#i'm okay lest you wonder | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthtooz · 1 year ago

Note

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc.

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.”

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.��

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you.

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. “Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you.

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion.

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them.

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.”

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now.

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much.

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?”

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure.

“Love you,” you murmur when parting.

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun.

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away.

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him.

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum.

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks.

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips.

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response.

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office.

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step.

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs.

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building.

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.”

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives?

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy.

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.”

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs.

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning.

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity.

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you.

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out.

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress.

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give.

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first.

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze.

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food.

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day.

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved.

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day.

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles.

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end.

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted.

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek.

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.”

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?”

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.”

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye.

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you.

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night.

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.”

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.”

“I love you, Wriothesley.”

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again.

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

#genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley x reader fluff #wriothesley x gn!reader #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff

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dailymanners · 6 months ago

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I feel as though in the past few years it's becoming more common for me to be interrupted while I'm speaking, and I can't help but wonder if more people are losing a sense of conversational rhythm due to communicating more and more digitally and less and less in person.

When you communicate digitally you don't have to worry about finding the natural rhythm of the conversation, you're not taking away someone else's ability to finish their thought or make their point if you send a message to them while they're still typing. I'm not here to scare monger about the kids and their phones, but it's important that you don't let your skill of finding a conversational rhythm, if you have that skill, atrophy, lest you speak over someone and take away their ability to complete their thought and make their point.

But I also realize that it's really important to specify what I mean by interrupting someone.

When someone says that interrupting is really normal and not considered rude in their community or culture, what they're actually talking about is what's known in linguistics as "cooperative overlap", that or simultaneous talking. Here's an example of cooperative overlap and/or simultaneous talking that you might see in a culture where this is normal and acceptable:

Person A: So guess where I went today? I went to the -

Person B: Oh let me take a wild guess! You went to the shoe store again didn't you?

Person A: That's right, and I got a -

Person C: Oh come on, don't tell you got another pair!

Person A: You know it baby!

Now let's compare that to a different style of interruption, what I like to call "steamrolling"

Person A: So guess where I went today? I went to the -

Person B: UGH did you guys catch the game last night?

Person C: Yeah the refs sucked!

Now, what differences can you see between the first example, aka "cooperative overlapping" vs the second "steamrolling" example?

For one, in the first example Person A is still allowed to make their point, tell their story, and finish their thought. They're not being silenced or completely derailed, and most importantly their conversation partners still seem interested and engaged in what they have to say. In the second example, Person A is being completely derailed and stripped of their chance to finish their thought and make their point, which is unfair to Person A, which is what makes "steamrolling" disrespectful even in many cultures and communities where "cooperative overlapping" would be acceptable.

Now, conversational overlap isn't for everyone, and that's okay, but it makes it awkward and tricky when someone from a community or culture that uses conversational overlap talks to someone who is from a culture that doesn't. For example:

Person A: So the other day I went to -

Person B: Oh my god did you go to that one store?

Person A: Um, no, I went to the movies, and I saw -

Person B: OH did you see that new creepy movie about the aliens?

Person A: No, can I please just finish my story?

Person B: Oh, uh, sorry

Neither person will probably feel great after this conversation. And I'm not here to condemn either conversational styles. I understand why some people see cooperative overlap as a more engaging and exciting conversational style, but I also understand why some people find it frustrating. My mother's family has a cultural background big on conversational overlap, but my father's side of the family ehhh not so much, so I personally grew up seeing these two conversational styles clash a lot.

If you're person A in the above conversation who doesn't like conversational overlap, that's totally fine, I'm personally not a big fan of it either only because I have a terrible memory, so when someone disrupts my flow I usually end up completely forgetting what I want to say. Just try to recognize the difference between cooperative overlap vs steamrolling. If someone is just trying to cooperatively overlap with you, patiently and politely tell them something along the lines of "sorry I have a terrible memory so if I don't finish I'll forget what I'm trying to say". But it's generally a good idea to be more patient and understanding with conversational overlap than steamrolling.

If you're someone who cooperatively overlaps and you encounter someone who isn't a fan of it, try not to take it personally, maybe like me they have a horrible memory and will forget what they're trying to say if they get side tracked.

But what I meant earlier about conversational rhythm is that too often a lot of interrupting comes from not realizing the other person wasn't finished speaking.

For example, personal A wants to say "so the other day I went hiking, and I saw a fox" some people might not recognize when person A is actually finished speaking, typically they assume as soon as they've heard a complete clause that means the thought is finished, so the conversation goes like

Person A: So the other day I went hiking -

Person B: OH I went hiking a few weeks ago with my girlfriend but it was so slippery out!

Person C: Oh how is your girlfriend doing by the way?

Person B: She's doing great! How's your partner doing?

Do you see how this style of interruption, unlike cooperative overlap, also derails Person A and deprives Person A of a chance to finish what they want to say? It's not quite steamrolling, and often just comes from a lack of rhythm or understanding. As a general rule, if you want to avoid interrupting someone, pause for a few seconds after you think they're finished in case they aren't actually finished. This way you avoid accidentally depriving someone of the chance to finish what they want to say and completing their thought.

We should never be too eager to assume someone has finished making their point because you never know what someone might actually be trying to say, and if you cut someone off before they make their point you can miss important context. For example:

Person A: I don't think I see stray cats here -

Person B: AHA BULL FUCKING SHIT! I totally saw a stray cat the other day!

Person A: I was going to say as much as in other places if you had let me finish?

Or:

Person A: I hate when it's hot out. When I was a kid it was usually around 25 or 30 degrees Celsius in the summers -

Person B: OH come one don't be such a wimpy little baby! 25-30 degrees isn't even that warm! I've totally seen WAY hotter summers than that!

Person A: Uh, that's what I was going to say if you'd let me finish, the summers were pretty mild when I was a kid, but they're a lot hotter now . .

Do you see how in both conversations Person B was too eager to assume Person A had finished making their point and ended up missing important context? If person B had only paused and waited for Person A to finish making their point, they wouldn't have ended up making an ass of themselves to put it frankly. This style of interruption can make you come across as eager to dominate and "one up" other people, which frankly a lot of people find obnoxious and exhausting. This is different than cooperative overlapping because it comes from a place of wanting to correct or one-up your conversation partner, rather than play and/or build into what they're saying, which is why I'd argue it's closer to steamrolling.

Good conversational rhythm ideally means everyone is allowed to finish their thought and make their point, whether or not that includes overlapping or even simultaneous talking. If you're not sure someone has finished their thought, pause a few seconds to make sure they've had the chance to complete their thought, less you miss important context. OR, if you do interject, it should be about building/playing into what they're saying rather than derailing/steamrolling them.

What's important to keep in mind is that it's often a matter of power and respect when someone is or isn't allowed to finish their thought and make their point. If someone is unable to finish their thought or make their point before getting steamrolled, they're going to feel like their input to the conversation isn't valued or important, and that's never a good feeling.

#manners #good manners #courtesy #etiquette #politeness #long post

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 4 months ago

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Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 9 We're coming to the end of the date and is that... *le gasp* hand holding? How lewd. You're such a harlot, letting him hold your hand.

I'm not dead guys, just pretty busy with life, but this guy lives rent free in my head (he'd prefer to live in yours). Part 8 | COD Masterlist | Part 10

Abort. Fucking abort mission. He knows it’s going to be a no before you even open your mouth. How could he be so stupid. Your expression is troubled and he wants to kick himself for asking. Too quick, too much. Did he seriously forget how careful and easily startled you are just because you joked about Johnny? (yeah he did, too busy imagining your wedding)

“I”, you slowly start your hands nervously wringing “don’t want to intrude on your guy’s night. And I don’t know them and I bet they’re really nice but they’re three men I don’t know and it’s getting late and hell, I barely know you and…”

You’ve started rambling and Simon hates how he made you nervous like that again, so before you can get too much into your head about it he takes a small step forward his hands reaching out and gently covering your fiddling ones. God, they fit perfectly into his. He never wants to stop holding your hands again.

That effectively shuts you up and your eyes go to his again, looking up from the ground (such a good little lovie).

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I get it.”, he grumbles out, trying to keep his voice soft, lest he scares you off like a startled deer. He doesn’t want to have to chase you (maybe he does, but only if you’d like him to). His big hands dwarf yours, gently squeezing.

You don’t pull back and that alone makes his heart do a victory jump in his chest. If you don’t mind him touching you like this maybe he can get bolder the next times, make his interest more obvious (okay, he needs to calm the fuck down, you haven’t even agreed to going to the concert with him yet).

“No need to explain. I shouldn’t have asked.”, he continues and you shake your head freeing your hands from each other so you can grab onto his too (oh fuck, you’re grabbing onto him, holy shit, holy shit).

“No! It’s very sweet of you. It’s just… too much?”, you say and it sounds more like a question than a statement. At least you’ve grown so comfortable around him that you continue to explain: “Meeting you today was already a lot for me.”

He nods in understanding, quietly accepting your words. He gulps heavily hoping you can’t hear his nerves when he asks: “Was it too much? Meeting me today?”

You grip on his hands tightens and you take a small instinctive step closer, stealing all the oxygen from his lungs. “No! It’s not too much. You’ve been great, really. I just…”

You look troubled at having to explain further and his thumbs begins to soothingly brush over your hands. “Okay.”, he says simply, stopping you from trying to convince him.

The way you tilt your head up at him in surprise makes his heart squeeze and he swears he needs to take his cuteness aggression out on one of his pillows when he gets home because the urge to squeeze you tightly is nearly overwhelming. It fills his entire body up until he feels like he’ll vibrate right out of his skin and break into pieces at your feet.

“Just like that?”, you ask, evidently surprised at his acceptance and he nods, subtly starting to walk again but keeping one of your hands in his. You don’t seem to notice and if you do, you don’t complain. Shit, his hand is getting sweaty from how nervous holding your hand makes him.

“Yeah. No need to explain. That’s how it is.”, he says with a harsher tone than intended. Shit, he meant to sound conclusive not harsh what if you think he’s mad and…

“Thank you.” The squeeze of his hand is thankful and gentle making him stuff his other hand into his pocket again because he might start to shake from your proximity at any moment now.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”, he murmurs and wonders how people usually react to you if you feel the need to thank him for just accepting what you said. The thought of anyone not treating you right makes quiet rage settle around his chest and he vows to never mistreat you (yeah, not like he fantasizes about keeping you locked up so he can have you all to himself or anything, no hypocrisy there, Simon).

That’s the moment Wraith comes bounding back again and looks at your joined hands. Suddenly the big dog stops dead in his tracks and huffs a low bark. Your laughter rings out and Simon doesn’t know whether to cry tears of joy at the beautiful sound of your laughter or take cover because your mutt does not look happy at him touching you.

He fights the urge to jerk his hands back like he’s a naughty child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Damn him, if he lets a goddamn dog intimidate him into letting go of your perfect little hand. Wraith cocks his head at you two and a low rumble starts in his throat, not quite a growl. Something Simon can’t decipher.

You can though and when you try to go to your dog, Simon tightens his hold on your hand so you don’t slip from his grip completely. The way your head whips around nearly makes him let go of you after all but he decides to swallow his nerves and gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb again. Your eyes are wide, not scared just surprised and you seem to search his gaze for something.

He’s not sure what but he doesn’t break the sudden and intense eye contact, trying to hide his pout at you taking your attention off of him to give it to your dog.

“Only need one hand to pet him.”, he grouses and against anything he expected you giggle again and call Wraith closer. The ugly beast trots closer still grumbling and you pet his head.

“There you go, Wraith. Is my poor puppy jealous?”, you ask your dog and he gives a huff in response. Simon has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t answer with a ‘yeah I am’.

He truly is trying to hide the side eye he gives Wraith when you coo at the mutt and gently scratch his chin, but he can’t help it. Wraith’s tongue lolls out and Simon swears the pleased grumble is aimed at him. Damnit, maybe he should get one of those puppy ear headbands. Maybe you would pet him too if he did.

#the sewer writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #butcher!simon x reader #butcher!simon #cod x reader #cod ghost x reader #simon x reader #gn! reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader

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moonchildstyles · 8 months ago

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hiii i was wondering if you would write a blurb about vamp h taking care of a drunk y/n lol i think it’d be awfully cute omg or a girls night out (+ one vampire) and he’s like trailing after her trying to keep her out of trouble

wordcount: 3.9k+

—————

"Darling, are you certain you are not going to be cold?"

Twisting and turning in the mirror, her dress ruched over her body in tight folds, it took all of (Y/N)'s effort to keep her smile at bay. "I'm sure I'll be fine, H. It's not that cold out, and we won't be spending much time outside anyway."

It was clear he still wasn't pleased at her answer with the way he folded his arms across his chest and set his mouth in a grim line. (Y/N) had to bite back her smile lest he see her amusement from where he was leaning against the doorframe to her closet. He hadn't moved much from where he'd started the night watching her try on practically every outfit she had stuffed into both their wardrobe and closet.

She could feel his eyes on her as she smoothed her dress over her thighs, pulling down the hem another inch before ruching it back up. Counting down in her head, she had to keep herself from laughing when he followed the same pattern he'd curated for the past ten minutes.

"What if you fall ill? Or the weather changes while we're out? Y'could freeze before I have a chance to warm you."

This time, she couldn't stop the laugh from falling from her lips. She stopped her assessment in the mirror, turning to Harry with her amusement clear on her features and a cant of her head.

"H, c'mon."

His own expression tightened, his stubborn streak peeking out. "Come on, what?"

Stepping towards him on bare feet, (Y/N) peered up at him. "I know you think humans can't handle anything, but, honestly, do you really think it's that easy for me to get sick or freeze to death?"

They both knew well that Harry had done his share of research when it came to anything human. Especially after bonding and ensuring (Y/N) wanted to be at his side for their forever, he'd deep dived into anything and everything human to refresh his knowledge and become the most perfect beloved he could be—including knowing just how to take care of her. He knew better than to assume she would drop dead after a gust of wind.

Despite the stubborn line of his jaw, he relented, "No."

"Then, why are you so nervous about tonight?" she crooned, wrapping her arms around his middle with her chin set on his chest.

His palms ghosted down her back, leaving a chilled trail just barely felt through the fabric of her dress, until he stopped at the bottom of her spine. His touch was delicate. She could see the whole of him softening the longer she looked up at him.

"You know I worry about you," he murmured, "Anything is possible when it comes to humans. I dread testing the limits when it comes to you."

As much as she teased him and found his concern over something as simple as a breeze something to laugh over, the root of it all was something that had her softening. It was hard not to hear his words and grow tender.

"I promise I'm going to be okay, Harry," she told him, "I'm going to bring a jacket, and you're meeting us after dinner, anyway. If I feel like I need more than my jacket I can text you and let you know."

Though she knew he would never be one hundred percent pleased with her answer unless it was her layering up with all dangers padlocked away from her, this seemed to be enough for him as he sucked in an unnecessary breath.

"I suppose that will work," he sighed, overdramatic as always, "You are rather strong."

Stretching to the tips of her toes, (Y/N) pecked a quick kiss to the soft of Harry's lip. "I promise I'll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, though."

He chased after her when she pulled away, craning his neck to steal one more kiss before she landed on the flat of her feet once more. "'S a privilege, m'love."

It was poetry like that that almost had her agreeing to wrap up in layers and layers complete with a shell of bubble wrap before she left the house.

—————

Harry couldn't keep the frown from his face as he parked across the street from the nightclub he was meeting (Y/N) and her friends at. He'd never been to an establishment like this before (minus blood clubs but that was an entirely different concept that appealed to his more baser needs, so it didn't count), and, judging by the specimens he could see pouring in and out, he would have liked to keep it that way.

But, this was where (Y/N) had asked him to meet her and there was no way he was going to let her down.

He was just going to have to hold his breath, he decided. Before setting foot inside, he was sure he would not be a fan of the scents perfuming the building.

It would only be a few hours, he reminded himself as he stepped out of his car. Hours like this were a minute compared to the eternity of his existence. He could handle tonight without a doubt.

The slight breeze in the air (he didn't even want to think about (Y/N)'s bare legs enduring this wind) pushed open the unbuttoned lapels of his shirt. He hadn't been sure what he should wear for the night, but he took some cues from (Y/N)'s dress and heels when he decided to pull a shimmering satin piece from the wardrobe and fitted black trousers. Looking at the young men walking in and stumbling out of the nightclub, he wondered if they were underdressed or if he was overdressed.

That concern didn't last long, though, pushed aside once he heard a familiar peal of laughter pouring out of the swinging door of the nightclub. What he was wearing was pushed to the back of his mind then, his priority shifting. He needed to get inside and ensure (Y/N) was alright just like she had promised.

Making it to the entrance of the nightclub, Harry was stopped by a man tucked away in a cubby by the door. He was dressed in all black, a bored expression on his face when Harry approached.

"Hey, how are you?" the man asked, barely looking at Harry as he spoke.

A furrow pinched Harry's brow. "I am well, thank you."

At his abrupt tone, the man finally chanced a look at Harry. He lingered for only a moment on his stern expression before seemingly shaking it off. "That's great, man. Can I see your ID?"

The man set his hand out, palm up in expectation. The knit in Harry's brows tightened that much more at the ask. This never happened at the blood clubs from what he could remember; why did it matter who he was before stepping inside?

Nonetheless, he pulled out the (forged) ID out of his wallet, passing it off to the man with a quick flash of his hand. The man barely glanced at the piece of plastic before he flicked his eyes back up to Harry with a slight smile curling his lips.

"So, you're Harry," the man pointed out, passing back Harry's ID.

Pocketing it, Harry wasn't sure what this man was trying to get at, but answered him nonetheless, "Yes. That's me. Why?"

The man shook his head, a small laugh falling from his lips before he stepped away from the door. "Nothing. Your girlfriend just made sure to let everyone know you were coming tonight. She'll be excited to see you."

Mumbling a thank you to the man, Harry stepped around him and entered the nightclub. While it was a sweet thought that (Y/N) had boasted about him to the nightclub staff, he wasn't sure why she would go through all of the trouble. It wasn't like her to bubble off to strangers.

The lights were off, leaving the bar lining the back of the space with only a dim glow for the tenders to work by. The main floor, full of people dancing (at least that's what he thought that was what they were doing. Harry couldn't be sure, and he truthfully didn't want to look close enough to find out) was the darkest space with only pumping strobes and multicolored spotlights to be the only guides. Here and there were tall tables stationed by the bar and rounded booths tucked into the walls, no seat left unclaimed despite the busy dance floor. Scanning his eyes over the packed bodies, Harry searched for a familiar dress or the peak of a familiar scent, hoping to find (Y/N) somewhere.

His hunt didn't take long, finding (Y/N) with a few other girls he was familiar with only through photos on the far edge of the dancing crowd. He was only able to catch a view of her profile, where she had a lazy smile on her lips and her lashes sitting half lidded over her eyes. There was a cup in her hand, the neon liquid almost empty between shards of ice, though she still managed to slosh it almost to the edge with every uncoordinated sway of her body.

Harry didn't waste any time before he was meandering his way through the throng of bodies, keeping his breath stilted so as to not bother his senses with the scent of so many others that were not his beloved. It was bad enough he felt the heat of their bodies and the unnecessary brushes against him, he didn't want anything more from him to invade his senses.

Just as he hit the edges of their little group, (Y/N) stumbled on her heels, her features falling. In a rush, Harry was at her side, saving her balance and settling her back on her feet. A bewildered expression crossed her face, one he was sure matched her friends who all had eyes on him as well. Though the second she recognized his chilled touch and the familiar hands wrapped around her arms, she loosened back into her oblivious state.

"Harry!" she cheered, completely forgetting about her almost finished drink when she twirled on her feet and threw her arms around his shoulders, "You're here!"

His bunched muscles finally relaxed, allowing him to reciprocate her hug. Dipping his head down, his cheek pressed to hers with his lips by her ear, he murmured, "'M here, love. Are y'alright?"

"Yeah, why?" she bubbled, seemingly having wiped the stumble right out of her mind already.

It didn't take Harry's extra senses to notice the vodka on her breath, though he was sure he was the only one that could notice the sharp edge added to her scent from the alcohol. With how saturated it was, she hadn't just started her night at the club. That would at least explain why she had made sure to alert the man out front that her boyfriend (a silly title, but cute nonetheless) was on his way.

"No reason," he smiled, dropping his hands to sit on her waist, "Are y'having fun?"

"I am! I'm so happy you're here now! I've been telling everyone that you were coming, and now you're here!"

The glaze over her eyes was enough to draw Harry in, his lips curling into an amused smile. He'd never seen her anything past a bit tipsy. Drunk (Y/N) was a person he'd never met before.

Before he had a chance to offer any kind of response, using a surprising amount of her strength given her state, she pulled him along before presenting him to her friends.

"Guys!" she bubbled, catching the attention of the rest of the women, "Look who's here!"

One of the women looked decidedly more sober than the rest, though Harry could smell a tint of alcohol on her as well. She was the first to step forward, giving a small smile.

"Harry, right?" she said, the ends of her short blonde hair dusting her collarbones, "(Y/N)'s been so excited to see you tonight."

"As I've learned," he laughed, offering a hand out for her to shake, "And you are?"

"Oh, I'm Charlotte! It's nice to meet you!"

At that, the surrounding group made their own introductions with (Y/N) clinging to his side. He dedicated each name to memory, hoping that would help him pass the test that he was surely going through that night. Meeting her friends had been foiled before with the changes in weather keeping him stuck inside, or his insistence that (Y/N) live her life outside of him lest she feel trapped in the manor at his side. Tonight had been the first time everything had fallen into place: a girls' night with an open invitation after dinner.

Shifting his arm around her shoulders, Harry pulled (Y/N) to his side as he guided her out of the way of those still dancing behind them. His features set pleasantly neutral, he looked towards Charlotte first.

"(Y/N) told me your significant others might also be joining us tonight," he drawled, his version of asking of their whereabouts as he seemed to be the only boyfriend having shown up so far.

"I'm not sure, actually," Charlotte mused, the evidence of her own drinking beginning to show. "I know my boyfriend will be here to pick me up later, but I haven't really heard anything about the other girls’. It might just be you, if that's okay."

Feeling eyes on him, Harry glanced down at his side to see (Y/N) still gazing up at him with a dreamy smile on her lips. He hoped he didn't come off as rude when the sight distracted him as Charlotte spoke, taking a beat to reciprocate her look and keep her snug to his side.

"I am okay with that. I hope 'm not intruding on your night then," Harry charmed, shooting his gaze around the room in search of a vacant booth or barstool, "Perhaps, I can find a free spot and let you all have fun without me interrupting."

"No," (Y/N) piped up, "You have to stay with us now! I don't want you to go."

Her words are slightly slurred but her passion was clear enough. He didn't bother to look at what the rest of the women had to say, only worrying about keeping the smile on his beloved face. "Okay, then I will stay, love. I will still try to find a table, though, so y'can sit with me for a little."

She was more than quelled by his answer, her body pliant against his own as if she were already ready for him to drag her wherever he wanted.

"I don't know if anything is going to be open," Charlotte interjected, having heard his proposal over the music, "I've been hoping someone would move, but they've all been taken since we got here."

"I'm sure I can make something work," Harry smiled, already spotting a booth he would prefer over the others, "We'll be right back."

As soon as Harry stepped out of the small circle formed by their group with (Y/N) on his arm, it was closed up once more, though he could feel eyes pasted to his back watching where they went. Aware of her stumbling steps at his side, Harry took it slow as he escorted her towards a booth situated in the back corner, just out of view of the others.

"I think people have—hic—they're already sitting there, H," (Y/N) murmured.

"'S alright," he answered, tightening his hold on her hand, "I think they're about to leave."

He didn't waste any time in reaching the group, a charming smile on his lips when he picked out the leader. An underdressed (in Harry's opinion) blonde man with a drink in hand seemed to be the center of attention, the first one to acknowledge Harry approaching.

Before he could utter any kind of greeting, Harry took over the situation. "Hello," he smiled, "M'girlfriend and her friends would like to sit here, please."

The man looked bewildered for a moment, unable to meet Harry's eyes. "Um—I'm sorry, but—"

"No need to be sorry," Harry cut him off, voice taking on a quality he didn't utilize very often, but this was a special occasion, "You can find another space. Right?"

As soon as the man met his eyes, Harry could tell the effects he wanted were taking place. It was all within the span of a heartbeat that this man took Harry's words as his own idea and nodded his head.

"Yeah, we can find another spot," he relented, a faux cheer to his voice as he beckoned his friends to follow him out, "C'mon, guys, let's try the bar."

There were a few questioning glances thrown to both the man as well as Harry, but no one questioned. Instead they only murmured amongst themselves as they followed their leader towards the bartop. As he led her into the now free vinyl seating, (Y/N) was one of the few that had a question in her eyes and pinch in her brows.

"How did you do that?" she asked, her voice low under the music but still audible to Harry's ears, "Is that a vampire thing?"

A breath of laughter fell from his lips at her words. "A little bit, yes. I don't like to do it often, but I want to make sure y'have somewhere to sit and relax while I get y'some water."

"You're getting me water?" she questioned, thoroughly distracted at his new offer as if she didn't have a cup of half melted ice in her hand.

"Mhm," he hummed, releasing her hand once she had tucked herself into the corner of the booth, "After I grab your friends, 'm getting y'some water before y'have any more fun."

With the way she was looking at him, he would have figured he had proposed and offered diamonds and jewels to her, and not just a glass of water from the bar. This night was already going better than he'd thought.

—————

"Did you guys know that Harry's a painter?! Like, he does huge murals and things all over the house! He's amazing."

Only Charlotte seemed to catch (Y/N) words—the same declaration she had cheered about only ten minutes prior. She and Harry exchanged a small glance while the rest of the table treated this as new information.

It'd been a long time since Harry had drank, and even longer since he'd been intoxicated to (Y/N)'s degree. Was short term memory something that was now lost when mixed with spirits, or was that just her?

"Do you really?!" one of (Y/N)'s friends (Cecilia, maybe?) bubbled, her cup of ice water cradled in her hands as she leant over the table with wide eyes, "What kind of stuff do you paint?"

"A little bit of everything," Harry answered, just as he had the last time a similar question was posed, "M'style has changed a lot over the last year or so. I can show you all some time if you'd like—'m sure (Y/N) would love to have you over to the manor."

Even Charlotte perked up at this offer, looking to (Y/N) for confirmation. "That would be so much fun, (Y/N)! We could do that the next time we get together!"

At that, Harry sat back while the chattering arose amongst the group. Under the table, his hand rested on (Y/N)'s thigh, the warmth of her skin anchoring him through the pumping music, strobing lights, and unfamiliar smells surrounding him. As much as he was aiming to leave a good first impression on her friends, he was still very much out of his element in the nightclub. He hoped (Y/N) would call for him to take her home sooner rather than later.

As if she knew he had her on his mind, (Y/N) leant into his side, looking up at him with a toothy grin and affectionate eyes. The chattering was going strong on the other side of the table, the conversation sounding as if the women were making plans for their next outing together—one that would take place at the manor with bottles of wine and movies.

"You'd really be alright with everyone coming over?" (Y/N) asked, moony eyes trained on his face.

"Of course," he answered, a smile landing on his face on instinct, "It is your home too, petal. Y'can have your friends over as well—'s not jus' Mitch and Niall that are allowed over."

She curled into his side, her thigh under the table practically draped over his own. "Do you think Sarah would want to hang out with us?"

The thought of Sarah playing around with a bunch of human girls was more amusing than he thought it would be. He wondered if that was how she and Mitch felt when they realized he was courting a human girl.

"She might," he told her, keeping his amusement to himself, "I can ask for you."

In an impossible feat, (Y/N) looked that much more in love with him at his offer. As much as he missed her regular scent without the sticky edge of alcohol, he did like just how tender she became—adoring his every and any move.

"That would be so nice, H. Thank you," she told him earnestly, her hand coming to rest on his middle with his shirt in her grip, "You're the best ever, you know that?"

"I have been told as much a few times." All by her, but that was a detail that he would leave out for the moment.

"Well," she pouted, "It's true. I'm so happy you came tonight. I think the girls really like you, too."

"Yeah?" he smiled, hoping it was more than just her drunken tongue making the claim.

"Mhm," she hummed, stretching to rest her head on his shoulder with a squeeze of her hand over his shoulder, "You're better than all of their boyfriends."

At that, Harry couldn't help but to release the laugh building in his chest. While he understood the sentiment, that wasn't quite the impact he was going for.

"You think so?" Harry questioned, unable to wipe his amusement from his voice.

(Y/N) didn't seem to notice—or, most likely, care—responding with a definitive nod. "I know so."

Another breathy laugh left his lips as he ducked his head, burying his nose in her hair. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Charlotte glancing their way; an adoring smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she saw the way her friend clung to him.

Taking in a lungful of (Y/N)'s scent, Harry decided that nightclubs weren't so bad.

At least when (Y/N) was there.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Cecilia babbled, a look of urgency on her face, “You said he cooks, right? You cook right?”

Her attention was splashed over Harry then, forcing him to draw away from (Y/N)’s hair. Clearing his throat under the music, he nodded his head. “I do, yes.”

A squeal fell from her lips with her companions being just as excited. “Would you make us food when we come over? (Y/N) says you’re so good!”

Just as (Y/N) perked up at his side, turning her wide eyes on him, Harry stifled his own laugh. God, how he wished he had been a fly on the wall while she apparently spouted off all these facts about him—the ones reserved for her.

“If you’d like.”

Just as he expected, more noise erupted from the table.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and please send in any fun ideas or requests you have!!

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alottieluv · 2 years ago

Text

mdni. established relationship, fem!reader, public fucking, unprotected sex, creampie, basically porn w no plot. prob unedited and unfinished.

bakugou and his girlfriend are almost never seen together out in public, and when they are, it's a paparazzi field day.

being a pro-hero is tiring, exhausting, and humbling to say the least. bakugou never liked having to take to the media just to begrudgingly satisfy a growing fanbase, and he never will, because there's crazy fans, and on top of that, are his fans.

so you can imagine their reaction to your first leaked photo together, blurry but more than enough to say that their beloved dynamight was taken.

let's just hope the few photos out in the world with the two of you together are enough to stoke the fire, lest one day you wake up to an article of your boyfriend publicly fucking you in the changing rooms of a lingerie store.

you only called him in for a second opinion, wondering if the color suited the tone of your skin as you drag the curtain over to cover you. though it wouldn't have matter since he'd have said yes regardless, too distracted by you.

"w-wait, katsuki."

katsuki folds your legs to your chest, his hips pressing yours as you lay across the bench of the changing room. you can feel him through his pants and the very thin material of the panties you were trying on. "we can't. someone might see, and we can't get it dirty."

you watch katsuki's eyes trail down your body, decorated in thin straps lined with lace. the sight makes him sigh and groan to himself under the noise of bustling crowds in the store. "can't baby. you look so good right now." quietly, he starts pressing kisses to your neck, caring less about leaving a mark or two, and ruts his hips against yours.

you let out a sigh, feeling the panties dampen with your arousal. you call for him, whispering lowly into his ear before he lets go of one of your thighs to undo his belt. he pulls away to catch your lips in his, giving soft pecks when he finally pulls himself out.

"pull 'em aside for me, baby." you hum and tug at the panties to push them aside, watching him align himself. he lets the underside of his length drag against your cunt first, grinding against you to let your juices mix before you feel his blunt tip poking at your entrance.

the stretch of his thick cock stings, only able to grip the edge of the bench before you let out a strained whine. katsuki muffles your moans in a kiss, distracting you until you feel him bottom out. he lets out a groan into your mouth, your walls clenching down on him, they almost push him out.

"you're so tight, need to move so I can stretch you out." he looks at you and you nod, the stinging pain dissolving into thoughtless pleasure as he starts to slowly thrust in and out. his thrusts grow to a steady pace, producing a quiet smack every time your hips meet.

"excuse me, is everything okay in there?" you gasp, looking at katsuki who only smirks at you. he doesn't plan on slowing down now. he whispers in your ear, "go on and answer them, baby. remember to speak up."

you open your mouth, readying yourself to answer when you feel his tip prod at your gummy spot. you start to moan until you cup your hand over your mouth, cutting yourself off. "hello? are you okay?" quickly, you answer but just as you do, katsuki starts to thrust faster, almost to the rhythm of the heels as they walk away.

you can feel his cock inside you, dragging against your walls and poking at your sweet spot. you feel yourself tighten around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. the employee probably knew what was going on, the smacking of your hips and the squelching sound of your pussy undeniable.

"i-i'm close," you moan, pushing your hips against his to meet his thrusts before you're pushed over the edge. your release is audible from his thrusts, pushing impossibly further into you before you feel his cum fill your cunt, dripping from the sides of your pussy where his cock is still buried.

he grunts, stomach relaxing as he pulls out. you watch as beads of cum slowly drip down his length to join the creamy ring of white at the base of his cock. all the while, he eyes the gush of your cunt, drooling with his cum.

“yeah, i think we should buy this one.”

#lottie writings ! ~ ☆#bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha bakugo smut #mha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugō

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luveline · 2 years ago

Note

if you’re taking joel requests here’s one :3

touch-starved!joel who isn’t aware he’s touch starved but then extremely affectionate reader comes along and just always! touches! him! loving & intentional touches, casual touches—all of it drives him wild and he loves it!!

thank you!! I hope this is okay! Touch-starved Joel who wants you but doesn't know how to want you w/ mutual pining ♥︎ fem!reader 2k

Joel wishes you wouldn't work the same shifts as him. Wishes you didn't have to work any shifts at all, wishes you didn't know this life, but you do. He wishes you wouldn't pick all the high-paying, devastating jobs that he does, wishes you didn't insist on keeping him company. And above all, he wishes you wouldn't touch him, because he can't handle the way that he feels when you do.

Sharing shifts turns to seeing one another outside of the old meat market by accident. In turn, that becomes purposeful. Before he really knows it, you're comfortable enough to come by his apartment and you'll wait there even when he isn't home just to see him. Precious hours of your life spent curled in on yourself at his door.

Joel nudges your sleeping body with his shoe and then feels like the world's biggest asshole. He sighs, kneeling down despite his aching back, and shakes your shoulder. He notices how soft your jaw looks when you sleep and has to look away, lest he think about it too much now, and remember it later. You have this habit of chasing him into bed when you're not there.

Your hand wakes before your eyes do, and you curl your fingers around his wrist, half on his sleeve and half on his skin. Where you connect hums with heat.

"Why are you out here?" He changes his prerogative, feeling as though chastisement is more important. "You have no sense of danger, even now. Get up."

He doesn't speak without fondness. You'd have to look hard to find it, but it's undoubtedly there.

His tone has you awake and alert quickly, your gaze on his face. "I do," you say croakily, letting him pull you into a standing position.

"Then what are you doing out here?"

"I can't call first… You look tired."

"I am. I'm not staying up." He pulls his wrist from your lingering grasp. "Should've called."

"You act like you don't like me," you say without inflection, following him in through the door and closing it softly behind you.

He drops his jacket over the back of the couch and scrubs his face with both hands. His back aches from standing and heaving all day, his arms tight with a cramping tension.

If he were younger he'd turn around and wrap you up in his arms. He'd tell you what he really thinks of you, your head hooked in the crook of his arm, his free hand roaming lazily over your back. His pinky finger would run along the line of your jeans playfully, and maybe you'd laugh. You don't laugh as much as you should.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"No, Joel."

You'd lie even if you were.

He moves into the kitchen, makes himself a small glass of water, and leans against the counter. He tries not to drink it like a total pig knowing you're watching, but he's dehydrated and cotton-mouthed.

The window paints you in a weak light, like iced tea. You pick over his things and arrange yourself on the couch like a tired house cat, pulling your legs up and rubbing your cheek against the backrest. Shoulders to the arm, you're almost lying down. He could superimpose you into his sheets, imagining how you might look in bed, not naked or waiting or anything so salacious, just how you’d look getting ready to sleep. He wonders if you wear pyjamas, figures you likely sleep dressed as you are now in your shirt and jeans. Maybe you swap denim for sweatpants, maybe you don’t. Maybe you peel your shirt off, maybe your bra. He entertains a life where he gets to see it and finds it painful as wrapping his hand around a hot poker, because that life is alarmingly close to this one, if he were to take one small leap.

“Where were you today?” he asks.

He sees a flicker of humour flit across your face. He knows it as one of your tells — you'd thought about bending the truth.

"You don’t have to worry, I’m just… rundown. Felt sicker than usual, so I stayed home."

It's automatic for him to give you a once over as he would with anybody who feels under the weather. You haven't been unlike yourself, you aren't sweating or irritable. You're fine. You’re more than fine.

You have a strange inability to look after yourself. He believes in positive (and negative) reinforcement.

"Good girl," he says.

You smile at your hands, picking at nails he knows are scrubbed raw and clean as he crosses the room to sit with you on the couch. You're quick to push your legs over his lap, your jeans riding up until the rarely-seen skin of your ankles peak out.

"I had an incredible headache," you continue. "And I felt like the blood was rushing in my ears when I stood up but I wasn’t dizzy.”

You touch him and it's like all his agitation starts to numb itself. The weight of your legs has him forgetting his aching back and his sore arms. He stares at his closed fist by your foot, willing himself to touch you; all he wants to do is grab your leg, feel the dough and softness of it under his palm. You sit up a touch to brush a longer piece of hair sticking out behind his neck.

He pretends you aren't moving at all.

"Do you feel better now?" he asks.

Your knuckle brushes under his jaw. He feels the short hairs of his beard catching.

"I feel fine," you say. "How are you feeling?"

He turns to face you head on. He’s not going to answer your question. You already know he won’t, but you've asked anyway. He isn’t sure what to do with that.

“You really do look tired,” you say softly, concern knitting your brows together. He thinks it’s your most devastating look yet. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Joel, I’ll go home. You can get some real rest.”

He almost says Hey, I don’t want you to leave yet, and you’re already standing up. You look more sorry than you should, believing that you're a burden on him when you aren’t — you're a lightness. You drain the levy, and he can’t see himself getting any rest at all if you leave.

You’re saving him the awkwardness, climbing off of his couch and out of his lap to track down your shoes. “And, you know, you could shower,” you say, trying to infuse some life back into the room, “I know the cold water bites but we all gotta do it.”

He stands up too fast and feels an absence of noise. No blood rushing in his ears, no beating heart. He’s too tired, in every sense of the word, to ask for what he wants. He can’t ask you to stay.

You lean down to hook your finger into the back of your sneaker and stop at his expression. You stand a little taller. Whatever vulnerability he sees in you now, your short black socks against the floor, your sweet-eyed, tentative smile, he suspects he’d find it doubled in the mirror.

“Joel, I…”

He can’t ask you.

But that doesn't mean you can't ask him.

"Do you think I could stay, after all? To sleep. Just to sleep," you say. Your voice is quiet, like you're trying to spare yourself some dignity if you need to take it back.

He thinks about it. You, in his bed. You, sleeping as you had been in his hallway, your lashes skimming the delicate skin under your eyes, your neck craned in. You, with your hands under your cheek, your sluggish breathing, your heart capering only a handful of inches from his.

A beat. "You kick in your sleep?" he asks, cotton-mouth returned.

"No," you say. You laugh through it, making the word so thick it's almost sticky. Honey in sound.

It solidifies what he's said yes to. He doesn't know how to sleep next to you. He barely knows how to talk to you, and doesn't try as he leads you into his bedroom. Thankfully, you spare him. He knows you aren't the most confident person on the planet, and that each bold move you make is for his benefit. He tries to be unflinching in return, kicking out of his shoes and throwing back the blankets to lie flat on the sheets. You settle in next to him with little ceremony.

You keep your legs hiked up at first, your heels digging into the mattress near his knees. You turn your face to his, and he turns his face to yours. He can see your every wrinkle and line this close. You must be seeing his.

"You got lucky with the neighbour lottery, huh?" you say, not quite whispering. "It's silent."

He doesn't want you to stop talking, but he can't help himself. "Almost," he says wryly.

You know him well enough to smile. "I guess you don't need the quiet," —you turn carefully onto your side, letting the weight of your knees rest on his thigh— "'cause you work all day every day."

The opposite. The shit he sees on shift is enough to give anybody insomnia.

"I'm the bad neighbour."

"Oh, right, your radio." The back of your hand touches his arm. The slightest of touches but enough to make him realise how much he wants it. He can't remember the last time somebody touched him who wasn't you, not for years now. It's an amicable casualness he can't explain away. He wants it worse than a hydro.

"I might, uh, might cling a little, in my sleep. You can push me away, swears. Even if you gotta really fight me on it." You close your eyes, burrowing your face into one of his flat pillows. Your knuckles jump up his arm as you get comfortable. "Jus' shove me."

He closes his eyes. The dark of his eyelids is usually a torment, but with you this close it lulls him quickly and without finesse. "I'm not gonna shove you," he says while he still can.

He's on the precipice of sleep when your hand slides up his bicep. You feel along the soft ridging of his muscles until your fingers slot between his arm and his chest, and your nose is kissing his shoulder. It's as if the moonlight has heat and it's bearing down on him through the dirty windows as every stressed ligament, every tensed tissue in his sore body finally gives in to rest.

When he wakes, he's missed his morning shift start. You're clinging to him like you said you would, harder than he'd think possible considering your unconsciousness, with your lips pressed to his shoulder. He thinks it might leave a bruise.

He dips his face toward yours until the tip of his nose nudges your forehead and goes back to sleep.

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redxx95 · 4 months ago

Text

Exploring Kurosawa's internalized homophobia and compulsive heteronormativity

oh yea baby we bustin out the Big Words for this one 😎

This was supposed to be posted at the end of pride month but Life happened and it got delayed a lot 😩 So yea happy pride month (and happy birthday Kurosawa I guess 😂)

(btw I think I've never mentioned this on any of my other posts but english is not my first language, so if anything I write ever sounds awkward, that's probably why 😅) (also I had to merge a bunch of images to get around the image limit, this post is really long, the word count is at 1930 words 💀)

Hope you guys enjoy the read! 💞

Spoilers for anything up to vol 11

Let me start this by saying that there's no actual textual evidence of Kurosawa being gay (rather than bi/pan), so this interpretation is definitely veering towards headcanon territory. I'm also not trying to establish this as the only Correct opinion and anyone is of course allowed to have their own sexuality headcanons, this is very healthy and valid 👍

Kurosawa's internalized homophobia

The first scene I want to put under a magnifying glass is this one.

Let's examine what's going on here: Kurosawa has just tried to kiss Adachi, whose hesitation he perceived as disgust. Then he pretends it was disgusting for him too, because he thinks that is the average reaction anyone would have, extending this to Adachi as well. The way he says "who'd be into that?" is already lowkey homophobic, but the japanese line makes it even more evident: "普通嫌だよな" (= "Normally, you'd dislike that right?"). Keyword here being "普通" = "normal, ordinary", implying that anyone who would like that is abnormal. So what does that say about him then, who was so happy to get the chance to kiss another man? This is pretty much textbook internalized homophobia, where he has accepted what he perceives to be the general opinion on gay people and has made those values his own, hating himself for it (albeit only briefly here), which is why he internally apologizes to Adachi.

This is not the only instance of him feeling like that, although this next part is slightly more speculative than the more obvious example above.

So we all know that Kurosawa is a jealous, jealous man. It's one of his defining character traits and it's often the source of conflict and comedy alike. But he does not express his jealousy equally across genders. With men he has this strong rivalry where he needs to prove himself better and more worthy of Adachi's attention.

But with women he has a different approach: gently coaxing them away from him, lest they realize what a catch Adachi really is.

So, why this difference? The answer I have is that he doesn't actually believe he can compete with a woman. If Adachi wants to be close with a man, Kurosawa thinks it might as well be him, he's the best option after all. But if Adachi wants a woman, he cannot offer anything and is therefore the inferior option. He believes this even after he found out Adachi's not completely repulsed at the idea of being with a man. Even if Adachi's okay with men, he'll always prefer a woman.

And whenever he imagines anyone else with Adachi, it's always a woman, specifically Fujisaki, which he believes is "his type".

And he at least thinks he's very far away from that ideal. (He's not but that's a topic for a different essay.) If anyone's wondering why he even bothers at all then if he's so sure that a woman will out-compete him, I think the lyrics from the anime opening actually put it best, specifically the last verse:

I have these impatient feelings I doubt this love will come to fruition But still I can't give up this happiness There's a feeling here I can't resist A love like a castle in the sky

So basically, his plan is that he might as well ride the high of his first ever crush as far as it will go, intercepting where he can to prolong it just that little bit further, until it all inevitably comes to an end. (a castle in the sky = an unreachable dream) This plan kind of fluctuates throughout volumes 1-3 as Adachi gives him a bunch of mixed signals, but it holds true most of the time.

Adachi's side

Now I'd like to highlight the way Adachi actually thinks about their relationship, because it serves as a great contrast to Kurosawa's assumptions about him.

Throughout the first three volumes we see him grapple with his newfound feelings for Kurosawa, but he (almost) never puts his gender at the forefront of his musings. The manga makes it very clear that it's his lack of romantic experience and low self esteem that make it hard for him to accept Kurosawa's affections, and not the fact that he's a man.

This second page here being his own little gay awakening, where he realizes that he is not, in fact, disgusted by intimacy with a man.

It's also worth mentioning that when he later introduces Kurosawa to his parents (ch 41), they are immediately welcoming of him, suggesting he grew up in a very tolerant environment.

And it's not like he's completely unaware of heteronormativity/homophobia either, especially after he does his research in vol 8, but he is slightly more defiant in responding to it.

(I love how he just buys that bag he probably doesn't need that's supposed to come with all the wedding magazines, just as this very tiny act of rebellion.)

So now that we can see how different Kurosawa's thought patterns are compared to Adachi's, the next question we should ask ourselves is: Why is he like that?

Heteronormativity in Kurosawa's life

(yes we're finally getting to the comphet part of the essay 😂)

First let's look at the environment he grew up in. There are not many scenes with his family, but from those that we do have, we can at least make some assumptions about how he must've been raised.

His mother is clearly the authority figure in his life, judging by how she's described as "strong" and how terrified he is at her merely setting down a teacup (while Adachi has a more mild reaction). Her reaction to the news of them dating and Kurosawa expecting his parents to go as far as disowning him for it would suggest that she might just be generally homophobic.

But when they actually go meet her we see this slightly more nuanced perspective.

She's not entirely against it, but she does believe they are making a mistake by choosing to be together, hence why she thinks they might "regret it". There's many hardships that gay couples in Japan face, some of which we even see discussed in the manga, so it's not hard to see why she would be concerned for her son. The way she talks about Kurosawa never causing any problems, but "changing" ever since he fell for Adachi further supports that conformity is what she believes will ultimately lead to a successful, happy life. And that's also why she accepts Adachi later, when he's made it abundantly clear in his speech that they are happier in this non-conforming relationship than they were without it.

To contrast, her other child Mari is shown to have a very progressive stance (see: her pep talk in ch 47) and it would not surprise me if that is the reason she's rarely in japan and is never seen together with her family, save for the one time they're all at the wedding. She might find the conforming environment too restrictive and preferring to keep her distance. (shoutout to naina for this bit 🙏)

So that's Kurosawa's family situation. Now let's check how his social circle holds up.

From what we see of his friends, they never even seem to consider him possibly being with a man.

And his work environment seems rather toxic to say the least.

It clearly dictates traditional gender roles as the ideal. Nobody except Fujisaki even clocks any of Kurosawa's advances on Adachi as romantic in nature, even though he seems to be quite obvious about it (see: ch 34.5). And it's not like dating in general is discouraged at Toyokawa either, as we can see from all the women constantly vying for Kurosawa's attention.

From all this we can conclude that Kurosawa's upbringing and social/work environment is painfully heteronormative and until he falls for Adachi it seems he never questioned the status quo either.

The famous onsen scene, while funny, also reveals the sad truth that Kurosawa, in his 30 years of life, probably never even had the chance to explore his sexual orientation, rather focusing on being "perfect" in his straight relationships.

Speaking of those relationships...

He apparently had a bunch of girlfriends, who all seem to have dumped him pretty early on. His mother's surprise at him expressing a willingness to commit also makes me think he's never brought anyone home either. He also only seems to have a surface level understanding of what a proper relationship is supposed to entail, if his idea of an ideal date is just "what the average person" thinks is romantic. So why were all of his relationships so short-lived? Before I answer that...

Intermission: Kurosawa's smiles

It has come to my attention that this is not common knowledge, so let me explain: There's a way to tell apart Kurosawa's fake smiles from his real ones, without any context clues, just purely visually.

Real smiles: (ch 23, 24, 37)

Fake smiles: (ch 5, 13, 32)

The difference being very simple: Blush = real, no blush = fake 👍 And before anyone mentions it: No he doesn't just blush when he's around Adachi, that last fake smile is actually directed at him. (ch 32)

Edit from the future: This holds true like 90% of the time, but as Toyota's art style becomes more detailed, this doesn't apply as much in the newer volumes. I think there's also new details added that I haven't quite figured out yet so take this bit with a grain of salt. (The images below are still from her early art style though.)

So now that we have this additional knowledge, let's take a look at every instance Kurosawa is paired with a woman.

He's smiling in all of these. Not a single one has a real smile in it though.

I think he's never actually had his heart in any of his relationships, and the girls probably noticed it and that's why they dumped him.

And, of course, the first time he actually falls in love...

... just so happens to be with a man.

Even his friends comment on this, who have known him since high school.

It's almost funny how perfectly this aligns with real life gay people. Having numerous, short-lived relationships with people of the "wrong" gender is one of the more common traits of compulsive heteronormativity. (source: me oof) (but also shoutout to the "Am I a lesbian?" masterdoc, google it if you don't know, it's truly eye-opening)

After dating Adachi

So we have already established that he's far happier when he does finally get to date Adachi, but do any of his other thought patterns change?

Honestly it seems like he throws every single reservation about being seen as gay out the window.

He starts bragging like crazy about his new relationship to anyone willing (and unwilling) to listen, he has no qualms about PDA, he marks Adachi up and down so everyone knows he's taken and the only thing stopping him from proclaiming his love for Adachi to the whole world is the still very much existing societal homophobia. But he is a lot more easy-going about it now than he ever was before.

And I think the best way to describe this mental shift is, hear me out, the date song from volume 4...

... specifically the last 2 verses as a whole, and this section in particular:

"I won't let anyone divide our fraction! You couldn't pry this thrill from my hands when they're cold and dead!"

Horrible lyrics aside, this perfectly encapsulates how Kurosawa simply couldn't care less anymore now that he finally has what he's wanted for more than a year, maybe even his whole life. All the societal pressure pales in comparison to the sheer euphoria he feels at finally having someone that he loves and who loves him back just as strongly, feeling cared for and seen like no one else ever did.

And, you know, just happens to be a man. 🏳️‍🌈

#cherry magic #my essays #this is the mother of all essays I've ever done jesus christ #this thing spawned like 8 other post ideas btw #can't wait to finally get to those lmao

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seelestia · 1 year ago

Text

— 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄?

SUMMARY. in which you decide to do their eye makeup for them and the many antics that come with it.

CHARACTERS. zhongli, alhaitham, xiao, wanderer, gorou, itto.

GENRE. fluff, slight crack, established relationship.

CW. close proximity, one use of pet name, zhongli sorta acts like a cat, alhaitham is a lil insufferable but you love him, wanderer is also an inch away from choking you (affectionately).

THOUGHTS. question: is their eye makeup waterproof or do they apply it every morning?? fascinating. p/s: happy birthday to @zhongrin! lots of love to one of the best people i've ever met on this site <3

✰ masterlist.

— ZHONGLI.

❝Apologies, dear. Is this distance acceptable?❞

ZHONGLI smells of rich cologne and the vapor of tea brews wafting through the air when you step into a teahouse. You know this, of course, you've buried yourself in his embrace countless times before — but to have your face so close to his like this, you've never felt an urge to look away quite this strong before.

You stay composed, however, Zhongli can't always be the only one with the cool composure in this household, after all. "Mhm, perfect," you nod with a quiet hum as he closes his eyes, settling his chin in your palm so snugly that you laugh.

"You're like a cat," you remark, trying to suppress the littlest impulse to bump your forehead onto his in an affectionate way. "Is that so?" Gentle eyes that resemble amber gemstones flutter open to meet yours.

(Almost, were you accidentally about to poke his eye out of sheer panic from his beauty. Almost.)

"I'm glad to know that comparing me to felines seems to bring you amusement," Zhongli brushes his hand against your hair, "But let us focus on the task at hand, my love."

"Lest we miss our reservation at Liuli Pavilion. It is most polite to be punctual," he reminds you. How mean of him; to say such things and expect you to fully register it when he is softly rubbing your cheek like this as if lulling you to sleep.

Seriously, the amount of self-control you have to muster spontaneously in order to fight off the need to lean further into his hand is indescribable. Who's supposed to be the feline again? Anyway. "Okay, okay, I won't dawdle anymore," you adjust his chin in your hold as your other works to bring up the eyeliner to his eye.

"My husband has to look his best, after all," you slip in a little joke."Of course, darling," but Zhongli's answer doesn't sound like he's kidding at all.

(How can he say that with such a straight face? This man, seriously.)

— ALHAITHAM.

❝You're actually concentrating, I'm impressed.❞

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" you scrunch your face, frowning at how his words are jabbing at your pride. Has he not realized the power you have in your hands right now? You could actually poke his eyes with the eyeliner you're holding if you want to — not like you would, but Alhaitham is making it a smidgen harder to resist.

"I can focus, alright?" Huffing, you put aside your trivial grudges to grab his chin softly with your other hand. Alhaitham relents with an entertained smile, "All those times you fall asleep every time I read to you says otherwise."

"Well, that's— that's different," you stammer. In your defense, most of the books he chose to read to you are either theoretical physics or philosophies; it's a wonder how you're lulled to sleep even though it isn't a storybook. Of course, Alhaitham's library is a range of wide genres but you're starting to think he picks those books solely for you.

You're pulled out of your train of thoughts when you put in some distance to view your finished artwork. With Alhaitham's face as the canvas, somewhat comically.

(Well, aren't his eyes pretty? They look even sharper when accented with the eyeliner... whether that be for better or for worse. You shake your head internally at any poor person who happens to test his patience later today.)

"Wow," you mumble dazedly, "Red eyeliner really suits you." He raises an eyebrow at the genuineness in your quiet voice but only lifts his face away from your hand in response. Alhaitham regards your efforts in the mirror beside the two of you with a hum, "Maybe we should make this a routine, then."

There is a little something oddly hidden behind his sentence. Accusingly, you voice your suspicion by squinting your eyes at the Scribe, "...You just don't wanna do it yourself, do you?" And he enables it without a doubt, "Feel free to speculate."

(Ugh, this man.)

"But regardless..." he crosses his arms against his chest with a nod, "It doesn't look so bad."

(Would it have killed him from the inside out to say a compliment with a positive connotation? Okay, whatever, you love him.)

— XIAO.

❝....❞

Silent, quiet, and frozen in place like a statue.

The mere presence of those traits are more than enough reasons to have you worrying whether or not XIAO is still breathing. He is, thankfully, you can confirm that from the close proximity between the two of you and you mentally let out a sigh of relief.

(Thank the Archons you didn't lean in any further lest you would've heard how terribly his poor heart is faring and he doesn't want that.)

There is one more problem, however.

"You don't have to close your eyes that hard, you know..." you try to start, but Xiao still doesn't falter one bit; "It is of utmost necessity," he insists for the nth time since you've lost count.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

(Talk about stubborn.)

Your question is coming from a place of genuine concern because the frown on his forehead looks like it's going to engrave itself there forever from how intensely he is closing his eyes... Doesn't that hurt? You resist the urge to soothe away that frown with your thumb.

It's a good thing that it's only the two of you here right now, though. A stranger would be scared to death if they were to be gazed at with such an intense look and from the Conqueror of Demons at that. Oh, whatever will happen to your efforts of trying to prove to the children at Liyue Harbor that Xiao is actually a softie? Gee.

(But still, you can't help but smile.)

"Utmost necessity, huh?" you echo back his words with a hum. Your intentions bear no mockery but it seems the adeptus still manages to find some sort of dissatisfaction in your reaction. "Do not smile at me like that," Xiao mutters within a choked exhale that only serves to make him come off less stern than he would've liked.

His eyes are still, very much, closed as far as you can see.

The irony of it all tickles a chuckle out of you, mirth glazed over your eyes. "Is this an Adepti art I'm not aware of or are you secretly looking at me even with your eyes closed?" you ask cheekily. Xiao's cheeks are but a mere inch away from bursting into flames and he can only use words as his defense.

"...There is no need for you to know," he huffs.

Well, he isn't denying it, that's for sure.

(The answer is intuition.)

— WANDERER.

❝...Are you done yet? Any more second of this torture and I might just perish from boredom.❞

You're doing his makeup for him and this is the kind of treatment you get? You would've faked a gasp if you weren't so busy holding in a laugh over how his body is betraying his speech. That flustered look on WANDERER's face isn't helping his case at all.

"Uh-huh," your drawled out reply is enough of an indication to show that you're not really taking his words (threats?) seriously. Wanderer's bark can be as harsh as his bite, but you've never minded all the barks he sends your way — so much so that you barely even spare him any eye contact in favor of perfecting the red shade you're trying to blend around his eyelids.

(Perfection requires concentration, they say.)

But that doesn't mean you can't see anything else, though. You're uncertain if the Wanderer realizes this or somehow forgets because you can, in fact, see from your peripheral vision — and from said peripheral angle, he seems to be looking at something of yours rather intensely.

"You're staring at my lips," you point out.

"Shut it," he grumbles out his defense as fast as lightning.

(Caught him red-handed.)

"Sorry," you chuckle teasingly, "If you want a kiss, you're gonna have to wait for a bit." The way he looks so undeniably irritated by your statement makes you have no other option but to burst into a mini chuckling fit.

"Ugh, it's not like you can't lean in closer to—" His mouth snaps to a stop once it dawns on him; that your words are an attempt at reading his mind and he is technically confirming it to your face.

"Actually, nevermind, whatever. Just get this over and done with," he averts his eyes quickly with a scowl that feels as harmless as a naby deer (to you, anyway). "Giving up already?" you raise an eyebrow jokingly. With how Wanderer closes his eyes with a sigh, you assume he is only mere seconds away from giving your forehead a good flick.

"Don't think you're completely off the hook," he sternly interjects with a huff, "You still owe me some kind of compensation for taking your sweet time with this."

"And will that compensation be in the form of a kiss, per chance?" you hum amusedly.

"...It better be," he closes his eyes as if to signify the end of his willingness to comment any further.

Wanderer has never been one to shy away from the truth, but that is only because its taste always turns out bitter. Yet, in this case, when the truth entails something as embarrassingly sweet as desiring a kiss from you, then it becomes a conundrum for him.

After all, he is not fond of sweet things but he is fond of you. Maybe, this close proximity is getting to his head a little too much for his liking — darn it, he knew this was a bad idea the moment you showed him those puppy eyes.

— GOROU.

❝This is... embarrassing...❞

GOROU looks like he is merely a hair's breadth away from digging a hole into the ground and burrowing in it forever. But thankfully, the only thing keeping him on the surface happens to be you, the person holding him still by the cheek.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about," you squish his cheek gently and Gorou lets out a noise akin to a little whine. "What if one of the soldiers sees us?" he protests, yet makes no actual initiative to remove himself from your grasp.

"Let them," you tap the eyeliner pen against his forehead two times and he winces dramatically as if you just struck him over the head. "Ouch!" Gorou rubs the sore spot instinctively and you can feel a faint trickle of guilt (even though you only hit him with the amount of strength someone would need to blow a dandelion), yet that is still not enough to the little lecture you're about to give him.

"Being the General of the Resistance doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself. It's okay to rely on someone to do something for you once in a while, you know."

"Even something as small as letting them do your eye makeup for you," you huff with a proud smile as an emphasis, carefully tracing a line on the outer part above his eyes.

"...Mmpf," the muffled noise that comes out of his mouth has you raising an eyebrow. Although unsure if it's because of that pout on his lips or his puffed cheeks, you still let out a little laugh at the thought of said possibilities anyway.

"Pfft, what's that sound?" you tease, "Does that mean you agree with me or not?"

"[Y/N]," Gorou calls your name in a stern tone or at least, tries to.

(He has never been good at scolding people but he swears if you keep on teasing him, he'll actually explode. ...And by that, he means melting into a puddle of jelly on the ground.)

— ITTO.

❝You gotta make em' look super dope, alright? Make sure you put more highlights on this one! And oh, this one right here too!❞

No one really knows whether the tattoos on ITTO's skin are actually real or not. Knowing he is someone of Oni blood doesn't narrow down the answer any further but if you were to ask him about them yourself, Itto prefers to call them "100% natural, baby!".

Not to mention, he is always looking for ways to make them stand out or look cooler — which led to this grand idea of asking you to do his makeup for him because apparently, your touch is magical since you're his favorite person on this emtire planet (his words, not yours).

...He can come up with the most random things to say sometimes. But hey, seeing a grown Oni beg on his knees sure was something and you didn't have the heart to say no to him.

"Sooooo," Itto starts with an attempt to clear his throat professionally, "How does it feel like having the honor to prepare me for my next battle?" he accentuates his sentence with a series of haughty laughter that cause his shoulders to shake vigorously.

"Don't move," you scrunch your face with a frown, pinching him indignantly for nearly breaking your focus. "Yikes! Sorry, sorry, I'll stay still!" the Oni yelps, a noise so embarrassing he almost cups his mouth like second nature.

But he doesn't do that, in fear of being pinched by your lovely fingers and proceeds to look at you with eyes befitting that of a kicked puppy's. "...You'll come and cheer for me, right?" Itto asks pleadingly and you smile.

"Of course," you say and he has to resist the urge to do a full-on fist bump into the air. But you still have some more left to say as you continue, "Just don't cry if you lose, alright? You'll ruin the makeup and besides...." There is a devious grin resting on your face now, "You don't want the kids to think your face makeup look like tear marks, don't you?"

Yup, there comes that offended gasp you've been waiting for.

"What— heck no!" Itto places a hand on his chest dramatically, "Tear marks?! Preposterous! The Arataki Itto doesn't shed tears! Of course not!" You can only hide your giggles behind your palm while Itto struggles to defend his wounded pride.

"...Forrealthough, doesitactuallylookliketearmarks—"

Now, you've got him second-guessing himself (but at least, he's cute?).

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops @lleoll @xiaosonlybeloved @chiisananingen @irethepotato @ainescribe @blooodyvampy @starlightaura @jihyuniepark @duhsies @maybemiko @lordbugs @sakkakuu-squared — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #xiao x reader #wanderer x reader #gorou x reader #itto x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin scenarios #genshin x you #seelestial.inks

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lillian-gallows · 19 days ago

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Kinktober Day 28: Size Difference with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Pairing: Simone "Ghost" Riley X Fem!Reader Word Count: 1436 Warnings: Size kink, Body worship, Oral (F Receiving), Fingering (F Receiving), Soft!Simon, Squirting, Chair sex (Does this count as chair sex if there's no P in V? I'm gonna say yes), Pet names.

Kinktober 2024 Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Simon can’t help but stare.

You’re not even doing anything out the ordinary, nothing odd or even unique.

Seated in his recliner in a little ball, knees curled under yourself, in one of his t-shirts and your comfortable panties, simple white cotton, with a book in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.

The thing that has his staring is that fact that you’re swimming in that chair and shirt because they’re so massive compared to you.

And it makes something in his chest preen and makes something low in his belly feral.

The knowledge that he can throw you over his shoulder without even breaking a sweat? It makes him want to scream with how much it turns him on.

And the fact that you feed into it without knowing, or he’s pretty sure you’re not aware, is one of the best parts to him.

You’re just being you, and it’s all he needs in life.

As if sensing his gaze on you, your eyes flick up to look at him, head still tilted down toward your book, causing your gaze to come through your lashes.

“Si? You okay?” Your sweet voice drifted to his ears and had him feeling like one of those old cartoon characters that float toward their lover on a cloud of hearts as he approached you.

“I’m fine, Love.” He answered as he came to crouch next to you, putting him lower than you where you sat.

Your book was closed in an instant, and the mug discarded to the side. “You sure? You’re being awful stare-y.” You teased lightly, the kind of teasing that’s meant to gauge mood, lest something be wrong and he’s too scared to admit to it yet.

God, he loves how you show your love.

Sitting forward a bit, your soft hand brushed through his blond locks as it came to hold his cheek, the smallest bit of stubble scratching your palm, no need to hold to regs when on leave, and you loved it when he got scruffy.

Leaning into the soft touch, Simon eyes held your gaze. “Just wondering what a bastard like me could have possibly done to deserve an angel like you…” He whispered into the small space between you.

You let out a sigh as your brows furrowed slightly. He knew you hated it when he talked about himself like that, but also understood where it came from. “Simon…” You started like you always did, like you were going to scold him for his negative self-talk.

“It’s not that, not this time.” He said, stopping you in your tracks. “Even the best man doesn’t deserve you.” He continued, watching your face flush a little. “Can I show you?”

“Show me?” You questioned.

“How much I love you…” He clarified, brown eyes flickering between your own and your lips, which were pulling up into a smile.

Rather than speak, you nodded and leaned in, meeting him halfway in a sweet kiss that turned heated so fast it made your head spin.

His massive hands slipped under you to pull your legs forward, so he could settle on his knees between them, where they moved up to your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as they slid up and down.

Your own finger threaded through his hair before settling at the space where the back of his neck met his head, holding him to you as you nipped at his lower lip, a polite request for more than just lips in your kisses.

And Christ above, who was he to deny you anything?

His lips parted, tongue meeting yours in a dance that pulled a pleased sigh from you.

Your bum scooted closer to the edge of the chair, and he met the movement, pressing his body to yours, his belly right up against the apex of your thighs, allowing you to roll them against the solid plains of his body unconsciously.

His own desire for you pulled his lips from yours to kiss down your neck, the temptation to leave marks was loud, but he resisted, this time he wanted to be soft, not claiming.

The little sounds you made had his cock jumping in his sweatpants, craving to hear more, more, more of those sweet sounds.

As his worked his way down, he bypassed what he knew was under his shirt, instead his hands slipped under the material to your hips to carefully slip your panties down your legs, tossing them aside like they’d offended him, which got that beautiful bell-like laugh from you.

That laugh morphed in his ears into a soft moan as his touch shifted to the space between your beautiful legs, thumb tentatively finding your clit, not wanting to overwhelm you too quickly.

He was already going from zero to a hundred, no reason to rush your body to catch up to his.

“Simon…” You breathed against his lips, eyes having drifted close long ago, body leaning into his touch like you needed it to survive.

“I got ya, Dove.” He murmured back, his own eyes watching your expressions, half for any signs of discomfort and half just because he loved to watch your pleasure displayed there.

One of your hands left his neck to try and drift lower, but his free hand caught your wrist, pressing his lips to your pulse point. “Don’t worry about me. This is about you.” He said before returning it to where it had previously been.

You pouted but he was quick to kiss the expression from your lips. “Next time.” He promised.

“Next time.” You confirmed, asserting that you’d hold him to that.

And knowing you, it would be when he was doing something equally mundane as how he’s found you.

Returning to the task at hand, his calloused fingers ran up and down your quickly dampening slit, then he guided you to lay back in the chair a bit, pushing his shirt up your tummy to press his lips to the soft part of your belly, then another a little lower.

The muscles in your belly twitched in anticipation but then he jumped down to press his lips to your inner thigh, then another to the crease of your hip.

Even he could admit he was teasing you, so when you let out a slightly frustrated sigh he chuckled and gave in, pressing his lips to your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking out to make a little circle around the pretty bud.

Your body reacted immediately, trying to seek more, but his hold on your hips kept you in place as he ran his tongue up the whole length of your pussy, dipping into your hole for only a moment before returning to your clit to lightly suck, earning him a squeal and a tug at his hair.

But he didn’t budge, instead his fingers returned, but this time rather than circle your clit with his thumb, he pressed one into your cunt while his tongue worked your bud until he felt like you could take a second finger.

That was when he zeroed in on your G-spot with curling digits, smirking when you once more tried to buck up into his touch, but his superior strength once more won out, keeping you right where he wanted you.

Soon enough he felt your legs begin to shake, pussy twitching and flexing with your impending orgasm, and he was relentless, intent to see you come apart on his fingers and mouth.

And come apart you did.

With a broken cry of his name, your body clenched down on his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Normally he would stop there, let you come down a little before you kept going, but this time he decided to try something new.

Continuing to bully your G-spot and clit, he watched as a second more intense orgasm built and crashed over you, soaking his fingers, face, and the chair under you.

He nearly came in his pants like a teenager at the sight, and it was all the proof he needed that you had to be an angel because that was damn near a religious experience.

Finally letting up on you, he ran his hands up and down your body as you panted, soothing you softly.

“I…Didn’t know…I could do that…” You managed as your eyes managed to open.

Before you could think any further, he had you in his arms, standing with his hands under your ass as he carried you toward the bedroom. “Then let’s see if you can do it again.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2024 #simon riley x reader

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sturnsiolos0 · 11 months ago

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Carried Away-Chris sturniolo

Listening to Chris talk about his interest was one of your favourite pass-times. The enthusiasm that would fill him whenever he got onto the topic, the passion that would fuel his voice and the excitement behind each gesture as he demonstrated his thoughts. Every time it somehow managed to make him even more endearing in your eyes. More often than not you would catch yourself staring at him, and would hurry to conceal your awe-struck expression lest anyone catch you out.

Listening to Chris also led you down a familiar path of emotions that you now knew the order of off by heart. First, you would be filled with admiration for his passion, which would then stray to a deliberation of how that passion would transfer to an activity that involved less talking - and less clothing - before abruptly colliding with the brick wall of reality and falling down into a well of disappointment at the knowledge of Chris not liking you the same way you liked him.

Chris didn't think of you in that way, didn't wonder about what lay beneath those layers of clothes, didn't dream about lips locked with lips and skin on skin. At least, that's what you told yourself. After all, everyone knows that it's a terrible idea to develop a crush on one of your friends.

The pair of you were sprawled out over the floor of his room, sat opposite from each other, and you try your very best to divert your eyes from staring at Chris's lips as he talks, and down to the disorganized books piled before you instead, computers also placed ahead of you both ready and waiting for you to start your essay. You would have been more than happy to have completed the essay by yourself - it would save you the distractions and heartache at the very least - but Chris insisted on helping with the studying if you helped with the wording, and of course, you couldn't say no to him, nor could you deny yourself the opportunity to listen to Chris's fervent lecturing and get lost in his voice.

You blink as your mind zones back in, just managing to catch the end of Chris's excited chatter. Glancing up, you find him looking over at you from over the top of his own stack of notes, and you flush guiltily when you realise he's caught you in the act of not paying attention. Chris’s cheeks tint pink and he glances away, back down at the open notebook in front of him.

"Sorry, got carried away again."

"No, it's fine." You reassure, smiling wider when his gaze flickers back up to you. "I'm the one who's sorry, my mind was a million miles away."

"Oh, you okay?" He asks, a concerned frown pinching at his brows as he considers your apologetic smile.

"Yeah, now should we make a start on that essay?"

Chris nods, turning his attention to the keyboard of his computer to type the title of the essay at the top of his screen. You continue to read, flitting between textbook pages as you absorb different details before finally finding a passage that you could reword and use as a solid introduction.

"Hey, Chris, how about we use this as a starter?" You ask, before starting to read aloud. Finishing the sentence, you look up expectantly to find Chris shifting uncomfortably on the spot, eyes focused on his lap.

"Chris?" He jumps, head jolting up and shoulders stiffening. "Are you alright?"

"Mhm” Chris hums, looking away. "Okay.." You mumble, not believing him for a second. "Well, what did you think of that for the introduction? We can switch the words around and everything so it doesn't look like we copied it."

"Good idea. I'll write it down." He offers, and you nod gratefully.

"Hmm, okay, so how about…" You re-read the paragraph again, trying to jostle the words about in your mind. When your musings are met with silence besides the whisper of rustling fabric, you look back up from the pages to find Chris once again shuffling where he was sat as he tugs at his sweatshirt. Narrowing your eyes, you straighten your spine and ask him once more, "Are you sure you're alright?"

He nods, swallowing thickly. "Y-yeah, just a bit hot, that's all."

You take note of his flushed cheeks and clammy forehead and nod. "You're right, it is pretty warm in here." You comment, before reaching down and tugging your own sweatshirt off to toss aside, leaving you in the top you had put on underneath. When you realise that Chris is still wearing his sweatshirt and staring blankly at you, your brow furrows. "I thought you said you were hot?"

"Did I? Oh, yeah, no. I'm, I'm fine." He rambles, completely flustered, and you consider him for a moment longer as he scrambles to snatch up his textbook and settle it in his lap before sighing and returning to the essay.

"Right…”

Chris’s breathing picks up, and you glance up with a mischievous grin to find him looking anywhere but at you. Giggling, you wait for him to reply with something, but he simply continues to avoid your eyes, and you stop, amusement falling away as your concern returns full force.

"Chris, seriously, what's wrong? You're like really worrying me now." Dropping your textbooks and shoving them to the side, you begin to crawl across the space between you, only for him to jerk away. The book in his lap tumbles to the floor with a thud in his haste.

All you can manage is a blink of surprise, mouth slightly agape as you realise that Chris is hard, his cock straining against his pants.

"Oh fuck, sorry" He stumbles over his words, and you force your wide eyes away from his crotch to focus on his face, burning red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, honestly, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't be sorry, I don't mind."

Biting your lip, you settle back, glancing down at your own lap as you fight to quell your own arousal. "You sure?" He murmurs. Raising your head, you meet his eye, holding your breath, you slowly shake your head.

"i’m sure." You breathe, the flicker of hope in your eyes mirroring that in his. Chris lets out a exhale, and you offer him a tentative smile, your hands twitching, desperate to reach out even though you force them to remain in your lap. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you steel yourself before whispering, "I could help you."

The room is silent, Chris staring at you with wide eyes that would be comical if not for the fact that you had basically just confessed your thoughts about him. Fidgeting in place, you find yourself holding your breath as the idea of the floor suddenly opening up to swallow you becomes really appealing.

"Really?" He finally asks. You give a small nod as a small grin begins to work its way onto his flushed face.

"Can I..?" You ask, reaching out and gesturing vaguely. Chris pushes up from where he'd been half-collapsed against the bed behind him with a frantic nod and leans forward, pausing a foot away from you. Hesitantly, you settle your hands on his shoulder as you tilt closer, your nose skimming his before your eyes flutter closed and you brush your lips against his. He gasps beneath you, movements unsure as his lips mimic the motions of your own, and you nod slightly in encouragement.

You shift your grasp on his shoulders, one hand slipping around for your fingers to thread into his hair at the nape of his neck whilst the other slides down to grasp at his clothed cock. You begin palming him lightly, a whimper then escaping his lips. Pulling away, an apology on the tip of your tongue, you open your eyes to find Chris frowning up at you.

"Sorry," He mutters, and your brows furrow.

"Don't be, did I take it too far?"

He shakes his head earnestly, the high points of his cheeks flaring crimson. "No, I liked it." He mutters lowly. Chris glances away at the admission, but you reach up to caress the sharp curve of his jaw.

He slowly leans in to close the distance, which you happily meet halfway. Shy explorations of each other's mouths are gradually met with timid brushes of Chris's hands at your sides, uncertain of where to place them. Without pulling away, your hands find his and you direct his hands to cup your breasts; he jumps slightly, breaking the kiss as he tries to catch his breath, and you lean back as you assess his face, although your hands remain on his.

Chris stares with wide eyes at his hands, gazing almost with wonder before his eyes flit up to your face. "Can I take this off?"

You almost giggle at his question, managing just in time to bite your tongue against the urge as you let go of his hands for him to pull off your top. You can feel his fingers tremble, and so you reach up and help him by tugging it over your head and dropping it beside you.

He seems to freeze as he stares, and so you reach out to cup his face before leaning in to kiss him again. It shakes him from his reverie, and he responds with shaky confidence, his hands finding a light purchase on your bare waist a few moments later. A breathy moan of approval escapes you, urging him on, and Chris's fingers begin to trace their way across your skin, gently as if he were handling something fragile, exploring the heated skin of your waist, your stomach, your back. Fingertips trace the band of your bra, ghosting from your spine to your front, where he pauses for a moment before reaching up to cup your breasts.

Whimpering quietly against his lips, you pull Chris closer, pushing yourself against his hands, and a smile tugs at your mouth when he continues on instead of pulling away. Your hands trail down his chest in reciprocation, fingers sliding beneath his sweatshirt, and you pause against his stomach before grazing your fingertips over his erection.

His hips jerk up at the sensation, and you're about to pull away and apologise for taking it too far again when Chris nods desperately, a quiet mumble of 'please' against your lips as he continues to caress and squeeze your tits. You fumble with the buckle of his belt, pulling away for a moment as you struggle, before tugging open his zip and pausing.

"You're sure?" You ask, and he nods. Reaching beyond his pants to caress his cock through his boxers, Chris's hips jerk up once again with a startled groan, and you smile softly before slipping your fingers beneath the elasticated waistband and pulling it down to free his stiff member, the head an angry red as droplets of pre-cum beaded at the tip in anticipation. You bite your lip for a moment before licking your palm and wrapping it around the base of his cock. Glancing up, you find Chris staring down at his lap, enraptured by your touch, and you give an experimental stroke before leaning forward and capturing his lips in another kiss.

Chris’s breathing is a jumble of ragged gasps and whimpers, strangled moans filling the air as you busy yourself with trailing kisses along his jaw. Your hand works its way up and down his length, a gentle twist at the base followed by the swipe of your thumb over the head on the upwards stroke, and he can't help himself but to thrust up desperately into your hand, desperate and needy.

"Do you want more?"

"P-please." He whines, and you give him one final kiss before shuffling backwards on your knees. Chris watches you with bleary eyes as you pull away, a question on his lips that dies immediately when you lean down and drag the tip of your tongue up the length of his cock. "Oh my g-, fuck"

You smile impishly, something about having this affect on Chris filling you with pride, and you give him another slow lick before wrapping your lips around the head and tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue. A loud moan escapes him, and you glance up through your lashes to find Chris struggling to keep his eyes open as his jaw hangs open, all but panting. He rakes one trembling hand through his hair, the other scrabbling with the floorboards, and you snake one hand up his leg, caressing his knee, grazing his thigh and settling in the center of his chest. You push firmly, and he drops backwards, flat against the floor, before you grab his free hand and guide it to the back of your head.

His hesitancy to hold your hair dissipates the moment you hollow your cheeks and bob your head, tongue flat as it laves at the underside of his cock, the throbbing of the vein like a pulse against your tongue. "F-fuck, oh, fuck! Please, please.."

You gradually pick up your pace as he begs, his hips twitching as he tries to restrain himself from thrusting up into your mouth. Part of you appreciates the consideration, although another, filthier part can't wait to drive Chris to the breaking point and have his way without a second thought to anything besides his own pleasure. A needy whine escapes you at the image your mind produces, of Chris writhing on his bed, hair damp with sweat and profanity falling from his sweet lips like a prayer, and his grip tightens in your hair as he chokes on a gasp.

"I-I’m gonna cum, s-shit," Is all he can utter before his hips jerk forwards, bumping into the back of your throat, and his cum spills into your mouth in thick bursts, coating your tongue. Pulling away in surprise, a ribbon of milky cum paints your cheek, and you swallow the contents of your mouth before sitting up.

Chris’s hand drops from your hair to flop onto the ground beside him, and you watch in amusement as he stares up at the ceiling with misty eyes, chest heaving and face flushed. He seems to snap out of it a few seconds later, his eyes flickering to find yours as he sits up, and his blush immediately darkens when he sees himself smeared across your cheek. "Shit sorry-"

Reaching out, you press your fingers to his lips, cutting off his hurried apologies. "No more saying sorry."

"Right, so-" He pauses mid-apology, a bashful smile tugging at his mouth, and you grin back. Chris clears his throat, glancing down and hastily tucking himself back into his boxers before meeting your eyes again, a nervous chuckle escaping him,

"Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

idk how to end these LMAO

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolos #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo

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chosowarmer · 10 months ago

Text

Choso x Tailor!Reader [18+]

transgender!man choso [non-op] ; transgender!male reader ; semi-public sex ; nipple play ; eating out ; fingering ; 3.7k wc

After getting lost in the boutique, Choso is a bit relieved when you come and introduce yourself as a guide of sorts for the place. After helping him pick out clothes and complimenting him, he can't help but wonder what the odd feeling in his chest was and why he wanted to meet you again so bad.

A/N: took a break from a nanami fic to write about choso !! i love him so bad

“Agh…. Yuji…”

Choso watched as Yuji waddled off with his friends, leaving his older brother behind. He had never been to this boutique before and it was pretty vast. Every aisle looked the same to him, and it felt impossible to navigate.

Still holding the shopping basket Yuji had handed him, Choso turned his attention back to the line of hung clothes in front of him. Maybe he could try to keep looking himself and by the time he was done, his little brother would be back to help him out.

With a huff, he sifted through the garments, thinking of which ones may be a good fit for him. Although, most of what he found didn’t appeal to him at all, and the ones that did weren’t even a proper size for him.

After pulling out another shirt with a weird graphic on it, he clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed. With his little brother still not back yet he takes to wandering the aisles, hoping to find his way out. Every sign seemed to only direct him towards another clothing section for him to explore which was mildly nice to pick out things he liked, he would’ve much preferred to be out of here already. After walking past the shoes department for what felt like the third time in a row and growing more frustrated, he jumped in surprise at hearing a sudden voice behind him.

“Hi there, sir, is there anything I can help you with today?”

You had been watching him walking back and forth, muttering something under his breath like he was lost or something. Most other days, you’d leave customers like that alone unless they came to bother you directly, but you were having a good day today and he was pretty cute; might as well get a chance away from folding clothes to talk to an attractive guy.

He eyed you wearily, holding the clothes in his arms closer to him. You tilted your head, a polite smile still on your face but now slightly confused from this guy’s silence. Maybe you should’ve kept to folding and putting clothes away and let him stay lost.

You’re ready to excuse yourself when he finally says something.

“Who are you?”

Ah? That’s what had him so quiet? You bite your tongue, still keeping to your polite mannerisms lest your boss reprimand you. You wave a hand in front of your name tag that sat right above the boutique’s logo in plain sight.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that, sir, I should’ve introduced myself first,” Even if it was obvious you worked there, “I’m Y/n, I'm the tailor's apprentice here. I couldn’t help but notice you walking around, and thought to stop and ask if you needed any assistance.”

He squints at you, the mark across his face slightly creasing. It’d be more endearing if this conversation were going the way you had wanted it to.

“You were watching me?”

Okay, yeah, now you were really regretting not minding your own business.

“No, no, sir, I’m sorry if it seemed like that! As an employee here, I’m just trained to spot any lost customers and guide them. You are lost, aren’t you?”

Thankfully for you, this seems to alleviate some of the concerns he had about you as he nods, scratching his neck.

“Oh.. yeah. I think I am, I was trying to find the way out of here, but…”

He trails off, looking away, but you get what he means. The regular customers know their way around here, but for any newcomers, it’s pretty confusing. You haven’t seen anyone like him before, and it’s not like your co-workers have mentioned a guy like him coming in here. You flash a smile.

“Of course, sir, follow me.”

As he walks alongside you, you remember the clothes he’s holding in his arms. You weren’t sure if he had bought those yet, considering he was still lost all the way here, but it would be pretty ugly to assume he didn’t if he actually did…

“Oh, and did you need a bag for those, by the way, sir?”

You nod towards the garments in his hand, which makes him frown.

“Ah… mm… No, I should put these back.”

“Oh! Did you change your mind?”

He nods, giving a frustrated huff, “My brother was helping me look for new clothes, ‘n after he left, I tried to pick out new ones too, but I don’t think I like any of them.”

You should just walk him to the exit and send him on his way. Especially after the earlier awkward conversation. But…

You glance back at him; he was still pretty cute, and whatever hostility he had earlier seems to have gone away or at least faded. If you went about it right, maybe you could get his number out of this…

“Oh, well, if you’d like, I’d love to assist you in picking out new clothes, if you’re still interested in shopping here.”

He blinks before thinking it over, muttering to himself, “I do need some new clothes.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, I’d… find that helpful, thank you.”

“Of course.”

.♡.

“You think it’s nice?”

Having exited from the small dressing room, Choso examined himself in the mirror before turning to you for your opinion, seeing as you were an expert in clothing to him.

You had already helped him pick out some casual clothing to wear; a few plain shirts that hugged his torso, lightweight bottoms that shaped his legs. He really was a handsome man, you realize while fitting him; if you were a proper tailor, you would’ve loved to have him as a model.

He was pretty compliant with most of the clothes you chose for him, though for whatever reason, he continually doubted if he looked as good as you told him he did. You click your tongue walking up behind him, as you pat out wrinkles. You had him in a fine two-piece vest suit, similarly colored to the gi he had shown up in earlier.

“Absolutely,” you hold up an arm of his as you straighten out the fabric, “If you don’t mind me speaking plainly, I think you’re a fine man, I don’t see why you should doubt that, sir.”

“...Oh.. Really?”

You glance at his face in the mirror, noticing the pink tent on his cheeks. You smirk faintly, it was always so cute to watch the guys you dress crumple at your words. Typically, you weren’t that interested in them, but this guy…

“Positively. Your body alone is quite handsome, if I may. Strong shoulders, a muscular build, powerful arms, even your hands, may I?” You had taken the time to lightly hold each part of his figure to emphasize your point and now took his hand in your gloved ones as you carefully knead over the calloused palm. It wasn’t too rough like a laborer’s would be, but they did look as if they had seen their share of rugged work. Maybe he was a sorcerer?

“Though to be perfectly honest, I’m no professional tailor or anything, just an apprentice, so my word may not hold much in terms of proficiency,” you move to adjust his hair, letting it relax as you undo his ponytails, noting how his eyes blink away to avoid yours, “But I do hope you take my words as fact when I say, you are one beautiful man.”

You flash a formal grin at him in the mirror, fixing his collar before taking a step back from him. He let his arms fall back down to his sides, as he fiddles with the cuffs. The blush on his face and ears almost rivaled the eye shadow around his eyes, contrasting the aloof expression he usually sported.

“I see, thanks.”

You smile, patting his shoulder as you gesture for him to change back to his original clothes while you gather the new ones he plans on buying.

“It was lovely helping you today, sir, why don’t you change then I’ll help you upfront?”

.♡.

After you sent him off with his purchases, you honestly weren’t expecting to see him again, or at least, not the very next day.

Although, he wasn’t alone, being accompanied by a younger teen pointing at you.

“That’s who you wanted to see, Choso? That guy hanging clothes?”

“Mm, thank you, brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna be at the store next over, so you can meet me there when you’re done here.” The younger teen waves to you, before heading off and out the door. A sly smile grows on your face as the man from yesterday makes his way up to you, noticing he was wearing one of the casual shirts you had picked out for him.

Setting down the hanger in your hands, you give him your full attention, “It’s nice to see you again, sir. Is everything alright?”

He nods, his eyes on your hands before moving back up to you, “I was hoping to find some new clothes today.”

“Oh? You weren’t happy with yesterday’s purchase?” you tilt your head, a hidden smile in your voice.

“No, I was! I just… mm..” He pauses, trying to think of how to explain this. You decide to give him a break, smiling warmly at him as you pat his shoulder and gesture to the dressing room.

“I think I understand what you’re trying to say, sir. How about you head on over to the fitting room and I’ll be right with you, hm?”

A light red tint brushes his ears as he nods weakly before moving; you turn on your heel, already certain what you’d pick out.

.♡.

“It really is a pleasure to see you again - move your leg here - especially so soon.”

You had picked out a silky dress pants and shirt for him; a modest number of petite jewels adorning the legs and collar, laced sleeves, and an open chest window. It was a personal project you had been working on yourself with the extra fabric you’d get around the store, and it wasn’t nearly finished but it was satisfying to have someone model besides yourself.

On one knee, you knelt by his leg, carefully tailoring the pant leg to fit him. You hummed to yourself, pretending to not notice the choked gasps that left him every time you let a hold his leg or run your fingers along the fabric.

“As I’ve already said, this is just a pet project of mine, you won’t be buying it, but if you’re enjoying it, maybe I will see you again?” You glance up at him with a smile, playfully ignorant of your hand resting on his thigh just right below his groin.

Choso can’t even breathe as his eyes meet yours. He wasn’t exactly sure of what he wanted from you when he came back, he just knew he wanted to meet the charming tailor’s apprentice again. The words he spoke, the way his hands had glided across the cursed spirit’s body so gracefully; it made Choso’s head spin, feelings he had never felt before surfacing in his chest.

He imagined the many different ways the day would play out as he touched himself the night before. Letting his hand slowly float down his happy trail to his pussy, trying to replicate your mannerisms, but to no avail. Your refined voice playing in his head like an orgasmic melody, as his breath grew heavier and heavier, kneading his sensitive dick. Finally letting a finger slip in, curling up as he tries to take it as painstakingly slow as you probably would. But none of it is like you, he knows, even after getting himself to cum on his fingers, he still ached for your touch on his skin again.

He just had to see that enchanting man again.

But now that he was actually here again, with you touching him like this, speaking so softly, it was like you put a spell on him. He gulped, remembering you had asked him something, though not at all remembering what it specifically was.

“Choso-san?”

You tilt your head, trying to hold back a laugh though, letting a chuckle escape as you stifle it with your hand. While the dazed expression on his tinted face was endearing, you did actually want to hear him speak.

Rising to your feet, you gently tap his cheek, garnering a surprised “Ah!” out of him as he realizes how quiet he’s been.

“Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Oh, you forgot already?”

You hum, sounding like music in Choso’s ears, as you let your gloved hand slide down to his neck before resting on his exposed chest. You meet his eyes with a smirk.

“Do you need a reminder, sir?”

.♡.

You weren’t preparing for this exact scenario, but nonetheless, you were more than overjoyed for it to be the case. You silently thanked yourself for choosing to tailor him in the more prestigious dressing room the store had to offer, considering it was not only bigger but had a small table for laying down clothes, fabric, and other things.

Like cute, two-ponytailed guys.

Choso bit his knuckle, trying to stifle his heavy panting as you traced a finger along his Adam’s apple, feeling his pulse quicken with your touch. You lean down, pulling him in for a kiss, as you let your other hand rest just above his chest.

“Is this okay?” You inquire, pulling away from his neck, eliciting a whine from him as he nods up at you, guiding your hand onto his breast.

“Y/n…!”

With a soft smile, you indulge him, massaging and squeezing while still layering pecks and kisses along his collarbone. He moans in your ear, grabbing hold of your shirt when you let a thumb run over his nipple.

“I’m sure you’ve never had service like this before, hm? Never had someone kiss you like this, touch your chest like this?”

Choso shakes his head, grip tightening with a mewl as you move your head lower, biting his soft tissue before licking over the mark. You continue this seemingly endless loop of biting and licking over and over, before finally giving some attention to his hard nipples. Letting your tongue lap over the sensitive buds has Choso a mess. Tears prick in his eyes, as he moans your name, trying to squeeze his thighs together. You don’t let him, though, as you hold his legs open with your other hand, watching him whine pitifully as he rolled his hips from your touch.

“Aht, aht. I don’t see why you should be rushing, aren’t you enjoying this pace?” A smirk evident in your voice, and it drives Choso crazy. You were so charismatic but so infuriating with how lightly you touched him and how leisurely you went about with him. He rolled his hips again, both out of need and in hopes you’d finally touch him. Instead, you tut your tongue, strengthening your hold on his thigh.

“So impatient... Why don’t you go ahead and tell me exactly what it is you want?”

It feels like his brain’s been reduced to mush as you run your tongue over his nipple again, another whine leaving his lips. He could easily press his thighs together if he wanted, but the way you held his legs open and controlled his movements had his head spinning as he bit his lip. He couldn’t think straight at all as you tapped his thigh to bring him down to Earth.

Right, you asked him a question. A question he didn’t even remember hearing if he was honest. He moaned again, rocking his hips.

“Haah… Please… y/n…♡”

You let your hand slide down his thigh to the zipper on his crotch, pulling it down as you exposed his pussy to the air.

You bite your lip, feeling blood rise to your cheeks. “No underwear?” you murmur to yourself. Did he take it off after changing? Or maybe he didn’t wear any at all today? Was he hoping you’d fuck him? Just excited? Fuck, and he was already so wet, just look at him. All for you.

You jolt a bit as Choso pulls on your shirt, moaning your name in the lewdest tone, trying to get you closer to him, to touch him. You pull him in for a kiss, your hand behind his head as you keep him close, desperate to deepen it. Choso groans, returning the kiss as he parts his lips for you, wrapping his strong legs around you now that you were closer.

Inviting your tongue into his mouth, you trail your hand down his chest to his needy cunt, letting your thumb rub over the head of his stubby cock. He closes his eyes, moaning into the kiss as his legs press tighter around you. As his dick grows wetter in your hand, you pull from the kiss with a gasp before moving down to replace your hand with your mouth.

“Y- Ah! ❤︎ Puh-please, pleeease! Haah… hah♡!!”

He grinds on your face as you suck slowly, so frustratingly slow. He fucks himself senseless, with this being more than he could’ve imagined even if you were teasing him. His breathing grows heavier as you begin to suck faster and harder on his cock, increasing your pace with every lewd whine that leaves him. His hand grips the back of your head when you give his dick one last suck, seeing stars as he comes right into your mouth.

It was better than anything he could’ve imagined last night, you were taking such good care of him right now, all he could do was blubber his words, begging for more. The way you touched him, and spoke to him, it was like he was drunk off of you alone. You found it adorable; if only the two of you were at your studio, you would’ve loved to fuck him senseless with your strap, seeing him dazed out of his mind like this. No matter, there was always next time, but for now…

Not giving him a chance to recuperate, you move back up his body to suck on his sensitive nipple as you let a gloved hand slide over his wet cunt. He brings his knuckle back to his mouth to smother his lewd whines, but you pull it away with a tsk.

“Haah…haah.. I want to hear you… don’t even think of hiding that gorgeous voice.”

The tint on his face deepens as he nods, his cock twitching at your words. His noisy whines fill the dressing room as you return to sucking on his nipple, slipping a finger into his needy cunt. You curl your finger up, slowly fingering him as you feel for something. You smirk when Choso screams, throwing his head back as his thighs tremble around you, having found that sensitive bud.

He’s a babbling mess as he begs for you to add another finger to him, move faster, touch him there gain, anything! You oblige happily, curling another gloved finger into him as he soaks the fabric through. His eyes roll to the back of his head as you increase your pace, plunging your fingers in and out of him, nothing but the sound of squelching and his mewling in the room.

“Mm.. haah..! CUH-close, so hah… close…♡!”

His thighs tremble pathetically as he gasps when you remove your fingers from his pussy, ready to beg for them back before almost crying out in pleasure as you thrust your tongue deep into his cunt.

You drink him in, lapping up his sensitive cock before diving your tongue between his folds. His sensitive walls press around you as fuck him crazy with your mouth. As he presses your face deeper between his increasingly shaky legs, you know he’s close as you toy with his cock with your hand.

“Oh! ♡ Mm- Muh.. ah…!! ♡ Haah… M’ gonna…. y/n…! I… HAAH..♡♡.. AH ❤︎!!”

The stimulation is all too much for the poor spirit as he cums hard, his legs locking to keep you there as you continue to tongue-fuck him through his orgasm, eliciting more lewd whines and moans out of him from the overstimulation. Finally, his twitching legs relax as he pants, tears at the corners of his eyes. You pull yourself from his pussy, kissing his thighs. He moans softly as you run your hand over the hickeys on his breasts, kissing each one gently as you hold him. He sighs pleasurably as you peck each one, enjoying the feeling of your soft lips on his chest once again.

When you pull away, he’s still panting trying to catch his breath a bit as you kiss his cheek. You smile down at him, pulling off your stained glove as you speak, “And how do you feel, sir?”

He feels heat rise to the tips of his ears, suddenly feeling shy as he comes down from his high, “Good.. I.. It was exactly what I was wanting..”

“Oh?” You take your bare hand to cup his face, “Exactly what you wanted, you say? So I can guess you’re satisfied then?”

He’s blushing, he can feel it. He glances down at his decorated body, how you absolutely ravished him, how your fingers alone had him coming. But he also catches sight of the wet patch on your pants and gulps, feeling his cock twitch.

“I want that again. But I want to make you feel good, too.”

You raise an eyebrow; that was a first, usually the guys you played around with always left you high and dry, leaving without much of a thank you or anything. You tilt your head, smiling teasingly.

“Well, usually I like to be wined and dined before getting ate out, but I suppose if you insist…”

“I can do that! Where do you want to go?”

You almost laugh in surprise; you were only teasing, yet he was so serious about taking you out. It was… touching. And cute. So he wasn’t only just attractive, he was thoughtful too. You were going to love him.

You press a kiss onto his lips before pulling away before it got out of hand, “How about you go change, and I’ll have an answer when you’re out?”

He nods, heading for the small changing door, before stopping and turning to you, a light tint on his that accented his cute mark, “You can just say Choso. You don’t have to call me sir.”

The smile on your face beams, “Alright, Choso.”

#m! reader #male reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #choso smut #choso x reader #choso x male reader

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edible-emerald · 9 months ago

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Everyone is giving advice to Wild Time: It's okay to ask for help. Twilight: You're not a burden. Wind: Murder is okay. Hyrule: Your feelings matter.

Four: What’s your favorite color? Warriors: Stop asking stupid questions. Ask me something logical and mature. Four: How many moles of sodium bicarbonate are needed to neutralize 0.8ml of sulfuric acid at STP? Warriors: My favorite color is pink.

Wind: I bet you can’t make a sentence without the letter “A”! Warriors: You thought you just did something there, didn’t you? Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but numerous sentences could be constructed without employing the first letter of the English lexicon. Legend: Fuck you.

Hyrule: They… well, I wouldn't call it inheritance per se. What do you call it when you kill someone and get their stuff? Time: Um, murder??? Legend: Adventuring! Wild: Tuesday.

Sky: Do you ever wonder why you're still single? Wild, eating mayonnaise straight out of the jar with a spoon: Yeah… I mean, I'm perfect! Who wouldn't want to date me? Sky, sighing: I can name a few people…

Four: Your smug self-assuredness is revolting. Legend: I think we need to validate self confidence more, lest you end up angry at others for having even a sliver of it. I've done nothing wrong and I have a heart of gold. Wind: I think this message is extremely valid, but also Legend has implied wanting to set off the Yellowstone supervolcano, so what's the truth? Legend: I want to set it off.

#lu incorrect quotes #lu time #lu wind #lu twilight #lu wild #lu warriors #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu four #lu sky #from an incorrect quotes generator #im so tired

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ayyynne · 6 months ago

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Buck wakes up at some stupid hour of the night with a strange feeling that for the first time in months he needs to text Bobby, like he did every day when we first woke up from his coma.

Except his usual "hey Cap. My brain just needs to know that you're alive. Text me when you wake up?" never gets answered. And he's not really expecting one at 2am, but he still can't fall back asleep.

So he's wide awake when his phone rings again just a little while later. And why the hell is Hen calling him at this hour. Somehow he already knows the answer. He's already grabbing his keys and slipping on shoes as he answers the phone. She gets right to the point.

"they're both in the hospital. Athena is stable. Bobby's heart stopped. There was a fire. Cedar's. That's all I know. I'm heading there now. Calling Chim next, can you call Eddie?"

There's no need for a "holy fuck" or "oh my God," she already knows. They're beyond that right now.

"Harry and May and Michael?" He asks as he runs to the Jeep.

"Called May first. Harry was at a friend's. Shes calling Harry and Michael. If Eddie needs to drop Christopher off, Karen is still home with Denny"

"thanks." And the line clicks and he's immediately asking Siri to call Eddie, not even thinking about the Shannon/Kim/Marisol bullshit because that handful of hours ago feels like a million years ago. He thinks for a second Eddie might not answer. He does by the thrid ring.

"Cap. Athena. Fire. Hospital. Cedar's." Bucks not even sure his brain could think of complete sentences anyways even if he wanted too. "Karen home Denny if Chris needs it" he adds. Almost a full sentence. Eddie gets it.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Are you driving? Are you okay to drive?" Because of course Eddie knows. Eddie knows how much Buck cares about his whole team, his family, but especially Bobby. He remembers Buck's fear on the cruise ship. Or when Bobby was exposed to that radiation. Or any time Bobby wasn't okay. Because Buck wasn't either.

"fine. Almost there" the plus side of it being 2am? LA traffic isn't terrible.

----

Athena's stable. Smoke inhalation but nothing some oxygen can't fix. Bobby's heart stopped. Bobby was dead. Buck wonders if how he feels now was how Bobby and Eddie and Hen and Chim and Maddie felt after the lighting. When all they could do was sit. And wait. And pray. And hope for the best.

So that's what Buck does. He sits there. Staring at that lest text he sent. Waiting. And Hoping. And maybe he even prays a little.

(Weeks later, after Bobby is awake, and has a new phone to replace the one that burned with the house, the very first text he sends is a familiar "morning kid, I'm all good 🙂." Buck screenshots it to save forever.)

Also on A03

#911 abc #911 spoilers #911 season 7 #evan buckley #bobby is buck's dad #bobby nash #athena grant #911 7x09 #911 fanfic #911blr

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luveline · 1 year ago

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hey babe, i was wondering if you’d write something with grumpy!sirius platonic or romantic (your choice) where the readers normally sunshine and all happy but everyone forgot her birthday so he does everything he can to cheer her up

not projecting at all 🤭

if you don’t want to that’s so okay i understand diolch cariad 🫶🏻🫶🏻

hi, thank you for your request! I hope you can make the very best of your day, anon, I’m sorry the people close to you forgot it :( please have a happy birthday! grumpy!sirius x sunshine fem!reader

Sirius is guilty of pretending you irk him. You're always smiling, always complimenting him, and always touching him. He knows you wouldn't touch him if he asked you not to —you checked with him a couple of times when you first met if it was okay, and he said, Yeah, it's okay, with no further explanation or objection.

He pretends your sunny disposition doesn't make him happy, too, but it does. It's selfish, then, when he notices you aren't feeling good today and decides he has to correct it immediately, lest the ray of sunshine that is your presence diminish.

He sits down beside you on the bench, propping his face in his hand, elbow on his knee, a picture of nonchalance. "Hey."

"Hi, Siri."

He takes his pack of Lamberts from his jacket pocket and offers you one. You never take one, but he offers anyway. He doesn't want you to start smoking, he just figures that it's a nice gesture.

He puts them away without lighting any when you say no.

"Don't not have one on my account," you say.

It's exactly why you deserve to have someone checking on you, no matter how cold it is, and no matter how much fun everyone's having at the bar. You put everyone else first.

"I didn't want any." He was trying to cheer you up. He should've known a cigarette wouldn't do it. Best go in with guns blazing.

Sirius rifles through the inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out the white box inside. He hadn't wrapped it. There's a confidence that comes with sincerity, and it's the kind of confidence he lacks. He's embarrassed enough to have bought you something in the first place.

"Happy birthday," he says. "Don't tell me if you don't like it, please."

You sit up a little straighter, inch by inch, accepting the small box into your hands. They wrap around the lid, your fingers moving with a deliberate gentleness, until your thumbs clamp over the top of it hard enough to make the lid bend. You smile at him, and it is perhaps the most heartbreaking smile he's ever seen. Disappointment and gratefulness all wrapped into one.

"I didn't think anyone remembered," you say. Your voice is hoarse, and you cough rather than let it crack.

He thought maybe you'd been upset because it was your birthday —Sirius himself has a weird relationship with his. He hadn't considered that no one else thought to celebrate with you. And despite his general unhappiness, his permanent headache and all the constraints of being as introverted as he is, Sirius sort of snaps.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, his elbow resting against your back, and pulls you toward him. "I'm so sorry."

You're clearly surprised by his touch, but you don't shy away. "No, it's okay. I realise that it's my fault, you know, we're all adults and I should've mentioned it again, I can't expect people to know if I don't say."

"I think…" He licks his lips. "Okay, I think that people genuinely do forget things, but it's a special day, and you expected special things. I really don't see how it's your fault."

"Maybe not," you concede. You sniffle, and Sirius is horrified to realise you've a tear traversing down the soft slope of your cheek. "I don't know, I just wish people remembered."

"I'm sorry," he says again.

You wipe your cheek with a cruel hand. He can't stop himself from taking it, wanting to prevent any further self-meanness. Your eyes widen as you look him in the face, tears dewy at the waterline.

"But you remembered," you say, tone happy even while thick with tears.

"I wrote it down," he confesses. "I wanted to get it right."

"That's so nice," you say, another tear cresting your cheek. You wrap your arms around his waist and tuck your cheek against his in a hug. "That's really thoughtful, Siri. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You… make so much time for me. Whenever you see me. I don't know if you know how much you affect people, you can make anybody smile. I wanted to make sure I could do the same, even if it's only once."

"You make me smile all the time." You squeeze him and then pull away, wiping your cheeks and straightening your jacket.

He'd usually roll his eyes, but not right now. He just smiles at you, hoping you understand it for all the silent appreciation that it is.

You huff a little breath in and drop your gaze to your hands in your lap, where you're untying the bow that's been wrapped around the jewellery box. You lift the lid, the sides emitting a shushing sound near enough lost to the sound of the street and the people laughing in the pub behind you.

It's a bracelet. The beads are simple but not something you'd see everyday, silver backed hearts, flat on the silver side and a milky white that seems to glow on the bevelled fronts. There's four hearts, connected to smaller milky white beads.

He was terrified buying it and he's scared now.

"I really like you," he says. "I'm sorry about your birthday. You deserve a lot more."

Your cheeks apple as you turn to him, your eyelashes kissing with the force of your smile. You pull your knees to touch his and offer him the bracelet on two fingers. "Can you hook it on, please?"

"You don't have to wear it," he says, because he didn't think this far.

"I want to wear it, please. It's beautiful. It's the nicest gift anyone's ever given me."

He blinks hard and dips his head slightly to one side as he murmurs, "If you're sure," hands coming up to take the bracelet from you.

You're both quiet as he unlatches it and lays it across your wrist. He's gentle to the point of aching, and he's putting every bit of effort that he can to stop his hands from trembling, he's so nervous.

"There," he says. "Anything else you need?"

It's meant to be sarcastic, as if to say, you're working me like a dog, here.

You shake your head hurriedly. "Nothing else. Thank you, Sirius."

He takes his cigarettes out, knowing he won't be able to calm down, not when you're looking at him like he just hung the moon. "It's okay," he says, putting a cigarette between his lips. "Don't mention it. Please, don't."

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