#eh hue hue hue

[mrdrhenwardhykle]

AAAAAAAA

They got s3 of that silly goofy Matt Frewer show finally on You Tube LET'S GOOOOOO

[luffysbasement]

omnomnom

[zeroarmsgrani]

digimon huecember no. 10 — psychemon

:]

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[dread-knight]

Carsoro doodle that got out of hand. I need to sleep

[shattered-hue]

Posting more RE!n Zane because yes

(ramblings about this guy under readmore)

Imagine you've got a brother. He is different from you. This is usually just how it is. But now he is... Another kind of different. He is something unknowable to you. Space and time itself seems to warp around him. He is rarely surprised by things. He randomly disappears for long periods of time, then reappears just as suddenly. He is more powerful than he lets on.. or even seems to be aware of. Sometimes he looks at you weirdly before saying "oh, that hasn't happened yet". He knows something. Many things. More than you could ever understand. He ran into a wall because there was a laser dot from a tool on it

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

despite many years in many art classes and having it explained to me several times by several people, I still just don’t ‘get’ colors. if I wanna use them I either got have a palette made for me, have just memorized what looks nice together, or just hope for the best as I pick out the colors. I am insanely jealous of people who just. understand them. y’all are wizards.

[mustelifiedmerchandise]

I FINALLY HAVE SSOME OF MY SSHITt BACK IN WORKING ORDER SO I CAN ***DO MY JOB.*** JUSSTt FINISSHED UP TtHIS PIECE!! IVE GOTt **NO** IDEA WHO IN TtHEIR RIGHT PAN WOULD TtOSSSS TtHISS TtABLE. MUCH LESSSS WHOD PAINTt ITt **GOLD** WHEN TtHE NATtURAL WOOD ISS SSO VIBRANTt AND ITt BEING DESIGNED WITtH SSEADWELLING SSENSSIBILITtIESS. OH WELL.

[justices-blade]

Maybe he needs to simply accept at this point, that his dreams are simply destined to involve suffering, death, his friends falling before him and his own blood all over the floor - and stop naively hoping for something else. It would hurt less upon waking up if he just gave up the idiotic idea.

Upon awakening, it takes him a solid while to regain his bearings enough to look around and locate the familiar head of brown in the large crowd. Perhaps it went better for him, at least. Leonardo takes a moment, waiting until Edward is free and not in the center among everyone, before approaching. He has a feeling that, to Edward of all people, he needs not say much. He reads Leonardo's face better than anyone else in the world.

With a sigh, he pulls the other into a hug.

"S-Sorry... I did not actually... have a good nap..."

Edward's familiar with the trials and tribulations of waking up — Groggy brain, sore everything, world hard and cold, bed soft and warm. Even still, or maybe even because of this, he can't cleanly attribute the state in which he woke up with exceptionally abysmal post-nap ick.

... The dark stain on his vest proves as much. Even though it isn't fresh, doesn't glisten with the telltale sign of blood, even though the dark fabric hides the obvious, he can feel the stiffness of the patch, seeped all the way into the white shirt underneath. He drifts off to the side of the crowd, for a moment back to the memory of a shrinking child hiding from soldiers. Noone needs to know or worry. He's sure he looks awful.

For the record, so does Leonardo. He understands. Partly cloudy pretense drops for overcast sky. The boy welcomes the hug, returns it with a squeeze, sags into it with relief.

"Same here. Worst nap of my life," He manages to joke, weakly, before trailing off with a sigh — Doesn't say anything more, instead letting his head drop fully onto the other's shoulder, listening to Leonardo breathe, gently seeking the pulse in his throat, his warmth and weight in his arms.

Edward doesn't speak. He doesn't need to, he thinks.

... but if Leonardo wants to, he'll talk for hours. Even if it's just to be sure they're real again.

[kiwikipedia]

[wip] I think that the origin point creche members were all insufferable usually at sifo’s expense

[romcomeon]

" an accidental lover's bruise " | DRABBLE

╰┈➤ all that just to cover up an accident | WC : ≈ 1.0K

warning.s : mentions of hickies, no dialogue

"nothing actually happened, it's all one big misunderstanding."

pairing.s: demon brothers x GN!MC

PS: this is completely unserious LOL.

There are a multitude of reasons why it isn't best to assume the worst case scenario… Though you didn't expect that this would be one of them.

Picture this: you were walking along the wicked halls of the House of Lamentation, all to look for a specific demon. Perhaps you were cussing out yourself for that stupid accident, or simply hissing in annoyance. Nonetheless, you needed a color corrector to cover up an awful bruise behind your neck.

Strolling through the halls, you've wondered: had this house grew larger? Or are you just. .

. . . lost?

Before you can make a proper judgment, Mammon spots you. He clings onto you like a magnetic force, skin so close to merging with yours. Leaving the GREAT Mammon's sight was unacceptable! Something bad would've happened if you aren't under his watch. What's got ya looking so distraught? Of course his presence could be intimidating, but- Hey! Don't look too scared!!

You wonder if he secretly wants something or is hiding from Lucifer. Other than that, you told him of your unique 'endeavors'. Asmodeus' room? Why do ya gotta be there?

As you were about to explain that embarrassing accident, you were then interrupted by Lucifer. The once composed Avatar looked furious, his eyes glowing brighter than the candlelight. Mammon flinched at the sight. 'So it was the latter.'

It's the usual banter, there's not much to add. You carefully walk away from the sign, back turned against them. Finally! Asmo's room—

Eh!?

You felt Lucifer grab you by the arm, turning you around as he inspected your body. In the glimpse of an eyes and- Aha! There it is.

A purplish blue patch at the back of your neck. Reddish hues surround the patch, not to mention how glaringly dark it was. It made it visible, for even a misplaced strand is easily noticeable — at least, in Lucifer's eyes. You begin to wail out protests as you were dragged across the hallway.

Lucifer needed an explanation, but since Mammon was also there to witness the albeit improper reveal, the eldest chose to take you to the living room instead of his office. To be fair, they all required an explanation. How dare you frolic with another? It hurts his pride seeing the remains of your infidel. The mere thought of you laying your precious body for a lower demon left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Mammon was shocked. Eyes wide, jaw drop as he saw that pesky bruise. Did you...? Oh. How could you. He looked closer, tracing a finger along the back of your neck. Ever the greedy demon that he is, Mammon saw red. Whoever dared place their lips on your skin shall be gifted the modest offer of torture.

Alright, so now you were in the living room. Hair and coverings pushed aside to display that bruise to everyone. Everyone.

Leviathan nearly dropped his console, watching someone else's mark on your skin. In a rather intimate area of all places. Oh sure, he understands... You wouldn't want it to be him to leave the marks, did you? Snake fangs weren't the most pleasurable, but he didn't think you'd let others do that to you... Ugh. Normies. It makes sense that you would. The Otaku could only stand up, walking away. Don't follow him, he needs some time.

Satan was... fine. Oh he was fine. He congratulates you for your rendezvous. He sees that you're looking for remedies to soothe the ailment? Not to worry, you can oh so kindly ask him. Different demons exhibit different mannerisms in marking their mates, but this would be as simple as a healing spell. Hm? Oh kitten he isn't mad. Don't mind the pen's ink splattered on the couch, or the visible dent on the book he's holding.

Human, you better guard yourself. Beelzebub is currently holding his brother, Belphegor, in a tight grip. The younger of the two was enrages, ready to pounce on that filthy, pathetic, son of a b—

Beel was beyond disappointed, but his eyes held a glint of worry. Not just for you, but for everyone. He wasn't given too much time to react, as his immediate instinct was to be sure his twin didn't come after anyone's blood at that instant.

Nevertheless, the room was a mess. Everyone has their own ways of coping with this tragedy. Their poor lamb, tainted! Pristine skin claimed by a lowly soul!! UNACCEPTABLE!!

Asmodeus gasped; he was beyond baffled. Worried for you, he goes to inspect the mark closer. He needs names. He needs answers, he needs an address. He needs to get his nails at —

wait ! !

When Asmodeus inspects it closer, brownish-orange eyes squinting to get a better look. . . hey. That wasn't a hickey. Far from it, looked more like a tennis ball was poorly aimed and shot directly at the back of your neck at 30mph.

You could only sigh, your hand sliding from your eyes down to your chin. Duh. Asmodeus pities you, pulling you into a tight hug as he dramatically cries out in your expense. Sure, he was glad to know that you were certainly not being taken advantage of by someone no-good, and that you're all safe from the hands and mouths of others. But at the same time... Darling, were you alright?

He couldn't help but worry. Humans were such fragile creatures; earning nearing permanent markings from unexpected accidents. It won't take long before he's whining how you should take care of yourself, pulling you into his room while rummaging through his many containers for the perfect shade match. And undertone. And foundation. Oh! Don't forget the human-safe setting spray!

You came out of your room expecting to only be needing to find the shade-matching concealer. You didn't expect to have to prepare a 100 slide PowerPoint presentation to explain yourself.

A/N: Hey, Eden here! Yes, this was an unserious prompt as an attempt to loosen up a bit. I eliminated Dialogue for both comedic effect as well as to try and incorporate character-driven elements without lines and stuff.

Is it good? Eh it's enough. Did I have fun writing this? Absolutely!! That is all for now, haha. Expect edits once I wake up- or not :"DD

divider/s by @/cafekitsune

[i6eyes]

10:43 pm. gojo satoru

"i want to crawl inside you," satoru's blend of azure hues locks onto yours, "i want to live under your skin, be as close as possible to ya." he nuzzles his temple on your clavicle.

your attention shifts from the book in your hands to your boyfriend, the very same one who's currently gnawing your chest as gentle as teeth would go. the book you were propping on top of his head suddenly seems like an ideal tool to hit him with.

"what." you monotonously respond, your tone flat, eliciting a whimper from him.

"you don't get it baby," he laments, drawing out his words. why can't he express his love for you in a more .. conventional way? "you're not gonna get it ever. ever! cause no one will love you half as much as i do." he adds.

you won't understand his intense desire to merge with you, to share his very soul, heart, and mind with you. to experience life through your eyes, to feel your emotions, to embody your essence. you, his angel, his cherished love, a woman too gentle, too sweet, too loving for a man like him.

a man who flirts with danger, who caress death with the tips of his fingertips, who wields power with a mere flick of his wrist, a man who believes he's too flawed, too damaged for someone as pure as you.

"try me," you retort, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. you gently place your book aside and run your fingers through his silky unpigmented white hair, a touch that makes him practically purr with contentment. "i've climbed those tall, tall walls of yours — a little more wouldn't hurt now, wouldn't it?"

he wouldn't dream of causing you pain, hurting you in any kind of way, but he knows you don't see yourself the way he does, you never will. "eh, now that i thought about it, it's kinda lame."

you protested, but with a laugh. because that's how things are with satoru, disapprovals and complaints laced with light-heartedness and amusement.

that's what satoru is, a breath of life with a touch of death.

"are you mad right now? because you look soo hot— ow!" you smack him upside in the head.

[suguru-getos]

| Yandere Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Axphyxiation |

A/N: The yandere in me has risen from the dead. Read this at your own discretion, Satoru is a manipulative, dangerous, abusive asshole here. Mentions of guilt-tripping, dub-con (doesn’t happen but mentions), belittling, comforting, gentle-talking.

Normally, on a normal day, you’d have the right to be livid, to scream out and throw a tantrum over Satoru’s antics whenever you wanted. It would usually go unnoticed, even catered to if he’s feeling nice. Not today…

“Being a little too bratty are we, Princess?” There was a greyish hue of rage in his sky blues. All, because of you. He would make sure you realize it. You’d cower in fear of him in times like these, breaking down into choking sobs and mumbling apologies for pissing off the ‘Honored one’.

“I swear, I didn’t—” You tried to defend yourself, before the glass window behind you cracked, breaking into shatters as you flinched. A reminder to not piss off Gojo Satoru right now. Your heart raced at the situation you were in. Kneeling in front of him like a guilty prisoner, not daring to look up. Anxiety being the only thing hugging you right now.

“Why did you think it would be nice to ask for Megumi’s phone?” Satoru spoke… almost dazed, still controlling the immense rage that he felt. At times like these, you, a mere non-sorcerer feels a pang of pressure in the atmosphere. As if it was hard to exist, as if it was hard to breathe. It was Satoru’s cursed energy going haywire.

“I wan-wanted to ask for, something.” You were slowly getting broken by this. Yes, you had asked Megumi to give his phone to you, a pathetic attempt to contact your friends. You couldn’t risk contacting your family or Satoru’s rage would pave way in a direction you’d dread more. You just missed them… you aren’t delusional enough to think they had the chance to rescue you after all.

“Ask for what, hmm?” Satoru tilted your chin up, your eyes meeting his harsh, unforgiving ones. He looked dramatically betrayed at your antics, while a choked sigh escaped you. “Just- just missed my friends, Toru.” You had been carefully calibrating this reply. Squeeze his nickname in with the truth. There— that’d make him… less dramatic. Or, that’s what you prayed & hoped for.

“Just- missed my friends, Toru.” He mocked you, mimicking your tone and his hand rested onto your neck, slightly choking. A grim reminder of what he can do to you but chooses not to. Tears well up in your eyes as you looked at him, silently praying for this to end.

“Am I not enough?” His voice rose, almost tediously high. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Please- Satoru.”

“I asked you a question, cupcake.” He chided you, as if he is shutting a brat up who was hell bent on throwing a tantrum. “I asked you something and I need an answer.”

You had to be really, really careful with this one. You mumbled, hands shivery and jittery. There have been times he’s locked you up, just so you miss him. Maybe decided to use your cunt with his fingers just so you’d embarrass yourself cumming over and over and he could taunt you for being a needy slut for him. You didn’t want that… “You are important.”

Your answer squinted Satoru’s eyes, thin ice….

“You are, enough. You are a friend to me, too. S’ just that sometimes I wish to know how they’re doin’ that’s it.” You were internally panicking. Satoru didn’t do anything to you until now but it was the ‘what he could do’ that made you nervous. Satoru wasn’t delusional, he knew you were being calculating and didn’t want to piss him off. However, he was fine as long as you tried to be in his good books. He liked feeling important.

“I see, then should’a just asked Daddy, eh?” He quirked a brow, another question for you to duck.

You decided to accept your mistake like his ‘good little girl’ nodding and looking down, looking oh-so-cute with the guilt laced on your features. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Oh it warms his heart up when his Princess tries to be good for him. Tries to win his heart & suppress his rage. “My baby’s apologetic?” He cooed, kissing your forehead softly, while you nodded like a bobble-head; almost reflexively.

“I see, I see… what’s my baby gonna do to make it up to Daddy?” A smug grin plastered over his features. You were so naive he had you exactly where he wanted you to be. Expressions all knowing & dreading the impending doom, you looked up at him and bit your lip. The bile rising in your throat with anxiety.

“Whatever- whatever you want.” You wanted to make this easy on yourself. Better to have him throw words at you and comply. Satoru… was more twisted than that. “Nuh uh… gonna have to see what you would do on your own to make it up to me.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly the answer he wanted. “Daddy can make love to me.” You uttered brilliantly, his eyes growing more tender. Satoru never, ever, forced himself on you. It was somehow, you, always begging, crying apologetically even— tormented in situations which hugged you like spiderwebs, with no escape wherein you’d do nothing more than to surrender. That’s what Gojo Satoru does…

“Oh really?” He almost scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Daddy’ll make you feel good after you committed a mistake?” He would also make it seem like everything he does is for your pleasure— there are days you believe it, there are days you dread it.

“Sorry.” A stray tear escaped you, it was as if you were being pulled apart with no defenses. “Please, I just— if you want I won’t cum.” Aww— his pathetic, little, dumb, princess.

“Perfect.” Now he has you where he wants.

“Then gonna be my pretty, precious lil cocksleeve yeah?” Satoru asked you once more, feigning the opportunity for you to say no. You nodded, almost gracefully in defeat.

“That’s my good girl.”

[delfiore]

—LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO.

pairing: leah williamson x reader

synopsis: a collection of private moments from a relationship between two public figures.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: IMPLICIT SMUT

a/n: this fic was proudly sponsored by hozier’s entire discography and my need to get a gf

SEQUEL: DO YOU THINK I HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU?

ONE. As It Was.

As it always was, London was raining when you came home.

The pitter-patter of the rain hitting the window panes reminded you of childhood, when it was autumn and smelled like the earth, and burying yourself in the piles of dry leaves in the backyard was like swimming in the clouds.

The rain reminded you of love and hot cocoa and scented candles.

The apartment was bathed in an orange hue from the three candles placed neatly on the coffee table when you dragged your suitcase inside. You could still hear the rain when you saw the way her eyes lit up and felt her heart pressed against yours.

You let yourself smile like it was the easiest thing in the world; because it was. You were home because you were with her.

TWO. Eat Your Young.

“Babe! What d’you want for dinner?” You heard her call from the living room.

You had just finished a chapter from your book. “Eh . . . pasta?”

“We already had pasta last night, love.”

“More pasta?” You smiled sheepishly, seeing the way she rolled her eyes but went along with your idea.

To her, there was never anything she could have the heart to deny you from, especially now that she had you back after having lent you to your work for so long.

You were supposed to be halfway across the world filming your new movie. It was only because of the writer’s strike, an unforeseen event, that gave you back to her. You had flown back from a shoot to be there for her in the days after she ruptured her ACL and when she had her surgery, but she found herself missing you the moment you left for work again.

Music played softly from the speaker on the kitchen counter as you chopped the cherry tomatoes while she boiled the noodles since that was the only thing you were okay with her doing without burning the entire building down.

“Remember to let the water boil first,” you said without turning around.

“I did,” she whined, her words trailing longer than necessary if she was telling the truth.

You stopped chopping and glanced behind your shoulder with a deadpan. “Leah.”

The water was clearly not bubbling, and yet the poor rigatoni noodles were already dunked in the pot.

“I’m sorry, I forgot again,” the girl smiled sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head as she sidled up behind you with her arms around your waist.

You could never grow tired of being held in her arms like this, the warmth created by her chest pressing up against your back, and the anticipation of her timid kisses against your neck. The knife in your hand had long been set down in fear of injury by your trembling hands. Your footballer always liked to tease you until you had no choice but to submit.

“Am I forgiven?” Her voice was husky in your ear.

You were quick to regain your composure before you turned around. “Depends on if those noodles are edible or not.”

“Or we could just ditch dinner and eat each other instead.”

“Cute,” you grinned and pressed your lips against hers. You heard the slightest whimper when you gathered her bottom lip with your teeth and lightly tugged on it. “Needs some seasoning. Otherwise, good enough.”

“That’s what I meant, obviously.”

In the end, the pasta was long forgotten, and you had to order a pizza instead because, by the time she was done, you could barely walk to the other side of the kitchen.

THREE. I, Carrion (Icarian).

You had always been uncomfortable with silence. It was why you brought your speaker everywhere, why you preferred the city over the countryside, why you always felt the need to fill the silence in a room with conversation where there were other people. To you, silence meant a weapon, a way of waging war without actually doing it—the cowardice of dishonesty. So any chance you had to snuff out a glimpse of it, you did. Most of the time, though, the only war waged was the one you did to yourself in your mind.

But whenever you are with her, none of those threats present themselves. She has made silence enjoyable and something you wish you had learned to appreciate earlier, not fear it.

She had put on a movie for the both of you to watch on the couch. You usually felt the need to provide commentary were you with friends, but you were content with enjoying the movie in silence, occasionally looking over to your blonde lover to admire her on the other end of the couch. Your left leg was currently stretched across the cushions, as Leah gave you a foot massage whilst watching the movie.

Sometimes she didn’t feel real, like it was all a sick and twisted dream waiting to drop you on your head when you wake up. But it never did, because every time you reached for her, she was always there; even when you were timezones apart, she would find a way to be there for you in spirit.

“Babe, watch the movie. I like this one,” she spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I feel like it should be me giving you a foot massage,” you said, lifting your chin towards her healing knee.

“Nah. You were the one sitting on a 12-hour flight to get back here,” she put pressure in the center of your foot.

With your arm on the backrest, you lifted it to brush the tips of your fingers against her hair, inching closer toward the skin on her neck. She noticed, of course, and sent a cheeky grin your way.

Your lover smiled and laughed like a child does. You loved it whenever she showed her teeth when she smiled, stripping down the front of the stoic and reliable captain of European champions that she had to be. You hated that she always lifted others up, yet put so much pressure on herself. You wished that she would be selfish sometimes, for when you weren’t there to pick up the pieces.

You never fared well, being away from her for long, which was why when she pulled you towards her and closed the distance between the two of you on the couch, you obliged.

“I love you,” she whispered after pressing a slow kiss on your lips.

With a lovesick sigh, you caressed her cheek and repeated her words. You loved the way her blue eyes narrowed watching you when you were so close to her face. The movie was running on the TV, but the only one you wanted to watch was her. You’d have to rewind it later.

FOUR. To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuaraithe).

There was a simplicity in all of it. This aspect of your life that, amidst the chaos and complications and unfairness in the world, was just that. Love. It was simple, it was sweet, it was yours.

It reminded you of a quote you read once: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” If anyone asked you why you loved her, you wouldn’t be able to answer. It would simply be that because she was she, and you were you.

Maybe Zeus never intended for soulmates to find each other. He was the one who split them up in the first place because he knew they would be impossible to part if the two halves merged.

She is half of your soul, as the poets say.

There was something so transcending about loving someone, and having it reciprocated. Every part of it; the good, the bad, the ugly. But you wanted all of it. You wanted to experience everything with her, because she was half of your soul, and it was the only way you could ever feel close to whole again before Zeus split you into two.

Your lover was panting quietly on top of you, her golden hair falling over her face like a lion’s mane. Her eyes fluttered close, her lips parted, her skin was hot to the touch. You watched, seeing the slightest shift in her face as she pulled your legs to her chest, the friction of her rocking slowly turning palpable as it fell into a rhythm. You would hold onto her, your fingers pressing down to create temporary craters into her skin, treading lightly, not wanting to disturb her pleasure, like a lone astronaut exploring a rogue planet.

You sighed contentedly hearing her quiet whines, an indication of an impending release. Your lover has never been loud, like she was saving everything she was feeling for you like everything would only be contained in these four walls, only for the both of you to share.

At some point, she had mumbled something and leaned down to flip you on your front. Even while her movements were restricted by her healing knee, she still liked to be as rough as she could, and you liked it, when she was always so sweet and gentle out of bed. It made you feel wanted, the way she pinned you to the bed and pressed herself against you, the way she intertwined your fingers and coaxed you through your high and kissed you until your lips were bruised and pulsating.

She made you feel wanted, even after you both had given each other euphoria, her frantic kisses to your skin always managed to elicit short giggles out of you. You would whisper in her ear after she had rolled over, the bedsheet warm and damp where she lay, holding her lean body close to yours, just like before Zeus had split you in half.

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and unless a primordial god physically grabbed you by the waist and tore you away from your soulmate, you would stay here, one moment after another, until infinity. After that, you’d wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

FIVE. Wasteland, Baby!

Your lover was a light sleeper. You had discovered that within the first few months of dating. The way she stirred awake was not dissimilar to how a fussy baby wakes up at the slightest of noises. Usually, she would be quite grumpy as well.

Your circadian rhythm looked more like arrhythmia with the jet lag you were experiencing, in addition to the irregular hours you slept due to having to adjust for filming. Which was why you were in the living room, reading, so your tossing and turning wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

Once again, whenever you were with her, the silence didn’t bother you. Not when you were bathed in her scent wearing her sweater and the premise of her resting a room away from you.

It was around two in the morning when you heard the bedroom door open and close, and the sound of quiet feet shuffling on the floor.

“Hey, you. Why are you awake?” You asked gently, extending a hand out to her.

“I woke up to use the bathroom and you weren’t there,” her bottom lip jutted out like it always did when she wanted your attention.

You stifled a giggle and a coo at how adorable a 26-year-old woman could be. “I just thought I’d leave you be since I couldn’t sleep.”

Without prompting, your lover made herself comfortable on the couch and snuggled into your side. “You’re wearing my jumper.”

You continued reading with one hand while the other rested on her head, and stroking it lightly. “Yeah, found it lying around.” You placed a short kiss on her hair.

“I love this, Y/N,” she said, her words nearly unintelligible from mumbling into the fabric of your sweatshirt. “I made a Pinterest board the other day for our future home.”

“Ooh, tell me more.”

“I’d like to live in the countryside somewhere, with like a farm. It’ll be a cottage with vines all over the walls and everything, wooden kitchen set, a sunroom.”

“I can see that,” you said, “what about the city? You ever dreamed of living in New York? Paris? Hong Kong?”

“I’d feel like a fish out of water. I can barely stomach London. You’d been to all those places.”

You have, but nowhere felt like home unless you were with her. You could make a home in Antarctica if she was there with you.

“All of them are overrated anyway.” You hummed. “I like it wherever I’m with you.”

Her nose crinkled whenever you’d say cheesy stuff like that. You never knew how much those words made her heart skip a beat, as she buried her face in your neck.

“I realized as I said it,” you scrunched your face too.

“Working with Wes Anderson made you a sap now, hasn’t it?” She quite enjoyed this side of you. “It’s fine. I like it.”

Sleep found her again shortly after. In the morning, she woke with a sore back, but her heart was full, realizing she had been tangled in your arms all night.

SIX. Swan Upon Leda.

To know pain; the kind of pain that cuts through your flesh and leaves you bleeding dry. A stinging sensation that soon turns into agonizing hellfire and the knowing that there are several more spirals of hell still waiting to make you bleed. It was to witness someone who was half of your soul be in pain whilst you were powerless against the evil, and all you could do was pray that it would spare your soulmate and take you instead.

Your hand clasped around hers like iron chains, rubbing her back soothingly, as if the warmth from the back might manifest in her front and assuage the pain. She lay on the bathroom floor, her breathing slow and hard, like she was grappling with the evil that, by the looks of it, was winning. Clutching the heating pad to her stomach, her only lifeline, she curled away from you and into herself even further.

“Love, let’s move you to the bedroom where you can lay comfortably, yeah?” You asked gently.

She huffed and grunted. “Can’t move. Hurts.”

Your lover, your Lioness, Queen of Europe, falling apart by an invisible evil, immobilizing her like a wounded deer. The coldness of the tiles couldn’t have helped, but she couldn’t move.

Spare her. Give me the pain instead.

You leaned down, lowering yourself slowly to the cold, until you were flat on the floor too. Gently, you pulled her to turn to face you. Your Lioness was clenching her jaw, a vein splitting her forehead from how hard she was trying to pretend it didn’t bother her.

And it stung even more when she let out a choked sob.

Then she said with a trembling sigh, “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

Her face was stained with streaks of silent tears, a sign of the raging battle she had to endure for years finally getting the best of her. But the evil had never seen the best of her; she reserved it all for you.

“Oh, baby.” Your hand came up to cup her face, the frame that held the entire world.

It didn’t matter that your lover was curled up on the bathroom floor, she was still your bravest girl, your strongest soldier, and your fiercest Lioness.

“You’re the strongest person I know,” you said sincerely, “and I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”

Your lover beamed tearfully like sunshine in the rain and clung herself onto you.

Young love was the thing of fairytales. You would never claim to have it all figured out, but if what you had wasn’t love, you didn’t know the half of anything.

SEVEN. Like Real People Do.

As serious as your lover made herself out to be, she was the biggest goof on the planet the moment a drop of alcohol entered her system. Never acted out of line, never said anything that she’d regret in the morning, just the rowdiest thing that considered waving her arms in the air while wobbling back and forth dancing. It made a spectacular scene to watch, especially whenever she was with her best friend, whom you had to thank for bringing her into your life.

Even the people in her life who knew her as responsible and trustworthy would be concerned at this entirely different side to her, to which you only waved them off with a laugh, and said, “She’ll be fine.”

She would always be because she always had you to take care of her.

“Water, babe?” She knew to listen to you and chugged the whole thing in one breath.

“Come dance with me?” She offered when the DJ slowed the music.

She looked too good not to, so you took her hand and followed her to the dance floor. Once there, she wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed a kiss on your forehead. “Come closer. You smell so good.”

You laughed. “Creep.”

“This is our song,” she chuckled.

The familiar melody elicited distant memories of shy ‘hello’s and stolen glances, her best friend pushing her towards you, and her keeping your number on the phone all night until she finally gathered the courage to press on it.

It was the first song on every playlist you sent each other, like a stamp, a greeting, a confession.

It was the song that played when it was just the two of you alone after she became her country’s pride and joy.

“I remember,” you said, brushing a strand of her hair back from her blue eyes, dazed ones that looked at you like you held the world in your hands. “I thought you’d be more confident, just from seeing how you are on the pitch. It was very endearing.”

“I was nervous, okay?” She groaned, laughing quietly. “I didn’t wanna embarrass myself in front of a movie star.”

“I’m glad you asked me to dance, even though—”

“I’m shit at dancing, yeah.”

You giggled, and bumped her nose. “I feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

She was swaying you back and forth, humming to the song gently, a far cry from the first time you had asked her to dance, and she panicked and said her legs were made for football and not dancing.

“I’m still shit at dancing,” she chuckled.

“I don’t care,” you shook your head. “I still love you.”

“Even if I’ve got two left feet?”

“Mmhm.”

She grinned and kissed you, inhaling deeply. “I can feel Alex taking pictures of us—Yup, her phone is out and it’s pointing at us. Very subtle, Alex.” You laughed when you turned around to see your lover already flipping the bird at her best friend.

“We do have her to thank for getting us to meet.”

“That’s ‘cause she beat me to it first. I would have found a way to you.”

“You didn’t even know me then, babe.”

“Yeah, but I’d still find my way to you.” She was giggling because you had pulled a face. “What? It’s true.”

Leah loved deeply, and boldly. You made her feel special like she was the only person in the world. You also made her feel ordinary, like she wasn’t the face of a nation and only any other stranger walking down the street. Inside the little bubble you were both in, you were just Leah and Y/N, two people in love.

The song had come to its end, and yet she still hadn’t let you go. Three little words sat on the tip of both of your tongues. You pressed a kiss to her lips first. She kissed you back, on the lips, then on the neck softly.

I love you.

I love you.

What you didn’t know was that she planned to make you a promise of forever, with a ring hidden in a drawer waiting at home.

Simple. Sweet. Ours.

EIGHT. De Selby (Part 1).

“Lee?”

“Hm?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Mate, honestly like—“

[sunsdiary]

( @ ) YEE TO THE...WHORE? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა . . .

toji fushiguro & gn reader · farmers market · domestic fluff · hubby!toji · step-son!megumi · suggestive (his tiddies are out) · family bonding · crack fic

toji barely dressed appropriately when the time called for it. you never knew if this was something he did intentionally or if it was out of pure laziness, but when your three year old step-son picked up on his unusual habits of wearing flip flops out in minus ten degree weather, that was when he changed.

for the better, you weren't sure. his fashion style was still questionable, nonetheless, but megumi started copying him.

"eh hehe, loo'! papa 'nd i- matchin'!"

megumi is starting to acknowledge his fathers accent more and more as the months grew by. it was practically part of his vocabulary by now, and at one point, you had to tell your husband off for swearing so much around him.

when megumi glances up at you, there's something similar to delight in his eyes as he holds his balled fists up in the air to cheer. he quickly notices you are also dressed for the occasion and all the toddler can do is stare.

"p-pwetty..." is what he manages to come out with.

you give him a warm smile that conveys a simple 'thank you', but that fades when you look over at toji who walks into the room.

silence ensues rapidly. you couldn't believe your eyes.

"seriously, toji?"

"wha'? ya don't like the fit?"

you think its quite ridiculous how toji is trying to flirt in front of his three year old son right now, flexing the muscles on his biceps and swaying his hips that enhance the large silvery buckle on his belt.

megumi's head goes back and forth between you and him as you cover your face with your fingertips. your forehead twitches into a frown.

megumi demanded to dress up to the upcoming farmers market. it was a common occurrence that the three of you went into the city every month, but this time they were also holding a cowboy festival.

toji stood before you, confused. he wore black denim jeans underneath his creamy-coloured chaps with boots that had large spurs on the heels. moving up, he wore an open leather coat.

...... ...........

...........................

...

did you forget to mention that that was it? that was all he was wearing.

oh, and of course, a cowboy hat with a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck to top it off.

"you couldn't of...put something underneath that, toji? what is wrong with you?"

"what do ya mean?" he gives you a quick and subtle wink.

you point directly at his exposed chest. "this"

it took a lot of convincing yourself to tear your eyes away from his hairy chest and happy trail, but you were in the presence of your step-son. his son.

toji never dressed appropriately when the time called for it...

"megs seems to approve of it."

but when the toddler heard the mention of his name, he frowns and speaks up articulating a sassy tone.

"nuh uh, papa say he want to impress you with his pepperoni."

the heat in your cheeks makes its way to your chest and you burst out laughing after further silence. toji's mouth twitches and turns slightly downward, a bright hue of red saturating the apples of his cheeks as he hears your laugh resonate through the room.

"ah... bean, ya ain't gotta expose papa like that...?" he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from you, almost confounded.

you weren't impressed, but maybe you were... well, by how bold and utterly ridiculous he was. you wish he took something serious for once.

"so what? ya gonna let me go out like this?"

"hell no. put some clothes on, tart."

"wha is a t-tart?"

megumi peaks up and your body twitches in reaction. the same hand as before comes up to your face, sighing loudly this time. toji breaks out into a laughter. megumi then proceeds to attach himself to your leg like a leech.

"have some dignity here, for your son, please, toji. unless you want him blurting out about how massive your 'pepperoni' is at school."

toji's laugh fades as quickly as it comes. he stutters, a little flustered, before mumbling something underneath his breath. he tristfully walks out of the room again.

when you watch him leave, he pulls a wedgie from his jeans and all you can do is snicker while shaking your head.

you crouch down to little megumi's level. "what are you most excited for megs?"

"hmmm hmmmmmm" he taps his chin adjusting his cowboy hat. toji listens to your voices fade into the background until he closes the door to your shared room.

"are my nips really that big?"

he proceeds to take his coat off, standing in front of your body length mirror, a deadpan expression forming on his face. he unconsciously runs his tongue over the scar on his lip.

the mirror was large, but even then, it still couldn't fit his whole frame into the reflection. it's not like he needed to see his own face anyways when he was checking himself out in the mirror.

toji sighs, turning his body a fractional amount to flex the muscles on his back.

"should i stop working out chest? i thought they liked tha"

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Could I request a barmaid employee!reader x Tommy where he finally convinced her (pressured her) into trying opium with him and he takes advantage of her blissed out state please and thank you 👀

-Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy!

warnings: drug use, date rape basically, noncon, smoking, p in v

Shining the glasses behind the bar, your not so busy night was coming to end only the lonesome Shelby you could see walking toward the pub in the rain. He was drenched when he walked inside, the smell of soaked clothes and whiskey wafting through the air when he stepped inside.

Tommy had been interested in you for awhile now but hardly ever made an appearance in the pub since you were hired. Something about you kept him astray. Maybe it was the way your hair flowed effortlessly, your strands shining in the dimlight. Or the way your skirt hardly covered the bare skin of your exposed thighs, the fabric sometimes getting bunched up without you know. Such a mysterious, yet beautiful young thing.

Taking a seat at the bar Tommy pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping at the bar signaling for a glass of whiskey as if he hadn't had enough.

"Mr. Shelby, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He chuckled, lighting one, this one not having that orange hue at the bottom like most cigarettes. You'd heard of people rolling their own but Thomas was wealthy enough that there was no need.

Crossing your arms, you crossed the bar, taking a seat beside him when he offered his hand out, motioning for you to take a hit. Perhaps the man just wanted company, a stranger to share his time with from his dreary life, yet something seemed off. He hadn't even said anything to you and you'd heard the rumors about him.

“It’s just a smoke. What do you think I laced it or something?” Tommy chuckled casually, keeping his calm composure, those blue, charming eyes shining like diamonds toward you while the sound of water dripping from his hair onto the floor being the only sound in the room.

After some contemplation, perhaps one cigarette wouldn’t be too bad, besides it wasn’t often your boss even checked in with how the pub was doing. The casuals never failing to show up and drink their lives away while wallowing over women who’d left them, throwing a few flirtatious remarks in the process.

“Alright fine.” Tommy leaned over, his firm grip on the drug pressing to your lips, telling you to inhale. It wasn't even nearly five seconds later that you were coughing up a lung. You didn't normally smoke, the feeling of smoke filling your airway still new to you but this tasted different. Maybe it was imported tobacco or something, definitely not weed.

“Tom, you didn’t tell me cigarettes were going to make my mouth as dry as a fucking desert.” Your eyes were dazing, vision turning blurry from the drug. Was this how cigarettes were supposed to make you feel? It was working, Tommy was pleasantly surprised how fast the potent effects had on you.

"You alright y/n, eh?" Your body suddenly felt a euphoric rush, angelic eyes rolling back as your eyelids fluttered shut.

Noticing your head falling, Tommy sat back you temple resting lazily on his shoulder as he smoothe back your hair, other hand gliding over the bare skin of your thigh.

The last thing you remembered before everything turned black was Tommy’s fingers inching under the thin fabric of your panties.

Your vision and thoughts came and went in waves, only conscious for certain periods of his abuse.

Tommy hummed in approval, before unbuckling his belt buckle and flailing your blissed out body over the bar, ignoring your incoherent mumbles of protest. Fuck you could hardly see anything, the atmosphere just spinning, unable to form any basic thought while a numbing sensation inhabited your brain and body. The only thing you could sense was the profound danger you were in, body unable to do anything about it.

His hands grazed up the smooth skin of your thighs, landing on your perky cheeks and gripping tightly at the fatty skin. He was going to have so much fun.

"Fuck." He cursed in a low, desirable groan finally having your most private area on full display just for him.

His fingers slicked between your wet folds, stopping at your hole. Plunging his fingers in, he was surprised to feel how wet and tight your hole was, it was even better than he imagined.

Groaning and trying to bat him away with a flick of your hand, he grabbed your wrists holding them behind your back while unzipping the zipper of his pants, allowing his girthy, eager member to spring free.

“Aw c’mon sweetheart. I’m simply doing you a gratuitous favor.” You whimpered underneath him, unable to close your legs due to his tall, over powering figure standing between them.

Aligning his cock he took a deep breath in before plunging into your sweet, tight abyss. Your head rolled from the slight sting, still unable to do much from stopping him. He felt rather large, girthy even. Stretching you open wider, his eyes glued to his cock sliding in and out between your slicked walls. “Tommy-“ The only thing you could mutter out, wincing from the pain and still delirious from the effects of the drug.

“Look at my favorite barmaid taking me cock so well.” He continued to hold your wrists back, hips snapping against you roughly, hitting your cervix with each forceful thrust. You cried out from the pain that still had yet to turn into any type of pleasure.

Your ass cheeks ricocheted off of his movements each time his length pounded back into you. You were out of breath, body weak. The sight of you so weak and ar his complete mercy only pumped the raging hormones inside him, stepping closer so that he was rutting into you like a fucking dog relentlessly. Claiming what he’d wanted to for quite a long time.

His fist curled in your hair, lips just inches away from your ear as he moaned lustfully against your lobe, biting at the sensitive skin roughly.

“Gonna fucking cum in you like the whore you are…” The last thing you felt was Tommy’s cock pulsating inside of you before you passed out.

When awoke, Tommy must have layed your damn near lifeless body up against the shelves of liquor in the basement. Jolting up, your head was pounding, eyes scanning the room frantically before the shattered pieces of your memory came flooding back into your mind.

Upon noticing the bruises on your thighs, you could hear menacing footsteps walking down the stairs toward you. What else had he done to you?

"Ready for a second dose?"