#for once I set out to write something short

[ariaste]

Props to OP for answering so gracefully, but I'm not going to answer gracefully. It is more important than ever to call out fascism whenever you see it -- especially the quiet, soft, poisonously insidious kind that Anon is practicing here.

Anon ostensibly wants to know: "Do authors realize that they're writing about things that some people might find disturbing, horrific, upsetting, repulsive, or simply just TMI?" (Yes, obviously they know. Authors are not stupid; that's usually a requirement of the job (not always. But usually).)

But what Anon is actually asking is, "Why don't authors stop themselves from doing a Bad Thing? Why doesn't anyone else stop them?" The assumption underlying that question is: "Surely if they realized that they were doing something disgusting, they would stop immediately." Even more covertly implied: "I think writing about certain things automatically taints you with moral degeneracy--that is, it marks you as a possible or potential criminal."

To that I say: My friend, writing is just thoughts copied onto paper, and thinking is not a crime. Only actual actions can be crimes. What does it matter what other people think about? Literally so what? Why do you want people to be stopped from thinking about those things ("did their editors ever gently ask them...")? Why do you care? Do you feel that an author should provide a list of justifications and excuses before it's permissible for them to write about something? Why? And who do you think should be in charge of that? The government???? YOU???????

To any person reading this post: If the above questions are personally upsetting to you, if you find yourself huffily thinking something like, "Well, I care because it could normalize--", NOPE, STOP RIGHT THERE. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩 This is a big red flag: You (much like the Anon) are exhibiting some early warning signs of Fascism, and that is not something to take lightly in the current political climate. There are some drugs you shouldn't experiment with even once, and fascism is one of them. Repeat as often as needed: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS THOUGHTCRIME. WE DO NOT LIVE IN GEORGE ORWELL'S 1984.

But we already talk about thoughtcrimes now and then, don't we? I can't remember seeing someone talking about crimestop (also from Orwell's 1984):

In the Newspeak vocabulary, the word crimestop denotes the citizen's instinctive desire to rid himself of unwanted, incorrect thoughts (personal and political), the discovery of which, by the Thinkpol [Thought Police], would lead to detection and arrest, transport to and interrogation at Miniluv (Ministry of Love). The protagonist, Winston Smith, describes crimestop as a conscious process of self-imposed cognitive dissonance: The mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak. . . . He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He presented himself with propositions—'the Party says the Earth is flat', 'the Party says that ice is heavier than water'—and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the arguments that contradicted them. Moreover, from the perspective of Oceania's principal enemy of the state, in the history book The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism, Emmanuel Goldstein said that: Crimestop means the faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct, at the threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the power of not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logical errors, of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if they are inimical to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled by any train of thought which is capable of leading in a heretical direction. Crimestop, in short, means protective stupidity.

Read that twice, and then reread the Anon's question. Translate it through that lens: "Why," says the Anon, delicately disgusted, "are these authors not practicing better crimestop? I practice it all the time. Why aren't they?"

Great question, Anon. Why AREN'T they? Turn off your crimestop and give it some real thought.

(Hint: If the answer you come up with is "Because they are moral degenerates" or anything in that neighborhood, you are unfortunately still doing fascism. Try again. If you have tried several times and the only answer you can manage to come up with is a still a synonym of "moral degeneracy" then this is above my paygrade and I would recommend talking to a trusted grownup, a therapist, a spiritual leader, or possibly your least-online friend.)

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[mrsmangi]

black dahlia ! <3

denial - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: black dahlia - lie - meaning: symbolic of betrayal and sadness ♡ w.c.: 2.4k ♡ a/n: wrote this sick af. angsty. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

It began with a fleeting look. Luigi never meant to linger, to observe, to hold his glance for just a second too long; but you had a way of drawing people to you, like moths to flame. 

Luigi convinces himself that his attraction to you is harmless, that there’s no real damage in observing the details that make you who you are. He tells himself it’s not a crime to notice the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re bored or how the corners of your eyes crinkle into crow’s feet when you laugh. Those things were small, he reasoned–details anyone could notice, nothing out of the ordinary. He tells himself he’s just being attentive, but the more he notices you, the harder it is to pull away. 

There’s safety in silence, in pretending he doesn’t see what’s so plainly in front of him. Luigi has always been measured with his words, careful not to betray anything more than what’s expected of him. He’s an expert in deflecting, in shifting the conversation to avoid focusing on himself for too long. He offers vague smiles and light-hearted quips that leave questions at bay to his friends–to you. When you ask him about his day, he chooses his answers with precision, giving you just enough to keep the conversation alive, but never enough to come within arm’s reach of him. 

“How was work?” he recalls you once asked, leaning against the counter as he fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve. 

“Fine,” he replied quickly. “Busy, but you know, the usual.” 

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. “You say that every time. Is it really always the same?” 

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Pretty much. Routine keeps the place running, I guess. Not too much room for excitement.” 

You chuckled softly, letting the conversation drop, but he noticed the way your eyes lingered on him. How your smile had faltered at the edges, like you were waiting for him to say something else. Luigi noticed, and he felt the weight of it–your expectation hanging in the air, but said nothing. Instead, he shifted slightly, breaking eye contact like the moment didn’t matter; as though the silence between you didn’t carry all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Just like that, the moment slipped away, like it had never existed at all. 

Some moments, though, aren’t so easily brushed off. 

It’s a Thursday evening when you ask Luigi a question he isn’t ready to face. The sun has already set, and the two of you sit across from each other. The faint sound of cars and incoherent conversation passes outside. You’re relaxed, leaning back slightly, but your expression is steady when you speak. 

“Luigi?” you call. 

“Yeah?” he replies, looking up from his phone, eyebrows lifting slightly. 

There’s a pause as you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, gathering your thoughts. You lean forward, gaze meeting his. “Do you ever think about us?” 

For a moment, Luigi stares at you, his brow furrowing as though he doesn’t quite understand the question. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice light, nearly playful, as if you’ve just told him a joke he doesn’t fully get. 

You don’t waver. “You know what I mean, Luigi.” 

He blinks, tilting his head as if he’s searching your face for a clue. “Are you asking if I’ve ever thought about us like…more than friends?” He keeps his tone casual to distract himself from the weight of the question. 

“Yes,” you answer, plainly. 

Before he can help it, he lets out a short, breathy laugh–the kind that sounds more like discomfort than humor. “What?” he says, brows knitting together as he leans back. “You mean, like us? Together?” 

You nod, expression calm but insistent, and Luigi shifts in his seat. “I mean,” he stares, trailing off as he scratches his head, forcing out another quiet chuckle. “I don’t know, I haven’t really…thought about it.” 

He’s lying. He knows it, even as the words leave his mouth. He keeps going, keeps up the casual façade because he can’t tell if admitting the truth would make things better or worse. “We’re just good the way we are, right?” he adds, his voice a little too light. He really hopes you’ll just agree and let the conversation die, just as you have so many other times before. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, watching him with an expression that makes it clear you’re not buying into his act. 

“You’ve really never thought about it?” you press, your tone soft. 

Luigi’s heart gives a sharp twist, but he keeps his face neutral, or at least he tries to. “Not really,” he says, forcing another shrug. His smile feels thin, stretched, like it might just snap under the heaviness of his words. “I just… I guess it’s never crossed my mind, you know?” 

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. It’s a flimsy excuse, and he can see the way your face changes–how your lips press together, the way your eyes narrow, and how your nose scrunches in disbelief. He’s convinced you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but you only nod, sitting back a little. 

“Right,” you say simply, but your voice holds an emotion he can’t name. 

Luigi isn’t ready to carry the weight of the silence that follows. He taps his fingers against his knee, movements precise and practiced, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s unaffected. Every second that you hold his stare feels like another crack forming in the wall he’s spent so long building. He shifts again in his seat, glancing at the door, the table, anywhere but you, because he knows if he looks at you for too long, the truth will slip out before he can prevent it. 

Have you already figured it out? Have you noticed how his voice falters when he says your name or how he catches himself glancing your way even when there’s no reason to? Maybe you’ve been keeping a record of the times he’s brushed you off in conversation, every moment he’s chosen his words carefully to avoid giving himself away.

His knee bounces once, then twice, and he forces himself to stop, planting both feet firmly on the ground. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help or ease the tension coiling in his stomach. He knows he should say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word that comes to mind disappears before he can voice it. 

“You okay?” you ask quietly, and Luigi’s stomach twists at the way your words cut into him. 

“Yeah,” he replies quickly. The sound of his own voice feelings foreign, like it doesn’t belong to him. He forces another laugh, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “I just wasn’t expecting this conversation, that’s all.” 

Your eyes linger on him, and he swears he can feel them peeling back every layer he desperately tries to keep intact. Can you hear his heart pounding? See the way his hands are clenching to keep himself from fidgeting? 

“I didn’t mean to throw you off,” you say softly, and your voice is so honest, Luigi finds it harder to keep up the charade. 

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The only thing he can think about now is how much he simply wants to tell you the truth, how much he wants to admit he thinks about you more often than he’d like to admit, how much it kills him to act like you don’t mean more to him than you should. 

It’s for the best, he thinks as you finally look away. He says nothing. Your attention shifts to something else and Luigi tells himself that keeping his distance will protect you–the both of you–from the complications of what could be. The space between you feels wider than it ever has before, and Luigi knows it’s his fault. He’s created this distance, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. 

“Thanks for your honesty,” you add, though the words sound hollow. 

He wants to say more, to explain himself, to pull you back from the space that seems to have opened between you at that moment; but Luigi only watches as you smile–polite, but not warm. You shift back slightly, to create distance from him, even as he sits with you in the same room. 

After that, things change. 

Luigi notices the way you pull back, the way your laughter becomes less frequent around him, the way you seem to hesitate before starting conversations you once dove into effortlessly. He hates it, hates himself for putting that distance between you. Still, he tells himself it’s what’s right, that keeping you at a distance spares you both from destruction. He can’t stop himself from having moments of weakness. 

A few days later, it’s a late afternoon when the two of you end up on a park bench, although neither of you is entirely sure why you’re there. You had sent Luigi a text earlier in the day, asking if he wanted to get some fresh air. He hesitated, staring at the screen for longer than he should have before replying with a simple, “Sure. Meet you at the park.” 

There wasn’t a plan to say anything heavy–it was supposed to just be a walk, casual, quiet conversation to fill the gap that had been growing between you. As the two of you meandered through the trails, the silence felt heavier than usual. Every lighthearted comment you attempted to make seemed to fall flat, and Luigi couldn’t help but give clipped, almost distracted responses. 

When you spot a bench tucked beneath the shade of an old oak tree, you gesture to it. “Want to sit for a bit?” 

Luigi glances at you, observing you, before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.” 

So, here you sit, side by side, the quiet stretches on. Neither of you speak for a while, and it’s only when the silence finally becomes unbearable that Luigi breaks it. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, voice soft, but his words carry an unrecognizable edge. 

“Have I?” you ask plainly, your foot nudging a stray leaf. 

“Yeah. Feels like…you’ve been pulling away,” he nods, exhaling a breath. 

You don’t respond, tracing the grooves of the bench’s armrest with your fingertips. Your lips press together before you finally speak. “Maybe I am,” you admit. 

Luigi’s stomach turns. He forces himself to look at you, brows furrowing. “Why?” he asks, even though there’s a knot in his chest that tells him he already knows the answer. 

“I’ve been so stuck, Luigi,” you say, looking at him. You hold his gaze longer than you have in weeks. There’s a look in your eye that he can’t place–one of hurt, maybe, or resignation. “I’ve been standing still in the same place for days, weeks…and you’ve already made up your mind.” 

He opens his mouth slightly, as if he’s about to argue, to tell you that you’re wrong, that he hasn’t decided anything, but no sound comes out. The truth–messy, tangled, and heavy–lodges itself in his throat, impossible to force past the weight of the lie he’s been holding onto: he doesn’t have feelings for you. Instead, he looks at his hands, jaw clenching. 

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continue after a beat, gently. “I’m not trying to…force anything, but it’s hard to keep pretending everything’s fine when it feels like you’re not being honest with me, Luigi–or with yourself.” 

He knows he should give you an answer, something solid. A part of him wonders if this is the point of no return–if saying nothing will just make you drift further away from him. His mind churns with half-formed thoughts, excuses he doesn’t even believe, but all that slips out is a weak, “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize it felt that way to you.” 

Luigi hears your sigh. From the corner of his eye, you shift slightly, leaning away from him on the bench. As much as he’d like to reach for you, he stays in place, hands interlocked together in his lap. 

“Um,” you begin and pause. You sigh again, leaning back against the bench. “I think I need a fresh start.” Your voice is tinged with sadness, and Luigi suddenly feels uneasy for a reason he can’t explain. “Somewhere new. Different.” 

Luigi feels his chest tighten, stomach falling at your words. He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s a finality in your face that he isn’t ready to confront. He manages a small nod, voice strained as he mutters, “That makes sense.” 

You gaze at him, softly and with resolute, and then glance down at your shoes. “My mom has been asking me to come stay with her for a while,” you confess, sounding uncertain. “She thinks a change of scenery might be good for me. She’s in California now, close to the coast, actually. She’s been saying I could take some time to figure things out, you know? Clear my head and whatnot.” 

Luigi says nothing. He should say something–ask you not to go, tell you that you don’t need to figure things out on your own, he’s here for you–but he only nods again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That sounds nice,” he says softly. 

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I think it might be what I need. It’s not forever, just a little while, but it feels like the right thing to do.” 

His heart sinks further at his words, and he watches as your gaze drifts, your mind clearly elsewhere. Maybe you’re daydreaming about the possibilities of what a fresh start could mean for you. Luigi wants to tell you that he’s sorry, to apologize for the reason you’re feeling lost, but he doesn’t know how. 

Finally, you stand, movements slow as if you’re preparing to leave something behind. Leave him behind. “Take care, Luigi,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, you turn and walk away, footsteps light. 

Luigi stays on the bench, rooted to his seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches you disappear down the path. As the sun dips lower and the world around him continues to move, Luigi remains frozen on the bench, clinging to the fragile hope that this isn’t the end—holding on to denial, even though deep down, he knows you’re already gone.

[bunny-jpeg]

soft coat

fernando alonso

tags: smut/pwp, selkie au, selkie!reader, divorced!fernando, pregnancy, pregnant!reader, cowgirl position, loving

a/n: i'm writing a very long fic set in a selkie au, but this is just a little something for ya'll since the idea was so popular <3

"my love!" you heard fernando as you were outside. it was summer time and you were hanging up the laundry for the week. it had been nicer the last few days. it wouldn't be much longer before you had your pup. the swell to your middle was impressive, you were indefinably carrying a selkie pup.

he came down the steps and said, "your coat is dry inside." he approached you from where you were between the rows of clotheslines. he hung up your coat inside, your seal fur that you protected with your life. and fernando by extension protected it too. it was an extension of you. he placed it over your shoulders while you hung up one of his shirts. and got his arms around you, he felt your bump.

you had been more close to your coat since you got pregnant. it had been hard to transform from seal to human with another life inside of you. so your coat was a good way to feel closer to the sea while not being fully transformed. so fernando did everything he could to make sure that this entire process was comfortable for you.

"let me help you, you relax." he said softly to you. but you stayed close by. leaned down to hand him clothes and clothespins. he thought it was adorable as he finished up quickly. then the two of you went back inside.

you had met fernando over the previous summer. you had got yourself onto his boat and kept eating his fish. you were hungry and he was right there! and then slowly over time you grew closer to him until you showed him your human form. and from there you fell in love. now you were carrying his child.

and like how you lured him in, he lured you into the bedroom so he could make sure you were taking breaks and having rest. but once you got into the bedroom with your coat on the bed to get comfortable on top of. but you pulled your human husband close to you.

you were both laid on the fur with your hands on his bearded face and pressing a series of kisses along the tops of his cheeks. you made cute squeaky noises as you kissed him and he simply melted into your touch. his life had changed so much since you met, but he wouldn't have changed a single aspect of it. he loved that you were with him, that he had you to love.

you soon reached for the belt of his jeans and got it off while he worked his white t-shirt off of him. you kissed across his strong chest and he shuddered under your affection. his hand found your middle and he sighed contently.

"are you alright to do this, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do." he kept his hand on your middle and leaned in close to you, "i need to make sure you're okay."

you nodded before you took off your shorts and t-shirt (that belonged to fernando) and exposed more of your middle to him. your pregnant swell. and he placed both hands on your middle while you were both naked in your bedroom with the sunlight streaming through the large windows of your bedroom.

your lover laid out in your furs with you straddled his waist with your hands on his chest. you dug your nails into his pecs for a moment and licked your lips. he looked amazing. he was a fair bit older in human years, but technically you were older. your kind lived longer. you tensed up a little in anticipation before you sank down on his cock. you let out a sweet little moan.

he tensed up then relaxed. his hands remained at your middle as you rolled your hips. you were gentle, loving with your movements and it made him shudder with a certain want. you felt beautiful on top of him, you weren't going to have rough sex with him. not while you were this pregnant. you needed to be easy on your body, even with your abilities as a selkie. and fernando didn't want to hurt you either, he wanted to be gentle. make you feel good in his own way.

his hands roamed your body as he softly praised you, "my beautiful wife, the light of my life. you are so beautiful. even with my baby in your belly. a sign that i claimed you." he clutched your hips and made him shudder with want. he needed you more than anything. the creature he loved more than the sea and the sky.

"my world. my rock." you leaned in a little bit to kiss his face once more. your noises were sweet as you made love to your husband. you never thought you could meet a man like him, be in love with such a human. he alluring, he accepted your world and brought you into his and the product of that was the baby you carried. your pup.

pleasure continued through your body as you moved against him. you took control of your movements and let him feel every inch of you. you licked your lips at the sight of him. your lover, your husband. the human that made you learn to love. to accept affection.

he leaned up to kiss you, both hands on your swollen middle. promises of a future together, a happy sweet future with your family. you picked up the pace marginally. the rolling of your hips felt good on his cock.

he knew from the moment he met you, when you came onto his boat with a hunger, that you two would be close for a lifetime. and any time after. he rubbed your belly lovingly as he tried to meet your pace. you two were wrapped up in your little world, tucked into the shores. protected. you could raise your child in peace and love your husband. and he could love you. you'd never be alone again, not while fernando still breathed.

you two kissed one another deeply, your swollen mound was pressed between you two. but, it only made you two feel closer. he loved the feeling, the knowledge that he made you this way. that he was your first and only lover. the only one to ever have you in a sexual fashion. that was quite the title to have and fernando wore it with pride. he loved you, he loved every inch of you. you were such a curious woman and fernando wanted it all.

the two of you continued to make love on the bed. you continued to feel up one another as the two of you rutted against one another. there were soft words exchanged, promises of love and devotion. fernando loved you as deep as the oceans went. it was the pull in his chest.

"you looked beautiful." he said, "more beautiful than any woman. beautiful like the sea." he felt lost before he met you, after his wife left. he never though he'd find love again. but there you were, now on top of him as his hand explored your body. as he took in the beautiful feeling of your curves. his beautiful wife.

his selkie lover.

you felt the pleasure hit its peak inside of you. you felt the fire in your core that spread into your blood as you rode him through your climax. you made loud noises as you felt the pleasure hit through your body. you hissed and held onto his shoulders tightly. it only made him hold onto your hips tightly as the two of you made love. the climax felt amazing as he met your pace.

your beautiful lover with his dark eyes and smile that pulled you in. his expression shifted as he felt himself cum as well. he rolled up into you and game inside of you with a few more heavy thrusts. the feeling was intense and it left fernando with a achy need for his selkie wife. with you both reached climax, fernando felt up your body once more. he took in the feeling of you against him. he loved it, he loved you.

eventually you were laid out beside fernando and he held you close to him. your naked bodies on top of your coat. curled up against one another. eventually fernando moved down to kiss at your swollen middle with such a dedicated and love. a promise.

"i love you." he said

you replied softly as your breathing leveled out, "i love you too."

"i will keep you and our child safe, for as long as i can." he said as he kissed the soft skin. he loved you and he loved your baby. always.

-

fernando didn't know what to expect when he knew he was going to have a child with a selkie. he had heard the stories from folklore. but, when your daughter was born. she didn't have gills, fins or fur. she was just a plump little baby. your little mira.

curious brown eyes, and chubby cheeks. he looked quite a bit like fernando. but was smart just like her mother. you were close to the shore in the water now that the seasons were changing. you were cooing to your daughter and brought some of the sea water to her. you were wetting her cheeks, to get her used to the water that she'd come home.

you sang her soft songs of your kind. and fernando stay close to protect his wife and daughter. in his arms was your selkie coat. the biggest trust you could give. but, you were beyond establishing trust. you were his and he was yours, and your love produced a sweet baby girl. he admired you from behind and felt the love for you in his heart. down to his very core. his little world were in those waters and he'd always be there when you came back to shore <3

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: You are always cold and blunt, but when Noah needs you, you show him a side of you that’s unexpectedly tender.

Tw: just fluff and taking care of a sick noah

You had been working with Bad Omens for a while now. It started as a way to get your foot in the door of the music industry, but quickly turned into a full-time thing. Touring, managing logistics, keeping the band in line, and occasionally making sure they didn't break anything or burn down a hotel room.

When you first started living with them, it didn’t take long for them to figure out that you were a sharp mix of sarcasm, gruffness, and blunt honesty. You didn’t sugarcoat things. If they looked ridiculous, you told them. If they were being annoying, you let them know. But despite your icy, sometimes cold demeanor, the band still loved you. You weren’t a big talker about your emotions, but they all knew you cared, in your own way.

Noah, though? He was different. He didn’t just take your sarcasm; he leaned into it, shyly flirting with you whenever he could.

Like that time in the kitchen when he walked in wearing a pair of jeans that were, unsurprisingly, too short to reach his ankles. He rifled through the cabinets for cereal, oblivious to the way you were staring at him over your coffee.

“You know,” you said, setting your mug down, “one day, you’re going to buy pants that actually fit, and it’s going to change your life.”

Noah froze mid-reach, turning to look at you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

“They don’t cover your ankles, for starters.” You gestured toward his legs with a mocking smile. “Is it a fashion statement, or are you just bad at shopping?”

“I’m tall,” he protested, as if that explained everything.

“You’re not that tall.”

“I’m six three!” he said, indignant.

“Congratulations, Noah,” you deadpanned. “You’re the same height as many other tall guys in the world. Buy bigger pants.”

The rest of the band, who had wandered in during this exchange, immediately lost it. Folio was laughing so hard he had to lean against the counter, and Jolly just shook his head with a grin.

“You’re so mean,” Noah muttered, grabbing his cereal and retreating to the couch, his ears turning pink as the guys teased him relentlessly.

“Someone’s gotta tell you the truth,” you called after him. “Clearly, your friends aren’t doing it.”

But you knew Noah didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it in his own awkward way, even if the guys never let him live it down.

And then there was that other time in the living room. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Noah plopped down next to you. He shifted to face you, his signature hesitant smile already in place.

“So,” he began, leaning in slightly, “if I asked you to go out with me, what are the chances you’d say yes?”

You didn’t even look up. “Zero.”

“Not even one percent?”

“Not even half a percent,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Why? You planning to impress me with your ability to burn toast again?”

The band, as always, burst into laughter. Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was used to this by now.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’re predictable,” you shot back, setting your phone down. “Every time you try to flirt, it ends up in a disaster."

He laughed despite himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Maybe one day I’ll surprise you.”

“Doubt it,” you said with a smirk, though you couldn’t deny the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten just a little.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. Another time, the two of you had been sitting on the porch late at night, the house unusually quiet for once. Noah was writing something in a notebook, probably working on some ideas for a new song, his brows furrowed in concentration, while you sipped on a drink.

After a while, Noah looked up, noticing you looking like you were lost in thought. “What’s going on? You seem quiet tonight.”

You shrugged. “I was thinking about picking up some of those cupcakes from that new bakery in town. Some of you guys mentioned you wanted to try them, so I might as well bring some back for everyone.”

Noah grinned. “Wait, you’re actually going to do something nice like that?”

You shot him a playful glare. “What, you think I’m incapable of being nice?”

"No, it's just..." He hesitated, looking at you for a moment, "nevermind. I think they would appreciate that."

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you, though? What’s your favorite flavor?”

Noah hesitated again, glancing at you with a mischievous grin. “If I tell you, you’ll just pick all of them except that one.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on. Just tell me, for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to sabotage the cupcake choices.”

He chuckled. “Fine. The one with the white sparkles on top. Now I’m sure this is the only one I won’t even see in the box.”

You smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one just for you.”

He shyly looked away but you were sure he didn't really believe you.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice soft, “you can be really sweet when you’re not roasting me in front of everyone.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, yeah? And when exactly am I not roasting you?”

“Right now,” he said, looking up at you with a shy smile.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I’ll take what I can get.”

That night, you sat on the porch with him until it got too cold.

A couple of days later, you came home with a big box of cupcakes, the band cheered just at the sight of it. Folio kissed you on the cheek, surprising you as everyone gathered around the box like kids.

"Seriously man?" You looked at Folio.

"Ops."

Noah, leaning against the counter, had no expectation of seeing the cupcake with the white sparkles, thinking you probably even forgot that coversation. He watched as you opened the box, and there it was, right in the middle. You handed it to him, and his eyes softened in surprise.

He took the cupcake from your hand, a small smile spreading across his face. “Thank you.”

"I promised. Didn't I?" You just said.

And then, of course, there was that night in the living room when the guys called you out. The TV was on in the background, but no one was really watching it. Nick leaned back in his chair, smirking as he watched Noah sit next to you on the couch.

“You two ever gonna stop this weird flirting slash bullying thing and just kiss already?” Nick asked.

Noah nearly choked on his drink, and you shot him a withering glare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not really,” he said, unfazed. “But seriously, Noah’s been crushing on you for months, and you just keep shutting him down. Give the poor guy a break.”

Noah groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Can you not?”

“You’re all delusional,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “This isn’t flirting. This is me tolerating him.”

“Sure it is,” Nick said, grinning. “That’s why you always smile whenever you roast him.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t bother denying it. Noah peeked at you from between his fingers, his cheeks still flushed, and you sighed.

“You’re all idiots,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and walking out of the room.

But as you left, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because despite your sharp tongue and cold comments, you knew that you cared about him. You cared about all of them but with Noah it had always been different.

And then, there was the time Noah got sick.

It had been a long day. You’d been out since the morning with a friend, running errands, getting things done, and by the time you finally made it home, it was late afternoon. You kicked off your shoes and threw your bag on the couch, letting out a sigh of relief as you sank into the cushions.

It was quieter than usual. You glanced around, expecting to see Noah lurking somewhere nearby, like he always did—sitting on the counter, hanging out in the living room, always popping up like a cat in need of attention. But today, there was no sign of him.

You raised an eyebrow, a little puzzled. It was weird that he wasn’t around. It had been hours, and you figured he’d at least come say hi. He was always around. He was probably just in his room working on some new music, you thought.

“Hey, Nick,” you called out, when he enetered the living room. “Have you seen Noah?”

Nicholas glanced up from his phone, shrugging. “Oh, uh, this morning he wasn’t feeling great. Said he had a bit of a fever and just kind of stayed in his room after that. He’s probably asleep.”

You froze for a second, immediately feeling a knot form in your stomach. Noah never liked to admit when he was sick, but you couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stayed in his room like this.

“Okay,” you said, but your voice felt off, the concern creeping into your words. “Thanks.”

You didn’t hesitate. Your feet carried you quickly down the hallway to Noah’s door, and your hand was already on the knob before you realized it. You knocked, but when there was no response, you opened the door quietly, peering inside. The blinds were drawn, and the room was dimly lit, but Noah was laying on his bed, curled up under blankets.

The sight of him immediately set off alarm bells in your head. He looked... pale, almost ghostly, and he was barely moving. His breathing was shallow, and his hair stuck to his forehead. The moment he noticed you standing there, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, as if trying to focus.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak, barely above a whisper.

You walked over slowly, concern heavy in your chest. “I’m just checking on you,” you said softly, walking closer to his bed.

You crouched down beside him, reaching out to touch his forehead. The heat radiating off his skin made your heart drop. He was burning up. The soft shiver of his body confirmed the fever.

“You’re hot,” you said, your voice betraying the concern you didn’t bother to hide.

"Finally you admit it." He murmured.

You rolled your eyes. “No, you’re burning up,” you said, your hand gently brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Did you take anything for it?”

He shook his head weakly, looking almost embarrassed. “No, I... I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You let out a breath. “Noah, you’ve probably had a fever for hours. You’re not okay.” Without waiting for him to protest, you stood up, “I’m going to make you take some paracetamol, alright?”

He didn't respond, and you weren't even sure if he registered what you said. When you returned with a glass of water where you had dissolved the medicine, Noah looked up at you with droopy eyes. His pale face looked even more fragile in the dim light, and you could see how exhausted he was, barely able to keep his eyes open.

He tried to sit up, but his arms trembled, unable to sustain him. He swore under his breath, wincing as the strain pulled at his muscles, too weak to follow through on the effort.

"It's okay. Here." You quickly moved to his side, one hand gently supporting his back while you propped him up. His head rested heavily against your shoulder, and you felt a tightness in your chest as you steadied him.

His brown eyes fluttered, looking at you through half-lidded, his expression soft with confusion and exhaustion.

You moved slowly, carefully, making sure he was comfortable before grabbing the glass of water from the nightstand. You held it up, making sure to keep it steady as you brought it closer to him.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment. It was almost as if he didn’t expect you to be so gentle with him, yet here you were, taking care of him without hesitation.

You placed the glass against his lips, guiding it toward his mouth. “Come on, Noah, you need to drink this,” you said, your voice soft but firm. His lips parted weakly as he took a small sip, the medicine sliding down his throat, though he barely seemed able to swallow.

His hands trembled as he gripped the glass, trying to help, but it was clear how difficult it was for him.

You supported the glass, steadying it in his hands, urging him gently, as your other hand still rested on his back, softly caressing it in slow, reassuring motions.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, watching as he weakly took another sip, his body shuddering slightly from the effort. When he pulled away, you pulled the glass back, but your eyes never left him.

He gave you a tired, almost apologetic glance as he let his head rest back against the pillow, his body sinking deeper into the blankets.

His lips parted in a soft sigh, and you smiled faintly, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your thumb gently rubbing his temple for a moment. It was a quiet gesture, one that said more than words could express, as you continued to sit beside him.

A few minutes passed, and then, in a voice barely audible, he murmured, “I knew you were sweet.”

You smiled softly, a warmth spreading through you at the simple, quiet words. You leaned down, letting your hand go through his hair, murmuring, “I knew you knew.”

He let out a soft sigh, his breathing finally evening out as he fell deeper into sleep.

You stayed there with him for hours, the quiet of the room broken only by the soft hum of the house around you. You let your hand gently run through his hair, the touch almost rhythmic as you tried to soothe him.

Every so often, you’d press your hand to his forehead, checking if the fever had gone down at all, the heat still radiating off his skin, but a little less intense.

Every time his body shifted or he made a faint sound, probably from some fever-induced dream, you softly spoke his name or whispered a quiet, reassuring phrase, just trying to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

"You're okay," you murmured gently, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead when his brow furrowed slightly. "Just rest, Noah. You’re gonna be fine."

There was something incredibly tender about the way his breath would catch, his eyes fluttering under his eyelids, almost as though he could hear your voice even in his sleep. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

Noah shifted in his sleep, his body instinctively leaning closer until his face pressed gently against your side. The soft, unconscious gesture made your chest tighten, but you didn’t move. Instead, you noticed the blanket had slipped from his shoulder, leaving him partially uncovered. With careful hands, you pulled it back up, tucking it around him securely. Your fingers brushed lightly against his hairline as you settled back, letting him stay close.

As the evening drew on and his breathing steadied, the fever seemed to break a little. You let your fingers linger over his temple, softly caressing his arm when you noticed the tremble in his hand. It felt like such an intimate moment, one where all the usual sarcasm, sharp words, and teasing were left behind, replaced by something quiet, simple, and real.

Your fingers traced over his knuckles as you kept his tattoed hand in yours before you gently leaned down, brushing your lips against his forehead. You pulled away just as quickly, unsure of what had made you do it—maybe it was the tenderness of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet realization that despite all the banter, despite everything you’d told him, you cared about him more than you ever showed.

Wild for the girl who acted like a bitch all the time, right?

But in that moment, with Noah asleep and calmer than he’d been all day, you couldn’t care less about how it seemed or your usual weird ways of protecting your feelings. You just wanted him to feel better, to know that, despite all your sharp words and sarcastic remarks, there was no place you’d rather be than right there beside him, making sure he was okay.

And for once, you let yourself believe that maybe he knew exactly what you meant when you said, "I'm here, Noah. I'm not gonna leave."

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

[red-doll-face]

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

-

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

-

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

-

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

-

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

-

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

-

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

-

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

[presidentsdaughter]

note/tags - suicide but not jimmy.. just his mom, slight gore mention, some smut?, dry humping, jimmy is like early 20s in this.. start to a fic i couldn’t bother to finish, bad writing..

Jimmy’s mom is all over the walls. It’s like someone has set off a fucking party popper. She didn’t even have the decency to get him a banner.

Welcome home Jim! Congrats on getting bailed out! I knew you could do it!

Not even that. Not a single slice of cake. Not even a candle or a party hat or a gift box or a fucking hug. Whatever people get on their birthdays.

Jimmy stands there, jaw tight, unblinking as he looks over the mess she has made of herself, the house, and his life. She’s smoked all her cigs, drained every bottle, snorted anything fine enough to suck up through a straw, and he knows Mom, she’d never leave a needle behind. So the only thing she leaves in his name is this mess and this awful smell.

He toes at what is left of her, her legs bent awkwardly at the knee like a mistreated Barbie doll. Her face is this gaping hole that looks something like her bloody cunt the day she pushed him out. For a second he wishes that it would open up like the maw of a beast and swallow him whole, take him back to where he came from, and then he goes back to feeling nothing much.

It’s no biggie. Jimmy never liked her much. She liked Curly more than she liked him, but everyone likes Curly more than him. He’s a sole-crushed peach splattered on the sidewalk, picking up grit and dirt, and Curly is a fucking prized watermelon or a silver spoon, a real nice spoon, the fancy kind you only get out for guests—He’d come and use his polished edge to scoop Jimmy right up, shape him into something nice, clean him off and serve him for dessert.

Curly bailed him out. He drove Jimmy home in his nice new car, it smelt good and had his initials on the number plate. He did this all because he needs Jimmy to feel good. So he can go and tell anyone that’ll listen about his piss-poor junkie best friend. How he put him back on his feet. Curly is modern day fucking Christ and Jimmy is a crippled leper.

By his mother’s open hand is his father’s handgun. She’s named Mia after the chick in Pulp Fiction. Jimmy picks her up, gives her a once over, and tucks her in his back pocket for a rainy day. He goes to take a piss because he’s been busting for one ever since Curly picked him up, but the throbbing urgency numbed when he saw his fragments of mom’s skull dotting the carpet like milk teeth.

Jimmy takes his piss and then he notices mom didn’t even leave a single sheet of toilet paper behind. He shakes himself dry, returns to the couch where she lays limp, thinks of blowing off her tits and then decides she isn’t worth another bullet. Jimmy turns the gun to himself. He wonders if mom put it to the right side of her head or the left. Probably in her stupid whore mouth. She would let anyone in there.

“You’re joining the party, huh?” You’re standing in the doorway of his trailer, lukewarm and unsmiling, snapping your gum like this is no big deal. You’ve always been that way. Unaffected. Jimmy pulls the trigger and Mia jams. She’s an old girl. He forgives her. He just wanted to see you cry.

Jimmy doesn’t really think you would cry, but he likes the thought of it. You would look so fucking ugly when you cry.

“I found her earlier, heard the shot and came to check.” You’re wearing short shorts so short the inside of your pockets hang out past the cuffs. “But I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

“Fuck you,” Jimmy says, arm dangling by his side. Mia clatters to the ground when his fingers lose grip.

“That’s not very nice,” you tell him evenly, sidestepping clumps of clotted blood to get to him.

Jimmy flops down beside his mom’s faceless body. She talked too much so the silence is kind of nice. He spreads his legs and you drape yourself over him, pressing your tits to his chest and sucking his tongue into your warm mouth.

“I didn’t forget your present.” You’re rolling your hips into his, the old couch creaks with the weight of all two and a half of you. His mom topples sideways onto his shoulder and Jimmy shoves her dead weight back the other way. Blood smears the arm of his shirt where she fell, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Oh, yeah?” Jimmy bites your neck, he feels the pulse of your hot cunt through those tiny shorts.

“Course I didn’t, saved the date and everything.”

He half expects you to dig into your bra and pull out a baggie of something, but you just offer him a half smile, giving a sideways glance to the stinking corpse.

[woozinhos]

CONGRATS ON 1K!!! DESERVED!!!

could we get some dino x public sex?

thank you so much!!!⭐️⭐️ congrats once again!!

Notes: I know this request is semi recent but I had such a good idea so had to write it 😭

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You and Chan were walking along the beach, hand in hand as the waves lapped at your feet. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the water and painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Chan looked over at you, a playful smile on his face. "You know, I've always wanted to do something naughty on this beach," he said, his voice low and mischievous. You raised an eyebrow at Chan's words, your confusion evident on your face. "What do you mean?" you asked, looking up at him curiously. Chan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I mean something daring," he said, leaning in closer to you. "Something that would get us in trouble if we got caught."

"Like what?" you asked, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Chan smirked, his hand trailing down your back and coming to rest on your hip. "How about a little swim?" he suggested, his fingers tracing circles on your skin. "But not just any swim. A skinny dip." You gasped, your eyes widening in surprise at Chan's suggestion. "You want us to skinny dip in public?" you exclaimed, your voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. Chan chuckled again, his smirk growing wider. "Why not?" he said, his hand moving lower to rest on the curve of your ass. "It'll be fun, I promise."

You glanced around, taking in the deserted beach. The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the sand. There was no one else in sight, and the waves provided a gentle backdrop to the silence. Chan took advantage of your momentary distraction, stepping closer to you and pulling you flush against his body. "See? No one around," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "We'll have all the privacy we need." As you looked around, you noticed some figures in the distance, walking along the beach in the opposite direction. They were too far away to see you and Chan clearly, but they were still visible.

Chan noticed your gaze and followed it, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, they won't be able to see us," he said, his hand slipping under your shirt and trailing across your bare skin. "Trust me." You thought about it for a moment, the idea of skinny dipping in public both exciting and nerve-wracking. The possibility of getting caught was thrilling, but the risk of being seen by those distant figures was daunting. Chan seemed to sense your hesitation, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'll make it worth your while," he whispered, his hand sliding lower to cup your ass. "Promise."

Chan grinned as you nodded, his eyes filled with anticipation. He wasted no time in starting to strip, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the sand. He unbuttoned his shorts next, his gaze never leaving yours as he slowly slid them down his legs. He was fully naked now, his toned body glistening in the fading sunlight. You couldn't help but be a little shocked by Chan's openness. He was completely unashamed, his confidence and boldness a stark contrast to your own hesitancy.

He stood there, completely naked, as he looked at you expectantly. "Your turn," he said, his voice low and seductive. You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing as you stood in front of Chan. The distant figures were still visible in the distance, but they seemed unaware of what was happening on the beach. Chan took a step closer to you, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. "Let me help you," he said, his fingers deftly lifting the fabric up and over your head.

He let the shirt fall to the sand, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin hungrily. Chan took his time undressing you, his hands moving slowly and deliberately as he removed each piece of clothing. He knelt down in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours as he helped you step out of your shorts and underwear. He tossed them aside with your other clothes, leaving you standing completely naked in front of him. He looked up at you, a mixture of desire and admiration in his eyes.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his hands tracing a path up your legs. Chan didn't waste any time, diving into the water as soon as he was completely undressed. The cold water washed over him, but he didn't seem to mind as he swam out further into the ocean. He turned back to look at you, his hair slicked back from the water and a mischievous smile on his face. "Come on in!" he called out, beckoning you with his hand. You hesitated for a moment, the cold water looking daunting as it lapped at your feet. But the sight of Chan waiting for you in the water was too enticing to resist.

Taking a deep breath, you waded into the water, gasping as the chill hit your skin. The sensation was overwhelming at first, but you quickly adjusted as you swam out to join Chan. As you swam alongside Chan, the feeling of being naked in the ocean was strange but exhilarating. The water was cool against your skin, and you could feel the gentle push and pull of the waves as they carried you forward. Chan swam up to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close. "Isn't it amazing?" he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. "Just us, out here in the water."

"It is amazing," you replied, your voice soft and breathless. "I never thought I'd do something like this." Chan chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he held you close. "Well, I'm glad you did," he said, nuzzling your neck. "You look so sexy like this."

Chan's lips moved down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. His hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist as he pulled you closer. "I can't keep my hands off of you," he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky. "You're driving me crazy." Chan's breath was hot against your ear as he whispered to you, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "What if I was to put my dick in you now?" he said, his voice low and seductive.

He pulled you flush against him, his hardness pressing against your stomach as he held you tight. You gasped at the feel of Chan's erection, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. He could sense your response, and he chuckled softly in your ear. "You like that idea, don't you?" he whispered, his hands roaming lower to cup your ass. "The thought of me taking you right here, out in the open where anyone could see."

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you, Chan. I want you to take me."

Chan's grip on you tightened, his eyes darkening with desire as he looked at you. "Good girl," he said, his voice rough with need. "I'll give you what you want." Chan lifted you up, positioning you against him so that your legs wrapped around his waist. He held onto your hips, his grip firm as he began to move against you. The water lapped at your bodies as he thrust into you, the cold water a stark contrast to the heat building between you. He kissed you hungrily, his tongue tangling with yours as he lost himself in the moment. As Chan continued to move inside you, it looked like the two of you were completely lost in each other. Your bodies were pressed close together, the water swirling around you as you moved in unison.

Anyone who happened to walk past would see a couple in love, blissfully unaware of their surroundings and caught up in the passion of the moment. They wouldn't have a clue that you and Chan were actually engaged in something much more intimate. From a distance, you two looked like any other couple enjoying a romantic swim in the ocean. Chan continued to thrust into you, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared his release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he moaned your name.

A couple strolled past you, walking hand-in-hand and laughing together. They didn't spare you a second glance, too caught up in their own world to notice what was happening right in front of them. Chan chuckled as they passed, his smirk widening as he whispered in your ear. "Looks like they're none the wiser," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Chan's whispered words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought of the couple finding out what was really happening making your heart race.

"Imagine if they knew how well I'm fucking you right now," he continued, his voice low and possessive. "How they would look at us, realizing what we're doing in broad daylight." Chan's movements became more intense as he imagined the couple's reaction. He quickened his pace, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust.

"They'd be so shocked," he murmured, his breath ragged against your ear. "They'd be so jealous of how good you feel around me." Your moan echoed across the beach, loud enough to be heard even over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Chan groaned in response, his grip on your hips tightening as he continued to move inside you.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice filled with approval. "Let them hear how good I make you feel." Chan could feel himself getting closer to the edge, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his release. He buried his face in your neck again, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held onto you tightly.

"I'm so close," he whispered, his voice strained. "I'm going to fill you up so good, baby." You could feel the tension building between you, the anticipation growing as Chan neared his climax. His body was tense, every muscle taut with desire as he drove into you relentlessly. Suddenly, he let out a loud groan, his body shuddering as he reached his peak. He buried himself deep inside you, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside you with a final, powerful thrust.

You clung to Chan as he rode out his orgasm, feeling his body relax against yours as he slowly came down from his high. He held you close, his breath still ragged as he tried to catch his breath. After a few moments, he lifted his head to look at you, a satisfied smile on his face. "That was better than I imagined ," he said, his voice still rough with desire. Chan slowly pulled out of you, his eyes raking over your body with a hungry gaze. He gently set you down on the sand, his hands roaming over your skin as he took in the sight of you.

"You're a mess," he teased, his fingers tracing a path down your stomach. "But you look so beautiful like this." Chan picked up your clothes from the pile on the sand and handed them to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He watched as you slowly began to put them on, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you like this," he said, his voice filled with affection. "But I suppose we should head back before someone catches us." You finished dressing, adjusting your clothes as you tried to compose yourself. Chan did the same, pulling on his swim trunks and running a hand through his wet hair.

He held out his hand to you, a warm smile on his face. "Ready to go back?" he asked, intertwining his fingers with yours. You took Chan's hand, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you walked hand-in-hand back towards the beach. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the sand as you made your way towards the path leading back to the hotel. Chan squeezed your hand gently, a comfortable silence settling between you as you walked. He occasionally glanced at you, his eyes filled with affection and desire.

[crguang]

moonlit thoughts

You find that Kafka is most photogenic when she doesn’t try and is instead authentically going about her day without a care for the camera following her every movement.

established relationship, fluff, this is a lot of banter i suppose, gn!reader, g!p kafka but there’s no actual smut, very suggestive at the end though, 4.3k words

A/N: a new kafka fic from saturn after all these years… somebody please check up on them this might be a clone… in all seriousness, i wrote this bc i’m going through a rough patch writing wise and i’ve had this idea in my head for months that somehow brings me comfort so i tried to put it into words but kinda flopped. there was supposed to be smut at the end but i ran out of juice, i’m sorry </3

She takes up the right half of the frame; dressed in nothing but a white unbuttoned shirt twice her size and mini shorts to match, her backside faces the lens and is illuminated by streaks of silver from a moon you cannot see. Her tousled hair paints some of the scene amaranth against the midnight sky beyond. It’s a shame the glimmer of stars can’t be seen at this distance, it’d make for a prettier picture. Her lit cigarette is also hidden, though its fumes dance in the air ahead of her and visibly swirl above her head for only a few seconds after each soft exhalation of her lips. You adjust the frame. The clear patio door on the left, Kafka leaning on the hotel room balcony on the right. She lifts her head, blows the smoke in her mouth, and the shutter clicks. In the quiet undisturbed by the circulation twenty stories below, the sound is distinct and impossible to overlook. You take more pictures.

Kafka straightens up and slightly turns to face the adjacent bedroom, her cigarette held loosely between two fingers and the other arm resting on the railing. She brings it to her lips, smiles when the shutter clicks once more, then exhales through her nose. Her features are partially obscured by the smoke and her hair sways with the light breeze. You take another picture.

“See something you like?”

She asks you this often, whenever you stare too long or fish your camera from your bag to point it towards her. Her tone is teasing, her smile amused, but she particularly enjoys the honesty you reply with.

“Always.”

You sit up in the bed and fiddle with your camera to adjust some of the settings. Kafka pushes herself off the balcony and saunters to the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe. She watches you press buttons and rotate the lens to the left, then to the right, before lifting the camera back to her without a word. In between three shutter clicks, she runs her fingers through her locks to tame the stray hairs flying about. She doesn’t care how she looks through your lenses, she’s said so once back when you first asked for permission to capture her that way, so this is just Kafka. She takes another drag from her cigarette. Her bare chest falls with her next exhalation, not a goosebump in sight despite the cool air outside. The shirt covers her nipples and offers a peek into the gentle swell of her breasts. You zoom out to include the waistline of her shorts. After the tenth picture, she speaks up again.

“Can’t get enough, huh?”

You smile and press the shutter button. “Well, you know what they say— I’m making sure the sight lasts longer. Can one get enough of their muse? I don’t think it’s happened before.”

“Your muse?” Kafka chuckles at the comment and crosses her arms over her chest. “You almost make me sound like some kind of artwork you’re trying to capture.”

“Not quite. Just trying to recreate my reality.”

She hums low in response and shifts, her back against the doorframe, tilting her head towards where you sit cross legged on the thick comforter. The butt of her cigarette glows orange. Your shutter clicks.

“And what exactly are you recreating right now?”

“You, smoking after sex a little past midnight in a hotel room we’ll leave behind in the morning. Speaking of, blow your smoke the other way.”

“For the picture?”

“For my nose.”

Kafka lifts her eyes to the sky but the corner of her lips curves in a subtle smile. She relents and walks further onto the balcony. “Oh, fine, I’ll take my smoke elsewhere.”

She resumes her position against the railing to finish her cigarette in peace, no longer facing you. The minutes pass in quietude, you catch every shift of movement and straying lock of hair through the lens of your digital camera. You lie on your side and the device follows your line of sight. Since it serves as a substitute for your eye whenever it’s turned on, her frame now fills the screen in portrait mode. You don’t know what she’s thinking as she silently basks in this moment of calm, free of the things she likes most— excitement, movement, gunfire. A multitude of thoughts could be running through her mind, you still haven’t learned to read every part of it. What she keeps from you is often pictured by your camera anyway. She has a dozen kinds of smiles, all tucked away in a hard drive you keep hidden even from her; part of you is unsure of how she would react to the implications of your scrutiny and wishes to keep the semblance of authenticity she demonstrates once you find yourselves out of the crowd. Each unedited clip or photo represents your eyesight and is inherently intimate, something Kafka likes to pretend she doesn’t struggle with through confident smiles and half-truths.

Not hearing the soft clicking of your camera anymore, Kafka turns to glance into the room. You haven’t moved on the bed, the device hiding your eyes from hers.

“You still taking pictures in there?” She calls out, her voice carrying through the open door.

“No, I’m filming.”

She raises an eyebrow in mild intrigue. “What’s the film for? Making a documentary?”

“Maybe,” you answer noncommittally, “it won’t be the first I’ve made of you.”

You can see her rack her brain for memories of the last time you've shared a film you’ve edited with her as the main character and suppress a smile. While she’s seen some of your pictures, nowhere near the extensive collection you hoard, and even posed for impromptu shots before, she can’t recall witnessing any movie from you. Kafka snuffs out her cigarette on the railing and lets it free fall on the streets below. She doesn’t wait for it to hit the ground, instead padding into the room and making her way to the chair her favorite velvet coat is carefully draped over. You follow her steps with the camera.

“You’ve made a film about me before?” She asks curiously as she slips a hand into the front pocket and pulls out a green pack of chewing gum.

“Mhm. Are you surprised?”

Kafka pops a mint flavoured gum into her mouth. “More like curious.”

“It’s nothing grand. I just edited the numerous shots I’ve taken of you over the time.”

“That’s usually how you make a movie.” She’s unfazed by the deadpan look you send her way and climbs at the foot of the bed, sitting back on her knees. “How many shots are we talking about here?”

You finally lower your device to think. The last time you bothered to check the amount of content you have sitting in various files on your hard drive was a couple of months ago, and it went as high as twelve thousand. You can’t say for sure and you’re suddenly uncharacteristically embarrassed by the number.

“I don’t know,” you reply, “they’re all in my drive.”

“Mmm… Can I see the film?”

You pause. You don’t actually have anything to hide since she’s consented to all of these, it’s just that each shot is deeply personal despite them being of her. You feel they tell a story about yourself more than they do of her. They’re special in their own mundane way because they belong to you in every sense of the word, they embody your perception and thought process and everything you can only express through visual language. Kafka allows you a minute to ponder her request, her gaze flickering from the camera in your hands to your creased brow.

“…Really?” You’re still unsure, your thumb nervously tracing the device’s power button.

“Yes, really. I’m curious to know how you’ve perceived me through your lens so far. Sounds interesting.”

“I don’t know…”

She observes you for a moment and you can tell your hesitation feeds her desire to know more. Her index finger absently drums an unknown melody on her thigh.

“What’s holding you back?”

“I know you’re the subject, but these shots especially are… personal, I suppose.”

“Personal? I guess that’s to be expected,” she says, tone light. “I’m still interested in seeing them. I can handle seeing a few intimate shots of me.”

You sit up against the pillows and look down at your hands. The world is dark and quiet, and it’s just the two of you in this hotel room seemingly suspended in time. There’s nothing but open curiosity in the pink depths of her eyes bare of her beloved contact lenses; she sits in a dress shirt she stole earlier that day from a local clothing shop that isn’t standing anymore, the skin of her chest still slightly flushed with her previous arousal, and silvery highlights compliment her hair with a soft glow that contrast the shadows across her facial features. She’s chewing gum because you’re not a fan of tobacco, keeps a packet in her right front pocket that she no longer thinks twice about. She waits patiently for you to cave in, she knows you will eventually. You meet her gaze and a triumphant smile stretches her lips.

“Alright, but just one.”

Kafka crawls over and plucks a tissue from the box on the nightstand before she spits out her gum and bundles it up on the small desk. She settles near you with an arm propped against the pillows, brushing some strands of hair out of her face to see the screen better. You briefly leave the bed and rummage through your discarded bag for your laptop and encrypted hard drive before joining her side once more. She watches you power it up and type in your password. She’s a warm presence beside you, the familiar feeling calms your nerves somewhat. You take a couple of slow breaths as you retrieve a specific file— K in moonlight. You’ll be adding the pictures and clips you took just now to the same file when you get the time.

“It’s meant to look a bit old. I like how movies looked back then.”

She hums pensively but doesn’t add anything, her attention fixed on the video’s cover image: it’s unassuming enough, a simple picture of her relaxed brows and closed eyes while she dozes off, taken from the point of view of the one sleeping next to her.

You press play. The silent movie is short and made of decomposed footage of Kafka filmed in the various planets the Stellaron Hunters have fleetingly stayed on during their ongoing journey. Though the hours are never the same, the shots are all filmed at night. The editing is reminiscent of a visual diary, almost, where continuity doesn’t exist and every frame is filled by her in the moonlight; the moment when she’s just fallen asleep on silky sheets; in an empty, raining street walking ahead with an umbrella and a crimson moon above her head; footage of her coming closer to the camera, framed to emphasize her usual lazy strut, before it cuts to a chaste kiss captured through the standing mirror of your bedroom. The low lighting makes it so specific parts of her are visible through the lens. Her full face is rarely shown, just whenever she sports the same relaxed expression in her sleep. The Kafka next to you is captivated by the images progressing on screen, the one in the film is mostly unaware of the camera pointed at her— or pretends to be, used to your scrutiny.

As the movie continues, the tone shifts. The first seven minutes put a visual to words you haven’t uttered to each other yet, spinning mundanity into tenderness, or perhaps simply bringing forth the underlying affection that accompanies your routine. The next few ones attempt to convey sensations best felt through touch onto the screen. As is the theme throughout the video, the setting is dark, filmed in a pristine bedroom at night not unlike the one you’re currently in. Edited shots show pieces of Kafka's bare body with no barrier between her sensuous curves and the almost voyeuristic eye of the camera. Clips are cut and replayed to create discontinuity. You remember that night, she impulsively posed for you and gave you full access to her body, naturally, you jumped on the opportunity to record. The moment wasn’t planned so the footage is a little rough, as is the editing considering you’re not a cinematographer, just someone with a camera. Due to the inauthenticity of the subject, her eyes are hidden to frame her perfect smile instead. You’ve used the shadows of the room to your advantage, from Kafka’s on the wall to the ones created by your hand on her moonlit skin as it brushes her ribs, thigh, collarbone. There is movement all through the film, from the subject but also from the camera, who travels up the slope of her neck then abruptly cuts to the length of her spine and the thorny rose stem tattooed along its curve. The movie’s erotic and sensual undertone is an undeniable constant despite nothing explicit happening on screen.

You glance to the side. Kafka’s stare follows the movement of shadows on her own skin and the brief, tantalizing glimpses of her naked body. There’s an element of anticipation that sustains the viewer’s attention, leaving them hoping to see a pink nipple or further down her toned pelvis. You don’t intend to share this with anyone but you still decide to leave the most intimate parts of Kafka’s body to the imagination, kind of like they are with you. She watches your clumsy filmmaking attempt with a private smile and doesn’t say a word until the screen turns black and announces the end of your short film. Her pupils are noticeably dilated and with a slight bite of her bottom lip, you can practically see her mind wander into a realm of quiet contemplation.

“…Well, what do you think?” You speak up first, softly so as to not break her train of thoughts, and nervously tap the “delete” key on your laptop with a forefinger.

Her head tilts to look at you, the same smile on her lips and a gleam in her eyes you’re not sure how to decipher. “It’s…” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “bold, sensuous, provocative… Very me. The first half is pretty sweet, lowers your guard for the rest.”

“It’s kinda sloppy.”

“It’s me. I didn’t even know you filmed something like this,” she admits, looking back at the laptop and reaching over to replay the beginning of the video.

She means the implicit intimacy of her life alongside yours, this side of her she never thought could be so obvious, yet it’s laid out for the both of you to see, plain as day and indisputable.

“You’re the one who posed for it, babe.”

She laughs quietly, not denying your words. She watches herself smoke on a rooftop she remembers trespassing on, blood spatter across her white sleeves. “True, I was the subject. But I didn’t know you took such artistic liberties with the footage. Didn’t think you could spin it into something so… seductive.”

You press a little closer to her on the bed, folding your knees and resting the laptop on your stomach. Her gaze is on the film while you turn your head to take in the soft lighting on her face.

“It was mostly you,” you say. “That’s just how you look.”

Her eyes crinkle in pleasure. “It’s all thanks to my natural beauty, then?”

“Not all, I did work on it. But yes. I think this is my favorite shot.”

You fast forward to a shot portraying dancing shadows on Kafka's bare chest like multiple hands seeking to grab a piece of her body.

Kafka hums in recognition. “I remember when you filmed this one, it took a couple of tries because you wouldn’t stop playing with my boobs.”

“Yeah, I have some clips of that actually.”

Kafka gives you an unimpressed look and rolls her eyes when you respond with a lopsided smile.

“In my defense,” you press pause to look at her, “you have very gorgeous boobs. They’re perky and sit prettily on your chest.”

Your straightforward assessment makes her chuckle but she absorbs the praise like a sponge in water. A teasing smirk forms on her lips, the creases around her eyes her very own way to preen.

“Oh, really?” She replies lightly, pleased. “Well, I’m glad you find them pleasing to the eye.”

“And to the touch.”

“Of course, you’re not only an admirer but an experienced connoisseur.”

Her voice lowers and takes a huskier tone as she maintains eye contact with you, her right hand deliberately drawing patterns on your abdomen. You shut your laptop and discard it on the nightstand then turn around to press a palm on the center of Kafka’s naked chest, pushing her onto her back and against the cool sheets.

“Yeah,” your knees are planted on each side of her hips and your hand brushes her open shirt further to the side before cupping her breast. It fills your palm with a satisfying weight. “They’re really pretty.”

Kafka lets out a low hum as you take command, she settles into the firm mattress and her chest rises steadily beneath your gentle touch. You caress the familiar path around her breast, the sensation sending a low thrum of pleasure through her.

"They are, aren't they?" She agrees, her words laced with anticipation while her gaze drinks in the desire etched on your features.

“Ugh, I can’t even reproach your cockiness this time because it’s true.”

Her smile turns smug at your playful chiding and earnest praise. Her body responds positively to your touch, arching into your absent kneading and snaking an arm around your waist to bring you closer. Her lips part silently when you flick her nipple with a fingernail. Her gaze darkens past the amusement in it though she keeps still for now, ignoring her growing arousal and instead focusing on your expressions as you run your hands across her sensitive skin. The fingers not groping her chest travel down her abdomen and leisurely trace her navel. You regard her body with unashamed admiration, it’s in every caress and every glance, and it’s a sort of high that she chases by baring herself to you.

“Don’t get excited now,” you warn her, eyes briefly flitting to hers, “I’m just enjoying touching you.”

She chuckles, a hint of a challenge in the air following her teasing reply, “Oh, I’m well aware of your enjoyment, baby. You’re not exactly subtle about it. But I won’t lie… I’m definitely getting excited.”

“We just had sex.”

“True, we did…” She slowly concedes and purposely trails off in a sultry murmur. Her splayed fingers trail up the expanse of your back over your shirt. She lays a hand on top of yours on her breast and encourages you to squeeze more firmly. She makes a show of gasping softly at the sensation. “You should know, though, the thrill doesn’t just stop at one time. It lingers, it builds… and it craves more.”

You harshly pinch her nipple in reprimand. “Don’t be corny.”

Kafka’s eyes shut for an instant, relishing the pleasure-pain zapping along her limbs like an electrical current. She inhales sharply through her nose.

“Corny, huh? Maybe I’m just feeling especially poetic tonight.”

“As I’m playing with your tits?”

A playful smile quirks up her lips. “Sometimes inspiration strikes in the most unexpected moments. And I happen to find your touch very inspiring.” She lifts her torso off the bed, pressing up against yours, and tilts her chin upwards. Her mouth brushes yours with every word she speaks and her hand guides your own down the lines of her chest and over her toned stomach to rest on the waistband of her shorts. “In fact,” she purrs, “your touch makes me want to write sonnets.”

“…Incorrigible.” Your hand doesn’t progress further and Kafka feigns a pout. “How are you still horny?”

“How could I not be with you touching me like that?”

You lightly tug at her shorts and your fingertips graze the coarse hairs that greet you, prompting a quiet sound of satisfaction from her.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, now fully feeling her soft hair and ignoring the hardening bulge that’s starting to take shape under her clothes.

“Mmm, like you’re going to be in trouble if you keep teasing me…”

Unashamed, Kafka grips your wrist and leads your hand lower, to the firm tent in her shorts silently demanding more of your focused attention. As your palm deliciously presses against her, her fingers curl around your nape and she captures your lips in a languid kiss. It’s slow and deep, meant to rouse your dormant passion, and she doesn’t let you go until your chest burns with the need to breathe freely. You lightly squeeze her growing erection in warning, she nips your bottom lip in retaliation. You can feel her smile into the kiss before her lips part in a gasp when you palm her just so, cheekily tracing the defined length of her shaft. She’s not wearing any underwear, courtesy of your earlier activities, and you can feel the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin garment. Kafka moans into your mouth as you stroke her, never one to hide how nice she’s feeling, especially since her throaty sounds of encouragement spur you on like nothing else. She gets what she wants without asking, and you forget why you were ever going to deny her in the first place.

“Aeons, you’re hot,” you breathe out against her lips after another raspy moan from her, “I could hear you make those noises for me forever.”

Kafka’s laugh is breathless, “Yeah? Are you going to pull out your camera, immortalize this moment too?”

“Don’t tempt me…” You let her steal another kiss from you and tilt your head upwards to allow her mouth to travel down your jaw. “I could make a compilation of every groan out of your mouth when you enter me.”

“A compilation, hmm…?” She licks a long stripe up to your ear, then sucks the lobe into her mouth. Her voice is hushed and sultry against your eardrums. “You have a collection of my moans, baby?”

“You’d be surprised. Though not that much, considering you knew I was holding the camera each time.”

You think your short film might have aroused her more than she let on; paired with her sensitivity from her previous orgasm just an hour earlier, she’s easily worked up in the palm of your hand. Your thumb applies pressure on her already weeping slit, staining the inside of her shorts with pre-cum you can’t wait to clean off of her throbbing cock. You feel her teeth graze your skin at the motion, and her grip on your neck tightens a tad. She doesn’t urge you to touch her properly yet, enjoying the pleasant sensation of anticipation swirling through her belly.

“I did know,” she agrees shamelessly, panting softly into your ear, “there’s something so exciting about you watching me twice… first through your own eyes, then through the camera lens, like you can’t get enough of me.”

You don’t contest her words. Your hand moves to her base and cups her balls firmly, and you swallow the intoxicating noise she makes with insistent kisses on her wet lips.

“I could show you,” you whisper, your breath short.

“Yeah?”

You withdraw from her not without a lingering kiss, bringing your wandering hand along, and climb off of her to reach for the laptop on the nightstand. Kafka exhales long and deep to regain some of her bearings. She glances down at her aching length and bites her lip, already missing your eager touch, but brushes some hair out of her face before turning to you lying flat on your stomach. Your chest still heaves with excitement as you look through your folders. She gets a premium view of your backside like this and can’t help slowly running a hand down the pretty curve of your spine while she waits patiently. You quickly find what you’re searching for.

You click on a video. Her eyes flit to the screen. The camera work is shaky and the room is dark so not much can be properly discerned, but a few seconds later the distinct sound of your voice rings out through the laptop’s speakers, soft and whiny, almost immediately followed by Kafka’s deep, throaty groans. She intently listens to the sweet, heated cries of pleasure you make and the recognizable, wet sounds of sweaty flesh slapping against flesh. Your head turns to catch her eye over your shoulder, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

“What do you think? Don’t we sound great together?”

Kafka smiles in response, eyes dark yet burning with an intensity that can only promise sore limbs in your near future. She drapes herself over you, her thick cock pressed against your ass and her chest flushed to your back as she pulls the tip of your ear between her lips. The video continues though it’s not very long, a harmonized version of your voices filling the otherwise quiet of your shared hotel room.

“I think…” Kafka murmurs hotly directly into your ear, patting the nightstand’s surface for your digital camera until her fingers close around the desired object, “we should make a different kind of movie. Don’t you?”

Kafka also gives you full liberty this time around but unlike the first short film you made of her in the moonlight, every blissed out roll of her eyes and flush of her skin is entirely authentic.

[luzial]

Writing Masterpost

I write Solavellan. You may see some other stuff on my AO3 and I love that stuff too but let's be real, I'm pretty much just the one thing and I am obsessed. It used to be all Angst and UST all the time but now there's plenty of Fluff and Smut as well. Asks are always open. I love prompts. Chat is also fine.

Here's the stuff I wrote that I'd love for you to read:

Overgrown Solavellan | Modern AU | Enemies to Lovers | Eventual Smut Rating: E | Complete | 93,911 words | 27 chapters

Ellana Lavellan is an investigative journalist assigned to cover an excavation in the Arbor Wilds. Her editors have received a tip that the dig may uncover new information about the "Final Inquisitor," a mysterious figure from the Dragon Age about whom almost nothing is known. Ellana teams up with a history professor to investigate the story.

Roots (sequel to Overgrown) Solavellan | Modern AU | Idiots in Love | Occasional Smut Rating: E | Actively Updating (aprox weekly)

With the identity of the Final Inquisitor now revealed to the world, Ellana Lavellan (an investigative journalist) and Solas (a history professor) team up again to dive deeper into the mysteries of the Dragon Age as well as a series of strange phenomena that have been reported across Thedas.

the best of you, honey, belongs to me Solavellan | One-Shot | Smut Rating: E | 3,759 words

Hunt well, he told her. And she has. She may as well wear their pelts like trophies across her shoulders.

They have lined up to dance with her, to offer her gifts, to make her promises - all of it hollow. They want her for the power and the pleasure she can bring them. They want the world to see her in their arms as they swirl her across the floor. They want to feel the press of her body against their chest and imagine an intimacy which is his alone to claim.

Solas gets jealous at Halamshiral and his pride nearly gets the better of him.

In and Out of Time Again Solavellan | Letters | Angst | Time Loops Rating: M | Complete | 14,499 words | 14 chapters

I tattooed everything you said to me on my still-beating heart and while that may sound like nothing more than hyperbole, I swear to you that if you clawed open my ribcage you would see the truth in the ink that spilled through your fingers.

A Solavellan take on “This Is How You Lose the Time War." Two unlikely correspondents reshape infinite versions of Thedas, each manipulating events of the world’s past to create the future their faction desires.

in the cracks of light / i dreamed of you Solavellan | One-Shot | Angst | Pre-Veilgaurd Rating: T | 2,731 words

He slips into a cafe to pass the time. It is an alluring place on the water where lilac lanterns spill light on lovers and assassins alike. In the distance, something bright catches his eye. Two felines, perched side by side on the base of a pillar that overlooks the canals. One of them is such a vivid white he swears it’s glowing in the afternoon sun.

By day, Solas investigates an irregularity in the Veil in the Streets of Coin and encounters a spirit cat. By night, Lavellan dreams of Treviso.

Ruins Solavellan | Time Travel Fix-It | Angst | Slow Burn Rating: M | WIP | 109,325 words | 19/? chapters

More than 20 years after the Exalted Council, Thedas is in ruins. Finally, a hardened and desperate Lavellan conjures a dangerous spell that has the power to stop the Dread Wolf once and for all. But when plans suddenly change, Lavellan and Solas find themselves transported back to when everything began - one year before Corypheus opens the breach - and given "one last chance" to set things right.

Miscellaneous Solavellan

Solavellan Prompts

Short one-shots collected from various prompts. Mostly set in Inquisition, one in Veilguard.

First/Second

Who fell first prompt. Four short scenes, two from Solas' POV and two from Lavellan's.

[leafnyx]

Death games and attachments (Nam-gyu x male reader)

Word count: 3k

Warnings: American reader ‼️, Mentions of death/gunshots, drugs, no use of Y/N, canon divergence, some points in the story might be wrong I didn’t bother to rewatch the episode to get everything in order 😶, might be ooc? I’m trying my best to write them properly, not proofread

Setting: Season 2 Episode 5

A/n: i havent seen any Nam-gyu x male reader fics so i decided to make one myself 😁

The weird looking guards just announced the next game, ‘6 legged pentathlon’. They said that everyone had to get into groups of 5, this worried you as, up to now, you’d been by yourself, not seeing the need to find anyone to stick with.

You’re now walking through the yard, trying to look for a group to be with but it looks like everyone is already in groups of 5.

“Hey, you!” You hear someone call out in English, you turn your head towards them out of sheer curiosity, not expecting them to be speaking to you.

To your shock, through, they’re looking directly at you.

“You! Boy! Come here” He beckons you towards with a finger.

You recognize this guy from earlier on in the previous game. His bright purple hair is hard to forget, especially surrounded by people with natural hair colors.

You don’t exactly want to go towards him, since the last time you saw him he was mulling down the contestants in front of him in red light green light.

But you don’t exactly have a choice, it’s either him or getting shot for not being in a team, so you walk towards the purple haired man.

“Be on our team” He says, you’d expect this to be a question but it sounds more like a command.

“Sure” You reply in English since he’s already speaking to you in it.

“But we already have 5 players” A man pipes up from near the purple haired man, his number patch reads 256.

“Then get out” The purple haired man now speaks in Korean.

“What?”

“You heard me, get out!” He says again, in a mix or Korean and English, pushing 256 away.

You look towards what seems like the rest of his team confused.

A man with hair down to his shoulders doesn’t look too shocked, whereas the other two, a girl and another boy with short hair, look confused and irritated/scared respectively.

The time for picking teams ends, you and your now team are made to sit down together on the floor inside one of the rainbow circles.

The guard gets everyone’s attention and tells the rules, it’s up to you all now to pick what games you’re going to play.

You, though, have no idea what any of them are apart for the first. You messed the game up quite a bit when you first played it but it shouldn’t be all that hard playing it again. Right?

“Se-mi, you play gonggi” The purple haired guy immediately says.

“I’m not good at gonggi” Replies Se-mi.

“But youre a girl” Says the guy with neck-length hair, 124.

“And? I can’t play gonggi”

“Uh, I can play gonggi” The boy with short hair, 125.

“Let’s go Min-su, my boy! Coming in clutch!” Says the purple haired guy, beginning in Korean but slowly deterring into English. “I’m playing jegi”

“I’ll play spinning top” Chimes in 124.

“Then I’ll play flying stone” Says Se-Mi.

“I’ll play ddakji” You say, finally.

The first two teams go up to play.

One of the teams keeps failing on the second game while the other is getting pretty far.

You look up at the timer, there’s not much time left, neither of the teams will be able to get through before the end.

You begin getting a bit nervous for the people up playing.

Once the time hits 0:00, bullets reign. The 10 players jerk around as tens of bullets shoot through their bodies. You flinch from the loud noise, looking down at the sand as to not look at the players getting shot.

As the bodies are being cleaned up you look to your side and see 124 asking the purple haired guy something. 124 then lifts up his sleeve for a second before rolling it back down.

The purple haired guy takes a cross necklace from out of his jacket and opens it up, handing 124 something from inside of it.

Se-mi catches you looking at them and speaks up.

“Drugs” She says, simply.

“Oh” You reply, not knowing what else to say.

124 and Min-su have a short conversation, Se-Mi cutting in to say something about 124’s shakey hands, that ends the conversation quickly.

124 looks over at you for a second before turning away, back towards the front.

A few rounds later it’s your turn. You stand in a line, with Se-mi beside you, all chained up together by the ankle.

Your nerves are going crazy but you try to calm yourself down by breathing slowly. It doesn’t work very well but there’s nothing else you can really do.

The game starts, the five of you walking forward together. When you stop you grab one of the paper squares and throw it down, missing.

You let out a curse under your breath as you pick the square up. You can hear cursing beside you but you block it out.

You throw it down again and it hits, but the other square doesn’t flip.

Third times the charm, you grab the square again, flipping it a few times in your hands, trying to ground yourself, before throwing it down.

The other square flips over and as you look towards the guard, their hands go above their head in a circle.

A smile engulfs your face as the rest of your teen cheers and walks forward again.

The rest of the game goes by in a blur, all you can remember is walking through the finish line, a few seconds left, the relief palpable within your team.

You look over to the other teen just in time to see them all get shot. You cringe away, deciding to look back down at the sand.

The chains are released from around you and your team mates. The purple haired guy says something loudly, followed by something by 124, but you don’t care enough to focus on what it is they’re saying.

You guys are lead back to your sleeping place. Everyone in your team walks together towards one of the groups of beds so you decide to follow them, after all it might help later to have some people to stick with.

The group sits down on the steps leading to the beds, you sit on one of the lower steps.

“What do you think the next game is gonna be?” 124 asks.

“No idea, maybe marbles or something, if they’re gonna keep up with the theme.” Se-me replies.

“I wasn’t asking you bitch,” Nam-gyu hisses out, then he turns towards you. “118,” He says your number. “What do you think the next games gonna be?”

“I have no clue” You reply. “I didn’t know any of the last games so I hope it’s more like red light green light.”

“Oh right, you’re American right?”

“Yeah”

“Damn you’re fucked then.” 124 giggles. “But don’t worry, if you stick with us we’ll help you out, you’ll do great.” He smiles and nods, trying to be reassuring but he just seems high.

“Uh-huh” You reply, looking over at the purple haired guy who’s nodding his head aggressively to a beat only he can hear.

“Hes on drugs” Se-me says, talking to you. “So is his goon.” She looks towards 124.

“Shut up bitch, god you girls never get tired of talking,” 124 hisses out. “Girls, am I right?” He elbows you but you just stare back at him.

“I’m Nam-gyu.” 124 introduces himself. “That’s Thanos, the famous rapper, you know him?”

You shake your head.

“Well almost famous anyways…. That’s Min-su” He points at Min-su who’s sitting leaning against a bed with his head down, seeming to want to be anywhere but here. “And her name doesn’t matter” He gestures towards Se-me who promptly ignores him.

You tell him your name, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt as you already know everyone elses’.

“Well [nam] welcome to the gang!” He pats your back, more like a hit, enthusiastically. You try not to let the hit lurch you forward.

“Hey Nam-su” Thanos calls out.

“Nam-gyu” Nam-gyu replies, quietly, seeming to not bother actually telling him his name. You think by his tone Thanos has messed up his name multiple times already.

Thanos ignores, or maybe doesn’t hear, Nam-gyu, and continues speaking.

“Look at MG coin, he’s with a girl.”

“Oh yeah, you think they’re together?” Nam-gyu is grinning towards Thanos.

“Looks like it, lucky fucker is still pulling in this place.”

“I’m shocked anyone likes an ugly fuck like him.”

You look around and there are more people on the room than when you first came back.

“That old man is still somehow alive.” Nam-gyu says from behind you.

You turn to look at 456, he’s walking with a group of 4 others, one waving somewhere.

You think maybe he isn’t as crazy as everyone thought he was as first.

The doors in the arc open up, multiple guards coming out with you guys’ next ration of shitty food.

You immediately get up, ignoring whatever the rest of your group is saying, and go to get in line.

Somehow a bunch of people get in front of you, but luckily you aren’t too far back.

“Hey man,” You look over to see Nam-gyu smiling. “Mind if I cut?” He points to the spot infront of you.

You nod and Nam-gyu quickly thanks you, scooting inbetween you and the girl infront of you.

The line goes pretty quick and you’re soon in the front grabbing your portion of food, a piece of bread and a carton of milk.

Nam-gyu moves up beside you when you walk out of line, back towards where the group was previously sitting.

“I can’t believe they’re giving us so little food! We’re risking our asses every day, the least they could do is give us some food for energy.”

“I don’t think they care about our comfort enough to give us more food.” You reply.

“Fuckers.” Nam-gyu mumbles, so close to you that he’s practically clinging on to you.

The two of you sit back down, the rest of the group still in line.

You quickly open the bag and dig into your bread, starving.

At this point all you want is to go back home and eat some proper food, like Macdonalds or something.

Not really proper food, but compared to how the chain is in America the burgers here feel like proper food.

You finish your meager portion of bread and milk before the rest of the group is even back.

You desperately want more to eat, still hungry, but you know they won’t give you any more.

You throw the plastic and empty carton to your side, deciding you’ll deal with throwing them away later, and lean back.

It’s not very comfortable, with the stair digging into your back, but it’s fine.

“We’re all voting for O right?” Nam-gyu says, looking up to Thanos for some sort of confirmation.

“Ok course!” Thanos replies in English. You’re not even sure if the others can understand him but it seems like they get the message anyways.

“You’re voting for O, right [name]?” Nam-gyu says, now putting his attention towards you.

You weren’t going to vote O, your current patch being red with a big X on it, but you feel a bit more confident with a group.

And anyways, you do need the money, the current sum isn’t enough, what would one more game hurt?

“Yeah” You reply after a few second.

Nam-gyu smiles at you and pats you on the back, gentler than last time. “I knew you would change!”

“Min-su, you’re voting for O too right?” He turns his attention away from you, but his hand is still resting on your back. You don’t bother to push him off.

“He is, leave him be” Se-me replies, seeming a bit defensive of the shy boy.

“Alright alright… but you’re gonna vote O right?” Nam-gyu’s attention is still on Min-su who nods.

“Let’s go! One more game guys. Just one more game.”

You decide to tune whatever the rest of the conversation is out, but you still feel Nam-gyu’s hand on your back throughout the whole thing.

After a few minutes the guards walk back out, this time with the voting buttons.

Everyone stands up, Nam-gyu now removes his hand from your back, standing up aswell.

You all group up in the back, the guards calling out the numbers, starting at 001.

More people go up and the counts of the votes go up too. You don’t doubt for a seconds that the O’s are gonna win. Everybody in in debt and/or greedy. And you’d be a hypocrite if you blame them for it.

Your number gets called and Nam-gyu pats you on the back, trying to remind you to vote O.

You walk and and without waiting for a second press the glowing blue button. You take your red patch off and hand it over to the guard for a blue one before walking off to the O side.

After a second Nam-gyu votes and walks over towards you.

“I knew I could trust you.” He says, trying, but failing, to keep his voice down to a whisper. Nam-gyu pats your back a few times before retreating his hand.

Min-su walks over to your side, his jacket still has a blue patch on it.

The rest vote, Thanos and Se-mi vote blue aswell, and as you expected the O’s won.

It seems like everybody expected it aswell cause the X’s don’t sulk too much and the O’s don’t celebrate too much. Everyone just goes back to what they were doing before the voting.

You and your group walk back to your stairs.

Thanos announces, too loud, that he’s going to sue the bathroom. Nam-gyu follows him and you realize that you haven’t gone in a while, deciding to follow them aswell. On the short walk there Thanos taps and Nam-gyu nods along.

You somehow only now realize how red Thanos and Nam-gyu’s eyes are. They’re definitely high. You realize Thanos probably has some sort of drugs in that cross necklace he pulled out in the last game.

The three of you step into the bathroom and spread out in the urinals. After a bit you overhear Nam-gyu seemingly asking Thanos for more drugs.

“I’ve got a limited stash, dude.” Thanos replies but he still hands a pill over to Nam-gyu.

You finish up and wash your hands, waiting for Thanos and Nam-gyu to leave the bathroom.

Nam-gyu walks over to you. “You want one?” He says, not mentioning what he’s talking about but you think you know.

You shake your head, not wanting to get messed up here, you want to be able to think properly, you don’t want to die because you’re high and don’t know what you’re doing.

Nam-gyu shrugs and mutters something like ‘your loss’ before walking out the door with Thanos. You follow after the two.

When you get back you hear the speaker say that you have 30 minutes until bed. You didn’t realize how long it had been since the game ended, or how late it was, you’re not tired yet but that’s probably just the left over adrenaline from being so close to death.

You haven’t been able to fully relax since you found out this same some sort of death game.

You sit back down on the stair that you were at previously.

Conversation doesn’t seem to start up, the five of you siting in silence, Thanos mumbling incoherently to himself, Nam-gyu staring off into space, and Se-mi and Min-su sitting beside eachother quietly, thinking.

You zone off for a bit, thinking about your life before all this, not the best. But at this point, you do with you were there rather than in here.

Maybe you should have votes X? It doesn’t matter now, anyways, you already made your decision.

After a bit Se-mi and Min-su begin talking but you can’t hear what they’re saying since they’re talking quietly.

You look up at the screen and see 5 minutes left, youre shocked 25 minutes have already gone by but you pay it no mind, getting up to walk toward your bed.

Nam-gyu looks over at you but says nothing as you walk up the stairs towards your bed.

You take your shoes up and put them on the stairs beside your bed and climb in, going under the covers.

You lie there, eyes closed, until the lights shut off.

After they do you try desperately to go to bed but you’re not able to, you’re still too aware of everything going on around you. Your eyes are shut tight, trying to will yourself to go to bed.

After a bit you hear a noise beside you, you decide to ignore it until a voice calls your name.

“Hey, are you asleep?”

You open your eyes and look up to see Nam-gyu staring down at you.

“Nice you’re awake, can I sleep in your bed?”

“What?”

“Like sleep beside you, some piece of shit X took my bed and Thanos wasn’t waking up no matter how hard I shook him.”

“Can’t you sleep in some other empty bed?”

“Nah they’re all dirty and gross, I don’t wanna sleep where some other rando was sleeping.”

You try to understand his logic, not wanting to sleep in an empty bed where someone had slept before but being fine with sleeping with you, but it makes no sense. It’s probably the drugs.

“Come on, think of it like a sleepover, I mean we’re both guys so it’s not weird.”

You let out a sigh and decide, why not.

“Sure” You say to him. Nam-gyu smiles and clarets into the bed beside you.

It’s obviously only meant for one person, so the two of you are squished uncomfortably beside each other, but it doesn’t matter.

You feel actually tired now so you decide not to dwell on any of this, the fact that you’re sleeping beside a man you just met earlier today.

You’ll deal with it in the morning when he’s, hopefully, sober.

For now you get some sleep since you’ll need the energy for tomorrow’s game, whatever it’ll be.

[weepingwitchbitch]

Okay not sure if this will be my first post or my Megumi one. I’ve never really written fanfic, lowk don’t know how to write without making it too detailed or never enough detail 💔..

Warnings: slightly overstim, bj, tojis superrr sensitive, he’s mean all at once though, a little bit of tears???

I think everyone talks about Toji being so dominant and so powerful mainly because he’s 99% muscle 1% body fat. But just imagine how sensitive this man would be to your touch. All those muscles might be so heavy and tiring carrying around, poor toji, he’s definitely always sore and has crazy body pains from working out.

one small flick of your cute little hand just on his bicep or his beefy thigh and he’s getting needy, holding back his little soft groans, and now he needs you to massage something else. (I think I’m so funny)

And once he voices out his yearning for you by grabbing you back down into his lap, nuzzling his face into your shoulder and back. Just asking for you to give him some love and attention.

Next thing you know you’re on your knees nuzzling into his thighs that oh so sore from working out. Your hands tugging at his shorts waistband and seeing the overly large tent set up in his boxers, which you also slowly pull down. And now you’re close breathing on his straining erection that’s standing all so proudly, glaring at you just needing your touch and love.

Purposefully teasing him and just breathing around him, seeing his striking vein on his length twitch and the slightly dribble of pre coming down.

“Please, stop teasing it’s fucking painful..dolly…” that’s genuinely the only time you’ve ever heard him beg though it came out more bratty then yearning.

But it’s all you need to just sink your mouth down on his thick head and slowly suck, maneuvering your tongue all around his dripping salty slit. And the groan this man lets out. I’m not saying he’s never dominant, but there’s time where he just has to let you take control and let you take care of him sometimes.

And now his hands are tangled in your hair as you move your mouth up and down, taking in more than half his length only to go back to teasing and sucking at his tip. His groans gradually got louder, some sounded like whines as he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving for him. “fuckfuckfuckfuck…ma, it feels so good- ah it h-hurts…please- fuck..” that just made you move your head faster, licking that one little spot that made him twitch rapidly and gasp louder.

He was already so close from just emptying out in your mouth but he lost it once he finally looked down, and he couldn’t stop himself from rutting into your mouth. Your eyes so glossy and cute, that little glint of mischievous, paired with the slightly squint of you smiling around his cock once he finally looked at you. His big load ending up all in your mouth and have nothing better to do then suck it all out of him and now he’s moving your head while rutting his hips into your mouth and you swore whimpers were coming out.

“Haa..mm..! Fuck..wait..!” As if he wasn’t the one rutting himself into your mouth. And finally his hips stop and now he’s just and panting mess, all while you just sit there massaging his thighs. And finally you sit up, just sitting on one of his thighs pressing small kisses to his fucked out face and all he can do is mush your face into the couch going on about this was a one time thing, he will always be the one in control in bed, and if word spilled he was whimpering and came a little bit too fast from just a few minutes of sucking and massaging, he’ll kill you.

A/n: already stated this but this is my first fic and I’m ANXIOUS about it 💔💔💔 I hope you enjoy 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[essektheylyss]

Oh hey! Do you like stories about wlw and weird, convoluted forms of time travel? Do you like supporting queer folks making cool art? Did River Song rewire your brain as a teenager?

I wrote a short story called "A Practical Study of Time" for Baffling Magazine, a queer speculative fiction mag! It's published on Patreon, if you're interested in becoming a patron of a super neat lit mag—or it'll be on their site when their eleventh issue is published in April!

[norikuna]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[vivimura]

PAIRING ~ bf!nrk x gf!reader

SUMMARY ~ when you visit your boyfriend to spend time with him, he downright ignores you and continues gaming leading to a grumpy play fight which soon escalates into something not so playful.

GENRE ~ fluff, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 1.485k

ᯓ★ i had fun writing this ngl.

when you giddily turned the doorknob to riki's bedroom in his dorm apartment, your face rotted into one of disbelief. the room was dark, except for the large, obnoxiously bright tv screen near one wall of the room, with riki sitting across to it on a small black leather couch, a warm lamp lit on his side. he had a pair of gaming headphones snug on his head, one which had a mic to convey his less than clean exclamations of frustration at his teammates. there was a controller in his dexterous hands, his tongue darting out ever so often and teeth sunk into his plump bottom lip in focus. he didn't seem to have noticed you were even there, and to make things worse, he wore just a thin black tee and basketball shorts. it was a simple outfit, yet effective in driving you crazy in all the right ways.

you sighed and rolled your eyes. damn it. if you didn't know any better, he had probably spent all day glued to his couch, and it was probably going to remain that way unless you did something. you rid yourself of your puffer jacket, clearing your throat as you neatly folded it in an attempt to get him to at least acknowledge your arrival. but of course, your attempts were in vain. 

you knew for a fact that he wasn't utterly unaware of your entrance, given how the corner of his lips tugged up into the tiniest ghost of a smirk. he was playing a game you were familiar with. he sensed you walking closer to where the couch was, but paid it no mind, the yelling and screaming of his other online gaming teammates ringing out through the air along with his own voice. it was only once you were standing between the couch and tv, arms on your hips, that he craned his neck up to look at you, a smug expression forming on his face. you narrowed your eyes into a glare, tapping your foot on the ground, waiting for him to take his darned headphones.  he chuckled lowly, continuing to game by peaking over your shoulder for a few more seconds out of thorough enjoyment of watching you stew and grow impatient. but, he knew he should set a limit to his teasing. he took off his headphones and leaned forward to set them, along with his controller down on the coffee table in front of him. "something wrong?" he teased, his tone all too playful for your liking. “oh, don’t give me that. and quit smiling.” you almost immediately responded, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s cold as balls outside, but i still came to see you. you didn’t even look my way!” you scolded, but it came off more as whining to your boyfriend. 

he held his hands up in mock surrender, a small smirk still tugged at his lips at your pouty expression. he had to admit, you were pretty cute when you were mad. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry." he chuckled again, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. "come, sit. i'll make it up to you, yeah?"

you felt your irritation slowly but surely subside, but kept your expression indifferent. with a petulant ‘hmph!’, you looked at the spot riki patted at, and then at riki. you dodged the edge of the coffee table by the couch, deciding to climb up onto riki’s lap, straddling his thighs instead.

he could only shake his head fondly, his soft and deep laughter ringing in your ears. he was more than happy to indulge you. he leaned back against the cushions of the couch, gaze never leaving yours as one hand found a place at the small of your back.

“pay attention to me.” you whined, rather demanded, nudging your scrunched nose with riki’s. he chuckled to himself and hummed playfully, landing a gentle pinch on your hip and watching your reaction with sheer amusement. your demand earned a huff from him before he replied, "you're literally sitting in my lap right now, baby. how much more attention do you want?" “i don't know, i don’t care..”, you continued, wrapping your arms around his torso in a firm grip and burying your face into your neck. as much as you tried to act bratty and annoyed, you couldn't deny how flustered amused smirks made you feel.

he wrapped his arms around your waist in response, keeping you firmly against him, your small form pressed up against his much larger frame. your neediness was only driving his smirk to widen. "needy baby." he teased, one hand finding your hair and gently running his fingers through it. a frown of irritation formed yet again at his little tease. you further dug your face into the crook of his neck, your mind working overtime on how to reply. when you couldn’t, you decided to land a bite on his neck as ‘punishment’. he let out a slight huff in surprise at the feeling of your teeth against his skin, his grip around your waist tightening somewhat as he did. "little brat." he muttered under his breath, lightly tugging on a few strands of your hair as a 'punishment' of his own. “oww..” you pouted, dramatically massaging the spot on my scalp. you pulled your face out of the crook of his neck, announcing your irritation with a frowny face. apart from irritation, there was a certain flare of competitiveness in your eyes. oh, it was so on. the pads of your fingers and palm made contact with riki’s chest as you landed a slap on it in return.

"hey-" he cut himself off with a scoff when you slapped his chest, the expression on his face growing into a smirk once more. he knew all too well about your playful tendencies, and his competitive nature was beginning to be triggered now. without a word, he suddenly hooked one arm leg under your thighs, the other near your waist and lifted you up. with a few long strides, he carried you to his bed before you could even process what was happening, unceremoniously dropping you onto his bed. your eyes widened, and before you could even try shouting at him or wriggling out of his hold, you landed on the black duvet covering his twin bed with a bounce. dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “did you just body slam me, riki?!” he chuckled as he crawled onto the bed between your legs, hovering over you on all fours. his smirk grew as he watched you pout up at him, clearly not too happy about the way you had landed on the bed. "i guess you could say that. did you like it?" he asked in a teasing tone, one of his hands going to tease under your shirt. “i- wha-” butterflies. god, butterflies had likely colonised your stomach over his stupid smirks and how he could easily manhandle you into doing essentially anything. but, you knew better than to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. you concealed your feelings with a grumpy pout and maybe just a little genuine embarrassment of your own lack of strength. “you can’t just do that!” he chuckled yet again, his hand still exploring your exposed skin under your shirt, slowly making its way up to your ribs, right under the lacy edge of your bra as he continued to look down at you. your bratty behavior amused him, and he was always fond of how easy it was for him to tease you. "i just did, baby. it's fucking adorable how easy it was to." he cooed, his hot breath fanning against your neck, his nose nuzzled into its subtly fragranced skin. if you were standing right now, you were certain your knees would've given out. there was something so attractive about riki's confidence, not to mention his little cuss, that it turned you on in ways almost embarrassing. you shakily exhaled and frowned in slight offense, realizing you were a gone case if you stayed there any longer. stuck under some of the weight of his larger, muscular frame, you began squirming and wriggling in hopes to coax yourself out of his grip. he simply scoffed and grinned at your efforts to escape from under him and used the hand not snuck up your shirt to pin both your wrists over your head. he now pressed his lips against the side of your neck, planting a few gentle kisses before speaking again. "stop squirming." he whispered next to your ear before nipping at the lobe. you felt your face heat up, a tingle between your legs now undeniable. you bit the insides of your cheeks and let out a silent shaky exhale. you continued squirming under him, now using a tactic of pity to get away from the situation. “let me go, you’re heavy...” he lifted his head from your neck to flash you a wolfish grin, using his knees to spread your legs apart. the next thing you knew was his very evident erection pressed right by your thigh, and his hot, deep whisper right by your lips, “nah.” part 2