You claw at his t-shirt. He takes it off in a swift, smooth motion — agile and rhythmic in everything he does.

You don’t feel like yourself when your eyes feast him. Because how could you ever get this lucky? How could you ever get to feel Park Jimin’s shirtless self beneath you? You had long since succumbed to your destiny of perishing in pining.

And yet, here you are.

You lean back to marvel at his toned, chiseled angles, you let your fingers smooth over every groove and crevice and line of sinew muscle you can reach. You trace his tight abdomen, nails scraping at the last of his eight-pack before veering towards his toned v-line. You shiver at the dark promises it leads to, looking up to meet his eye. And you shiver more when his feral gaze catches you.

Then he pulls you into a kiss and you're lost.

He tastes like stale coffee and breath mints and bad decisions –

He tastes delicious.

His tongue plunders your mouth, teeth bite into your lips—he pulls, pushes, drinks up, feasts. You throw your all into the kiss, meeting him in the middle with your tongue swirling with his, teeth latching on to suck at it. He groans into your mouth – all loud, and guttural and manly. And then he stops. Pulls away.

His wholly black eyes dig into yours. His lips are wet, swollen and bitten. You did that.

"You have to at least talk to him—"

"I have another important business to tend to, currently."

You grind against him and make your point. He bites down on his lip. His arms snake around your waist to cage you against him, he pulls you down on him. 

You don't recognize yourself when you moan.

Your shirt is off, your shorts are pulled down and your panties are pushed to a side—

"You can never tell him." Park Jimin glides two fingers over your wetness, making a bigger mess of you. "Never."

You don't intend to, because what you do with Park Jimin in your apartment's parking lot at eleven pm on a Saturday night is nobody's business but yours. 

His fingers part your entrance and slide in you abruptly, and you see stars. Your head tilts back on a long, drawn out moan, Jimin’s fingers picking up pace inside you. You rock on his hand, you claw at his arm, you desperately latch onto his shoulders and rest your forehead against his to ground yourself. He watches you with his half shuttered eyes threatening to eat you up whole. 

His lips press into yours, tongue swiping through your mouth, curling up behind your teeth – it's messy, it's sloppy, it's the most arousing kiss of your life.

His lips drag down the column of your neck, tongue licking at the sweat droplets quickly gathering above your collarbones, his fingers curl inside you, his teeth latch onto your shoulder.

You explode under his thumb's press against your clit and sob into his neck when he drags its nail over the sensitive bud. “Jimin, Jimin, too much~ ah!”

He presses some buttons in his fancy car and his seat inclines. He pulls you to the backseat with him. “You okay?” he breathes on your face, hovering inches above you.

“Never been better,” you truthfully breathe back, heart coiling in your chest at the radiant grin he rewards you with in response.

A blast of hot air hits your forehead, your thighs and your shins. You jump, realizing he has turned some sort of hot air blower on. “For privacy,” he says, gesturing to the rapidly fogging windows, and then flicks a switch to make the air stop.

You both gaze at each other. Your eyes flicker all over his face to save every last bit of it to memory. You self-consciously swallow when you see him do the same. “Jimin…”

He leans down to sponge a kiss to your sternum, and then your hips buck into his as his tongue licks a path on the wells of your breasts peeking above your bra. A breathless moan leaves you when he scrapes his teeth over your cloth covered nipple.

You both pause for a moment, wide eyes locking in surprise.

And then you’re ravenous.

He strips you bare when you tug at his belt, and you rush to return the favor. You struggle with getting his boxers past his plump ass as he grips onto your flesh, peppering bites down your hips, squeezes your boobs, licks at your nipples—

You grip him, warm and heavy, and glide your thumb over the leaking tip. His head falls into your nape, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “Jimin, ple~ase,” you moan.

He plucks out a golden foil from his wallet, meeting your eyes as he tears the packet and rolls the condom onto himself. 

Your hands are pinned next to your head in a flash, his tongue teases your pulse point, teeth toy with your earlobe, and you writhe in want under him, eyes watering at the sweet torture.

And then he fills you up with a single thrust.

You freeze on a gasp.

His hair hangs over his eyes, irises lost to the lust storming in his pupils, his mouth gapes open, his chest is heaving.

“You good?” His voice is deeper than the ocean.

You've never been more turned on in your life.

He hisses at your frantic nod. “Words.”

“Yes. Yes, oh my God, Jimin, move—”

He thrusts into you at an unforgiving pace. Your whole world literally tilts off its axis as he meets that spot inside of you, and your body wrings beneath him, twisting up to hold onto some buoy to ground you, but he is unrelenting even as you grip at his neck — his teeth encase his lower lip, brows furrow and eyelids flutter as he drives deep into you.

You groan at the sight, moving your hips to meet him. You rock with him, never catching your breath, and your nails just dig dig dig into his meaty back, drawing patterns all over the smooth, delicious surface.

Your release closes in on you, and you chase it with your mouth clamping onto Jimin’s neck, your eyes screwed shut as you groan into his skin, until—

He draws back, standing on his knees above you like goddamn Adonis in this goddamn huge SUV of his, and the sight of sweat droplets trailing down his neck, framing his pecs and racing down his tight abs has your whine of protest dying in your throat as you gawk. His lips are parted as he breathes, a couple of sweat soaked hair strands sticking to his brow, and his eyes — 

Oh God, his eyes have an animalistic gleam in them as he hooks his arms beneath your knees, and drags your hips to him.

You cry out when he enters you at this angle, every thrust pushing at what feels like your cervix, and the pleasure is so blinding it's almost painful. One of his hands maneuvers to your center, a finger rubbing at your clit, and you yelp out a distorted version of his name, completely unwarned when waves over waves of hot, sweet, toe curling climax crash into you.

Jimin chases you into completion, his broken moan of your name filtering to you through the post-orgasmic buzzing in your head. His lips connect with yours as he relaxes your legs. You both pant into each other's mouth after two, lethargic, sticky kisses.

Your sweaty bodies make a disgusting sound when you detach, and both of you scowl together, laughing when you catch each other’s expressions. You sit up on jelly legs, barely able to sit on your ass when your sensitive center protests. 

You both dress up in silence, although you don’t feel it to be awkward in the least.

You’re still mulling over how to frame in words what you have felt for him for nearly three years, how to tell him and even what to tell him when you’re such a relationship-phobe, when Jimin releases a long sigh.

You look up in surprise. That was not a contented sound. It was one of… was it defeat?

Jimin looks at you with a serious face.

Your heart plummets.

One of the many things that make up Park Jimin is also his brutal morality. And right now, you can see it in his face that he thinks he’s done something wrong. Your shoulders hunch up in subconscious defense — you will not say a word, you decide.

“Taehyung is my best friend in this entire world,” he begins, stomping firmly on any remaining embers of hope left in your chest. “He can never, ever, ever know this happened, okay?”

You give a numb nod.

“I’m sure he’ll come back around and try to talk to you again. If that happens, don’t feel like you owe me anything, okay?”

You look up to find Jimin’s eyes searching your face. He looks so soft and grave and sad, that it hurts to look at him. You look down and nod again.

“I — I feel like you two will happen, you know, when the time is finally right.” His words sound stiff. Practiced, even. “Don’t let this come in the way of that.”

Even though you decided you wouldn’t say anything, your mouth is nearly bubbling with too much to say, at this point. You take a deep breath. “And what if he doesn’t come back. What then, Jimin?”

Jimin looks at you with wide, clueless eyes. “He…will. At some point.”

“And what about until he comes back? Am I expected to wait around?”

Something crumples in his expressions. “No, of course not. You can do whatever you want. Even after he comes back, you don’t owe anybody anything.”

“Whatever I want, you say?” you ask him quietly, your heart thudding in your throat.

Jimin swallows, obviously catching on. “I mean…I guess?”

“You guess?”

He licks his lips and his gaze zeroes in on yours. “Whatever you want, yes. Certainly.”

“Great.” You take his acquiescence for what it is, and grab his wrist. “Okay, then. Until he comes back, right?”

Jimin nods, haltingly, gaze switching between your hand and your eyes. “Right.”

You feign a smile you don’t actually feel because something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This boy, you realize, deserves a lot more than being someone’s dirty little secret. He is Park Jimin, after all, a guy that is so many things that you could never run out of listing them and— 

Park Jimin is a gorgeous celestial metaphor in himself.

Because he may look at the universe with galaxies in his eyes, but he is your only galaxy, and all your stars shine at you through him when he smiles. 

Park Jimin is many things — but he is not the guy you want to just casually fuck.

But your pathetic self would take anything he would allow.

And so you pull his hand and stumble out of his SUV, sharing shy glances with him as you pull him with you up the stairs, all the way to your dorms.

Park Jimin is many things—

To you.

nugatory (adj.) – worth nothing or of little value.

[haik-choo]

how the haikyuu boys confess to you (on valentines day)

tsukishima:

For once, Tsukishima cares. He cares about your reaction, your words, your expression, your feelings (about him) -- just this once. It’s because of he pressure of your actions weighing down on his heart like an elephant on an orange that he plans. He made sure he got your favorite flowers, he has the specific type of desert that you like, he’s wearing the shirt he got when he thrifted with you for the first time -- the one that you said “makes him look really hot”-- and he’s at your door. He almost laughs at his reflection in windows of the shops he passed coming here, how pathetically in love he is, how hopelessly enraptured he is by you, a dork who bought him a mug with your face printed on it (”so you can see me every morning in college when you’re grumpy and won’t admit you miss me”). He rings the doorbell and knocks softly, hesitant, at the door. He hears a response come from inside the house and rapid foot steps approaching: He looks up while he’s waiting, pondering about if he’s really going to do this. He could always throw the bouquet of fragrant flowers and sweets down the railing and pretend he was bored and wanted to hang out; but when you fling open the door in your heart-pajamas, hair frizzy and sticking out everywhere, your face slack in shock at what he’s carrying, cheeks aflame and eyes glassy with a sheen of hope.... he decides it maybe isn’t such a bad idea to be so stupidly in love that he bought a bouquet the size of an elephants head.

“Do you wanna be my valentine, dumbass? If you say no this’ll be really fucking awkward. Please say yes.” 

atsumu:

He never planned on saying it. Hell, he never even wanted to hang out with you on valentines, afraid that the words he kept hidden within the trenches of his heart would surface, bubbling and tumbling clumsily out of his mouth. But your text at 9pm on february 14th ended with a little smiley face and he decided to throw his new year’s resolution of stopping hanging out with you everyday out the window. Your smile was too addicting. He knew what he was getting himself into: it was late at night and you were both laughing down the empty streets, the moon hidden and instead a sky freckled with stars hung above. It was too perfect. You were too perfect. All it took was a dumb joke (on his behalf) and your dumb, squawk-like laughter to cause his heart to freeze. He’d never experienced this feeling before, the feeling of his eyes catching onto one image, the image of your face contorted with happiness, his whole body stopping, arms loose by his side, pupils dilated so wide. The words never would have left his lips had he not been drunk on your laugh, for his sober conscious was much too afraid of the possibility of rejection, the fear that your eyes would flit uncomfortably to the side with stuttered words of a pathetic-apology filling the air, his ears, and his heart. But god, his stupid one-track-mind brain couldn’t stop his mouth from moving. He was too far gone, lost in you, that his stupid mouth just couldn’t keep still. 

“I love you, so much.”

sakusa: 

The countertops are littered with bowls of icing and leftover batter, to which sakusa scrunches his nose at. He forces you to clean them, and “clean them properly” while he finishes preparing the cookies to go into the oven. Sakusa feels content despite your loud voice and strange taste in music: for a long while he wondered why your presence both simultaneously calmed him down while sending his heart into a frenzy, but now he knows it’s because he’s caught in the web your love. He doesn’t really mind, honestly, in fact, it makes his heart warm and full. The amount of time he spends with you is shocking, and he does things with you that he does with no one else -- he thought his feelings were more than obvious. But when you glance at his cookie-shaping from your spot at the sink and laugh, saying “Sakusa! you’re really good at baking! your future lover is gonna be so happy” Sakusa can’t help but let his movements stop and eyes stare at you in disbelief. He doesn’t even bother to verbally reply, instead opting to reach over and flick your forehead and go back to putting the cookies in the oven. Your whine doesn’t go unnoticed (”what was that for?!”) but it goes unanswered. After the dishes are washed, and the cookies are living their last few moments in warmth, you and Sakusa lean against the counter, staring at the timer tick closer to 0:00. Out of the blue, your voice softly finds its way to his ears, “I’m so happy. I know you’re picky at who you let into your apartment -- i still don’t know why you let me in -- but, really, I’m so happy. Thanks for tolerating me!” Sakusa just stares. At your face, the curve of your eyelashes, the batter in your hair, the sad smile playing your lips -- and the words flow out effortlessly. Your head whips over to him, and he laughs. “You’re so hopeless, you know that?” and with that, the timer beeps.

“You know it’s you I’m in love with, right? Why else would I let you make a mess in my kitchen?”

sugawara:

He had made up his mind. It was a week before the day of love, and Sugawara had made up his mind. No longer could he pretend that what he was feeling was just friendship, no longer could he hide how he truly, genuinely felt. It makes him laugh, thinking about how he thought he could ignore his feelings and that ,miraculously, one day, they’d disappear into thin air. But now he’s at the rooftop on the school, a pink letter gripped tightly by his clammy hands, and he’s ready. Ready for your rejection, for your acceptance, for your tears, for anything. When he made up his mind a week ago about confessing, he’d also accepted all the possible outcomes. If loving you -- and telling you that he loved you -- meant that everything you two had would crumble right before his very eyes, then so be it. He couldn’t hold his heart back anymore. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day he spent wishing that you were his, and he was yours. Love was messy. Love could hurt. But the worst outcome of love is when you keep silent. Plus, if you shared his feelings, then he might just be the happiest man alive. So, when the heavy metal door of the rooftop opens, exposing your confused expression, and when the wind suddenly starts back up, flipping your hair all around like a dramatic scene from a romance film, Sugawara has his mind made up. Determinedly, swiftly, he stands up. His eyes are glazed with passion and confidence. Calmly, he sticks his hand out, the pink letter with drawn-on hearts and cursive handwriting filling the envelope. When you gently take the letter from him, realizing what this all means, and look back up at him, face flushed, his mouth opens. Sugawara had made up his mind.

“I can’t hide it anymore. I'm so in love with you, I think my heart might explode -- will you accept my feelings?” 

bokuto: 

Bokuto won’t lie -- it took him a while to understand what he was feeling was not normal. ‘Normal’ for friends is spending time together, laughing together, going over to one another’s house and drinking until late. It’s hugging each other sometimes (or a lot, if you’re Kuroo), it’s hoping you always have them by your side. But what he feels for you? it took Akaashi smacking him upside the head and explaining to him what his feelings meant for Bokuto to realize. What he felt for you, was not friendship. He wanted to wake up next to you, he wanted to be the only one who you went out on ‘friend-dates’ with, he wanted to feel your lips on his shoulder, cheeks, lips. He wanted to see you at the other end of an aisle someday, but he didn’t want to be the guest at the wedding. He wanted to protect you, even though you didn’t need protecting; he wanted to hold you, to  indulge in your warmth, to be the only one you held in his arms. He wanted to be buried next to you. “You’re in love with her, you dense idiot. God -- that’s not normal. I mean, do you want to kiss my cheek, be buried next to me?” Akaashi sighed out, Bokuto shook his head, no. “But you want to kiss them? Watch them grow old?” Bokuto shook his head, yes, but slowly. “Well, there’s your answer. Bokuto, you love them.” And that’s when everything clicked. That’s when the lightbulb flickered on, when his eyes widened. God, how dumb was he? And he’s letting you spend Valentine’s day alone? Without thinking, his hand reached for his phone, tapped on your contact (you were on speed-dial), and waited for your voice to ring through the speaker. “Yeah, what’s up, Ko?” He blurted out his words, almost insensitively, not realizing their true weight. The truth made his body feel light, and he couldn’t stop the bubbles of laughter that erupted from his throat -- he felt so stupid. How could he not have figured it out sooner? He didn’t even wait for your response before he started talking again (Akaashi nearly slammed his head on the table), which caused a small smile to break out on your face. Bokuto was so, so stupid. 

“I just realized i love you. Like, really, really, love you. Hold up -- is there a place we can meet up so I can tell you this face-to-face? Wait, where are you? I’ll meet you there! Oh, happy Valentine’s day, by the way!” 

[dailylangdon]

Ranger Boy // Stan Vogel

Warnings: Oral sex (fem receiving), dirty talk, death of mother mention, light depression talk,Stan being a fucking nerd...

Word Count: 2k

You’d really done it this time. The sun was getting low in the sky. All sorts of creepy crawlies and god knows what else rustled within the trees and grass. To top it all off, you were fucking lost.

Life had become too much. The stresses of the world had gotten to you, and you needed an escape. Just for an afternoon. Before she died, your mom had always said you spent too much time on that “damn phone of yours.” You thought perhaps she was right and decided to forgo it during your little excursion. 

So, without telling anyone, you drove about 30 minutes from home to the first national park you could find. To hike and be one with nature or some bullshit like that. You told yourself you’d only walk around for about an hour and then you could head home. But it started getting darker more quickly than you anticipated. And every tree and rock started to look the fucking same after a while. For all you knew, you were going in circles.

You trudged on, because what choice did you have? You gulped down the rest of your water, knowing that you were in danger of dehydrating. Maybe it was the fact that you were hopelessly lost, but these woods felt disconcerting. It felt like something was watching you.

You felt a bit lightheaded. Your stomach growled. Was this how you were going to die? A foolish girl alone in the woods? What a fucking cliche. Somehow it was fitting. It made you feel pathetic. This was a dumb idea. Instead of escaping your problems, you were stuck with your thoughts and had caused a whole new problem. 

With nothing else to do, you kicked a tree in frustration. It was a small reprieve from your worries. You kicked at patches of grass, making the dirt come up and fly everywhere. The small acts of violence towards nature almost felt therapeutic. Always one to take things a step too far, you punched the rough bark of the tree in front of you. 

“Son of a bitch!” You cradled your hand, inspecting your bloody knuckles.

“Serves you right for desecrating a national park like that,” a smooth accented voice said from behind you.

You whipped around, feeling your head swimming. A tall brunette man in some kind of uniform stood proudly, his hands on his hips. 

“Sorry,” you muttered. In your embarrassment, you tried to walk away. 

“You lost?” 

You turned around again. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looked amused. He chewed his gum and you could swear there was a twinkle in his piercing blue eyes. 

Letting out a sigh of frustration, you reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come with me,” he gestured towards the trees behind him. “My cabin is 5 minutes this way.”

/////////////////////////////////////////

You trudged behind the park ranger, your head practically hanging in shame. This brought back to mind the times you’d been sent to the principal’s office for cheating on a chemistry test or some other meaningless indiscretion. The man, whose name apparently was Stan, yammered on about how he should be giving you a fine for your actions.

“...But I suppose I’ll let it slide this time,” he turned and gave you a wink. 

A blush crept into your cheeks. “Thank you.”

A moment later, his cabin came into view. Before you could walk inside, he blocked the stairs. When you looked at him in confusion, he gestured to the water pump. 

“Oh,” you filled your empty water bottle. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Just doing my job. Come inside, Miss….?”

You told him your name after taking a few good chugs of water.

He repeated your name with a grin. “That’s lovely. Don’t drink that so fast. It’ll go straight through your kidneys.”

You barely waited for Stan to tell you to take a seat before you crashed down onto the couch. You leaned your head back and rested your eyes for a moment while you sipped the water from your bottle. The park ranger shuffled into another room. 

When you heard his footsteps return to the main room, you opened your eyes. He held something in a napkin. 

“You don’t have a nut allergy, do you?” He asked. 

“No?”

He shoved a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into your hands. You fixed your mouth to politely refuse, but there was an insistence in his blue eyes that told you there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. As you ate, he sat in the chair across from you.

After you finished half of the sandwich, you mumbled your thanks.

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Now that we’ve got some food in you, I need to ask you a few questions.”

You stiffened. Hadn’t he said you were off the hook for what happened in the woods? “Okay.”

“Have you told anyone that you were coming here?”

“No.”

“Do you know how long you were lost out there?”

“Not really. Maybe an hour. Or two.”

“Alright. Final question: what the fuck were you thinking?”

His sudden use of profanity and darkened tone startled you. “Excuse me?”

“It is incredibly dangerous to go anywhere without notifying someone. Especially in this park. No map, no idea what you were doing, a limited supply of water. You could have gotten yourself killed.”

You gaped at him. Who did this overgrown boy scout think he was? 

“I’m not really in the mood to be scolded,” you bit back. 

“Too bad,” he said. “There are things in those woods that would have been more than happy to find you. It’s lucky I found you first.” 

“Yeah. Lucky me,” you chuckled. “All your talk about danger. How do I know you aren’t like a serial killer or some shit? I’m sure everyone trusts a park ranger.”

“You’ve got quite an imagination, don’t you?” he said. “If you’re so untrusting, why are you in my cabin, eh?”

You sighed and shrugged. “At this point, I don’t really care. Being killed by a pompous park ranger would be an exciting end, I guess.”

He narrowed his eyes as he regarded you as you finished your sandwich. You fiddled with your bottle after finishing all of your water. You were about to ask if he could help you find your car so you could head home. 

“Anything you want to talk about?” His tone was suddenly softer.

“What are you? A therapist?” 

He shrugged. “I swore when I took this job that I’d look after the wellbeing of the park, the wildlife, and the park’s visitors. You fit in that last category, so this is just all in a day’s work.” 

You blinked. “You have nothing better to do than to hear me bitch about my problems?”

“Last I checked, the only disturbance in the woods was a silly girl punching some trees.”

“One tree. I punched one tree,” you said, holding your sore knuckles. “And, fine. Yeah, I’ll talk.”

And you surprised yourself by doing just that. You told Stan about your mom, your job, and every conceivable worry you had ever had. An even bigger surprise there were know-it-all interruptions from the Australian. He simply listened intently. 

You took a deep breath when you finally finished. 

“Christ,” he muttered.

“Is that all you have to say?” You chuckled. “No advice or anything?”

He shook his head. “That is a shit ton of problems. Nothing worth trying to die in the woods for.”

“I wasn’t trying to die,” you rolled your eyes. 

“I am sorry for it though,” he took hold of one of your hands. His crystal eyes shone with sincerity. “Did talking it out help even a bit?”

All you could think about was how warm his hand was. His touch sent an electric jolt through your body. 

“It did a bit. Thank you,” you said. “You know...You’re pretty cute when you’re not being such fucking boy scout.”

He still held your hand as he smirked. “You’re quite a looker when you’re not single-handedly destroying a national park.”

You rolled your eyes again. Before you could give another retort, he pulled you closer with the grip he had on your hand. Your lips crashed into his and he eased his tongue into your mouth. His kiss tasted like spearmint. You regained both of your hands and used them to tousle his soft, dark brown hair. He pulled away just enough to whisper against your lips.

“Can’t believe I’m kissing someone who was trying to demolish my park.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

He smirked. “Not unless you have a way of putting it out of my mind.”

You closed the gap between you both, teeth grazing against his full bottom lip. You lay down on the couch, pulling him on top of you. He sat up, straddling you, to unbutton his tan uniform shirt. 

“Mr. Park Ranger, sir,” You feigned innocence, “Is this the typical treatment for visitors of your park?”

“Only the hot ones,” He took off the white undershirt. 

He kissed you, trailing to your jawbone and nibbling a sensitive spot behind your ear. His hands crept to the hem of your shirt and he broke the kiss to take off the offending garment. 

“Not bad,” he murmured. “Not bad at all.”

He moved his attention to your cleavage, nipping and licking and sucking. No doubt your chest would be peppered with hickies by tomorrow.  When you arched your back to help him remove your bra, he wasted no time. His mouth found your left nipple, lightly nibbling it. He gave your right one a hard pinch with his forefinger and thumb.

“Shit!” You whined.

He released your nipple from his mouth. “What kind of ranger would I be if I didn’t punish you a bit for fucking with my park?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. Well, I don’t think that-oh!”

You lapsed into silence when he nipped at your right nipple. Your hands found his hair again as his lips traveled down your torso. You were practically pushing him in the direction you wanted.

He made quick work of yanking off your pants and underwear, tossing them across the room. His head lowered between your thighs, and his blue eyes shone up at you. His breath was hot against your wet cunt.

“Promise me you won’t attack the park again,” he said.

“I thought the point of this was to get your mind off of--ow!”

He had given you a solid thwack on the pussy with his large hand. He said nothing, only stared at you with that insufferable smirk plastered on his face.

You gritted your teeth, “I….Promise.”

“Atta girl,” he said. He stroked your slit with two of his long, slender fingers before replacing them with his tongue. He worked you open, slowly and surely. His warmth against yours was almost too much to bear. He slipped inside, tasting every inch of you. His hands held firmly onto your hips as he moved his attention to your clit. His tongue swirled around it before he sucked like his life depended on it. 

You felt your orgasm approaching, but before it could truly build, Stan pulled away. You whined, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

He stood, unbuckling his pants. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna leave you high and dry. Well...Maybe ‘dry’ isn’t the right word.” 

“Just shut up and fuck me already,” you said, hoping to come off as in charge rather than desperate. 

He stepped out of his pants and underwear. He palmed at his cock, which stood proud and ready. He situated himself between your open legs. To your relief and surprise, he offered no sarcastic comment as he split you open. 

He thrust shallowly into your dripping cunt, working his way within your depths. You moaned when he finally entirely sheathed himself inside of you. Each thrust was purposeful, and he hit your g spot every time. He kissed your neck again, biting at your collar bone. 

Before long, his thrusts became sporadic and jagged. He reached his hand between the two of you and skimmed his index finger around your clit. 

“You gonna cum with me?” He rasped in your ear. 

For once, you were speechless. All you could do was nod. 

His fingers eagerly rubbed against you as he pumped inside of you. The friction and excitement were enough to tumble you over the edge right as he filled you with his seed. 

You both were drenched with sweat. There wasn’t a sound but crickets chirping in the dark outside and the two of you panting with exhaustion. 

He rested his head in the crook of your neck. “You alright?”

“I’m doing pretty good,” you said. “I’m surprised you had that in you.”

“I don’t usually fuck visitors of my park. Especially ones that abuse park property and-”

“Dude, if you don’t shut the fuck up about the park, I swear….”

“Watch it. I could still fine you, you know?” He teased. 

You laughed and laid your head back. You had no idea what you had started, but you had a feeling you would be visiting this park more often from now on. 

----------------‐----------------------------

Stanny Boi Taglist

@wroteclassicaly

@slut4langdon

@instinctsxbaby

@pavlsvn

@confettucini

@dilligaf34

@littledemondani

@ramona-thorns

[crimsonophelia]

hello basil!!! i’m the anon that sent the original request of reader being a big dumb dumb and accidentally mailing their love letters to childe in liyue—i personally just wanted to tell you that i absolutely LOVED what you wrote and that i’m so happy and grateful you did my request justice. keep up the good work!!!

if you wouldn’t mind, could i request for a hurt/comfort angst with kaeya and a gn reader? the reader is a fellow knight of favonius that regularly gets dunked on by their friends for their crush on the cavalry captain—but every time their friends insist they confess to him, they joke that “sure, i’ll tell him when i die.” and then they actually nearly die.

while on a mission with kaeya, something terrible happens that seemingly pushes the reader to the brink of death. they’re in his arms and convinced they’re about to die, so with their “dying” breath, they tell kaeya that they’re in love with him before the world goes black.

but then they wake up. 👁 (you know the drill—what happens next is completely up to you!!!)

featuring: kaeya x gn!reader

warnings: good ol' angst, some descriptions of blood, lots of typos lol

published: may 27, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: hi anon!! i'm glad you liked that imagine www and thank you for sending me ideas again! you know how much i love angst and kaeya lol~ also please forgive me for making it so long, i tried to challenge my writing abilities a bit more.

You came into this mission knowing that it would be quite a bit more difficult than the ones you typically took on. You were merely a B-rank knight, working on your certification to reach A-rank status, which definitely was not an easy feat. Yet the open commission to investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in Dadaupa Gorge was requiring one more member of the dual-member expedition team. When you saw who had occupied the first position for the mission, you threw caution to the wind and signed your name for position two, despite the mission being ranked A-level, at the very least. The occupied position? Filled by none other than Kaeya Alberich, captain of the Knights of Favonius cavalry, S-rank soldier and swordsman, and your former mentor. Who also happened to be the man you had hopelessly fallen for. 

The mission was assigned by the headquarters of the Knights, specifically for fully-trained Knights only, as the nature of the mission would be too dangerous for your run-of-the-mill adventurer team, and the Knights did not want to be held accountable for any potential casualties or injuries as a result of a mission gone wrong. You and Kaeya had been assigned to go investigate a newly-uncovered set of ruins in the Whispering Woods, supposedly already showing signs of being an Abyss rendezvous point. Apparently, the team of archaeologists who uncovered the ancient rocks from behind a thicket of trees had had many difficulties even making it back to the city of Mondstadt alive. You were frightened, no doubt about it, but you also knew that this was your chance. Your chance to prove yourself and your capability as a knight. Back in your training days before you took the certification exam to become a knight, you were Kaeya’s favorite pupil, a star student. Also possessing a Cryo vision, like the captain himself, certainly did not hurt your reputation in his eyes. Now, having taken on and excelled at countless dangerous B-rank missions, you felt confident in your ability to take on a mere A-rank mission, especially with the captain of the cavalry at your side. 

You had almost forgotten about the icy presence at your side, lost in your own daydreams of ambition. After following the paths leading out of Mondstadt, weapons and supplies ready at hand, you and Kaeya had finally made it to the edge of the Whispering Woods. It was starting to get dark, even though the two of you had left reasonably early in the day. The woods seemed so much more vast when their shadows grew longer, waning by the last seams of daylight. Faint howling moaned through the leaves (”Wolves? In the Whispering Woods?”, you thought to yourself), and you felt yourself tremble in the slightest. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the fear or the overwhelmingly strong Cryo aura that Kaeya emitted.

The tall man seemed unaffected by the ominous surrounding, forever carrying himself with an unwavering assuredness. He looked onwards, into the woods, eyes darting back and forth, exhibiting the remarkable surveying skills of a seasoned knight. 

“Well, [y/n]”, Kaeya turned to you, with that smug yet rather comforting voice of his. “Are you ready?”

Kaeya’s unshakeable confidence was rather spiriting, you had to admit. Nothing like traipsing into a wild forest, overrun with archons-know-what, with only your own wits and a cunning, distractingly handsome knight to guide you. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose”, you replied, trying to hide the rookie anxiety from trembling your voice. Damn it, you weren’t even a rookie. You were one of the more experienced knights in the entire Knights of Favonius. You could handle this. Plus, Kaeya has your back. In all the years you had known him, Kaeya had never dropped that rogue-ish grin off of his delicate countenance--he had the face of a prince, but marred with the implications of his mysterious eyepatch (he had never told you how he had lost that eye) and the pierce of his sly smile. It made him all so painfully attractive. 

You hate to recall the very first day you met him, the two of you only teenagers, barely adults grown into their own skin, yet he stood at the front of the training yard like the prolific swordsman he was, tan skin gleaming beneath the summer sun, hair tied behind his neck, sinewy muscles stretching as he maneuvered the sword in his hand like it was an extension of his own being. That day, you swore that you would become like Kaeya, that you would learn all you possibly could from him. That was also the day you had fallen hopelessly for the charismatic boy, though you were not aware of it just yet. 

Trudging into the forest, you made sure to clutch the weapon at your side a little tighter, wary of any potential threats that could appear in front of you at any moment. You never know how much the Abyss mages could use their magic--they are always using the spirits of Teyvat for evil. Although you had only encountered Abyss mages a small handful of times in your past B-rank missions, you already knew how perilous an interaction with any of them could be. The last time you and a partner engaged with a Pyro mage, you left the site with severe magic burns to your side, which took at least three months to fully heal. Looking at Kaeya, he appeared to be as relaxed as ever, both hands loosely tucked into his pockets, his steps led by his elegant hips. The eerie silence of the woods didn’t seem to bother him at all, a comfortable void between the both of you.

“So, captain”, you begun, doing your best to break the proverbial ice a bit, trying not to let the emptiness of the whole forest get to your head. “How have you been? It’s been a while since we last took an assignment together, I believe. 3 months already, isn’t it?”

Kaeya chuckled. “Oh, drop the formalities, [y/n].” He looked at you with his singular, unobscured eye with a teasing glance. “You’ve always known me as just Kaeya, havent you?”

Blood rushed to your face, although not entirely unwelcome, due to the chilliness of the forest. You hoped that the twilight shadows could hide your red cheeks from the man beside you.

“To answer your question, I am doing exceptionally well, thank you”, he smirked. “Although, the last time I did see you was only about a month ago, at the Windblume Ball. Not sure if you remember it all though—you were rather... intoxicated, it seemed.”

Oh, archons. You didn’t know if your face could possivly get any redder from the embarassment. The Windblume Ball was a month prior, hosted by the Knights for all citizens of Mondstadt to attend, to end the Windblume Festival with a night of wine, music, and dancing. Your group of friends within the Knights convinced you to attend along with them, though they didnt quite succeed at convincing you to finally confess your attraction to the captain of the cavalry himself. You acquiesced only on the condition that you would not have to interact with Kaeya at all that night. The anxiety was simply too much and you did not want to deal with the potential situation of seeing Kaeya in formalwear and absolutely losing your mind, let alone Kaeya seeing you dancing and drinking.

“Oh, come on, [y/n]”, your friends had whined. “If you don’t tell him now, when will you ever? He most definitely finds you attractive, as well.” Chuckling, you took a sip of the wine lrovided by the Dawn Winery. You cringed at the sourness of cheap grapes. “I’ll tell him when I’m dead.” You took another sip of the wine, but over the rim of the glass, you saw the one person you were hell-bent on avoiding.

Kaeya Alberich stood across the room, talking to one of the other knights. He was dressed to the nines, in clothing you had never seen him don before. His hair was parted neatly, his long lovelock secured by a large sapphire band. His lean, upper body was covered by a three piece suit, fitted perfectly around his narrow waist, tailcoat resting neatly by his thick, carved thighs. His pants were pressed tightly, without a wrinkle, and he had brought along his usual white fur cape, giving him the sophisticated look of a king.

In awe, you spluttered in your drink as he caught your eye from across the room, clearly noticing you were staring at him. You turned the other way, seeing that your friends were making fun of your oblivious gawking, and they now excitedly pointed behind you, mouthing the words he’s coming! You tried your best to smooth down your hair and pat down your outfit, before turning back around to see that the captain was standing in front of you, face-to-face, with his hand outstretched.

He looked even more sparklingly glamorous up close, an image of old-world elegance that you never knew him capable of portraying. You suddenly felt more drunk than any cheap wine could possibly make you. Kaeya looked at you, a gleam in his eye, and asked

“May I have this dance, [y/n]?”

The rest of the night was a blur, what with your continued consumption of alcohol, convincing yourself you needed to periodically top up your liquid courage. Kaeya had asked you for a few more dances, as far as you remembered. But from what you could recall, he was just as elegant and charismatic as you had always remembered him to be. He never made you feel out of place.

It was awful that Kaeya only seemed to remember how disgustingly drunk you were, but you were thankful at least that he didn’t seem to recall the perpetual state of flusteredness you were in that night, by his mere presence beside you, and his hands guiding yours as you both danced to the upbeat music of the band.

“Archons, I assure you that I am not the unabashed drunkard I may have seemed to be that night”, you chuckled.

Kaeya let out a hearty laugh, his voice reminding you of the sounds of the bells ringing atop the Cathedral. “Of course not, my dear”, he drawled. “I’ve met many a drunkard in my day—you are far from one; I promise.”

You and Kaeya kept on your way in this manner, making pleasant small talk to fill the silence. You didn’t dare tell him for fear of seeming a coward, but hearing his voice and reminiscing with him diminished the fright you initially felt, entering the woods and taking on this assignment. Kaeya was a master conversationalist, and diplomat too, no doubt, always knowing what to say at what time. His warm remarks and playful banter took your mind off of the imminent danger of your situation, and you didn’t notice the path you were both on narrowing. The sun had already set, and the woods were doused in an eerie darkness, and as you and Kaeya approached the vicinity of the ruins, the thickets grew denser and the tree branches hung lower. Not a sound could be heard--

Until suddenly, Kaeya stepped in front of you, blocking your path with an arm outstretched. Shit. You smelled Abyss magic. How could you have possibly missed the putrid scent of sulfur before? 

Kaeya’s grin had fallen. His attention was now beyond only you, as if trying to detect something he sensed nearby. Out of nowhere, a hum grew, louder, until an earblasting pop rang out in front of you and Kaeya, and in its place were three Pyro Abyss mages. Three. You could handle one, if you had a partner with you, but three? 

Terror ran down your spine, knowing how difficult your Cryo vision could be against a Pyro mage. Your hand unsheathed the sword at your side with blinding speed, just like you were trained, but before you could even take a step forward, Kaeya was already charging at the mages, ice blasting forth from his swordtip, smashing up against the mages’ shields.

“Aren’t ya glad I caught that, [y/n]?” Kaeya teased, sword cutting through the air and the force fields surrounding the mages, as their strained groans pierced the night air. His movements were swift and effortless; at times his movements were so fast that it looked like he teleported from one spot to the next. This was the grace, the beauty of a true prodigy. “If I hadn’t stopped you, we would’ve been roast boar by now!” 

You jumped into action, assisting Kaeya with his assaults against the mages, doing your best to dodge the onslaught of fireballs. You felt the heat of the fire magic graze your extremities more than once, counting your blessings that it was nothing critical. The way the two of you moved in unison, one complementing the other, like an avalanche of piercing ice, was a testament to the years of experience you gained in under Kaeya’s expert tutelage. One sword piercing the left, the other the right, until you both had broken down two of the Pyro mages’ shields. You had never gotten through their force fields in such rapid succession before, you thought, in awe. Swinging your sword calculatedly, whilst utilizing your vision and shooting out ice crystals, you defeated the mage, dealing a killing blow, piercing its side with your sword. You watched the creature groan out gutturally, and eventually dissipate into ash, drifting away. 

Turning around, you noticed that Kaeya had already taken care of the other mage, already breaking down the final one’s shield. He dodged each blast of Pyro magic with grace and ease, not even showing any sign of fatigue. 

“Hey, good work rookie!”, Kaeya teased, activating his ultimate Cryo weapon, sending a halo of ice crystals about his body, knocking into the mage’s shield with every swing.

You huffed. “I’m not a rookie”, you called back, joining him in his siege upon the last enemy. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to you, although you tried to hide it. You couldn’t let Kaeya down. 

Over and over, the pair of you banged upon the force field with your swords, with more difficulty than any of the previous mages. This one was different, somewhat stronger. The grass surrounding the two of you was already lit up in flames, licking at your ankles. If you even so much as tripped, the heat would probably damage you more than a fireball could. 

“Watch out, rookie”, Kaeya yelled in your directions, trying to be heard above the cackling of the mage and the raging flames, already beginning to catch onto the trees nearby. The night was filled with a reddish glow--hellish and suffocating. “I think it’s about to activate it’s ultimate.”

The cackling grew louder, as you worked yourself into a frenzy, shooting more and more ice crystals, trying to break it’s force field. Three, dragon-like heads began to emerge around where the mage floated. Fuck. The fire-breathers were out. You had only ever fought a Pyro mage that could use fire-breathers once before--that also happened to be the instance that caused you to be an invalid for several months, healing from a deep flesh burn. But Kaeya was here this time. Things would be okay, right?

You could tell Kaeya was growing panicked as well, his swings becoming a bit more hurried and erratic. You didn’t know, but he was deathly worried about you. He had no idea how experienced you were with dodging the fire-breathers, and he knew he had to make quick work of the blasted mage before things could escalate, Archons forbid you get hurt. Kaeya activated his ultimate once more, and, finally, the mage’s shield broke. 

You heaved a sigh of relief, closing in on the Pyro mage. Kaeya’s strength and incredible reliability in battle did not fail to impress you, even beyond just the prowess he had demonstrated as a trainee and a mentor. You finally activated your own ultimate, summoning a boulder made of hard ice. Approaching the mage as you saw it struggle to get up off the ground, the ice in your boulder began to form, and you willed it to hurl towards the mage, intending to finish it off. Finally, you would show Kaeya your true strength, your capability. He could depend on you. Hell, you were his star student. Even if you were afraid to tell him about how he had stolen your heart, you could at least show him that the time and effort he had dedicated to you wasn’t for naught. 

The seconds slowed down, as the blinding white ice made its way through the air, aimed straight at the pathetic mage, groveling in the dirt. But beyond the ice, was something even brighter, not making its way to the mage; no, it was headed straight at you. A fireball. 

You felt an excruciating pain on your left side, right below your ribcage. A scream in the distance--the mage? No; it was Kaeya’s voice. The white-hot pain blinded you, as you felt your back make contact with the hard ground beneath you. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Archons, what will Kaeya think? 

Vaguely willing your arm to press into your side to assess the damage, you felt warm, sticky liquid pooling on your waist. Lifting a hand, you saw it drenched in crimson blood, dark in the moonlight. You heard another scream again nearby, this time coming from the guttural squeaks you knew was the mage, the dying cries of a pitiful monster. At once, a pair of arms lifted you from the ground, supporting your head. What a damned disappointment you were. 

“[y/n]! [Y/N]! DAMMIT!” You had never heard Kaeya this worked up before. The pain of hearing the panic in his voice was also tinged with a selfish gladness that he cared, that Kaeya Alberich gave a damn if you died. Because, in that moment, you were certain you would die.

Straining out a chuckle, your chest racked up a wet cough, sticky blood now staining the edges of your lips. I’ll tell him when I’m dead, you once said. Well, isn’t this all quite ironic.

“Fucking hell, [y/n], I need you to keep your eyes open”, Kaeya commanded. He was using his captain voice, the one that only comes out when a new recruit wasn’t following orders. “Rookie, don’t you dare pass out on me.” His voice wavered.

Would it be worth it to tell him now? Did you want his last memory of you to be a pathetic, wishful fantasy spilling forth from your bloodstained lips, like the nonsense uttered by a mere child? Your vision spun faster, losing sight of Kaeya, hovering over you. You couldn’t make out his features too clearly in the darkness, but something about the wet drops of water landing on your cheeks told you that it wasnt more blood. You supposed that you should do yourself justice and at least keep the one promise you made that night in Mondstadt.

Straining to open your mouth, you uttered, “Kaeya, I—”

But before you could muster the strength to speak another word, your vision went dark.

*****

The first thing you heard when you woke up was the sound of birds chirping. The second was a silent snoring sound coming from somewhere to your right.

Cracking your weary eyes open, you sensed the faint light of the early morning coming in through an nearby window. Getting your bearings, you realized you had woken up in the Knights of Favonius headquarters hospital. Your damaged adventurer’s clothes were gone, and instead you could feel bandages dressed around the wound at your side. Oh, right. You thought you had died.

Trying to sit up, you fekt an excruciating pain burn through the side of your body that had been hit, setting your nerves on fire. You hissed, and the snoring beside you abruptly stopped.

“Archons, you’re awake.”

Kaeya sat up from the chair he had apparently been sleeping in, still dressed in his captain’s armor, just as dirt-covered and singed as when you last saw him. Was that only last night? You figured Kaeya must have hurried you back to the city before your condition could get any worse.

Fuck. As all your memories of the prior night came flooding back, your eyes pooled up with salty tears. Not only had you cone closest to death than you’ve ever had, you had completely disappointed Kaeya and made a fool of yourself in front of him.

“Kaeya, I’m so sorry—”, you started.

Your words were interrupted by the man next to you leaping into your embrace, arms wrapping your shoulders where you were not injured. “Dammit, [y/n]. When won’t you just shut up.” His voice was muffled by his face buried into your neck. “You don’t have to say a word.”

It scared you, seeing him vulnerable. The ever-cocky and cunning captain of the cavalry, the man who always had a plan and was never caught off-guard. Now, a man bearing his innermost emotions to you, little old you. Had he heard what you begun to tell him last night? Or were things going to return back to the way they were, you admiring his dazzling beauty from a distance, comfortable yet agonized at the degree of separation.

You hoped to the archons for the latter. You hoped that it wouldn’t take another instance where you almost lost your life for the love you felt for him to spill forth. Archons, even if you had to die, it would still all be worth it, if it were with him at your side.

Kaeya trembled as he pressed himself deeper into you, desperately clinging on. “Don’t you dare open your mouth, rookie”, he chided. “I don’t want to hear something you’ll only tell me when you’re almost gone. Please just let me do the talking.”

Pulling back, you looked at him in confusion. His hair was disheveled, eyepatch slightly askew, yet his face was full of an almost childlike wonder, akin to the gleam he possessed when you had first met him, however many years ago.

“Do you think I did it all for nothing?” Kaeya looked at you. “Do you think all those years of training together, eating together, soarring together, was all because I thought you had potential as a soldier? The private walks through Windrise, the nights spent at the tavern, the dance, that damned dance we shared—what did you think that was?” Desperate and exhausted, Kaeya’s eye began to shimmer with tears. “Fucking hell, [y/n]. I’ve always loved you. Since the very beginning, you idiot. Why else would I dedicate all my time, all my energy to you and only you?” He grasped your shoulders tighter. “If you think that I haven’t been madly in love with you since I first laid eyes upon you that day, then you’re fucking wrong.”

You cut him off, burying your hands into his hair—pain be damned—and kissed him. It was bitter and metallic, the taste of both of your blood on your tongue. Kaeya’s neck was ice cold, but his cracked lips were thick and warm, and when you pulled away from them, you suddenly felt like you could take on the world.

“Well”, you remarked. “I’m glad that we got that out of the way.”

a/n: uhuhuhu this is pretty long but i hope you like it! i wanted to improve my writing a bit and elaborate on descriptions a bit more, so i hope i did your request justice!

[the-cult-of-russo]

headcanon for when billy realizes he’s in love with reader? i’m such a sucker for romantic and soft billy😫

I love this. I'm going to go a little beyond just when he first realises too. You'll see. It's turned into more of a 'when Billy's in love with you' headcanon.

I'll break it down into sections once again. It's just easier that way 😌

-

When he first realises he loves you:

Oh man. Billy doesn't realise he's in love until he's so far gone he's drowning in it lmao

He has no idea why he gets crazy ass butterflies in his stomach every time he just thinks about you. No idea why his heart beats all funny when he looks at you or why his chest feels all warm. He doesn't know why everytime he's away from you his chest hurts and it feels like someone's punched a gaping hole right through it. The boy has no clue.

But then one day, he's out drinking with Frank, having a good time. And Frank's been going on and on about Maria, absolutely gushing about her. Billy being the good best friend he is, teases him of course. Sends him an offhand remark with a smirk. And Frank replies with...

"Yeah well. That's what happens when you're in love."

The words feel like a smack to the face. Suddenly, Billy feels like he's free falling, plummeting at record speed towards the concrete from a 50 story building. Because he relates. All the sickening gushing Frank had been doing, Billy got it. He does it himself about you. And Frank's words make everything click into place, Billy's world is suddenly tilting on its axis. Because what if you don't feel the same? Why would you when own his mother couldn't muster up any love for him?

He freaks out. His mind is going to dark places as his heart feels ready to give out. Frank sees him looking a second away from collapsing in a heap on the floor and takes him outside. After some brotherly advice and tough love, he feels a little better.

He still won't tell you though. Of course not, that's just fucking stupid. The fear of rejection runs far too deep in Billy to admit such a thing and he doesn't know how he'd cope if you broke his heart. If he lost the only person he's ever been in love with. So he resolves to keep it to himself. Its kind of nice though, to finally know just what it is that he's been feeling. It was obvious really. People write love songs about this bullshit. The same songs Billy's been listening to like a love sick fool because he gets it. He relates to the words.

-

How he tells you:

Billy won't outright tell you he loves you first. At least not on purpose. There are three likely scenarios that happen.

The first is you telling him you love him first. This is his best case scenario. He blinks warily at you for a moment, dark eyes rapidly scanning your face as he tries to find even the slightest hint of deception. It's not that he doesn't trust you, but he finds it almost impossible to believe anyone would ever be in love with him.

But when he realises you're telling the truth, he's dumbstruck. He's stunned but overwhelmingly happy and he tells you he loves you too. It feels like a weights been lifted, to finally tell you, to know you haven't turned him away. That you actually love him too.

The second way it might happen is him blurting it out randomly. This might happen during or after some amazing sex. Maybe you're both snuggled on the sofa and laughing about something stupid. He just looks at your wide and radiant smile and it strikes him how absolutely hopelessly in love with you he is. How lucky he is to be with you. And his mouth takes on a life of its own. The words tumble from his lips without his consent and he panics.

Total blind fear claws at his chest when he realises what he's said. He fears the worst. That you'll say you don't feel the same, maybe even laugh at him. Yet you don't do those things. You tell him you love him too. He reacts the same as the other scenario. Wary at first until he sees you mean it. And then he's overjoyed and shocked and confused but ridiculously happy.

The last scenario is similar to the other one in that it gets blurted out. Only this time it's during a heated discussion or argument. I made a whole headcanon post about arguing with Billy and another on the kind of things you might argue about.

This isn't a huge fight but most likely caused by something you did that he saw as reckless. Something like you walking home from work in the dark instead of getting a cab or calling him. Is he being overdramatic? Definitely. He knows this. But he's so terrified something might happen to you and it frustrates him that you don't see that. That you have no idea how much it would kill him if you got hurt. And in the middle of all the anger and the blind fear and intensity in the moment, after a biting remark from you, the words get ripped from his chest.

"Because I fuckin' love you, alright?! I'd die if somethin' happened to you! So you don't get to stand there and tell me it's no big deal!"

He's full of barely restrained rage at the mere thought of someone hurting you and he's sad and upset that you don't seem to care much about your own wellbeing.

But now it's a tense silence because he just blurted those words and worst of all, he yelled them at you. It was all going wrong and he hates it. But his panic was kept at bay by his anger, his only outwards reactions being the clenched jaw, the narrowed eyes and the roll of his shoulder. He's steeling himself for the inevitable. The searing pain of rejection.

But then you're yelling right back that you love him too and calling him an asshole and he's never been happier in his damn life. And with emotions still running high from the fight, he tosses you over his shoulder and takes you to the bedroom so he can show you just how much he loves you.

-

Ways he shows you he loves you:

Any of these that don't involve the words 'I love you' he's already been doing a while. But he continues to do so after that hurdle of first telling you passes and he gets comfortable with telling you verbally at every chance he gets.

He loves taking care of you. If he's off work he loves making you breakfast in bed. He loves cooking for you, he's actually quite good at it. He draws you relaxing baths, sometimes joining you and not even for sex. If you've had a hard day at work, he'll put your feet in his lap as you sit on the sofa with him and rub your sore feet.

He often buys you your favorite flowers, always accompanied by a sweet note. When you're both at work, he stops by your work for lunch because he can't stand a whole day away from you.

Since he wakes before you, he often just lays there and watches you. With the sun rising and bathing you in its glow, he watches in awe of how he managed to get someone as amazing as you. He doesn't dwell on these moments for too long though. His treacherous brain has a habit of poisoning anything good. If he lays there too long, his thoughts turn sour as the voice in the back of his head tells him he's not good enough for you. He doesn't deserve you, deserve your love. You'll leave him one day, realise you deserve way better than someone like him. He was an unloved and unwanted child, and that little boy is still there inside of him, hiding behind his bravado and his fancy ass suits. It's a downward spiral he finds it hard to come back from and he learned his lesson long ago. So instead, he allows himself a moment to admire you, appreciate you, and then he gets up for the day.

He doesn't wake you, you look so sweet and peaceful and he doesn't have the heart to. You don't need to get up as early as he does. Sometimes, if he's feeling particularly sappy, he leaves a note for you on his pillow. Letting you know how much he loves you and that he'll miss you while at work.

Gifts are abundant with Billy. It doesn't matter what it is, if you want it then it's yours. If it's expensive, it's yours. Cheap, it's yours. Weird and rare and very hard to get, he finds a way and it's yours. He's also a sucker for sentimental gifts. Jewellery that means something, maybe the date you met engraved on it. Some kind of photo gift with a picture of the two of you.

Billy has a lot of affection to give you. I've talked about this in other posts but he's a tactile person. He always needs to be touching you, reassuring himself you're real, you're safe and you're there with him. He often puts his hand on your neck, slender fingers feeling your pulse under them. It soothes him to do so. There's plenty of kisses on your head, temples, shoulders, neck, cheeks. He can't help it. He also loves stroking your hair. His hand are always attached to you like there's a gravitational pull towards you he can't resist. There's at least one hand on you at all times if you're near.

-

Billy doesn't fall for people easily. It's never happened before you. But when he falls, he falls hard. It's an all consuming kind of love that takes over his whole being.