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monserelates · 15 days ago

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You’re Warm ; James Potter

⇨pairing: f!reader x james potter

⇨summary: Y/N is stubborn, reckless, and totally not sick—no matter what her fever, cracked voice, and hallucinations suggest. James Potter would love to believe her, but unfortunately for her, he knows her better than anyone.

⇨cw: reader is a quidditch player but it’s not that revelant to the plot, mutual pining, crack, idk what else

⇨a/n: lowkey repeating tropes because I just love a good stubborn reader but yeah, hope u enjoy

The portrait hole slammed open with a bang so loud that three second-years nearly jumped out of their skin.

“—BLOODY HELL,” Sirius Black yelled from his perch by the fire. “Is that a banshee? Oh—never mind. It’s just you.”

You marched into the common room, dripping wet from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead, Quidditch uniform clinging to you like a second skin. Mud was streaked up the backs of your calves, and your broom—dangling in one hand—was trailing leaf bits like a soggy war prize.

“I told you she’d go out flying in that storm,” Lily said, not even looking up from her Transfiguration essay.

“I was hoping she wouldn’t be that dumb,” Marlene added, flipping a page in her notebook. “Clearly I was wrong.”

James looked up from the chess match he was losing to Remus. His eyes flicked over you—sopping uniform, red nose, triumphant grin like you’d just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup—and then he blinked. “What the hell, Y/N?”

“I was bored,” you said breezily, squelching your way across the rug and dropping your broom with a thud. “And it wasn’t even raining that hard when I started.”

“You look like you swam home.”

“I was training. You wouldn’t understand.” You tossed a look over your shoulder and winked. “Not all of us can be benchwarmers, Potter.”

James’s jaw dropped in fake offense. “Excuse me. I’ve scored more goals than—”

“Than Sirius’s body count?” Marlene quipped.

Sirius, sprawled dramatically across the couch, raised his arms in victory. “Thank you for noticing.”

“I was gonna say than Remus has corrected my essays, but that works too.” James shook his head at you, smiling in that maddeningly fond, exasperated way. “You’re mental.”

“Quidditch players are built different,” you said, peeling off your jersey, that read “L/N” and the number 7 and tossing it onto a nearby armchair with a wet slap.

Peter made a face. “That thing’s alive.”

“I feel alive,” you said, flopping down into the nearest seat and kicking your feet up on the table. “That was the best flying I’ve done all term. Wind’s wicked up there—good practice for winter matches.”

“You’re gonna die of pneumonia,” Remus said calmly, not looking up from his notes. “And then I’ll be stuck tutoring your ghost.”

“I won’t die,” you sniffed, rubbing at your nose. “I’ve got the immune system of a Hippogriff.”

“Really?” Lily drawled. “Because your nose is already turning red.”

You scowled. “It’s from the wind.”

James leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees. “You sure you’re alright?” His voice was softer now, teasing gone. “You’re sort of…shivering. And you look like you sneezed on a live wire.”

“I’m completely fine, Potter.” You crossed your arms. “Actually, I feel amazing. Invigorated. Glowing, even.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re literally steaming.”

True enough, there was a slight haze rising from your clothes as they began to dry unevenly by the fire. You were very pointedly not looking at James, because he was still watching you too closely and it made your stomach do a weird flipping thing.

“I’d rather drop dead than admit James Potter was right,” you muttered.

“What was that?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing.”

Lily raised a brow. “Weren’t you supposed to meet with Slughorn for your potion redo?”

You blinked. “Oh…crap.” You glanced at the clock. “I’m already ten minutes late.”

“Go like that,” Marlene smirked. “Maybe he’ll pity you and give you full marks.”

“Yeah,” Sirius added, “tell him you survived a hurricane on a broomstick and your cauldron imploded from bravery.”

“You’re all terrible,” you mumbled, but you were smiling as you dragged yourself upright and trudged toward the dorms, squelching with every step. You paused by the stairs, turned back to face the common room—and met James’s eyes.

They were soft again, the way they sometimes got when he thought you weren’t looking. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t dare yet.

“I’m fine,” you said again, to no one in particular.

James tilted his head. “Right. Completely fine.”

You gave him your most dramatic eyeroll and disappeared upstairs—ignoring the tiny tickle in your throat that had definitely not been there earlier.

You were not sick.

You were…slightly tired. A little flushed, maybe. But that was just from Slughorn’s dungeon being way too warm. Obviously.

“Here,” Lily said, shoving a steaming mug into your hands as you curled into the corner of the couch. “Chamomile with honey. Don’t argue, I already hexed Sirius for mocking your sneeze.”

“I wasn’t mocking,” Sirius said from the other armchair, where he was poking the fire with his wand. “I was imitating. For science.”

“Your science is garbage,” Marlene muttered, tossing a cushion at his head.

“Also,” Dorcas added, “if you sneeze again like that, I will record it. For future blackmail.”

“I’m not sick,” you croaked. Unfortunately, it came out slightly cracked and hoarse—like your voice had been run through a cheese grater.

James, who’d been pretending to read from the seat beside you, slowly lowered his book and looked over. “You sure about that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of the mug. “Yes, Potter. I am.”

He held up both hands, mock-innocent. “Alright, alright. Just checking. You look…radiant. Like a freshly boiled tomato.”

“That’s from the blanket,” you sniffed, pulling it tighter around your shoulders. “Marlene made me sit on my hair so I’d stop dripping on the floor.”

“She was leaving a trail,” Marlene said. “Like an overachieving slug.”

“She got mud on the stairs,” Dorcas added. “Lily threatened to charm her socks to scream if she did it again.”

“Okay, rude,” you grumbled, tucking your knees under the blanket. “No one here appreciates a good training session.”

“Rain-soaked death wish,” Remus corrected. “That’s what it was.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius cut in, “but I have to ask—why in the name of Merlin’s soggy pants did you go flying in that weather?”

“Character building,” you said stubbornly.

“It built character into your lungs,” James muttered.

You ignored him, because acknowledging he might be right was not on the agenda. Instead, you turned to Marlene and nudged her with your sock-covered foot. “Tell them I’m fine.”

Marlene blinked at you. “Babe, your nose is redder than Gryffindor’s house colors.”

“I’m fine.” You dramatically took a sip of your tea. It burned your tongue. You tried not to flinch.

Lily, from her perch at the study table, didn’t even look up. “If you fall asleep in the common room tonight again, I swear to Godric I’m levitating you straight into the Hospital Wing myself.”

“I’m not—” You paused. Cough. Cough-cough. Double cough.

James slowly raised an eyebrow. Sirius made the world’s most annoying ah-ah-aaah? sound like a game show buzzer.

“Don’t,” you warned, pointing at him.

He raised his hands. “Just saying. You sound like a howler on its last breath.”

“Stop bullying her,” James said—but he was smirking. “She’s fragile.”

“I’m going to punch all of you,” you muttered, curling further into the blanket. “Except Lily. Lily made tea.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lily said, walking over to plop another cushion under your feet. She fluffed your hair like you were a pet owl. “Because I care. Even if you’re being a stubborn idiot.”

There was a pause.

“I also care,” James said a little too quickly.

All five girls turned to look at him.

Peter snorted. “Subtle.”

James flushed and shoved his face back into his book. “I care in a general Gryffindor-bravery-friends unity way. Shut up, all of you.”

Remus gave him a knowing look. Sirius made kissy noises. James threw a quill at both of them.

You were too tired to react to the chaos this time. The blanket was warm, your tea was working, and the ache in your limbs was…maybe a tiny bit worse than before. But you weren’t going to admit that. Yet.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and sighed, half-content, half-defeated.

Dorcas grinned at you. “When you wake up dead tomorrow, can I have your broom?”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “Joke’s on you. I’m immortal.”

Your voice cracked again. Everyone laughed.

And somewhere behind the noise, James was still watching you—quietly, from behind his book—his lips twitching into a soft smile every time you tried to pretend you weren’t falling apart.

You could not stay in the common room.

The fireplace was too hot, the sofa was too scratchy, and James was too there. Watching you like you were a time bomb in a hoodie.

You waited until everyone had finally drifted to their dorms, until even Sirius had run out of dumb things to say (and that took a while), and then you slipped out.

Slippers, blanket, mug in hand.

Because, yes, maybe your fever had climbed past “mildly dramatic” into “concerning,” but it wasn’t that bad. And you’d be damned if you let everyone keep mothering you like you were three seconds from spontaneous combustion.

You needed air. Space. Solitude. Possibly a quick death.

What you didn’t need was James Potter’s voice echoing after you the moment you opened the portrait hole:

“Oi—where the hell are you going?!”

You jumped, almost sloshed tea onto your foot. “Nowhere!”

James appeared in the archway in his pajama pants and a Gryffindor hoodie, squinting like a sleepy golden retriever who had absolutely not been waiting up.

“You’re sneaking out while sick?” he asked. “Are you…deranged?”

“I’m not sick,” you snapped, immediately following it with a coughing fit so violent it made the Fat Lady flinch in her frame.

James crossed his arms. “Right. Healthy as a Flobberworm.”

“I just need some air!” you said. “The common room was suffocating me.”

“Because you’ve got a fever. That’s what fevers do.”

You turned and started walking. Or…stumbling. Same thing.

James let out a long-suffering groan and followed, muttering to himself the whole way down the stairs: “Unbelievable. Absolutely unhinged. Should’ve just dragged her to Pomfrey. Should’ve let Lily tie her to the bed with a Sticking Charm—”

“I can hear you.”

“Good.”

You reached an empty classroom tucked off the Astronomy corridor, one the prefects usually used for late-night patrol breaks. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting a soft blue glow over the desks and your very dramatic blanket situation.

You flopped into the nearest chair. The motion made your head spin.

James hovered by the door, arms crossed again. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Then I’ll do it in peace.”

He sighed. Loudly. “You’re like a sick Victorian poet. What next, tuberculosis and a sad piano solo?”

You glared. “I am fine.”

“You are dying.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Sneezed violently into your blanket.

James sat down across from you, leaned forward on his elbows. “Just take the damn potion, Y/N.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You’re literally sweating in a room that’s colder than Sirius’s commitment issues.”

You sniffed. “I run hot.”

“You run dumb.”

That earned a middle finger. He grinned.

But when he leaned forward again, there was something gentler about it. Quieter. You were already looking away, staring out at the window like maybe the moonlight would save you from your own pride.

James softened. “Hey. Seriously.”

You blinked at him, eyelids heavy.

He hesitated, then said it low, like a secret: “Why won’t you just let me help?”

And that—that was the real problem.

Because if you let James Potter take care of you, it meant you weren’t invincible.

And if you weren’t invincible, you might…slip up. You might say something you couldn’t unsay.

Like how your heart sprinted every time he looked at you for longer than a second.

Like how you were afraid he only cared because he was nice, and not because he liked you back.

You pulled the blanket tighter. “Because I don’t need help.”

James looked at you for a long moment.

Then—“Okay.”

You blinked. “…Okay?”

He stood. Crossed the room. Sat on the floor next to you. His head leaned against your chair, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your legs.

“I won’t give you the potion,” he said lightly. “But if you faint, I’m stealing your broom.”

You laughed, hoarse and unexpected. “Over my dead body.”

“That’s what I’m banking on.”

There was a pause. Just soft moonlight, soft breathing, the stupid sound of your heart in your ears.

You leaned your head on the windowsill. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You smiled.

There was a shift in the atmosphere the moment you walked into the Great Hall.

You weren’t walking so much as…gliding. Floating? Stumbling slightly to the left. Wrapped in your robe like your life depended on it.

And yet—you looked pleased. Triumphant. As if this was a normal, healthy morning, and you weren’t absolutely radiating fever energy like a human furnace on the verge of combustion.

Sirius saw you first. He choked on his pumpkin juice and immediately slapped James on the shoulder.

“Mate,” he hissed, eyes wide. “Your disaster is here.”

James turned—and promptly dropped his toast.

You were standing there, blinking blearily at them like you’d emerged from a swamp, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wild.

“Morning,” you rasped, attempting to sit down but completely missing the bench and half-sitting on Sirius’s lap instead.

He let out a squeak. “I didn’t consent to this.”

“Didn’t consent to your face either, but here we are,” you muttered.

James shot out of his seat and helped you off Sirius like you were a toddler learning how chairs worked. “What are you doing here?”

“Eating breakfast,” you said innocently, trying to stab a piece of toast. With a fork.

Marlene, across the table, whispered to Lily, “She’s hallucinating. She thinks she’s at brunch.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “She looks like she got hexed by a fever demon.”

“Guys,” Dorcas said, halfway between laughing and horrified. “She’s glowing.”

“I run warm,” you snapped, face flushed like a tomato in a sauna. You were, in fact, steaming slightly. Like the toast you were now buttering with what appeared to be…jam.

James sat down next to you slowly, like you were a magical creature that might explode.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said carefully. “Or out of Hogwarts. Or alive.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine. Just needed fresh air.”

“You climbed out a window,” Sirius pointed out. “We saw you.”

“Is that why there’s a Lily-shaped shoe print on the ledge outside the girls’ dorm?” Marlene asked.

Lily turned to her. “That’s how I got her back inside last night. She tried to duel the moon, Marlene.”

You scowled. “I wasn’t dueling it. I was politely threatening it.”

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Nope. We’re done.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small vial—the potion. He’d clearly been carrying it around all night, just waiting for you to break.

“Here,” he said. “Drink this.”

You glared at it like it had insulted your mother. “I’m not taking your sketchy illegal moonshine.”

“It’s a Pepperup Potion,” he deadpanned. “Remus brewed it. You’ll stop hallucinating about seasonal pastries.”

“I’m not hallucinating.” You pointed a dramatic, trembling finger across the table. “Peter is literally talking to a pear.”

Everyone turned.

Peter paused mid-bite. “It’s a poached apple, actually.”

Sirius: “Why is it talking back?”

Peter: “Because I’m charming.”

“Enough,” James said, fully losing patience now. “Y/N. Drink the potion. Or I swear to Merlin’s soggy underpants, I will pin you to this bench and make Sirius do it for you.”

Sirius looked delighted. “Oh please let me.”

“Touch me and die,” you snapped, then turned back to James with narrowed eyes. “If I take it, do you shut up?”

James held up three fingers. “Scouts’ honor.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

And then, finally, you snatched the vial, downed it in one furious gulp, and immediately started steaming like a kettle.

Everyone stared.

You blinked. “…That was kind of hot.”

“Do not pass out on me now—” James started, catching you just as you swayed dramatically sideways.

Your head thunked softly onto his shoulder. Your breath evened.

“…She’s asleep,” Peter whispered.

“Do you think she’s faking it?” Marlene asked.

“Nope,” James said, adjusting his arm to keep you from sliding. His voice was much softer now. “She just ran out of stubborn.”

Lily smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry. She’ll wake up and deny all of this.”

“Already planning the narrative,” Dorcas said proudly.

James looked down at you—flushed, asleep, mouth slightly open. He shook his head fondly and muttered,

“You’re impossible.”

Sirius leaned in. “But, like…in a hot way, right?”

James threw a muffin at him.

You were back to your normal self.

Healthy, glowing (in a non-feverish way), and finally able to walk across the common room without someone offering you tea like a dying Victorian aunt.

Life was good.

Which is why you were smirking like a menace when James Potter flopped onto the couch beside you—hood up, nose red, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a grumpy toddler.

He sniffled loudly.

“You,” he croaked, “are a biohazard.”

You patted his knee, all sweetness. “Oh, poor baby. Feeling a bit warm?”

James turned his face into the couch cushion. “You infected me. You cursed me.”

“I told you I run hot.”

He groaned. “This is how I die. Not in battle. Not in glory. But in the common room. Surrounded by germs. Betrayed by the girl I—” He stopped. Sniffled. “Betrayed by you.”

You tried not to smile too hard. Failed miserably. “Sirius said you were still in denial this morning. About being sick.”

“I wasn’t sick this morning.” He sneezed violently. “I was in mourning.”

You snorted. “For what?”

“For my immune system. My dignity. My sense of smell.” He sniffled again and slumped into your side. “Also my will to live.”

You hesitated. Then, with a quiet sigh, you pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of you.

James blinked. “…Is this an act of mercy?”

“No,” you said, settling in next to him. “Just wanted to remind you what death feels like. Fair is fair.”

He gave a weak laugh, eyes closing as he leaned into your shoulder. “You’re gonna pay for this.”

“You’re literally breathing on me again.”

“Revenge,” he murmured. “Sweet, contagious revenge.”

You rolled your eyes—but you didn’t move away.

Madam Pomfrey looked one second away from smacking James Potter with a bedpan.

“Mr. Potter,” she said through gritted teeth, “you are not dying. You have a mild fever and a sore throat.”

James lay dramatically across the infirmary bed like a Victorian child with consumption.

Blankets piled high. Pillow fluffed just right. His arm was flung over his eyes like he was auditioning for a wizard soap opera.

“Tell my mum I fought bravely,” he whispered.

Y/N, sitting at the end of his bed, burst out laughing. “You fought a cold, you absolute goblin.”

James peeked out from beneath his arm. “Don’t mock the weak.”

“You’re not weak,” Lily said flatly from a nearby chair. “You’re annoying.”

“He cried because the potion tasted spicy,” Marlene added.

“It was spicy,” James snapped. “It burned my soul.”

Across the room, the other Marauders were thriving.

Remus was reading calmly, pretending not to laugh.

Peter was drawing tally marks in his journal for every time James coughed dramatically.

Sirius had pulled up a chair like it was theatre night, grinning wide.

“This,” Sirius said, “is the most beautiful reversal of fate I’ve ever seen.”

Dorcas walked in carrying a bowl of soup from the kitchens. She took one look at James and turned right around. “Nope.”

“Dorcas!” James croaked. “Please! Feed me! I’m too weak to hold a spoon—”

“Use your wand, you baby.”

“I can’t!” he wailed. “The magic’s leaving my body—”

“You’re impossible,” Y/N said, nearly in tears from laughter. “I survived two near-death experiences, a fever-fueled moon duel, and a Peter-shaped hallucination. I earned my sick days.”

James opened one eye dramatically. “And I’m suffering in silence.”

“You’ve literally summoned me with the Marauder whistle four times today,” Remus said. “To pass you tissues.”

James sniffled. “Well I can’t be expected to get up, Remus. What if I fall and die?”

Sirius leaned forward. “Be honest, mate. Are you playing this up so Y/N will tuck you in like you did for her?”

James went still.

Everyone turned to Y/N.

Y/N raised one brow. “You wish.”

James flushed and pulled the blanket over his face. “…You’re all monsters.”

“No,” Lily said. “We’re just finally free of your fake moral superiority.”

Y/N smiled sweetly, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest up, hero. Let me know if you start hallucinating pears.”

“Don’t leave,” James mumbled pitifully. “You make the pain bearable.”

Sirius gagged so hard he fell off his chair.

Marlene started clapping.

Remus didn’t even look up. “Two galleons say he tries to kiss her in the next twenty-four hours.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll double it if she punches him first.”

And as the chaos spiraled and James Potter sank deeper into his blanket nest of shame and melodrama, you stayed.

Grinning. Because now you were the one at his bedside.

And he?

He’d never been more whipped in his life.

#sick!reader #james potter x reader #fluff #marauders fluff #james potter fluff #james potter one shot #marauders crack #the marauders #james potter #marauders #all the young dudes #remus lupin #james fleamont potter #fanfics #james potter fanfiction #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #mutual pining

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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*Pokes my head through your window* Good morning, may I request: Blue Lock boys with a Reader who insists they drink the homemade herbal tea she made first thing in the morning.

Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, any other characters you want

Because seriously, why did Chigiri or Yukimiya never consider TCM as an option?

“𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫”

a/n: i think yuki, reo, rin, and sae would def be into tea

ft. chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

chigiri hyoma

he blinks at the mug like it insulted his entire bloodline.

“what did you say this was made of again?”

you cheerfully answer, “dandelions, licorice root, and love!”

he only heard “dandelions” and “root.” the love part did not save it.

drinks it like it’s poison and glares at you over the rim the whole time.

“you know i already have good hair, right? i don’t need... lawn clippings in a cup.”

he’s so dramatic. clutches his stomach every time like he’s waiting to collapse.

but refuses to skip a day because you always beam at him like he just cured a disease after finishing the cup.

he actually does feel a little more energized. but he will never admit that.

yukimiya kenyu

totally on board at first. skincare king. tea enthusiast.

“ah, herbal. nice. did you steep it at 80 degrees?”

you: “i microwaved it.”

the betrayal in his eyes.

drinks it anyway and nods politely with the stoicism of a man pretending he likes your cat’s cooking.

goes full monk about it – sits cross-legged on the couch, sipping in silence, whispering affirmations like “my gut microbiome thanks me.”

you find out later he’s been sneaking in a drop of honey every morning to make it bearable.

“you can’t get mad if it still has the benefits.”

if you try to make a new blend, he gets suspicious. “... what’s in this one?”

you: “vibes.”

mikage reo

very chill about it. the first morning you offer it, he drinks it and goes “interesting.”

you ask what he means and he just says “tastes like nature with a grudge.”

he drinks it every day but adds a bougie little mint leaf or lemon slice like he’s in a spa.

insists you sell it as a “detox elixir” and slaps a mikage corp sticker on your tea jars.

drinks it with his pinky up.

convinces nagi to try it once and nagi just immediately lies down on the floor and doesn’t move for thirty minutes.

reo just shrugs and says “it’s an acquired taste. like kale or emotional vulnerability.”

karasu tabito

makes fun of you. every single time.

“you’re trying to assassinate me with twigs in hot water. just say you hate me.”

gags dramatically. slides down walls. wipes imaginary tears.

but still drinks it. because deep down he’s a little whipped.

sneaks in a spoonful of sugar when you’re not looking. sometimes three.

once asked if he could add protein powder to it and you almost kicked him out.

starts calling it “witch potion” and “swamp smoothie.”

“ah yes, nothing like drinking a cauldron shot first thing in the morning. love you, babe.”

kaiser michael

sips it once. pauses. looks at the mug like it personally betrayed him.

“this is what you give to your enemies, not your boyfriend.”

you tell him it helps inflammation. he raises an eyebrow and goes, “it’s inflaming my taste buds.”

complains every single day but shows up like clockwork for his morning mug.

mutters under his breath in german. probably insulting the tea. probably insulting you too but in a sexy way.

insists on a dramatic health report each morning: “vital signs stable. vision slightly blurry. taste buds... gone. but still hot.”

tries to bribe ness to drink it for him one day. you catch him and double the dosage.

after a week, he starts posting selfies with #herbalhealing like he’s a lifestyle influencer.

says he hates it but starts sending you pinterest boards titled “tea aesthetic.”

itoshi rin

stares at the mug like it personally offended his ancestors.

you: “it’s good for your immune system.”

rin: “i’m not drinking grass clippings.”

refuses for three days straight. you finally wear him down by saying it’ll reduce cortisol/stress.

he drinks it. expression doesn’t change. not one twitch. you ask him how it is.

“… it’s wet.”

dramatic sigh. takes another sip like he’s at war.

“did you brew this in a pond?”

glares at the mug the whole time he drinks it. like he thinks it'll grow legs and fight him.

starts researching each ingredient. one day comes home with a list like, “you know licorice root can raise blood pressure, right?”

he still drinks it daily. never tells you why.

you catch him once making it himself when you’re not home. you say nothing. he pretends nothing happened.

itoshi sae

you hand him the mug with a cheerful “good morning!” and he just stares.

“why is it the color of swamp water.”

drinks it anyway. immediately gags like you slipped him poison.

“is this payback for something i did in a past life?”

says he’s gonna die every time he drinks it. clutches his throat like a victorian ghost.

“this is why i don’t eat vegetables. it always leads to this.”

puts it down dramatically and whispers, “bury me with my cleats.”

complains for 10 straight minutes, then asks, “… wait, what’s this good for again?”

next morning: already seated at the table with an empty mug.

“not saying i believe in your dirt tea, but i didn’t need a nap during my training break today. that’s progress.”

texts you “bring the juice” every morning like you’re his shady herbal dealer.

still makes fun of it. calls it “potion of pain.” but you catch him once calling his teammate "weak" for not drinking his girlfriend's tea.

he’s a silent believer. with attitude.

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ludwigplayingthetrombone · 1 year ago

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Post war/coma comic about Gai struggling with his recovery

Since tumblr hates long form comics, I have to split this into 2 bc its 36 images. This is the first part, part 2 i'll either do as a reblog or a separate post right after this, stay tuned! Links to support me in pinned post <3

tw: s*icidal thoughts, injury, a little blood

Bisuke: Gai's Back!

Gai: GRAAH!

Kks: Im home Gai: Welcome back Kks: [wheels rolling] Hey,

Kks: Ga-!? Gai: Im fine. The tile is cool on my face. Kks: Wanna go lay down in bed? Gai: I am so /sick/ of lying down. Kks: Ok. What do you want for supper?

Gai: You're not going to comment? Kks: I already know what happened. You overdid it again. I should be able to keep up with chores, kakashi. Kks: You can. Just don' bull through it all in one go. Do you want to end up in the hospital again? Gai: Please don't. Kks: I know sitting still is hard for you, and "too much" is in your DNA, but you have to take this slow so you don't exacerbate your injuries, Gai. You went from hyper-aware to pretending your body limits dont exist. Gai: Like you haven't done the same.

Gai: You've proved your point. Kks: It's not about that. And you've dragged me to bed and out of bed repeatedly when I needed it. You were burning alive from the inside. Tsunade told you your immune system is out of whack. You need to take it easy. /I/ know you're capable, but are you trying to prove to /yourself/ you are? Gai: You want me to admit my embarrassment? Kks: If something serioud happens, You'll be even more embarrassed then

Gai: How could you possibly know how I FEEL?! How could you EVER KNOW HOW I FEEL?! Kks: I DON'T! But I've /been/ the one ouking and sobbing on your bathroom floor because I couldn't take living anymore! And I don't want that for YOU!

Kks: I'm sorry, Gai. Gai: I'm sorry

Kks: I can't stand knowing you're in pain, and I can't get you help. If there was a way, I'd do anything. Gai: You do so much to help me already.... And I yelled at you Kks: I've screamed at you so much, that was pretty tame. I wish I was like you with things like this. Not great with what to say...... But I can listen.

Gai: I hate feeling so weak. I'm tired all the time, in constant pain, I can't even walk-..... I can tell tenten and the boys worry despite my efforts to appear positive. Kks: They're just not sure how to react. They know you hate being babied, but don't want to push you into hurting yourself. You hate being told you can't do something. They love you. You get stronger everyday, everyone is cheering you on.

Gai: I know it's irrational, but... I feel like you gave up the Hokage position to take care of me. Kks: Haa!? I'm grateful if anything. I'd be retired too if I could. That'd be amazing. I'm dreading just helping Tsunade but as long as you're by my side, I'll be fine. We're still equals, rivals, friends, partners

Gai: Even if I can't- Kks: /Always/ wil be, dickhead. Gai: You worry about me hurting myself? Kks: I know you think about it

Kks: We're the same in that regard Gai: I would never act on this, please believe me, these thoughts are rare........... Kks: It's ok, Gai. Gai: Sometimes I think i should have just died. I feel so out of place on the streets I used to feel so at home at. I never asked to live. I didn't plan to. I just don't know how to-...

Kks: I understand that. Though, dying didn't feel any better. Gai: I know I didn't fully pass like you did. I didn't see papa. Just for a moment, I wish I could have seen him.

Kks: As much as I'm sure he wants to see you again, It's too soon. Dai'd slap the shit out of you for wanting to waste your youth just to see him. Gai: [chuckle] probably. Kks: I have those thoughts less and less now, but they're still there. "why am I the one who survives?" "Burden" "Gai will come to his senses eventually"

Gai: FALSE!! None of my grief is with you! I love living here with you! My love for you only burns hotter each day! You're so lovely inside and out! Kks: Maa What did I do to deserve such praise from teh mouth of the hottest man in Konoha?? Gai: YOU STILL THINK I'M HOT?! Kks: YOU-! [CACKLE]

Kks: Your bad taste is the only reason I had a chance before someone snatched you up. Gai: The worst. Kks: Thought we'd irritate eachother, but it's been pretty smooth. Even though you still get played by the dogs. Gai: You really wanna throw those stones?

Gai: They play you just as easily. don't lie. Kks: My point is, whatever you need from me, you have it. No questions asked. Even if you yell and scream, i can take it. You held me together when I was unraveling, and I'll never forget it. Didn't trust anyone else to see me like that. Broken

Gai: I never saw you as that. Kks: I'll never see you as that

#kakagai #kakashi hatake #maito gai #naruto #my art #team gai #tenzou yamato #angst

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kunasthiast · 21 days ago

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Yo! My two braincells keep thinking of how Sukuna would keep telling his girl to just remember her rainjacket as its gonna rain but she keeps brushing him off "Nah Im not gonna melt! I can handle it!."

Then end of day walks in soaked and running a fever🤣.

Last words of his before she passes out on the couch was "Told you to just take your rainjacket and umbrella...dumbass."

Yet he still loves her lol.

I adore your work and followed you!!!

okkk first of all tHIS IS SO CUTE !!! ty for sharing this with me omg i’m obsessed !! sukuna absolutely would nag about that damn rainjacket like it’s a life or death mission and then still be the one making soup and drying your hair with all the love in his black little heart 😭💔

hope u don't mind that i HAD to do a little ficlet for it (tysm for following too ily!! xx) belowwww:

“baby, bring your rainjacket.”

“it's just drizzle, 'kuna.”

he glares at you from the driver’s seat. “did you even check the weather?”

you lean over, kiss him on the cheek. “no worries, my tingles say it's gonna shine later. i’ll text when to pick me up.”

“i swear to god—”

“'kay, thanks, babe! love ya!”

sukuna slaps the steering wheel as you slam the car door and bolt.

this godforsaken pilates gym.

it’s your mom’s friend’s studio, and it’s halfway up a fucking hill like it’s trying to escape capitalism. a ten-minute stair climb, one way in, one way out. no drive-thru. no shelter. just stairs. and leg day.

you don’t even glance at the clouds.

one hour later.

you text sukuna “pick me up in 15 ily” with ✌️ and 💦 emojis.

and yes, you're already soaked.

he gets there five minutes late and sees you walking down the stone steps like a wet paper towel in human form. your leggings are clinging. your hair’s dripping. your face says “i’m fine.” and your immune system says “perish.”

“jesus christ,” he mutters, throwing the passenger door open. “you’re dying.”

“i’m FINE,” you rasp, crawling in like a wet cat. “i’m totally good.”

“you look like a drowned church rat.”

“okay rude,” you sniff. “but like...kinda.”

“i told you. i told you to bring that fucking jacket, dumbass.”

“yeah well,” you mumble, curling into the seat, “those are for cowards.”

he hits the gas. “and now you’re sick and stupid.”

“shut up.”

he rolls his eyes so hard it should’ve been audible, one hand already cranking the heater toward you.

“next time i’m shoving that damn jacket in your bag myself.”

you sniff, already curling up like a sick little croissant (what even is that visual ?? just a soaked croissant ??!).

“love you too, sunshine,” he mutters.

"you're too bossy," you retorted.

“tch, shut up and sneeze in the other direction.” as he continues driving back to your house.

a/n: hasdhsahda lol sorry this is not proofread but that idea was just so cute tysm again <3333

#– nikka q&a #– nikka tots #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #au sukuna #sukuna x you #husband sukuna #sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #writing #not proofread lolz

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namelessgakusei · 2 months ago

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EXTRA EP. ANDERS

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. No beta we die like Gaku's immune system. Canon divergent. Childhood Abuse.

EP 3.3 And pull the trigger (prev.)

EP. 4.1 Belief and Perception (cont.)

Synopsis: A man who's just trying to live a good life, ends up getting a visit from a ghost of a rabbit.

He never thought he'll see him again, not after all these years.

Ever since his disappearance, Anders returned on being the punching bag of that family. Well, it's barely one in the first place. It's masquerading as a foster home on the outside, but the inhabitants are far worse abusers than the people he was previously with.

He remembers that boy's arrival, clutching a book of Alice in Wonderland, alongside his own personal belongings, or what little he has. The social worker who brought him smiled as he talked about the boy, and Anders' "parents" were all too eager to accept a new child. His "siblings" wrestled at the background while he peeks from a corner, knowing all too well on what fate befalls his new brother. And with the looks of it, he won't last.

It didn't took long for the family's true colors to show up. The children continued to jeer and destroy his things, and whenever he calls for help from the parents, he gets slapped and violently pushed around. It's a mess. It's a place that no child should be, but what choice do they have?

Anders tried to fight back in the past too, continuously calling for social services for help, pleading his situation, yet not a single one actually listened, brushing off his cries with a scowl, saying that there's more important stuff to do than move him to another family.

That was enough for a child to realize that there won't be any hope for him in this life.

Still, despite it all, he found genuine camaraderie with his new brother. They're both quiet, meek, and kept to themselves, but shared precious moments together. Anders remembers him as a boy who possesses such brilliant mind, able to tinker on things and create something new from scraps, that's how the both of them were able to keep toys even if everything was taken by their other brothers.

Despite the pain in living in such a household, it was a bearable since they had each other.

That's how it should've been. They should be supporting each other. Be there whenever the other is hurting. Protect one another—

—If only he wasn't such a coward.

Whenever their siblings bully the boy, all Anders can do is watch, afraid that once he steps in, he'll also be dragged into it. After years of living with that family, this is the only time where he wasn't being targeted. The fear of being subjected to their violence once again runs cold within his body, making him turn away whenever his brother asks for help.

Of course, he tried making it up to him by tending to his wounds during the late hours of night, apologizing with a trembling voice. The boy only smiled, through bruises and cuts, assuring that he doesn't hold a grudge. It doesn't make him any less guilty with that.

Those days continued for quite some time, spent with each other's presence as they endure their living conditions, knowing that they have no one else to turn to. The boy frequently reads Alice to him, saying that it would be nice if a rabbit hole were to appear that leads to Wonderland, providing an escape for the both of them. It's a fantasy, a delusion, something to grasp on in their hopeless situation.

Neither of them expected for it to come true one night.

It was the usual instance where they fled to the emergency stairs to hide from their family, snuggled together for warmth as the boy reads the storybook out loud. That's when it happened. That purple light appeared.

The air blew violently at the alley, and down at the ground, the air crackled and trembled. Curiosity got the better of the boy, despite Anders' calls for him to get back up the stairs, and approached the source of the light. Purple electricity shot up from the shard-like hole that grew exponentially in size, before a shockwave nearly knocks him out.

When the boy opened his eyes, another realm waits beyond the unstable portal. A rabbit hole for him to fall into, to escape from his reality, and onto Wonderland. He clutches his book on his hands and looks up at Anders who remained on the staircase, silently asking for him to come with.

But Anders is a coward.

So, the boy went, alone, with his storybook in hand. And Anders was left atop that flight of stairs, staring at the alley that had long since went silent. He never saw the boy since.

His life after that is comparable to a living nightmare. The family blamed him for the boy's disappearance, and he received the end of their abuse again after so many months. The young Anders then thought, if this is his punishment for all those times he looked away whenever his brother was mistreated; if so, he'll accept it wholeheartedly, as to atone for not being there for him when it mattered.

No more shall he turn away whenever someone is in need of help. He may be a weak child, but something changed in him that day. He learned how to take hits, pick up cues, meditate fights without him getting physically involved; everything that he should've done for him, Anders did.

That's how he lived up until now. The moment he was able to move out of that place, he lived an active life. He's the neighborhood helper, someone who's happy to even fix someone's rickety faucet for them, someone that people can depend on. Not once did he refuse people in need of assistance, earning him quite the reputation of a respectable man. Well, that's also how he met his wife in the process.

They lived a quiet life, blessed with two daughters to love, and Anders swore to be the best father that he can be, someone that his family will be proud of. He'll never do anything akin to how he was treated as a child, no. He'll provide for them with the best of his abilities, and give them the childhood they deserve, not like what he missed.

Everything was going smoothly for the first time in his life, it's as if his past was merely a dream, something to forget and move on about. He's got a new life now, loved ones to take care of, and a home to go back to. That's why he didn't hesitate to accept a job in the military, as it has a stable income and great benefits for his family; besides, like the recruiter said, he can help serve the country this way.

What he didn't expect are demons in this line of job. Terrorists? Sure. Criminals? Yeah. But actual, supernatural beings? They're— they don't exist— they—

His whole team was wiped out before he knew it. They were sent by the Vice President to go track and capture a White Rabbit, warned that it's dangerous and should be contained immediately, bringing confusion on him upon receiving such orders. Since when are rabbits dangerous?

He expected bad people, like those who tormented him in the past, not the monsters who stood in front of his battered body. Will he die here? Surrounded by his comrades in a dingy building, killed by creatures that were just myths up until now? He can't! He has a home to go back to! He has a family to take care of! He'll crawl out of this half dead if he has to!

The sound of his name stopped his movements, the voice of someone long gone echoed in the room, all from the target he was supposed to apprehend.

The White Rabbit.

In any other circumstances, Anders would've been elated to see what he witnessed, but this isn't anything normal. The brother he once lost now grins manically at him, revealing himself to be the deadly rabbit who infused himself with demon blood, becoming something that is neither human nor monster. But despite it all, Anders can still see the boy he grew up with, beyond the monstrosity that now breathes on this neck.

He was spared. He doesn't know if it's because he's a convenient person or if the boy— the White Rabbit, still has some lingering affection for him. Needless to say, he's still alive for a reason, to act as a double agent for the demons. That he can do, to spy on the government to help his family. No matter what happens, no matter how much he strongly feels against this, Anders can't turn his back on his family. Not again.

That's how he ended up as the newest member of the DARKCOM special ops, God has tested him and was proven worthy, the vice president says. He's sure that the man has a few screw loose, but he isn't going to complain. He'll be an obedient soldier, one that is known to have survived the White Rabbit and lived to fight alongside humanity against him, all for his brother.

Surely this is the right thing, as after a while, his brother explained his motives and goals. The Makaians are living in a dangerous world, and the Earth is the only hope for them should they wish to live. That situation tugs within Anders' heart, as it is the exact scenario that happened between the two of them all those years ago. It's unfair, and he sympathizes with their predicament. His feelings got cemented when he met them in real life, coming face to face with the humanoid demons, who are just like normal people trying to get by.

Anders felt bad.

His tasks were fairly simple, leak information about DARKCOM and make sure to get some kid's amulet in the process. That he can do, he's considered next to harmless after all, with all his jitters and nervousness, no one will suspect him of anything. He can do this, for his family.

For his family, he keeps insisting. For Anders holds onto a foolish hope that once his brother finishes what he wants to do, he'll join his family and then they'll be able to live together happily ever after. He has faith, God has tested him, didn't he? Things will be just fine.

Until it wasn't.

That night, Lieutenant Arkham caught two individuals, one being the boy who owns the amulet he needs and the other being their friend. He watched them writhe in confusion over the potent sleeping gas, agitated about the situation. They're his targets and yet... this doesn't feel right. She claims that the boy is half demon, and therefore had to resort to such precautions. But, no matter how you look at those two, they're kids...!

He knows his mission well and he's not going to jeopardize it by saying something out of the line. All he needs to do is to grab the amulet during the transfer of prisoners and he's good to go. He'll just ask his brother to take care of those two, as since Dante is a demon, surely his brother will take him in alongside his friend.

But then you just had to make him hesitate.

You plead your case, saying that you've been beaten pretty badly, and that it's unfair. You look at him with those eyes that made all those repressed memories of his childhood resurface. This isn't right... It's unfair! You're just kids! You shouldn't be subjected to this cruelty! All they need is the necklace, so why hurt you two?!

There's a device that Lieutenant Arkham has, that controls your restraints.

She's pretty lax by his side as he drives through the highway, oblivious to the storm that's brewing inside Anders' mind. It's okay, this is fine, lower your guard... Then we'll finally accomplish our plan...

The traffic came as expected, with the signal for him to get out of the vehicle being given to avoid getting involved in the chaos that is soon to happen. While the lady was distracted, he grabbed the chance to steal the device, mentally taking note of freeing the both of you later. He can't help it, whenever he looks at the two of you, he thinks of his daughters back home, and that just adds to the chaos inside his mind.

The attack happened as planned, and Anders' rushed to the van that Dr. Fisher was at, studying the amulet. This is his chance, if he does this correctly, no one has to get hurt...! No one should, but...

Why did his brother kill the doctor?

Huh?

His brother— no, the White Rabbit approaches him with a bloody sword, saying something about making "it" believable, before stabbing him on the shoulder. Anders yells in pain, grabbing his arm as he is dragged out of the vehicle, thrown to the rough asphalt as he bleeds out. He doesn't understand... Why do this? All they needed was the amulet... Why kill people?! Why...

He saw you from across the street, hiding with Dante and the informant as more demons appeared. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he does know one thing. You.

You, despite being with a demon all this time, have managed to stay true to yourself. No matter how much you've been through, not once did he see you falter. That's something that he wishes he had... Then perhaps none of this would've happened.

Anders deactivated your restraints, knowing that you'll come rushing to him once you're free due to your briefcase being in his possession. It's presumptuous, it's foolish, he isn't sure if he can trust you nor if you could understand him in his delirium.

But he's entrusting everything to you.

"There are more in the warehouse."

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye @that-dumb-bitch @sleepykittycx @sidewalkenforcer @devil-might-sob

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #devil may cry x reader insert #dmc x reader insert #gaku's works!#devil may cry netflix #devil may cry anders #anders #devil may cry netflix anders #dmc netflix #dmc netflix anders #dmc anders

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lexithwrites · 11 months ago

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some moonwater nsfw for fun:

“Have you heard from Remus today?” Peter asked, fiddling with his keys as James bent down to tie his laces tighter. The last thing he needed was to eat shit on the way to the pub. Sirius would never let him live that down.

“He said he wasn’t feeling social,” James told him, “you know how he is. Prefers staying in.” They both glanced down the hall to Remus’ room, hoping he was feeling better.

“Should we ask him if he wants paracetamol or something? What if he has a cold? What if it spreads!?” Peter’s eyes went wide but James just snorted.

“Pete, you have the best immune system out of any of us, chill.”

“But I could be a carrier!”

“You’ll be fine, I promise.” James sighed as he stood up right. “Don’t bother Remus, leave him be.” James patted his back and nodded to the door, leaving Peter little chance to turn back now.

“Fine, but I’m buying him some tissues if he starts sneezing.” And they shut the door.

Silence.

A moan.

“Remus, they could still hear—“ Regulus gasped when he felt Remus rub deeper inside him and he slapped a hand over his mouth again, muffling the groan. Remus, lying across his back and looming over him, panted into Regulus’ ear.

“They can’t hear you…promise…please let it out, I want to hear you.” He nuzzled Regulus’ neck and his boyfriend sighed, letting his eyes roll back as Remus’ rocked his hips down. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Mhm.”

“Love.”

“Yes!” Regulus pulled his hands away to grip the sheets, fisting them as Remus reached places inside him he’d never felt before. “Oh god, you’re so deep—“

“I know, I know.” Remus pushed his nose against Regulus’ cheek and groaned. “I’m close.”

“Me too.” Regulus turned his head a little and pulled Remus down by his hair for a kiss, making him buck his hips hard. “Come on, puppy.”

“Oh—“ Remus’ snapped his hips forward again. “I’ll cum if you call me that.”

“Good.” Regulus smiled and Remus couldn’t resist him when he smiled. It felt too good, and being called puppy…it melted him. He moaned and gripped onto his boyfriends hips, fucking him into the mattress properly now that the others were gone. They’d silently been lying like this for almost ten minutes whilst James and Peter tottered about getting ready, and it had been almost impossible to not pound Regulus with how much he had been tightening around him. The fear of getting caught somehow turned him on, and Remus wasn’t complaining.

He liked the thrill of it too.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum—“ Regulus choked out from beneath him and Remus bit his lip as he fucked him a little harder, wanting to feel him go over that edge.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He mumbled and groaned as he felt Regulus start to cum, which immediately triggered his own orgasm. They moved together, rocking and shaking as they slowly came down. Remus’ arms were struggling with his weight and Regulus smiled, gently tugging him back down so he was lying on him again.

“Feel better?” He teased, referring to his friends conversation. Remus chuckled, kissing across Regulus’ shoulders and neck.

“You’re evil.”

“I’m convincing.”

“Fucking when my friends are here is dangerous, you know.” Remus pointed out.

“Like they don’t get laid.”

“They do, but we’re louder.” Remus nipped Regulus’ ear to hear him sigh.

“You are, maybe. I can control myself.” Regulus leaned up for a kiss, knowing Remus would take that as a challenge.

What could he say? He was competitive by nature.

#this was the bad smut I was talking about lmao #but enjoy anyway #the marauders #remus lupin #regulus black #moonseeker #moonwater #remreg #remus x regulus #regulus x remus #portfolio

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brights-place · 4 months ago

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Hi, Bright! I know I haven't requested in a while but I wanted to revisit your amazing writing. I'm sick as hell at the moment and would love some romantic comfort from Jade, Malleus, and oddly enough Mettaton--

Thank you so much, my friend! Have an amazing day! *Off I go to die of a headache and possible fever- 😭

[TWST + UNDERTALE] Jade & Malleus & Mettaton x Sick! Reader (separate) Warnings: Fluff, Romantic comfort, Sick! reader, illness, vomiting, cursing, JADE LEECH A/N: HELLO!! I hope you do get better lovely! Make sure to rest, eat and drink properly and divider credits to @/murahaul I also think I half assed these tbh because I paused midway through having to head out before coming back to write these BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE THEM?! especially mettaton cause I haven't ever written for him but I loved his character in the game soo much

Summary: Romantic comfort from Jade, Malleus, and oddly enough Mettaton

- Jade would 100% smile at you entertained at how pathetic you look

- For Merpeople they don't get sick, unlike humans.

- However, they can be infected if they come across a sick land dweller and can spread it to other Merpeople but it would be gone like it never existed

- Since Jade was transformed into a human he would get sick every now and then but would have quite a great immune system after awhile but here he was hovering over your bed staring down at you

- Your body laid in bundle of blankets red faced and tired with sweat dripping from your temple staring up to your boyfriend who smiled down on you

- "My I can get Azul to-" "Jade... I will throttle you if you try to get me to sign a contract to get better" "It was only just a suggestion"

- Silence filled the room as the door closed leaving you to sigh thinking you were left alone before hearing the door open again with Jade holding up a drink and some medication

- The whole time Jade would tease you as he helped you sit up drink water and take care of you as you were sick

- Jade sighed as he cupped your face a unfamillar softness in his eyes as he spoke "You know-" "Jade I swear-" your hand reached out to cover your mouth gagging causing Jade to quickly get a bucket and place it near your bed patting your back as he winced at how you spewed your guts into the bucket.

- He tilted his head checking her forehead lips pursed “you're burning up.” he sighed before after giving you more water to drink pampering you

- He pushed you onto your back and made sure you were completely covered and comfortable

- As you laid in bed, your face staring at the ceiling muttering a small thank you, Jade smiled softly sitting by your side taking care of you with the softest of smiles his sharp teeth peeking out as he giggled at how you slapped his hand away once more when he went to squish your face

- Fae's have a strong immune system so getting sick was quite rare so with how he was hovering over you worrying over small coughs, or slight sniffle, has him looking at you with slight panic yet kept on trying to persuade to heal you yet he was always met with you bapping his face

- Malleus hummed as he was poking your cheek with his clawed nail for a couple seconds watching your face squish as you whined tiredly

- "Are you dying?" "No I'm sick" "Oh..."

- unfortunately the flu in twisted wonderland was something that you haven't adapted to so here you were laying in bed

- You felt so cold body shivering even under the blankets sweat clinging onto your skin yet at the same time your entire body was overheating

- Malleus paused as he stared down at your face before speaking "Child of man I can help you by-" "If you try to use magic on me Malleus I swear to fucking god that I will shake your shoulders aggressively" A small hum came from malleus waving off his partners threat

- After bothering silver to learn how to take care of sick people absolutely ignoring lilia is offering to make you soup so here was the dragon fae smiling at you

- Malleus regularly wakes you up between naps giving you an apologetic look handing you a soup that he was given by Silver for you as he sat with you playing with your hair smiling softly before flinching at how you nearly sneezed onto him as he vanished from his spot to the other side of you seeing how you sneezed at where he was

- Lightning hitting the background as he stared at you "*sniff* sorry" "How come your sneeze sent off my senses... Child of man how do you do that"

- He does everything in his path to keep your fever down

- He checks up on you constantly hand to check your temperature while pressing cold towers on your body and giving you water to drink handing you your medication as he caressed your hair slightly enjoying the fact of taking care of you..

- Mettaton would also be staring at you with a baffled expression the moment you did a dad sneeze face contourting into disgust. He's a robot with a soul he doesn't get sick but oh god...

- "Honey... Sorry I feel abit sick..." A cough came from your throat rolling on your side staring at your partner as he bent down and smiled lifting up your chin with his finger at your flushed and sweaty face "Awww your so cute-" You smiled lazily at him before Mettaton noticed how you sniffled mouth opening slightly before he darted to the other side of the room when he heard the loud noise of another sneeze

- The way his soul left his robot shell was crazy at the fact you nearly sneezed on HIM yeah he stepped back staring at you hands up before changing into his Initial form rolling away

- You couldn't help but sigh laying your head back onto your bed too cold yet too hot heaving tiredly before you fell asleep

- A sudden softness was placed on your forehead causing your body to twitch opening your eyes, your vision unblurred seeing a certain black haired male with pink streaks staring at you

- "You look beautiful" your voice croaky as he smirked posing "awww even when your sick you praise me I mean who wouldn't-" he froze before helping you sit up to drink some water when reminding himself of how you were the one that needed to be pampered

- He couldn't help but sigh "Human are so weak" he smiled pecking your cheek as you relaxed at the cold metal that touched your cheek before he pulled away

- Mettaton sighed dramatically checking your temperature with worry not knowing a wretched feeling came from your throat as you covered your mouth before reaching out with shaky heads to the bucket beside you which Mettaton had to help console you by rubbing your shoulders as he winced at the noises of things hitting the bucket

- Handing you a glass cup Mettaton sighed applying one more kiss on your cheek noting down that he'd still have to get the hang of a human partner

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fandomfluffandfuck · 6 months ago

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Concept: Completely, disarmingly charming, smooth, and slick-tongued Bucky who's the perfect, well-mannered gentleman with everyone... except for Steve.

Bucky is the polished shoes, slicked back hair, close-shaven, and buttoned-up dreamboat that any gal would wanna take home to momma. Or, at least, he seems that way around everyone. His Ma never has any complaints about his behavior. She never has to remind him to do his chores or help with his sisters. His teachers fall in love with such a little gentleman, pointing to him as the model student. The fellas at the docks think he's no fun, snickers from dirty jokes fading when he comes within earshot. And the gals he strings along on dates don't even care that he takes so many girls out. He's just that sweet and caring and, well, look at that face. Nobody can say no to that face. A face like that gets a girl's heart racing. Yet. There's always Steve.

Steve.

With Steve, Bucky is--and there's no other way to say it--foul mouthed.

Steve tells Bucky again and again that he's a dirty minded bastard; he doesn't tell anyone else that, though, but that's because Steve's smarter than he looks, and he knows no one would believe him if he told them so.

Bucky's filthy mouth is to the point that Steve has to slap a hand over Bucky's mouth to get him to shut up some of the time. He's incessant, going on and on about the filthy things he wants to do to him, whispering in his good ear, nibbling the flushed-hot shell of his ear, kissing lushly down the side of his neck, licking across his sharp collarbones, and using those big eyes and soft mouth for evil, a.k.a. convincing Steve to do anything he wants. Everything he wants. It's all bad enough to make the seediest back alley, boys-boy blush.

Steve has no idea where he gets his ideas.

They're always fresh. New and newly filthy. He steals the breath out of his thin chest, he makes his slow, cold blood run hot, he gives Steve fevers that have nothing to do with his piss-poor immune system.

And.

By God, does it only get worse when they're out on the front and Steve's got the serum. Steve thought the war and dire times might dampen Bucky's dirty mouth. It doesn't. Maybe it's being surrounded by men who openly talk like dogs all the time. Maybe it's his new body. Maybe it's the franticness of the entire precarious situation. Whatever the reason, it's bad, Bucky talks and talks, during the day he murmurs under his breath, just enough for Steve to hear, and at night he tells him in their tent, stolen moments at night, conserving energy by pressing their fiery bodies together underneath both their bedrolls, breath hanging like fog in the air, the rasp of his filthy words so unspeakably arousing that Steve thinks he might finish without a finger laid between his clenching, trembling legs--

He talks so damn much.

With his throat constricting around a whimper, Steve doesn't know if he should beg him to stick a sock in it, for once in his life, or if he should beg for him to please please please keep going.

Don't stop. Stop. Don't stop talking about the filthy things he wants to do to him with his big--fucking huge--dick, his hot-as-shit cum gutters, his gorgeous thighs, his hulking muscles everywhere yet his tight little wasp-waist, his sculpted ass, his meaty hands, his everything. Don't. Do.

Ugh.

Squirming in his makeshift bed, sweating through all their covers in the piercing cold, Steve's gonna get killed by Bucky before the war touches a hair on his head. Especially when Bucky looks at it as if it isn't his problem, it's actually Steve's because if he didn't blush like that while remaining immune to his gentlemanly courtship, then Bucky could be normal over him. That way, he could tell him sweet nothings and croon at him and buy him flowers. He wouldn't have to resort to telling him how he wants to sink his teeth into the pillows of his fuckin' tits. Bucky's perfectly innocent here!

#fandomfluffandfuck #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #fic

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ahhnini · 9 months ago

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imagine soft domestic life with rafe

warnings - suggestive, not proofread!

okay okay so you two would live in a little cottage on the outskirts of north carolina. rafe absolutely dreaded the idea at first, wanting to buy a house on the island. after a while, you both came to a compromise; you’d buy a house outside of the outer banks, but stay in the state. all you had to do was buy a ferry ticket if you’d want to visit family!

here you are, baking cookies in the quaint kitchen. you hear rafe’s footsteps and you smile softly as you kneed the cookie dough with a roller. you watch as he rips a piece of cookie dough and puts it in his mouth, sighing at the sweetness. you roll your eyes, slapping his hand when he tries to take another piece, “i’ve already added the egg, don’t want you to get sick,” he lowly chuckles, licking his fingers. “nah, its good, I got a strong immune system,” “I don’t think that’s how that works.” “that’s totally how that works, baby,” he pushes a stray hair that fell on your face, eyes looking down at your pursed lips. “eyes up here.” he lightly scoffs, sitting down on the counter, “rafe, what are you doing?” you lightly chuckle, placing the cookies into the oven. you press a couple of buttons, feeling slight heat radiate off the oven.

“i’ve missed you,” he says softly, blue eyes softening. you walk towards him on the counter, holding both of his hands. he gets off, large frame towering over you. “but you see me everyday, every hour almost,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. he leans in, lips almost touching yours, “it’s not enough…I need to be with you every minute,” he seals your lips with a kiss, pulling your body towards his.

quickly, he spins you around, setting you on top of the counter while his lips remain on yours. he lifts you from the back of your thighs and carries you to the bedroom, cookies burnt and long forgotten.

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

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hyusun · 1 month ago

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🌻 - 39.4 Degrees of Stupid - L.HC

Pairing: roommate!Haechan x yn

Genre: fluff, slow-burn ???

Warning : fever and snotty nose, rain/storm

Vibe : haechan ran through the rain after finals just to catch a game session , and ended up with a 39.4 degree fever and a blocked nose. yn, his unlucky roommate, spends her day off nursing him back to life and sanity. It’s chaotic, exhausting... and maybe a little bit sweet in the end.

The rain came down like grief-thick, endless, humming against windows and rooftops like the world was trying to cry out everything finals had wrung from your bones. You’d barely collapsed face-first into your bed, hoping to sleep away the academic carnage, when the front door slammed open like a thunderclap.

A soaked figure exploded into the apartment, trailing puddles and chaos in his wake, like some tragic Shakespearean fool who fought nature and lost.

And, of course, it was Haechan.

Your beloved, stupid housemate. Drenched to the bone. Hoodie plastered to his skin like betrayal, sneakers squelching with every dramatic step as he announced his arrival like a war hero returning from battle.

You didn't even lift your head from the couch.

“Why are you wet?” you called out, deadpan, too emotionally bankrupt to deal with his nonsense.

“I had to run!” he shouted, breathless, triumphant, utterly insane. “My ranked game session started in ten minutes!”

You rolled over just enough to glare. “You ran through a monsoon. For pixels.”

“They’re competitive pixels. It was my post-finals treat!”

“Your immune system is not going to treat you.”

But he waved you off, water still dripping from his sleeves, tracking a trail of regret all the way to his bedroom. You made a mental note to let natural selection do its thing.

But nature works fast.

By the next morning, your phone buzzed with a single dramatic message: “I’m dying. Bring water. And love. Mostly water.”

And when you dragged yourself out of bed and into the living room, what you found was not a man, but a melting popsicle of blankets and tissues. Haechan lay half-buried on the couch, nose red, cheeks flushed, fever blazing high enough you could feel the heat radiating from him like he was auditioning for the role of ‘Human Stove.’

He looked up at you with the wheezy pride of someone who made a dumb decision and refused to regret it. “It’s not that bad,” he said, voice sounding like a kazoo underwater. “I’m thriving.”

“You’re fermenting,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Your fever could boil soup.”

He sniffled violently. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You ran through a thunderstorm to play League, Haechan.”

“It was a team game.”

He gasped, actually gasped—like you’d slapped him with a wet sock. “How dare—” But his righteous wail was immediately swallowed by a rapid-fire sneezing fit that sounded like a dying trumpet and shook the tissue box on his chest.

You didn’t even flinch. Just calmly handed him another tissue like this was your normal Thursday. A beat passes, and silence drapes over you both like a second comforter. Just as sleep begins to pull him under, you hear it—soft, barely audible.

“Thanks, yn... If I die, you get my gaming chair.”

You slapped a cold compress on his forehead, no gentleness spared, and when he whimpered, you rolled your eyes and adjusted the blanket around him. You were supposed to be doing nothing today. Catching up on sleep. Watching trashy variety shows. But no,your birdbrain roommate had turned your one peaceful day off into a medical emergency wrapped in fleece.

Still, when his hand twitched slightly and he shifted to lean into your touch, something inside you softened. Maybe it was the fever. Maybe it was the way his lashes fluttered every time you checked his temperature. Maybe it was because you were hopeless.

You spent the day beside him, nursing him like some reluctant Florence Nightingale with a grudge. You cooked him porridge while he dramatically insisted he was “withering.” You force-fed him vitamin C and wiped his sweat away while he tried to flirt between coughs.

At one point, you caught him staring at you with that hazy, fever-glazed look, quiet, almost reverent.

"You have nice hands," he murmured, like it was a secret.

You froze mid-spoon.

"And a nice heart," he added, lips chapped and clumsy. "And maybe a nice face, but I can’t really see you clearly.”

You blinked.

He blinked.

Then promptly sneezed into a tissue with the force of a hurricane.

“Moment ruined,” you muttered.

“I regret nothing,” he mumbled, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips like he hadn’t just nearly given himself pneumonia for a ranked match.

By early evening, he finally fell into a deep sleep. The rain outside had softened into a gentle hush, like the sky was finally letting go. You sat beside him beside the couch, half-dozing, your fingers still loosely wrapped around his wrist as if guarding him from any more of his own decisions. His fever had finally dipped. His breathing had slowed. And in that quiet, something delicate bloomed in the silence.

Later, just as the world was starting to settle into the night, you felt him stir. His eyes fluttered open, slow and dazed, landing on you with a softness that felt new. He looked at the blanket wrapped around him. By the way your head had tilted slightly off the couch. At your hand, still resting gently against his.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice rough like sandpaper but gentler than you’d ever heard it. “Thanks for today.”

You didn’t answer,too tired, too close to falling asleep yourself.

But he kept speaking, his words barely above breath, fragile like paper.

“Stay close. Even when I’m not dying next time.”

You could’ve made a joke. Could’ve called him a dramatic little gremlin. Could’ve rolled your eyes.

Instead, you laced your fingers with his, and didn’t let go.

And outside, the rain finally stopped.

thank you so much for taking the time to read it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so any feedback is welcome! - 🌻 📌 💭 checkout my other delulus in the masterlist

#nct dream #haechan #haechan fanfic #haechan scenarios #haechan fluff

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the-midnight-blooms · 11 months ago

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HEAR A SIREN’S CALL | cjh

pairing: siren!choi jongho x fisher!reader AU: fantasy au word count: 4.6k

masterlist

Whatever you do, do not follow a Siren’s call. Its sweet voice may entice you, its looks may blind you. But to follow its heed, is to open your arms to the Angel of Death and say “Let me be your devotee.” To follow its call is to be marked by the Siren, forever.

The hypnotic beam of the ocean called for her in the dead of the night, where the dilapidating of her dwindling soul aided her quest to hunt for the food she was deprived of. It was the allure of the ocean too. Calling her name, its whispers sent a tantalising shiver down her spine, beckoning her. Magnetising her. Each of her limbs bowed to the sea, begging to feel the rush of the cacophonous tides slap against her skin. The spray of sea salt — a musk, she could get intoxicated on until the Angel of Death travelled to her from darkened lands.

Her fingers flipped over the dense pages, eyes scouring over reams of text and intricate drawings of the enigmatic creatures that harboured the sea, she sat on the floor of her boat, the barge settling upon the large expanse of the desolate sea. The moon hung serenely in the sky, the flickering of candles that penetrated the bleak homes had been blown out as sleep overtook the aching hearts of the townspeople. Over the past few weeks, the village had been struck with a shortage of food. Prices inflated as terrified fisherman refused to sail out into the sea and hunt for fish. It seemed the weather was equally aghast to the earth's aquarian- for a storm was brewing, the sky darkening into a stony grey, wind howling every night parrying against the wooden doors that were tightly locked, the metal hinges gripped onto the architraves for dear life. When she asked why they were so terrified, it was revealed that a daring fisherman had angered the Siren’s; thinking that a man was God and not made by him. Thinking that a Siren's land could easily be as colonised as one human colonised another. In turn their malevolent roars had burst his ear drums, their nails as sharp as knives impaled brutally into his supple flesh. With severed limbs, and gashes embroidered into his corpse, they had pushed back at the boat-rolling onto the port with poisoned fishes. A mockery. A warning, even.

Do not dare to anger a Siren. Its wrath exceeds boundaries that surpasses human imagination.

But the townspeople were wrought with hunger, starvation killing off the younger child with a weakened immune system that was simply pending on a trigger. Starvation had killed off her mother too, along with her father — who had in fact been taken by the sea itself. It was just her and her brother remaining, hungry and struggling to make ends meet with his measly job as a clerk. He had promised that when he’d conjured sufficient funds, they’d move to the city to forge a better life for themselves and she would, too, be able to work. Though that seemed impossible with the way that progression, in his line of work, was almost unattainable. Thus, with her already struggling to stand on her own two feet — she decided to take matters in her own hands. It seemed quite impulsive of her, but she had enough skill to fish for the whole economy- it was just the danger she needed to steer clear off. As long as she didn’t venture into their lands and cause a ruckus, she’d be fine. Right?

“What am I supposed to do? If I don't go out there then we'll both be dead by the end of the month.” She argued. He slumped deeper into the sofa, resting his head in his palms.

“I’m just going to have to travel to the nearest town and see what they have.”

“The nearest town is three hours away. How will you cope?”

“I’ll cope alright. You stay here, it’s too dangerous. If the Sirens don't take you, the sea will.” He patted her head, gingerly as if to console her. She hated the way she was confined to their small home, feeling helpless as every day her brother came back home with little pennies in his pocket. Despite her best efforts to convince him otherwise, she failed a number of times. It wasn't until he handed her all of the information she needed into the palm of her hand, that he had catalysed her venture out to the coast.

“The fishermen are thinking about going out to sea again.” Her ears perked up at the news, though she kept her gaze fixated to the chopping board as she sliced the vegetables. Flicking her eyes over to the stirring pot, she stirred the soup, before swiftly moving her hands for the chopping knife. Picking up the map settled beside him, he ambled to her side-leaning against the countertop. “Look. They’ve said that on the safe side, we won’t use the first and second harbour. We’ll have to use the Queen’s Harbour, but steer clear of this port instead.” Fixating her gaze on the map, she gave him a curt nod, reeling in the co-ordinates and committing as much as she could to memory — subtly moving forward as if she could not see the map clearly from where she stood.

“That’s good, but you should plan to make your trip anyway. They’ve been saying that for two weeks straight but nobody's been moving.” She advised. Agreeing with her - he grabbed the tin off the shelf, folding up the map neatly before placing it in. He went oblivious to the way her lips moved up and down as she poured his soup into the bowl dropping it in front of him. Before the dawn rose, she scuttled out of her bed — reaching for the tin on the shelf to steal the map.

Their fishing boat was not the largest among the array that sat proudly upon the shoal of the iridescent waves. It was ghostly white in colour, but perhaps the most meticulously cared for seeing that when their father had left it to their possession, he entrusted them to care of it. No matter how scarcely they went fishing. Throwing in her tools, she jumped into the boat, unravelling the ropes that tied the boat down to the docks. Hauling at the heavy oars, the barge drifted outwards towards the large expanse of the sea. She didn't travel too far out, considering the fish were mostly dense near the rocky shores. Moving out early was tactful too; grabbing the bait from the box, she pierced it to the end of the hook, slinging the line into the water.

Her luck was poor. The wind had gotten a lot colder picking up its pace, and she forgot her coat back at home in the rush of having to escape to the shore without being seen. With trembling limbs, she tried and tried again-growing tired and hungry yet all the fish seemed to have dispersed. Paddling out a little, she tried a number of areas yet she failed.

"Come on fishies. I gotta eat." She pleaded, turning the reel handle, the fly line drew up and out of the water. The hook was empty. With an exasperated sigh, melancholia flooded through her. Losing all hope, she wrapped away all of her equipment settling it to the side. One last time, she peered into the water, hoping to find a small aquarian shimmering beneath. Instead, she sought the silhouette of a much larger figure- flickers of a broad back with dark hair. A Siren?

“Come throw your heart into the waves

Your soul is lost, and still it saves

Drink me in and come undone”

A melodious voice permeated her ears, its hum serenading her blood, smoothing the flow of her palpitating heart. Its voice so eerily translucent, vibrating through her muscles, shimmering in the breeze as her hair fluttered delicately in the midnight sky. Her body paralysed to the spot, her skin itching to rip the fabric that clung to her like glue. At once, she lunged for the oars ignoring the intense rippling of the cerulean sea as she travelled the surface of the boat. Her arms rowed powerfully, as the waters rocked harshly against her. Panicked breaths escaped her, as she oared through the waters, the port in sight though tiredness gnawed at her aching muscles.

“Bring your body unto me”

Her eyes felt itself droop, her panicked breaths became eroticised by its seductive voice. She hated the bewitchment, she hated the way she wanted to feel its touch upon her cold, paling skin. Yet she persisted against her wild emotions, rowing and rowing. A shriek escaped her lips, as the boat rocked backwards upon a sudden weight. Paralysed to the spot, the saccharine hums edged closer. A shadow loomed above her, creeping down, its slender fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“My sweet girl, you’re so strong.” A masculine voice whispered, sending a shot of delirium through her. “Let me gift you, my dear.” A pearl necklace clasped itself around her neck. Her hands flung towards it immediately. Daringly, he pressed his lips to the gleam of her neck. Instantly, she snapped her head around and the enigmatic figure was gone, lost to the sea. As soon as she reached the port, she grabbed all the fishing tools and dashed back to her home. With the dawn slowly infiltrating the sky, she placed all of the tools into the shed, and traipsed back into her bedroom.

Catching her eyes in the mirror, the pearl necklace was coated with a silvery blue, glistening in the darkness of her room. Her hands slid to the back of her neck, in a desperate attempt to find the clasp. There was no clasp. Immediately, panic fulfilled her, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes. She’d just have to pull it off. Yet she could not, as she tried to tug at the pearls, the skin around her neck pulled violently. With a painful gasp, a weary sob eructed from her - flopping onto her bed she continued to bawl into the pillow.

She was marked by a Siren. There was no other possible explanation. Reaching for the book she'd thrown onto her bed, she frantically flipped through the pages. Looking for something, anything, on markings; their potentially symbolic meanings and how to get rid of them.

Siren's can mark humans in a multiple of ways. There are three key types of markings. A tattoo can simply mean the mark of death. Marking can also be through inhabiting sharp canines, longer nails even a tail which allows a Siren to share your body so it can walk freely across the lands. This is temporary, the markings can be removed safely. The last one is marking by what the Siren's call 'gifting'. This is mainly carried out by male Sirens, they often give their human counterparts gifts such as earrings, bracelets, necklaces.

On instinct her hands flew to her neck, where a string of pearls were embedded into her skin, the bumps sending a jolt of despair through her. It felt like a set of hands gripping around her neck. Her eyes shot back down to the book spread across the laps, patiently waiting for her brother's footsteps to stop loitering outside her door.

This is potentially one of the worst types of marking. This is the mark of 'love' where the Siren's now own the body of their lover. It is up to them to do what they wish, whether it be marriage, mating, slavery, a slow death. This mark can only be removed by the Siren itself.

"Where did you get that necklace?" Her brother pondered, the same evening as he came back from work. They sat opposite each other on the dining table, in the crook of their tiny kitchen.

"Oh, erm Mum's jewellery box." Giving her a sheepish smile, he turned back to his food.

"It looks nice, speaking of. One of our regular clients at work was asking about you. He saw that photo of you, me and Mum that we took last year." Humming as if she was paying attention, her spoon ran through the middle of her plate-playing with her food. Her ears had tuned out the sound of his voice as her eyes wandered out into the distance where the sea rested upon the crest of the shore. She had no choice but to go back, she needed to find the Siren who marked and get the wretched necklace of her neck. "Anyways, he's rich so I think you should marry him."

"Marry who?"

"San. We wouldn't have to worry about money again, plus he likes you." Her eyebrows creased in confusion, before huffing. He’d brought up the topic of marriage before, wanting his sister to be married to someone who could protect her better than him. Keep her safe and more comfortable than he ever could. In response, she’d tease him about having a wife- but he’d only shake his head saying he needed a lot more money and job security before settling down to start a family.

"Where did San come from?"

"Were you even listening to me?" He questioned with furrowed brows, wiping his hands with the napkin. Her silence provoked him to release a sigh of frustration, throwing the dirty tissue her way.

At night, she moved along the shore again — once again unravelling the ropes, setting out to sail. At first she had to wait for her brother to fall asleep, which seemed futile due to his incessant insomnia, which had him roaming around the home at merciless hours. The waters were eerily quiet, letting go of the oars, she got up, summoning as much courage as she had to peak over the side of the boat.

"Bring your body unto me."

A jostle of horror coursed through her veins, as a pair of hands gripped onto the hull. Aerial hums transgressed the cool air once more, his round face slowly arose from the water, big eyes captivating her — the curve of his cheeks and menacingly charming smile, that had her body swaying towards him. His skin was tinted with a light blue shade, his collarbones painted in a gleaning silver glitter. His bare chest triggered a warm flush to spread over her cheeks. Following the movements of his pink lips, she could not help herself as she leaned over the side of the boat to draw her hands closer to him.

"Let your graveyard be the sea, Come away and drink it in."

His large hands ensnared around her wrist, jerking her body over the side, a potent force sunk her under the tumultuous waves. Her lungs screeched for air, the blood inside sizzling as the Siren tightened his grip swimming towards the bed of the sea. Her mind in a haze, body: his, as she heeded to his command. The bewitching croons dispersed as they moved closer to bed; the roar of the wind, rushing of water, wind rippling the surface ached her ears. Before she knew it, the bed of the sea drowned her in-her body pushed through the small crevices into a distant land.

A harsh cough escaped her, exhaling loudly, her body slumped against a rock, eyes fluttering as her temple felt as if a trident had been lodged through it. The Siren sook in her figure with his wide eyes. Her body trembled as an array of goosebumps rippled over her skin, she caught a glint in her peripheral vision-the outline of a sharp blade within arms reach. Upon sight of the Siren, she retreated backwards in fear.

"Were you the one to put this necklace on me?" He nodded, his wide eyes glossed with a certain type of innocence, the type that made her want to forgive him. "Can you take it off?" Her voice brimmed with desolation. His lips pulled into a frown.

“I can't. You belong to Choi Jongho now. You're mine.” Just as she predicted, he would hold his ground-stating true to her textbook knowledge of his remarks. She understood why they said to never follow a Siren’s call now; the beauty of his man had her unconsciously drifting towards him. The desire to outstretch her hand and address the surface of his smooth skin, to feel his bare skin pressed against hers. Those thoughts felt abhorred, but Siren’s were creatures of seduction; pumping lust into their subjects. One last time, her hands reached to the back of het neck; in an attempt to rid herself of the necklace he draped around her. With no clasp she slid her finger through the pearls-yanking the beads as hard as she could feeling the harrowing stretch of her skin as she tugged; her breath becoming lodged in her throat. “Don’t! You’ll rip out your throat.” Arduously, her arms fell at her sides as her weak endeavours failed pathetically.

"Why-why did you do this to me?" Resting her back against the rock, her chest heaved furiously.

"I like pretty things. If I see something pretty, I keep it." Suddenly, her arm stuck out towards him, as if her fingers were magnets attracted to the opposite pole. Harshly she tried to retract, yet instead her whole body lurched forward- into the water-twirling as if orchestrating an elegant dance. Taking an agitating step back, her limbs heavy as she tried to repel her body against him.

“Stop this!” This time both arms stuck out as if she was reaching out for him. Firmly plastering both feet to the ground, her arms remained fixated in the same humiliating position.

“If you want to hug me, you’ll have to come a bit closer.” He teased, he found the spectacle in front of him quite amusing.

“I don’t want a hug. Stop this now!” She didn’t mean for her voice to be crowded with as much apprehension and desperation as it was now, her bottom lip quivering slightly. It was so painful to repel, yet it was damning to surrender.

“I can’t. Our souls are bound now, the attraction you’re feeling? One day you won’t even be able to fight back.” She slumped to the floor, rubbing her hand against her chest as if it would soothe the pain she was feeling. Her lungs were burning, her heart was palpitating, the tension between was growing thick was every waking moment. Shutting her eyes, she curled up into a ball; the tormenting pull on her muscles relaxed, she released a contented sigh for a single second, before she felt a warm weight rest on her waist.

“Get your hand off me.” She snapped, a warm chuckle escaped from his pink lips.

“It feels much better, though. Doesn’t it?”

“No.” His hand retracted immediately at her dismissal, the pain washed slowly into her blood again, like the tides that tugged the sand slipping into unspeakable depths of the ocean- the sharp spike jolting through her so much that she could not even breathe. Irrationally, she jumped into his arms- craving his skin as one craved morphine; wrapping her arms around his own waist to feel the opioid that soothed the burn of a thousand hot knives impaling her supple skin. The pain dispersed as if it was never there to begin with. “Could you at least get the necklace off me?” She begged, peering to look up at him through her lashes. She was just going to have to play his game and win.

“Why?” His lips fell into a frown.

“I don’t like pearls.” She lied. Of course she adored them, she spent the majority of her childhood picking them out from oyster shells — creating small pearl necklaces and earrings.

“What do you like instead? Sapphires? Gold?” Running his hands through the length of her hair, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her forehead.

“I don’t really like jewellery. Could you just take it off? Please?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “My love.” She whispered, his heart swayed with her every breath-drunk on the fumes of her every exhale. Catching sight of the fish hook behind him, she leaned forward, momentarily stopping in front of his face. Was she really going to do this? What choice do I have? Delicately, she pressed her own lips to his, circling her arms around his neck, to pull his head towards her. Her arms outstretched behind her to yield the blade as close to her as she could. He pushed his body forward, her back hitting daintily against the rock. His body hovered over hers; warm breath leaving a trail of desire littering over her skin. Before she could blink, he began to pepper kisses down her neck. Slowly and softly his head slid down, dangerously lower and lower. It was then she realised how low cut the neck of her dress was. Unconsciously, her hands rinsed through his raven hair-pressing his head down deeper into her collarbone. With a hand around her neck, the heavy weight of the pearls lightened the load on her neck.

“Thank you.” She breathed out. With his head dug into her collarbone, she held back a grunt as she strained to reach for blade, the handle slipping into her palms like glue. Languidly, she drew the knife closer to his abdomen- the honed end waltzed on his skin. Taking a deep breath, the knife dug into the crevice of his body; pushing the weight of him off her, she scrambled to her feet, the ends spewing blood like raindrops. His heaving breaths pervaded the air, his siren eyes glaring out.

“I love you and this how repay me?” Letting out a forced laugh, his cackles sent dangerous ripples through the water- before he could do anything else she darted away from rock- the drag of the water halting her. “You clever bitch!” His scream echoed within the caverns yet her feet travelled as far as they could away from him, the water rising from her knees all the way to her chest. She hadn’t thought this was through- how would she get out? Quickly, her eyes scouted her surroundings, until she found a small hole carved within a rock yet large enough for her to fit through. Inhaling a deep breath, she dove into the water arms and legs moving powerfully to resist the harsh waves his anger had conjured. Lurching herself of the sea bed, she swung up her arms, flailing her legs to travel upwards feeling his angered roar tremble through her bones.

“You are no more, you are no less.

For all must die, all must rest.”

His hymns would not work now, she was no longer bound to him with the pearls having been rid from her body. Her head pushed up the surface of the water, oxygen powering into her lungs- inhaling as much as she could. Kicking her feet to stay afloat, she glided towards the boat- with an iron tight fist she flung herself over, rolling onto the floor. Nimbly, she got up towards the oars; smacking them down as hard as she could into the water. The boar tipped backwards with the sudden weight, her head snapping back; she was succumbed to his deadly gaze. If looks could kill.

“You forgot the necklace.” He threw the pearls in her direction, the clatter making her flinch. As fast as she could, she took hold of the oar-slamming the wood against his knees as hard as she could. Letting out a painful grunt, she tackled him to the floor. With a fish hook in sight, she grabbed it- as a beggar grabbed morsel- lifting it above her head, pummelling it into his rubbery skin. Drowning out the sounds of his screams, as she mutilated his skin; gutting it as one gut fish. Repeating the action. Until her arms had given up on her. Chucking the blade into the water, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes, she let out a pained sob. A scream terrorised the waters, purling through the underworld, stunting the water’s fluidity. Her blood stained hands cupped her sides of her cheeks, running through her hair- tears washing away the blood over his body.

In the distance, a figure had pounded into the water- using the little strength she had to push the boat on its head. A Siren’s body floated down towards the sea bed, as the soft waves carried her body to the docks.

Her brother’s trip to the next town proved successful, they were far from hungry—and he bought a little more than he should have; managing to sell a load in the town’s market. After a while, the fisherman formed a congregation and finally went out to sea. At first she was unsure if the Siren’s were still angry as she killed Jongho. Then again, she didn’t know how beloved he was to them. She didn’t want to know either, the image of his dead body engraved in her head. Yet when they came back with mounds of fish, and the economy was booming again, she had come to a quick conclusion that he must have not been anything but a head count. She never went near the sea again, for every step closer to the coast meant a step closer to Jongho despite the fact that his soul had been taken by the Angel of Death. At night, she could not help but let her mind litter to the way his touch kissed her skin; soon after she was reminded of the way she brutally murdered him. Over time, she suffered from insomnia like her brother, staying hidden in her bedroom to avoid suspicion of her sudden insomnia.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go fishing with me?” She nodded, unable to tell him that their boat had been lost the waves now- with a few bits of their equipment. Perhaps it was her brother’s insomnia that had impaired his judgement, for he didn’t notice the missing equipment and when he didn’t enquire about the missing boat- confusion struck through her. “What about the boat? It’s still there, why would it be anywhere else?” At first she didn’t believe him, so summoning all the fortitude she had, she made her way down to the docks to see him off to the sea. And there it was. No blood stains, no damage, pearly white as it had always been. Not wanting to entertain a foreign thought she assumed maybe the other fisherman had been kind enough to return it to them.

Maybe it was San. She’d finally met him that day by the docks- she could understand her brother’s insistence to marry him. For now, she’d wait and let things settle as they were- and he was a kind soul keen on waiting for her.

Sat on her bed, lazily drifting her eyes through the words on a book- she aimlessly drew her pencil across. A knock, followed by the door creaking open, got her up from her bed- her brother stood in the doorway summoning for her.

“I made a friend whilst fishing.”

“That would be a first.” She joked, placing her book aside to give him attention.

“I thought I’d introduce you to him. He’s a natural at hunting for fish. And he let me use his equipment too.” She followed her brother to the front door. “I invited him to dinner.” She gave him a pointed look, huffing as she’d have to prepare food for one more mouth. Braking violently by the doorway, her mouth hung slightly agape as she took in the figure before her.

He turned around, those same wide eyes greeting her again. His round cheeks, uplifting as he pulled his lips into a charming smile. He was clad in the same fisherman’s dress as her brother, hair smoothed back as if untouched by a drop water. He sent a taunting wave.

“Hi, I’m Jongho.” Her words lodged in her throat, her brother sending her a displeased look.

“I’m sorry Jongho, she’s shy sometimes.” He flicked his hand reassuringly. Digging his hand into his pocket, he pulled a rectangular black velvet box.

“Here, I heard you like pearls.”

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: may edit later!!!! Bro just wanted to give her some pearls 😭 we need more jongho’s, oc gotta get her shit together honestly 🙄✋🏻 the song is from a book called The Siren by Kiera Cass

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

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tiredfox64 · 11 months ago

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My honest chances of getting with the MK Men

Okay so basically this is me rating myself (cause my brain don’t shut up) on how likely it is that any of the mk men would date me. This will be MK1 mind you

Bi-Han: 0%-10%- Not a chance in hell. He doesn’t want to hear about my day, he doesn’t want to listen about my hyperfixations, he doesn’t like my hair, my body type ain’t it, he doesn’t believe I have mental illnesses, he hates that I take hot showers, the list goes on. That 10% is if I have the balls to bite back I think he’d like that.

Kuai Liang: 40%- He’d see me as a nice woman but would recognize that I don’t want to be mature all the time. And my definition of tradition is way different than his. Studded belts, raccoon tails, and Juicy Couture are not traditional.

Tomas: 80%- Okay, I’m biased here cause I love this man. But I genuinely don’t think he cares too much. If I’m loving, he will take me. The missing 20% is because I can get aggressive or heated quickly.

Syzoth: 50%-100%- I’d say 50% because he did have a family before so he might not want to move on which is okay. But I think he would like me cause I love reptiles and I’m not afraid to eat a cricket or two.

Rain: 50%- Being smart never stopped me from being a dumbass but I think he will see I’m still smart no matter what. Although I love this man to death I deadass think we would have fights cause he’s cocky.

Johnny Cage: 30%- He would think he’s too cool for me. Simple as that. Will he flirt with me? Maybe. Will he date me? Slim chance.

Kenshi: 70%- He chill tbh. I don’t think he would have a problem with my weight or my illnesses. We’ll find a way to vibe. But I’m not the first girl he would pick.

Raiden: 90%- Similar with Tomas he don’t care too much. He doesn’t get scared by me getting heated. That 10% is because we’ve lived different lives so it would be hard to find middle ground. I can’t take silence 😭.

Kung Lao: 70%- He’d love my family more than me. They make good food. I can cook too but he wants the whole family to bring him pupusas and Shepard’s Pie.

Geras: 0%- Nothing against me, he just has an important job and I respect that.

Liu Kang: 10%- Again I think this would be nothing against me he just loves his Kitana. But there is a tiny chance for me I feel like.

Reiko: 30%- He doesn’t like earthrealmers and I’m not sure he would like my body type. But I think he would love my attitude so that’s where that little percent comes from.

Shao: 0%- Nope, just nope. He hates earthrealmers. Wouldn’t give me the time of day.

Havik: 80%- Okay hear me out. I get points off because I’m religious (so I follow a god) and I am against anarchy. Other than that, he would love me. Like I feel like he would love a chubby girl. He’d love my hair, he’d love my tattoos, he’d love the way I express myself (being topless). I’d love to watch analog horror series with him. I’d give him a kiss every time I’d get scared.

Baraka: 0%- He had a family once and he doesn’t want to infect me. That’s reasonable.

Shang Tsung: 50%- Listen, I’d feel like he’d fuck with anybody. If I tell him how good my immune system is that gives me points. That means I’m durable to experiment on. And he can give me back shots while doing it.

Quan Chi: 10%- Nope, I’d lift my rosary up before letting him close. He was fucking with spirits I’d curse him out for that and he would not like me. He would like that I have an attitude.

Ermac: 0.01%-…well at least one of those fuckers inside of there would like me.

BONUS ROUND: KAMEOS (my favorites to be exact)

Mavado: 100%- Yeah he’s loyal to his clan but if I slap him and immediately kiss him after that’s it he’s done. He loyal to me and his clan after that.

Stryker: 50%- I’M good, everyone else in my life has a problem.

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Possession w/ Rick Grimes

a/n: it's the way i got sicker and actually caught the stomach flu this time!! so, you know i'm having a bunch of fun! my sarcasm aside, i've been trying to write when the nausea fades so lord knows when any of these will be on time again. i have the immune system of a newborn baby LMAOOOO.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

Rick had no right to be so possessive over you, to have his fingers dig painfully into the plush of your hip at the fact that you were flirting with other men at Deanna's welcoming party; but you'd be damned if you said you didn't like it.

You could count the amount of times you'd slept with Rick on your hand. It was back at the prison when everything with the Governor and Woodbury had settled the first time around. It was a connection you both tiptoed around back when things were unstable, but once the dam had broken and you guys had given in, you didn't need labels to know that you were his.

Maybe you flirted with them because you were genuinely interested in pursuing other men, or perhaps you wanted to see how badly Rick actually wanted you; because there was that time between the fall of the prison to being discovered by Aaron. How were you supposed to know if the flame in his heart burned as forcefully and bright as yours?

Well, if the snap of his hips against your pelvis were any consolation.

"Fuck, Rick!" You swore, your hands frantically searching around the duvet cover for purchase.

He'd made you dwell in the intense suffocation that was his fury for the rest of night until he hastily hurried the both of you home. For the first time since your group had gotten there, he'd ventured up the stairs of his designated home, where he'd proceeded to take you right there in the master bedroom.

With your legs perched on his shoulders, he bent you in half, pounding into your pussy with no remorse.

"Shut up." He all but spat at you through a grunt. You rolled your lips between your teeth to hold back your noises, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

"You asked for it girl," He admonished. "Actin' like I don't take care of you." His displeasure was followed by another harsh thrust. His cock kissed your g-spot deliciously, sending you squirming.

"You think any of them boys could make you feel this good?" He growled. A pathetic whimper managed to make its way out of your throat. You managed to shake your head, but that didn't seem to be enough for him, because his large, rough hand slapped the side of your full thigh.

You yelped at the pain. "Didn't I jus' ask you a question?" You nodded, "Yes! Yes! 'M sorry. Fuck. No, none of them could!"

And he'd make sure you knew that.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

#♡ ― nsfmeau !#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day thirteen #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #rick fanfiction #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes kinktober #rick x reader #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x plus size reader #rick grimes smut #smut #fanfiction

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prncssie · 7 months ago

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TWO ⎯⎯ ★ s. ryomen m. list

content warning minors and trump supporters do not interact. neither are welcome here. in this specific chapter, it gets suggestive towards the end but there is no on page smut. you can expect consensual groping in a public setting and "dick" is written once. also, the bouncer is described as creepy and acts as such but his appearance is short

WHEN I GROW UP

you thought when you strolled through the glass doors of an acting agency, — a grand building lined with glass walls, allowing the sunlight to filter into the lobby — you’d be greeted with warm smiles and maybe even a mint. this is not what you were expecting. it smells clean, citrusy, like fresh squeezed lemons and pine. the hardwood flooring, tan and matte, are smooth beneath your new balances. it’s nearly glittering a pathway guiding you to the front desk. your resume, shielded behind the manilla folder, is tucked tightly to your chest. you’ve even worn your best off-duty outfit, aiming for something simple to show off your spark. a black tube top and black jeans, perfect for forcing focus to your face full of sweet features, dollike and docile enough to render a certain impression on camera, you hope.

“hi,” you speak soft at first, a smile gracing your mouth when the receptionist lifts her head. “yeah, um, my name is ⭐︎ and i heard you had an open call today.” you can’t help the way your shoulders inch up towards your ear, a subconscious way of making yourself smaller, biting away at the ball of white hot nervousness rolling in the base of your tummy. “i was hoping to get in on that.”

it’s a shame her blonde bun is pulled so tight, straining what little polite receptors she has in her system because all the receptionist does is size you up with so much of a twitch of her glossed lips. she doesn’t smile when she slaps the clipboard atop the reflective material of the black desk. “sign here,” for a millisecond, if you'd even count it that, her lips pull tight upwards before she’s returning to whatever she was doing before, nails clacking against the keyboard. “head down that hall to the left. they’ll give you a number. wait for it to be called.”

as soon as you’re finished scribbling the black gen pen down on the white sheet, boxes full of signatures, pages stacked on over the other, she takes it back with a flat palm, dragging it over the open space. “break a leg.” and then it’s as if you were never there. you fade into the background. perhaps in her eyes, you’ve dissipated into light particles. “thanks so much,” is all you can say, lifting your eyebrows with an unamused grin, “brenda.” you catch her name off the nameplate as you leave.

this has to be normal, right? it’s not like hospitality comes with the service, if you can even call it that. people are snobby, thinking their proximity to the stars gives them some sort of privilege or immunity. sure, you wouldn’t normally take such disrespect or disregard for you as a person but maybe you could consider it as a good thing. a blessing in disguise, a side effect of success. this is the closest you’ve been to being in something bigger than yourself, an open call for anything other than a commercial for whole milk or sponsorship from some website.

you have to believe it. otherwise . . .

down the hall and the left, right? you couldn’t miss it if you tried. the bodies milling about give enough clue as to what was going on, numbers taped and pinned to shirts, pants, skirts. the jitters that you swallowed, or tried to, threaten to break free, itching just below the surface of your skin. your mouth is dry but far too wet at the same time. are you drooling? but when your hand lifts to your lips, disguised as checking for lipgloss rolling too far out of place, you don’t feel anything out of the ordinary. still, with each step closer to the check-in table, your brain cannot stop formulating new possibilities of embarrassment. you could trip, you could forget your lines, you could throw up. none of it’s helping, especially when they’re looking at you with such expecting gazes. getting the number is the easy part, though. all you have to do is write your name down and pick it up. alike many of the others, you opt to tape it, pressing the sticky adhesive into the denim of your pants.

you find yourself in your own desolate space in the hallway, stuck between warm bodies rehearsing their lines and casting sparing glances at the competition around them. you’re unsure where to look. there’s nothing particularly beneficial about staring down the other wannabe actors around you but the idea of focusing so hard on the tiling doesn’t seem too idealistic, either. you’ve always been told it’s best to stand tall anyway, pushing an aura of confidence, even if it’s fake.

and so you do for as long as you stand there. you push your shoulders back and force all that tension between your shoulder blades, straightening your posture for as long as the situation demands. evidently, until your casting is over and you get to return home.

it’s a slow process, slower than you think it would be. you were sure when you left work a few hours ago that you’d have enough time to rinse the smell of fryer grease and burgers off your skin — you’ve since replaced it with silky strawberry lotion and powdery vanilla perfume — and arrive with more than enough time to spare. of course, you did hope it wouldn’t take too long, maybe an hour or two to finish the whole thing. however, when you pull your phone out of your little black prada shoulder bag, you learn that more than three hours have passed.

that’s a ridiculous amount of time to stand, waiting as others go into that room and leave with smiles on their faces or tears in their eyes. sometimes, they don’t have an expression at all. they simply open that heavy door and wander down the hallway, leaving an air of mystery as to what could have happened. you like to fantasize, making up stories about each person and what they could have possibly done to fail. it’s your only entertainment, one that sends you into a trance-like state as you watch and eye each passerby.

it works for a while, dulling your boredom while you wait for your turn. you would have missed the sudden whispery uproar if it weren’t for the girl beside you. her hair brushes against your arm when she turns her head to whisper to the person next to you. instinctively, you cover the tickled area with your palm and look over, bringing your attention closer to the chatter. it’s bit unexpected how suddenly it rises. in just a few minutes, the dull crowd, tired of standing and waiting, begins to buzz with excitement. around you, people whisper, eyes gawking and following figures moving through the hall.

at first glance, it doesn’t take you long to identify just who is attracting all this uproar. even if people weren’t damn near pointing at the hulking figure disregarding his attention, you’d recognize him regardless. it’s hard to miss the dyed pink hair, black roots peaking just below the tufts. his undercut is just as crisp as the pictures, fresh from recent maintenance. there’s a smirk tugging at his lips, arrogant and knowing, like all the attention he’s receiving simply strokes his ego, filling up his head with pride. he walks in a saunter, fingers wrapped around his phone and tilting his head in the onlookers direction. you can get glimpses of his iconic black gel polish, catching the glimmer of the overhead lighting.

sukuna ryomen, one of the greatest stars in the industry at this very moment. the it boy, the icon, the muse of most directors. you could be seeing too far into things when he passes you, but for a second, when your eyes make contact, there’s a particular . . . tension. perhaps you’re imagining it, a warped notion in your head that blended reality with fantasy, but his eyebrows furrow, just slightly. they twitch, jumping upwards before letting you become one with the rest of his admirers.

“ – role in another movie,” it’s a whisper coming from beside you, a comment made in his wake, after he had already made his appearance and left a notable impact. “that’s what i heard, at least. i think it’s a thriller. some psychological shit.”

a thriller? the sukuna ryomen in a thriller? it’s been a while since there’s been a movie you’be been genuinely excited to see but the prospect of such a big name with an equally big aura taking on a role like that? you’re already itching with anticipation at the thought. you wish you could be there, watch him rehearse his lines, see how he prepares for the role. there’s endless lessons you an take out of his book but you’ll never have the chance. not as long as you’re just someone auditioning and he’s at the top of the ranks.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

“no, cherry. i’m not getting the role.” you’re shoving airpods into your ears as you dejectedly make your way out the building. you pull your bag even farther on your shoulder, ignoring the harsh squeals your shoes make when you don’t entirely lift them off the ground. it’s what they deserve anyway, this whole company, after throwing you to the side like that. it contrasts with the clicks of heels and draws judging glares towards you but you ignore them. they’re nothing and they mean nothing after setting up such a massive event, one that you spent weeks preparing for, just for it to be pointless. “turns out, they already had someone in mind. it’s such —,” you pause, just long enough to step outside the glass doors, “such bullshit.”

“aw, honey,” her sweet southern drawl does little to comfort you as warm as it is. if anything, the empathy dripping from it riles you up further. she means well, truly. cherry is as disappointed as you are. in the short span of working together, she’s become something of a confidant, the only person who knows your goals of reaching the stars. it’s not a secret you hold close to your heart for any particular reason. it’s just . . . well, it’s just this. no one wants people to know about their setbacks. you wouldn’t find any joy in sharing your worst failures.

cherry is different, though. she’s kind about it. she has a big heart, keeping in negative comments she might have to herself. besides, cherry has a dream, too, to walk in fashion week. it was a drunken confession, sitting on the floor of your studio apartment after consuming enough white wine to send you both into fits of giggles. you considered it a housewarming.

“how do you know that? did they tell you?” she has to raise her voice over the beeping fryer alarm and the rustling around her. of course in normal cherry fashion, she picks up the phone during work hours when business is slow and she has time to waste.

“they don’t have to tell me for me to know.” you want to press your hands into your eyes, perhaps lay down beneath your sheets and hide away from the world until the fury building inside withers away. “i went in there and did my audition. they were all like ‘oh, ⭐︎, you did so good. you look so cute on camera, you’re so talented’,” you raise your voice a couple octaves to mock the casting directors, rolling your brown eyes in tandem with your words. “that’s not what they actually said but whatever. the point is, some girl walks in and they’re all over her.”

you click your tongue in a fluid motion, scrolling through the app library in search of whichever rideshare app you’ve downloaded since moving out here. with what little income you make, there’s no way you’ll be able to afford a car for the next couple of months, or even years in this economy. a ten minute ride back to your home is nothing compared to the cost of car payments and gas. “i’ve never seen her before, which is the crazy part. i don’t remember what they said her name was. edamame, uraume, whatever the fuck.”

“wait, no. i’ve heard of that name before. i’m pretty sure she was in that show with that guy.” for a moment, you hear her pause, presumably directing her attention to someone else. “yeah, honey. i’ll be right with you, m’kay? listen, ⭐︎, i gotta go, but i’ll see you tonight. we’re still on for tonight, right? i’ll take you out to this place i know. you’ll love it. i hear lotsa famous people go there. maybe you’ll meet someone who can get you a fancy role.”

your eyes settle on the dark colored sedan underlined with an identifying combination of letters and numbers. it’s only a couple dollars and you have the money to spare. you didn’t feel particularly inclined to walk those couple blocks, anyway. you find her words sort of . . . comforting, now. as optimistic as such a small possibility seems, the idea of simply running into someone worthwhile all while dancing the night away excites you. as unlikely as such an easy shortcut to success is, you still consider the small chance to be a chance at all.

“yeah, okay,” you respond with a distant sounding voice as you navigate through the nine dollar payment. it takes a few seconds for the screen to reload, proposing you begin to make your way to the pickup location. “i’ll see you later.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

the club cherry took you to, it’s everything and nothing you expected it to be at the same time. you scrolled through pictures of the three story building on google reviews while cherry showered, filling up the small confines of her bathroom with steam and the scent of dove cucumber body wash; she insisted on you getting ready at her place after seeing the lackluster apparel hanging in your closet. you didn’t think they were that bad and yet, she parroted on and on that the bouncer would not let you in the clothes you planned on wearing. and she was right, he wouldn’t. here he stood, scrutinizing and slightly predatory gaze across each clubgoer. he took his time with the women, eyebrow quirking when someone particularly piqued his interest. gross, but expected.

it’s just as lively as you thought it would be, people milling around the entrance with id in hand. occasionally, the cars driving by would slow down and glance at the pedestrians, some gathered in groups and drunkenly skipping down the pavement. the lights are flashy, the people are giggly. it's exactly as a club scene should be. the only thing that’s missing is . . . well, the music.

you make note of it as you stand in line, arms wrapped around your body and shifting your weight from leg to leg. there’s no music, at least none you can hear. back in your little town closer to the rural edges of the countryside, you spent quite enough time at the club. you treated it as your own personal spotlight, finding great fun in putting on different personas to enchant men for the night. it could be considered where your love for acting really started, or maybe not. maybe you just sound crazy.

“okay, when we get up there,” cherry leans into you, ducking her head to get her words more clearly heard in your ear. she’s already a couple inches taller than you and with the heels on her black boots pushing her up, those inches became more than just a couple, “don’t say anythin’. well, you can speak but i’ll handle most of it. mike is real fickle. he likes to flirt with the girls and if you don’t make him happy, you don’t get in.”

“you brought me to a place where the girls are forced to be creeped on by the bouncer for admission?”

cherry clicks her tongue at your words. she follows the flow of the line and takes a step forward, momentarily looking over her shoulder to meet your eyes. “sometimes he doesn’t make us pay.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ★

you’re drunk. you don’t have to ask someone to know. there’s no need for a breathalyzer, no need to hang of cherry’s shoulder and smile that pink-lipped, sugar-coated, loopy smile. the confirmation is in the way you walk. it’s in your tingling hands and your tingling lips. it’s in your airy laughter and your slurred words as you teeter across the dance floor. it’s in the way you sit now, perched on the edge of a chair and drunkenly kissing . . . someone. a girl, a guy, you don’t know. it wouldn’t make any difference really.

they’re probably just as drunk as you are, hands gripping and pulling at your dress, or rather the dress you borrowed. in the back of your mind, you’re scowling and making note to check for snags later, considering how ungracious they’re being. so much so that you’ve been tasked with the responsibility of tugging your dress up every so often as the constant threat of your boobs slipping out.

you’re not enjoying this, not as much as you want to be. you’re meant to loosen up, get out there, “make connections, whatever that means to you”, as cherry said in her honeyed dialect. that’s what you hoped to do, connect your mouth to another’s in a way that enthralled you in a more lustrous way, with tensions that weigh heavy in a bubble that surrounds you and makes you hungry for more.

you kind of sit there while they begin to mouth along your jawline with more tongue than you prefer. the distaste hits you strong enough you to put your hands on their shoulders after minutes of kissing starving lips. with a firm grasp, you push just slightly, politely even. you still give them that drunken smile even with the sudden detachment and rise to your feet. the base of your shoes knock against the metal leg of the chair and you stumble a few steps on your way up. “i will be right back.” you doubt your voice carries over the bass-boosted music. the beat alone vibrates the floor and rattles your brain in your skull. you both know this isn’t true, or at least you know and that’s enough for you. your toothy smile is concealed as your face falls to rest and you turn, purposefully taking a winding route through the crowd.

you lost cherry a while ago. in retrospect, she’s a bit of a terrible friend for vanishing like that so suddenly with the assumption that you’d be fine. the fault really lied in the decision that you should both drink tonight, as if two wasted girls were ever a good idea. however, it’s too late to be playing the blame game. you’re already taking wobbly strides under the strobe lights while a mixture of house and electronic plays in the background. there’s no real destination you’re heading towards. you follow the movement of the crowd, swaying and leaning. left, right, left, right.

in the moment, staying just where you are is appealing. it calls to you like a siren’s song, begging and pleading with you to stay. have another drink, kiss someone else, live under the colored lights. before you know it, you’re dancing to the music. it’s not what you’d typically listen to but when you’ve had this many shots in those cute little glasses, anything will do. your eyes are still closed as you dance, pulling moves from your mental catalog of video vixens and pop icons. it’s a mess, a flurry of arms and legs. your hair becomes an accessory, an extension of yourself, an object of seduction when you brush it out your face. your hips find the beat with ease and you find enjoyment in being alone, despite knowing you probably should be apprehensive.

it doesn’t take long before there’s a hand settled on your hip, hovering at first, waiting for permission to make contact with your skin. you spot it somehow in your drunken haze and take a hold of it without hesitation. you stamp the hand against your hip, ruffling the dress you adorn beneath their light hold. you only have a short moment to glance over your shoulder and assess the stranger you have welcomed into your one person party. he’s a pleasing sight, although slightly obscured by the blinding overhead lighting, constantly moving and flashing shades of blue, purple, and red. you catch tufts of black and pink lips upturned into a smirk.

it’s good enough for you so you turn and bend at the waist, dipping your head and letting your soft curls toss over your crown. you push the clothed and plush fat of your ass against the stiff fabric of this stranger’s jeans. you both move in an enthralling whirl. you just, met, or rather just become aware of each other’s presence, but somehow you mesh together in a balanced blend of bodies and flirtatious glances.

his hand is firm on your chest. he can feel the warmth of your bare skin where the dress leaves you exposed. he’s pleased to discover he can also feel the swell of your breasts and where they begin to deviate from your otherwise leveled skin. he has to bend at the waist to get to you, but once he does, you’re back to standing, chest to back and a grin on your face. his breath is hot on your ear and his voice is deep. it warms your drunken insides like a warm cider, thoroughly spiced. “are you here with someone?”

your feet tangle with themselves as you turn to face him. you’re careful, slow, calculating each step and maintaining your balance with a strong grip of his forearms. you squeeze and hum at the strong muscle relaxed beneath. “maybe, probably. if she’s still here.” you’re moving again, languidly resting your arm over his shoulder. “what’s your name?” you have to place a hand over the top of your head to cover your eyes from the glaring color changing lights. he looks familiar, extremely familiar. however, you’re drunk and it’s dark. you aren’t so concerned with placing a distinct name to a face and more concerned with what you’ll be calling this person you presume you’re going home with tonight.

sure, it wasn’t what you originally believed yourself to be doing. the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, nor would you do this on any other occasion but it’s your first night out in a new town. you’ve had the letdown of a century and your boss is absolute shit, never showing up to do anything but complain and order you around. with a pretty boy right at your fingertips, why should you deny yourself? just for one night, at least.

it takes him a second. you assume he doesn’t quite hear you over the music bumping in the background because he blinks, dark eyebrows drawing together just slightly, and that smirk is returning right back on his pink lips. “kuyo,” his hands downwards, smoothening under the crease of your butt.

“unusual name but whatever you say.” your eyes track him low-lidded and just barely disguising the hearts beginning to form in your eyes. he moves close enough for you to smell the alcohol on his breath. it reeks of something strong, something like henessey cocktailed with a flurry of drinks downed without a second thought.

kuyo can only chuckle, one that goes unheard in your ears. he ignores your little comment, experimentally grazing his fingers along your body, both clothed and unclothed while gauging your reaction. and when he finds none, just your sweet smile, he continues pulling and squeezing and groping with little regard for those around you. you’re in a club. people should expect to see a little frisking. “i don’t like beating around the bush and i’m sure you’re a smart girl so you know what i’m gonna say. do you want to go back with me or not? we’d have to go to yours though. roommates.”

you almost laugh. there’s already a giggle building in your throat at his sheer audacity. kuyo didn’t even ask. he didn’t suggest, didn’t pose a question. he simply invited himself over, granted, that’s if you let him. usually, you’d pull back. you’d scoff in kuyo’s face, shake your head and disappear, never to be seen again. but his hands, they’re so strong. and his shoulders are so broad, and his chest is so firm, and his smile is so— “this better be the best night of my life, pretty boy.”

he gives one final squeeze to your midsection, savoring that feeling of plush skin molding around his fingers. the next time kuyo feels it, he knows it’ll be without these silly restrictions such as clothes and peering eyes. not that he’d mind, but he does doubt you want to be split on his dick in the middle of a club. “oh trust, it will be.”

©️ prncessie | do not repost on to other platforms, plagiarize, modify, translate, or use for any ai platforms. my work is my own and it comes from my brain so you’ll have to use yours too

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