#feel free to send me any of you wants or predictions

[lavandulawrites]

Yandere Genshin Men With An Escaped Darling

Characters: Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Capitano, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Pierro, Sethos, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli (all separate)

This took me so much longer than what I have planned. I had much fun writing this:) if you have any yandere scenario requests feel free to send me an ask<3 (I most likely won’t include every single character). (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: violence, murder, imprisonment, manipulation, drugging, female reader

Word count: 9664

Albedo

The icy wind whipped against your cheeks. Snow clouded your vision. The tree branches waved in the wind and grasped at your clothes. You hissed as a thorn ripped your fabric, causing you to bleed.

As you ran down the mountain you glanced over your shoulder at every given moment.

A clearing caught your eye. Finally you could breathe out. You leans against a large tree. You needed to cover your wound. You rummaged through your pockets and to your joy you found a small scarf. The thin woven scarf was gifted to you by Klee, Albedo’s younger sister. The little girl was so proud when she gave you the scarf and wanted you to wear it all the time. Sadness filled your being at the thought of ruining the pink scarf, but your arm was more important. You bound your wound tightly with the scarf. One of the things he had thought you.

“I told you to stay inside the cabin” his voice echoed.

You froze. You prayed to the archons that it was just your mind playing tricks on you.

“This mountain is dangerous. You have no way of defending yourself” his voice soft.

You turned your head. Your eyes met his ice blue ones. They were cold, just like the icy mountain.

“Let’s go home” he walked towards you with quick steps. His arms wrapped around you and he kissed your forehead. “You are better off home, with me. I will keep you safe” his arms tightened around your form.

Alhaitham

The scribe had given you freedom. Which allowed you to freely roam the Akademiya. While Alhaitham was preoccupied in his office, you explored the university. Within a couple of months you had made friends with a couple of the students. You never told them you situation with the grey haired scholar, but they all knew that you lived together.

You had spent a lot of time plotting your escape. After all escaping the scribe was no easy task. The House of Daena was empty and quiet. The small bag you had hoisted over your shoulder filled with only the necessities. Your hands was shaking as you pushed down the door handle to a back door. The sunlight blinded you as the door opened.

You hurried down the path from the Akademiya. Your flats clicking against the cobblestone. You had to get out from Sumeru City and seek refuge in a remote town. It was risk, sure, but it was your only hope.

After an hour or so you had made your way to a small village on the outskirts of the capital. It wasn’t the ideal place, but it was your only option for the night. You was so kindly offered the spare bed by a lovely elderly woman. She didn’t ask why you looked over your shoulder every minute and that you were thankful for.

You packed your things and thanked the older woman for her kindness and went on your way.

After hours on the road your legs felt like jelly. You stopped by a abandoned house and rested on the little bench by the overgrown vegetable garden.

You woke up by the sounds of footsteps coming your way. A shadow blocked the sun.

“I must say you have slightly developed, but unfortunately you are still as predictable as ever” Alhaitham shook his head. “The elderly woman you slept at told me everything as soon as I explained the situation” his lips widened into a grin. “She thanked my for looking after such a helpless woman such as yourself.”

Strong arms picked you up and held you tight against his strong chest. “Let’s go home”.

Ayato

Ayato was a sly man. With his white clothing he looked like an angel, but that was far from the truth. You had many times heard him command the Shuumatsuban to get rid of the clan’s enemies. You knew the katana that rested by his hip when he was out on public duties, had slaughtered many.

You were afraid. Not only by him in himself, but afraid of his power and actions. That’s why you climbed over the tall walls that shielded the Kamisato residence from the outside world. Your ankles buckled under you as you landed and you whimpered out in pain. After you had collected yourself, you made a run for it. The ninja’s that were stationed around the estate had without doubt already spotted you. You hoped that they went to report to Ayato instead of chasing you down.

The way down to the beach was rocky and dangerous. Like a wild goat you quickly made your way down thanks to the adrenaline that pumped through your veins. The old rowboat was in the same stop just as you had recalled from an evening stroll with Ayaka along the beach. To your luck the two paddles were still there. You pushed the boat with all your might to the shore. The saltwater cold against your bare feet.

The swish of an arrow stopped you in your tracks. You looked down and saw it sticking out from the side of the boat. The hole was not that big, but it would cause your boat to leak in enough water for it to sink before you had made it to safety.

“Seize her!” a Shuumatsuban with high standing ordered.

A man with his face covered dragged you away from your boat and bound your wrists behind your back.

When you looked up at the cliff you saw Ayato looking down at you. He made his way down slowly and dread filled your veins.

He stopped in front of you and lifted your chin with a finger. “Did you have fun?” he leaned his face closer, his breath fanning your face. “Do not forget that I have eyes and ears everywhere”.

“Now let’s get you home. I will make sure you won’t slip through my fingers again. Though I must say your little attempt humoured me”

Baizhu

Tricking the little zombie girl made you feel horrible, but it was your only ticket to freedom. The green haired doctor had feed you herbs that made you weak and depended on his care. You had seen the label on the little bottle containing the medicine. So when he was out researching some herbs, you went through all the medical books he had in his libraries in search of the antidote. After much time and countless books you finally figured out the antidote.

You talked to Qiqi alone when Baizhu was busy treating a patient. You explained that he needed some herbs and told her that she had to deliver them to you and not her guardian. After some convincing she agreed. You crossed your fingers that she would remember and not slip up.

To your joy Qiqi had indeed remembered. The herbs tasted awful, but it was a small price to pay. It didn’t take long before you felt the medicine Baizhu had given you wear of. When he came to check up on you, you pretended that you were still weak. You asked him to go get some more medicine and he did as you said. When the green haired man left, you quickly tried to pry the window open. It was slightly jammed, but with your new strength you managed. Finally you had escaped the snake’s nest.

Your feet moved fast as you ran down the many stairs. You had to turn Baizhu to the authorities for his crimes. Just as you had made it down the stairs you bumped into someone. You didn’t need to look up to understand who it was.

“You will catch a cold running around like that” his voice cold as ice. His fingers lifted up your chin. “Tricking Qiqi really was a low move. That poor child was absolutely devastated to come home to an empty house. As for me I must say I am deeply disappointed. I have made it very clear that you will not manage without me.”

His lips curled up into a soft smile. “Let’s go home my darling. I will make some tea.”

Capitano

The first Harbinger was worshipped throughout the whole snowy nation. His underlings held great respect for him. He could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but to you he had a soft spot for.

Boots hammered against the ice ground. You knew you wouldn’t be able to run away from them, but you would not give up so easily.

As you made your way through the thick pine forest you started to regret your decision, but it was too late. As you came to the end of the forest you were surrounded by soldiers. Their spears raised towards you, stopping you in your tracks.

The sound of hooves reached your ears. The soldiers parted and bowed deep. On a tall black horse sat Capitano. Even with his face hidden by his black helmet, you could feel his intense gaze.

The stallion came to a halt and his rider dismounted. The snow crunched underneath his heels as he made his way towards you. His height towering over your trembling form. “You are all dismissed” he barked out. The soldiers bowed before they marched down the hill.

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity. The ice cold wind howling against the tree tops. The dark haired man finally spoke “You broke my trust. Criminals deserve to be punished.”

With a swift motion he threw you over his shoulder and held you in place with his arm. He mounted his horse and squeezed his heels against the animal’s flank.

The Harbinger’s hold on you was tight and as suffocating as his presence. As you watched the landscape blur together you realised that you would never escape him.

Childe

The sound of children’s laughter could be heard in the distance. The small fishing village Ajax’s family resides in was remote. The river that ran across it ice cold and filled to the brim with fish. You crept as quickly as you could between the trees that surround the village. To your dismay Childe’s childhood home was just by the border which meant that the red head knew the woods like the back of his hand.

You winced as you heard Teucer calling out for his brother. The little child had noticed your disappearance.

You picked up your speed and ran as fast as your legs could carry you. It was difficult with the heavy snow, but you had to keep going.

A flash of red stopped you in your tracks. You quickly hid behind a rock and held your breath.

“It’s not nice to run away” a chirpy voice said. Childe.

Of course he found you. It was only a matter of time. His soft laughter rang throughout the woods. He was close. Too close.

Suddenly he jumped onto the rock you had hidden behind. You yelped and backed away. He grinned as he looked down on you. His eyes wide and crazed. “If you wanted to play hide and seek why didn’t you just say so?” he laughed. His laughter chilling.

He jumped down and landed just a few centimetres from your legs. He bent down and dragged you to your feet. “Teucer, Tonia and Anthon are all waiting for you back home. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them would you?” he tilted his head and faked a sad expression.

He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. “When we get home after our visit here, I will never let you leave my side. Is that understood?” his voice low. He chuckled as he pulled back to study your expression. “That frightened look of yours is really something. Makes me wanna eat you up” he kissed your cheek. “Don’t make me lose my cool, okay?”

Cyno

The sun was bright and high. The heat was unbearable and you regretted not seeking shade. The sand danced across the dune as the wind gave you some mercy from the heat.

In front off you on the scorching sand laid the lifeless bodies of the eremites that had helped you with your escape from the general. Blood coloured the sand red and the ruins surrounding you were splattered in red. The metallic sand made you dizzy.

Cyno stood before the bodies with his back turned to you. His white hair was coated in red. His strong muscles made him look like a god as he stood there with his bloodied spear. He turned to you. His face blank.

“I am sorry you had to see that” his expression apologetic.

He planted the spear in the ground and walked towards you slowly like he was afraid of scaring you. He squatted down so that he was on your eye level. You pulled your legs towards you as much as you could.

“Why did you run away?”

You only stared at him with big eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. His head piece long discarded. “The desert is a dangerous place. You have no idea how scared I was when I noticed your disappearance” his eyes sad. “When I saw you among those eremites… I have never felt such anger. I had no choice but to eliminate them. Those who try to take you away from me deserves punishment. I did the right thing with ridding the world of such people” his hands was trembling in anger.

“I will make sure no one tries to take you away from me again. I will always be by your side” he kissed your tears away with a soft smile.

Dainsleif

Dainsleif had long lost his sanity. At least when it came to you. That much was clear.

You had just managed to escape him while he slept. The ruin you had chosen for your resting place for the night was eerie quite. Even the monsters were gone. You would have found it weird had you not been on the run. You manoeuvred through the dark ruins as fast as you could. After a while you made it out.

Your relived expression fell as you took in your surroundings. The monsters you had disappeared were now standing in front of you. You slowly backed away as you thought up an escaped plan. Just as you were about to make a run for it, dark blue power lit up the area in front of you. With movements faster then what your eyes could see, the monsters were slain.

The blond traveler looked at you with a look that sent shivers down your spine. He flicked off the blood that coated his blade as he made his way towards you.

“I expected more from you. To believe you so ignorantly took the bait is truly disappointing” he shook his head. “But on the plus side, I have now proved to you that you will never make it without me. Let me be your protector. Let me take care of you” he kneeled in front of you as he took your small hand in his and kissed it gently.

You could only cry silent as the Twilight Sword led you inside the ruins. Dainsleif was a man of his word and you knew very well that he would never break his promise to himself.

Diluc

The winery was a beautiful place. When you first arrived you thought it looked like something straight out from a fairytale. You could not be more wrong as you soon learned.

Diluc was a desperate man. He had tricked himself into believing he was your saviour and he would do anything in order to protect you. If he had to kill someone in order to do so he would not bat an eye.

You had escaped through the cellar door and out the cellar window. You had been unsure if you fitted through the window, but to your surprise you fitted like a glove. The moon casted a pale light against the manor and it made you pause in your steps by its beauty.

The stables were empty just as you had expected. You tacked up the chestnut mare Diluc had gifted you. You kissed her forehead as you collected yourself. He would come after you.

As the mare galloped through the dense forest you could hear the distant shouts from Diluc. You gritted your teeth as you made your horse run faster.

Just as you thought you had made it, you heard the dreaded screams of his hawk. You had lost.

Your eyes were heavy as you slowly gained consciousness. You were tied to the desk chair inside his bedroom. Your bindings was of the finest red silk. You shivered at the similarities between you and a neatly wrapped present. In front of you were a highly distressed red haired man. He was walking back and forth, muttering something to himself.

“How could I be so careless as to not look better after her… I am a fool” he hissed to himself.

After a few minutes he stopped and turned to you. His expression softened as he cupped your face. “I apologise for the bindings, but it is necessary. You could be hurt you know?” his voice soft, but serious. “I will never let any harm happen to you. Ever.”

Dottore

The doctor’s blood red eyes always sent shivers down your spine. Even though he was human, he seemed like anything but. His embraces felt like a cage and his sweet words like poison. It didn’t take you long to understand why he was the most feared man in the entirety of Teyvat.

Dottore held you within his estate and refused to let you leave. Heavily armed guards guarded your chambers. You had tried to convince them to let you go and the next day you were delivered their served head on a platter. Dottore was cruel that much was obvious.

You knew you could never outsmart Dottore. He was one of the smartest beings on the plant and he never pretended not to be. If you couldn’t trick Dottore, you would trick the servants.

The long hallways in Dottore’s mansion were dark and empty. You sneaked through the manor as quietly as possible. With the key you had stolen clutched in your hand you made your way to the garden door. You twisted the key in the keyhole and pushed the door open. Cold air filled your lungs. Your eyes lit up at the sight of the snow filled landscape.

Your freedom was however short lived.

“If you take a step outside of that door I will behead this woman” a deep voice reached your ears.

You froze and slowly turned. There in the doorway stood the Harbinger. His raven-like mask were nowhere to be found. His hand was wrapped around the neck of the maid who you had stolen the key from. Her face was filled with fear and she looked at you pleadingly.

As much as you longed for freedom, you could not bear to have the blood from someone else on your hands. You walked back in and locked the door with a lowered head. You placed the key in Dottore’s waiting hand.

He slipped the key onto his pocket with a smile. “Good girl.”

“However…. I cannot let such an action go unpunished” he tck-ed. He threw the maid across the room. Her back hit the wall with a loud thud.

“I have given you all a specific rule you all must follow. I have made what would happen if you would ever break it quite clear, have I not?” his voice as cold as the unforgiving landscape that surrounded the estate. The maid muttered a “yes lord Harbinger”.

The blue haired man scoffed and turned to you. “I suppose I should teach you a lesson” his eyes held nothing but cold determination.

With three long strides he stopped in front of the maid. Her eyes filled with horror. He pulled out a sharp and sleek scalpel and slight her throat in a precise motion. “You deserve much more suffering, but I don’t want me darling to be witness to that so this would have to do” he sneered at the maid as she gurgled on her own blood.

He threw the scalpel and wiped his hands on his pants. “Let’s get you back to your chambers shall we.”

He snaked his arm around your waist and led you out of the hallway. “I trust that you will stop your escape attempts and accept that you belong here with me” his voice smooth like honey.

Gorou

The general of the resistance was a generous man. He always looked after his soldiers and treated them with respect and you were no different. He loved you with his entire being, that much was certain.

He never brought you to the frontlines. You were to stay at the base with a few trusted soldiers that looked after you. They all knew about your situation, but no one cared. They all were just glad that the general had someone who brought him comfort through the tough times.

As the soldiers exchanged posts you were able to sneak out of the cabin. You did not get far before a certain brunette had tracked you down.

His big cerulean eyes wide as his whole body tensed. “Why are you out here?” his big eyes not blinking once. His ears alert.

“You didn’t try to leave right? It must be something else? Right?” his voice raised. His fangs visible as he sneered.

He gripped your hand tightly as he dragged you back to the camp. “I’m sorry sweetheart, but I need to keep you safe” he looked at you with a sad expression as he hurried back to the camp.

The hybrid had always been extremely overprotective to the point it suffocated you. He always told he did what he did for your own good.

The next nights he held you tightly in his arms as he slept. His fluffy tail wrapping around your leg in a protective manner.

Heizou

The detective had locked you up in his own home, claiming it was a way to protect you. Every door and every window (and some drawers) had complicated locks on. Only a few doors and drawers were unlocked.

Heizou was out on a detective job so you were left all alone. This was your chance to get out. You knew all to well that the detective most likely would track you down, but you could not let such an opportunity pass.

The puzzle that was the lock-mechanism on the front door seemed different. Heizou did have the habit of changing them so you didn’t think too much of it. The puzzle was tricky, but after a while you were able to figure it out. The door unlocked and you squealed in joy.

You hadn’t come far before someone wrapped their arms around your shoulders. “Boo” he whispered into your ears causing you to yelp.

“Aww… Did I scare you now?” his tone mocking. He leaned his entire body weight onto you causing you to stumble. He chuckled at your shuffling and poked your cheek. “I’m glad you passed my little test sweetheart” he purred.

You regained your senses and pushed him off. You glared at him as he laughed.

“You really are entertaining aren’t you? You thought that I would ever let you go… Now that’s just too funny!” he wiped his tears as he laughed.

“With your naivety, you are better of with me” he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. Your noses almost touching. He cupped your cheeks and smiled at you gently. “I will take care of you, darling.”

Itto

The brutish oni was really clingy and always felt the need to have you glued to his side. Getting alone time was nearly impossible, but you managed when he was out organising a onikabuto match.

While the white haired man was busy making posters with his gang, you snuck out of the house. Which was surprisingly easy when he wasn’t home. The city was lively and the lit lanterns flickering in the wind. Stars littering the clear night sky. You sneaked among the multiple food stalls. The smell of fried fish filling the air.

The sound of a booming laughter made your limbs freeze to the ground. You could recognise that laughter everywhere. You turned your head and your eyes widened in fear at your confirmed suspicion. Before a dessert stall stood Itto with Mamoru. “We gotta get something for the gang. You brought money right?” the oni nudged Mamoru who muttered a “yes boss”.

You quickly hid behind a small group of someone who stood before the boba shop. Luckily you where shorter than the group and you were able to stay hidden.

“Wait… Why does it smell like [Name]?”

“I don’t know boss. Isn’t she home?”

Your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. You carefully peaked through the group. Itto was sniffing in the air, the action almost comical, had it not been for your predicament. His closed eyes snapped open. His red slit eyes met yours. His body tense like a hunting dog. His expression filled with shock. “Doll?” he called out.

Your feet moved before you even registered it. You sprinted down the street. Your sandals clicking against the ground. You didn’t need to look back to know that Itto was right behind you.

You jumped down the railing and you were thankful that the jumps wasn’t too high as you landed on the soft grass. Just as you made it behind a small building, a big hand grabbed your arm. You lost your balanced and was pulled flushed against a broad chest.

“Why are you outside?” his voice eerily quiet. “I thought I made it clear that it’s dangerous, you are not a big strong oni. Humans are so fragile and weak” he pulled you into a tight hug. His face pressed against your soft hair. “You better listen to me next time… or I would have to tie you up” he pressed a kiss on top of your head followed by a soft “I love you”.

Kaeya

The Calvary Captain’s office was quite save from the sound of the captain’s pen scribbling. He hadn’t acknowledged you since he brought you inside his spacious office. His silence was scarier than his anger. He continued to write his report about some mission. The grandfather clock in the corner ticking.

After what felt like an eternity Kaeya looked up at you. He folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. His lone eye looking straight at you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “You broke my trust did you not?” his honeyed voice terrifying. He tck-ed. “I am disappointed, but not surprised” he sighed. “I should punish you” he unfolded his hands and drummed two fingers across the rim of his empty glass.

“Why would I want to be locked up in some apartment?” you spat at the smug knight. His lips stretched up into a uncanny smile.

“Oh my…. You are more naive than what I gave you credit for” he chuckled. He stood up suddenly, causing the chair legs to scrap against the hardwood floor. He walked towards you like a stalking wolf. His eyes hungry and brimming with madness.

He stopped before you and leaned down on the arms of your chair. His face close to yours. Too close. His crystal blue eye scanned yours. You felt completely naked underneath his gaze. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know how you so foolishly conceived the knights guarding the house?” he laughed. His laughter sickening. “I dealt with them as soon as they reported back to me. It was a pain cleaning of the blood from my new boots, but some sacrifices must be made” he sighed.

He grasped your chin and leaned closer “I will never ever let you go.”

He straightened up. His expression lighthearted. “Now let’s get something to eat shall we?” he pulled you up with a tight grip. You looked down on his boots as he dragged you out of his office, noticing the few blood speckles he had missed.

Kaveh

The house Kaveh had constructed for you two was like a maze. With many corridors and doors, it was easy to get lost. He had built you both a home where he could play out his fantasy. He had kept you locked away in the mansion for months. Kaveh said it was to keep you safe and away from prying eyes.

You tried to force the window open for the 10th time, but to no avail. The window was still only a few centimetres open. Kaveh had proudly showed you the windows he had constructed that would not open more than a few centimetres. You had hoped that the design of the master architect had failed, but to your disappointment they had not.

Your eyes scanned the room till the landed on the doors to the winter garden. The glass were delicate and beautiful. You studied it closely till you came to the conclusion that they might be fragile enough to shatter. You picked up a stool that were standing in the corner. You lifted the furniture over your head and smashed the windows with all your might. The glass doors shattered into million pieces, looking like glittering diamonds. You dropped the stool and climbed through the window. You hissed as you cut yourself on the jagged pieces of glass that were still standing.

The winter garden was cozily decorated and it almost made you sad to leave it. The door out to the garden was locked which wasn’t a surprise. To your luck one of the miniature stone statues that resembled birds of all sizes, was perfect for shattering windows. It almost broke your heart at the thought of shattering the beautiful stained glass walls, but you had no choice. With all your might you managed to break it.

You ran as fast as you could through the garden. You had to find the exit before Kaveh came home from his meeting with his new client. As you were about to climb the tall fence that surrounded the property, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down. You back hit the soft grass and straddling you were Kaveh. His eyes filled with betrayal and anger.

“How could you?!” his voice loud. His grip on your shoulders tightened. “After all that I have done for you?!” his features twisted into rage and hurt.

You tried to defend yourself, but your words died on you tongue. You had never seen Kaveh that angry. Fear filled you entire being and you felt sick. You casted a last look at the flush forest behind the fence. You knew that this would be your last time outside for a very long time.

Kazuha

With your breath ragged you ran through the dense forest. You had finally managed to escape the white haired samurai. You just needed to reach the beach and board one of the fishing boats that were docked at the dock.

You finally made it to the clearing that lead down to the beach. You waved at the fishermen and they turned to greet you. The dock was old and badly maintained. Splinters poking out and threatening to stab your feet. Just as you were about to ask the captain on the rather small boat, a gust of wind nearly knocked you down.

Red maple leaves fell gently down form the sky. The man in front of you moved quickly and elegantly. His movements like a dance, completely ensnaring you with his beauty. Crimson rain littered the air before it splattered your face. The warm liquid brought you quickly to your senses. Kazuha swiftly slashed his katana, slitting the throat of the captain. The red eyed man landed gently and wiped his blade with a handkerchief. The white fabric staining red in an instant.

He turned his gaze to you. His lips bore a gentle smile. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you. He lifted his hand and gently wiped the bloodstains of your skin. “What is my delicate flower doing here?” his voice soft.

You swallowed. You had yet to let you eyes wander to the slaughtered boat crew. Kazuha’s eyes scanned yours. His long eyelashes fluttered. Tears ran down your cheeks in crystal clear rivers. You shoved him away as hard as you could. He stumbled back, but you knew he held back his strength. He had let you push him. “Get away from me!” your voice weak and trembling. You choked out a cry as your fell down to the wooden floor. The wood was soaked with red blood. You let your eyes wander. You wanted to throw up at the sight of the dead boatmen.

“You know I can’t do that. Without me you’re lost. I need to protect you. You are the only light in my life and I know we will live happily ever after” his voice was pained and vulnerable. His calloused hands gripped your shoulders in desperation. “I am never going to let you leave me” his smile crazed and not fitting his saddened eyes.

He wrapped his arms around you in an embrace that reminded you of a cage. His face nestled into your soft hair. “I will make you happy, just you wait and see.”

Lyney

A swarm of cards flew over your face, momentarily blinding you. You ducked your head, but lost balance as something caught your leg. It was a makeshift snare made of multiple colourful handkerchiefs. Playful giggles reached your ears.

“The surprised look on your face is to die for! So adorable!” his voice gleeful.

You quickly got back on your feet and was about to make a run for it when Lyney tackled you. You landed with a groan, the cobblestone hard against your back. Lyney pinned your hands to the ground as he sat on top of your midriff. He grinned as he looked down on you.

“It’s no fun in you escaping you know?” he tilted his head. He kissed your nose before he jumped off you. “You could at least be a little more creative” he shook his head in faux disappointment.

“Asshole” you sneered at him.

His cat like eyes crinkled in amusement at your remark. “How rude” he snickered.

Just as sudden as he had jumped you, his expression changed. His eyes colder than ice and his mouth a thin line. He grabbed your wrist and dragged you after him.

He unlocked the house he, his siblings and you resided in. He quickly locked the door after him and dragged you into your bedroom. He let go of your hand. You quickly stumbled as far away from him as you could.

“Why can’t you let me have nice things? Why [Name]?” his eyes narrowed. It was in moments like this that you remembered his role in The Fatui. His eyes held a dangerous glint that dared you to cross him.

Your eyes widened in horror. “No, no, no… Please Lyney!” you begged. Tears trialing down your cheeks and pooling down onto the soft carpet.

“You gave me no choice. This is the consequences of your own actions” he shushed you as he clasped the chain onto your left ankle. He gently kissed your tears away. “It’s only temporary, okay?” he gently stroked your cheekbone. “I love you darling, don’t forget that.”

Neuvillette

Even though the judge bore aesthetically similarities with the sea otters that lived in the Fontanian waters, he was not like them at all. They were sweet playful creatures, and the judge a selfish cruel man. His good reputation made you sick. If only the citizens of Fontaine knew him like you did.

He had kept you hidden and locked up in his beautiful home. That was until you had managed to convince the Melusine that was in charge of looking after you that day. At first she refused to let you out, but when you told her that you were going to buy a present for Neuvillette she yielded. If it was under other circumstances you would have felt bad for tricking her.

The bustling streets of The Court of Fontaine a familiar sight. You breathed in the air. Oh how you had missed the smell of new baked goods and the music of street musicians.

You knew it would not take long before Neuvillette would notice your disappearance. You had to get out of the city and onto an aqua bus before he sent the Gardes after you.

You bought a ticket with the money you had managed to steal from Neuvillette. You quickly made it up the stairs to the aqua bus station. The aqua bus was just about to depart when a group of Gardes blocked the exit behind you. You leaped for the bus only to collide with a broad chest. You could recognise that scent no matter where in Teyvat you found yourself.

You slowly raised your head. Neuvillette looked down at you with a furious expression. You had only seen that expression when he had caught you chatting with other men (it didn’t matter to him that your conversation was only friendly and nothing more). His lilac eyes bored into yours, stripping your soul naked.

“I told you to never leave the residence” his voice low and lazed with anger.

His horns glowing light blue. His hands balled into fists by his sides, clearly trying to ground himself. You lowered your head.

“We are going back at once and you better not make any commotions” his hand turned you around and firmly guided you to the lift. One of the Gardes reached out his hand in order to size you properly. “Get your filthy hand away from her” Neuvillette’s voice boomed.

The Garde tried to defend himself but was cut short by Neuvillette. “Leave at once or you will regret it” his teeth bared. His sharp fangs fully visible. The Garde bowed and quickly left.

Neuvillette’s hand tightened its hold on your shoulder. “When we get home I demanded an explanation as to why you left your home” he whispered into your ear.

Pantalone

Pantalone was sitting on a expensive leather chair. His shoes polished in a way you could see your own reflection in the black leather. In his gloved hands was a black pistol with details in white gold.

In front of him on the cold polished hardwood floor knelt a man. His hands were bound behind his back. His eyes were looking pleadingly up at the Harbinger. He was a guard whom you had befriended. He had so kindly helped you escape before you both were caught red handed by the ninth Harbinger.

The black haired Harbinger turned his face towards you. “This is what he gets for taking what’s mine” his voice as smooth as velvet. His eyes dark and his smile cunning. He turned towards the bound man. “I must admit that I am a rather greedy man. I really hate when people try to take what’s mine” he sighed and clicked his tongue. He flicked the safety and pointed the pistol at the guards head.

“No!” you screamed as you desperately tried to get lose from your silk bindings.

Pantalone shushed you gently. “He asked for it my love” his voice sweet as sugar.

“Any last words?” he smiled. “Hmm… I don’t think you deserve any” he fired the pistol before the poor guard had the time to open his mouth. Pantalone’s smile stretched into a sickening grin. The man’s brain splatters onto the expansive rug.

You screamed as you tried to swallow the bile. “How could you?! You disgusting monster! I hate you!” you screamed while thick tears ran down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry my dear. He’s not worth shedding your lovely tears over” Pantalone kneeled in front of you. His eyes gentle. “I will make sure that no other men like that ever gets between us. You are mine and nothing will ever change that” his voice low.

Pierro

The sorcerer had forced you to your knees with his magic. You could feel the power tugging at your mind and it hurt. His pale eyes boring into yours. “Have you forgotten your place?” his gruff voice echoed inside the ballroom.

You glared up at him unable to do anything else. He kneeled before you and harshly lifted your chin. His expression harsher than the unforgiving climate outside. “I must say I’m utterly disappointed in your behaviour. You should be ashamed.”

You tried to get control over your limbs, but to no avail. Your words died on your tongue and you were unable to make any sound.

The white haired man scoffed and released his hold on you. His magic released you completely and you crawled backwards and away from him. Creating as much distance as possible.

The Jester rose to his feet and dusted off invisible dust from his elegant robe. “If you were anyone else I would have executed you for your crime. Do not forget that our relationship was blessed directly blessed from Her Majesty Herself” he sneered.

He hauled you up to your feet, his iron grip bruising. He dragged you down the corridors and up the many stairs to your chambers. He slammed the door open and dragged you inside.

“Think over what you have done. I don’t take such humiliation lightly” his eyes narrow as he looked down on you. “Don’t think you will ever get away. You belong to me and that’s final” with that he closed the door and locked it making you all alone.

Sethos

You ran over the dunes as fast as you could. You had to be fast. Behind you you could hear Sethos voice as he called for you. To your misfortune the free spirited man was fast. Extremely fast. Your sandals were filled with sand, but you couldn’t care less.

Suddenly it became quiet. Too quiet. You hid behind a rock formation and listened. Suddenly a figure slid down the dune to your left and leaped on top of you. He was precise enough that make sure you landed on the sand and not the rock behind you. His wild hair rustling in the wind.

The sight in front of you reminded you of the time when he swept you away and locked you away inside the temple. He had first gotten to know you when he visited Sumeru City. He had told you it was love at first sight and he asked you to come and visit the desert with him. You were taken aback by his impulsiveness, but you soon grew accustom to it.

“If you wanted to play hide and seek you could have just said so” his entire weight on you. He was silent for a few moments. His crystal green eyes scanning yours. You could see his gears turning. “Don’t tell me you tried to run away from me…? You would never do something like that? Right?” his voice lazed with disbelief and desperation.

In a swift movement you were brought to you feet. His hold on you right and you wondered if he thought you would fly away if he let go. “Let’s get back to the temple” his voice back to its jovial self, but his eyes clouded with obsession and desperation.

Thoma

The white mop mopped over the hardwood floor in a fast motion. The white colour quickly staining red. A crimson red pool of blood was spilled across the floor. The sight made you sick. Bile raising up in your throat. You were sitting in the coroner of the room , hugging your knees. The blonde man stopped his mopping and raised his head and looked at you. His face splattered with blood. He sighed and leaned the mop against the wall.

“I am so sorry you had to see that, my angle” his green eyes pleading. He crouched in front of your trembling form. He gently caressed your cheek.

The friendly and kind housekeeper was gone and replaced by a green eyed monster that slaughtered anything in its path. He had beheaded the kind men that helped you escape from the Kamisato estate.

“I am wounded that you tried to leave me. What did I do wrong?” his eyes glossy.

You locked me away you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

“My master has been kind and let us stay here together and this is your gratitude?” his voice slightly raised. His eyes scanned over your form and landed on your bloodied nightdress. “I have to get that off” he muttered as he quickly rose. His movements frantic as he looked for a washcloth.

“My gratitude?” your voice shaky, but loud. “You have taken everything away from me!” you stood up. Your legs shaky.

Thoma’s eyes narrowed. “Watch your tongue” his voice cold.

You swallowed. You understood now better than anyone why so many feared the “fixer”.

His hold on the washcloth tight. His knuckles whiter than snow. “Go to your room and change. I will wash your nightdress later” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Your colour drained from your face as you hurried to your room. Your bedroom seemed more like a prison than anything else.

Tighnari

The forest watcher had always lectured you about various plants and their effects and benefits. At first you thought it was boring, but after awhile you learned to use it to your advantage. Taking herbs from Tighnari’s beloved collection was tricky, but not impossible. You had read through every single book he had on botany. Your plan was bulletproof.

Tighnari had gently sipped on the cup of tea you had brewed for him while he read through some reposts. He had then fallen limp over the kitchen table. You checked his pulse and breathes out in relief when you felt his pulse against your fingers. You wanted to escape from the obsessed fox, not kill him.

You rummage through his pocket for his key. The key was heavy in your hand and it was almost a surreal feeling when you twisted it in the lock. The air fresh and welcoming. With a last look at the unconscious man you began your journey.

The rainforest was tricky to navigate in, but luckily you had stolen both a map and a compass from Tighnari. Yet again you were glad you paid attention to his boring lectures. The sound of branches snapping made you stop in your tracks. The hair on the back of your neck rose.

“Poisoning me…” his voice echoed through the treetops. “Your audacity is truly something” he sneered. “Look at me when I’m talking to you” his voice nearer.

You slowly turned around and were met with a angry hazel eyes. His long ears pinned back in anger. His arms folded over his chest.

“The rainforest is dangerous. Let’s get back” you could see he was holding back his fury. His jaw clenched. He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. “I guess I have no choice…” he sighed as he stalked towards you.

Quicker thank you could register he had trapped you within his arms. “I will never let you go. I’m just trying to protect you” he whispered against your ear.

Something pricked your neck. Your eyes widened and darted to Tighnari’s. “It had to be down. Consider it… pay back” he supported your body as you lost consciousness.

Venti

The anemo archon was an eerie man. He was all smiles and friendly laughter among the crowd disguised as Venti the bard, but with you he was like a completely different person. Sure he was still easygoing, but his obsession and possession overshadowing anything else. He had told you many times with a playful smirk that he was undoubtedly the weakest archon. You never believed him. You had seen with your very own eyes what he was capable of doing to those he thought was undeserving of your attention, but you had yet to see his full potential. Though you must admit that you rather did not wish to witness that.

He kept you in the ruins of Stormterror’s lair. He had made the ruin as liveable as possible and even quite cozy. He treated you like royalty and gave you everything except freedom. You thought it was rather stupid considering he was the god of freedom.

Escaping the ruin was almost completely impossible considering the wind shields that surrounded it and the dragon that acted as a guard. When you finally managed to escape and run over the grassy meadows you were so happy you cried.

Your tears clouded your vision causing you to become less aware of your surroundings.

Strong wind slammed against causing you to lose balance. There in front of you were Barbados. He was not in his usual clothing, but rather in a godly outfit. White big wings flapping behind him. His cerulean eyes glowing intensely in the night. He was completely silent, but you felt the anger oozing out from him.

You were completely frozen to the ground and you were unsure if it was his doing or your fear taking over. You wanted to explain yourself, but your voice failed you completely.

With a gust of wind you were swept up into his arms. His arms strong and squeezed you flushed against him. His wings flapped silently as he soared through the air. High up in the air you were able to see Mondstadt City and you quickly came to the realisation that you would probably never step a foot inside its gates again.

Wanderer/Scara

In front off you was a raging man. His eyes wide and filled with fury. His hands held anemo power which he sliced through the merchants that had guided you through the tick rainforest. Wanderer’s hair was slicked back with blood. He delivered the last strike to the merchant before he landed. He slowly turned around to face you. His hands shaking with anger.

You opened your mouth, but quickly shut your mouth at his raised hand. “Those lowlife who think they can take you away from me” he laughed manically. “How dumb can you be?” Wanderer sneered through laughter. “Because you would never leave me right? After all I have been through? Right?” his eyes crazed as he continued to spew nonsense. “We are destined to be together. It’s my right. How dare they to take that away from me?! I should revive them just so that I could kill them again” his laughter sounded almost forced.

He wrapped his arms around you. You could feel tears against your neck as he wept. You were astonished by his vulnerability. It almost made you pity him. Just almost.

He quickly regained his composure and roughly wiped his tears on his sleeve. “Let’s go home…” his voice distant.

The journey back had been quite. When you finally arrived back he shoved you inside. His eyes wide and intense. “You have no idea how much I wanna lock you up in a cage right now” he muttered. His porcelain white hand tightly gripping yours. “I will make sure so that you never leave me. I need you. I need you so much it hurts. So don’t ever try and get away.”

Wriothesley

You had long planned your escape from The Fortress of Meropide. Unlike the other inmates you were completely innocent. You had been wrongfully imprisoned on the request of Wriothesley. You had gained the trust of some of you fellow inmates and they promised to help you escape. You had chose the pipe cleaning day as your day of escaping. All went smoothly and exactly as planned.

The only step left in your plan was descend into the waters that the pipes were connected too and swim out to freedom. After that you had to avoid the detectors, but you were confident in your diving abilities.

As you were saying your thanks to the kind inmates, the sound of heavy boots against metal echoed in the pipes. In the opening of the pipe were Wriothesley. His imposing figure sending shivers down you spine.

The metal decorations on his outfit clattering with each step. The handcuffs on his hip catching the light. His icy eyes held an unreadable emotion. “Well well… What might this ruckus be?” he tilted his head and placed his hands on his hips. His tone held a dangerous edge to it. Wriothesley eyes glued onto yours and completely ignoring the others.

A bottomless pit formed in your stomach and you almost threw up. You swallowed the taste of vomit. Your freedom was so close, yes so very far.

“Are you aware your sentences are going to be so much longer?” his lips curled up into a little smirk. “I thought you were smarter than this” with two steps he reached you. He hooked off his cuffs and cuffed your wrists. “It seems you need a more secure cell… Luckily I know just the one” he leaned closer to your ear “I will make sure you always stick to my side”.

You had never regretted something more than your little escape attempt. The new so called cell was a bedroom connected to the Duke’s living quarters. Your freedom had never been so distant as it was now.

Xiao

You ran as fast as you could. The landscape blurring together as you navigated through the forest. You had to escape him. Or at least try. Tue bamboo forest was dense and dark. Your human eyes struggled to see clearly. You could hear birds fleeing in the distance. He was close.

You had ran away when you learned that he had slaughtered the man who had so kindly gifted you sun pork buns. The adepti had let you run first, which surprised you. Even though you didn’t understand why, you were grateful for your head start.

Suddenly a green black cloud appeared in front off you. You tried to turn in your heel to flow, but was stopped when a hand grabbed your collar. You were momentarily unable to breath. It was only when he loosened his grip that you were able to gasp for air.

“I don’t understand you mortals. I only do what I have to protect you. I give you everything you need and more” he sounded confused and annoyed.

“Without me you would not have managed to survive. At all” he spun you around so you could face him. “Did me killing that man hurt you that much? I have killed many of you near acquaintances and you never batted an eye…” his voice trailed off as he was lost in thought. “Could it be that you never realised? Never mind. It doesn’t matter now” he sighed.

At the thought of him killing your near friends without you knowing made you sob helplessly. He only started at you in confusion.

He clicked his tongue before he hauled you over his shoulder. “I need to ask Madame Ping for a tea pot it seems…” his voice a frustrated groan.

Zhongli

You had sought shelter at a kind older couple. You needed to regain your energy before you fled the city. The woman was kind and gladly cooked for you. She completely denied your help. You stayed at their house for two weeks before the older woman knocked at your bedroom door and told you a friend of her husband was coming to visit.

The atmosphere in the living room was as tense as it could get. In front of you were Zhongli. He was the friend the couple had spoken so warmly about. The brunette was sitting in the sofa besides the woman, one of his legs over the other. His hand elegantly holding a cup of tea. His reptile eyes staring you down intensely.

You felt like sinking into the floor. Your hands trembling as you took a sip of the tea. The bitter taste doing nothing to soothe your nerves.

“I don’t know if you are aware, but I and miss [Name] know each other’s very well” his smile sharp. To hear your husband speaking in such manner made your heart beat against your chest.

You knew it was unwise to go against Morax and his contracts, but you had no choice. He had tricked you into signing the contract that would imprison. Zhongli had terrified you before you knew of his identity as the Geo Archon, but when you found out about his identity you were absolutely petrified.

Zhongli hummed at a joke the man had told. His golden eyes never leaving yours. His lips twisted up into a grin which revealed his sharp fangs. With the golden light from the sunset outside he looked even more inhuman than ever before. You felt small and utterly helpless before him. You dreaded his punishment that you knew would income when he brought you back.

After an hour and an half had past Zhongli excused himself. “I must take my leave now. [Name] you should come with” his order clear as day. He smiled to the couple and bowed in courtesy.

You swallowed and nodded. You thanked the couple for their hospitality and left with Zhongli.

When you were out of earshot he turned to you. “A broken contract is no laughing matter my dear” his hand gripping yours. “I will make it clear to you when we get back who you belong to” his voice deep and determined.

[loveyhoneydovey]

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon riley

notes & warnings: the used pictures are only for aesthetic purposes, reader is not physically described in this. AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI this is an 18+ only blog. a significant age gap between simon & reader is implied but the actual number is never mentioned. if i missed anything please lmk:)

this is a completely unedited little something i wrote at 4am

reader who never fell out of love mechanic ex-boyfriend simon

you still recommend your ex-boyfriend’s garage to your friends (especially any vulnerable women) because despite your failed relationship, you’ve never met someone as trustworthy and reliable as simon 

you and mechanic simon who met when you’d found a used car you wanted to purchase and wanted to have it independently inspected 

reader who found this older, ruggedly handsome, stoic and yet professional mechanic who seemed to know his shit. despite the terrifying skull design resting next to his shop’s name, you trusted him immediately

not only did he inspect the car for you, but he also helped bring down its price and performed any necessary repairs at a huge discount (he never told you about this, you eventually figured it out on your own)

despite the obvious crush, he was very reluctant to pursue anything with you. not only were you his client and trusted him not to make things weird, but you were also so much younger and he felt like an old dog who was beyond learning any new tricks

you should’ve taken his warning from the beginning as he had predicted the downfall of your relationship before it’d even began

reader whose car has been acting weird for the past couple of months so you begrudgingly take it to simon’s shop

you’d actually tried taking it to some new garage in town, but had a feeling you were being lied to and overcharged when the sleazy mechanic barely spent an hour on it and said it was back like new

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who doesn’t even need 5 minutes to tell you it’s on its last leg. despite his stoic demeanor, he’s actually concerned by how you’ve been driving such a vehicle in such an unsafe state

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who starts asking till he finds a car within your budget. one he inspects himself to make sure his baby not anymore doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere because of faulty brakes

the fucker was ready to buy it himself, but knew you’d never accept his money (especially not after the harsh parting words you’d left each other with during your last fight)

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who’ll never love anyone more than you, but still isn’t willing to repair the broken bond between you two

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who still uses o’keeffe’s working hands cream every day cause you used to always rub it on his hands, swearing his calloused skin would soon feel like a baby’s butt (and of course you were right). he tries to mimic the way you’d gently work it into his damaged skin as the only thing he had left from you now were memories

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who never really tries to move on from you despite his apprentice’s attempts to set him up with multiple people (what’s the point of you for something he’s already found) 

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who went through the army and came out even more damaged after a stint in prison. he believes nothing good will come out of such a sweet thing so full of life being chained to a grumpy old man like him

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who despite thinking all of that can’t accept the thought of you being with someone other than him

WHEW the is the first time i've written in YEARS (and i probably won't write anything for another good 5 years fjkdsw). hope you enjoyed this as much as i did!! this au idea has been rotting my brain for the past few days and i just had to let it out. feel free to dm me, leave a comment or send an ask about this au. dividers made by @anitalenia ✨

[mistytarot0919]

⏰⏳🕒How to predict timing with tarot cards?

©mistytarot0919 - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

Please REBLOG if you find this information useful! ༄˖°🪐.ೃ࿔*

While Tarot cards can provide insights and guidance on a situation, predicting precise timing can be difficult as the Tarot operates on a more intuitive and spiritual level rather than a literal timeframe.

It's important to remember that Tarot readings are meant to provide guidance, not concrete predictions. Trust in the process and allow the messages from the cards to unfold in their own time.

If timing is a crucial aspect of your question, consider seeking additional clarification from the cards or a professional Tarot reader.

Traditional tarot timing correspondences

WANDS - rapid action(hours to days), noon and spring

SWORDS - quick but not as fast as wands(days to weeks), morning and spring

CUPS - somehow slow( weeks to months), evening and autumn

PENTACLES - the slowest of all(months to years), midnight and winter

Note: If you want me to create a deck regarding timing feel free to send me an ask!

you can do it in a calendar spread and look for the first card that is the most representative(THE LOVERS, 2 OF CUPS, 9 OF CUPS - wish card, any of THE KNIGHTS, ACE OF CUPS) - in case if you wonder if a relationship will appear in future

the first card will represent the current month when is possible for the relationship to start/appear

if 2 of Cups is the 5th card - a relationship will appear in 5 months from now

you can also look at what sign the card represents and the relationship can start in that sign period

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Answer to “When?’’ Question According to Major Arcana Tarot Cards

The Fool - When you make a leap of faith, spontaneously

The Magician - When you are ready to manifest it, quickly

High Priestess - You already know when, trust your instinct, night, a new moon; Unrevealed

The Empress  - When factors align, 9 months

The Lovers - When you make a decision

The Chariot - Fast moving card / When you are determined

Strength - When you believe in yourself

The Hermit - Slow moving card/ After a period of self reflection/solitude

Wheel of fortune - When the divine timing is ready, anytime & without notice, soon

Hanged Man - Stagnant, this situation will require your patience. When you change your perspective or surrender and accept, undetermined

Temperance - Things may happen slowly. Patience and moderation

The Tower - Suddenly, unexpectedly, abruptly, immediately

The Sun  - Summer, a year

The Star - When you believe

The Moon - A month

Judgement - Winter, stormy weather

The World - When the divine timing is ready, slowly

Lots of lower numbers - long time

8, 9, 10 cards - rapid conclusion

Using the numbers of the minor arcana it can be an indicator of when an approaching event may be likely to happen. By using a simple mathematical formula, we can arrive at a projection. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟnumber + suit = timing

For example, if the outcome card is the 2 of Wands, we could deduce the following: 2 + days = 2 days

This may suggest the event may happen in two days, or that it will last for two days.

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Asking the right question & Reading the cards first:

By focusing on more specific questions and considering the potential story or sequence of events, you can gain deeper insights into the situation.

When encountering multiple reversed or negative cards, it could indicate obstacles or challenges that need to be addressed before progress can be made. It's all about understanding the nuances and layers within each reading to uncover the underlying messages and guidance.

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Minor Arcana Timing Methods - Season Method

Each suit in Tarot is indeed associated with one of the four elements, which in turn correlates to one of the four seasons:

Wands (Fire): Associated with the element of Fire, symbolizing passion, energy, and creativity. This suit corresponds to the season of Spring, where growth and new beginnings are prevalent.

Cups (Water): Representing the element of Water, Cups signify emotions, intuition, and relationships. This suit is connected to the season of Summer, reflecting nurturing and deeper emotional connections.

Swords (Air): Aligned with the element of Air, Swords signify intellect, communication, and mental clarity. This suit is linked to the season of Autumn, where critical thinking and decision-making are emphasized.

Pentacles (Earth): Tied to the element of Earth, Pentacles represent material aspects, stability, and abundance. This suit correlates with the season of Winter, symbolizing practicality, grounding, and financial matters.

The number method in tarot can provide additional insights into timing within a reading.

By considering the numbers on the cards drawn, you can make predictions about when an event may occur.

For instance, if you draw the Six of Wands and the Six of Cups in response to a question like "When will I find love?" the presence of the number six in both cards could indicate a time frame ranging from 6 days up to 6 months for the event to unfold.

This method adds a layer of specificity and helps in understanding the potential timing of future events based on the cards drawn.

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Major Arcana Timing Methods: Zodiac Sign Method

Astrological correspondences can also be used to predict timing in tarot readings, particularly with Major Arcana cards. Each Major Arcana card is associated with a specific astrological sign or planet, providing insights into timing and potential events.

By understanding the astrological correspondences of the Major Arcana cards drawn in a reading, you can gain insights into the timing and potential influences of celestial energies on the situation at hand.

The Fool: Aquarius (January 20-February 18)

The Magician: Gemini (May 21- June 20)

The High Priestess: Cancer (June 21-July 20)

The Empress: Taurus (April 21-May 20)

The Emperor: Aries (March 21-April 20)

The Hierophant: Taurus (April 21-May 20)

The Lovers: Gemini (May 21-June 20)

The Chariot: Cancer (June 21-July 20)

The Strength: Leo (July 21- August 20)

The Hermit: Virgo (August 21- September 20)

The Wheel of Fortune: Four fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius)

The Justice: Libra (September 21-October 20)

The Hanged Man: Pisces (February 21-March 20)

The Death: Scorpio (October 21-November 20)

The Temperance: Sagittarius (November 21-December 20)

The Devil: Capricorn (December 21-January 20)

The Tower: Scorpio and Aries (October 21-November 20) (March 21-April 20)

The Star: Aquarius (January 21-February 20)

The Moon: Pisces (February 21-March 20)

The Sun: Leo (July 21- August 20)

The Judgement: Scorpio (October 21-November 20)

The World: Capricorn (December 21-January 20)

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡oopsie you already reached the end ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

[vyzz-undercover]

someone left my cage open quick

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(8,800ish words) (holy fucking kill me mate)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•not dubcon? [omg they've grown guys]

•hints of size kink

•vaginal fingering [on herself]

•(so i guess) masturbation

•oral [m receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•mild possessive behaviour

•hint of slapping (he deserves it)

•mild horror themes [warp ptsd]

•tumblr's cancerous fucking formatting as always

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hi guys :3 guess what i got you all good im not dead,,, the gods have let me live another fateful fortnight (fortnite) also i love you all so so so much pls enjoy!!!! @moodymisty, @lemon-russ, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @egrets-not-regrets, @pluvio-tea, @kit-williams, @thevoidscreams, @mothiir, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sinistermojo, @beckyninja, @passionofthesith, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @allergymoose, @scriberye, @yestheantichrist, @ma1dmer, @cucunot!!! if anyone wants off or on taglist lmk!!! im more than happy to adjust this in post OK BYE ILY ALL AGAINNNN!!!

———————————————————————————————————

There should be higher security in this wing, Cato notes.

But compared to the rest of the vessel, it's safe—as in, there's senior Admech's leaving their doors open while they buff out the scratches in their mechadendrites sort of safe. He bets seeing a mouse around here would cause a stir. Honestly, he can fully render the pict in his mind of some haughty Seneschal turning their nose up to his Primarch because of that.

Cato can imagine the exact following happening, 'eugh, why doesn't Lord Guilliman virus bomb the pipes? That's what I had done on my pissy little rowboat of a void ship!' in that nasally, all too predictable tone that every single bloody one of them seems to have bar maybe a few.

Cato grits his teeth at the thought alone.

But it is safe. You're safe, here. He trusts his Primarch to ensure that for you. Being so cozy to Guilliman as a baseline certainly has its benefits. This place is good for you, unlike the bowels of the ship—where even Cato avoids going.

Not for any risk to his persons, of course. But simply because of the tightness of the hallways. And the stink of baseline sweat and oil that practically sticks to his senses for days afterward.

It's most certainly not because the low lumen count sends his mind wandering. And the flickering—damn those flickering lights—they make him uneasy. The impossible chance they'll flicker out and reveal a reality awash with fleshed decking is completely unrealistic. But still, down in those depths, he feels like he's stuck in a dying vessel, cracked at the bottom like a broken vase, leaking. Adrift, on a storm laden sea with the blackness pouring in—where within that black there is a barely perceptible colour in infinite abundance, like the phosphenes behind closed eyes—and there are eyes in that ocean—so, so many eyes, fixed with the glowing, molten hues of the warp itself; their shades a melted tapestry, a solvent thing, ever-changing.

Eyes and screaming. It sometimes returns to Cato like a bad case of tinnitus, ringing and shrill—but the mind crafts horror that pale reality in comparison, and in that wretched plane of existence those mental horrors bore real talons, and real hooves and real thought—and the caterwauling of its victims—his brothers—ever came from maws heaving and frothing in agony.

Cato hears himself stumble and slam a palm into the side wall to steady himself, but doesn't feel it. He feels like he's in free-fall, as if the ground has opened up and swallowed him hale and whole.

All time in that abominable realm was rendered simply nonexistent, without matter nor meaning to behold to any living creature. Naught but the notion of being practically alone and how chilling it was spiralling down the depthless lake of energy remained. No resistance of air lent to the sensation of plummeting, but he was sure he was for reason beyond any form of tongue. The distance was irrelevant and utterly unmeasurable. But the warp had no edge, no limit; and as it lacked a limit, the depth of him sinking was surely unbounded—just as it was eerily silent. A merciless wall of mute, dark unknown which swallowed all whole under it's cresting wave of solitude. Mute except the wailing, like song—song of sheer coincidence, where so many voices in unison chances harmony by mathematics beyond comprehension.

The sour taste on his tongue drags him loose of the claws about his mind.

He blinks, and sees and feels steel.

Cold, unforgiving steel walling like a soothing downpour on his nerves.

Cato groans as he rights himself, shaking his head, and then rolls his tongue around his mouth; gagging a little at the bitter, acrid aftertaste of his Betcher's gland acting on instinct.

He'd thought himself largely past this now. It had been so long since it happened, and Cato tries, he tries so painfully hard not to imagine the same thing happening here, because he's okay, you're okay—nothing would try to take this ship.

The vile taste on his tongue annoys him, because he'd scrubbed his teeth raw in an effort to seem as polished as he could; and now his tongue probably stinks like an empty las cartridge.

He spits on the floor and straightens up, it's fine—at least that's what he tells himself. You're close, and you're safe and that's all the encouragement he needs to fall back into step.

Cato takes a few strides down the corridor towards your quarters before realising something rather important.

He reaches into the folds of his rest attire and practically yanks out a sheathed knife.

It'd be closer to a dagger to you, and he doubts you know how to use it, but—but—

He wants to give it to you.

It's what he'd like to receive, at least. After all, it is what he was given, once.

The smith on Talassar is long dead, from age or sickness, but it matters little. All that matters is that Cato had received it ages ago when he'd yet to make anything of himself and he wants your hands to know its weight. You never carry weapons to diplomatic ventures in the past, and you've told him as much, but he gathers it's because there's never been place for you to put them on your persons in those stupid outfits of yours.

It's a little bit brutish of a gift, yes, he's well aware. But there's no possibility of bringing any sort of cliche boon to your door, like flowers, or something of the sort. Or whatever those waifs of yore would demand as a courting gift.

He doesn't even realise he's continued walking until he's stopped and standing outside your chamber like a kicked hound.

Cato stuffs the dagger back against his breast.

He's not sure if he should knock.

Maybe barging in is a more logical approach.

He knows the universal override to all the input pads, but there's something seemingly rooting him to the spot.

The nervousness hesitation he feels regarding seeing you is a lingering problem—the longer he stays beyond the confides of your room only adds to the chances of being caught. And he's not about to wait for hours outside for a hint you're actually in there. He has right to suspect you are, but the possibility of a serf being there instead of you is unrealistic but present. Actually no, he's sure that a cleaning serf would not lock the door.

So, finally, he raps a knuckle against the door and sets his footing to a martial stance.

The door clicks, then slides open a minute later.

There's a clear surprise that paints across your face as he stares down at you, before it dissolves into a small, flustered smile.

His hands twitch where they hang by his sides, itching to reach for the dagger he wants to give you. He had planned how he'd do this on the way here. Thought it through and prepared, rolling it over and over in his head. And yet, actually having you before him throws any precedent out the nearest air-lock.

You're not in any sort of prim and proper way—you're in bedding clothes, more than anything: pants and a top.

The trousers are a light shade of cyan, loose around your calves but more form fitting around your thighs. Your hips seeming to be the only thing holding the pants up from showing the warm, smooth skin beneath; that, and a small thread tied in a crude bow. Your tunic is more of a inched stola, low necked enough that he can sort of see the top of your breasts.

"I didn't.. uh," you mumble. "I didn't expect you so soon."

He knows he's earlier than he promised, but he grunts in answer and looks over your shoulder.

You blink, "What?"

"Am I to wait out here all cycle, then?"

A small 'oh, right—sorry' from you is all he receives before you take a step back to allow him entrance.

When the door slides shut and locks behind him, Cato notes the lack on downlight activated. Everything is hazed in a moody, misty (hi) sort of warm, amber glow from the candles you've left burning. He thankfully wrestles down the urge to stand there scenting the air with his lip curled up like a beast. Trying not to linger on the abundant stink of you, you, you on everything, pervading every sense he has. Promising himself he won't smother into your pillows and start humping them like a rabid dog.

He distracts himself by cataloguing his surroundings. Cato has consistently focused on utilitarianism over all else, and it shows in his room. His room is accessorised in the style befitting of his many years and achievements; with walls lined with trophies and weaponry made by the best of the Imperium. It contains just the basic necessities required: a work area, a seat, a couple of lights, an agreeably Astartes-sized cot at the middle, and close to it, a dependable incense holder.

Your room is much smaller—but the ensuite appears the same, though. Which Cato doesn't know how to feel about. He surmises it was likely a converted Captain's quarters. It's not standard issue, and neither are the copious amounts of, for lack of a better word, trinkets. But he supposes being the Primarch's favourite little diplomat-bookkeeper-pet-thing is a title full of unseemly rewards. His Father has a strange, uncouth way of interacting with baselines, and he doesn't dare linger on the hypocrisy behind that thought coming from him standing in your private quarters.

Be as that may, he still feels enormous standing there in the cramped space between you, the bed, and the desk behind you, unimpressed at the amount of clothing bundled near his feet.

You stand in your own mess without any hint of shame. A silent Ambassador is typically a welcomed novelty, but a silent you makes Cato jumpy.

You near and try to urge him to lean down, clearly trying to coax a kiss from him.

"Water," he says abruptly.

You don't seem to be listening, just looking at him with a distracted sort of fascination—then the request clicks, and you stumble into the bathroom and run the tap.

He hears the glass he's to be drinking from clink with the hardware before it fills, and them you step out and close to him to hand it over.

He takes a big gulp and swishes it around his mouth before swallowing, and gladly the wretched sourness of lingering acid is gone.

With the threat of burning your little nagging trap gone—and you none the wiser to the fact he's an Ultramarine who can, in-fact, spit acid—he rears down and gives you what you'd sought.

A slow kiss, nice and sweet and gentle; and he closes his eyes this time, in preparation.

You grin against his mouth and pull back after, and he smiles a tiny bit at the way your lips are a little redder.

Cato huffs in satisfaction and straightens back up, going in for another draught of water.

"I am surprised you live in squalor, despite all the benefits of your station," he murmurs offhandedly, looking aside the rim at the room once more between sculling down the rest of the cup.

You frown, and glance about the room, "It's not that bad."

"It looks like a drop zone," Cato grumbles, holding out the empty glass—and you take it, while he's fixed on staring disapprovingly at the messy stacks of data-slates stacked and leaning like two great spires. "Have you no discipline? No self-respect?"

"Clearly not," you mumble and glare at him, eyeing him up, then down, then up again with a judgmental leer. Suddenly, something about the situation is amusing to you—and you snort.

Cato scowls, crossing his dense arms over his chest, "And what's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothing," you huff.

He glares back at you in silence as you turn and set the glass upon the desk—what little free space there is, in that shitstorm bundle of random work.

"I just think it's funny that you say that," you start again abruptly, rounding about to look at him. "Given the circumstances."

The scoff that leaves him is nigh a bark, "Exceptional circumstances."

You snort amusedly, "So where's your discipline and self-respect?"

"Somewhere between your thighs," he says, and prides in the begrudgingly fought-back smile he earns out of you with it.

He sits himself down on the side of the bed and continues priding to himself at the wit of the remark he made.

Cato relishes in the moment, simple as it is—you're oblivious to his own troubles and there's a sweet, lulling sense of comfort in that.

"You're a real class act," You pout, manoeuvring your rear up onto the desk inelegantly. Something tumbles to the floor to accommodate, but you're evidently unbothered. Your pants ride down at the change just enough that it put the part where your hip met leg on display. Just the temptation has him fiending off an insidious amount of lust.

He wonders if it'll hold up against an Astartes fucking you on it. But it's not bolted down, so he doubts that.

The bed will hold, though. And even if it doesn't, he'll still manage—he's sure he'll take every bit of you he can, on every surface he can manage. It's just a matter of time before he goes down the checklist, really.

Cato, understandably, groans long and low at the thought.

"Something the matter, Commander?" You intone with an annoyingly obvious faux-stupidity, crossing your legs and tilting your head a little.

"No," he rasps, and tears his gaze from your hip.

You eye him, "You look a little stiff."

He grumbles, and reaches into the breast of his robes.

The sheathed dagger looks flimsy in his muscle and callous laced palm, and when he holds it out to you, you look bemused.

Your brow arches up and you scowl a little, "What's that for?"

"You," he harrumphs, and turns away. Then Cato cannot, for the life of him, look back at your eyes—so he fixes his stare at your sandals set by one another at the door frame.

A little giddy huff leaves you as he watches you scoot off the desk top and reach for the weapon in his peripheral vision.

"You didn't have to," you coo, wrapping your small fingers around the hilt and freeing the blade from its casing. A little kiss hits his cheek and then he hears the gleam of it being loosed—he'd polished the time-dulled filigree to a mirror finish in preparation for gifting you, and even sharpened it back to a killing edge.

Your sweet hum of fascination as he sees the reflected candlelight dancing off the steel has him finally look back at you.

There's a big smile on your face, and your cheeks are a little red—and it's exactly the reaction he was after.

Cato tips his chin up, noble in his smugness, and smiles back.

"It's lovely, but—" you say, "I remember having told you before I can't wear weapons."

He pouts, and then he's sour again, "There's a belt loop on this one so that you can."

"I don't wear them for a reason," you digress.

"What reason?"

"Because it looks bad for a diplomat to do so."

Cato huffs petulantly, "That's not good enough."

"Yes, it is," you huff back.

"It's just one knife," He grunts, and gestures at you vaguely. "Why not put it on the inside of your thigh?"

And for some reason a few neurones misfire in his head at the thought of his dagger being so, so close to your—

"Do me a favour, Sicarius," you simper abruptly, as if there's a hidden punchline to the entire conversation he's yet to discover, "Look under the bed."

Cato scowls, but ultimately allows the request, putting one big palm on the duvet to leer down.

Oh, that's—that's a small fortune of ceremonial weaponry.

"Throne, woman," he starts, still looking and a bit stunned. "Why? Do you just collect all these? You don't hang them up, or anything?"

"I don't collect them willingly," you mumble, "They're just... handed to me, most of the time. Sometimes by dignitaries, a few by other Astartes. I don't understand it much, either."

Cato arches lower and reaches his free hand out to the gilded sheath of a curved sword, blue and gold and embossed with jewels. It's crusade-era levels of ancient—and Cato swears he'd seen it upon the lobby wall before the broad doors of Guilliman's chambers. That, and the hundreds of other favoured tools of war his Primarch so loved to display. Some hadn't been touched since the heresy, but still. Their nostalgic sentiments held strong. He supposes age does that to someone. Even for someone as noble and mindful as his Father.

Cato purses his lips as he lays a hand on the sword and tugs it free from the pile with ease.

He holds it up as he rights himself back on the bed and scowls, "This is—"

"I know," you sigh, and your hand braces against the side of your neck as you tut, "He insisted."

"He insisted?"

"He insisted," you grumble, and Cato tries hard not to find the embarrassed colour on your cheeks painfully endearing. "I said I wouldn't wear it, but he said it'd be a good thing to keep 'incase of emergencies', or something."

"Guilliman is right," Cato says sourly, placing the sword back on the ground and using his heel to shuck it backwards back under the bed. "You're easily assailable."

"You're the fifth Astartes to say that to me," Your face scrunches up, "I feel like it's an insult at this point."

"It's a valid observation," he shoots back. "You may as well be held together with silk and ribbons—like some spoilt little princess. You should expect the fanfare with that behaviour."

You leave his dagger on the desk behind you and take a few bold steps closer to him, crossing your arms over your chest; scowling as you say, "Oh, so you're the knight in shining armour here, then?"

Cato scoffs, "I always have been."

"And that is so terribly hard?"

He raises a brow and straightens up a bit, "Yes—yes, it is."

He likes the haughty attitude you get when you're subtly seething, he likes the little scowl you wear, and the tiny crease that forms on your nose. It gets his blood up, and warp damn him if he doesn't thrill at the slightest chance to have you gratifying his antics.

"Well, you got a pretty good reward for your troubles."

He frowns sourly, "What did I get?"

"Laid," you snark.

Cato huffs, "You were desperate for it."

Your brow quirks sourly, and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Groxshit," you grumble.

Ah, so it's time for lying now. You weren't desperate, no—you haven't ever raised your ass to let him mount you, you haven't groped his cock—you most certainly haven't ridden him like an unruly beast, taking your pleasure—letting him fuck your tight cunt full, time and time again.

He ought to remind you, he ought to get you flushed with the words—because he knows you'll squirm, dithering, bright red in the face and aching between the thighs.

Instead, he snorts loudly, "Shut up and come here."

"I don't think so," you laugh.

Cato growls and rolls his eyes, "Suit yourself."

Still sitting, he lifts the folds of his robes aside and works his arms out of the sleeves, baring himself aside from the underclothes hanging on his hips.

With another huff, Cato shuffles himself back up against the headboard, settling into the pillows. He locks his fingers together, raising them above his head, stretching tall and taut; huge chest bulging as a strained groan slips free from his throat, earning a chain of muted cracks from his back in reward of his efforts.

Your eyes trace his torso where you stand aside the bed. Studying the ports and ancient scars that draw up from his hips in mirrored pathways, linear and geometrically precise—utterly surgical. Their routes turned up the sides of his ribs, stopping high on his serratus anterior, dodging his pectorals and wrapping around to his deltoids; where your gaze stayed—eyeing the tattoo of an inverted omega he had gotten so very, very long ago. It's faded a little, but the upside down Ω is still well defined.

He's got your attention now.

You shuffle forward, half on the edge of the bed; and lean close, flickering your eyes up to his—as if seeking some sort of allowance.

"Disgustingly predictable," He scoffs, cocking his head and relaxing a bit.

Seeing an Astartes out of their armour always was something to behold for baselines. Ever eye-catching even to those who'd seen it a thousand times over. It garnered awe and fear; but that was the reason the Emperor made them so large in the first place. Aside from the practical benefits of throwing their weight around, their presence alone was intended to be physically intimidating as a means to dissuade the uncooperative from resisting and to scare off contest.

To you though, his bared form is a source of lust. The stink of it in the air has him toey and eager.

But it is, afterall, the first time you've had a good, close look at him in his entirety.

Cato preens at the flush he earns when he smirks at you.

"I won't stop you, you know."

"I hope not," You muse and lay a hand on his sternum, kneeling onto the bed and scooting close as your fingers graze over the dark spread of hair dusting across his chest.

You scan from the tops of his broad shoulders down the definition of muscle to the interfaces on his fused ribs; your eyes trailing for a brief second to his dense abdomen where the hair went even lower. Arrowing down his under-cloth. His entire body was marked with brutal scars of every kind. Some raised and old, others raw and sunken.

He'd indulge a question or two about their origins if asked—or well, if asked nicely.

Oh, that meagre cicatrix below his left pectoral? That was a Carnifex he had fought. It was five of them all at once single handedly, actually—and he only had his great Talassarian Tempest blade. It was a lucky mark from the beast. It died seconds later. He's just that good—he's Cato Sicarius, afterall. You made the right choice letting him have you, please tell him that he's the right choice.

Instead, you sink down against him and lie against his side, tracing the ports on his chest.

Arguably, this is just as satisfying to Cato as gloating waxing on and on about his many successes. Your warm little body tucked against his like a perfect fit, and the feel of your fingers around the thinner skin rimming his interfacing ports isn't bad, either. It feels strange, yes, but it's a different sort of sensation. It's acutely sensitive. He almost feels like he's about to shiver at it.

But then your attention shifts to raking against the grain of the hair on his chest.

"I usually have it burned away," he says abruptly, because he's somewhat bemused by your fascination. Still, he puffs his chest out a little. "To allow greater synergy with my body-glove."

"Really?" You laugh, and it's a prettier sound than carillon bells to Cato's ears—all the while pawing at a thick hunk of his pectoral, "They toast you?"

"Only a single passing," Cato admits, "It doesn't hurt—stinks though. And then it's all hosed off."

You hum in acknowledgement and let your hand wander down his middle, following the trail of fluffy, coarse hair.

"Interesting," you hum, fingers tracing the path, stopping only when you're grazing just shy of the top wrap of his undercloth. "You feel a bit like a fur rug here."

Cato breathes in slowly, "Don't test your luck."

"It's an entirely valid statement, how am I testing my luck?" You grumble, glowering at him as you pull away.

"You ought to be reprimanded for insubordination," He says with a steely, disciplinary intonation, but the threat's hollow and you're seemingly well aware of that. He leans in and pulls you close again as his touch sweeps down your legs. His nose buries into your hair, big hands appraising groping.

You set about kissing his cheek, smothering yourself against him.

The airy gasp that leaves you when he squeezes your ass makes you bold, apparently, because the next words you choose to say are; "Do you accept bribes?"

Cato's immediate theoretical response is a snarky 'No,' but then the heel of your palm is sliding up the side of his cock through the wrapped linen.

So, pointedly, he eagerly groans out, "Yes."

You simper up at him, before fussing with the fabric. Exposing the dense plain of his hip, tugging and un-pleating a little more until he's bared from the navel down.

His cock's so hard it nearly bats you across the cheek as it springs free. To which Cato snorts, not even trying to hide his amusement.

You flinch a little in surprise, a hint flustered, and eye the hard length of him as if it's personally affronted you.

He sits a little more upright, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Offering his big, sturdy quads as a cushion to lean on as you slowly pump him in a steady motion.

"Well?" Cato snarks, "Get on with the bribery then."

You pout at him, glancing back—and huff, "You smell like an apothecarium."

Cato grumbles to himself, slow to gather his words as he watches you ogle him, "If I had... known that you wanted to get that damn snout of yours so close, I wouldn't've used such harsh soaps."

You raise an eyebrow and pout, "Wonder if they're toxic to ingest."

"I doubt it," he starts, "But I guess there's only one way to find out."

Your fingers glide over his big thighs, dodging his ports and smoothing upwards to trace the old paths of his surgeries.

And even with all his stoic, anally neurotic merit, Cato can't stifle the small subvocal hum that escapes him as you flatten your tongue, licking a warm stripe up the side of his cock.

The feeling of it is staggeringly new, and he's absolutely elated at the view. It's half the appeal, even if there's no way you're getting anywhere near as much cock in you as your cunt allows.

You wrap your lips around the fat tip, keeping it in your mouth as you stroke the thick base of him with a grip that can't even meet around the width; balancing yourself better on your knees by putting the other hand on his thigh—the sleeve of your top slipping down your arm.

"This may be a better use for your mouth than diplomacy," He says as he lets out a low sigh, hips jerking forward with shallow movements in time to the bobbing of your mouth.

When you pull off to swipe away the glaze of spit and pre-cum accumulating on your chin, you lap your bottom lip and huff, "You are a prick, you know that?"

Despite being enamoured by the sight of you disheveled, he grumbles petulantly and says, "And you had to take your tongue off mine to say that."

You frown at him, then acquiesce with a petulant little grunt.

Then your mouth descends on him once more, rocking back and forth, letting gravity angle him in. All Cato can do is relish in the sensation, finding no room in his brain for anything else. Just the feeling of the wet heat of your mouth swallowing around him, and the swirling counterpoint of your tongue—eagerness in your gaze as it flicks up to find his again—Throne, that makes him groan straight away.

You hum around his length in response, the vibrations ricocheting through his nerves and up his spine blindingly. His other palm is suddenly against his forehead, a bit stunned from the bombardment of new pleasure.

Your little fingers dig fruitlessly into his thigh, making him hyperaware, sending him grinding forward a bit only to be rewarded with another lurching buzz of ecstasy. The hand pumping the base of him shifts away, and then small nails rake across his navel, then his hip, tracing a port; and he buries his face into the crook of his elbow to stifle a heavy moan. They're only meagre claws, yet the pressure is strangely comforting as you lap at the blood flushed underside of his glans.

Cato's aware his voice catches as he keens aloud, pulling his arm away from his face to rest his forearm on his hairline. He's simply just enjoying the soft, hot drag your mouth around his tip again.

But a reedy little whine snags his attention, catching him unaware that he had even closed his eyes in the first place.

When he finally opens them, he swoons. Hard. Your cheeks are a stunning maroon, and your previously focused gaze now looks hazy and desperate, utterly lost in the act. He hadn't been cognisant he'd put his hand on your head, either. But watching you sink down around him again and again is intoxicating. How your pink tongue peeks out to lathe over a raised vein when you pull off for air has him dizzy. Your other hand's drifted down your pants and between your thighs at some point when he'd been lost in his own pleasure, fingers curling inside yourself. A deep inhale makes it clear you're absolutely soaking. And he's well aware that it is a meagre substitute—still, the eagerness of you is adorable lurid.

Distantly, he wonders just how many times you've had that hand there in this bed. It's the scene of the crime, really. You'd already admitted to it—and he ought to make sure you're full of his fingers to keep yours where there should be. That is, if he could move. He can't find the will to even sit up higher, let alone move the hand he's been using to keep your head steady. But, he does have the mind to comb his fingers through your tresses, at least.

You seem to realise he's realised what you're doing and you whine again, forcing yourself to take his cock further.

Cato lets out an approving moan and hisses out a feckless string of curses, thighs tensing sharply as his senses stagger at the heat that suffuses his belly.

The sick temptation to spend himself in your sweet vile maw is nigh all consuming, but it's nothing compared to the fact he's far more convinced on dumping it in your womb. Anywhere else feels like an injustice to the fact he's able to fill you—because just like some fang-toothed warp-spawn abomination, you've opened the door and invited him in, so he can make as much of a wreck of you as he likes, or as much as you like.

He yanks you off him by the reigns he's made of your hair and you choke a little.

The small groan at the messy handling of the situation is a testament to how badly you're after his end, "Wh-why...?" you rasp, the efforts having made your voice a little rough; the mix of your drool and his precum giving your chin and lips a wet, glossy sheen.

"Because—" he starts, and he's surprised by how ragged he sounds to his own ears. "Because, there's better holes to empty it in."

The little disappointed sigh that escapes you as you lick your slick bottom lip makes him immediately change his mind.

"Have it your way then," he heaves, and shoves your head back down—instinctively chasing the rising tide and rocking forward into your quickly opening mouth.

His hand is tight in your hair now, fist tangling the strands in his grip as you let him thrust freely. Your own hand grabs the side of his hip as his tempo stutters. By the Emperor, his father would kill him if he could see this. But, damn—the sight of you like this is sin. He's so much bigger than you it looks obscene with you servicing him like this. You're a mess, gagging and tearing up, but making no attempt to pull away. It's depraved, but if you're so desperate for a load down your throat, who's Cato to say no? He's more than happy to give you exactly that—and just on time, he feels his balls tighten up—static rising out up his spine as a groan tears from his throat. Caught daft not a millisecond later by a bodily shudder blinding him in a hot rush.

Cato pants as the shivers subside in heavy throbs, filling your mouth. He pets your head as you swallow, at first—and then the pockets of your cheeks puff out. And suddenly you're cringing and scrambling off of him and into the ensuite. The tap starts up, then you do, and all he hears spitting and sputtering.

You stumble out looking like you'd eaten something sour, swiping your hand across your lips before saying, "That tasted horrible."

"You wanted it," Cato growls.

A bright, wry smile plasters itself on your features, "And?"

"And, if you want more," he begins, eyeing you. "You'll have to lose the rags, woman."

You straighten, eager—and promptly start to wrestle your top over your head, just to throw it at his face.

Cato grumbles at the rudeness periodically, before he starts sniffing the article. Vomeronasal organ having a momentary frenzy. It smells of warm you, and a little bit of sleep. Like an embrace, and—fuck, his spent cock twitches back to life. He really shouldn't behave like this. It makes him assume he looks savage. Even he feels strange. So he wretches your top off himself and tosses it somewhere to the left.

Watching you suddenly appear on the bed, fighting your way out of your pants is much more entertaining.

He likes the way you shimmy onto your back and fuss yourself free; and the way you practically lunge back close to him when you're finally bare.

You lean over him and grin, and Cato appreciatively drags a hand down your back, palming your ass.

Promptly, he rolls himself and drags you along. He groans theatrically as if you're fifty times the effort to move than you are, simply because he can. And the shifting of his bulk makes the bed shake enough that the stack of slates on the table across the room falter, and tumble to the floor in a loud clatter of sound.

On your back under him, he preens at the flushed surprise on your face.

"That was too loud—you're too loud," you heave.

"I'm too loud?" He grumbles, pinning your far smaller shape down. "Says you."

That stirs a groan out of you, at least, squirming while Cato drags his tongue up the side of your neck.

"Someone can still pass by and hear," you whine, "We shouldn't make that much—"

"I doubt it," he grunts, cutting you off as he slides off the mattress and drags you to the lip of it. "We have a bed all to ourselves. Your bed—in your quarters, with six inches of steel in the way, might I add. They'd have to stand at the door to listen."

He flips you over, pressing you front down—slumping against you on his knees to grant a rough grind or two to make sure you're hyperaware of his thick erection plastered against your ass. Your legs kick out and you wriggle, a series of ragged gasps leaving you as you endure the onslaught. A small lick here, a small lick there—huffing and panting to stir an empathic response. Winding you up to writhe and flush as he groans next to your ear, only to start chuffing out mean spirited laughter when you moan back.

"See, you don't really care about anyone hearing, do you?" He rasps out against your throat before sucking the skin over a thudding little artery. "You're not sworn to chastity. They might just think, 'oh, the Ambassador's found another poor soul to suck the semen out of, shame,' or the likes."

"I don't know how you do it," You scoff, breathing hard into the covers as he pulls away and grabs you by the hips to hoist your rear up into that perfect taunting arch he remembers so well from the cabin. Aptly presenting yourself on your knees at mounting-height while he stands.

"Do what?"

You laugh, "Manage to find the worst possible thing to say every time."

Cato sneers haughtily, "Decades of practice."

Taking himself in hand, he angles the tip of his cock to kiss the soft rim of your entrance. And Throne, Cato's ecstatic. He finally gets to fill in the gaps of what he should've seen back in the cabin the first time. The theatrics you'd hidden under rags and your own embarrassment.

He hears the cartilage in your gullet click when you swallow dryly and grumble, "Fine then, but don't say I didn't—"

You're rudely interrupted by your own shuddering moan when he starts sliding into you, and Cato's never been happier to shut you up.

He bottoms out in you in one smooth thrust, and the sound you make next is a stellar thing. An eager, warbling 'Sicarius–' as his cockhead jars right up against your cervix. Warm, fluttering muscles around his length and the mewling of a whorish little Ambassador are ever a perfect combination.

But he wants to be closer—so, so much closer; he wants you pressed to his front, so he can absolutely smother himself against you. He wants to burn the feeling of you and him into his edict memory, so nothing can untangle it from him.

Cato has to bend himself at an awkward angle to manage it, but he's well aware of the fact he can manage a free hand to draw lethargic circles on your belly.

"And if they can hear, it's not like anyone will believe them," he pants, a little chuff of laughter chasing his words, looking down at your face buried in the sheets. "They'll think you're a busted piston, or maybe a whining pipe."

"You're such a—" you start as his hand slides slowly down your navel, and your voice tapers off, "You're a-ah..." he dips his fingers between your thighs, and you moan, "Thro—oh—ne..."

His pointer and ring finger spread the hooded peak of your folds, then the middle moves in and rolls over your clit again and again and again. Your smaller, folded body strains back from the new attention. Mewling at the stretch, and the hot, heavy press of trans-human dick inside you. It's just how he likes it. He's got you all to himself, his bulky hips flush to your ass, and his pleased rumbling beside your head. He's genuinely content, if not for the constant paranoia—but content is a feeling he never really appreciated before the warp everything went to shit. But that paranoia is inconsequential compared to the sheer amount of joy he feels with you near and receptive to his affections marauding.

"That's it," he rasps, and he has to swallow down how much he's raring to just blindly rut into you like a savage. "Now, be a good little whore—and say 'Cato, harder please,' for me."

The request falls on deaf... or rather, cock-drunk ears. You simply moan in answer and squeeze, over-eager for him to keep practically putting a dent your womb. It catches Cato by surprise when you climax all too suddenly, high-strung, and fuck, everything in that moment is absolutely perfect—Cato would gladly suffer for an eternity to stay, just like this, for as long as the accursed galaxy will allow. Your body reduced to a juddering wreck, arching forwards and suffering even more touch to your abused clit; your insides twitching in time around him with each passing graze of his finger over that sensitive nerve.

Rearing back isn't a safe choice either, because you end up getting even more of him in your cunt—unable to escape his efforts to hound you over the edge as soon as possible again.

"I c-can't, I-I—" you whine, and in response, like any reasonable Astartes, he keeps pounding until you're compliant.

"Say it," he pants.

"Ca—ah–Cato, h-harder, please—" you start crying as you shake underneath him.

His ears practically perk up at you finally using his first name; it was only quick and garbled, but he's so glad to hear it—he's already addicted to it, impropriety damned, because fuck does it sound good. It's always been Commander, and only recently had it been Sicarius—but now you're finally giving him the validation of crying out for Cato—for him, just him.

You can be louder, and clearer than smothered against the covers. So Cato acts on the brilliant idea to hoist you upright on your knees while he slams into you.

You're struggling erratically against the big hands holding you up, making the sound of a dying animal, now.

He fucks you right through your struggles, one hand keeping your head up under your jaw so he can arch down to tuck his chin on your shoulder. The mixed sound of your little rear making contact with his hips is a rushed, degenerate beat—Throne, the poor headboard of your cot against the wall too, it's almost like sabatons on steel, a rhythmic clank clank clank. And oh, then you make the sweetest little overstuffed sob, isn't that cute. Aren't you adorable.

He's only just started again and he's already liable to empty himself in you.

Suddenly, there's a scream of his name—and a quick, warm-wet splash from you that drips down his balls. Then you've apparently been struck daft and limp in his hold, sniffling out a wrecked little cry as you slacken. It's an entirely new phenomenon. It seems to be a good thing, seeing as you're squeezing on him like it's another orgasm—so he takes it at face value.

He keeps you upright and lets you cinch down around him, staying still—riding out the aftershocks of your finish and keeping his cock nice and warm and snug.

Cato is honestly surprised when you regain enough sense to weakly buck backwards and fuck yourself on him.

"Please... p-please," you slur, and it seems like all you needed was the incitement to be reduced to begging now; "Cato, in me, i-in me..."

Cato's completely enthralled, and he's never been more willing to follow an order faster. He'd walk right into an orbital barrage if you asked, right now.

He shifts his weight into the next thrust and meets your meagre attempts to get him to rut into you.

The loud, wet plap of him bucking forward is almost deafening.

His eyes roll back at the searing burr of pleasure that chases up his spine, panting through a clenched jaw, "So eager to be f-full of Astartes cum, huh?"

"Please, C-Cato—" You can barely even get the sentence around the pace of him practically rearranging your uterus into your stomach.

Fuck, he knows he's so beyond defective it's not even arguable, because he's practically feral for any hint of validation you'll give. And if you want to have your insides painted so badly, why should he deny you?

"I know," he pants, "I-I know."

You whine, well beyond words.

He's about as robbed of verbal sense as you are now, and he groans, your cries becoming hiccups.

He swears he almost blacks out for a moment when he actually finishes. His arrhythmic, choppy sighs chase each thrust. So suddenly seized by his end he slumps forward, pushing you with him, feeling half-dead and gritting his teeth as shudder after shudder wracks him. Persisting, his hips still keep pumping without a hint of respite, pinning you with his bulk while emptying himself inside you, just how you wanted. The subsequent leaking of his spend from you turns the pace of him still rutting into an even stickier cacophony of lewd wet sound. Hand splayed out beside your head supporting his weight, huffing and puffing to himself like a pissed-off bull as he works himself into overstimulation.

He stops at last with a long, trying sigh and pulls his slick and spent-wet fingers out from between your legs; dragging them across the sheets somewhere to the right before letting his palm splay on your hip, dry.

You're bent ass up under him, with your cunt still full of his cock, plus a thick load; moaning so lowly and continuously it's almost a purr.

Cato groans tiredly, rocking his hips a little for good measure despite the ache of it. "Does having me finish inside you feel that good to your little animal brain?"

Your voice is a fucked-out mumble as you say, "Well... 's not like... y'going to get me pregnant or anything."

Cato stays quiet, considering.

And that quiet seemingly sends you asking, "Are—are A-Astartes... sterile?"

"I'm actually not too sure," Cato huffs, and finally grows the spine to pull himself out.

Your gasp at his exit and subsequent little exhuasted 'hmm' is curiously without any hint of fear-smell.

He scowls, "And you're not at all concerned by that?"

A soft groan from you answers, "Got an i-implant... after the first t-time, just incase."

He doesn't have the balls energy to even begin to comment on the fact you'd correctly anticipated him trying after you again. Is he that predictable?

Cato rears back and makes an affirmative sound, groping at your ass, big thumb pulling one of your labia aside to ogle the fat pearls of cum dripping from you. You'd take another load, too. And if you ask him nicely enough, he might do just that right now—or have your mouth again. But he likes spending himself in your warm cunt far more. The way you squirm and squeeze on him when he's in you is intoxicating. Maybe later, given your exhaustion. You both have all cycle—or at least, whatever remains of his rest hours. Regardless, it's a genuine wonder the device hasn't succumbed to the stress of stonewalling an Astartes' draining his balls in you so many times these last few months.

He makes a soft tutting sound as his big palm smooths down your sides; his warm breath dancing across your inner thighs.

No better than some slavering beast, Cato gives into the urge sent by his hindbrain and licks a wide band from clit to taint in one smooth motion, and pulls away, seemingly briefly appeased.

Your squeal is priceless, but—eugh, his cum does taste foul. Nutrient gruel be damned, he needs to fix that somehow.

Sputtering as quietly as he can to avoid dignifying your similar reaction earlier, he grumbles to himself—still pawing and groping at your ass.

"You've ruined m-my sheets," you manage to say.

Cato grunts, "You're the one who decided to piss on them."

He says that, but knows it wasn't. It didn't smell like it—it smelt like satisfaction, and slick, and 'harder, please—please, Cato, harder.'

The sudden shiver that runs up his spine thinking about it surely isn't born of a vaguely possessive thrill.

Abruptly you roll onto your back and sit up, grimacing at him.

"That's n-not what that was," you hiss, flustered enough that you're stammering. "T-That was..."

Cato raises an eyebrow, "What was it, hm?"

Hook, line, sinker—

You dither, red in the face as you mumble, "It–it was nothing."

—and ta-da, he reels in an Ambassador.

"Oh, that's right," he grins and leans over you, "It was you finishing so hard you screamed my name."

Something bold rears it's head in you then, eyeing him petulantly; because you start swatting at him—and Cato's never had you actively physically retaliate for any jabs—so he just freezes, bemused.

They're barely even pats to his sturdy form, and it amuses him to no end that you're so small but still trying to annoy him.

So, he acquiesces; and starts using his own strength on you. He keeps it in check, of course; because you're still a twig of a baseline, even as grating as you are. He's practically tossing you around on the bed with minimal actual effort. Big hands stroking and kneading, rolling you around, pinning you beneath him and trying to annoy you back.

The efforts yield an entirely different result. You're laughing, hyperventilating, and every rough grope earns him a shrill little keen of excitement.

"Throne, you're a degenerate," Cato hums, giving you a wry look before reeling you back under him. "Getting off on being tossed around, are you?"

And with a yelp, you're made to watch him maraud his way up your body again.

You start grinning then, and it's not the typical sweet, coy smile of you luring him in; rather, it's one of a mad thing, feral and giddy.

You snigger sharply, a little breathless from struggling. "You say that like t-there's any downsides."

Cato scoffs, and rolls onto his back, pouting. "So anything that can rough you up will do, then?"

"I, unfortunately, have a very singular preference," you chuff, and snuggle up against him; tucking your chin against his neck, humming softly to yourself.

"Is that so?" He grunts, "And what would that be?"

The kiss to his jaw is heartachingly soft, and you snort a little when he turns to look down at you and your cheek is grated by his stubble.

Your big eyes are locked on his, half-lidded and lazy, and there's that familiar, honeyed look in them again. The soft, heady fixation of focused affection.

Cato feels like he's about to start weeping out of sheer joy. You're all his, your time, your gaze, your adoration—everything.

He's practically vibrating from elation.

"Despite your profession, you are terrible at hiding your emotions," he snarls, despite himself.

"Look at the time—aren't you expected somewhere, Commander Sicarius?" You ask sourly, but the warmth in your eyes stays the same.

Cato wonders if his expression betrays any of that sort of softness. If there's any residual capacity to show affection left in his face after all he's been through. He's sure there's something going on there that's got you looking at him with that sweet gaze. Or maybe you've gotten a good read on what's going on in his head now. He certainly feels as if he's been figured out. As if you've got him pried and nailed open like a xenos corpse in some creaking admech's lair. The prospect isn't anywhere near as daunting as it should be.

Still, he plays along.

"Probably, but you don't seem to really be complaining, Lady Ambassador," Cato quips low in his throat as he leans in close, only to pull away and sneer. Your lips part slightly as you swallow your words instead of speaking, clearly captivated. That said, he is also still a little breathless from teasing you so it was no surprise you seem dazed at his own attempt.

"No, I am—you've just more muscle than brain," you bite out with a flash of snark a second late, taunting him further by sticking your tongue out.

Retaliating immediately, he snares your mouth against his own; sliding his own tongue with yours and drinking in the soft moan that slips free. You nip his bottom lip vengefully, making him stifle a growl and lean away as he hisses, "Don't tempt me for a third."

It's no lie, because fuck, he probably could go for one more. Especially with the treatment he's receiving now.

"Why not?" you say in a tone that's so sweet one of his hearts aches.

"You want more already?" He drawls as he licks your jaw, your throat, everywhere and anywhere his mouth can reach. Tasting the salt of your sweat, and practically suffocating himself in the smell of you. Basking in his victory—Cato makes a sound like a great big feline, somewhere between a chuff and a growl against your neck; lazily entertaining himself by mouthing a bevy of bruises there. You almost immediately let him do as he pleases, your mouth hanging open, eyes half lidded and face flushed. Cato tries—and fails—to restrain the sudden amusement edging his tone at how easily you fall to your lusts. "You're going to overload that implant and end up gravid, woman."

"Throne, yes—" You slur, wriggling against him as he lathes his tongue across the top of one of your tits.

"What?" Cato barks.

Your face reddens, "What?"

Cato glares at you, and raises a brow. You're pretending you hadn't said anything and he's stunned you think he's stupid enough to miss it, "Baseline ducal protocol likely dictates... I would have to carry you off to be wed if that happened," he says, rushed. "Or... something of the likes, I suppose."

"R-Right," You fake a cough and avert your eyes, and you're breathing a little heavy.

"Within the context, of..." Cato backpedals, suddenly hyperaware of himself. "Of... that theoretical scenario."

You harrumph meekly, and then mumble, "Oh, of course... I agree, in that hypothetical situation."

He blinks, flabbergasted, "...really?"

You clear your throat and nod stuffily, only to tuck closer against him.

There's an entire subsector's worth of unpacking those statements need; you agree, but is that you saying it's a distant assurance? That you'd let him, one day, or is it merely conjecture? The primitive satisfaction of that base biological imperative is a heady one. Dangerous, too. If there is a chance of knocking you up, it would require significant subterfuge to keep hidden. Astartes can smell that sort of thing—and fuck, a Primarch could probably tell who's it was when given a source sample. He's got no litmus test for how easy you both would be caught. Maybe if you're suddenly on leave, for say, nine-months? That's one solution.

But where would you go—oh, Throne, he's thinking about Talassar again, and you in a pretty little slip, or in his rest robes, lying next to him notating; maybe resting against his chest in the crook of his arm—the fantasy is mundane, and domestic, and anathema to his status as High Suzerain of Ultramar, but still his cock throbs and his cheeks heat at the idea of calling you Lady Sicarius.

Your hands card through his hair abruptly, combing and petting him, and hm... that's nice, why are you looking at him like that—

"What do you think you've doing?" He growls, ever the hypocrite—his face doesn't feel hot at all, shut up.

You harrumph, "Stop pretending you don't like it."

"Whatever," Cato scoffs, and leans into your touch—not before mumbling; "Cunt."

Self-admittedly, he entirely deserves the feisty little smack he cops to the snout the very next second.

"Don't call me that," you pout.

The laugh it earns from him is just as genuine.

He's having you a third time just because of that, for sure.

[kyuuppi]

help, my boyfriend has no sex drive! (5)

Pairing: Kenma x reader (f)

Contents: smut; established relationship; feminization, "femboy", heavy praise kink (Kenma); rough sex; creampie; Christmas themes

Words: 3.4k

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

“But as long as you’d love me so—

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snoooow”

Kenma tries not to visibly cringe at the cheery music as he emerges from his office, finally finished with his obligatory three-hour “Christmas special” stream.

As you had been for the past month, you’re softly singing along to some Christmas carol playing from your shitty laptop speaker. You had busied yourself with reorganizing the presents under the full-sized tree—something you had insisted on buying for the apartment.

Kenma had little more interest in most holidays than the “free day from school” perks. But as he watches you scurry around your shared living room wearing candy cane-themed stockings, an oversized ugly Christmas sweater, and a hundred-yen-store Santa hat, Kenma is thankful you had expressed your desire to celebrate with him. He will gladly participate in anything that makes you this innocently cheerful. 

Your background music is abruptly cut short and you frown when you realize your laptop has just died again. But the disappointment is cut short when you notice Kenma, standing awkwardly by the couch in the dark Christmas sweater you had insisted he wear for his stream. 

“KenKen—your stream is over?”

Kenma smiles softly at how eager you look, eyes practically sparkling. 

“Yeah, I’m free now. You wanted to open presents, right?” 

You nod quickly, guiding him to the couch and leaving only to retrieve a cup of hot cocoa—extra whipped cream—and a slice of homemade apple pie, placing them both in front of him on the coffee table. He thanks you quietly, predictably digging into the apple pie first. 

“So I think we should start with your family’s gifts first,” you begin, already passing him a small stack of presents, all wrapped in identical green and red paper. 

After nearly half an hour you two had finally worked your way through nearly all of the presents. Most were the typical things–an abhorrent amount of socks and pajamas from your families, Kenma’s mother gifting both of you very cringey matching couple sets with any video game character she saw. You had to try very hard not to laugh at Kenma’s face when you opened a matching Kirby and Jigglypuff sweater set with a handwritten heart note.

“Aww, don’t pout KenKen, your mom was just being thoughtful.” “They’re not even in the same series.” 

A few gifts had been surprising–namely Kuroo’s cat ear headphones—to which Kenma promptly sent a text telling Kuroo to never buy him Christmas gift ever again— and even a signed pro jersey from Hinata. Even if he didn’t voice it, you noticed how touched Kenma seemed by the gesture and you made a mental note to buy something to display it in the apartment. A few gifts were even from Kenma’s fans, sending various game merchandise, snacks from their country, and even fan art of the two of you. 

Finally, the last remaining gifts were the ones you made for each other. You didn’t want to pressure Kenma to buy you anything fancy–and you also couldn’t afford to reciprocate with anything fancy, so you set a strict budget. 

Kenma was unexpectedly good at keeping secrets so you weren’t sure what he had gotten you–probably a game he wanted you to play together but the box was unexpectedly big—

Regardless, you knew what you got him , and it was something you had been thinking about for months. Needless to say, you were eager for him to open it. 

“Who should go firs—”

“I’ll go!”

Kenma raises a brow but complies as you all but shove your gift into his hands. The outside is unassuming—a flat package wrapped in red paper with a holographic silver stick-on bow in the center. Somehow, he feels vaguely uneasy. 

Cautiously, Kenma begins unwrapping the gift. You practically vibrate with excitement in your seat, eagerly watching as his thin fingers peel away the final layers of colorful paper. 

Finally, your present reveals itself, soft nylon fabric in a bright red shade. Kenma seems confused, unsure of what exactly he is looking at until he shifts and the fabric unravels into two long strips. 

“Ta-daa,” you cheer, “your very own pair of thigh-high stockings!”

Kenma looks horrified. 

“This is a joke,” Kenma states, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as you. 

“What do you mean? Don’t you like them? Look, they’re even Christmas-themed!”

You guide his hands over to the top of the socks where a large red ribbon sits. Two short red strings dangle the ribbon with a small, fuzzy white ball at the end each. You make him squeeze the soft ball for good measure. His expression doesn’t change. 

“Why would you buy me these? You wasted actual, real-life money for this,” Kenma bemoans. 

“Didn’t your fans suggest something like this before? I think they called them programmer socks—”

“ Oh my god please stop talking.”

Kenma lets out a long, suffering groan as you eye him with an absolute shit-eating grin.

It’s fine, he thinks. You wanted to be a little shit like Kuroo but it was just a prank. He could probably Venmo back the money you wasted on this and never have to think of this situation ever again. He’ll toss them in the back of the closet next to those cat ear headphones Kuroo bought him. 

He is proven wrong when you nudge his shin with your own stocking-clad toes and give him an expectant look. 

“Well?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to try them on?”

Kenma’s brain very obviously fries and you have to resist the urge to laugh at his expression. 

“C’mon, I spent actual, real-life money on these," you tease, throwing his words back at him, "I wanna see you wear them at least once!”

“You have to be joking,” he all but whines. 

Your excited expression tells him you are very much not joking. Kenma considers refusing more firmly. He knows you genuinely care about him and would never push him to do something he was uncomfortable with—or at least so long as it wouldn’t actually kill him.  

But your eyes are wide and practically sparkling as you look at him expectantly with that cute little grin–the crippling humiliation that will likely haunt him every night for the rest of his life is nothing compared to your happiness. Kenma sighs deeply and you know you’ve won. 

He ignores your excited squeals as he stands up and shuffles towards the bathroom in something akin to a walk of shame. 

As Kenma stares at his own lithe form in the mirror he’s positive that he has never felt so mortified in his whole life. Not when he accidentally set a ball into Lev’s face during a match in high school. Not when he missed his ult in a team fight and cost his team the ranked match in League. Not even when he came so hard he nearly passed out while getting his dick sucked during a live stream. 

Kenma can barely even recognize himself in the mirror, eyes flitting from his familiar golden gaze down to his oversized black and white Nightmare Before Christmas sweater and, finally, to his thin legs wrapped in an inappropriately bright red pair of thigh-high socks.

Somehow, the stockings feel even more exposing than if he were just naked. He feels like some cheap, poorly drawn femboy character in a hentai. One of his first thoughts was they don’t look nearly as appealing on him as they do on you. His legs are too lanky–straight and lean from years of volleyball but missing the curve of healthy fat yours have. His face heats up as he visualizes your thighs currently clad in your own pair of red and white striped stockings. 

“KenKen are you ready yet? You’re taking foreeeeever!”

His heart rate picks up and he tries to remind himself it's just you, the person who makes him feel safest. He’s going to go out there, you’re going to see how cringe he looks, then you'll both laugh and never talk about this again. 

He takes a deep breath and opens the door, immediately meeting your gaze as you sit on the couch where he left you. Breath bated, he watches as your eyes dart down his body, darting around his lower half with your mouth agape. He tries his best not to squirm under your stare. 

“Fuck, Ken,” you chuckle breathily, “you look amazing.”

Kenma’s breath hitches, certainly not expecting that type of response. As you continue to take him in he realizes your gaze looks almost hungry, like you’re ready to devour him–shit, are you seriously into this?

He finds his answer in the way you motion him over, helpless in how his body obeys before he can even process the silent request. You reach out hesitantly, fingertips so close to his thighs he can feel your body heat even through the thin fabric. You glance up at him, asking permission, and he’s nodding immediately, desperate for your touch.

Your fingers land near his left knee, trailing up slowly and making his whole body tremble lightly. When your fingertips catch on the hem of the stockings he nearly gasps and then you're brushing his soft skin directly, only stopping when you reach the edge of the sweater that’s just barely covering his rapidly hardening cock. 

“You’re so pretty,” you praise, "my pretty boy."

Kenma makes a choked sound, surprised and mildly offended but also awfully turned on to hear any form of praise from your lips. No, he wants to argue, you’re the pretty one –but you look up at him, so pleased, that he can’t remember how to speak. 

“And now we match,” you sing, tone innocent as you raise your leg between his own. His eyes follow, nearly hypnotized by the contrast between your red-and-white stockings against his red ones before your clothed shin brushes against his crotch in a way that is anything but innocent. He has to grab the back of the couch near your head to keep his knees from buckling as he groans.

You seem to take some form of pity on him because you let up on his crotch with a giggle, making room for him to sit down beside you and catch his breath. Even when you let him rest your attention never strays from the item of clothing, hand idly stroking his thigh while you continue to drink in the sight of his pale skin contrasting with the scarlet cloth. 

“Do you really like it that much,” he asks, almost hesitant. 

He’s surprised at how sheepish you become, moving your hand away as your face slightly flushes. 

“Um–yeah. I know it’s kinda weird, sorry, you just look really pretty sometimes.”

Kenma frowns slightly and takes your hand back, returning it to his thigh with his own on top of yours. The action was meant to reassure you but it felt too bold and he avoids eye contact as he speaks.

“You don’t have to apologize, I don’t hate it…”

He sees the way you perk up, practically beaming, from the corner of his eye and is quick to clarify less you try to buy him a pair of panties or something next year. 

“It’s not my thing—I prefer seeing you in cute clothes…but I can try things like this if it makes you this happy.”

“Aww, KenKen, that’s so sweet!”

Kenma huffs, breath nearly knocked out of him when you launch yourself into his chest, planting noisy kisses all over his face. He tries his best to scowl but he’s pretty sure he’s failing by the way you giggle at his expression. Your Santa hat gets knocked off in the commotion but neither of you care. Kenma even takes the opportunity to bury his fingers in your messy hair as your kisses finally focus on his lips. 

Eventually, the kisses deepen, morphing from quick pecks to slow and open-mouthed. Your tongue invades his mouth, gravity giving you a clear advantage as you take charge of this kiss. But not one to easily accept defeat, Kenma takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass in a way that has you gasping in surprise. You start to grind on him, both of you letting out soft sounds between kisses. 

It’s you who pulls away first, making Kenma softly whine in protest, gaze hazy as he blinks up at you in question. 

“Wanna ride you,” you explain simply. 

Kenma hisses out his approval and obediently waits as you pull down your lounge shorts. You yank them down your legs and fling them across the living room with a little too much force, accidentally hitting the Christmas tree. You laugh at the sight of your fuzzy white shorts hanging on the tree like some soft of kinky Christmas ornament but Kenma is quick to redirect your attention by pulling you back down for another kiss. 

He grips your ass again, this time bare, and moves his fingers to prepare you for his dick but—

He abruptly stops and pulls away from the kiss in shock. 

“You’re already this wet?” His expression looks genuinely surprised and you can’t help but giggle. 

“I told you, you look really pretty.”

Kenma groans, not sure if he’s annoyed or turned on but his cock throbs all the same. You pull up the bottom half of his sweater to reach his black boxers. He’s so hard that it's almost difficult to get them off but he helps you pull them down just enough to free his leaking cock. It takes a moment to properly position yourself from this new angle, hindered by your bulky sweater and the headrest of the couch digging into your side but you manage to guide his leaky head to your drenched hole and ease down.

You both groan as he breaches your cunt, your wetness making the slide smooth even as you reach his thick base.

“F-fuck, Ken, you always feel so good,” you moan.

The praise feels like a punch to the gut and he’s thankful he’s already lying down so he can’t embarrass himself further by losing his balance. He’s coming to realize even if feminization isn’t his thing, praise might be. He thinks he'd do just about anything if it pleased you—if it made you look down at him with those shiny eyes and call him your good boy—fuck. Kenma has to force himself back to reality before he makes himself cum too quickly just by his own fantasies. 

You readjust your weight, leaning back and using his bent knees as leverage. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his stockings as you begin to move, raising to his tip before dropping your whole weight down. It feels good—mind-numbingly so—but he finds it looks even better. The angle you put yourself into gives him an unobstructed view of your face–eyes pinched closed and reddened lips open in pleasure, your breasts–soft and bouncing with every movement–and, best of all, your tight hole sucking him in with every uptake. 

He can’t tear his eyes away from where the two of you are connected. A creamy white ring is quickly forming at the base of his cock from how soaked you are, thin strings sticking to your pussy like webs. Framing it all are your thick thighs, muscles straining with your movements and squeezed by those god damned red-and-white striped thigh highs.

Fuck, he wishes he could record this.

He has apparently said that aloud on accident because now you’re grinning down at him conspiratorially. 

“Y-yeah?” you stutter out, “you wanna make a movie with me?”

Kenma doesn’t verbally answer but he doesn’t need to. Instead, he’s gripping your hips and guiding your pace, making you bounce on his cock faster while his own hips start to meet your thrusts. 

It has only been a few minutes but it's becoming clear your stamina is far from athletic. Your thighs burn and your pace stumbles but Kenma is quick to take advantage of the situation, using a strength you didn’t know he was capable of to roll you over and push you face down. 

“Kenma, wh—oh!”

Any dissent you had intended to make is abruptly cut off when your boyfriend, one knee digging into the couch for leverage, feeds his length back into your greedy hole and sets a pace that has you nearly screaming. His hips snap into you, hard, and you scramble to find something to hold on to. One hand finds the armrest of the couch near your head, nails nearly tearing into the fabric, while the other ends up behind you, digging into his thigh as he rams his hips into you. You’re drooling as you manage to stutter out a barely coherent statement through your moans.

“K-Ken, so h-hard, fuck—”

“Yeah,” He replies, sounding breathless but not nearly as wrecked as you. You curse his retired high school athlete stamina. 

“Am I still your pretty boy?”

The question momentarily shocks you. You aren’t sure what response he’s looking for but you answer honestly, too fucked out to ponder on it. 

“Y-yesyesyes, the prettiest! ”

“You like getting fucked by your pretty boy?”

“Yeeeess, I l-love it—oh god—”

One hand reaches up to grip your hair, tugging your hair in a way you aren’t sure is punishment or a reward. You cry out all the same, cunt squeezing him for dear life as he hits something deep deep deep inside of you. You’re fairly certain you’ve never been fucked this hard in your life. The sweet, no-sex-drive-having boyfriend trope becomes little more than a pipe dream as his hips smack into your ass without reprieve. 

“‘m g-gonna cum,” you warn.

Kenma’s grip on your hip tightens and he adjusts his angle to hit the spot he knows makes your toes curl and your pitch turns airy. The nail in the coffin comes when he releases your hair, but only to start rubbing your clit, remembering your favorite rhythm from the time he watched you masturbate. 

Expectedly, you cum, toes curling and squeals reaching a pitch you think might cause your boyfriend hearing damage. Your whole body seizes with your orgasm, cunt spasming and thighs squeezing shit as you please for him to stop, go harder–you aren’t sure. 

Kenma forces you to ride through it, fucking you even as your hips stutter violently and never letting up on your pulsating nub. It's only when you're nearing tears from the overstimulation that Kenma stops, moaning sweetly as his own orgasm overtakes him. He collapses against you in exhaustion as warmth fills you from deep inside, making a mess on your thighs as it gushes out between you. 

“Mm, y’r heavyyy,” you complain sleepily. 

Kenma grunts something in response but doesn’t bother moving. In fact, he seems to make himself more comfortable by moving his hands to find your own. He slips his long fingers in the spaces between your own, locking your hands together. Your heart swells at the action, constantly reminded how much this boy loves you even when he doesn't vocalize it very often.  

You allow him a few more moments of peace, listening to his harsh pants die down into something more calm before you speak again. 

“By the way, what was my present?”

Kenma stiffens against you, having completely forgotten about Christmas altogether. Quickly, he pulls away from you and the loss of warmth almost makes you regret saying anything. On shaky legs, Kenma shuffles over to the forgotten box, wrapped in royal blue paper and topped with a pretty gold ribbon. He comes back to the couch, gingerly helping you sit up before placing the box on your lap. 

You’re immediately surprised by the hefty weight of the box and grow curious as you tear at the paper. Within seconds, the logo and picture on the box become clear, making you gasp in shock. 

“Kenmaaaa,” you whine, trying not to tear up as you pout at him. 

To his credit, Kenma looks honestly guilty as he avoids your eyes. 

“We set a twenty-thousand-yen spending limit, ” you remind him.

“I know but—this is basically a necessity. Your old one was going to die any day now,” Kenma reasons, helping you pull out the shiny new laptop –in rose gold no less. 

“And it's a gaming laptop–that means you can play with me more so it’s basically a gift for me more than you,” he continues. 

You know he’s absolutely pulling excuses out of his ass but you can’t help the rush of affection at how much Kenma wants to spoil you. He always buys you the things you want, even when you insist on not wanting to take advantage of him as a wealthy streamer and businessman. He usually comes up with some excuse, I was going to buy one anyway so we can share or I have too much money this month, taxes will be a hassle if I don’t spend it. 

But he is right–your old laptop was on its last leg and every time you opened a Word document for school you had to pray it wouldn’t crash before you could save your draft.

You softly smile as you trace the box with a finger, elated that he even remembered which color you wanted. He grins at how pleased you clearly are, even if you won’t say it. 

“Besides,” his grin suddenly turns sly as he places a hand on the swell of your hip, “I heard the webcam is really great for recording movies.”

[imfinereallyy]

Eddie draws on the edge of Steve’s hip, where his shirt rides up from stretching across Eddie’s bed. He’s humming to himself a song Steve doesn’t recognize, but it soothes him.

“What are you drawing?” Steve speaks softly; something about the moment feels gentle. He doesn’t want to break it.

“Hmmm, it’s a secret.” Eddie peaks beneath his bangs and smiles.

Steve leans up on his elbows, “Well, that’s not fair; I think I should know what’s going on my body?”

Eddie only looks at him with mischief as he continues to doodle. “Be grateful, Harrington. You’re getting an original Munson for free.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that escapes him. It is just like Eddie to say something like that. Playful and mean, it makes something settle in Steve. For a long time, he only knows the pain from harsh comments or a sentence with a bite. It is a welcomed change, to feel a bubble of happiness after a light jab.

“Whatever you say, Munson. Just let me see.” Steve tries to push up further to sneak a peek, but Eddie uses his free hand to push him down to the bed. He just happens to catch Steve off guard, sending him into a sprawl that can only be described as a starfish.

“I’m not finished yet.” Eddie grabs his hips and pins him still while he draws. After a few more moments, he says, “Done!”

Steve looks at his work and releases a snort that breaks the careful tension between them. “Are those boobs?”

“Why yes, they are, and a good representation if I say so myself.”

“Do you even know what boobs look like? Like the live version?” Steve knows he should be mad at the sharpie-drawn breasts on his body, but he can’t find it in him to have an angry tone.

“We’ll no. I don’t. And I would much prefer to keep it that way.”

Steve chokes on his spit a little bit, “Did you just come out to me, Eds?”

Steve isn’t sure what he expects. Denial, maybe, Eddie taking back what he said. Steve knows he isn’t handling this right. He doesn’t think Robin would be too happy with his response.

Steve thinks maybe he should see a little bit of fear in Eddie’s demeanor. That shakiness that comes with telling someone a dangerous secret.

What he gets, in the end, isn’t something he could have predicted. Eddie smiles softly, a little bit of his tooth peeking out, and lays his head gently on Steve’s leg. He’s calm and collected. He’s happy, Steve realizes.

“Yea, I guess I did. Not like it was much of a secret, though. Are you upset?” Eddie draws soft circles around the drawing on Steve’s hip—the rough callous on his thumb contradicting his tender touch.

Once again, although the conversation should be anxious, it’s not. Eddie’s question is spoken like he already knows the answer. Maybe he does.

“No, Eddie. I’m not mad. Never would be for that. Just thought it was a funny way of sharing a secret. Though, gotta admit, a very you way of doing it.”

This time Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, before settling back down on Steve’s leg. His giggles never really settled. “Like I said, Stevie wasn’t much of a secret anyway. Well, between us, that is at least. I like to think some, if not all, the kids are oblivious.”

“Erica definitely knows.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in mischief, “Oh, for sure. Pretty sure she would kick the others' asses, too, if they gave me shit for it. And she kicks hard too.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. He’s never had this before, this casualness to serious conversations. Before, Steve is used to screaming and punching, drunken confessions in the bathroom, and throwing up on the mall floor. It isn’t like this, now, with Eddie in his trailer bedroom. It’s good. It’s safe.

“Thank you for telling me, Eds. Something like that is hard to share no matter who you tell it to.”

The softness is back again, “Like I said wasn’t much of a secret. Besides, I don’t think there isn’t any secret of mine you don’t know, Stevie. I think even when I don’t tell you, you kinda already know, don’t you?”

Steve leans one arm forward, while he places his weight on one elbow. He gently takes Eddie’s face in one hand, rubbing circles in the same motion as Eddie’s thumb on his hip.

God, I want to kiss him so bad sometimes, Steve thinks.

“Yea, I already know.”

[icyg4l]

PAC: July 2024 Predictions

Hello beautiful people! This is my last week posting/sending readings out for a while! I will be back, but I just need a moment to focus on real life. So if you would like to book a reading with me, don’t hesitate to message me privately! Anyway, tonight I will be talking about your July 2024. So please, without further ado, please select the pile that resonates with you!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-3)

Pile One: I heard "weighing out your options". I think you may be in the middle of figuring out your taste in love. However, you may be making a risky decision. Remember this everything that feels good ain't always good for you. This month, you will learn to be stingier with your love. Also, there may be someone around you that is negligent. There is no reason to take the high road with them, you need to figure out what goes on and come up with a resolution to prevent this from going on any further. I feel like you will be cutting ties with someone who has been embarrassing you. It will be sad and hard to do, but you only have one life. I also heard "count your blessings". You need to see the light in today. Act like you care about what's going on around you. There is someone who has been picking with you, it's time to cut them off! I see you feeling relieved by the end of the month (only because Leo season aka the best season has startedddd) Overall, this month seems like a good month to start over. Reignite the passion in your life and start today!

Pile Two: "Plagued with confusion" is what I just heard. I feel like this July will be kind of hard for you, Pile Two. There is something that will feel off about this month. Get your mind out the gutter, for one. But also, there is something that is feeding on your energy. It feels vampiric. A person who treats you like a baby or has a newborn baby could be significant. You are your own person. You show up as yourself and get the job done! But you have to stop letting people take advantage of your innocence. I'm watching this anime called Nana. Nana K is the very innocent, perky, loving friend who wouldn't hurt a fly. That's you, Pile Two. But just because you wouldn't hurt a fly, doesn't mean the fly won't hurt you. It seems as though you will be on a quest for independence. Trying to find your way while also trying to see what's your niche. You are young and you will figure it out. Don't let anyone tell you thank you can't. If you really want it that bad, then it can be achieved. This is cliche to say, but just believe! "Wish Upon A Star!" could be a relevant movie to you.

Pile Three: You could be taking a trip out of the country. Barcelona comes to mind. I see you also being receptive to food requests as well. You may be a picky eater, but this month you won't be, lol. Some of you are in summer school, trying to bring a grade up/trying to make the next school year easier. You should try to receive counseling as much as you can. It will ease your mind and in return, your grades will be much better. I heard the word proficient. During this time, you could find yourself doing a lot of backpacking. This is very specific but if you have been praying on someone's downfall, they will receiving their rightfully deserved karma. I am hearing a leprechaun laugh. This is someone's abusive ex or manipulative ex-bestie. I think that you will try to keep your calm this month. You should repeat mantras to yourself, everyday. Maybe you should listen to some more Jhene Aiko. I heard Kevin Gates??? LOL! You will be in touch with your feminine energy during this month so try not to be so active. Be ready for anything, beloved. And lastly, some of you will try out for a sports team. You'll get in because of your connection to the coach or one of the primetime players. Also, some of you could be going to a sports game for free because of one of the players/coaches.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Hi can I get a birthday cake with strawberries and chocolate chips with Toji please

Sundae Tropes: Remember Me

A/N: Fic 3 of this event! I haven't really written for Toji so I hope this doesn't sound out of character. ANGST. As usual, MDNI.

Raven, thank you for your patience as I wrote this.

Sundae: Birthday Cake With Strawberries And Chocolate Chips With Toji = Amnesia/Mistaken Identity + Passionate/Romantic Sex, Emotional Bond + Lotus Position

Follow along using #sundaetropes, #300followersevent and #vee writes.

Event masterlist | Vee's Masterlists

Sunlight filters through the small apartment as you quickly prepare breakfast in the small, cramped kitchen. Megumi swings his legs as he sits on the countertop, his large eyes watching your movements as you bustle about getting breakfast ready. He’s already in his little school uniform, looking so contained and serious that you sometimes wonder how he was only 8 years old. Megumi accepts a bowl of oatmeal from you but you can see his expression is worried.

“What’re you thinking about Megs?” 

“Why do you do it?” he asks quietly.

Your smile falters at the question but you pretend to be nonchalant. You knew exactly what he was asking about. “What do you mean?”

“Why do you keep taking care of him?” You gently cup Megumi’s cheek reassuringly. 

“Because that’s what love is Megs.”

Those keen dark eyes fixate on you and you feel like you’re looking into the depths of his young soul. You try to lighten the mood. “Ah look at me saying such romantic things! You’ll understand someday. But you can’t be late for school so eat your breakfast now!”

Thankfully Megumi doesn’t ask any more questions and finishes his oatmeal before thanking you and heading off for school. Once he’s out of the house, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Temporarily of course, but the relief was welcomed. Footsteps come from down the hall and you swallow. Was today going to be the day…? Strong arms wrap around your waist and your heart swells in his presence. He was here, he was alive-

“Mamaguro. Why didn’t you wake me up? I wanted to send Megumi off to school.” The warmth in your heart was replaced with dread. But you arrange your features into a smile and turn in his arms. “You slept pretty late last night. I figured you could use the rest.”

“Hmm.” Toji grunts and then looks around the kitchen. “You’ve been busy. Making breakfast for me.”

“For everyone. Megumi needs to eat too.”

“You’re such a good mother.” You feel your throat tightening and suddenly his embrace feels like a noose. You wriggle free, to Toji’s dismay. 

“Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom.” You lie swiftly and without wasting a second run and lock the door. In the quiet, you let your tears run free. It was the cruelest of circumstances. You knew deep down none of it was Toji’s fault but there was so much resentment in you for the man you love. It wasn’t his fault that he had accepted that job so many months ago. It wasn’t his fault that the target he was pursuing was a bigger challenge than anything he had ever seen. Money had always been tight in the household and for him, this was a way to make ends meet. For him to feel like a provider.

Who could have predicted that he had bitten off more than he could chew? That the target he had been pursuing would overpower him, break his body like a rag doll, and leave him with what the doctors had called a “chronic, traumatic, brain injury”? The first immediate concern was that he would never walk again. But thankfully that hadn’t been the case. Toji could walk, talk, feed himself, and was generally self-sufficient. Now if only his memory would come back the same way!

You try to pull yourself together, reminding yourself that Toji needs you now more than ever, and so does Megumi. Amnesia was the enemy here, not your boyfriend. But it killed you inside each time he called you by Megumi’s mother’s name. It had been months since you had heard your name fall from his lips to the point where you were starting to feel like a ghost. You weren’t Megumi’s mother but you had been the one raising him. He was as good as your son. But to be called by a dead woman’s name, a woman you had never met, had taken a toll on your being.

The first time it happened, Megumi had blinked in confusion. “Papa, that’s not Mama,” the little boy had tried to correct him. But Toji had shook his head.

“Of course it is! Look! Don’t you recognize Mama when you see her?” Megumi had stared in confusion, and you had soothed him, telling him it was temporary, that once his dad rested some more he’d remember. It had only worsened. Megumi could see the hurt in your eyes and he didn’t bother correcting his father anymore. It seemed pointless, and only seemed to disorient Toji even more, sometimes taking his frustration out on Megumi, asking him why he was saying you weren’t his mother.

Megumi was your constant companion now. He clung to you when he came back from school, and truth be told, you needed him too. The only person who remembered you now was him. His mama, yet not his mama, who had become the only constant thing in his now upended life. Megumi called you often by your name as though he worried you would disappear from his life if he didn’t. Like using your name was his way of reassuring you that you weren’t forgotten, that he would always remember you no matter what.

You cover your face with your eyes, wondering how things had gotten this way. Because in the end, it didn’t matter that money was short or that Toji couldn’t hold down a steady job. All that mattered now was that you couldn’t leave, and you were faced with the harsh reality that Toji’s memory may never fully come back. Wiping your eyes, you steel your features into a mask of composed calm and walk back into the living room. 

Toji was appreciatively eating the plate of breakfast you had made for him. As you approach he pats the space next to him on the couch beckoning you to sit. You oblige, and as soon as you do, Toji pulls you against him. To him, he’s in his own world, a world where his wife wasn’t dead, and Megumi had his mother, the perfect unit of familial bliss. “I love you, you know?” Toji murmurs against your hair and you swallow, feeling a painful lump form in your chest. 

“I love you too.” What else could you say? Because you do. You love him so much that you had willingly stayed, even as he called you by another woman’s name. You stayed because you hoped someday he would remember you again.

Exhaustion overcomes you, and you fall asleep on his shoulder, feeling his broad hand stroke your hair, listening to his heartbeat pound in his chest. He was alive after everything, and maybe that was the true miracle here; that he hadn’t died.

You don’t know how long you were asleep, but you wake up groggily to the sound of your own name being called. Was Megumi already home? That gruff voice certainly didn’t sound like him. As realization fills your being, you’re jolted awake, and you follow the voice. 

It couldn't be Toji? It can't be. It didn't feel real. Perhaps it was a dream, where Toji’s deep voice was resounding in some chamber of your brain. You get to the bathroom and hear it again, unmistakably, your name, in Toji’s voice. You crack the door open. 

There he stood, tall, proud, muscled, and scarred, his hair dripping, water droplets covering his body. And completely naked. Your eyes widened. Beyond helping care for Toji during the initial recovery you hadn't seen him bared in front of you frequently. Sexual intimacy was out of the question because you didn't think you could bear it if he moaned his late wife's name in your ear. 

“Y/n didn't you hear me?” Toji asks, not stepping out of the shower. You blink. Resisting the urge to pinch yourself, you shake your head, looking at your boyfriend in wonder. 

“What did you call me?” You look at him with wide eyes, feeling the warning signs of tears pricking the backs of your eyes. 

“Y/n?” Toji looks miffed as he glances at you. “That's your name right?”

Time seems to freeze and you nod. Swallowing the lump in your throat you ask, “Why did you call me?”

“I forgot to bring a towel. Get one for me will ya?” You hasten to bring the towel, watching him dry off his skin, your mind buzzing with questions. Toji’s behavior seemed to suggest he didn’t recall that earlier he was calling you Mamaguro. He wraps the towel around his waist, then looks at you appraisingly.

What’re you getting all teary for?” You sniff and shake your head, a watery smile blooming onto your face. 

“Nothing. Just, glad you’re back.”

“Back? I was here all this time wasn’t I?”

You laugh for the first time in months. The relief of it spreads through your chest, filling your extremities with warmth. “Yes, you were. I meant when you went to shower.”

“You’re a weird woman.” Toji steps out of the shower to brush away a tear. “But that’s ok. I love you anyway.”

You catch a whiff of the clean scent of soap and lean back to look at him. He cocks his head. “You keep looking at me like I’ll disappear.”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out. You find yourself gazing into his eyes, seeing the recognition in their depths, the tenderness that he’d held for you. Your body reacts on its own accord and you tiptoe to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Toji is caught off guard by this but a rumble echoes through his chest as his corded arms come around you, pulling you tightly against him. You savor the taste of him, his tongue, his lips. You hadn’t been this close to him for what felt like forever. His breath quickens and his fingers tighten around you, digging into your soft skin. 

“Someone seems a little needy for my attention today,” Toji murmurs against your mouth before his tongue delves into its depths. You feel yourself being scooped up into his arms and a giddy rush shoots down your spine. Your legs automatically wrap around him, enjoying the feeling of his chest pressed against yours.

Toji lays you down softly on the bed, a large hand creeping up under your T-shirt to squeeze your breast, his mouth possessively covering yours. Your feet slip under the edges of his towel, flirting with the skin just under the swell of his ass. As he starts pulling off your clothes, you feel flushed, a heady skitter of heat and tingles running under your skin. He feasts on your creamy skin, his eyes hazing over as he brings a hardened nipple into his mouth. The small sucks feel like shooting stars under your skin, bringing heat and energy with them as they fly. Your nails scratch down his back and a moan escapes your lips, eyes closing in ecstasy as you arch your back to push your crotch against the bulge hiding behind his thin towel. Toji growls, nipping your bud, then laving his tongue over it to cool the sting.

Your hands grow bold and you reach down to undo the knot of the towel, letting it fall away and grasp his engorged cock in your hand, stroking the heated velvet and sighing your pleasure as he kisses his way down your body, licking the underside of your breasts, the tip of his tongue flirting with the dip of your navel. “You taste delicious baby,” he murmurs, pressing kisses on your belly. Your hand continues to pump his length and Toji halts, eyes squeezing shut as you run your thumb over his sensitive tip, gathering the milky drops and using them to slicken his hard length. Toji pants, each swipe of your closed palm bringing forth ripples of desire through his body, and with a huge effort, puts his hand over yours, stilling your movement.

Looking at his expression questioningly, you release him, then let out a giggle of surprise as Toji pulls you on his lap, holding your body tenderly against his as his thumb gathers moisture from your fluttering core and swipes it upward onto your swollen clit. A needy moan escapes your throat and your fingers anchor into his shoulders, hips rocking with his movements to get more delicious friction. You feel alive, the blood running through your veins singing. You had never thought this was something you would experience again, yet here he was, whispering your name along with reassurances as he teased the little button that was driving you to the brink. 

“Let go for me, baby. I have you. You’re mine. Go ahead…” His movements remain consistent but quicken and you choke out a broken cry as your body explodes with orgasmic delight, your core and clit fluttering in tandem from the sensations. “That’s my girl. My sweet girl…”

Toji holds your hips and helps you align your dripping pussy over his cock, then slowly, you sink down, facing him, impaled on his lap as your feet curl up behind him. The position didn’t allow for any kind of fast movement, and the both of you gently grind against each other. The romance of the moment was palpable, your breath mingling together, Toji’s eyes locked onto yours, unmistakably aware of who he was with. He groans your name several times as you ride, his hands bruisingly holding onto you as he places wet kisses on your neck, capturing your lips as the tender motions steadily push him towards a promising climax. 

You adjust your body slightly, feeling his cushiony tip brush against your cervix, hitting your gspot on its way back down. After everything…this was right. This is how it should be. “Toji…I love you,” you whisper to him and the words are met with an enchanted smile. 

“I love you too y/n…” He manages to say before his body pushes to an edge. You feel the contractions of his length inside you and continue to move your hips and bring him to a satisfying climax. His breath tears from his throat and he moans in your ear as he empties himself into you, thick ropes of seed painting your walls white. 

When you awake a few hours later, you realize Megumi will be home soon. You quickly tidy up, putting on fresh clothes. The doorbell rings and Toji stirs, blinking groggily against the light. “Quick, put your clothes on.” You toss him his pants and T-shirt, then close the door on your way. Your smile is radiant as you greet Megumi, pulling him inside and hugging him tightly.

“You’re crushing me,” Megumi gasps and you hastily let go. Megumi immediately spots the difference in your demeanor.

“You’re happy.”

“I am. Oh Megumi you have no idea.” You close the door and Toji makes an entrance, his smile gentle as he pats his son on the head. 

“Megumi…go change and let’s finish your homework. Mamaguro needs to prepare dinner.”

You’re thankful Megumi is already walking away to his room because you felt all the air in your lungs vanish, your heart splintering into two all over again. As the tears begin to well in your eyes, Toji walks over to you in concern.

“Are you sure you’re ok Mamaguro? You’ve been teary all day.”

You nod your head, choking back your sobs as you quickly rush to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner. 

dividers by @/ cafekitsune

@that-goth-bisexual @buttercupbitches @jadedjane @hunnie-lily

@soft--cherry @estarlias

@daswanj @connorsui @kentosgirlie @dreaming-about-seireitei @byul9158 @whatshernameis @galatict3a

@mangiswig @bleachbrainrotbro @illusionaryennui @harlekin6

@pernesophe @26xidk @an-ever-angry-bi @connorsui @muzansfangs

[ilys00ga]

life after his enlistment.

pairing: yoongi x reader

synopsis: how life/the relationship was like after he enlisted.

genre: fluff, established relationship, yoongi enlisted, they are trying their best, idk if I should call it angst or hurt/comfort, but there's some kind of ✨️melancholy✨️ in this (predictable much), I effing miss him sm more now :(.

warnings: t.w: if u are just like me, prepare to be missing yoongi sickeningly after this. gosh, it feels like a hole in a chest rn. idk what to do w myself. oh btw some ideas mentioned here are purely my own opinions, so it doesn't have to be "facts" or "all true." if u have different opinions or if u disagree with any it u can reach out to me about them, I would like that, but that's that, enjoy!!!!!!!!!

A/N: this was a request made by @kimvante2013 I hope it meets ur expectations! this was so fun to write, I liked this a lot. feel free to send more reqs or anything u want :)

PS. English is not my first language, so you know the drill.

ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

the problem wasn't that you couldn't see him, no.

since his duty was different from that of an ordinary individual, you both were able to spend the nights in each other's arms.

when he comes back home after duty, sometimes he's met with an empty house where he'd wash up and start preparing something for you to enjoy munching on once you get back home at a later hour of the day. other times, he comes to a busy, warm house. you blasting your favorite drama on the TV while doing the laundry in the middle of the living room, or just chilling and waiting to welcome him with mellow hugs and kisses.

and when he's on duty, he can't always contact you, but he whispered kisses laced with promises into your lips before leaving on his first day, and he would never dare to break them. not that he wants to anyway.

sometimes you'd wake up to post-it notes sticked on random surfaces and items around the house, or good morning messages of love and kisses. sometimes he calls during lunch breaks to check up on you, reminding you to drink water and eat well because that's yoongi's most precious habit of showing that he always just cares.

"don't forget to layer your outfit today, I just saw that it's gonna be awfully cold."

"did you like the bouquet I sent? want more? cook me ___ tonight xx"

"hi, don't forget to drink a cup of water right this instance or you'll shrivel up and die."

"it snowed on my way here this morning, let's go out this weekend and have some fun :]"

when days are too hard to handle, weighing one of you—maybe even both of you at the same time, cause life is a bitch like that—down and burying you under the ground, you'd send long voice messages to the other. never expecting an immediate reply. just simply pressing record and spilling all the bottled negative energy that clogged your brains and chests.

so, the problem wasn't really that you couldn't see or talk to him..

the problem was that neither of you were used to any of that.

you weren't used to being away from each other for long hours throughout the day (even though he often went on tours and job events aboard), or not being able to talk and/or see him whenever you wanted to—atleast whenever your shift agreed to let you. you're stuck on this routine for months. you were so not used to that.

over the years, you and yoongi grew to become a pen and a paper: two different items that are meant to only function and be paired together. one can't be capable without the other.

yet you try to avail yourselves of the situation and take it all easy. slowly, like waking up and leaving a warm, comfy bed at 5 in the morning to gain some purpose somewhere out there.

so, while staying away from one another for several hours a day comes with heavy challenges and even melancholy at times, that doesn't mean it can't be fruitful for your relationship.

since for it to grow healthier, a couple, intentionally or not, sometimes needs to take some "time off" to preserve the connection and intimacy between them.

you always remind yoongi of how much you had missed him during the day, which is something that never failed to put a smile on his face and trigger a stream of butterflies in his stomach.

love and yearning are two inseparable powerful emotions that one can't defeat, and absence makes the heart grow fonder. that's the beauty of the challenge your relationship was subject to at this new stage.

"I am still me, you are still you. everything's gonna be alright." yoongi would say as he hugs your face into his chest.

he always reminds you that this new chapter the two of you have entered together, hand in hand and with shaking hearts, is one that he'd been dreading but looking forward to for a very long time.

a chapter that made him understand how much he needs your existence in his life. to be himself and to be the somebody you need and deserve.

and he makes sure to translate that into your skin as he traces it with his lips and fingertips when you finally fall into each other's embrace.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Love is Blind (Part 3)

Eddie Munson x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: In a last ditch effort to evade the normal disappointments of dating, a group of misfits desperate to have someone see who they are on the inside volunteer for the most recent brain chemistry study at Hawkins Lab. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut in later parts (part 4), reader has low self-esteem and struggles with self love/acceptance, anxiety/trauma related to bullying, tooth rot worthy fluff, Eddie being a major flirt, cursing, mentions of substance use, descriptions of bullying & people being jerks but like also very overdone tropes, mentions of smut

A/N: Please let me know if you liked it!! Feel free to send me an ask if you want to fangirl with me over these two because I cannot stand them at this point. LOL Or if you want to share any ideas/predictions for upcoming parts with me or other ideas for future stories with Eddie, I would love to hear them. Also, if I forgot to include a warning that should be included, please let me know!

Series Masterlist

“Eddie.” 

“Hey, Eddie.” 

“Earth to Eddie.”

“EDDIE.” 

“Shit! Sorry,” he says, breaking out of his thoughts and coming back to reality. He stares at his notes in his DM folder and he literally has no idea where the campaign has left off. He clears his throat and awkwardly flips through the pages. “Umm..”

“We just made it to the fishing town and we were tasked by a local merchant to kill a sea serpent that’s poisoning the local fish in exchange for..”

“Oh yeah,” he interjects, grabbing the correct script he needs to continue. “Uh, did you roll..?”

“Are you kidding me, man! What the hell?” Gareth exclaims, exasperated. “What’s wrong with you today?” 

Eddie’s face turns pink, shaking his head and ignoring the question. He was not going to admit to being distracted. He’s not embarrassed to talk to the guys about you, but he hasn’t told anyone he signed up for the study. He didn’t want to admit he was desperate or lonely, he’s too proud. He knows his friends don’t care, but it’s a mental block he can’t pass. 

“Nothing, I’m good. Just let it go,” he says defensively. 

“No way. Fucking spill it,” Jeff laughs. 

Eddie racks his mind for the most sane way to answer their questions. He sighs, pushing a mess of his curly hair out of his face. 

“Who is she?” Gareth asks, raising an eyebrow. 

***

DAY FOUR

“I’m mad at you,” Eddie says, and you roll your eyes. 

“What did I do now?” You ask, playful sarcasm evident in your voice. 

“You’re throwing me off my game”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that.” 

“Obviously because I’m really cool and popular,” he jokes, “I’m a Dungeon Master as you know.” 

“Yup, I’m familiar,” you toy. 

“My friends called my ass out so many times last night for not paying attention and I kept fucking up.” 

“I don’t appreciate you pinning this on me,” you chuckle. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Lies!” He says in a bravado. “You are the distraction! You have managed to weasel your way into every aspect of mind- I hope you’re proud of yourself. I’m probably going to be dethroned. My reign is over.”

You bite your bottom lip, to hold back the goofy smile you know is creeping over your whole face. Never before has anyone made you feel like this. The notebook to keep track of other “dates” is long forgotten. You only want to continue talking to Eddie. You wonder if any of the other people you spoke to felt a connection this strong. You’re dying to know if there are other people who feel as good as you right now. 

“What were you thinking about?” you ask shyly. You can hear the way it makes Eddie stop in his tracks. You assume he wears some sort of chain on his pants cause you can hear it when he paces, but suddenly, his end of the wall falls silent.

“How honest do you want me to be?” he asks, suddenly sounding shy. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I could go the cheesy, romantic, ‘I was thinking about you’ way- which is true. Or, I could be brutally honest because ‘I was thinking about you’ in this context has much more implications than that.” 

“You’re confusing me,” you laugh, “just tell me.”

“Do you ever fantasize about when we get out of here? In like, a you know-”

“Like sexually?” you ask, throwing him a bone. He was drowning. 

“Yeah,” he admits, and you can hear the chain on his pant leg as he fidgets. 

“Yes,” you answer honestly, “I do.”

“I think about it all the time,” he says, the confession spilling out, “The fact that I can’t touch you is driving me fucking insane. It’s not even like just like the thought of getting to fuck you- it’s like being close to you and like feeling your body heat, or like the weight of you sitting on my lap, what it feels like to just touch your skin- just everything that we’re being denied. I don’t even have a visual in my head to go off of it’s just like- I don’t know, man…”

You wince at the mention of sitting on his lap. “I don’t know if you’d want me on your lap for a long time..,” you sound defeated. 

“Um, don’t speak for me,” he cuts you off, playfully. “Any man who doesn’t want the full weight of his woman on his lap is a fucking idiot. Ugh, I don’t even think you understand just how amazing it is. I don’t care if you try to fight me on this, princess. You’re sitting on me, and I will love every second of it.” 

“I’m not thin, Eddie,” you whisper, feeling defeated. You hear him blow a raspberry and then he knocks on the wall. 

“I… don’t… care,” he emphasizes by drawing out each word. “You need to believe me. I couldn’t care less about your weight, your height, your hair… whatever  it is. I like you! And that means I like every part of you.”

His voice begins to raise, like he is yelling up, “If these fuckers would realize we’re done already and let me out.” He then lowers his voice like he’s looking back to the wall. “I want you. The experiment fucking works, I wish I could show you what you do to me cause maybe then it’ll finally stick. I’m going out of my mind that I can’t touch you and show you how much I want you, your body, everything. Do you need me to spell it out?” 

“Would you have still found me attractive if we met outside of this experiment?” you ask, “I bet you wouldn’t have even looked my way if you saw me at a bar or something.”

“Sweetheart,” he coaxes, “absolutely. I know that I would’ve been annoying the shit out of you for your number. You’d have been the one to reject me, I guarantee it.” 

“I would have never,” you reply. 

“So if it’s possible for you to know that you wouldn't have rejected me without seeing me,” Eddie muses, “why can’t you believe the same for me?”

“You haven’t asked me a single thing about my appearance,” he continues, “Do you care how much I weigh? Do you care if I’m short?”

“Not at all. I haven’t thought about it,” you admit. 

“I haven’t either. Now, please let me have my fantasy of you sitting on my lap please,” he whines, “I need something to get me through the day, Christ.” You laugh at his fake annoyance. 

You’re so happy at how he’s able to talk you down. It amazes you how he’s able to see through the insecurities and brings you back down to Earth. 

“Okay, okay,” you say, settling back into the couch and getting comfortable. You rest your head back. 

“I don’t know, basically, we’re in the middle of the campaign- I literally spent weeks writing it,” he continues, “and I literally just can’t stop thinking about how amazing it would be if you were there. I’m just sitting there, thinking about what it would feel like to just have you sitting on my lap while we’re playing and then I’m thinking about how I want to feel lean back on me and I’d have my arm around your waist holding you, and maybe I’d rub little circles on the side of your thigh and I thought about how soft you probably feel and then suddenly I’m sporting the most embarrassing boner which thankfully no one saw- Fuck, this is what you’re doing to me.”

***

“Is there any way to end the trial early?” Eddie asks, sitting in the interview room. There’s a man putting a pulse oximeter on his right index finger and another testing his blood pressure with a monitor on his left side. 

Two other technicians sit across from Eddie, taking notes from Eddie’s answers on a clipboard. They have tested his levels of dopamine and norepinephrine. They’re taking extensive notes on Eddie’s physical reactions to you, and the same is done to all of the candidates- including you. They continue to ignore Eddie’s questions as they ramble on about his levels of oxytocin. 

“In order for us to gather all of the information necessary, this isn’t possible,” one of them finally answers. 

“But I’m telling you how I feel- I’m telling you it works,” he insists. 

“Mr. Muson,” one says, closing a file folder that contains his charts. “This is a study in brain chemistry. You agreed to participate for the designated number of days and in exchange you’d receive compensation. Your conversations between yourself and the other candidates is not our business, nor what you choose to do afterwards. Our job here is to collect data, not the details of your personal life.” 

“I can’t believe this,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. He pulls off the oximeter and grabs his jean jacket. He walks out, despite their protests, flipping them off as he goes. He couldn’t care less about the lousy $200. As far as he was concerned, they poked and prodded the two of you enough. 

Of course, he did show up the next day. Promptly with a big grin on his face, he walked in with a happy go-lucky attitude that the entire lab team was secretly sick of dealing with. These sudden outbursts and dramatic tirades were becoming a staple of Eddie’s interviews and they equally couldn’t wait to be done with him. 

***

DAY FIVE

“Are these dice?” You ask with a chuckle, opening the small, black velvet bag that’s been left for you on the table in the room. You empty the bag out into your hand and watch as the dice roll into your palm one at a time. They’re all red and shimmer as you move them around in your cupped hand. 

“Well, I wanted you to have them,” you hear his voice explain from the other side of the wall. You’re beaming as you carefully pour them back into the bag and tie it off. 

“This is so sweet, Eds,” you marvel. “I love them.” 

“I also brought my guitar and like in a non-douchebag way I was kind of hoping to play something for you,” he says, his guitar perched on his lap. “I’ve just been working on this song and I wanted your opinion on it.” 

It's surprisingly soft sounding. You were expecting heavy guitar, something really metal based on what Eddie has told you about his music taste and his band. It’s slower paced, like a dreamy, slow rock ballad. 

You wished you could see him, observe how he looks when he’s concentrating or how his fingers look strumming against the cords. You just know he has the most beautiful hands. You imagine his fingers and try to visualize them flexing as he strums. You’re so distracted by it that you almost miss him singing a verse. 

“It’s not done yet,” he prefaces, still strumming. “I’m still working on the lyrics so don’t think too much about them, just like the meaning and the melody you know?” 

“Yeah totally,” you hum in agreement. “I think it sounds great.” He smiles at the praise. 

***

Before

You anxiously sit by the front window, peeking out between the blinds occasionally. You smooth out the skirt of the new dress your mom bought you, and you make sure your hair is still how you requested. Your mom let you wear makeup and you picked eyeshadow that matches your dress and you feel like a million bucks. It’s your ninth grade formal, and the star of the JV basketball team asked you to be his date. 

The minutes tick by and the time changes from reasonably late to stood up. You still hold out hope, and reject your parents' offers to just drive you to the dance. It’s been 45 minutes now, and you still hoped he’d be there. It was long past an hour that you admitted that he wasn’t coming. 

The following Monday you learned the whole thing was a prank, and he never wanted to ask you to the dance. It’s in the school paper that he’s at the dance, dancing cheek to cheek with one of the cheerleaders, who you can’t help but compare yourself to. 

***

Eddie is sitting at the middle school cafeteria table alone. He’s about a hundred pages into the Hobbit and the crusts of his peanut butter sandwich are forgotten about on the crinkly brown paper bag Uncle Wayne packed his lunch in. He’s long forgotten he’s sitting alone, far too engrossed in the story to care, when suddenly his head is yanked back by someone tugging on his t-shirt. 

“What’s up, Freak?” the voice asks before shoving Eddie back towards the table. He catches himself on the edge before his head comes in contact with the surface. He winces as anger boils up inside him. The three jocks laugh amongst themselves until a familiar voice shoos them away. 

“Sorry about them,” she says apologetically as Eddie looks to see her. Chrissy. He notices how she glances from him to the cafeteria table where the cheerleaders sit, and Eddie knows she doesn’t want to be seen with him for too long. 

“You can go, I’m fine,” Eddie says, forcing a laugh to make her feel better. “But, uh, I wanted to ask you-” 

“Okay, thanks,” she says, cutting him off and practically skipping to sit next to the prick who shoved him. Eddie recoils as the jock’s arm wraps around her. Eddie rolls his eyes and gets up to have lunch outside. Along with the remains of his lunch, he shoves the necklace he meant to give her in the bin. He’d stayed up past his bedtime, Wayne showing him how to drill a small hole into the top of one of his guitar picks to put a metal jewelry loop through so it could be put on a silver chain. 

***

You’re sitting at the table in the dimly lit restaurant and sipping on your cocktail when you see him walk in. He matches the description your friend gave you, and you feel yourself smile at how cute he is- definitely living up to the hype. Your friend spent weeks convincing you to go out on this date- one of her boyfriend’s best friends. They’re in the same fraternity. 

You can see as he walks into the dining room, he’s looking around trying to find his date. You offer a smile when he makes eye contact, and you offer a small wave. 

“James?” You ask, “you’re exactly like how Donna described you.” He offers a polite closed lipped smile, and a nod, taking a seat across from you without saying anything. 

As the date continues, you notice you’re doing a lot of the talking. You ask him questions and you’re met with a lot of one word answers. He looks detached, checking his watch and his attention seems to be wandering throughout the restaurant at anything but you. By the time your entrees arrive, he yawns. 

“I’m sorry, did I do something or say something?” you ask, hesitantly.

“No, no you’re good,” he says, straightening his posture like it would correct the behavior he’s been exhibiting. 

He pays for dinner, and you ask if he’d like to do this again sometime (just to be polite, you knew it was going nowhere). He sucks in air from between his teeth, and lets out an exhale. 

“You’re a nice person,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets as he waits for the valet to bring his car. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t really my type. Tom didn’t tell me anything about you really. I just felt like we didn’t click.” You notice the way his eyes scan your body, the unspoken awkwardness of you knowing what he isn’t saying. You nod, and say strained goodbyes as he gets in his car. You wished you were more surprised. 

***

Eddie is met with dirty looks when he approaches a girl at the bar. He feels her eyes on his tattoos and on his clothes, judging him. He sees her friend, who's also looking at him, lean in and whisper something and they both laugh. He knows the joke is on him, yet again. 

He opts to hang where he is, leaning against one of the high top tables, when he watches another guy approach her. He’s muscular, of course he is, and Eddie looks down at his own torso in comparison as this guy’s abs strain his shirt. Eddie scoffs, but now feels incredibly insecure at how his own shirt hangs loosely on his figure. 

***

DAY SIX

“Are you still worried about tomorrow?” Eddie asks, playing haphazardly with his rings as he sits with his forearms rested on his thighs. 

“A little,” you admit sheepishly. “Are you?” 

“More excited than nervous,” he replies honestly. “This whole thing has been fucking wild,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“Insane,” you agree, laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I just wanted to ask, no pressure,” Eddie says, clearing his throat, “Uh the other day, when we talked about, you know- what’s gonna happen when we see each other…”

“Yes?”

“You said to not hold back, I don’t remember exactly what it was but along the lines of ‘I don’t want you to hold back. Just whatever feels right to you in that moment, do it. Kiss me, touch me, I’m down for everything.’ Or something. I just want to make sure…”

“You don’t remember exactly, huh?” you tease. 

“Is that still what you want?” he asks earnestly. 

“Without a doubt,” you smile.

PART 4

TAGLIST

@woahnotmecryingoverafanfiction @ali-r3n @cherrycolas-things @hellfirebabe666 @trixyvixx @stardancerluv @i--wont-run-this-time @mewchiili @muamazon4 @1975lily @sadbitchfangirl @strangerthings36 @fanficfanatic000 @andrearose89 @sosawwycantrelate @animechick555

[lees-chaotic-brain]

hall pass?! (pt. one, ft. yuuji itadori)

summary: you explain the concept of a hall pass to him, then decide to play a little prank on him...

cw: cheating i guess, except no one actually cheats, fluff, crack, not beta read

word count: 614

note: hi guys i have emerged to post this before slithering back to where i came from. i promise i have actual fics in the makings. thank you for being so patient with me, i love you all <33. this is also inspired by a youtube short i saw a LONG time ago, but if any of you know what i'm talking about and don't mind sending me the link that would be amazing!! also at some point i'll probably make this a mini series with a couple of other characters!!

jjk masterlist | blog navigation

"Hey, Yuu." He perks up at the sound of your voice. "What's up?"

"I just realized we haven't talked about hall passes. Do you know what they are?"

He tilts his head slightly to the side as he considers the question. "I think so. Nobara explained them to me once. It's like a free pass to sleep with one person who's not your partner without consequences, right?"

"Pretty much. The only other thing is you have to establish who that one person is beforehand, so you can't just randomly cheat and claim it was your hall pass."

"Okay..." He looks a little confused. "But why are we talking about hall passes? I only want to be with you..."

Your heart melts, and you feel a little bad about where you were going with this line of conversation but you hadn't pranked him in a little while. "I know baby, but I'm curious. If you had to pick someone, who would it be?"

"Jennifer Lawrence, obviously, but only because I had a massive crush on her when I was a teenager and I know it will never happen."

"That makes sense." You nod, trying not to smile. He was a little bit too predictable at times.

"But what about you?" He blurts. "Who would your hall pass be?"

"Oh me?" You do your best to sound nonchalant. "Probably John."

"John? Who's John?"

"Oh, just some guy I work with." You glance at your phone as if you're checking the time. "Speaking of which, I need to go meet up with him to discuss something right about now."

Getting up from the couch, you sling your bag over your shoulder head towards the front door, leaving your poor boyfriend sitting on the couch, gobsmacked.

"Anyways, see you later babe! This might take a little while so don't wait up for me-"

180 pounds of sunshine and muscle tackle you to the ground before you can even make it to your shoes. You lay sandwiched between the cold hardwood floor and the warm weight of your boyfriend, completely unable to move.

"Yuuji?? What are you doing..."

"DON'T GO!" He nuzzles into the back of your neck, and you can feel the pout on his lips.

"I'm sorry I said I would sleep with Jennifer Lawrence if I could get the chance. Please don't go and hang out with John...I love you."

The desperation in his voice breaks your resolve, and you give in. "Yuuji...baby...it was a prank. I'm sorry."

He freezes, then you can feel all the tension leave his body as he cuddles up against your back. "Oh. That's good. It wasn't very funny though."

"I know. I'm sorry." You attempt to shift, trying to alleviate the painful press of the hardwood floors against your hip bones. "Could you maybe get off though? The ground hurts and I do actually need to meet up with John, who's a sixty five year old man I do NOT find attractive in any shape or form."

"I don't care." He presses himself harder against you, but you notice that he slips his arms between you and the floor to cushion you. "I won't let you go until you promise to take me with you."

Glancing at the clock, you realize you're going to be late unless you leave within the next two minutes.

"Fine...you can come. But you have to be on your best behavior and leave us alone, okay?"

"Okay!"

As you walk to your meeting with your boyfriend happily bouncing along at your side, you can't help but regret your past decisions.

That was the last prank you pulled for a little while.

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @hotvinimon @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa

[lottielovelace]

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity and name [Elise Veidt]), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe. 

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

[rouge-fauna]

I wish there was a way to create like a scrap book or something of all of the supportive posts on all the social medias to send to Dream, because I feel like the people on Dream’s side are really spread out at this point and if all he’s seeing is Twitter it just not a lot and can’t help him feel good. And like for him not just to see that people support him no matter what or whatever but that people actually relate to him. That we see what’s happening even if no one else does. That he is not alone in being made fun of for any of these things from social inappropriate behavior, speech and logic to sexual orientation. Not just so he knows people have his back, but knows he isn’t alone and isn’t weird or wrong or insufficient or worthy of this treatment… I have been hurt so bad in situations like this with like 20 people, I can’t even fathom what it must feel like to have hundreds of thousands (millions?). And don’t even get me started on the content creators, who make the people who betrayed me look like angels…

Anyways… I’m sorry I’ve talked a lot about this over the past week, especially when I strive to keep my main blog more dsmp related and drama free for the most part for anyone not wanting to get involved. And usually I wouldn’t have gotten involved and in the past I have been annoyed at first or whatever but then tried to ignore it and move on. This time I didn’t (couldn’t?), I’m not sure why this is different. Why this drama just bothers me so much more, it’s not like injustice, lies, bandwagon, hypocrisy or any of these things are new… my best theory is that so many of the things people are attributing to Dream being a “proper movie villain” are things I see in myself so perhaps it feels as though the internet is against me too? Or that it hurts so much to see someone struggle with the same things you have? Or maybe it’s the hopelessness that comes with my very first prediction that no matter what autistic people will always be disliked. I don’t know, I think this has bothered me more than when people harassed me and called me ableist in September… like it’s just so… but again, I will say having y’all commiserate with me in this has helped a lot and I guess I want Dream to feel that too.

[cozycottagetarot]

Quick Pick: Messages From Your Person

Hello, my loves! It's been way too long, but I'm finally back (hopefully for a long time) with a new reading as well as a bit of a rebrand. Today's reading is focused on messages from your person (kind of in the realm of a future spouse but generally a long-term partner) but I think for some of you it may come across as a current partner as well.

This is a pretty experimental reading for me. I want to start including an 'energy check' of sorts to help you better figure out if a pile is for you or not. I've done 'channelled' messages before but I felt weird about them so I've decided to give it a try again. The message aspect of this reading is just a free-flow writing of the cards that were pulled. And of course, I decided to play around a little bit more with my graphics. I'm always open to feedback, so I'd love to gather your thoughts on the set-up and reading itself.

Elle 🌿

P.S. I'm trying to re-do my masterlist but can't locate all my old pacs easily. If you come across one, I wouldn't mind if you send me the link. 🙏

Support My Work | MASTERLIST

Disclaimer: When reading tarot, my aim is to focus on self-reflection and seeking guidance. The readings you'll find here are designed to add a pinch of fun and entertainment to your day. While I might sprinkle in some advice that hopefully vibes with you, please remember that these insights aren't a substitute for any professional advice you might need-- after all, you know your journey best! For any love-related or future-focused readings, consider them captivating musings exploring possibilities. Divination inspired stories even. I can't predict the future but I do hope to add some enjoyment and insights into your everyday. Lastly my darlings, please take from these readings what resonates with you most, be it some, all or none, and leave the rest. 🌟

PILE 1

Note: Pile 1 your pile gave me absolute hell the first time around 😭. I was writing/channelling the message and the energy literally just gave way at one point, I was flabbergasted 🫨. Anyway, the second pull was much clearer, but I included notes I felt were important from the first pull in the post-reading notes section.

Your Energy:

Going through an awakening. A need or call for self-reflection. A new cycle is beginning. You must face what you are running from within, but you must also be patient. Rely on your inner strength. Needing to learn more about yourself before doing/trying something different. Potentially finding yourself in part of a mentorship. Connecting with people similar to yourself. Navigating regrets. Needing to let go of the old you. Needing to ground yourself.  A strong energy of needing to look within yourself. It is time to prepare yourself for your next journey.

The Message:

Can you let the past go? We’ve been through so much, the both of us, on our own and together. Why do you hold on to it when our future is waiting for us? I know I hurt you and I apologize. You didn’t deserve any of the pain I caused you. I don’t blame you [it felt like there was a specific reason but I couldn’t get the specifics] but I feel lost without you. I could tell you why, I want to, but words mean nothing without action. You know my story. My relationship with my mother, how that shaped me. You know I love the attention of it all, having everyone’s eyes on me. Makes me feel good.. makes me feel. But no one else’s attention mattered like yours did. I felt most close to myself with you. Please, please let go of that version of me you’re holding onto in your head. I’m taking space because I need to heal. I need to heal my relationship with me first before I can heal it with us. This isn’t goodbye; just so long for now. I’m taking time to put that me in the past too and find myself and what I want from this life. I mean it’s simple really, I want you, us. I want to give you the good life you deserve, but I need to fix myself first. Give me the self-love I deserve.

Post-Reading Notes:

There’s a mature, sad regretful energy. Someone on a journey of self-exploration. Two hurting souls who met at the wrong time. One of you may be further along in your healing journey or you’ve both healed parts of yourself and your relationship that the other one hasn’t healed yet.

First Pull Notes:

One of the first things that came to mind for me is a dark night of the soul… I haven’t heard that term in so long and I’ve completely forgotten what it means, but for someone in this pile, I feel like that may resonate a lot. Going through a tough time. Blow after blow. Your higher self or inner wisdom is trying to reach you. Introspection before a new beginning. An ending of something you don’t want to let go of?

Big things are happening in your life, and significant changes are taking place even though it might not seem that way right now. Lots of air energy. Gaining mental clarity is super important for you right now. Breakup vibes? You two are like opposite sides or motivations of the same energy. Holding on when you know you should let go. This is definitely your person (one of the cards literally says ‘You’re my person’).

PILE 2

Your Energy:

For some of you are at the end of suffering but lying to yourself about the truth of the outcome, while for others you’re running from the mistakes made along the way. Maybe it's both. You’re still grieving all that is lost, be gentle with yourself. Hard work and consistency may await you but keep at it. Adventure is closer than you think. You’re on the brink of success. Moving forward hurts, but you must. Your person (or something you've been romanticising) is waiting for you. You just have to be brave enough to step through the gate. Opportunities are coming your way. If you're interested in floral hobbies or embroidery go for it.

The Message:

I hear you. I haven’t given up on you. I hear the songs you play for me, I hear the songs of your heart. You’re my love, my soulmate. We were meant to be, you and me. You’re not crazy or insane, or any other term you demean yourself with. You’re my everything. I can feel your soul even though we’re apart. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can feel you there. I can see your sparkling soul mirroring mine... sad eyes, bright smile, you leave me in awe. I know you call to me, and I’m sorry I’m not there. Don’t hate me for it, please. I’m leaving behind all that has been holding me back… the same as you. I’m sorry it’s so lonely. I want to meet. What do you say? Impromptu trip to the tropics? Somewhere cold? I just want to escape the world with you and lie in your arms. You’re my home. I sit in your energy and let it guide me your way. But I do need time. Please be patient with me. I haven’t abandoned you. I’m finding me, for you. I dream about you so often and being the kind of person you’d inspire me to be.

Post-Reading Notes:

"I need you to run to me, run to me, lover." (Run by Hozier, the chorus specifically. I know the song is supposed to be a metaphor but I'm suggesting it at face value). A very healing energy to your person's messages. Your person could also fantasise about you a lot... in a non-x-rated 18+ kind of way. It was mentioned on one of the cards but that part of the card felt awkward in the rest of the cards. They’re possessive, it doesn't seem like in a negative or extreme way but again, that's not something that was strong or clear. There’s something to do with the attention of others. They just want to be yours completely… Honestly, a submissive yet dominant kind of energy. A protector and/or provider (take that as you will) who is absolutely smitten with you and will do anything you say.

I don't typically read for it, but one of the cards had twin flame written on it. It could also be symbolic of mirroring each other in your personal journeys in life.

PILE 3

Your Energy:

Powerful yet solitary energy. A new chapter of your life. Accomplishing a big goal. Moving to a new location. Creating a good foundation for yourself in preparation for what comes next. Balancing your energies. Sleep issues. Struggling with anxiety or managing thoughts after a traumatic event. Celebration. Having security. Authoritarian role or vibes.

The Message:

Okay, I can do this: I can’t get you off of my mind. I’m constantly thinking of you, viewing your content, trying to set myself up to run into you. I know it’s silly, especially since you hurt me. Who pines after the person that hurt them? Well, it wasn't meant to be mean. You’re just so mysterious I can’t ever read you and it or you make me nervous. I’m always worrying about what to say. I want to talk to you but opening up to others is hard. I’m afraid I’ll start crying or you’ll hear my voice crack. You’re my person. I’m sure of it. You’re everything I’ve hoped for in a person, everything I dream about before I go to sleep at night. You’re doing so well for yourself, but I want to spoil you and be there for you. Not always materially. I know you can cover that for yourself. But being there for you and spending time with you… I heard you were seeing someone. I hope it’s not true and even if it is, I hope it doesn't last. No, I’m not sorry. I’m going to work up the courage to reach out to you soon.

Post-Reading Notes:

Oh Pile 3, you’re so intimidating to your person. Secret admirer vibes. I definitely think you’ve got a very serious or professional energy and an intimidating appearance. That may especially be true if you’re taller than average for your demographic/s. The energies here feel very balanced or neutral (not heavily feminine or masculine) on both your end and theirs.

PILE 4

Your Energy:

Such a beautiful light-hearted energy. There’s such a beautiful and hopeful energy in this relationship here but it’s also possible someone or something is working against you right now. A very important decision is being made. Someone could be trying to take something from you, but keep going. You’ve got this incredible power/energy to you. Vows are super important, be it making them with someone else or making a vow to yourself to gain or achieve something. Collaboration. Having everything you need to succeed. There could be challengers coming your way but you're strong enough to overcome them.

The Message:

I’m sorry. I don’t know, that was immature of me. I swear it wasn’t like you thought but don’t worry I’m going to do better. Honest. You know, I dream about us being together and growing old. I dream about our kids. They’re so stinking cute. We’ve still got growing to do, ok, or I’ve still got growing to do. Please talk to me. You know I hate it when you give me the silent treatment. I know I disappeared on you and that wasn’t cool. I just get so… I care about you a lot. I don’t want to see you hurt. I want the best for you. I know I act all big and bad but I’m a softie at heart. That fight was weird. I don’t like it. It wasn’t like us. It meant nothing I know. Would you pack up and run away with me if I asked? I hate the distance between us right now. Im always listening to our playlist. I know I acted like I'm uninterested in something serious but I am. I want you. I miss you. I want to spoil you and give you everything you deserve. Just give me a chance. Please hear me out.

Post-Reading Notes:

The vibes while doing the reading felt like very young vibes? There’s a youthfulness there. Someone who either is actually young in age or hasn’t grown up emotionally in a certain aspect. It felt like they did something prideful that was hurtful to you and you two are in a disconnect during the moment captured in the reading. It didn’t feel like a serious fight. More so when you’re upset with someone and acting like you’re madder than you really are (your vibes) and the other person is sweating and begging you to talk to them again (their vibes).

Also, idk why but Peter Parker kept coming into my head 🕸️. I’m not feeling to analyse it so take it as you will.

[theabysss]

Hiii good morning/afternoon/evening!

I just saw the event post and I have come bearing a request.

If you do not mind..Can I please request a sagau kinda crack fic where there’s a tournament/competition being held in Teyvat where vision users must prove their love and devotion to the creator by fighting to the death (oooh brave scaryyy fighttt~) and whoever loses a.k.a dies are “punished”

Everyone thinks this “punishment” is horrible. Like they’ll be sent to a place where they can no longer feel their creator’s grace.

But little do they know this punishment actually just turns them into one of the creators thousand of plushies.

So they just sit there in the bed, unblinking, soft and squishy, watching their beloved Grace going on about their day normally

I recently read the Zhongli turning into a plush fic and my mind went “How about the other vision users turning into a plush?” Also I think my request is more like a reverse!isekai than sagau..Sorry..!

Fem or GN!Reader please! (While I prefer fem as I’m a female I would like this to be as inclusive as possible for other people out there..! So GN is most likely more suitable)

I’m not sure who the characters are but..If you can, can you please add any of the anemo boys and Itto?

I apologize for making this incredibly long. Please feel free to delete this request if you don’t want to do it! Anyways, that’s all. Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day!

It's okay about the length of your request, I really liked that idea. I hope you enjoy the way I wrote the fic, this is my first time responding to a request and I'm a little nervous. Of the anemo boys, I chose Kazuha because I'm actively trying to get him c2 now, I hope this fic will help me lure him. If you have any other idea and you like how I wrote this one, you can send another request while the event lasts, I will be glad. ヽ(´｡• ᵕ •｡`)ノ

summary: A tournament in which your allogenes must fight to the death with each other, proving their loyalty and devotion to you Creator. But what fate awaits the losers?

characters: Kazuha, Itto, Zhongli, Raiden + mentions of some other characters.

warnings/tags: gn!Reader, religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, description of deaths (not detailed).

word count: 2.2k

It was a beautiful sunny summer day, the warm wind playfully ruffled your hair, it must have been Venti's antics. Ordinary inhabitants of the regions came to support the vision wielders from their nations, hoping that one of their people could become one of the seven champions, bestowing glory on the entire nation. For your allogenes, as they said, participation in the tournament was the best way to show their loyalty, love and devotion to you. You chuckled, their willingness to put their lives on the line for a slim chance of winning and getting your confession amused you.

You shifted your gaze to the archons standing next to the throne, they were forbidden to participate, otherwise the outcome of the tournament would have been too predictable, and it was not interesting that way. Although you allowed adepts and youkai to participate, and it may not have been fair, you just wanted… more entertainment. Venti's offended expression popped into your head when he knew he couldn't compete in the tournament. On that day, he followed you like a tail, not unstick for a second, hoping that you will change your mind. The reaction of the other archons was much more restrained, but each of them was certainly upset by the impossibility of participating in the competition. After all, they were your most loyal followers, following you for thousands of years, and the fact that you denied them the opportunity to show their loyalty to you frustrated them. But your desire was above all, so they simply accepted your decision.

Catching your gaze, Zhongli bowed his head respectfully.

"Do you need anything, Your Grace?" The geo archon's eyes were full of awe and willingness to fulfill your every wish.

"Please feel free to tell us if you need anything." Ei joined the conversation. "Perhaps you would like to taste the Inazuma confections? I have specially brought them for you, and I hope they can please your exquisite taste, Your Grace."

"Sounds wonderful, I'll gladly taste them, in that case, Zhongli, could you make some fruit tea?"

"With pleasure, Your Grace." Zhongli bowed.

You smiled brightly at both of them and noticed how Zhongli's breath hitched for a second, and a blush spread across Ei's cheeks. You followed them with your eyes as they went to fulfill your requests. The tournament was about to start and up to this point you wanted to face some of your especially favorite allogenes. So that you instructed the servant to bring the two people you named.

Itto could be heard from far away, explaining something very loudly to Kazuha walking beside him.

"Of course, I will definitely take the place of one of the seven champions, it cannot be otherwise, because I am the great and invincible Arataki Itto, the supreme, the one and oni!"

"Behave yourself, we are in front of the Creator." A smile appeared on Kazuha's face as he met your eyes and knelt down on one knee with his hand on his heart, Itto follows his example.

"I'm glad to see you my allogenes, you can get up from your knees, let's leave excessive formality."

Kazuha and Itto obey your order, you could see a spark of curiosity in their eyes, why did you ask them to come? Just do not think that they were unhappy with this, for them it was only a joy to be next to you, your presence always warmed their hearts.

"I just wanted to wish you the best of luck for the competition, you are one of my favorite followers." Your smile was more tender than the most expensive silk.

"I'm honored to be one of your favorites, Your Grace, I won't let you down, I promise." There was a fire in Kazuha's eyes that should have led him to victory.

"That's right, we will definitely win! With Your Grace's faith in our strength, we will definitely become champions! Ushi and I will show you excellent fights and after the victory, maybe Your Grace will agree to fights with bugs."

"Well, if you win, I'm really up for a couple of fights." You giggled. "I won't delay you, you can go back to the others."

Bowing once more, Itto and Kazuha left, and a minute later Zhongli and Ei returned.

"As you requested your tea Your Grace, the flavor is based on sun-dried mulberry petals and should have a sweet aftertaste due to the addition of zaytun peach juice." Zhongli gave you an elegant porcelain cup and placed the teapot on the table next to the throne.

"It's a dango Your Grace, bon appetit." Ei handed you a plate with colorful balls strung on a stick and poured with sauce.

You take a bite and the sweetness in your mouth. Tasty. The widths are tender and seem to melt in your mouth, you cover your eyes with pleasure. In the blink of an eye, you eat the confection and look at the plate with sadness.

"It was delicious." You put plate on the table and pick up a hot mug of tea and blow on it before you take a sip.

Ei lights up with joy "I'm glad you enjoyed it, maybe you'd like some more sweets after the tournament?"

"I won't refuse such a generous offer." You lean back on the throne and continue to sip the tea, just like Zhongli said it had a sweetish aftertaste. Not the worst tea you've had in your long life.

Soon the iron smell of blood will be in the air and the people will cheer for cruelty. What a rotten world, but how do you like it. Perhaps among all your creations, they were the most bloodthirsty and devoted. Your beautiful dolls, ready for incredible deeds, are all covered in blood and with wide smiles on their faces until the very end. The last sip of tea marks the beginning of a bloody dance from which seven will come out victorious, and the rest… what about them, something much more interesting awaits them.

It's time to start the tournament. Thousands of eyes are attentively watching you with bated breath as you rise from your throne, walk to the edge of the loggia and put your hands on the railing. A wide, joyful smile appears on your face and you begin to speak.

"Today, on this beautiful day, there will be a tournament with life-and-death battles between my precious allogenes. The names of the seven winners will be covered with glory and they will be personally blessed by me. The losers will be punished after the resurrection. The stakes are high and if anyone wishes to opt out, now is the last time you can do so." Your voice, picked up by the power of the anemo, resounded throughout the arena.

You look around the participants and all you see in their eyes is the will to win. Their souls burn with fiery determination and no one is going to retreat. Even if the punishment is excommunication from your divine presence, a terrible event, the thought of which makes their hearts bleed, they were willing to take the risk. Your gaze lingers on Kazuha, his serenity standing out a lot from the nervous anticipation of the other allogenes, which some of them hid just a little more carefully than others. Also striking was Itto's high spirits, whose wide smile was brighter than the sun. No wonder they were your favorites.

"Since there is no one who wants to withdraw, let's start the tournament." You returned to your throne and prepared to watch magnificent battles in which every drop of blood spilled was dedicated to you.

The number of contenders for victory gradually decreased. After each battle, the sand in the arena changed its color to red more and more, and the screams of the crowd became louder. Childe quickly and brutally cracking down on the next opponent, ignoring other people's attempts at resistance and having time to wink at you at the end of each fight, before someone else's head flies away from the body. Diluc whose phoenix mercilessly roasts the next unfortunate to the bones, so that the smell of burnt flesh could be felt a few more fights after. Distracting the attention of opponents with the help of hydro illusions and the swordsmanship of the Kamisato clan brought Ayato victory after victory.

Unfortunately, your favorites' chances of winning were dwindling every second, each of them was badly enough wounded that he might not survive his next fight. However, you never really believed in their victory, but still called them to give them hope. Yes, and then it will be funny to watch how they will apologize to you for losing, when you also personally bestowed your blessing of luck on them. Though they'll have to survive the resurrections to begin with, it's a pity you didn't say how quickly it would happen, so they would have been in a very unusual position since then, but you didn't think they'd complain.

The last fights have passed and the seven winners have been determined, as you thought Kazuha and Itto were not among them. The spectators from the regions whose participants won shout even louder than before, while the residents of the losers are depressed and look enviously. You go down to the arena with Zhongli and Ei, and when you almost slip on the blood-stained sand, you grab Geo Archon's hand. Zhongli's muscles tense up under your touch, and the warmth of your hand is felt vividly even through the fabric. He closes his eyes, hiding his pupils that have become vertical for a second, you were so close to him, exciting close. Your warm palm burned through him, making him feel butterflies in his stomach, as mortals said.

You do not focus on what happened, and without letting Zhongli say a word, you quickly approach the winners. The Allogenes' eyes flare jealously when they notice you are holding Zhongli's hand, but you don't let that feeling flare up and start talking.

"Congratulations to you all on your victory, your strength and devotion have been proven, this evening there will be a ball where you will be honored and I will perform a blessing ritual."

They bow respectfully and praise you, saying that it was only by your mercy that they won. How happy they are now standing in front of you among all the applicants. You smile favorably at them, allowing them to enjoy your presence next to them. When you leave, they sadly follow you with their eyes, but it is not so strong because they know that you will see each other again in the evening.

You dress up in beautiful clothes made of expensive fabrics to your taste, smile at the mirror, knowing that the eyes of all those present will be turned to you. After all, you were their Creator, their precious Creator for whose sake they were ready for anything. You enjoy the ball, drink sparkling wine, which, unfortunately or fortunately, did not affect you in any way and dance with some winners. When one of them manages to make you laugh, all those present eagerly absorb this sound, recording it on the subcortex of consciousness in order to reproduce it later.

You return to your chambers and fall on the bed without undressing, you may have been immortal, but emotional fatigue still affected you. There were a lot of plush toys in your room, they were everywhere, on the bed, sitting in armchairs and on bookshelves. Their eyes seemed to be watching you intently. Well, there was nothing surprising in the fact that they did it. You took the toy in which Kazuha was supposed to be. A cute charming toy for you, silent, but understanding, seeing and feeling everything. And there were a lot of those. You gently kissed the toy, if you had done this while he was a human you are sure that he would have been redder than boiled cancer. The lack of reaction was frustrating, so sooner or later you were going to put them back into human bodies. In the end, it would be a real loss of so many insanely loyal and devoted followers. But for now, they could just be your cute toys.

Night or day they are always watching, greedily absorbing every little thing, every gesture, everything that you want to show them. Your sleepy expression in the morning, the way you stretch before finally getting out of bed, the exposed areas of your skin when you get out of the bathroom. They enjoy all these and are infinitely glad to be here in your chambers so close to you. Getting to know you better and better, remembering all the little habits. They don't want it to end, you won't let them get that close if they become human again, will you? So they'd rather be here with you in that state, just please don't leave them alone don't put them away in dark wardrobes or closets, let them watch. Please.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

[fishyvamp]

If you’re comfortable with it, I would be honored to get a small, ⟡spicy⟡ Amanda x F!Reader snippet! :) I’m not picky or specific on AU’s, so feel free to do any you’d like, or not at all if it’s easier! <3

Thank you for this opportunity! I’m always looking forward to your works and rambles! - Cozy

I love Amanda, the Saw franchise will always be near and dear to me as it was the first real horror movie franchise I had ever seen. I also love your work and am so excited for your upcoming fics and to be honest I had an outline already for kinktober that I never did with Amanda X F!reader.

As always NSFW 18+ MDNI (sensory depravation, blind folded, Knife play, temperature play)

I hope you enjoy it Cozy!

Your body shivered in the cold, hands bound behind your back as you felt the bite of the icy steel chair beneath you. You could hear the swings of chains around you the scent of decaying meat heavy in the air. "Looks a bit nippy wouldn't you say dear." Amanda cooed the sharp end of her knife dragging up your chest following the curve of your tits, the tip flicking a hardened nipple causing you to gasp, swallowing thickly you looked at the direction of her voice. Leather gloves tracing your hip.

You were only slightly panicked as the knife came back, dragging along to your throat pressing in just enough to feel the start of warm blood dripping down your chest. "God you are just so pretty in red." She purred you could feel the leather of her coat as she leaned in for a better look. Her body tensed as she was fixated on you. Her hands dragging the blood along your chest as she marred your skin with her blade. Not enough to hurt. No, she just wanted enough to just see you bleed. She wanted to feel the way your skin cooled as your own blood sapped the heat from your body freezing to your beautiful skin.

She loved the way your skin seemed to glow when painted this way. Her fingers dipping lower finding your clit, rough fabric creating delicious friction that was driving you mad as you leaned forward moaning into the touch, the killer spelling her name into your folds. "Tell me dear, who do you belong to?" She cooed hot breath against your sending a jolt straight to your core legs spreading further apart. "You," you whine trying to press into her hand to get more out what was happening. You were her's and only her's. A pay thing for her to enjoy and torment. "Such an eager piglet. Such a pretty piglet." She chuckles circling your greedy little pussy. "Bet you just wanna taste me inside you don't you. Want me to warm you up. Save my pretty piglet from freezing." Her hands moving away causing you to involuntarily whine from the loss of pressure. Why had she stopped what she doing? The thought going away in a moment as she shoved her cum soaked glove in your mouth.

"clean me, show me how hungry my little piglet is. Show me what a good girl you are." Amanda barks. Your tongue darting out tracing and lapping at the rough leather, your head twisting as you work every crevice you can. Cleaning what you could taste of your spend on her. This pleased her greatly a purr practically coming from the other woman. She pulled away once more. The sound of shuffling could be heard as the glove was pulled off and tossed some remote part of the room. A warm hand almost instantly finding your folds spreading and teasing them before two very skilled fingers entered you, pressing against your spongy walls. Teasing your sweet spot.

"Amanda!" You moan loudly head falling back as you tugged at the bindings wanting hold on to her to wrap yourself in her warmth. Mind flooded with the feeling of her stretching you, teasing you. As she worked to pull you apart, it was maddening you couldn't watch. Maddening you couldn't see her think. Maddening you couldn't predict what she was going to do next. "More!" You moan greedily, hips bucking into Amanda's hand. She tsked softly shaking her head, "you take what I give you piglet, and if you're not satisfied I can leave you in the cold instead." She threatened even if her fingers didn't falter. A chuckle escaping her, you had clenched around her fingers. The threat seemingly exciting you more, "such a slutty pussy, so hungry to be punished aren't you piglet. That's okay. I'll take my time. I want to make you really suffer."