#imagine what he could do if he was there longer

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] SDV Bachelors x Reader With Big Tits

Give your thanks to @angelsfics221 !

Summary: The SDV Bachelors (+ Maru ) being horndogs over the reader/farmer having a huge pair of personalities.

Warning(s): Pure horny energy from the jump, Masturbation, The guys are big tit fiends ngl, Top! Reader (In Maru's part), Whiny Alex + Sam (I kinda always write whiny Sam though)

Side Note(s): As a member of the big titties club. I'm a certified PHD at this topic (And the fact that, once you have a rack, you sign away any rights to doing jumping jacks again—)

Hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long wait 😔

Elliot

Nipple sucking while giving him a blow-job.

That's all I need to say.

While I imagine that Elliot would be respectful, don't get me wrong. He's still human and he has fantasies like anyone else would! I'd like to imagine that he truly appreciated your huge personalities when summer came.

After you finished your chores for the day, you decided to take a trip to the beach and have some fun in the water! And when Elliot stepped out of his cabin to innocently read on the pier—

He didn't even notice he had dropped his book when he saw you. Your two-piece almost seeming to struggle holding your tits in as you lightly kicked at the water and splashed in it.

Each time you bent down to scoop water into your hands, blissfully unaware of the man whose eyes were practically glued to your figure. The writer felt like he had been transported to heaven and back.

He knew he had to talk to you and that he did!

A conversation that went sooo well that you were more than happy to tour his small cabin and let him appreciate your figure from a whole lot closer than the pier.

♡ - Elliot's mind was dizzy with lust and shame.

Usually, he'd have more decorum than this.

He'd first get to know a person, learn their hobbies and interests as well as their personality long before the idea of sex even dared to cross his mind, much less think to slip from his tongue! But with you? It seemed like all manners just went out the window.

That first glimpse of you at the beach was enough to make his knees buckle and his book fall into the salty water below, immediately forgotten about in the face of your breasts threatening to slip from your bikini with each movement you made, but now? As he relished in the feeling of your hand tenderly stroking his dick as he sucked at your nipple, his hand gently massaging the other and eliciting sweet moans from your kiss-swollen lips—he could really care less about manners and decorum.

Especially with how he struggled to delay his orgasm to enjoy this moment even longer. "Such gorgeous tits..." Elliot moaned against your chest, not wanting to part from your nipple for even a second.

Your face flushed at the compliment before a drawn-out moan left your lips when Elliot's hand went from your breast to your aching sex, his finger quickly finding your hard clit before he began to gently pet at it. Your hips bucked forward unconsciously, a shudder running up and down your spine as you moaned breathlessly at the light touching Elliot delivered onto you.

You were briefly snapped from your mind slowly losing its grip on reality when Elliot suddenly hissed, causing you to quickly realize you had gripped him too hard. "...S-Sorry..." You said. Before you could move your hand from his cock, Elliot's hand shot down to grab your wrist before he guided you back to his leaking dick, briefly parting from your breast, his eyes dark with lust. "I'm...fine." He said, having to inhale deeply between each word.

"Squeeze me again," Then, he immediately returned to your breast, lightly nipping at your nipple. When Elliot felt your hand began to squeeze his cock, gently rubbing him up and down, he bucked up into your hand as his mind wasted no time swarming with even dirtier thoughts of what he wanted to do to you. He desperately wanted to know what your tits would look like, how they would move when he fucked you, he wanted to mark them up, pinch and knead at them as if he were playing with a toy.

And he knows you'd let him do whatever he wants with you.

You were all too eager to shed your clothes and let him kneel before you before he all too quickly sucked and massaged your breasts, like a devotee worshipping their goddess— "F-Fuck..." Elliot whispered against you as he felt his orgasm creeping up on him. "Baby...please."

Your cunt clenched at his light begging as you then lightly smirked, your ministrations on him quickening much to the writer's delight. He grasped onto you tighter, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline and the only thing keeping him from descending into the depths of madness. Babbles of "pleasepleaseplease" and "I'm so close, don't stop" fell from his lips as easy as water would from a broken dam. You were so engrossed in his begging, you hadn't noticed he had came until he suddenly threw his head back to let out a loud unfiltered moan and warmth covered the top of your hand.

You looked at his twitching dick, his cum seeming to flow out from his tip endlessly until Elliot finally relaxed against you.

You couldn't let this be a one-time thing, and neither could he! You both were definitely going to keep in contact with one another.

Sebastian

Shockingly, I think he'd be the least horniest on this list.

Like yeah, he's not going to say no to groping and sucking a pair of huge tits but I'm standing firm on the hill that he's either an ass or thigh man.

However, when y'all had reached the stage where you two were dating and you eventually brought him over to your house?

As he watched you bounce up and down on his dick, the plapping noises alongside your tits moving in front of his face nearly made him cum on the spot.

To him? He felt like he had suddenly been placed right in the middle of a porno and the idea of marking up your tits was wayyyy too irresistible to him all of a sudden.

♡ - He felt like he was losing his mind by the passing second.

Drool dribbled from the side of his mouth, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth as he watched the arousing sight of you using him as if he were your own personal dildo, bouncing yourself up and down his cock. "Fuckfuckfuck...!" Sebastian whined as he gripped your thighs even tighter.

His moans and whines only fueled you to go faster before you fell forward a little, placing your hands on either side of Sebastian's head as you gripped the sheets and fucked yourself onto him even harder. "S-Shit...!" You cried out. "Sebby...your twitching so much," You breathlessly teased him, the rest of your words dying in your throat in the face of your boyfriend's dick practically sending you to an entirely different reality. But, while Sebastian's cock made you dumb in the skull...heart eyes nearly formed in Sebastian's gaze as his vision was locked onto the way your breasts moved up and down in front of his face.

Now, he didn't consider himself a boob man and was more into your thighs and ass.

However, he'd think something was wrong with him if his mouth didn't water at the sight of your tits moving in his face. Unmarked and practically begging for his mouth to latch onto them.

Which is exactly what he did.

"Fuuuckkk..." He groaned deeply, lifting his head ever so slightly to latch onto one of your nipples. As he begun to suck, he grunted when he felt you clench even tighter around his cock, nearly making him cum right then and there before pushing aside the feeling in the wake of wanting to enjoy your tits even longer as you fucked him. And especially how you looked at him as he did so. The darks of your pupils nearly took over the color of your eyes as you fucked yourself even harder onto him.

"So cute Seb~" You praised before you gasped when you felt his cock twitch inside you again.

You knew that he was weak to your praises, even in a more innocent setting, when you'd praise him for something so simple such as taking out the trash for you. He'd blush and turn his head away so cutely! But now? As he sucked and lightly bit on your nipples, his grip on your thighs tightening by the moment as he started to lose control and gently fuck up into you...the sheer pleasure of his cockhead touching the deepest parts inside of you, you knew that he deserved wayyyyy more praise for making you feel so good. "My tits are enough to make you like this?" You continued to speak, biting back your moans as much as you could to push out your words. "If I knew this, I would let you kiss and suck on them as much as you like Sebby—" Sebastian responded with a groan before it weakened into a whine, one of his eyes cracking open to look up at you as his pace quickened even more, the force of his thrusts punching out even more moans and whines out from your lips.

Your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head. "Shit...!" You gasped. "Just like that...! Keep fucking me juusst like that~!" You moaned as you lost control in your arms a little, your tits squishing against Sebastian's face even more than they already were.

And that was enough to break the poor man as both of his hands suddenly wrapped around your torso while his feet dug into the bed, his hips suddenly pistoning up into you as he fucked you like he suddenly hated you. Tears of pleasure began to escape from the corner of your eyes as you felt the knot in the pit of your stomach begin to tighten almost painfully as you begged for your boyfriend to make you cum over his cock.

"S-Sebastian!" You cried out as you tits squished even more against him, your hands tangling themselves in his hair. With one last thrust and muffled moan, he suddenly stilled against you just as the knot inside you snapped, a sharp gushing sound splitting against Sebastian's abdomen and thighs as you both blanked out momentarily from your respective orgasms.

And when you started to come back down...you were the first to quickly lift yourself so you didn't accidentally smother your boyfriend. "S-Seb?" You stuttered, a combination of sudden embarrassment and still trying to come back from your orgasm. "I didn't mean to smother—"

He interrupted you with a shake of his head as his grip around your torso tightened once more. "Let's do that again."

Sam

I'm pretty sure all of y'all are familiar with how cartoon characters' eyes will bulge out when they someone they like, right? Yeah, Sam's eyes do that the moment he sees you for the first time.

One day, he was riding through town on his skateboard before he briefly heard Lewis mention the new farmer in town to someone! Sam had no clue what you looked like but he at least hoped you were friendly.

So imagine the way he absolutely eats dirt when he sees you for the first time.

Gorgeous and with a pair of tits that were nothing to scoff at? As he dusted the dirt from himself, he nearly cursed himself out for embarrassing himself in front of you without even getting a chance to say hello yet!

Luckily, you were laidback and friendly, only smiling briefly as you helped Sam up and introduced yourself in the process.

You were sooooo sweet. But god it was hard for Sam to keep his eyes on your face when faint droplets of sweat were rolling down your neck before disappearing into the valley of your breasts. It had him struggling to breathe and wishing that the pleasantries would end soon so he could go home.

All so he could fist his cock to a porn video of a woman that looked suspiciously like you

Until he gained the courage to speak to you again + got over the guilt of fucking his hand to the new farmer in town who had only arrived a few days ago. You were a star feature in every single daydream he had of you (which was nearly every day at this point) while he moaned out your name in his bedroom.

♡ - "Oh Yoba..."

Sam was currently in his room, all of his lights turned off and his phone at the lowest possible volume as he fisted his dick under the covers, all as his eyes were glued to the screen held in his hand. Earlier today, he had the pleasure of meeting a beautiful new face in town!

You.

You seemed so warm-hearted and friendly...and you were oh so pretty as well. But...what really caused Sam to be fucking his fist like some depraved pervert to the new farmer in town? Your huge tits, they alone were the reason he fell on his skateboard in front of you and made a complete ass of himself! Although you were kind and helpful to him (adding only more fuel to the fire of him suddenly lusting after you), as you bent down to help him up, your shirt revealing the tops of your breasts did nothing to help quell the boner that was suddenly raging in his pants.

Which is how he arrived at this very moment, looking at a porno of a woman whose breasts resembled your own all as she gave a boobjob to a dildo. The woman's face being covered only added to Sam's imagination as he could easily think of the woman being you and...instead of a dildo, it was his cock instead that you were slowly dragging your tits up and down on— "O-Oh fuck..." He cursed breathlessly, the bitten part of his shirt falling from his lips as Sam's breathless moans escaped from his lips.

His eyes began to burn with unshed tears of pleasure as he watched the woman's movement begin to speed up, his hands speeding up in order to quickly match the pace before the woman began to speak. 'She sounds nice...' Sam thought absentmindedly until his mind drifted back over to your face, coated in light pretty make-up with an accentuation to your lips.

He squeezed the head of his cock at the thought of your lips gently suckling his cockhead as you rubbed your soft tits up and down him, your half-lidded eyes looking up at him through your lashes while the faintest hint of a smirk could be seen. At another time, Sam would've felt mildly disgusted about what he was doing, he barely even knew you and yet he was pre-cum was leaking from his tip so much at the sheer idea of you treating his cock so well.

Sam's head sunk further into his pillow as he felt his orgasm quickly approaching, the hand that held his phone falling out of his hand before he began to massage his leaky tip. "Y/N...!" He panted even louder. Electricity felt like it was dancing throughout his body as his hips bucked up into his hand in search of more pleasure, the blonde's mind only filled with one single thing.

You, you, you, you, you.

How pretty you were and how gorgeous your tits were as you helped him stand back up. How friendly you were and how much he wished that his cock hadn't ruined the conversation the two of you were having, he desperately wanted to talk to you more...see where things went and— "S-Shit...!" Sam gasped, managing to give his cock a few more strokes before he felt strings of ropey cum hit his abdomen. As he gently fell back from Cloud 9, he released a breath he hadn't even known he was holding in before he relaxed.

Once he was free of his embarrassment of falling in front of you earlier today and masturbating to you despite barely even knowing you to begin with. He'd definitely work up the courage to speak to you more.

Harvey

Very respectful, very demure. He's not blind to the fact that you have huge tits but he's not going to go wild over them (to your face)

But when the time comes for you to have your yearly wellness check. I have a feeling that's his favorite time of the year as feeling up your tits to check for your lumps literally makes him ascend to the moon, only after making sure you were healthy of course!

But as soon as that check-up ends? Cue this man alerting Maru at the front desk that he's going to rest for a little in his room.

A quick masturbation sesh with you starring in it, all as he imagines playing and kneading your chest—he's never cum so fast.

But now he can't look at you without nearly turning into a tomato either.

♡ - A doctor should never do this.

It violated every rule in the book, even if you didn't know. He knew!

But, as Harvey currently sat on his bed, biting on his shirt like his life depended on it. His brain could only think of you and you alone, and how soft your tits felt in his hands. Like clouds almost, a regular procedure that he had done time and time again for many types of patients shouldn't have had his cock aching like this! But...you, you were different. Throughout the procedure, you had to have known what you were doing as you kept a steady eye on him as he moved the stethoscope over your chest to listen to your heartbeat.

While he stood in front of you nearly giving himself a nosebleed from how hard he was blushing, you looked at him with a soft smile without a single care in the world, as if you didn't know how you were affecting him!

And the second your wellness check was over...he was all too eager to rush back to his room, grab some lotion and tend to his leaky dick— "Miss Y/N..." He moaned to himself quietly, despite the situation and you not physically being here, he at least had enough decency left to refer to you in a respectful manner despite what he was doing. He tried not to let his thoughts sink into depravity too much, simply masturbating to the imagination of how your chest felt against him...and how much he wanted to see what they looked like without your shirt to cover them...and then if you would let him suck them— "S-Shit—!" He threw his head back suddenly to cry out before electricity suddenly sparked throughout his veins, a warmth suddenly coating his fist before he shakily looked down.

Harvey stared down at his cum-coated dick and fist in a daze for a long few minutes, he had never cum so quickly much less to the thought of someone who was essentially a complete stranger! Perhaps he was the one who actually needed the check-up...or, maybe it was best to stay away from you altogether...to avoid another bad situation like this.

Alex

The second least horniest on this list.

Not that he's not attracted to your huge personalities of course! It's just—everything about you is attractive to him. Your full figure and the mere sight of it was already enough to make him throb in his pants, your tits were just a nice added bonus.

Buutttt, when you two get to know each other and start becoming intimate, he's definitely not saying no to the possibility of straddling your torso and fucking your tits.

That night alone made him switch of to having a preference for tits ever since.

♡ - "You're sooooo dirty for letting me do this babe~"

It was a bit contradictory, he'd admit, Alex was the one who suddenly came up to you one day with the suggestion of fucking your tits! Although he was more of an ass man and was your number one fan of fucking up into you as you sat on his cock reverse cowgirl...when you'd face him, and watch how your tits would move up and down in a hypnotizing fashion—it was exactly how things got to where they were now.

Him straddling your torso as he pressed your boobs together around his girthy cock, your head turned down a little to lap at his cock each time it began to poke at your lips. The sight of you licking his tip as he fucked your tits made Alex's mouth water, the urge to cum stronger than ever but he was determined to hold back. He definitely didn't want this moment to end too soon. "Fuck..." He moaned as he leaned forward a little, bracing a hand just above your head as he began to grip the sheets as his pace sped up, your hands quickly pressing your breasts together to keep them squished around his leaky cock.

"Your boobs feel so good baby...we should do this every day, huh?"

You responded via suckling on his tip, the act alone making Alex whine as lewd plapping noises could quietly be heard from how hard he was fucking your chest, as if he were actually fucking your pussy. And his mind? He might as well have been! In this moment, the titjob you were giving him was just as addicting as the warm walls of your pussy. Each thrust was eager, every movement of his hips that brought his cock backward was followed by him rushing to thrust forward again as your soft lips were the reward.

But it was when you started to massage his cockhead with the palm of your hand that he really began to lose it. "F-Fuck—!" Alex cried out, his head dropping to dizzily look at the bedsheets as he tried to hold onto his sanity, hold onto his noises.

You definitely weren't going to have that. "Don't hold back your sounds Alex." Your voice just barely managed to reach Alex's ears over the sound of his rushing pulse in his ears and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Your request made his ears began to turn red and his cheeks burn, you were supposed to be the one who was noisy, not him! But...every attempt to refocus his brain and contain his sounds, turn them from whines into groans ended in pure failure as he couldn't deny how much he was enjoying your tits. "B-Baby..." He moaned. "Pleasepleaseplease....let me cum on your pretty tits..." He begged as his rhythm grew sloppier, pre-cum practically spilling every on your chest with how close he was to his orgasm.

The sound and sight of your boyfriend being so needy, begging you to cum when it was typically the other way around nearly made you cum untouched. You were absolutely loving this!

How could you ever think to say no?

"Cum on my tits babe," You moaned, replacing the palm of your hands with your mouth. The way the flat of your tongue lapped at his slit was all it took for the dam to break, Alex's abdomen flexing as he came, ropes of his hot cum flooding your mouth before it began to dribble out the sides of your lips when it became too much for you to drink down. Yet, when he was able to, when Alex slid himself away from the warm comforts of your chest to see what he had done to you...the trails of cum that dribbled out the sides of your mouth along with the leaky trail he left along your chest and stomach.

How you looked at him as if you wanted more.

He felt himself hardening almost immediately. "S-Sexy..." He stuttered, running a hand through his hair.

"Can...we do that again?"

Shane

Your very own personal tit massager

But I feel like he'd have his own little special place in the realm of big tit enjoyers (Though it'd be similar to Alex)

Everything about you is attractive to him, whether you have a fat ass, flat ass, big tits or small tits! Nothing could turn you off for him.

With this being said though—I genuinely believe that your tits are more so a way for him to further get you in the mood rather than him being obsessed over him. He likes your huge boobs, don't get me wrong but he'd slowly massage them while thigh-fucking you slowly. He wants you to get you in the mood, make you practically beg him to stop playing with your boobs and fuck you like a whore instead!

Fast and rough sex right from the start is all fun and all but—

He definitely enjoys the wait as well, hearing you all but scream for him to fuck you is enough to nearly make him cum on the spot.

♡ - "Shane...please." You begged sweetly into his ear as your boyfriend sat behind you, gently fucking your thighs while his head sat on your shoulder, looking over at the way he massaged your boobs.

And he did so with an intensely watchful eye. The weight and warmth of your tits made him harder and harder by the second. When Shane suggested fucking your thighs while he played with your tits, it was a...prelude of sorts, this wasn't enough to make him cum and even if it was, his cum was reserved for your mouth or pussy only. This foreplay was less about him and more so you, a way for him to listen to your needy moans and imagine how dirty they would become as you would soon scream for him once he speared you on his cock.

"Y' beg so cutely honey, almost makes me wanna fuck your gushing pussy next..." He whispered in your ear, his deep voice in combination with how he lightly bit the shell of your ear making you whine as you clenched around nothing. And the feeling of his cock lightly rubbing against your cunt, not enough to pleasure you but enough to let you know that it was there just out of reach from where you needed him the most.

It was enough to nearly drive you insane. "T-Then fuck my pussy..." You panted. "P-Please?"

You pouted cutely when Shane made a humming noise as if he were genuinely considering your request. "Nah." He smirked wickedly before he gently pinched your nipple, your grip on his forearms tightening at the action. "Let me enjoy these fat tits a lil' longer honey, along with these thighs..." He sped up his thrusts to accentuate his words, the increased speed of his thrusts doing a little more to just begin to rub against your hard clit but still...definitely not enough to make you cum.

"Shane, please."

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, his brow cocking upward lazily as if he were searching for something more. He was having so much fun playing with you as he was!

For ruining his fun so early on...he was going to make you work for the privilege of his dick fucking you stupid. "So impatient," With the way he clicked his tongue, you would've almost thought he were genuinely annoyed if you hadn't seen that ghost of a smirk begin to tickle the edges of his mouth. "Y' gotta beg me better than that for ruinin' my fun hon'."

Your cheeks burned even brighter, your face hiding in the crook of his neck in an attempt to briefly hide yourself away.

Yet, Shane didn't let it last long with how his thrusts all of a sudden slowed down and his hands stopped moving. "Well?"

You took your head from his neck, looking up at him with a teary expression. "P-Please..." You started.

His brow rose even higher, a silent warning of 'Not good enough'.

"Shane...please—!" You whined. "Fuck my aching pussy, I wanna cum on your cock...i-it hurts!" The dick had the nerve to hum again! The wait was making you ache even more than ever! But, just before you were about to smack his arm out of your own fit of annoyance, Shane suddenly parted your legs to begin rubbing fierce circles on your clit, the sudden pleasure making you throw your head back to let out a shrill moan.

"Fine, fine." He chuckled.

"I'll fuck this needy lil' pussy."

Bonus! Maru

I'm not going to lie, I only included Maru because corruption kinks go brrr.

So let's set the scene like this, Maru spots the farmer and immediately gains a crush on them. Your entire figure as well as how warm-hearted you appeared to be had the poor girl head-over-heels for you in a matter of minutes.

When you finally find a chance to talk to Maru, you immediately love how shy she appears to be around you and how she tries to make it not obvious that she's stealing glances at your tits.

Butttt there's a problem. Demetrius and him being overprotective of his daughter.

So the farmer plays the long game with Maru, flirting with her which turns into Maru being out later and later to spend more time with the farmer. Which then turns into her sneaking out late at night to go to the farmer's house.

And it doesn't take a genius to know what happened next once Maru and the farmer got to that stage.

The farmer coaxing Maru into multiple orgasms while she got to suck and massage the farmer's tits!

♡ - When you first came to this town, you had never thought that you would find someone as cute as Maru. When she had introduced herself to you, the way she tried to keep her eyes everywhere but your chest was amusing to say the least, enough to where you wanted to get to know her more! You wouldn't deny that you were a fan of shy girls.

But...you supposed that your least favorite thing about shy women was the potential they had for an overprotective father.

Which Maru had.

Demetrius.

But you were nothing if not patient, you flirted with Maru and talked to her as much as you could. You hardly said a word to her before she was the one who was talking to you until the wee hours of the morning, and you definitely didn't say anything when she started appearing at your house all of a sudden! All as she confessed that she snuck out just to talk to you a little bit longer!

You blushed at the bold confession but it both warmed your heart and worried you, you liked her but you neither wanted to get her into trouble much less have Demetrius coming to your doorstep asking where Maru was when she was a grown woman.

But...you supposed it was too late to be worried about such things now.

Especially as you and Maru were currently in bed together, Maru weakly kneading your tits adorably as her eyes glazed over with pleasure as you circled and played with her clit. "Feels good, huh?" You giggled, another fit of giggles leaving your lips when she nodded her head dumbly. "Cutie...you should use your words~" You then began to slow your fingers down, shocking Maru enough for her to stutter.

"F-Feels good...!" She said. "Don't...don't stop, please?"

Maru suddenly let out a gasp, followed by a soft moan as you quickly started circling her throbbing clit once more, her slick beginning to coat your thigh as she mindlessly started to grind herself against you all as she tried to pleasure you in return via lazily sucking on your tits. Your cunt clenched at the adorable sight, especially how she looked up at you through lidded eyes but tonight wasn't about you, you were intent on giving Maru her first real orgasm with your own fingers.

And...getting her to that point almost seemed too easy with the way she was beginning to squirm, causing you to wrap an arm around her to fasten her to yourself so she wasn't able to escape. "Y' close Maru~?" You whispered in her ear, her clit twitching in response. "Your practically soaking my thigh."

When Maru tried tucking her face in the valley between your breasts, you once again took your fingers away much to her disappointment. "Why—"

"Girls who hide don't get their cunts touched," You said teasingly but with a present firmness that made your lover nod her head before her moans once again began to leave her lips as you pinched her clit. Suddenly, her mind began to spin as the pace of your fingers started to speed up, the mind-numbing pleasure in combination with the brief stints of pain you'd deliver via suddenly pinching her clit creating a delicious concoction that practically made her scream.

Until her vision suddenly blanked, your eyes widening at the way Maru squirted on your thigh as a shrill moan let her throat. You whistled lowly at the arousing sight, your mouth watering as you all of a sudden wished that you could taste it.

But...as your partner's head fell onto your chest, her body heaving as she attempted to catch her breath. Once she was finished coming down from her high...you were determined to make her cum again, this time on your mouth.

[missdynamighttt]

can you pretty please write something based on the song Would You Fall in Love With Me Again from Epic? I was thinking like, barbarian bakugo but he went to war or somethin’ and finally gets home to his wife?

the village gates loomed in the distance, barely visible through the morning mist. the scent of rain and blood clung to the air, but for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo paid it no mind. his fingers twitched at his side, the leather of his armor worn from war. his sword, heavy as the burdens he carried, hung loosely at his hip.

he had returned. but would she still want him?

his steps slowed as he neared the familiar path leading to their home. it was still there—unchanged, untouched as if time had waited for him. the wooden beams, the carved symbols of protection along the frame, the worn stone path leading to the door. a home he had built with his own hands.

a home he feared he no longer belonged in.

the door creaked open before he could knock.

“katsuki?”

there she stood. his wife. his love. the woman he had fought for across a thousand battlefields.

you.

you looked just as he had remembered and yet… not. there was something in your eyes, something weary, something knowing.

"is it really you?" your voice trembled, your hands gripping the doorframe as if to steady yourself. "or am i dreaming again?"

his throat went dry. he wanted to say something—anything—but all he could do was stare.

he had imagined this moment a hundred times, had whispered your name into the cold night air of distant lands, had prayed to gods he no longer believed in just to see you again.

but now that you were here, he didn’t know if he had the right to reach for you.

"you look... different," you whispered. "your eyes… they look tired."

his lip curled, not in anger, but in some bitter, broken thing that resembled a smile. "that ain't the only thing that's different."

you took a step closer, hesitant, searching. your gaze trailed the hollows of his cheeks, the sharpness of his jaw. your fingers twitched as if aching to touch him, but you held back. 

a sharp breath left him. he knew what you saw. he wasn't the man you had once known. he was something else now. something ruined.

"i'm not the man you fell in love with," he admitted, voice rough like gravel. "not the man you married."

you flinched, but you didn’t look away.

"i'm not your husband anymore," he continued, his voice quiet, pained. "my love... would you fall in love with me again, if you knew all i've done?"

your breath hitched. "what... have you done?"

katsuki shut his eyes. when he opened them, they were dark with memories he wished he could forget.

"left blood on every fuckin' battlefield," he sighed. "traded soldiers like weapons. hurt more lives than i can count." his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "but every goddamn thing i did… was to come back to you."

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "so tell me. would you still love me?"

your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. you studied him again, truly seeing him, the man he was now—the weight he carried, the sins etched into his skin.

then you turned, walking deeper into their home. katsuki's chest ached as you disappeared from view. maybe this was it. maybe you couldn’t—

"could you do me a favor?" your voice drifted from within.

"what is it, my love?" his brow furrowed as he followed, stepping inside for the first time in years. the air smelled of you. of home. 

you were quiet for a long time, the wind whispering between you. then, at last, you stepped forward, eyes steady. 

you turned your gaze to the large wedding bed in their home, carved from the sturdy olive tree that had stood as a silent witness to your love since the beginning.

“that bed,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “could you lift it? carry it far away from here?”

his blood ran cold.

“how could you say that?” his voice cracked, the anger, the exhaustion, the heartbreak all colliding into one. “i built that bed with my own fuckin' hands. carved it from the tree where we first met. the only way to move it is to—”

his breath caught. he looked at you, realization striking him like lightning. his chest ached. his arms, worn from war, longed for your warmth.

“…you knew."

you stepped closer, cradling his face in your hands. his hands came, gripping your waist as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

a small, trembling smile touched your lips. "only my husband would know that. so i guess that makes you... him."

his knees nearly buckled. he surged forward, hands cupping your face, his forehead pressing against yours.

tears slipped down your cheeks, but you smiled, truly smiled, as your hands finally touched him—fingers ghosting over scars and bruises and the remnants of war.

"i will fall in love with you over and over again, katsuki," you whispered. "i don't care how, where, or when. no matter how long it's been. you are mine.”

he crushed you to him, burying his face into your hair, his body shaking. katsuki swallowed hard, his vision blurring. “i told you… i’m not the same.”

"you're always my husband, katsuki," you murmured. "i've been waiting for you. i would have waited forever."

katsuki's arms tightened around you, grounding himself in your warmth, your love, your unwavering belief in him.

"you don't have to anymore," he whispered. "i'm home." 

katsuki held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go. the weight of years, of battles, of bloodshed, all crumbled beneath the warmth of your touch.

you swallowed hard. “how long has it been?”

katsuki exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. his voice was barely above a whisper.

“twenty years.”

a breath hitched in your throat. twenty years. twenty years of waiting, of uncertainty, of praying that the man you loved would return to you. “god, katsuki…”

“i thought i’d never make it back to you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “i thought—” he stopped himself, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours. “i don’t deserve this.”

"don’t say that," tears spilled down your cheeks as you cupped his face, your fingers trembling. “i love you.”

his breath shuddered. he had been through war. he had seen death, had taken lives, and had lived in the darkness for what felt like an eternity. and yet, nothing had ever struck him down the way those three words did.

a harsh, broken laugh escaped him, and he pressed his lips against your forehead.

“i love you more. always have. always will.”

you sobbed, burying yourself in his chest as he held you tighter, his body shaking from exhaustion, from relief, from love.

and for the first time in years, katsuki bakugo finally let himself fall. back into the home he had fought so hard to return to. back into you, his wife.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[salemrph]

Sleepy morning with Sylus

A/N: While I was reading some other posts yesterday, I came across a user asking about what it would be like to wake up next to Sylus. My imagination jumped on it right away! I would say this is more of a headcanon than a fanfic. I focused more how he would experience it. Short write, just because I'm working on other stuff.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 1,430 | Reading Time: 5 min

Background music

Your laughter echoes through his bedroom as you try to break free from his grip, his breath tickling your skin. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, pressing himself against your naked body. You smell incredible, so intoxicatingly good that waking up next to you must be heaven on earth.

You squirm and kick, already in tears from laughing so hard. He can't get enough of that sound, of the way you smile, the way you close your eyes and lean your head back. Your presence is like a flowerbed in full bloom, vibrant and breathtaking. Blooming in its full splendor.

Whenever he can, he admires you. When you sleep, he counts the moles on your body, tracing them with his fingertips. He caresses the scars you've earned as a fierce Hunter, kissing every natural fold of your skin. His touch follows the curve of your back, the delicate shape of your ass, down to your legs. The same legs that always wrap around him in the intensity of passion.

He loves you, more than he could ever show to you. It wouldn't be enough, ever.

"Sylus—"  you gasp between laughs, struggling against him as your muscles start to cramp.

"You have so much energy, kitten" you keep laughing, you are so ticklish this morning. His nose brushes against your neck before he nips at your skin, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder.

You squirm even more, still breathless from laughter. "I will pee myself... Stop!"

He hums against your skin, only tightening his hold. He isn't really awake, he wants to keep sleeping, enjoying the peaceful morning with you. Sylus has worked hard to clear his schedule, to be with you like this. To adapt to your routine, make breakfast, and simply enjoy a normal day at your side.

"Then pee..."  he teases. 

"Gross! Let go." You protest, thoroughly disgusted by his suggestion.

"Not even in dreams, sweetie" he chuckles while still kissing your shoulder.

"Sy..." you whine. That tone, the way you try to get your way putting that face, that tone in your voice. The one that makes his heart melt no matter how much he tries to resist. He growls, reluctant to release you completely. His grip tightening for a moment before he finally exhales and relaxes.

"Go. You have 2 minutes to come back". 

You waste no time jumping out of bed, only to earn a slap on your ass.

"Hey!" You spin around, shooting him a glare. Sylus only smirks.

"I like how it wiggles"

You disappear in the bathroom. Sylus shifts onto his back, crossing both arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a rare sense of peace. Yeah… he could get used to this. No, he wants to get used to this. The wealth he possesses and everything he has done has been nothing more than a way to ensure your safety. The years he spent searching for you taught him that he had to be prepared for anything. Losing you again was not in his plans. And if the day ever comes when you no longer love him, it won’t change a thing. He would still protect you, even from the shadows.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you sneaking back into bed. Carefully, you inch closer, suppressing a grin as you reach out to poke his cheek. But before you can even make contact, his hand shoots out, catching your wrist in a firm grip.

"Feeling playful this morning, my love?"

"Just a bit" you smirk. Sylus laughed.

"What do you want to play?" You tilt your head, pausing deliberately as your eyes drift over his bare chest, trailing down to his toned abs. The sheets rest low on his hips, and the way you’re looking at him doesn’t go unnoticed. He knows that look.

With effortless ease, he shifts, pulling you toward him until you land on top of his body.

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. The color of your lips is already beautiful, but he loves it even more when they darken after passionate kisses. His lips part slightly, his gaze locked onto yours, mesmerized by the infinite depth of your shining eye.

You lean in, pressing tender kisses across his face before finally finding his lips. Your entire body relaxes, melting into him. Savoring the slow movement of your mouth. Heat growing in your body. Between you two. The kiss deepens bit by bit, his tongue tracing your lips, later moving beyond, slipping inside, tasting you. You sigh into him, already lost in the spreading feelings of longing.

His hand has already trapped you. One sitting on your back, the other on your ass, keeping you close. He is getting harder by the second. His need for you is growing. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips grounding you in the moment. There is no rush, no urgency. You have the complete morning and day to melt in each other.

When he finally pulls away, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath is warm against your lips. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he exhales deeply. This is a dream, he thinks. A damn good dream. And he has no intention of waking up.

One hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. He doesn’t need to speak; everything he feels is in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious. You cover his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. A faint smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you again.

Sylus takes his time, enjoying how your body reacts to him, the quiet gasps, the way your fingers tangle in his hair. His name escapes your lips in a breathless whisper. He watches you with a quiet intensity, taking in the way you melt under his touch. The space between you disappears, lost in the unhurried way he moves. Once more, your worlds merge, your bodies speaking a language only the two of you understand.

That's how you start the morning: with him, with you, with nothing beyond these four walls mattering. Just the warmth of his skin, the rhythm of your hearts, and the love that neither of you needs to put into words.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

Yes, you don't owe anyone your time and intimacy. These things are freely given to people whose company you enjoy. They're not a reward for performing the mechanical actions of courtship correctly, they're a logical consequence of two people mutually liking one another on a profound human level. Courtship is a game between two people who already like each other, and the thing is that there is no reward, the reward is getting to spend socially sanctioned time together that could lead into nesting and raising children. The win condition of dating is a pair bond capable of weathering life and maybe sustaining childrearing, which for most people involves sex because it's fun, bonding and is what leads to children. The win condition of dating is not mechanical sex for mechanical sex's own sake.

The thing that progresses dating into greater seriousness is therefore also not a kiss, not a handy, nothing — you can do all of that with whoever you're dating, I don't care, but call me a boomer idk, the period of time that you're in love is supposed to be safe and fun for both parties. The progression of a relationship is about trust, which dies instantly the second dating is no longer both fun and safe.

If feeling safe and having fun does not, in your heart of hearts, include being alone together or handies or head for you (and let's be honest with ourselves, it often doesn't, no one really thinks these kinds of risks to her reputation and human value are fun and safe; when girls engage in these behaviours it's because they live in a bizarro world where for some reason horny boys are allowed to set the rules of mate choice and girls are taught to value being wanted above anything else), that should be respected. If it isn't, stop dating this person.

Lack of willingness to respect women's nonconsent (and telling you not to be a prude is, in fact, disrespect) leads to rape, which used to often lead to children out of wedlock whose lives were doomed to be miserable, which is why so many patriarchal cultures wrote not being in private with unwed women into ritual or customary law and usually tied in metaphysics.

Even back then, people knew that rape can be a profound sociological trauma with very far-reaching consequences and wanted to keep their children from experiencing it, and their grandchildren from living whatever life these circumstances gave them. Not everyone alive in a prevailing social climate agrees with it, but they do all know what the consequences are for acting like it doesn't exist.

And after marriage too, you may not always have the right to say no, but on principle you deserve it just by existing as a human being. No still means no even with a ring on it.

I would (and I have) stop talking to a guy even at the implication of any entitlement to sex; in my culture it's normal to be a virgin until 24 or older nowadays, because marriage is a very long commitment, and sex is always a risk for the woman, and no shit she has the right to discretion. If he wants to gently try to wheedle or pressure you into sex while you're still reasonably in the public eye as a distinct person now, imagine what he'll do when you're married, you're in private together with no witnesses all the time, and his grandma thinks he's entitled to it!

He's not entitled to fuck or damn, but marital rape is much harder to get any recourse for than rape, comma, vanilla (which itself is the farthest thing from a picnic), and not everyone who blogs on the internet has a right to no-fault divorce. Universally applicable advice: either the man you're with is capable of understanding that no means no, or you just don't get into that position with him to begin with. If he has bad vibes, don't give him a chance, leave. If he says or does some weird shit, don't give him the benefit of the doubt, leave. You are always morally in the right for leaving and telling everyone about why.

There may be very little you can do once you're too far in — I'm not saying you shouldn't have the right to leave a bad marriage, I'm saying a lot of people wake up one day to find they don't — so if at all you can choose whether you end up in that position, do everything in your power not to.

There should, also, in principle be standards you should be able to hold men to. Leave if they refuse to be held to standards; they do believe in standards even if they claim not to, just standards only for you. You want the guys that believe sincerely in standards for everyone that you also believe in.

They will be hard to find because their path is thankless and often also considered to be cringe or even juvenile (because very young boys don't know they're supposed to want to hurt women yet, not wanting to hurt women is widely perceived as naive, feminine or infantile among men), but it's the only way to safely be heterosexual. If you need a man (I'm a lesbian but I have brothers I love who feel they need women, and I know full well that it is possible to feel you need a man), pick a good one.

You may be waiting until you're 30, even 40, but the good news is that gives you time to make nesting money and learn who you are, so, you know, different time periods, different priorities.

Secrets of the mothers of Israel or whatever, special for Tumblr: make good choices about your box and hold the men in your life to standards. Otherwise they will make up bad one-sided standards to hold you to and make your stupid box choices for you.

The social coercion women face to date people they’re not attracted to is fucking insane. I remember distinctly thinking “well, I can just force myself to be attracted to him…”

Films, books, etc, all show the trope of beautiful woman and unattractive man. There is still the myth that an unattractive man will treat you better than an attractive one (more women are waking up to this, but still). Even now the left thinks that activism happens between the legs of women.

Don’t date people you’re not attracted to. Don’t feel guilty for not giving them the time of day. No means no.

[xobunni0]

𝒷𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

➵ ℳ𝓔𝓝𝓤

- day 4 💌, wc- 2k

it didn’t happen all at once. falling for Shadow was like watching a candle burn, a slow realization that crept into your heart before you could do anything to stop it

at first it was enough just to be by his side. you were his friend one of the few he actually let in. and that had meant something. it still did. the long talks during quiet nights, the way he’d listen when no one else did, the rare smiles that softened his otherwise hardened expression

but at some point, just being friends stopped feeling like enough

maybe it was the way your heart quickened whenever he was near, or how his deep voice sent warmth in your chest. maybe it was the way his rare smiles lingered in your mind far longer than they should..

because how could you not fall for him?

Shadow wasn’t easy to understand, but you’d learned to understand him in your own way. he didn’t always say how he felt, but his actions spoke for him like the way he never let anyone else close the way he let you.

and that night, standing beside him beneath the stars it hit you all at once.

maybe it was only natural. maybe, deep down he also felt it too.

over time, the line of friendship became blurred.

it wasn’t a single moment that changed things, but a series of them the way his gaze softened when he thought you weren’t looking. the way he never quite pulled away when your shoulder brushed his.

at first, you told yourself you were imagining it. Shadow wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions. he was direct, rational. he saw the world for how it was or wasn’t and yet somehow you existed in the space in between.

you were certain

Shadow felt the same way about you.

it wasn’t just a hope or a foolish dream. it was in the way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, the way he stayed. Shadow wasn’t someone who entertained relationships. he kept his circle small, walls high, but somehow you had slipped through the cracks. and he had let you.

you saw it in the way he noticed when something was wrong even when you hadn’t said a word. the way he said your name not just as a friend, but as something more.

but for all the certainty in your heart, Shadow hadn’t said the words. not yet

doubt creeping in when you least expected it.

it didn’t matter how many moments you’d shared with Shadow, how many times you caught him looking at you like you were something important. he had never said the words. never confirmed what you so desperately wanted to believe

and that was the problem wasn’t it?

Shadow had always been unreadable. his emotions were locked away, he wasn’t like other people he didn’t express things the way they did. and maybe… maybe you had been wrong. maybe you had been imagining all of it.

because at the end of the day, he had never said he felt anything for you

what if he only saw you as a friend?

the thought hit you harder than you wanted to admit, settling in your chest

you tried to push it away, to remind yourself of all the little moments that had convinced you otherwise but doubt had a way of twisting things, making you question everything.

maybe the way he looked at you was just how he looked at everyone he trusted. maybe his rare moments of gentleness weren’t what you thought they were. maybe you had misread everything.

after all

Shadow wasn’t the easiest person to keep close he often disappeared without a word sometimes, and didn’t always explain himself. you were used to that. you had learned to understand him in ways most people couldn’t.

but this was different.

lately, he had been avoiding you.

not in an obvious dramatic way Shadow wasn’t like that. no, it was subtle. something so small that if you hadn’t known him so well, you might not have noticed.

but you did

you noticed the way he always seemed to find a reason to leave before you could talk. the way his eyes, when they met yours now flickered away like he was afraid of something

and that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

had you done something wrong? had you misread everything between you?

you had told yourself over and over that you would be strong, that you wouldn’t let this consume you. that if Shadow wanted to push you away you wouldn’t chase after him. you wouldn’t let it hurt.

but that was a lie.

because it did hurt. it hurt more than you could stand

and now, sitting alone in the quiet of your room, the weight of it all came crashing down.

you buried your face in your hands as the first sob escaped once it started, you couldn’t stop. tears hot against your skin your chest tightening

why?

why had he suddenly started avoiding you? what had you done?

everything had been fine hadn’t it? the way he stayed close, the way he looked at you like you mattered it had all felt so real.

but then without warning he had shut you out.

no explanations. no words. just distance.

and it was driving you crazy.

your mind kept replaying every interaction, every conversation, searching for something anything that might explain it. had you said something wrong? had you only imagined that he cared at all?

the thought sent another wave of tears down your cheeks.

you weren’t naive. you knew Shadow wasn’t easy to read that he carried things he never spoke about. but this? this was different. this felt personal.

and the worst part?

you missed him.

even now, even after everything, all you wanted was to hear his voice to have him look at you like he used to, to prove that you hadn’t just been fooling yourself.

but he wasn’t here.

and you didn’t know if he ever would be again.

a broken sob escaped your lips, and you curled in on yourself, arms wrapping around yourself

“…What did I do wrong?”

Shadow never did anything without thinking it through. but now, standing just outside your door his heart raced in a way he couldn’t quite understand.

he had never been good at this. never been good at letting someone close at showing them too much.

but now, with everything between you and him, with the distance he had made between you, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe just maybe you weren’t just a friend to him anymore.

and the thought terrified him.

he hadn’t meant to push you away. that had never been the plan. but what was the plan really? he had no idea how to be anything more than what he was. the thought of being vulnerable of letting someone in scared him more than anything else.

but as he stood there on the verge of knocking, something told him that maybe… maybe it was time to try. to take that risk no matter how much it made him nervous.

he knocked once. twice.

when you opened the door, tears stained the apples of your cheeks, you blinked in surprise. you had been expecting anyone but him. “Shadow?”

he stood there for a moment unsure of how to start. his eyes briefly flickered to the ground avoiding your gaze

“…We need to talk.” his voice was softer than usual

your brow furrowed and for a moment, you could see the worry flicker in his eyes something you rarely saw. “About what?”

he took a breath, trying to steady his nerves. “About us.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you didn’t know why.

you stepped back to let him in but he hesitated still standing in the doorway. something in him seemed torn, like he was battling himself over whatever he was about to say.

“I’ve been… thinking.” he paused, running a hand through his quills in frustration. “And I know I haven’t been clear with you. I haven’t been good at… this.”

his words made your chest tighten but you stayed silent waiting for him to continue.

Shadow shifted his weight from one foot to the other clearly uncomfortable. it was strange to see him like this

“I’ve never—” He cut himself off taking a breath, “I’ve never asked anyone this before. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to… how to say it.”

a knot formed in your stomach, and you frowned slightly unsure of where this conversation was going.

“Shadow…” you started, but he shook his head his gaze finally meeting yours.

“I…” he started, his voice a little rougher now “…I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

you blinked, surprised Shadow rarely talked about his feelings, let alone let them spill out so easily. his gaze dropped briefly, like he was gathering his thoughts but then he met your eyes again.

“It’s like I can’t stop” he continued, voice quieter now almost uncertain. “I’m always thinking about what you’re doing how you’re doing… what it would be like to be near you. to just—” his words faltered for a moment like he was hesitant to put this into words. his hands gripping the edges of his gloves “I wonder what it would be like to hold you. to have you close, to…”

his breath caught, his words trailing off and he seemed to struggle with how to explain it.

“Shadow…” you whispered, unsure if you should speak or just let him continue.

he took a small step forward, closing the distance between you, “I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been so… sure of someone. I don’t know what it would be like, to have you with me, to hold you and… just have you be mine. to be close in a way that no one else can be. I keep imagining it wondering what it would feel like.”

Shadow, who had always been so careful so guarded, was speaking to you like this? it was like everything he had kept hidden inside, every thought, every feeling was finally rushing out.

“I don’t know how to explain it” he admitted, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

you didn’t know what to say at first, but you felt it too the desire to be close to him in a way you only allowed yourself to imagine until now.

you could see that he was no longer holding himself back. he was letting you in

“I never thought I’d let anyone this close” he murmured, his voice almost a breath. “But… you’re different.”

before you could say anything, he reached out carefully almost hesitantly, his hand took yours in his, his thumb brushing over your hand

“I never imagined how much I would want this. Want you.” he admitted

“Would you… would you be my girlfriend?”

the words were quiet

for a long moment, neither of you moved. you stared at him, unsure if you were dreaming or if this was real.

Shadow, the person who rarely let anyone in the one who always kept a wall up, was asking you to be his.

he looked so out of place, so vulnerable standing there waiting for your response as if your answer could make or break him.

and in that moment, you realized that he was just as afraid as you were

the reality of the moment hadn’t fully hit. then with a slow smile you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

relief washed over him, and for the first time in a long while, you saw him truly relax. his shoulders dropped his expression softened and he took a small step closer.

“Really?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

you smiled a little wider nodding again. “Really.”

day 5 💌 on tuesday !

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[gnohomotho]

HEAR ME OUT

This request that i have is so cheesy but sounds so good in my mind, forgive me 😭😫

Junho and reader doing like a private first impression thing like u know where the bride and groom are standing back to back and then they turn around. And like Junho is mesmerised has tears is his eyes

Like i literally only have the most cheesy and romantic ideas in my mind i CANNOT help it

Btw love your works 😜😚😚😚❤️❤️

I did my best, Anon, your message truly made my day. ♥ :D I hope I didn't overdo it, then again, cheese is my livelihood. Sorry for any oddities or spelling mistakes, I'm a bit in the trenches today. :c

It's a bit longer with some wedding dress backstory and getting ready, but I think the good part is there. :3 I hope you enjoy! ♥♥♥

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The Moment I Saw You

Pairing: Jun-ho x almostwife!fem!reader Summary: And you thought the dress shopping would be hard. The first impression you wished to give your husband-to-be went differently than expected, and you are swimming in a sea of love and bliss. Warnings: Remember that one modded Skyrim playthrough where the player accidentally glitched the cheese-wheel summoning spell and drowned the whole town in cheese? Well, that's what's happening here, but worse. Fluff! Fluff! More fluff! Word count: 2.7k

Everything should have been perfect.

You were picking the dress, and it was taking long. You were standing in the bridal shop, unable to choose, tired, wanting to go home. The person looking back at you in the mirror didn’t look like a bride to you. Even though everything was in place, it felt…wrong. Fake, somehow. Ill-fitting. The shop assistant was very kind, you thought her patient – but even she could see you were not exactly the glowing bride-to-be she was used to. Nor anything like the shiny photographs littered across the front desk.  

Your close friend was there with you, trying her best, you could hear her rummaging through the dresses again, muttering – “puffy sleeves, prom dress, no, no, no, form fitting…” She had the fervour of a very hungry owl searching for that one mouse that got away. “Dumb…long…short…dear god do people actually wear this…oooh, shiny…no…hmmm…” She was already buckling under the weight of all the new ones she picked out for you.

“Hey, Y/N, are you sure you don’t like this one?” She held up a gorgeous gown, white as snow, silk, smooth, reflecting light with a soft plunge of a neckline, and a revealed back. The skirt fell in a mermaid style, you could look like a gorgeous datura flower at the bottom.

“No, no, I’m not sure…not…” You think of yourself in the dress and frown. Your husband to be…Your Jun-ho…should he see you like this? He should see the most beautiful version of you on such a day – and yet you felt more like he was going to run away the moment he laid eyes you.

“Please? How about this one?” Your friend holds up her second choice. The dress is half lace, intricately woven with flowers and soft curling patterns, with off-the-shoulder milky sleeves, a lovely bodice and a small ribbon on the back. The veil would hide more of you, you think. But still. You eye the skirt, its velvety material falling almost straight down. You know you’d be leaving nothing to the imagination and wonder, what if this is all a mistake? What if he made a gigantic mistake, from the very first moment he met you? The first date? The first touch? What if you’ve been unknowingly deceiving him, and now he’ll see you for what you are, what you look like, inside and out? You can’t hide in white.

Your friend walks up to you and gently takes your hand to help you off the platform. She guides you away from the mirrors. As she walks you to the changing room, she is slowly stroking your hand, noticing you are beginning to resemble a vibrating ball of nerves.

“Y/N, if you keep frowning like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay for extra retouching of all the new wrinkles.” She tried to joke but immediately noticed that it was neither the time nor place and changed her demeanour. You sit, feeling the small bench weigh down with you as she does too, and gently hold your stomach as you speak. You’re unsure which one of you will get the hint first, but you’re pushing it out into the back of your mind as far as you can.

“I just…” You try to speak but the words come out all wrong. “I don’t think he’ll…he’ll be so disappointed.” You sigh and trace both hands down your face to calm down and wipe the stress away, but it clings to every molecule of your skin. “Jun-ho isn’t the type to…” No, all wrong. “It’s not the dresses, it’s me.” Gosh darn it, the tears begin to form. “It’s just me.”

“Hey, hey…darling…” your friend begins stroking the back of your hand as she holds your palm. She is warm and reassuring, but you struggle to believe her.

“It’s ok. It’s ok to be nervous. But you’re beautiful, no matter the dress. To be honest,” she looks around with added drama, as if feigning trying not to be heard, “I don’t think any of the dresses could do you justice and you should just walk out there stark naked if you want them to see how gorgeous you are,” she laughs and squeezes your hand, you look up and let yourself rest with her reassuring, peaceful smile that reaches her lowered eyes now directly resting on you. Although you’re not hugging, you feel held.

Her eyes move to your hand resting on your stomach and you could swear you saw a glint sparkle in their corner and her lashes seem to fall far slower as she blinks, but says nothing. She is so very thoughtful, you think.

“Look, if I know anything about Jun-ho, which isn’t much” she continues, “that man is head over heels for you and the moment you said “yes” I don’t think he’s heard any other words of any language since.”

You let out a small chuckle through another tear. She continues, knowing she’s on a the right path, knuckle punching every guard on the proverbial way.

“I know you’ve walked past this shop year after year, before any of this, and I know you loved the dresses for their beauty, their, elegance, their promise. Y/N, you told me yourself, what was it…winter…”

“Winter dresses,” you chime in quietly. Barely a whisper. Breathing in, you try to remember those cold walks.

“I walked past, and I tried to look at the winter dresses when I knew the shop was closed. The ones with those gorgeous, long skirts, heavy velvety fabric where they met the skin, forming an A shape towards the waist.” You didn’t tell her that you liked both their protectiveness and the fact that if you decided to dramatically fall into a dark body of water, their puffiness and beauty would truly make the moment worth it. You continued after another less shaky but still reserved breath: “Hugged it and up there, the white enveloping the chest – perhaps with lace across the collarbones, but skin hidden, just a touch away…” you let yourself sink into the memory, far before you met Jun-ho, your husband to be. “With that veil that resembled a winter cape from a Russian fairytale.”

“There’s my little Vasilisa,” your friend laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back, no eloping!”

You sat there, hand still resting on your belly, worried, excited, feeling as if you’re living someone else’s life. Thinking of what Jun-ho must be doing and feeling. Feeling worse and worse, as if you don’t deserve this life.

You quickly pull out your phone to check the time and melt. You have no idea how Jun-ho's timing is always so perfect, but only a minute or two ago, the words:

"Hey, sweet [diminutive version of Y/N], are you ok? Sorry, just wanted to check on you. I hope the dresses are treating you well! Tell [friend] to look after my wife!” light up your screen.

Another message lit up immediately after: “*wife-to-be, I just can’t stop saying it, sorry! I love you, Y/N.”

The smile that spreads from the corner of your mouth and butterflies that saunter from your stomach almost pushed all the anxiety off a cliff. But it still clung to the edge.

Your friend waltzed in and to your utter disbelief, she held up the perfect dress.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The click of your pearl-white heels was the only thing to be heard across the grass. You focused on their soft step and keeping your balance. Your heart was fluttering out of its chest, your stomach was doing its best to leave the building in excitement, in fear, in anticipation – the train of your dress followed you with a soft sliding murmur and the skirt gently touched each flower on the way. You were so glad he chose to do it this way, away from others. Flowers, a shield of wise oak trees. Bird chatter, a gentle breeze on your flushed cheeks, that’s all you truly needed. That, and him.

“I want to be the only one to see you, Y/N. The only one to witness the first sight of my wife.”

The sweetheart neckline clung to your collarbones, the off-the-shoulder fabric neatly stacked in on itself was cuddling your back and shoulders, light and nearly translucent. It rested on your skin as a light lover’s touch. The beautiful, laced veil, floating with you as well as behind you was hiding, yet still accentuating your shining hair with small white flowers nestled between locks. It fell periodically across your back and your shoulders, resting on your collarbones with each step. The heavy fabric of the dress which clung to your waist and fell once more felt cool and warm at the same time, giving you an air of ethereal slow motion. You looked like you belonged in a winter forest. A vision of indescribable, untouchable beauty. The wind gently played with your hair, as if longing to caress you as much as the man in front of you.

As you walked, the form of your husband-to-be materialised in front of you, facing the other way. Although there were many other features around, each quite beautiful, you had no eyes for them. Slowly, meticulously, as if not to scare him, you walked up the small hill towards him and lingered behind him. He hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there – his back is giving away the quickness of his breathing and his attempts to steady it down. Please breathe, my love…” Your thoughts leave their nerves at bay and soften into nothing but care and love for him. Finally, as lightly as a feather, you rest your back against his, feeling his breath quicken once more and his entire form tense and release, as if wishing to melt into you.

Jun-ho almost hesitates, but slowly, in what is trying to be a level manner, speaks.

“On the count of three, Y/N?”

You breathe out a tiny chuckle. Ever the pragmatic yet meticulous man.

“One…” you say almost in unison.

Your breath quickens, your heart is racing ten miles a minute, the dress seems to be tighter and tighter and the birds louder and louder yet so far away.

“Two…” he says alone and you whisper with him, mind turning to mushy cotton but enveloped in such a warm feeling of bliss.

Jun-ho takes in a last, heavy breath and as he lets it out…

“Three.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You turn around in unison and both stand frozen in the moment.

Your eyes meet.

Jun-ho stands utterly transfixed, trying to take you in, all of you, in your entirety at once. But his eyes cannot contain you, so he keeps glitching, his hands that he wished to extend to you the moment you turned, are shivering and tense.

His soft gaze tries to dart and look at you from a different side, angle, but he cannot. You’re…you’re a vision that he cannot and will not disentangle from.

As his eyes are trying to take in every inch of you and warming his heart with every molecule he manages to snatch from the photons reflecting your form, his heart is firmly on its way out of his chest.

You hear nothing but your breath now, you’re looking up into his eyes, inches away from his face, which is frozen and beginning to tear at itself. As if a mask was cracking in nothing but a barrage of indescribable beauty and feeling.

Jun-ho slowly lifts a shivering hand to his mouth and rests it across his face, fingers almost up to his eyes, as if shielding both you and him from the raw, sheer affection that has swept him off his feet – and you, you are both the waves he’s drowning in and the only lifeboat on the sea.

“Y/N…” he barely chokes out in a whisper.

“Y/N…you…you look...” his hand is joined by his other, slowly laying each palm and finger against themselves under his lips. Jun-ho doesn’t know why he cannot control his expression, a wide smile is fighting to be seen, his eyes and heart are tearing at him in springs of bliss and absolute adoration as he wishes to scoop you up to him and melt into you, squeeze you so tight you won’t know where you stop and he begins.

But you are…untouchable as this vision before him. As he steadies himself, he tries to breathe, getting a breath caught in his throat. He finally looks away and you worry, worry your worst fears came true. Worry that the girl sitting in the bridal shop holding her stomach was correct.

But on second look, he is…oh gosh…” The mixture of worry and unexpected relief, bundled up in nothing but affection and deep care threaten to drive you to both laugh and tear up.

“Jun-ho…!” A hushed whisper from your tender lips brings him back to you, turning his head slowly back. He meets your gaze with reserved fear, one eye – look away – second eye – look away – both – remain with you. You see now, with warmth growing in your chest and flutters dancing across your skin, why he was shielding his mouth, then face, then needing to look away entirely. You take both his hands into yours, caressing each finger lovingly as you lower them down to your waist. You envelop his hands, still caressing each knuckle with the ball of your thumb.

“Jun-ho, my love…” you say slowly, levelly, in a low whisper. “My sweet love…it’s alright.”

Jun-ho cannot help it, the sides of his eyes are fully sparkling now. Your eyes are fully transfixed on his own and guide his gaze into you, and he smiles that wide smile you have grown to love so dearly. Jun-ho’s eyes are now fully glistening like still lakes under a full moon.

“I cannot believe you’re here. I---I---cannot believe…it’s…you…with me…My…My…”

Jun-ho cannot speak further but you feel the hands in your tender embrace reciprocate a grip far more secure and loving than you could ever wish for. As protective as it was reassuring. Jun-ho always held you as if you could slip away at any moment, but so tenderly that should you do so, you’d be protected and enveloped in loving warmth to the very end.

“Your wife. My darling. My husband.” Your face softened as you let the words slide across your lips and into the chasm between you, creating the gentlest of bridges.

“My---wife…” Jun-ho lets out an untangled breath of relief, the full smile finally taking over his face. Sparkles turning to tears fall at the same moment, as if a weight both descended from and knocked the air out of him in a single moment.

“You’re…you’re so beautiful. My love. My everything. You are…you are everything.” He’s still smiling as the small specks run down his cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I’m so glad. So glad. So happy. I don’t know how to---can I…can I touch you?”

As the lightly shivering voice in contrast to his imposing, beautiful form reached your ears, you lightly caressed his cheek, and he leaned into your palm immediately.

“Of course, Jun-ho.”

Without a second to spare, he lovingly, gently, as lightly as he could in his given disposition, cupped your face and gave you the longest, most tender of kisses. Slowly his hands trailed to your waist, brushing, as if making sure you weren’t going to disappear or turn into a beautiful dream.

Finally, Jun-ho everso carefully took you in fully. Without warning but still tenderly, Jun-ho lifted you up to him, as if you and your dress were as light as the breeze playing with your hair. In one movement he twirled around with you, letting your dress get caught in the moment and carried by motion, his gorgeous wife, his Y/N, nought but his – giggling in his arms, a vision of angelic beauty in his embrace – and he caught himself laughing with you, in nothing but pure bliss. As he let you down just as gently, his touch lingered – he didn’t want to let you go for one second.

Squeezing his hand, you nudged your face closer to his, beckoning without words; he covered the remaining distance.

You felt his lips brush against your own – top, then bottom, then both – before resting on yours fully. Tenderly. Reservedly. Lovingly. You placed a soft kiss where they lingered and Jun-ho finally let himself melt into you fully, kissing you as if you harboured the last bastion of oxygen in the depths of the ocean, as if you were the only thing on this Earth that he wanted, needed, yearned and lived for.    

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[sai-int]

LOW COUNTRY | INTRODUCTIONS

johnny mactavish x reader

[NEXT] [AO3] [MLIST]

mild swearing, lots of plot

The farm isn’t just a home—it’s a responsibility, a burden you never planned on shouldering alone.

You left this place once you were fresh out of high school, eager to escape the quiet, the isolation of the small town you grew up in. The city called to you, and you answered. New York City—the hustle, the noise, the lights. It was everything your small-town heart dreamed of. The world felt wide and full of possibility. You imagined yourself growing into the person you’d always wanted to be. College and a future in the city, away from the farm, away from the confines of the life that had always been so familiar, so small.

But then, one night after a bar-crawl with your friends marking the end of your Senior year, you got the call.

Your Ma had passed away. Just like that—no warning, no time to prepare.

You dropped everything. That’s what you do when family calls. You go home. The city and all your plans  felt so far away as you packed your bags and made the drive back to the farm. When you drove up the long driveway, the house sat there in the distance, almost looking the same, but so much different all at once. It felt wrong without your Ma's laugh echoing through the halls, her hum in the kitchen, her steady presence.

The funeral came and went in a blur of emotion, family, and loss. It was all a whirlwind, a blur of faces, of handshakes, and hushed condolences. But when the dust settled, the reality set in. Your Pa needed help. There was no denying it. He wasn’t the same man anymore—not without your Ma beside him.

So, you stayed. You told yourself it was temporary—just a few weeks, maybe a month at most. You’d help him get back on his feet, make sure everything was squared away, then go back to the city. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Mere months  turned into two years. One look at your Pa—slow-moving, his back hunched a little more each day, his hands trembled a little more than they used to—and you knew.

You couldn’t leave him.

The farm, with all its heavy tasks and responsibilities, became yours. For a while, your Pa tried to help, tried to keep his old pace. But as time passed and his grief only grew, his strength had faded, and soon, the weight of the work was yours to bear alone. He couldn’t lift the hay bales like he used to, couldn’t herd the sheep the way he had before. And those trips to the farthest corner of the farm on horseback, checking the fences, making sure everything was secure? You reckoned he couldn’t even get on a saddle.

You didn’t mind at first. It was just the two of you now, and you loved this place, loved the land, loved what it represented, It was home. But there were moments—the quiet ones, when everything slowed down—that the weight of it all settled heavily on your shoulders. You weren’t a farmhand. You were a woman who had spent her whole upbringing dreaming of more. A different life. But now, you’re tied to this place. Tied to your Pa. And your Ma's laugh still lingers in the walls, thick and heavy like the humidity that Summer brings each morning. 

You’re exhausted, frustrated—running on fumes. You can’t keep doing it all, but there’s no choice. The farm, the animals, the crops, the house... and Pa. You’re stretched thin, your bones aching under the weight of responsibilities that pile up faster than you can manage. The idea of doing it all alone feels like a cruel joke.

Something’s got to give. 

The help-wanted flyers were your last-ditch effort. You spent the better half of the previous night making them yourself, attempting to make them each as uniform as possible. 

‘FARMHAND WANTED. 

DEPENDABLE WORKERS AND SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY. 

CALL XXX-XXX-XXXX FOR DETAILS.’

If you didn’t find someone soon, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it together. So, as the clock striked 8 AM the next morning, you climbed into Pa’s old pick-up, the engine coughing to life as you made your way into town.

You’d been born and raised here. The downtown—if it can even be called that—of Williston is small, everyone knows everyone, and most folks are working-class, middle-aged. The kind of people who offered a warm smile and a helping hand without a second thought. You’d grown up with their kindness, and now, as you hung those flyers in their storefront windows, you could feel the weight of their stares—half concern, half curiosity.

They all know your story by now. They’d watched you grow up, watched you leave, and then watched you come back after everything fell apart. You could feel the sympathy in their eyes, but they never let it show—there was a quiet understanding between you all. Their hospitality was something you could never take for granted.

But no amount of kind gestures could change the fact that you need help. And fast.

You pull into an empty parking space a block away from Main St, quickly hopping out and make your way through town, handing out flyers to shop owners and sticking them to cork boards. It’s routine. A simple task, but the weight of it all makes it feel heavier than it should. The town’s small enough that you’re familiar with most of the faces, and it feels like you’ve talked to half the town by the time the afternoon rolls around. You’re famished—your stomach growling louder than the engine of Pa’s truck as you finish your rounds.

You head into the local bar/diner/cafe/pawnshop, the comforting smell of fried food and coffee hanging in the air. The place is familiar, cozy—its booths all torn leather, worn but inviting. Al—or Crazy Al, as most call him—the owner, gives you a warm smile when you walk in, his graying hair poking out from beneath his old baseball cap. He’s been here longer than anyone can remember.

“Ya look like ya could use a milkshake,” he says, already putting scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender.

You nod, grateful for the small kindness. Al gestures toward one of the metal bar stools in front of him, you sit and his eyes narrow a little when he notices the exhaustion written across your face.

“What’s got’ya  all wound up, kid?” he asks, pouring the milkshake in a mug and handing it to you

You eye the mug with momentary confusion before you choose to ignore his choice of cups. You take a deep breath, the weight of the day hitting you all over again. “It’s the farm,” you say, swirling the straw in the thick milkshake, not sure where to start. “Pa’s slowing down. I’m running everything from the crops, to the cows, to the house. I can’t keep up.”

Al nods, his expression softening in sympathy as he leans back against the counter. “That’s a helluva load for one person. Yer doin’ right by yer Pa, though, kid. Ya know that?”

You smile faintly, but it fades quickly. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, but it’s just not enough anymore. So I’m trying to find someone to help—a guy, young and strong, you know? I just can’t do it all by myself.”

You slide one of the flyers across the counter to Al, asking him to keep an eye out. “If you see anyone, just... send them my way? I’m desperate, at this point.”

He takes the flyer, his gaze flickering to the paper before meeting your eyes again. “Funny ya mention that,” Al says, scratching his chin. “There’s a new guy who popped up not a day ago. Didn’t think much of it at the time, but he was askin’ around for work. Thought he looked a little outta place for this town, but...”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘out of place’?”

“Just dun’ seem like he belonged, I guess. Looks like he went to Iraq or wherever they’re fightin’ these days.” He shrugs. “But hey, if ya need someone, ya might want to track ‘em down. If I see ‘em again, I’ll send him yer way.”

You nod, feeling a spark of hope. “You’re a Godsend, Al.”

About a week later, it’s a humid Wednesday morning in the heart of August. The kind of heat that clings to your skin, even when the sun’s hiding behind a blanket of clouds. A slight fog lingers in the air, and the scent of sweet grass drifts through the open windows, carried by a lazy breeze. The sun’s rays begin to break through the mist, casting long fingers of light across the fields and trees in the distance.

You finish cleaning up after breakfast, the dishes clinking softly in the sink. Pa’s moved from the dining table to sit in his ratty old armchair in the corner, eyes half-lidded as the local weatherman drones on about tomorrow’s rainstorm. It’s a quiet, familiar morning—the kind you’ve gotten used to in the last couple of years. Your hair’s tied up, a few loose strands sticking to your sun-kissed skin as you wipe down the counter, sweat beading lightly on your neck.

Then you hear it—boots on the porch.

Your body tenses instinctively, the old reflex kicking in. You consider grabbing the shotgun atop the door frame, but a second later, you shake the thought off. It’s overkill, and you’ve got enough sense to know it.

You open the door, not expecting much, probably some girl scouts, or worse, another annoying sales rep. from out of town.

You grasp the handle, pulling open the door, “Look, whatever you're selling, I ain’t buying. I got enough shit to pay fo-”

Standing there is a man, 6 '2 if you had to guess, built like a damn ox, all sharp angles and hard muscle, hair a cropped mohawk that looks like it belongs on someone ten times tougher than him. His eyes are so blue they nearly blind you, but they seem to hold a storm behind them, like he’s seen some shit.  But what really gets you is that smirk. It makes you want to both slap and kiss him at the same time.

And then he opens his mouth, and…

Definitely not American. Not even close.

You blink, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve stepped into some strange dream. You’ve always been more open-minded than most of the people in town, but hearing that thick accent in the middle of your quiet, rural world makes everything suddenly feel a little too strange. Now you get what Al was talking about when he mentioned, “Not from around here.”

He’s dressed in a dark blue flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal a white wife beater underneath, the fabric stretched tight over his chest. A neat, tiny gold cross between each pec, as if to say ‘Hey! Look at my man-tits!’ His denim jeans are worn, the brown scuffs on the knees looking like he’s been praying in dirt. And those forearms… Thick and muscular, veins running like rivers beneath his skin- stop it.

You force your focus back up to his face, and it’s just as distracting. Soft stubble accented by the sharp slope of his nose. He stands tall, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—oh. He spoke, and now you were supposed to respond. That is how conversations work.

 You’re not the type to generally stare at people, but something about him, something in the way he carries himself. You try not to notice how his broad shoulders fill the doorway like he’s daring you to le- STOP.

He shifts on his feet, a hint of uncertainty behind that cocky grin. You can tell he’s not as sure of himself as he’s trying to appear. Maybe that’s the only thing stopping you from slamming the door in his face.

Still, you don’t trust him. Why would a guy like that want a job on a farm in the middle of nowhere? He looks like he could be doing much more important things—literally anywhere else—but he’s here. Standing on your porch with your flyer slightly crumpled in his big hands. 

“What can I do for you?” You try to sound cool, collected, but your tone comes out a little sharper than you meant.

He tilts his head, the smirk never wavering. “I hear ye're lookin’ for a hand.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That right?”

“Aye,” he answers, his accent thick and heavy, rolling the words in a way that makes the air feel hotter than it already is.

He steps a little closer, just enough to make you take a half step back. “Name’s Johnny-” he stretches his hand out, “Mactavish. I’m lookin’ for work. Could use somethin’ steady.”

You study him for a second, arms crossed, and wonder if you should even entertain this. A man like him could be trouble. Hell, a man like him is trouble. You take his hand in yours, giving it a solid shake.

“Do you know anything about farms?” with crossed arms and raised eyebrows, you don't bother to hide the skepticism in your voice.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve done my share o’ heavy liftin’. Hard work don’t scare me.”

“Alright,” you hum, stepping back and letting the door swing open a little wider. “Come on in. I’ll get you something to drink, but don’t think you’re on the job yet. I’m just…” you pause, “Interviewing, I guess.”

He gives you another smirk,more amused than cocky as he steps past you. “Yes ma’am.”

You step aside, letting him in, and the moment he crosses the threshold, he fills the space. It’s not just his size—though, yeah, the man is big—it’s his presence. Something about him shifts the air, like he’s the sun and everything around him are just mere planets, susceptible to his magnetic pull. The house, your home, suddenly feels a little too small.

His smile fades, just slightly, as he takes it all in. Maybe it’s the warmth of the place, the scent of coffee lingering from breakfast, the old family photos lining the walls. Or maybe it’s just the quiet—different from whatever he’s used to.

“The hell is this?”

Pa’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and confused. He’s already halfway up from his chair, eyes narrowed, hands braced on the armrests like he’s about to stand but isn’t quite sure if it’s worth the effort. His gaze flicks between you and the very large, very unfamiliar man now standing in his house.

You sigh, already anticipating the reaction. “Pa, relax,” you say, walking over to him, ready to placate. “I was just looking for some help around the farm.”

Pa squints at the stranger like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s real or just a heat stroke-induced hallucination. “Help? With what?”

“With everything, Pa.” You lower your voice to a whisper-shout, rubbing your temple. “You can’t keep up the way you used to, and neither can I. We need someone else.”

Pa grumbles something under his breath before scoffing. “And how exactly do ya plan to pay ‘em, huh? We can’t afford that.”

You set your jaw firm. “I’ll make it work, I promise”

That makes him pause. He knows that tone. Knows it the same way he knew your mother’s, unyielding and steady, like a tree standing firm against the wind. Your roots bury deep in the ground you walk on, just like her. There’s no use arguing when you get like this, and he’s too tired to fight a battle he knows he’ll lose.

Still, his lips press into a thin line, his weathered hands gripping the armrests of his recliner before he exhales, slow and resigned. “Stubborn like your mother, I tell ya.”

The words land heavier than you’d like. You huff out a breath, shoving it down before it can settle too deep—before your guest gets too curious. You don’t need a stranger poking around and popping stitches.

So instead, you turn away from Pa as he sits back down, still muttering under his breath, and quickly clear the dining table of a few lingering cups from breakfast. The kitchen’s only a few steps away, the open floor plan letting you move freely. You rinse out a glass and fill it with cool, sweet tea, condensation already forming on the outside as the humid air clings to it. It’s an old habit, a simple kindness—making sure guests have something to drink.

When you turn back, you see that Johnny’s wandered toward the wall, where a small collection of family photos are hung in mismatched frames. He’s standing still, his broad shoulders relaxed but his head tilted slightly, studying them. Studying you.

Your stomach twists when you realize which one he’s looking at.

It’s old, a little faded in its frame, but still clear—you, small and bright-eyed, cloaked in your Ma's too-big dress and classy jewelry, drowning in fabric and pearls as you grin at the camera. Your Ma's crouched beside you, laughing, her arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. The slight shadow of your Pa holding the camera, capturing a moment frozen in time.

You clear your throat, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of last night's baseball game replaying from the tv. Dave Winfield hit his 400th home run last night against the Twins. Johnny’s attention was pulled back to you. His blue eyes flicker with something unreadable before he schools his face.

You don’t give him the chance to say anything. Instead, you hold up the glass and gesture toward the dining table. “Sit.”

He does, pulling out one of the side chairs and settling into it with an easy, almost lazy confidence. You set the glass in front of him and take the seat at the head of the table, watching him as he wraps his fingers around the sweating drink.

And for the first time since he showed up, he’s quiet. 

You realize, rather suddenly, that you’re not actually sure what to ask him. You’ve never interviewed anyone before—never had to. The farm’s always been run by family.

You clear your throat, shifting slightly in your chair, trying not to feel small under his gaze. He’s watching you—not in a way that feels threatening, but in a way that makes you hyper-aware of yourself. Of the way your fingers tap against the tabletop, of the bead of sweat still clinging to your collarbone from the August heat.

You square your shoulders and push past it. “So,” you start, “what kind of experience do you have with hard labor?”

He leans back a little, forearms flexing just enough to be distracting. “Done my fair share,” he says, voice casual, like he’s talking about the weather.

You arch a brow. “Like?”

His lips twitch, just slightly, like he can tell you’re trying to keep up the tough act. “Military.”

That gives you pause. Military. You study him again, looking past his too-relaxed posture. Yeah, you can see it now—in the way he holds himself, in the sharpness of his gaze, in the way he takes in a room like he’s cataloging exits.

“What branch?” you ask.

“UK Special Forces.”

That surprises you, but you keep your face neutral. You wondered what brought him here, of all places. Obviously he wasn’t American, he sounds like Groundskeeper Willie, for Christ's sake. Your fingers tap against the table once before you ask, “What’d you do?”

He hesitates. It’s slight, barely there, but you catch it. His jaw tenses for just a fraction of a second before he exhales through his nose. “Served where I was needed.”

You tilt your head. “Iraq?”

His eyes flicker—not with surprise, but with something else. A shadow. It’s gone just as quickly as it appears, buried under that same easy smirk. “Among other places.”

You don’t push. You just nod, sensing that it’s not something he wants to talk about all that much.

You’re fine with that. Everyone’s got their wounds.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat, fingers drumming lightly against the wooden tabletop. “How much can you lift?”

Johnny takes his time answering, reaching for the glass of sweet tea. He swirls it absently, watching the condensation bead and trail down the sides before taking a slow sip. “Depends,” he finally says, setting it down with a soft thud.“What’re we talkin’? Hay bales? Fence posts? You?”

Your lips press together in a flat line. You refuse to bite. “Let’s stick to hay bales.”

His grin is slow and amused, like he enjoys getting under your skin. “Can handle hay bales no problem.”

You roll your eyes and shift topics before he can drag this out. “Ever ridden horses?”

He stretches slightly, rolling his broad shoulders before settling back into the chair. “Aye, a few times,” he says, tipping his head. “No’ often, but I ken how.”

You nod, working through his accent in your head, but ultimately satisfied enough with that. “Ever herded sheep?”

His brow quirks, and he tilts his head just slightly, giving you a look. “Aren’t there dogs for tha’?”

You let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking your head as you lean forward to rest your elbows on the table. “Yeah, there are. But Dixie’s old now and too nice for her own good. Sleeps with the sheep more than she herds them. Think she likes being part of the flock.”

Johnny’s expression shifts just a fraction—nose wrinkling, jaw tensing like he’s biting back a reaction. Then, casually, like it’s nothing, he mutters, “No’ really fond o’ dogs.”

Your fingers tap against the table once before you hum, neither surprised nor bothered. “That’s fine. Dixie’ll leave you alone if you don’t want to interact with her, she’s a sweet girl though.”

Johnny exhales through his nose and nods, shifting in his chair. He leans back, resting one arm over the backrest like he owns the damn thing, settling into an easy, almost lazy posture. You, on the other hand, are still sitting straight, trying to keep some sense of control in this conversation. You move toward the standard questions—his work ethic, reliability, how soon he can start. Hopefully ASAP.

He answers everything with the kind of confidence that makes it clear he’s no stranger to hard labor, though he keeps the details vague, like he doesn’t see the point in spelling things out to you

Eventually, you sit back, rubbing your hands over your thighs before resting them in your lap. “Look,” you start, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be honest with you. I can’t pay much. It’s a lot of work for a little money.” You’re already bracing yourself for rejection.

Johnny’s quiet for a moment, like he’s really thinking it over. His fingers tap lightly against the table’s edge before he shifts, rolling his shoulders once more before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ll work withou’ pay,” he says finally. “So long as I get a place tae sleep. An’ meals.”

That throws you a little. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your worn jeans as you study him, searching his face for any flicker of dishonesty. But he doesn’t look like a man trying to con you—just someone who’s already made up his mind.

He watches you right back, head tilted slightly, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll argue.

You think on it. It’d be more cost-effective to add a couple extra eggs or greens to each meal rather than shell out cash on the daily. You don’t particularly like the idea of someone working for free, but if he’s willing, if it helps keep the farm running.

You nod, exhaling through your nose. “That can work.” This time you extend your hand first, across the table and palm up. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Johnny glances down at your hand, then back up at you. Slowly, he reaches out, his grip firm and his hand dwarves yours. Working hands, warm, rough with calluses. The shake lingers just a second longer than necessary before he lets go, settling back into his seat with an easy smile.

“Guess I’m yours then, boss.”

You spend the next few hours showing Johnny around the property, riding side by side on horseback. Before you even get 5 minutes out of the barn, you realize—for all his confidence—he’s not the best at riding. His posture is stiff, his grip on the reins just a little too tight, and when the horse starts to trot, it becomes painfully obvious—he can’t post to save his life.

You bite back a smile, watching as he bounces awkwardly in the saddle, his jaw tight with concentration. Yeah. That’d be a lesson for tomorrow.

For now, though, you make things easier on both of you. You have Johnny dismount the horse and put her back in her stall. He does so with a small huff, rubbing the back of his neck in embarassment, and you gesture for him to get on behind you on Shimmer—your brown beauty with a white patch on her forehead. She’s steady, calm, used to being ridden double.

He hesitates for only a second before swinging himself up behind you, settling in close. Closer than you’d realized he’d be.

It makes sense, he takes up a lot of space compared to you. Granted, Shimmer is a horse for your size, not his. His chest is flush against your back, warm and solid, and suddenly, you’re very aware of just how big he is. His arms rest lightly on either side of you, long enough for his hands gripping the saddle’s pommel as he adjusts. 

You swallow hard, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. Focus.

“You good back there?” Your voice is steady, but barely.

Johnny shifts slightly, just enough that his chest presses firmer against you. “Aye,” he says, low and smooth. “Though, I cannae say I mind the view from back here.”

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus on guiding Shimmer forward instead of the warmth of him against your spine.

Tomorrow, you’ll teach him how to properly ride a horse.

You guide Shimmer across the acres, Johnny still seated behind you, his chest a steady presence against your back. You don’t bother overwhelming him with too much about the animals—there’d be time for that later. For now, you focus on the land itself, pointing out the ins and outs of the property. The best routes to take. The spots where the fence needs checking. Where the land dips and swells, where the ground gets soft after rain. What to avoid.

To your surprise, he doesn’t just nod along like he’s only half-listening—he absorbs everything.

You’d expected some level of attention, but Johnny takes it to another level. He’s perceptive, and alarmingly so. He never asks you to repeat yourself, doesn’t need clarification. His responses are short but sharp, repeating directions back to you with precision, like he’s filing everything away for later.

It shocks you a little. Most people take weeks to learn the best ways around the farm, to memorize which fence posts need reinforcing, which pasture belongs to which animal.

Johnny’s picking it up in hours.

You exhale, eyes scanning the land ahead as you consider it. Must be the military. You don’t know much about what exactly the UK has their Army doing, but you imagine remembering terrain was part of the job. Mapping escape routes, tracking paths, knowing where to move and when. James Bond shit.

It’s a little unnerving, if you’re being honest. But at the same time, it’s... reassuring. If he can learn this fast, maybe he’ll actually be useful around here.

By the time the sun starts its slow descent, painting the sky in hazy streaks of orange and pink, you’ve spent the better part of the day word-vomiting everything Johnny needs to know about the property. He took it all in with that same sharp, unnerving focus, barely asking questions, barely missing a beat. You’d expected him to lose interest, to at least seem overwhelmed, but he never did. It’s strange.

It’s late afternoon. You bring him inside, leading him upstairs to the guest bedroom.

The layout of the house is simple. All the bedrooms are on the second floor. Pa’s bedroom is to the left of the stairs, along with a storage room and a couple of closets down the hall. He’s got his own ensuite bathroom, which is a luxury in a house this old. There’s a small common area at the top of the stairs, more of a nook than a real room, where an old desk and a shelf full of worn books sit untouched most days. To the right of the stairs and down the hall is your bedroom, and next to it, the guest room—now Johnny’s room. Directly across the hall is the bathroom, which, as of now, isn’t just your bathroom anymore.

It’s Johnny’s too, now. You just had to pray he would remember to put the seat down. 

You pause outside the guest room, pushing the door open so he can step in. It’s simple—a sturdy bed, a nightstand, a decently sized dresser. Nothing fancy, but clean and comfortable enough.

Johnny steps inside, tossing his bag onto the bed and glancing around. He gives a small nod, like he approves, before shooting a look over his shoulder.

"Cozy," he remarks, that damn accent making the word sound richer than it has any right to.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “My room’s next door,” you tell him, nodding toward it. “And we’ll be sharing the bathroom across the hall.”

Johnny quirks a brow at that, glancing toward the bathroom before his gaze slides back to you. His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, but damn close.

“Hope ye dinnae take long showers, then,” he teases.

You huff, pushing off the doorframe. “I don’t. I won’t be in your way. Hope you won’t be in mine.”

He chuckles, low and amused, before stretching his arms above his head, the hem of his wife beater riding up just enough to reveal a dark tuft of hair, tastefully accented by a vline and the bottom half of some abs. He sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Well, as long as ye don’t mind m’walkin’ around in a towel,  we’ll get along just fine.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s messing with you, but you wouldn’t mind a bit. You don’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that. “I’ll let you get settled,” you say, tone flat. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Johnny watches you for a second, then grins—a lazy, wolfish thing that makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not acknowledge.

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You turn on your heel and head back downstairs, exhaling as you step into the kitchen. Dinner. You’ll focus on dinner. For you, Pa—and now, Johnny.

Like it’s normal. Like you’re not dangerously aware of the Greek God now living just a door down from you.

The sun’s nearly set by the time dinner’s on the table, casting a warm orange glow through the kitchen windows. The air is thick with the scent of home-cooked food—something rich, filling, the kind of meal that sticks to your ribs after a long day’s work. You don’t cook fancy, but you cook damn well, and the proof is sitting right across from you.

Johnny practically groans after the first bite, dropping his fork against his plate and leaning back in his chair like he’s just had some religious experience.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he mumbles, chewing through another mouthful, shaking his head in near disbelief. “This is th’ best thing I’ve eaten in—hell, I dunno how long.”

You scoff, stabbing a piece of chicken with your fork. “You act like I just served you the cure for cancer.”

Johnny just points his fork at you, eyes damn serious. “Might as well be.”

Pa huffs out a chuckle, though he’s still regarding Johnny with that wary, fatherly suspicion. He’s been watching him since he sat down, not quite unfriendly, but assessing. The kind of look that says ‘I don’t trust you yet, but I’m willing to tolerate you.’

“So,” Pa starts, setting his glass down, “what’s a young guy like yourself doin’ lookin’ for farm work? Dun’ seem like the kinda thing a soldier would go for.”

Johnny doesn’t falter. He wipes his mouth with a napkin before answering, “Needed a change o’ pace,” he says. “Figured I’d try m’hand at something new.”

Pa isn’t impressed. “Ya ever worked on a farm before, boy?”

“No’ exactly, no.” Johnny pops another bite into his mouth. “But work’s work, aye? Ye put in effort, ye get results. Simple enough.”

Pa hums, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “... And where’d ya say your from, again?”

“Scotland.”

“Huh.” Pa leans back slightly, arms crossed. “Ya don’t say.”

Johnny just grins, sensing the old man’s suspicion and, by all accounts, enjoying it. But then he shifts gears, effortlessly steering the conversation in a different direction. “Caught some of tha’ baseball game ye had on this morning.,” he says, casually, like it’s just an offhand remark. “Did nae get tae see th’ end of it, though. Who won?”

That gets Pa’s attention. His eyebrows lift slightly, suspicion briefly forgotten. “Ya watch baseball?”

Johnny shrugs. “Not often, bu’ I like a good game when I see one. And from what I saw, th’ Angel’s were struggling there for a bit.”

Pa scoffs. “Struggling? Boy, they were getting their asses handed to ‘em. Pitcher was all over the damn place. If I’d been on the field, I’d have-”

And just like that, the two are off, talking baseball, going back and forth like they’ve known each other for years. You groan, pushing your food around on your plate as the conversation carries on, completely hijacked.

You should’ve known this would happen. Give two men a sport to bond over, and suddenly, they’re best friends.

You zone out for a while, chewing absentmindedly, half-listening as they talk about batting averages and pitching speeds. You don’t notice it at first—a gentle nudge against your ankle.

You flinch slightly, assuming Johnny just bumped you on accident. You shift your foot away under the table.

He follows with his own. Your brows furrow slightly, shooting a glance at him. He doesn’t even look at you, still chatting with Pa like nothing’s happening.

A moment later, another nudge—softer this time.

You realize he’s doing it on purpose.

You sit up straighter, stiffening as you move your foot again.

Johnny follows.

Your jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. What is he doing?

You flick your gaze toward him again, and finally, he meets your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough for the ghost of a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at Pa, completely unfazed.

You resist the urge to kick him under the table, opting instead to glare daggers at him, your expression screaming ‘What in the absolute fuck are you doing?’

Johnny, the absolute menace, doesn’t react beyond the occasional brief glance in your direction, his smirk lingering like he’s enjoying this way too much.

Meanwhile, Pa’s none the wiser, still going on about how baseball’s gone soft over the years. And you’re stuck sitting there, silently fuming, trapped in a footsie war like you’re in grade school.

Dinner winds down, the conversation between Johnny and Pa finally tapering off. Johnny, mercifully, lets up with the footsie nonsense, though not before giving one last, slow brush of his ankle against yours—like a final, smug little victory lap. You pointedly ignore it, pretending not to notice, even as heat creeps up the back of your neck.

Eventually, Pa calls it a night. He pushes back from the table with a tired groan, muttering about how he’s “too damn old to be up this late,” before shuffling off toward the stairs.

You listen to his slow, steady footsteps as he heads up to his room, waiting for the familiar click of his door shutting. And then—you’re alone.

Johnny lingers in the kitchen, standing near the island, hovering. He looks out of place for the first time since he showed up, like he’s not sure if he should offer to help or just let you do your thing. Instead, he leans against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

It’s awkward—unlike him.

You stack plates, rinsing them under the faucet, letting the warm water fill the quiet. But you can feel him watching you. Not in a weird way—just... observing. Like he’s waiting for something.

And you’re not about to let that something slide.

“So,” you say, voice casual as you scrub a dish, “what was with the footsie?”

Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, amused. “Thought ye’d never ask.”

You scoff, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

His smirk is pure trouble. “Could nae help myself, lass,” he says, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on the countertop. “Ye just looked so serious, sittin’ there all quiet, tryin’ not tae react.” His voice drops just a bit lower, teasing. “Was cute.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest, a traitorous little skip that pisses you off.

Because, genuinely, what the hell? Sure he’s probably the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, and potentially your exact type to a T, but you’ve only known this man for a day. There’s no way you could be that desperate, no way you’re already feeling anything. Right?

The thought alone makes irritation creep up your spine. You shut the faucet off with a little more force than necessary, turning away from the dishes completely so you can fully face him.

“What are you playing at?” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. You fold your arms, leveling him with a look. “Are you actually here to work? Or are you just here to freeload an-”

Johnny pushes himself off the counter, not playing around. He stands up straight, tall, and present. And when he looks at you this time, there’s nothing cheeky about it.

“I’m here tae work,” he says, steady, certain. “Ye need help, and I can handle it. Tha’s why I’m here.”

His smile returns, but it’s softer this time. Honest. He lifts a shoulder in a slow, lazy shrug, his voice dropping. “But you’re gorgeous, and there’s no denyin’ that. Just sayin’.”

Your brain stalls. Stops working entirely. There could very well be steam coming out of your scalp.

He moves beside you, completely unfazed, grabbing a towel like it’s the most natural thing in the world and starting to dry the dishes you had already washed. Meanwhile, you just stand there, staring where he was just standing, still feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin.

You’re in trouble.

[opheliann-darling]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

Yandere Gojo Satoru - Geto Suguru - Nanami Kento x reader. (seperate)

Synopsis: Their Obsession was too much to handle, and you find yourself growing impatient with their acts of dandling, till you had enough. 

TW: Isolation, Physical and emotional abuse.

enjoy.

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮:

Days passed like a vision through the glass, slow to come and quick to go, without even a faint image of them or a smallest fragment of memory, as if you were looking into someone else's life, not your own. The horizon blended now into Satoru's eyes- you were no longer able to see the real extension of a natural blue, instead looking through his irises, faux felt and fake friendly, non-stop and ad nauseam. a smile would paint itself across his features and a kind touch would cosset your hands, attempting to mimic a color of romance.

"Whatcha Thinkin' of, Babe?" He asked, a honeyed voice softening his words, already knowing what was in your head; wanting a sweet lie out of your tongue. You hated his voice- no, everything about him, from his stares, the contorts and shapes of his face and the many shades of his affection; one minute, sugar and honey drip off his tongue, in Hope's of aiming at the moon and winning your trust, the other all of his sweetness is poisoned and laced with venom, intentions of wounding your ego into submission. At times, to him, you were Valentine, Babe, Love and Dreamboat; just as you were the useless, pathetic, whiney and liar, depending on his mood.

The horror of him was his eyes, they were softly in a cruel way, no effort of smiling or laughter could coffin the rage and Mania you were too aware of. You were always on alert, counting your sins and thinking of ways to redeem yourself, mentioning Kissing back, twisting your lips with pink lies, thanking him for his gifts and wearing a gleeful expression on your face. 

"Aww Satoru! you spoil me, I don't know what would've happened to me if you weren't around!..." 

You felt maggots crawl under your skin, rushing forth to your brain while you struggled to keep your smile. The more the hours fly, the more your cover of ardor cracks. a thin string of bitterness lining from beneath your nail right into your heart, stitching more into a scornful crimson slowly. 

Just how dare he- take you against your will, fondle and caress you as if you were a mere housecat and call himself a saint for bothering to look after you, while you don't remember asking or consenting for any of his attention? During so many times, including the moment as of now, you'd imagine him bleeding, cascades of red contradicting his snow complexion, pieces of glass needling his eyes that you hated with all Satan's grudge to heaven. You are sure no single speck of a tear would warm your eyelid if he dies, it was what he deserved.

"Are you okay, Love? something is off with you" Concern painted his face, while his blues remained ever unsettling. 

Your mouth clinged into a straight tight line, no longer able to remember the supposed smile. a harsh retort died on the tip of your tongue, leaving the room to even a harsher, short-lived silence to stretch. 

His thumb traced on your cheek, before he stood up "I'm gonna make you a cup of coffee to lift you up a li'l, stay here while I'm in there" 

Of course you're staying here, where else would you go?! Moving an inch without seeing his face was less likely than seeing a green sky.

The string of your heart sewn itself thicker. As memories of him puppeteering you flashed unwelcomed, the scornful thread darned into a ferocious rag, veiling any sense of your heart, caging it with a hating aviary. You carried yourself up, heading to the kitchen absentmindedly, guided by the heavy feeling in your chest. He didn't tire himself to turn around- not like you could do anything, wrapped around his digits to control. 

an unknown tune he hummed caroled the small kitchen, his hands moving around to prepare the mugs and the coffee, too immersed in his own realm of thought to discern your motives. 

If you ever got the chance to recount this exact moment, you would say that it happened so fast that your mind didn't settle on one image: did you shatter the mug on the top of his head or the back of his neck? You don't remember, yet the anamnesis of your muscles retained the surge of Adrenaline, a slow motion second of your hand grabbing the porcelain cup and breaking it on his skull. you do recall he said something- things. a series of slurs that were too filthy, every curse and insult in the scripture. 

The crimson rag was torn off from your heart, a delicious feeling of revenge drugging you in a lucid Catharsis. your fingers twitched, your body braced itself for whatever beating it was about to receive. Oddly enough, he continued groaning and growling, holding his head in both his bloodied hands. 

Dark red seeped through his white locks, oozing down his neck, sullying his shirt and tinting his fingers and hands. For the first time, his strange blues held an emotion different from insanity, a glassy layer over them, just a tad bit up from his usually static stare. his eyelids wept with red as he stared at you for a moment, saying nothing, before heading -as it seems- to the bathroom, a trail of red spots on the floor marking your deed.

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮:

In your dreams, the sunrises and sunsets were sin crimson, dark as Abel's blood. You'd see Suguru and yourself, sitting on a shore, its sea so transparent, hued with the cinnabar rays casting from a cloudless sky. You often look forth into the puce red horizon and not to him, rarely ever locking eyes with his. One time, as you remember from a shattered vestige in your awakening, you rotate your head to the side to see him staring at you; a half erased smile contouring his lips, Black eyes mirroring the skyline that stretched to no end in sight. Twice or thrice, he'd say something, a trail of meaningless letters sliding down his composed voice. You don't retain on his words exactly, but your name was amongst them; during a glib talk of his, your name rolls down his tongue with his usual calmness, scripting your dreams as such almost always ever since you were tied to him.

"Something in your mind, Dear?" The calmness- you can hear the smile in his inquiry without looking at him, drumming through your skull in an image of him in your dreams. You looked up from your lap, noticing that he was stitching something up, the needle struggling to remain still in his fingers. Of course, he was anything short of a tailor as much as he was short of a lover, wanting to be something he can't be but insisting anyway like the stubborn cockroach he is. 

You rolled your tongue across your teeth, only to let out a muffled 'nothing' as a response. you were really trying hard to not hurl at him, he was getting on your nerves for just his existence.

He chuckled, digging the needle into a red fabric "Something is in your mind indeed. I don't know what it is and why you look so upset, but I promise I'll make you feel better" 

You'll only make me feel better by choking on a dagger, Suguru.  you wanted to say, yet being completely aware that it'll have consequences- ones you were needless for. The numbness on your face is constantly pricking its presence across your flesh, swells and mounds that remind you of his black eyes losing their serenity, metamorphosing into a brutal night dark. His hands slapped and punched as equally as they billed and cooed, and your skin has grown hateful of both.

He does not appear as a human at all. in a vast space of thinking, you would theorize that he was not much but a parasite that sucked life out of everything beautiful, including love. his version of amour was twisted, burying care under Control and killing fondness to revive fervor. Cords you couldn't see snaked around your heart and soul, burning as they got tighter, paralyzing you with apathy that was leisurely altered to a pale hue of resentment, until it fully discolored to a dim rage.

It creeped its way to your fingers. you could hear Satan's whisper, planting the vilest of ideas in your mind; at least you had the luxury of hiding your thoughts and making them behind an expression you can't feel now- you're becoming him, a hollow shell of one face and multiple voices, already sensing the stitches of a mask, a dull one that a death face left more lineaments to remember. you were blessed with emotions unlike him, there's no way you'll melt into Suguru. 

"Darling I have a surprise for you, look!" He announced cheerfully, bringing the piece of fabric he's been working on to your attention. 

He raised the Obi belt in his hands, proud of his handmade sewing. you scanned it carefully: the silk is red candy colored with few golden flowers orienting it, not much skill or talent radiating off of this mimicry of a cloth.

"I intended to offer you this as a birthday gift, but I preferred giving it to you now. maybe it'll cheer you up a little, you've been really quiet lately…" the damn calm smile decorated his face again, this time a drop of what sounded like concern is mixed with it.

You took the thing from his hand, acting like you're inspecting it but in fact holding a cackle. how in hell's seven circles he expected you to wear this?! If Suguru thought with that little sense he always prides himself of, he'd see that he wasted such a gorgeous material on such a failure of an accessory. 

"Do you like it? I hope so…" there's an octave in his voice translated as 'please tell me it's the best gift you ever received', too bad it's ugly to give him the pleasure of hearing a compliment. 

"I've been working on it for weeks. I had to choose between red or pink, deciding to pick the former because I thought it would look better on you… I'm nothing of a tailor, but I did my best" he rubbed his palms together, as if an imaginary balm coating them. he laughed a little "I gave myself a lot of needle pricks, but it was worth it-" 

"It's awful" 

You didn't have to look up to see his face.

"What?" He muttered, completely not seeing this coming. 

"It's terrible, I hate it" a joyful spark twinkled throughout your body as you said so. the smile that you tried so hard to repress curved itself on your lips. you felt you could add more fuel to the fire.

"The color is dull and this silk looks cheap, but that's not why it's ugly. I bet a child can sew an Obi belt better than you do. this thing should go back where it belongs, the trash." 

The silk wasn't cheap at all. you would praise whoever produced it as the fabric resisted between your fingers. for a second, you considered just throwing the belt at his face, but you already teared it up a little, imagining that you were tearing Suguru apart between your fingers, the very same Suguru who was standing in front of you, ghostly pale and owl eyed, uttering not a word.

Red ribbons rippled through the small space between your hands and feet, forming a pile on the floor and resting in place. your heart clenched in excitement, a reaction that replaced the usual fear of him beating you senseless in such situations. you awaited for his hand to fly, for his voice to raise, but none came. 

His gaze froze. He apparently couldn't contain how his present ended up being nothing more than some piece of garbage that had to be disposed of. Suguru opened his mouth then closed it before turning his heels around and exiting the room. bringing back your eyes to the remains of the belt, it now jumped to you that there was something written on the back of it. 

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨:

It is agreed upon as a human truth, that Shackles do not necessarily form as chains- For it merely requires a key to be freed from. but in most absent minds, the understanding of captivity and freedom were abridged in crime and punishment or torture (always coming first as physical in most thoughts), yet there is a sort of abstract bindings; way more restraining than tangible ones and with no limit of their ability to fetter the prisoner regardless of how strong is their will to break free, or how far their access to the key goes. mind games have proven themselves to be more effective throughout history, even in the simplest circumstances. What is more, playing on the strings of sentiment: romanticization of bonds -no matter how abusive they were- such as parenthood, friendship or more formally formed ties; marriage. 

There is this magical thing about marriage : it is a golden cage, a caressing shackle perceived as a warm nest in a vision of a romance, colored as red and pink, planted as roses. a cuff that priests call matrimony, poets call union and goldsmiths call rings- you name it; it's still a menacle, whether spouses consented to it or not. 

Kento was the typical man with the ordinary ambitions of immersing in a job (best if it paid generously), owning what is enough and settling down. To him, marriage was the ultimate expression of love, more than a mere ring, a wedding or flowery vows.

"I do have for you a love so dear that I drink from what your lips touch, I breathe when your lungs exhale, slumber on where your skin embraces the mattress; one of both life and death."

—Your adoring one.

Engraved in red, the words slided over your heart's veil, forgotten in a memory of a cold rib. Satan lured Adam by an apple, so how would sugary words find any trouble deceiving? 

"You're making me worried, Sweetheart…" sotto voce in the nature of a Dove's coo; disgustingly fondling. 

Of course, a silver tongue cuts sharp in the same way it pours coquetry. life with Kento was seeing a moon and its dark side. under the beam of light, his lips mulls everything on you; kisses on your lips, cheeks and forehead blossomed, full rainbow ray of flowers were gifted to you, mostly red, attached to them little cards and billets-doux that enveloped letters of dalliance, arranged together and too sweet to the point it sickens you. The irony of his dimness was that he's more tolerable when he gnashes his teeth; wounds at your skin and soul, scolds and punishes in a parental manner. even for days, you'd hear the beast howling in your ear, ringing through the corridors of your head and it hurts to think.

Your eyes reflected in his figure, kneeling in front of you, not meaning they were drinking in the sight of him.

His thumbs brushed across your palms "Can I see your smile again? you look beautiful when you smile, you already are no matter how your face appears" nothing stirred up in you, emptiness of a blind man's face swan through the void.

"Please… sweetheart.." your composure nearly broke; a laugh dwindled within your throat. Does he think that you were a sole toy?! there to be played with, clothed and stripped to the colors of his whims, put on a pedestal in dawn and degraded in dusk?! it gnaws now on the branches of your chest, melts in your heart and fills your brain with a spiteful flow. 

"I've got something nice, just for you, I'm sure it'll make you happy" with that, he left quickly and returned just as, something in the outlines of a large flower bouquet behind his back. no surprise, he had a proclivity for flowers; for how red are roses, for how fragrant was jasmine and for how innocent were lilies. 

"I love you Sweetheart, never forget that!" as expected, roses. a pink posy of them.

You took the bouquet from his hands, glaring at the flowers in a burning grudge. for a flash of a glint, Medusa's serpents coiled between your digits, circling wrists, their skin flaying with yours. a bottle of somber tears shattered, impuring your core with loathing never imagined to be stored in your soul. With the swiftness of a sword out of its sheath, your hand flew high, landing the thorny plants across his face, over and over again, no drop of fear in you. Kento succeeded in grabbing your hand- not the one attacking him, squeezing your wrist to make you yield, but to no avail. your blood rushed hot through your veins, carving your mind with screams of violence and to hurt him more, that is when your fists balled and your ankles rose up sharply.

"Stop!" 

You would never. your hands had their own mind, they scratched and punched and grabbed to your heart's content, avenging you after so long of a macabre suffering. your shackles started to unravel, each movement of yours freeing the hollowness outside you. short minutes stretched forth like long hours until you were done- or like you were over with him for now.

a blur on your vision subdued, the faint image clearing line by line. Kento was on the floor, leaning on a chair and balancing his weight on a knee, right hand shielding over his face. you couldn't see the damage well through his fingers till he got up, still holding his face in his hand, silently giving you his back and leaving you to your own devices. as he left, you noticed red across the side of his hand and arm; few cuts and swells distorting the fabric of his pale skin. 

[jeongin-lvr]

early morning ─┈┈⠀ somnophilia, breading, daddy kink, soft dom! jay. unedited, ignore mistakes.

Jay woke with a start, shifting his head side to side before he realized exactly why he was so suddenly awakened. Laying beside him, loosely wrapped up in blankets and his arms was your smaller frame, nudging against his chest with the softest little whines. So soft he wasn’t even sure you heard them; he did, though, he also took notice of how you squirmed, your back pressing deeper into his chest and your ass finding purchase on his soft bulge. Jay stared at you, minutes went by as he admired you, noticing how you got clingier, hotter in his arms. He soothed you by caressing your arm, cooing in your ear, but never anything more than that.

Jay was too awake to even try to go to sleep now, so he comforted you, assuming you were having a bad dream; however, all ideas of that were quickly thrown out the window when he heard you mutter a soft cry of his name. He wasn’t sure about it at first, perking up slightly to get a better listen. His ear pressed to your lips. Just when he thought he’d imagined it, there it was again.

“Fuck… Jay, s’good…” Your sleepy voice slurred, filling his ears. Suddenly the press of your ass on his cock was everything. Jay’s gentle hands slid down your waist, touching you with a gentle caress. Your little sounds went straight to the tent in his pants. You were louder now. Not just little whimpers, but soft moans that slipped past your lips. He wasn’t sure what to do, gripping your waist now as his dick filled with blood, it was hot now, he was aching. The only stimulation he got was your body pressing backwards onto him. But it wasn’t enough.

Jay’s mind wandered, wondering about everything you were thinking of. All the little things jogging through your mind. The naughty little things you’re dreaming about. It didn’t take a genius to know you were having a wet dream. The thought made Jay smirk slightly, pressing a kiss into your temple.

“Mmm, more…” You whispered to nobody. He watched your hand clutch a pillow, nibbling on his bottom lip as he contemplated what he wanted to do. It wouldn’t be a crime to help his pretty girl out, would it?

Jay’s hand wandered, drifting downward until he could practically feeling the radiating heat coming from your sopping pussy. Just a graze of his hand over your clothes heat told him everything he needed to know. You were unbearably horny. He groaned softly into your ear upon feeling the dampness of your pussy, pressing into the fabric just enough to elicit of a soft whine from your lips. Jay grinned, pressing harder against your perked up clit; his eyes training on the dim outline of your scrunched expression. Jay hummed with satisfaction, your body shaking and hips slightly jerking forward. He held you down by your waist, turning you both more to the side so his bulge perfectly aligned with your cunt, using his arm to lift your leg just enough.

Your clothed pussy felt so warm just rubbing against his aching cock; he really couldn’t wait any longer. Jay figured with how wet you were he’d easily fill you up, satiate your needs and take the little fire inside your belly. You mumbled more, feeling his hot and heavy bulge pressing against your hole, the slick wetness seeping through your panties and into his boxers, making a faint stain of wetness.

“Jay, more,” You whispered, still fully asleep, your mind deep in whatever dream you were having. Jay had to wonder what he was doing to you, how he was touching you in that particular dream. He’d have to ask you once you wake up, “Mmm, daddy…” The way you mumbled the last part had Jay’s cock jumping. He groaned and slid his boxers down, freeing his leaking cock, the tip slapping against your inner thigh. He propped your thigh up higher, fingertip running through the slit of your pussy, the fabric practically nonexistent from how slick and wet you were, sheer and sticky upon touch. Jay mumbled, “My pretty girl needs some cock to help her out, hm?” His low tone filling the empty space of the room. Your squirming was fought by the rough hold he had on you, keeping you in place. “It’s okay, baby, Daddy’s got you. Hold still.” His voice so steady and soft, he gripped you tightly, slipping your panties to the side before aligning his cock up with your fluttering hole. The warm feeling of your pussy immediately had him moaning, ripping out of his throat, deep and telling of how perfect you felt.

Jay pushed upward, your pussy so tight he couldn’t fill you all the way from the get-go. His eyes and nose scrunched, another moan filling your ears. In your sleep, your lips had parted and your clutch on that pillow had tightened, knuckles sheet white. Jay used little thrusts upward to fill you to the brim, balls pressed tight against your clit when he was finally satisfied. Jay panted, muttering as his hands wandered up your body and down your sides, “Fuck, baby, ya gotta loosen up. So tight around me…”

Jay didn’t move for a couple moments, enjoying how your body instinctively began grinding down, panting and red faced. He smirked, enjoying the little sleepy show you gave him. But your sloppy movements made him a bit impatient, he found himself cursing before he was slowly thrusting up into you. The angle he was at had your back arching, drool accumulating at the corner of your mouth. Jay watched your sleepy eyelids flutter, moaning softly, waking yourself up as his fat tip kissed your gummy spot. Jay grinned when your eyes widened, moans falling into the air, clutching his bicep now as you fought to keep steady.

“Morning, sweet girl,” Jay smiled, lips pressing against your cheekbone as his pace grew quicker, the wet slap of skin meeting skin increasing. You whimpered, “J-Jay…”

“Sorry, baby, you seemed like you needed some help, hm?” Jay pressed a soft kiss against your cheek, groaning as you clenched around him.

You nodded slightly, biting your lip to stifle the litany of moans threatening to escape your mouth. Jay continued, “You’re so fucking wet… were you dreaming of me, baby?”

You panted, turning your head to him to catch a glimpse of his fierce, dark eyes. Sharp as they analyzed you, his hand gliding up your front to grip your jaw, keeping you steady.

“Speak or I’ll stop.” Jay muttered with a bit of fire in his tone, your mouth falling wide with a quick no. You lurched in his arms feeling his cock drag up and down your walls, filling you up so good.

“Y-yes! Yes, I was dreaming of you,” You mewled, fucking yourself back down on his dick. Jay chuckled, peering down at where your bodies connected.

“What were you dreaming about, baby?”

You paused, “I-I can’t tell you.”

Jay didn’t like that, gripping your cheeks tighter, forcing your gaze to meet his. Jay gritted his teeth, hot breath fanning your face when he spoke, “Don’t be embarrassed. Tell Daddy, c’mon,”

Fuck, you felt your face go all read. He must’ve already heard you saying that in your sleep. Daddy. Such an embarrassing, lewd thing to say. But you couldn’t help it, the nickname slipped from your tongue with ease when he was around. You bit your lower lip, nodding slightly. Jay smiled, awaiting your answer.

“Dreamt of you filling me w-with… ahh, your cum, Daddy.”

“Oh, yeah, sweet girl?” Jay grinned, cheeky as his pace quickened. Sloppy sounds filled the air now, his balls tightening as they slapped against your clit, making your breath stutter.

“Mhm— fuck, need it—“

“Need me to fill you up, yeah?” Jay gave a slight growl, using his grip on your leg to hold you steady and fuck up into you harder. Your eyes unfocused, still sleepy as his pace send you straight to where you needed.

“I’ll fill you up, my love, don’t worry,” Jay felt his insides twisting, “Just let Daddy do all the work.”

[bless-my-demons]

Rain Soaked Confessions

Paul Lahote x Reader

Summary: You’re scared to death, but he isn’t. Just give in.

Warnings: smidge of angst if you squint, so much fucking fluff it’ll rot your teeth.

Notes: I wasn’t even going to put dialogue in this until I saw a TikTok of Robin Williams reading a love poem by Pablo Neruda (hint: it’s the beginning of the confession). It’s all reader’s POV and I’m fairly certain I managed to make it gender neutral again. God I love writing this man.

Word count: 1100

Masterlist

Cool Pacific rain pelts my skin, but I welcome it. I welcome the icey drops as they start to soak me down to the very marrow of my bones.

Eyes closed, face turned towards the sky, arms limp at my sides, breath tearing in and out of my lungs at a rate that brings a certain level of awareness to my body.

I long since stopped caring if the water pooling around my eyelids was from the sky or my tear ducts. It didn’t matter, none of it did.

My clothes were soaked, suctioned to my body - I could feel the heat of my skin leaking away, replaced with a coldness that began to border on painful. Goosebumps littered my skin the longer I stood here trying to cleanse myself of this… this pain in my chest.

This pain that threatens to cave my chest in, that steals my breath, that makes my heart soar and sink all the same. This pain that invades every inch of my brain, rotting me from within.

This pain that’s not actually pain.

Not really, because I know what it truly is.

It’s love.

Love that is damn near debilitating.

Breath continues to rip in and out past chapped lips that quiver from the weight of my thoughts. Thoughts of him.

A clap of thunder jolts me from my reverie with a gasp, my eyes snapping towards a figure standing at the edge of the forest watching me, quietly. Not just anyone, but him.

Paul.

We stare at each other, only 20 yards or so separating us. Still as statues, afraid to make the first move.

He’s just as soaked as I feel, the short black strands of his usually neat hair sticking to his forehead, water dripping down his beautiful face. Rain beating over his shoulders and down his uncovered chest. A chest heaving in time with mine, but the roar of the rain in the trees cover our combined exhales that I’m sure have to be deafening.

It’s like he’s a mirage, a figment of my imagination. This man has invaded every thought and now I’m afflicted with hallucinations of him too? As if this torture wasn’t enough? As if this crippling black hole in my chest wasn’t big enough? All-encompassing enough?

I rub at the tightness across my clavicle, every gulp of air I try to suck down not making a difference in the tightness of my throat.

The action draws his eyes, and his body too, apparently. His advance forward is slow and deliberate. Every step crumbling the ice I’ve tried to pack around my heart, these feelings.

I start to panic, no - I’m not ready.

I’m not ready to fall, not again.

I’ve never met a man worth holding my heart, trustworthy enough, gentle enough, kind enough.

Not until him.

My eyes slide shut as he takes the final steps to close the gap between us. I can feel the heat radiating from him just inches away and my panic increases, I have to hurry. I have to hurry and build this wall around my heart before he can-

A strong, burning finger tilts my chin upwards and it’s like sunlight kissing my skin, pouring in through the cracks in my hastily stacked armor. Warm, home, love, Paul.

My eyes creak open, afraid of what they might see in his own brown depths.

Endless devotion, eternity, serenity. That’s what they find. Unwavering love, solid and sure.

Oxygen ceases to make its way inside my chest, constricting painfully at the grip his intensity has over me.

He has to see how this is flaying me straight to the bone, how he’s dismantling every protection I’ve put in place to protect myself by just being.

My mouth opens but I can’t force words out, what’s there to say? I’m sorry, I can’t do this - it’s too much?

His eye contact doesn’t waiver, even as the rain pours over his cheek bones and drips straight down onto my own.

I can’t resist - my hands settle on his chest, to push him away or soak up more of his warmth, I don’t know.

Finally he moves, slowly dipping his head. My eyes slip shut, completely at his mercy. His lips brush feather-light at my temple, drifting to the other side in equal measure, heat refilling my skin as his mouth maps my face. Then down to the apple of my cheek, grazing my nose with reverence on his path across my face before his hand slides across my jaw to the nape of my neck.

I sink into him, resolve melting away as his heat pushes into me. A sigh leaves my lips as his mouth presses a barely-there kiss to the corner of my mouth.

My awareness narrows down to the way my lips tingle where his mouth just barely touches mine.

Time slows as I just wait.

One heartbeat. Then another.

Surely he’ll take pity on me? Please, oh god please.

“I love you”. His voice is deep. Sure. Confident. Soft.

Time must’ve stopped.

“I love you, without knowing how. Or when. Or from where.” The tremble begins in my legs. “I love you straightforwardly. Without complexities or pride.” My knees feel weak with every word his lips breathe across my mouth. “I love you, because I know no other way than this. I love you with every drum beat in my heart, as dictated by the ancestors. And I will love you even past the end of time. I’ll love you so proudly that I’ll see that it’s written in the history of my tribe-our tribe. I’ll love you so completely that you have no choice but to give me every little piece of your heart that you’ve squirreled away inside of yourself, afraid to bask in the sun, afraid of the love you know you deserve.”

His confession has more tears than rain sliding down my face.

My voice is a rugged gasp, “Paul.”

His lips seal over my own, as if to solidify this pledge of his love permanently.

His kiss is love. Pure love. And light. And home. And everything I hoped it’d be. Warm, gentle, understanding, yielding, kind.

His mouth is unhurried in its exploration of mine, curious in its mapping of my lips, patient and giving.

My hands surge into his wet hair, fingers sliding home as I press fully against him, mouth slotting against his in a desperate way. Two puzzle pieces, him and I, clicking flush together in a way words could only ever fail to describe.

Paul Lahote is my home. He is tender, he is light, he is love. He is exactly what I’ve been missing all this time, he is worth every single bit of pain I’ve ever felt in this life if it means leading to this.

To us.

[volturissideslut]

hiii! can I pls request aro and his mate who has a hand kink? like it doesn’t matter where they are, of what they’e doing, she’ll be sat in his lap playing with his hands, and tracing the veins. like actually his hands r so fine, search it up on Pinterest and you will understand my point.

𝕬𝖗𝖔 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

(Nsfw below the cut) I don't need to go on pinterest to know what you're talking about darling, i'm right there with you 😭🫶

Imagine sitting on Aro's lap, it could be in the throne room or anywhere else in the world. Long pale fingers grip onto your thigh like a voce, keeping you grounded on top of him. Your own hand would be on top of his, tracing along the shapes. The bump of his knuckle, a scar on the side, a vein bulging from his wrist to his index finger. His hand is mapped in your mind, you could know it blindfolded, the feel of the tip of his finger faint against your lips while you wait for him.

Imagine being sat next to him, bored and tracing your hands over his. His hand is mapped in your mind, you could know it blindfolded. The feel of the tip of his fingers against your lips from how ofter you kiss at them, the indent in his middle finger from centuries of quills and pens. Flipping his hand over to follow all the lines on his palm. He might even get you one of them palm reading books so he has an excuse to sit there and feel you for longer.

Imagine laying in bed together with Aro spooning you, his arm is thrown over your waist and his hand flat against your lower belly. Butterflies erupt within you, the way you feel his hand stroke at you or how his fingers draw little shapes. He'll trace 'i love you' in old greek and make you guess what he's writing, knowing fully well that you don't know that language yet. His hand would reach up, scratching at your scalp a massaging into your head. He keeps you in pure bliss.

Imagine his fingers shoved down your throat, pushing down on your tongue. He's all consuming when you're in bed together, all you can feel is him, him, and him some more. He loves being above you, making eye contact as you suck on his fingers. You'll gag around him, oh so full, and it just makes him all the more turned on.

Imagine the way his fingers curl inside of you, his thumb circling over the little nub of your clit. His hands are amazing, magical really, the searing pleasure he brings you with those dexterous fingers of his. They may not be thick, but they sure as hell are long, and you can feel every part of them inside of you. Maybe it's the fantasy - your love for them making the white hot feeling coiling in you all the more apparent - or maybe he really is that good. Either way, Aro's fingers are really fascinating to you

[ikebo-simp]

Imagine being Capitano's lover, left alone in Snezhnaya

He had told you not to wait for him, like always, but you had figured it was just his way of saying 'you don't know what will happen on the battlefield'

But he came back everytime, without fail, and you would wait for him, without fail

The house was cold and quieter when he was gone, which was ironic for a man who didn't talk much and had cyro powers, but that's how it always was

So here you were waiting on the couch for him, feeling your eyelids start to droop when you hear a small knock on the door

You rush your way over to open the door-

Only to find one of his soldiers

"M-milady" Her voice trembled

You took a step back, knowing instinctively something was wrong

"I-I come with a message from the Lord" Her voice cracked when she mentioned your lover as she held out a message with trembling hands

"Is he okay? Please tell me he's-"

"He said he'll explain it in the letter"

~~~

You stare at the letter left on your dinner, feeling strange

If you didn't open the letter would he come back? Would he show up at your door unscathed just like all the other times?

If you left the letter untouched, could you continue in denial?

And yet, you wanted to read what he could've written for you

And so your reached for the letter

My love, the light that kept me going

If this has been delivered to you, it means I've completed what I've set out to do

Your breath hitched as you read that line, you knew what that meant

He told you about his dream to help the lost souls he kept in his heart, his amazingly beautiful loving heart, find peace

-and with them, help his soul find peace

Maybe it was cruel of you, but you had hoped he would finish his goal later, when you were old or gone

You didn't expect him to leave so soon

My only sorrow is that I'm sure you were patiently waiting for a dead man return

Please don't wait for me any longer dear

~Capitano

A/N I read the main storyline quite late

Thanks for Reading

[until-the-house-shakes]

First Day of Hogwarts

Wolfstar raising Regulus / Werewolf! Regulus

Microfic

-

Regulus’ first day at Hogwarts went well, much better than Remus thought. Despite being under his and Sirius’ care for a little over a year, the kid was still a nervous wreck with an uncontrollable temper, especially on the week of the Full. Remus wouldn’t lie and say he had no doubts about the young werewolf having a perfect first day. He still remembers his own first day, ten years ago, and how terrifying and anger inducing it was- and it wasn’t anywhere close to a Full! But despite all the odds, Regulus seemed to have a perfect day.

The sorting ceremony was what Remus feared the most. All the Marauders told Regulus a million times over that none of them would think of him any differently when he got sorted into his house. Sure, they were all Gryffindors, but they weren’t about to be like the poor kid’s parents and scare him into begging for the same house. They all wanted for him to be sorted fairly.

Plus they all had a few running bets on what house Regulus would he sorted into. Sirius and James- ever the fanboys of their own house- fully believed he would be a Gryffindor, while Remus and Lily thought he would be a Ravenclaw. Peter was the odd man out with Hufflepuff (‘I don’t actually believe it but imagine how mental everyone would go if I am correct’). And lastly with Slytherin was Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas- Marlene’s Slytherin girlfriend who Regulus was infatuated by.

To only Regulus’ surprise, the dusty old hat screamed ‘RAVENCLAW’ the second it touched the boy’s black curls. The young werewolf shot his gaze over to the older werewolf, looking a mix of shocked and terrified, but when he saw the jaw breaking smile his guardian wore, he instantly felt much better about his placement and rushed over to the Ravenclaw table. Once everyone was sorted, Regulus was crowded by three other Ravenclaw first-years; A boy named Barty, and a set of twins- Evan and Pandora Rosier. Even though Remus didn’t know anything about the kids, it was safe to say that Regulus found his ‘forever mates’ as Sirius would call them.

-

The rest of the evening went off without a hitch. Remus was now fully unpacked and settled into his professor suite, and was about to change into his pajamas before he heard a soft knock at the door. “Coming.” Remus called out, a bit confused on who could be knocking so late into the night, and on the first night no less.

To his surprise, the sight of neat black curly hair, and a much too big jumper on a small pale boy, welcomed Remus. “Cub, what are you doing here?” He stepped aside so Regulus could enter his room, and the small boy did exactly that, before turning around and throwing himself into Remus’ arms. The older man was quick to pick up the smaller boy, allowing him to get as close to him as possible. Remus closed the door and walked to his bed, sitting them both down.

“Cub, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Remus gently rocked the boy back and forth, rubbing his back- trying to offer as much comfort to the kid as possible.

“This is all too much. I’m scared and I want Siri.” Regulus whimpered, not daring to take his face away from the crook of Remus’ neck. That was always his favorite place to hide when he was overwhelmed or upset and it wouldn’t change for a long while.

“We can floo call him. I’m sure he will love to talk to you.” Remus felt awful hearing how scared his cub was. Hogwarts was meant to be a fresh start for him. He no longer had to deal with big expectations from abusive family, hell he was already on his own path by being sorted into Ravenclaw. Remus thought he was in safe hands, especially after seeing how nice the other first-years were with him. But he should have known that his sensitive, traumatized, and dramatic cub would have had some sort of breakdown by the end of the first week, he just wasn’t expecting it to be the first day.

“Please? I really want Siri.”

-

An hour has passed, and Regulus was now fast asleep in Remus’ bed with the older werewolf gently brushing his curls with his fingers. The floo call was only about thirty minutes long. It consisted of Regulus talking about his new friends, Sirius promising the both of them that he is perfectly fine alone, and a new story about baby Harry and a frazzled James and Lily.

Once the call ended, all hell seemed to break loose, however. Regulus instantly started crying again, saying he didn’t want to go back to his dorm- that the boys scared him and he wanted to go back home for good.

“Cubby, is there something you’re not telling me?” Remus sighed, trying his hardest to get to the bottom of what was truly bothering his kid. It’s been fifteen minutes since the call ended, and Regulus was still quietly crying to himself, curled up in Remus’ lap.

“…Barty had this book. About magical creatures… and the cover had a werewolf on it. He talked about how scary werewolves were and how he wanted to meet one to see if they’re really as awful as everyone says they are.” The whispered words broke Remus’ heart. It was only the first night at Hogwarts, and Regulus was already facing discrimination for his ‘furry little problem’.

“Oh cub, I’m sure that was scary. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.” Remus was already thinking of ways to deal with that little shit. He could talk to Flitwick about moving Regulus to stay with the second years, or he could talk to Dumbledore about moving Regulus into his own suite for the time being. It was hard for the young werewolf to trust anyone, especially kids his own age, and maybe forcing him to share a room with rude, snotty nosed children wasn’t the best idea! He should be allowed to settle into school for a few weeks, and then slowly integrate sharing a room with those assholes into his routine.

“They seemed so nice, but… now I’m scared. I don’t want to go back in there.” Regulus’ small voice took Remus out of his own internal rants. “Trust me Cub, you won’t go back there until you’re ready.” Remus kissed the top of Regulus’ head, sealing his promise.

The kid fell asleep not long after their short conversation, and remus has spent that time watching his cub sleep peacefully in his bed, playing with his hair, and thinking of all the ways he can keep him safe. Remus was already a very protective (‘possessive’ if you ask Sirius) person, but when it comes to Moony’s cub? He was another form of protective. He really hoped that Barty gets better, because he didn’t feel up to getting thrown in Azkaban for nearly killing a child.

-

As if it was a pattern, right before he could fall asleep himself, there was another knock at the door. Remus couldn’t help the unconscious growl that came from his gut. Who in their right mind wants to bother him and his cub this late at night?

“Hello?” Remus grumbled, opening the door to see two small boys. The same two small boys he saw at the Ravenclaw table with Regulus earlier that evening- which means one of these assholes were the reason why his cub spent the last hour crying and terrified.

They better have a good ass reason for being here.

“Professor Lupin, I’m Evan, this is Barty. Is Regulus here? He ran out of the dorm room crying an hour or so ago and we’re really worried about him. We’ve been all over the castle looking for him and I really hope he’s here. If not… we might have some issues.” The kid- Evan, said while rocking back and forth on his feet. It was clear both boys looked terrified. Whether it was about the wellbeing of their roommate or it was fear of facing the wrath of Regulus’ guardian- Remus wasn’t sure.

“I’m really sorry to bother you sir, but we’re both very worried… and thought you should know as his dad.” The last part took Remus by surprise. His dad? Did Regulus really tell these two boys that he was Regulus’ dad?

Huh.

Remus did not mind that one bit.

“Yeah, he’s in here. Got really homesick and wanted some comfort. Thank you for checking on him, but I promise he’s safe with me. You two should head back to your own beds and go to sleep. You’ll see him tomorrow.” Remus assured the two boys before sending them off back to their dorms.

Maybe they weren’t all that bad, they did seem genuinely worried about Regulus.

But their worry wasn’t what had Remus’ spirits so high.

‘As his dad’

Regulus saw him as his dad.

[claggorluvrgurl]

Okay I keep thinking about it I definitely feel like early on in AU Claggor's mourning process and way of coping was just him becoming a crash out. Like I feel like he was full of anger. At the world and himself for being more passive and not sticking to his guns feeling like he should have argued more against doing that job. That maybe if he did Vi wouldn't have died. He definitely let those feelings fester inside him under the guise of trying to be strong for everyone else.

Like I imagine years before Vander really tried to get him to be more assertive. And now look what him not being assertive got him? His sister is dead and now everyone is looking at him. He got comfortable just being the right hand and following. And now he's suddenly a leader and full of worries because he's not sure if he's ever doing the right thing. Because he's a kid and now he's wondering where Vi learned to be so sure and know if she's doing things right. So now he's growing into a ball of anger and sadness and he's not sure who he can talk to. So the best outlet is to just take it out on anyone he gives him a reason .

But no doubt Vander who just lost one child is not gonna notice this self destructive behavior. He's already shaken from losing on kid . He'd be even more worried about losing Claggor . I imagine him pulling him aside to try to have a heart to heart. But the first few times nothing's getting through to him because all he's hearing is that he needs to be better. That he has to do better or he's gonna lose everything. And he internalizes a lot of his feelings putting up a brace face for his siblings. Probably going off alone to deal with people who made sly remarks that they'd hurt his family to deal with them .

The boiling point being when he gets hurt badly because he's still only one person and can't one V one a bunch a guys even if he's a big guy. He comes stumbling back home later that morning bloody and knocks something over because he doesn't have the strength to call for help.

The boy probably ends up on bed rest for weeks and has no choice but to open up. They aren't letting in leave till they know what's going on in that big brain. Because how does a calm collected and rational person start acting like this?? Why does he now think he needs to be like Vi .

Side note I feel like Claggor grew out his hair a lot during this period then cuts it shorter in the end signally the change in his state of mind.

I feel like his appearance changes as he gets worse mentally because he's taking care of himself less so his hair gets longer. But he probably cuts it more in the front so there's less hair in the front so.... Sadly mullet. My son unintentionally gives himself a mullet.

Not sure what his clothing style would look like some artist could brainstorm that if they wanna have fun

[slashingdisneypasta]

Disgraced Prince Hans of the Southern Isles x SleepingCursePrincess!Reader || Oneshot

*feat the Evil Queen, Ursula and Maleficent as 3 evil witches.

Plot: When Hans' true loves kiss actually breaks a curse. // Or // Imagine prince charming waking you up from your sleeping curse,, except YOUR prince charming is bound in cuffs and chains and a guards big strong hand on his shoulder when you wake.

Also, Hans is having recurring nightmares of being stalked by 3 long-dead fairytale witches (Well, 2 and a fairy) from somewhere very far away (Or very far below). That cant have anything to do with this sleeping curse can it?? 🤔

Warnings: Save for the cursing- nothing that's not already in Disney Movies. Unedited. Also may or may not make sense at all.

Tagging: @asperol-with-izzy , @disney-android-foundation , @lady-love88 , @marinerainbow , and @ryantryan6969 .

All the way back home, Hans was having dreams. Or nightmares. Nightmares of sharp nails scraping and grabbing him, eyes on him, and mysterious whispering voices. He'd wake up and he'd still be half back there, he would still hear their voices, even with the ship swaying and dipping under his body and dirty water trickling under the door into his cramped little cupboard-cabin. The long journey felt even longer with these dreams hanging over him; there being nothing else to occupy his mind except the humiliating near-miss Hans suffered in Arendelle.

Ugh.

He's new~ What's he in for, hmm?

You know I don't know that, sea witch. He's no use to us anyway.

Some powerful witch, you are. We can see him but we don't know anything.

-I don't see you doing anything, fairy.

No matter darlings~ He's cute. Much better then our old one-handed captain barnacle breath, hm?~

Don't get too excited, Ursula. He could be as boorish as Gaston.

Oh don't say that. What do you think, queenie?

Whatever.

The names swam around in his head like whatever beasts lived under the sea beneath the ship. Ursula, Gaston. But then there were more.

What are you hoping to find in these baby villains you keep watching, anyway, queenie?

I don't know. A necromancer, maybe. We need to get out of here, don't you agree?

We already had one of those, remember? That 'horned king' creature was no help to us.

I'm open to suggestions, fish. Well? Any ideas in that tiny pathetic goldfish brain?

Oh, certainly none for you~

Great. Get out, go harass Claude or something.

What the hell was a 'horned king'?? That wasn't something that Hans would imagine himself. He's never had an interest in dumb fairytales, magic was no use to him. Power was power, and that came from being in charge. Being King. But... the closer to land Hans got, the fainter the voices became. As if the ocean had a closer connection to the source, like a looking glass. And that, surely, was the work of magic wasn't it??

... -then it got worse.

I think you need to leave this one alone, Hildie. He's becoming aware, like Yzma.

She was crazy, Maleficent.

Still.

Maybe its a good thing if he knows we're watching. It has been a while since we had any quality entertainment...

... Oh, now now dear Hildie~ Don't short-change yourself; you make an excellent fool.

Just for that, I'm not going to tell you what I plan to do to him.

By the time the ship docked, the disgraced Prince was all-nerves. And not entirely about seeing his dumb older brothers again or the punishment they're bound to enjoy giving him. What were those nightmare-witches talking about? 'do to him'?

It never crossed his mind once that whatever that meant could hurt you.

~

When Hans left, you were perfectly fine. A little upset that he was leaving you, and you knew his plan to marry the Queen of Arendelle- but, mainly fine.

So why are you laying in your bed in the middle of the day, now? Why did you look... dead?

Hans found his voice for the first time since Arendelle, an accusatory tone lacing through his words, turning to look directly at the dignitary that lead him here to this room. He was loud and clear, as if he was still important here. "What happened to them?"

"I believe they were cursed, sir, while you were gone." When Hans eyes narrowed slowly, the little man sped on. "Your- your brothers do not wish for you to know ab- about this, but I believe it to be the only way to save the princess."

"... how do you mean? Talk faster, or I'll have your throat slit in an instant."

Surely the man knew that line was just an empty promise, because he clearly had no power anymore- he had bars wrapped around his wrists, a short chain between them, and a guard (Well-paid by the dignitary) glaring at his back. But the dignitary spoke faster anyway; a nervous man. "I- I believe a true loves kiss could wake her, sir! I believe that true love to be you!"

"True loves kiss?" Jesus christ, that pissed him off. If he never heard those words again it will be too fucking soon.

The man looks surprised, at this harsh reaction from the prince. His voice goes pathetically small. "... Well, aren't you and the princess be- betrothed!??"

"Yes." That was true. You were. And you did love each other- since you were kids. Since he was 6 and you were 5, and you would send him letters every week even when everyone else forgot he existed.

That didn't make Hans like any of this any better.

"P- please your highness." The dignitary begged, his eyes flickering from him to you and back.

Hans looks back to you, a scowl still on his face. You looked alive, at least. Just... very still. And you never slept this way, flat on your back. graceful. You weren't supposed to share a bed until you were married, but you had- so he knew you slept like a graceless freak. There was definitely something wrong.

And there were those dreams... "The witches." Hans whispers, glaring at your form. Except he wasn't glaring at you, he was glaring at Them.

Not that you weren't used to that look on his face. That was pretty much just his face.

"... P- pardon me?"

"What!?"

"You said some something, sir."

"No, I didn't." With that, Hans shrugs the guards meaty hand off his shoulder and kneels by your bed. Picks up your hand on his and holds it to his chest. His eyes soften a tiny bit this close to you, where the other men in the room couldn't see it happen.

Goddamnit, he thinks. Its worth a try.

~

When Hans' lips touch yours in that quiet room, watched by a cranky guard and a nervous dignitary, he feels scarcely a breath slipping past yours. The only way that he knows you're alive is by the very very slow rise and fall of your chest.

In just a manner of moments, though, your fingers come to life and grip his, and you breath in deep through your nose, kissing him back. Like magic.

Despite himself, a small smirk slithers across his face after he finishes kissing you, watching your pretty eyes open up and look foggy- then confused- and he's yanked back up to his feet by the oaf of a guard in charge of him. "Time to go."

"Hey! Wait, I demand you- "

"You're no boss of mine these days, princey." The man growls into his ear, a note of cruelty in his voice. What did I ever do to this guy? Hans wonders, scowling again.

"Wait!- " That was your voice, oh so confused. Your eyes are big and round, taking in the scene. The dignitary quickly helps you to stand, but doesn't let you approach Hans.

"Please princess, he has to go. Everything will be explained."

"But- "

She cuts herself off, this time. But she doesn't need explanation. Hans watches the realisation dawn on her as her calculating eyes drift slowly from the guard, to him.

The plan went awry. Now he's in serious trouble.

"Don't worry, Y/N."

"How am I supposed to not worry!??"

"Just promise to write to me, huh? Promise."

"... fine." And I'll yell at you with every letter of the alphabet, her eyes tell him. He chuckles. Yeah, I got it.

"Come on now, lover boy. To the tower."

~

Not 10 minutes later, the tower cell slams shut on him. Dust from the roof falls down on his shoulders and hair, and his cuffs are still clamped down tight around his wrists creating dark purple bruises.

... after a moment, Hans curses and kicks a hard stone wall. "Fuck!"

-and then a familiar voice creeps into his mind again. The witch. 'Hildie'.

"Great. Now that I know you're hearing me, prince, I have some instructions for you.

And understand; if you don't do as I say I am fully prepared to give your sweet little princess another gift. One she wont be broken so easily out of. So listen carefully.

... first of all my name is not 'Hildie'. You may call me your majesty."

[jamdoughnutmagician]

The Heat is On

Joseph Quinn!Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader (18+)

I'd wanted to write for him ever since that teaser trailer dropped a few days ago, and I wanted to challenge myself to keep it as close to 500 words as I could (534, but eh I'll take it.)

Also I wrote this with Joseph's version of the character in mind, but I guess you could imagine Evan's version in this too?

*divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Masterlist // Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

With his usually perfect blonde hair being ruffled and dishevelled out of place by your eager hands and a devouring hunger gleaming in his blue eyes Johnny had your back pinned against the wall as his hands rested confidently on the plush skin of your ass. Your legs were suspended from the floor to wrap around his narrow hips as he slid himself into you with quick, but no less precise, thrusts. 

Since becoming The Human Torch, Johnny had become something of a ladies man, or at least that's what nearly every newspaper, magazine and gossip article tried to paint him as. Always there, ready and waiting to photograph him as he stumbled out of a glossy night-club. They were all so fascinated by Susan Storm's younger, apparently, as far as they were aware, was an eligible bachelor. 

 But you knew the truth.

Whilst he was more than certainly eligible in your eyes, bachelor he was not.

The truth that you had been with Johnny longer than he had ever been the Human Torch. His sister was your best friend, and it was practically her that pushed you together. Not that you were about to object to that. Not when you’d quietly been in love with him for so many years.

You’d been with him when he was just Johnny, your lovingly adorable, slightly dorky, boyfriend.

You both felt that it was better that you kept your relationship quiet. At least for the time being. He didn’t want to put you in danger by putting you front and center of the media’s spotlight, where anybody could tie you to him and use you as leverage against him. Likewise, you didn’t care for the hustle and bustle of everything that came with him being suddenly thrust into the public eye. Of course you weren’t thrilled when he was nearly constantly bombarded with beautiful women throwing themselves at him, but he never gave you any cause to worry when he would always end up in your bed with his lips pressing hotly against your skin.

But now, as his hands held on to your hips so steadily and his hips fucked up into you to chase the slick feeling of your cunt tightening on his cock with every deep thrust, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

“You know you’re the only one for me, right” he mumbles as his lips are blazing a trail across your neck and collarbones. “You’re the only girl who makes me feel this way.”

You can barely do much more than moan, and surrender yourself to the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly every single time. His thick cock stretches you in the most delicious way.

His hot and nimble fingertips slip between your closely pressed bodies, eager to run precise circles around your clit enough to have you clinging to him as he ignites a burning fire in the pit of your stomach. A fire that burns brightly as he pushes you over the edge of pleasure with a wicked smile on his perfect face. By his own declaration, you were the only one for him, and likewise, he was the only one that you could ever want.

@penguinsandpotterheads @abitchyouhate @mrsjellymunson @songbirdmunson @seatnights @ali-r3n