#it turns out I have a lot to say about this relationship to NO ONE's surprise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osamucide · 3 days ago

Text

BITCHBOY ⊹

. . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~6.8k

cw: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. icky pervy stoner roommate!Dazai <333 also pathetic wet cat mess of a man Dazai, afab+gn!reader, established roommate relationship, no established romantic relationship, implied bi!Dazai if you squint, referenced whore!Dazai, weed smoking+intox/noncon (reader says "stop" once and he does not stop), dubcon (becomes 'consenual' but Dazai's coercive+they're high), noncon elements can be interpreted (esp at the end) to be roleplay with prior consent! dirty talk, shotgunning, fingering, squirting, kissing, penetration, creampie, insulting nicknames (Dazai receiving), biting, this is depraved and I will answer for it on judgement day

reid: he’s all i think about.

tags: @kalsplace

You’re grumbling under your breath when you’re about to cross the threshold to your apartment because, as if the rest of your day hadn’t been annoying enough, your stupid key decides to give you extra trouble—as of late, it’s not working unless you jam it in the lock at a very specific angle and jiggle violently until just before you’re sure the knob will fall off, all whilst cursing your landlord’s neglect of the crummy old building like some enchantment or spell that ties the whole rage-inducing, access-granting ritual together.

Couldn’t your good-for-nothing roommate hear you struggling with it?

“Hey, sorry,” he chirps too brightly for the evening hour, floating out of his room as you shut the door behind you with a sigh—ever the mind reader. You forego your eye-roll this time; you’re convinced that one of these days they’ll get stuck in your skull what with how much you do it. You hear Dazai sauntering toward you as you’re shrugging your jacket off, hanging it up, tossing your bag on the table. “Was busy.”

You’re ready to turn and scowl at him, but when you face him, he’s waggling the little pipe in your face—the green one with blue flecks in the glass, undoubtedly what he was busy with while you broke into your own home—and you won’t admit that you already feel your irritation start to melt away when it slides from his fingertips to yours. You clutch it, latch onto the mouthpiece, and watch as the brunette flicks the flame out and lights you up.

You exhale gratefully, take one more pull, and hand the glowing bowl back for him to catch the remainder of before he lights it again. “Thank you," you croak before short cough leaves you. “Was real close to bitching you out for not leaving the door unlocked.”

Dazai blows his smoke directly back in your face with a small grin. “Redeemed by my weed once again.”

You chuckle and wave it away, making a point of sliding by him and toward your room to change. You need to unwind a second before dealing with him for the rest of the night. “‘S’all that ever redeems you. Crack a window, will ya?”

It’s really not a bad arrangement to have a live-in pot dealer—that’s basically what Dazai is and has been as long as you’ve roomed with him. Sure, he's also a pain in your ass; the man can hardly cook, you had to show him how to use the washing machine in the common area when you first moved in, and only a bit ago, after almost half a year of sharing a living space, have you convinced him to keep his mess of discarded socks and food packaging contained within his bedroom. It took a lot of harsh reprimanding about how you're not his parent and he's not your teenage son for you to realize it'd be a little of his own medicine to get him to start taking you seriously. Leaving your empty takeout box on the coffee table right where he liked to eat his, tossing your sweatshirt over his spot on the couch and refusing to move it for days—he took the message, albeit smugly, after that, and hasn't given you trouble since.

Even despite being a pain in the ass, though, especially now that he at least cleans up after himself, you have to admit you don't hate his presence in your home and in your life. You chalk it up to how infuriatingly charming he can be—you know he's a detective, and he's certainly got talents for sniffing out your emotions, solving your day-to-day problems, and smooth-talking, but all of that falls under being nosy and weird when he tries to guilt you into praising him for it. If he was any less annoying, you'd maybe even admit to yourself that he's kind of attractive; only physically, of course, which you've known since the day you met him, but any other way he might be—retaining a heavy air of mystery in spite of how bubbly he is, occasionally inviting you out drinking (mostly so you can drag him home once he overdoes it), smoking you up without asking for money—is just so overshadowed by what a fucking weirdo he is. You can’t separate it.

He certainly keeps you on your toes.

That’s really the worst thing about him. You know you’ll exit your room to grab your leftovers from the fridge and he’ll be pestering you to watch some movie with him—probably one of his cringy rom-coms (the fact that he watches and unironically enjoys them serving only marginally to make him a little more of an interesting character) during which he'll sling his feet across your lap or curl up into you so he can pinch your side once or twice just for your reaction, leaving you red in the face and mildly irritated while he giggles condescendingly at you. But as you always do, you think as you sigh and lift the hem of your sweater to curl it over and off, you’ll concede.

Your head’s caught in your sleep shirt when you hear your door creak open.

“Um, privacy?” you half-yelp—something you’re still figuring your way around with him. You jump out of line of the door as you poke your head through the neckline to shoot him that glare you saved from moments earlier.

Dazai just snickers, eyes wide and innocent. You're naked from the waist down. “Could’ve locked it.”

“As if that would stop you,” you snap back, stretching the hem over your thighs and ass as you skitter awkwardly back over to the edge of your bed where a pair of comfy shorts lay. “Get out!”

“Will you hurry up and put your pants on? I got My Big Fat Greek Wedding locked and loaded.”

“Yes, yes, just get out.”

He’s still snickering when he disappears behind the door. He doesn’t shut it all the way, and you mutter freak beneath your breath, secretly hoping he hears you.

You tug your shorts on and meander back out as the intro rolls, set on your leftover homemade tonkatsu; as you settle cross-legged with your plate on the couch, Dazai reaches over and plucks a piece of cabbage off it.

You side eye him as you chew. He’s already occupying himself with packing another bowl—he must've finished the first one himself. You'd half-expect him to reach for one of the prerolls he keeps in the coffee table drawer so as not to have to go to the trouble again, but he does.

“You eat yet?” you ask carefully.

He shakes his head as he uses the butt of the lighter to press it down. Of course not. Even weed doesn’t make him eat. You’ve expressed concern over his eating habits before, but he always dismisses you with a hum and that smug smile.

You make a point of tearing the remainder of your cutlet in half with your utensils. When he reaches out to pass you the pipe, you reach back, chopsticks pinching a hefty piece of pork.

Dazai raises his eyebrows at you.

You raise yours in reply, as if to say, take it, or I’m not smoking anymore with you.

So he does, reluctance veiled thinly by amusement. You know him well enough by now; or, you think you do, at least. As he chews, he balances the chopsticks back on your plate and turns to you with the lighter, curling his own legs beneath himself.

Only satisfied when he swallows, you set your plate aside, face him, and press the pipe to your lips again, looking to him. To his pretty brown eyes that search you owlishly, that you swear sparkle with a little more vigor after even the smallest bit of sustenance enters his system. Maybe you should just leave him to starve, but then where would you get your weed? You’re an idiot, you’d say if you weren’t waiting on his flame.

But before he can light it for you, he pulls the lighter away, and you chase it with a soft hey—he’s grinning at you again, like a devil, like always.

“You always do that, you know?” he asks.

“Do what?” you mumble impatiently against the piece.

He gives in and dips the flame down into the bowl; you inhale deep, flower crackling softly as you do, and he only answers when the smoke’s halfway down your throat.

“Look up at me all cute like that every time I light it for you.” Those brown eyes bore into yours and you become aware all too quick of the fact that you do—you do indeed peer up at him through your lashes; your eyes water as smoke burns your throat and you blink away, trying not to cough out your hit at how he’s gazing at you, but he doesn’t stop there.

He would never stop there.

“Makes me think bad things.”

So you cough out your hit anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, choked, face red from more than just the sting of the weed. You busy yourself with pulling another hit while it’s still lit.

“Mhm,” he agrees. “Lots of ‘em.”

Your head swims now—you’ve built up a decent tolerance from living with him, but forgetting to breathe at his words and zeroing the huge puff you take next surely doesn’t help. You cough again, and nothing leaves your lungs this time as you debate whether to take his challenge.

Another thing you’ve learned about Dazai—he loves to fluster people. If living with him wasn't enough proof, you’ve seen him do it millions of times to pretty bartenders, or on the off-chance his partner from work joins you drinking; off-chance, truly, because Kunikida already has to put up with Dazai all day at the office, and anything more than what’s required of him might be better off called torture rather than fun. And beyond loving it, Dazai demonstrates it like a long-honed skill—the exploitation of people’s humiliation, the monopolization on people’s most sensitive spots. He had previous work in it, he’s said, but you can’t imagine what job could possibly entail all that. You think he just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth—no, he’s smart enough to know when to; he just doesn’t like to. He’s what most people would refer to as an asshole.

And yet, you find yourself torn between feeling disgusted and entertained by him all the same. Although you often find yourself the victim of his little mind games, you’re not above jabbing back at him. What does that make you, you wonder? The question briefly crosses your mind, but you shake it off as, in your buzz, you swat away the bait; decidedly, you’d rather watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding in peace, finish your tonkatsu, and then go to bed tonight.

“You’re gross.” The scoff you let out sounds more like a chuckle.

Dazai tilts his head, flicking the lighter for you again; he sparks the bowl as he watches you, as if in exceptional contemplation, and you make a point not to do it again—you inhale and gaze straight down at the flame.

“You don’t wanna hear what it makes me think about?” he asks cutely, unwilling to let you get away just yet.

You ignore the slight flush undoubtedly on your own face as you slip the bowl back to him; doubly so, you try not to watch the way his lips wrap around the mouthpiece.

But right now, you can’t seem to help that your bleary-eyed attention is on him. Just as he exhales, you remember you haven’t replied.

You’re not quick enough. He doesn’t take your silence as an invitation; it’s an opportunity. You see it in his smirk, just a second too late.

“Makes me think about how pretty you’d be looking up at me like that from your knees.”

He’s good at his games—he invents them, after all. But you’d be damned if he thought you wouldn’t shut him down when you weren’t in the mood.

“Yeah, no, don’t particularly wanna hear about it, thanks.”

This might be a new low, even for him, you think. Who the fuck just says shit like that?

When you think about it a second longer, though, he really hasn’t brought anyone home to fuck obnoxiously (a boundary you were quick to set with him) in at least a couple weeks, so maybe he’s just pent up. Either way, his comment makes you wrinkle your nose, furrow your brow—hopefully negating the pink inevitably tinting your cheeks. Fucking weirdo.

“N’ now you’re blushing all cute, too,” he observes; you scoff again, more pointedly this time. “Thinkin’ about it?”

As if, you want to say, but the words get stuck against the roof of your dry mouth, so you conjure up some of your spit, swallow it down, and hope he doesn’t notice—but it’s Dazai; he will—that your high's settling onto your shoulders swiftly. He’s pointing the bowl back at you, and as you grab it robotically, you’re still trying to speak—a sure sign you should both shut up and keep your places on opposite ends of the couch and watch the movie and finish the tonkatsu, but instead you just balk. No matter what you do, you play right into his hands—that’s how it happens all too often, and you certainly won’t learn now or anytime when his weed’s coursing up to your brain and back down to your thumping heart. Dazai lights your next hit for you, laughing like it’s all some big joke, and maybe it is—maybe you’ll blow your smoke in his face this time and pick up your tonkatsu and shut up and just watch the damn movie.

As if you’d ever be so lucky with his antics.

You’re shaking your head in near-awe when you pass it back to him once more.

“I mean, we basically kiss through this thing all the time,” he says like it’s relevant, waving the pipe about. “I don’t think it’d be so weird if we fucked. Or if you sucked me off, at least.”

“It—it would totally be weird, Osamu,” and when you speak his name so lightly, blinking at trying to muster up your own laughter as a defense mechanism, his sight flickers up to yours. “That doesn’t even—I’m not sucking your dick.”

“Shame,” he purrs. “‘Cause I know how pretty you’d look. Your lips all wet and pouted against my t—”

“Oh, my god, shut up.” Now you laugh, out of pure disbelief at how far he’s taking it. He pokes at the tail end of what’s left in the bowl and chuckles, too, seemingly ready to let it go now that he has you laughing. "You're horrible."

The more you let him talk about it, the more you entertain him, maybe you can let it peter out.

“What about me? Do I look pretty when I do it?” he asks, batting his lashes as he pulls another hit off the pipe.

“Sure, yeah, whatever,” you let your laughter idle as he doesn't tear his gaze away from you. He looks pretty. Whatever. You cross your arms as you feel the familiar tingle of your high behind your eyes.

“Would I look pretty on my knees?” he prods.

You could slap him—if nothing else, just to make his face burn half as much as you know yours is. When he sets the bowl and lighter aside and goes back to observing you, eyes low-lidded and red, chin rested on his hands, propped up by his elbows on his crossed legs, you have half a mind to shrink away from him—but you keep cool, even if the way you're at eye level with his searing stare feels a little too intimate.

You mirror his position. “Hmm, I don't know.” You steal his thoughtful tilt, too, and tack on, “Maybe if you were begging like a little bitch.”

You're prepared for him to laugh tauntingly again and then let this die where it stands because he got a reaction out of you, right? That’s always what he’s looking for, so it’s about time he goes back to his corner of the couch where you'll bully him into a few more bites of tonkatsu.

But he stays locked onto you, quietly.

And then he's shifting forward off the couch and down to the ground.

“Osamu—”

“Uh-uh,” he chides you softly, crawling to situate himself directly in front of your figure. Looking up at you all cute. “I’m gonna be the one begging, remember?”

Your disbelief swirls with refusal as he paws at the hem of your shorts as if to say, turn, please, and fuck—what can you do other than turn red as a rose as he grabs your ankles, unfurls your legs, and props his chin on the cushion between your thighs? You feel alarmingly higher, blearier when his fingers creep up beneath the fabric, slowly, looking at you as if for reassurance.

“We're not—you can quit fooling around, seriously.” You want to laugh again but it comes out deadpan, strict; you feel heavier with each landing of his fingertips against your skin, and he just keeps looking up at you. Cute. Pretty. Taking it too far.

“I want to,” he mumbles, retracting his hands only for them to find your hips, your waistband. “Come on. ‘Wanted you so bad for so long. I know you want me, too,” he speaks your name slyly, quietly, and it prompts your breath to quicken a little; he traces circles into your hipbones with his thumbs, toys with the elastic at your waist, snapping it softly, and you squirm. “Please?”

For so long? you think. How long?

“I—I'm not high enough for this, Osamu,” you try to joke, but he just twists around to the coffee table drawer for one of those prerolls and his lighter.

“I can get you higher,” he offers—tone still much too innocent, motives still haphazardly veiled by what a big jokester he is, and he sticks the joint between his lips and lights it.

Before you can coherently protest, he rises, supporting himself on your thigh with one hand and removing the joint from his mouth full of smoke; when he leans into you, you catch his wrist to keep him from ashing on the back of the couch, grab his face in a half-attempt to stop him in his tracks—but ultimately, when his mouth meets yours, you open for him.

The plume of smoke he shotguns into your mouth is thick; you breathe it in. His palm like a brand against your thigh.

And he doesn’t stop.

“Osamu,” you whine against his lips, still mushing his face away and hating how your dry throat roughens your voice. He just kisses you, kisses you, and your fingers find the pulse point in his wrist—he’s a decent kisser, you think, at the very least. You have half a mind to let your fingers slide to the mess of brown hair beyond the apples of his sharp cheekbones, and—

You backtrack in your mind. You’re actually probably too high for this.

You have to detest the way it feels so heavenly when he squeezes the fat of your thigh, dodges your lips, and works steadily in a line from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, all tongue and teeth in his pursuit. You have to detest it. Fucking weirdo, you repeat in your mind. The joint burns between his fingers. You snatch it from his grasp and pull your head back, raising your feet to kick him weakly in the abdomen, and he relents—your toes feel asleep when they hit the carpet again, and you hoard the joint between your fuzzy fingers when he reaches for it back.

“Osamu,” you say again, stern, eyes wide. The weed. You're high. You're both high, and this is weird. He’s just your weirdo roommate and you got home wanting to end your stressful day without complicating anything else in your life today.

So why, when he looks at you like you’re a caged animal that’s just as afraid of him and he is of you and works the joint from your fingers to take another drag, do you let him cup your face and exhale more smoke down your throat?

Why do you chase his lips when he blissfully, needily, sinks to his knees once again and starts to traverse beneath your shorts?

With the right focus of mind, like staring at your hand when you’re spinning and convincing yourself that the world around you is actually moving and you’re staying still, you can almost pretend he’s a stranger—some sexy, enchanting stranger that you met on the train home after your shit day, meant to relate to you with docile nods and hums as you air your grievances about work or school or whatever, meant to kiss it off you like it’s just a little bit of dirt.

Getting out of your shorts is like getting out of second skin. You're taking another hit, unwise or not, because it's back in your hand and you don't know what else to do; you watch him in your haze with a mix of anticipation and distrust, but right now, anticipation is winning by a small margin. You’re high, you tell yourself—twitching already, in that way that has nothing to do with desire but rather just means you've smoked a little too much too quickly, and the idea that Dazai might still fake you out and send you to bed feeling half-hot and bothered, half-violated, with no pants on and a near-empty stomach bobs around in your inhibited brain—again, you expect him to laugh, say you’re fried, clap you on the shoulder and tell you it's a joke but he doesn’t, he cranes for a hit from the joint and you hold it to his lips shakily and he touches you on the exhale, the pads of two of his fingers nestling carefully between your folds over your underwear and when he brushes your clit it’s—

Fuck, it’s electric.

“Osamu, stop,” you say, hoarse and abrupt, grabbing his wrist. "I'm—"

“What?” he asks, teasing lilt to his tone. Beneath your hand his thumb comes up to replace his fingers, to loop circles around you, and you're shuddering, back bowing, and he's grinning at you wickedly.

“I—I'm high,” you admit, voice feeling thick, soupy as it leaves your throat.

“So? Me too.” He blinks at you, slow like a cat, in a way that you're pretty sure he's still mocking the way you apparently always flutter your gaze at him when he lights you up. “‘S the best way to do it.”

“Yeah, but—”

He doesn't interrupt you with but what?

And yet, you still don't finish your sentence.

You glance down to where he’s rubbing you gently, where you hold him at bay—where you could yank his arm and twist it uncomfortably if you really did want him to stop but the longer he circles over the fabric that’s growing increasingly, alarmingly wetter, the more you melt away from yourself and you think, fuck, he really is gorgeous as he’s resting his cheek against the inside of your thigh.

“Scoot forward f’me, please?” he almost whines; his voice changes, stricter when he says, “And stop letting that burn. Smoke it.”

And you comply, shuffling your hips forward and placing the filter between your teeth.

Dazai looks up at you. All cute. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. Hungry.

And you look back, apprehension sparking but then fading with each drove of smoke you inhale. Heavy-lidded, red-eyed. All cute.

“Let me taste you, please,” he almost whispers. You almost find yourself a little endeared by his pointed pleases.

“This is fucking absurd,” you croak, but your resolve is leaving you. He’s a little blurry. “You’re such a sicko.”

His smile widens against the word. Sicko. Almost like he’s pleased to hear it leave your mouth. “Surprised it took you this long to figure out, baby.”

His touch is impatient and restless and crawling as your underwear goes, too—and you don’t appreciate how good it felt when his thumb was on your clit until it’s back again and you’re slipping the joint out of your mouth to let you jaw fall slack; you tangle a hand up in that messy hair that is much softer than you could’ve imagined and all but yank him back toward your cunt.

“Please,” you echo him, finally. “It felt so good—do it again.”

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you in your whimpering, fingers prodding at your hole and tongue landing a feather-light lick to your wetness. “I know you want it.”

The sounds are lewd. Disgusting, really—fitting for how he’s acting. Dazai swirls his tongue in circles around your clit as he works his middle and ring fingers into you; cracked gasps leave you at the intrusion, and you can’t keep your eyes open when he curls them upward ever so slightly as he makes out with your clit. If you were sober you’d, of course, be embarrassed at how you’re already gushing for him, but all your mushy brain can think about right now is the sparks bolting to your otherwise-numb fingers and toes with each suction of his pretty pink lips against you—isn’t this wrong? Shouldn’t you feel weird? Yeah, probably—but you’re forgetting why, and you’re forgetting to care.

He hums against you and it sends a shockwave throughout your already-vibrating body; the moan you release into the air is like song, even to yourself. Is he really good at this, you wonder, or is it the weed?

Oh right, the weed. The weed, the weed, the weed.

You pull his mouth off you, almost dropping the joint that’s not much of a joint anymore—only the filter remains.

“I don’t think this is—”

Fuck, you keep going back and forth. You keep breaching the surface just for him to tug you beneath the water again and convince you the drowning feels nice. And it does, for a few seconds—until it starts burning your lungs to a crisp again, at which point you tear away from him kick up, and in the moments you spend sucking in air you don’t get how he stays beneath for so long, like it’s nothing, how he doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop, his fingers still curling inside of you, and you’re going under again to the sound of his voice.

You feel suffocated. More delirious by the second. It’s nice.

“You already told me it feels good,” he mumbles against you, lapping at you, and you’re letting up on his hair, letting him become a weight again where you should float.

And the lack of oxygen must be getting to your brain because, even though you still don’t think you want to drown, you cease your kicking. For the last time.

“Osamu,” you cry. It sounds like a moan. It might be.

“I know, I’m such a sicko.” There’s no remorse in his words; there can’t be, not when he’s still curling up into your g-spot in just the way that makes you croon his name again—undoubtedly a moan this time—but when he comes into focus again, he looks so apologetic. “You can say it again, baby. It’s okay.”

“S—sicko,” you mutter disapprovingly, but rolling your hips all the same.

He smiles. Soft, kind, apologetic.

You’re scared to move. You know if you do, you’ll both be able to see the wet stain collecting beneath you on the cushion. You feel it.

So you barrage him with more.

“You—you’re a fucking pervert. You’re disgusting.” You feel wetness on your face, too. You deduce that it’s from how perfect his fingers feel inside you, goading that warm slick out of you and into his palm, onto the couch; regardless, you don't stop berating him, your tone harshly contrasting your wriggling hips. “You disgust me.”

“I think you like it.” He presses up, hard, and you gush, gasping. A short, clear spurt narrowly misses his face; he leans back down to lick it off, off the cushion, off your thighs, off your crying cunt. “I think you like how nasty I am.”

“Disgusting,” you whisper. “Disgusting. You're disgusting.” It’s a little chant you hold onto as he rises again to kiss you, messily—a means to replace his lips with his wet fingers, shoving them past your lips and against your tongue where you lap at them instinctually, like you’ve been waiting for it. It’s so wrong to be tasting yourself on his fingers, but your eyes roll back anyway, just to lurch forward as his hand retracts and you find him grinning once more as he slips his sweatpants and boxers down in one swipe. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,” Dazai mocks, giggling. “You just tasted how fucking wet you are.”

“Osamu,” you whine as he kicks his garments aside; you begin to draw your feet up, your knees to your chin, but his hands, stronger than you anticipate, pry you open and flip you to your back and he grins, biting into his bottom lip all the while. Why, you wonder, when the dim living room light glints off his teeth as he situates himself between your legs and leans down to cage you in between his arms, do your hips hitch toward his? Why are you so adamant to deny him?

“You gonna say it again? C’mon, I love hearing my name,” he breathes, ducking down to lick across your jawline. “But I love when you call me those words. Say it again. Tell me how nasty I am.”

“You’re the worst,” you groan, but it sounds comical, even to your own ears, because you’re scratching at his shoulders in a way that draws him closer to you rather than further away.

“More, baby,” Dazai hums into your neck, reaching down to swirl his tip against your wetness. When you feel him, you jump.

It feels good. It feels even better than his thumb and you don’t know if you’re still on your way up but you feel higher and higher by the second and the instinct to push him off is slipping further beyond your grasp. When he pulls back to watch your mouth fall open as he rubs himself into you, you almost let the word pretty slip past your lips—he looks so pretty, tongue flicking, eyes dark, and you catch yourself with your lower lip between your teeth, reflecting the desperation he conceals in everything but his words.

Pretty isn’t what he wants right now, though—and suddenly you feel compelled to give him what he wants, if only it means he’ll keep touching you like this.

“S’fucking nasty—degenerate fucking freak—” you eek out; you don’t know much longer you can tiptoe the line between repulsion and sheer need, but you’re tilting further and further with each circle of his dick and you can tell he’s getting off on the way you’re lurching into him now, running toward his touch instead of away from it.

You think you need him to fuck you, now, or you’ll cry.

“Osamu, please,” you continue, sounding on the verge of tears now—where you should’ve been before, when you genuinely wanted him off you, yes. You wanted him off of you before. Didn’t you? There was a time, a mere few minutes ago, when his fingers in your skin and his animalistic gaze were revolting. Right?

“What’re you beggin’ me for?” Dazai asks like he doesn’t know. He knows. He knows what you don’t want to admit to yourself and he’s going to dangle it over your head, he’s going to rub it in your face, he’s going to make you answer through your hazy high that he never should’ve come onto you through to begin with, and you’re going to give him what he wants—you always give him what he wants, even if you don’t mean to, even if you don’t want to, but now you think you want to. You want to, because it feels so good, and he’s slowing down, he’s stopping and when he takes his hand away to swipe his thumb across your chin, pull your lip from between your teeth and work your mouth open with his fingers again, the loss almost hurts. You want it. You want to.

It’s going to hurt even more to say it, but you want it. And before you can even get it out, before the words even hit what little air is between your lips and his, Dazai looks thrilled at what you say next.

“Please, fuck me,” you whisper.

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely—” He reaches back down, but the smugness doesn’t waver; his tip catches on your entrance—emitting a lewd squelch that should make you cringe but instead prompts your lip to fly between your teeth again—and you hook your tingling feet behind his back, legs astride his waist as you're pushing his bangs from his face all in one motion. “I guess I’ll fuck you, pretty baby.”

"Yes," the dreaded word falls from your lips when he finally works his way into you, past that tight ring of muscle, to nestle snugly inside you until the head of his cock kisses your cervix.

The noise you draw from him—something between a sigh and a moan—is heavenly. His nose nuzzles the trail he licked across your jaw before and you find your hands linked behind his neck, urging him down, onto you, into you—and when he recoils his hips to thrust back in again, quick and short, you keen against him, pathetically, in a way your past self—the one from four or five touches ago—would hate you for.

You should hate how gross this is. How gross he is for this.

But you don't, and you're not going to torture yourself with asking why anymore.

The friction inside you doesn't feel comparable to anything; for the first time in a second, you feel grateful for the weed pulsing through you. You let your eyes roll back and flutter shut without consequence.

Dazai moves against you like water. Water you're content to drown in this time; his touch doesn't crawl anymore as much as it seems to soothe and as he picks up his pace, brings a hand to your cheek to wake you back up, pull you back above the surface.

"You sound s'fuckin cute," he sighs; those eyes, predatory before, are now just brown and melty, honey-colored backgrounded with red fog, not so searching as much as they seem attentive, not making you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable as they do softly seen. He thinks you sound cute. You giggle through the unrivaled pleasure, giggling through your own moans which hit your ears and do sound cute—sound especially cute woven through his.

"Y'sound... so," you start, "so fucking—unh, Osamu, don't stop!"

He chuckles now, low and breathy, and you push his hair back from his face again; his eyes roll back when you do it, and you just do it over, over, over, drawing clipped groans out of him, stealing the words from his throat as he steals yours and you tug, you tug on his hair and the moan he lets out, broken between thrusts, is so raw and laced with need that you moan in reply, clenching around him because, fuck, he sounds so cute, too. "Wanted this for so long, baby. Pussy feels s—so much fuckin' better than I could've imagined."

"How long?" you finally poke back—you want to know. You want to know how long he's been holed up in the mess of his room, jerking off to the thought of his cute little roommate finally falling between his fingers—you want to know how bad he's wanted this, and if getting you high out of your mind just to get it was worth it. You focus your voice to ask him. "How long you wanted this, 'Samu?"

"So long—since—" he gasps, fucking into you harder, faster, deeper; you tug his hair again, exposing his neck, and yank him down to sink your teeth into his neck. You need the reprieve as he starts hammering against the deepest parts of you, eliciting wet smack! after smack! from between your writhing bodies. You jostle beneath him as he finds his breath; "Since I fuckin' met you. Always wanted you."

"Yeah?" You mean it to be a teasing little rhetorical question but it comes out more like encouragement amidst the bliss radiating from your cunt throughout your whole body, but you find it in you to continue— "You been—you been thinkin' of me under you like this? Like the sicko you are?"

Unbelievably faster and harder. You choke on a scream; Dazai's grunting above you, and it hits you that those names really do spur him on. You're far from offending him—you're bringing him closer and closer to filling you up with each and every insult and jab you throw his way and if you were any less cockdrunk you'd be hurling even more barbs at him about how that makes him so much worse, so much more gross but it just spurs you on, too, right now—and you realize, when he looks at you with those fucking eyes again how bad you want him, how bad you've wanted him, too, for so long; you couldn't—wouldn't admit it because he's just your weirdo roommate but really, maybe that's what you love about him. You certainly love the way he makes your toes curl when he reaches down to play with your clit again. You cry out against him.

"Osamu, fuck!"

"Say it again," he begs you, pretty brown eyes glassy as they fall shut, as the tip of his nose touches yours. "Say it again, please, baby."

You know what he wants.

"F—fucking pervert," you huff, doing everything you can to hold onto the rope that's uncoiling rapidly inside you, coming further and further undone with each slam of his hips into your ass. "Ah—you're disgusting. Disgusting."

You fall back on your mantra and it has his thumb moving faster, harder, just like his thrusts, just like his voice, even if it sounds unconvincing through the shockwaves of pleasure; you feel it, the unraveling, it's washing up on you so quickly, so much quicker than it should be at the hands of your weirdo roommate.

"Don't stop," he pleads like he's not the one fucking you to orgasm; you see white, you feel as light as air—god, has cumming always felt like this? Shouldn't you hate it? Shouldn't you hate that it might never feel like this again?

You do, you do—you hate weed and you hate sex and you hate your weirdo roommate Osamu Dazai for coaxing the most mind-blowing climax you've ever felt out of you, but you don't hate any of those things, not really; you hate that it's never felt like this before, and that it can again if only you can push your pride down for a few more moments and call him a—

"Freak—gonna—gonna cum in me?" you goad, breathless, lucky for speech as he fucks you through the otherworldly high, as you clamp down on him and screw your eyes shut until you can keep going. "Gonna fill me up like the nasty motherfucker you are?"

"Ngh—yeah, yeah, yeah...!"

Dazai, in all his depraved beauty, fucks his fat load into you mercilessly; you twitch, shake beneath him, driving strained sobs from his chest and talking him through with soft yeahs, want y'r cum, filthy fucking sicko freak, you disgust me. He loves it. He falls apart, and you tug on his hair once more as he slows, as he spills out of you, as he looks at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

"You—" Dazai's breathless, heaving. "You're amazing."

You giggle again, wiggling a bit and trapping him further close to you, fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. Soft. You don't feel any less high; just blissed out. "You're cute."

"Knew you thought so," he sighs, lopsided smile coming back; you don't know where in the pleasure he'd lost it, but its return has you tilting your chin up to kiss him once more. Soft. Gentle, sweet, no tongue; not gross, not hungry, just sweet. Satisfied.

"But you're still weird," you tease against his lips. Sly.

When Dazai pulls back, the hunger in those eyes sparks again.

"Want me to show you how weird I can get?" he threatens.

"I dare you," you taunt back.

And he grins, fully and wickedly, once more; you can count on it. He'll show you, alright.

#i want to first thank italics. id be nowhere without italics #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #nnnsfw.ᐟ #mdni #with love—reid

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gyubakeries · 2 days ago

Note

i am in neeedddd of some fluffy scoups fics, could you please write something about cheol🥹

𝘀𝗽𝗮-𝗱𝗮𝘆 | c.sc

a/n: hi anon! sorry it took so long to get to this request 😭 writing all this made me want to have a spa-day, but i'm way too busy for one right now oof. thank you for requesting, and i hope you like it!

word count: 1.6k contents: seungcheol x afab!reader , established relationship , reader is tired , tiiiiny bit of angst BUT ITS SUPER FLUFFY , cheol is the best bf , self-care , domestic fluff , cheol is a girl's girl and we love him for it <3 , love next door is mentioned bcs im currently watching it :P

cheolz 💗 (19:59 p.m.) :

hi baby <3

when will u be reaching home 2night?

you (20:08 p.m.) :

outside front door rn

can u plz open up

read (20:08 p.m.)

—

the door swings open, and seungcheol's worried eyes take in your current condition. your work bag, slung from your shoulder, is weighing you down, making you slump forward. your eyes are red and watery. your skin looks pale, and you let out a sigh that makes seungcheol's heart ache.

"bad day?" seungcheol asks, and you nod weakly, left with no energy to even give him a verbal answer.

"c'mere love," he frowns, opening up his arms. you fall into his embrace, all the tension in your muscles melting away the second seungcheol tightly wraps you up in his arms. the feeling of being comforted feels so overwhelming that you can't help but let a few tears escape.

"i feel like shit," you mumble, your voice hoarse from crying in the car while you drove home from work. "i've failed at everything."

"i don't want to hear any of that," seungcheol shakes his head, holding you closer. "let me make you feel better, okay?"

you sigh again, pulling back slightly to look at your boyfriend. "i'm not in the mood for sex now, cheol."

"silly baby," seungcheol laughs, brushing his nose against yours. "i didn't mean sex. i thought i could help you unwind with your very own, made-at-home, spa-day!"

your eyes well with tears at how thoughtful your boyfriend is. seungcheol is quick to wipe the tears away, playfully scolding you. "no more crying. let's take the weekend to reset and start the next week afresh, hm? come on, i've got a lot planned."

your boyfriend slides your work bag off your shoulder and guides you into the apartment. he sets the bag down on the kitchen counter and comes back to kneel in front of you, helping you take off your heels. you sigh when your feet fall flat on the ground, tired from having to wear high heels the entire day.

"better?" seungcheol smiles, looking up at you, and you nod, feeling a little bit of energy seep back into you just by looking into seungcheol's eyes.

"good," your boyfriend says, getting up from the floor. "i've got to go check on the bath, so why don't you pick out some comfy clothes to wear, and then we can proceed?"

"okay, cheol," you agree, pressing a peck to his lips. his face lights up and he goes to the bathroom with a skip in his step. the exhaustion you had felt earlier was slowly getting replaced with the calming and healing presence of seungcheol.

your boyfriend really knew how to make you feel better.

—

you lay out your clothes on the bed. after a lot of thinking, you went with a hoodie (seungcheol's hoodie from college) and some baggy sweatpants. just as you were contemplating flopping onto the bed, a gentle touch on your shoulder makes you turn around.

"hey, your bubble bath is ready," seungcheol informs, and you realize that the entire spa-day idea was actually planned out well in advance.

"did you put in-"

"your favorite salted caramel-scented bath bomb? of course, baby. did you think i was a monster?" seungcheol gasps dramatically, making you laugh and hit his arm weakly.

"alright, i get it, you're obsessed with me," you roll your eyes, but you let seungcheol shrug off your blazer, unbuckle your belt and take off all your jewelry.

"yes, i am," seungcheol agrees, the genuinity in his voice knocking the air out of your lungs. you'd been dating him for seven years, ever since freshman year in college, yet sometimes his sincere love for you still surprised you.

the end of his lips tug into a smile at your silence, and he puts your jewelry away on your dressing table. "let's head into the bathroom," he instructs, and you follow him.

seungcheol stands in one corner of the bathroom, watching you as you take your clothes off and dump them in the laundry hamper. there isn't any heat behind his gaze, just the need to make sure you're taken care of.

"you gonna join?" you ask him, tugging your hair free from the bun you had put it in.

"i already showered earlier," he shakes his head. "i will be here though, to help with anything else you want."

"thank you," you smile shyly, getting into the filled bathtub slowly to make sure it doesn't overflow. the water was the perfect temperature, not too hot but not lukewarm either; just the perfect heat to make your body relax after a long day.

the scent of your favorite bath bomb envelops you, and lean back against the edge of the tub and close your eyes, letting out a content sigh.

after a few minutes of silence, seungcheol speaks up gently, now sitting cross-legged next to the tub. "did you wanna wash your hair?"

you blearily blink your eyes open, nodding. just as you're about to reach out for the shampoo bottle, seungcheol beats you to it.

"relax, let me do it for you."

you lean back again and watch seungcheol take some of the product on his palm and then kneel next to you. he lathers up the shampoo and then works it into your hair.

his touch is soft, yet firm. he massages your scalp with the shampoo, and as if taken away magically, the headache you had earlier vanishes. your eyes drop shut as seungcheol washes your hair.

you're sure you dozed off in the bath for a while, because you don't remember him rinsing the shampoo out, gently scrubbing your body clean, or drying you off with your towel.

you only wake up when he nudges you awake. "skincare time, baby."

you offer him a sleepy smile and a kiss to his cheek. you were dedicated to following your skincare routine daily, and you were glad that your boyfriend also gave it the same priority.

seungcheol gets you the clothes you put on the bed and you slip into them, the soft fabric of the hoodie engulfing you in warmth. you wrap your wet hair up in a towel and get to your skincare.

seungcheol stands beside you, a hand on your hip rubbing circles into the skin as he watches you apply various products on your face. you've explained all the various steps in your routine many times to him, but he can't keep a track of which is the toner, which is the serum and which is the cream.

once you were finally done, seungcheol walks you out of the bathroom with his hands on your shoulders.

"for dinner i got you take-out from your favorite chinese place," seungcheol says, seating you down at the dining table. "i haven't perfected my cooking skills yet."

"this is more than enough, cheol," you laugh, watching as he makes himself busy with warming up the food and bringing it to the table. "this is perfect."

"anything for my sweet girl," seungcheol winks flirtatiously, setting down a plate in front of you. "eat up, you need your energy. or else you're gonna be waking up like a hungry zombie tomorrow."

pretending to be offended at his words, you lightly kick his foot under the table. he responds by holding your free hand in his above the table as you both eat dinner in comfortable silence.

you're glad he doesn't ask you about work or what caused you to be this dejected earlier, because you frankly didn't have the energy to deal with all the emotions you felt earlier. knowing seungcheol, he'd probably whine and pout till you opened up to him later, so you put the sad thoughts away and focus on the moment.

—

you thought the night would wrap up with the meal. you felt far more happy than how you felt when you came home earlier, all thanks to seungcheol's efforts, but apparently, dinner wasn't the end.

after dinner, seungcheol loads the dishes in the washer, and then picks you up to take you to the bedroom. he props you up against the pillows and drapes the comforter over you.

"the new episode of love next door is up, you wanna watch?" seungcheol asks, grabbing the TV remote and getting under the covers next to you. the one thing you loved about your home with seungcheol was the TV in the bedroom, for the days either of you couldn't be bothered to go out to use the one in the living room.

"yeah, i need to know what happens next," you nod, a smile breaking across your face. seungcheol gives you a dimpled smile of his own and puts on the new episode of the series you both were heavily invested in.

as the intro started playing, you snuggle closer to seungcheol. as if on instinct, he outstretches his arm for you to use as a pillow, and you wrap your arm around his waist. your legs tangle together and you rest your head on his chest, breathing in his cologne.

"thank you so much, cheol," you murmur against his chest. "you helped me a lot today. if you weren't there-"

"we don't need to think about that," seungcheol shushes you. "no matter what, i'd always be there for you. which is also why you don't need to thank me. i do it because i love you."

"i love you too," you reply, looking up at him. you're met with his loving gaze; the gaze that heals you from the inside out, easing all your worries and filling you with hopes for a better tomorrow.

a tomorrow with seungcheol by your side.

you lean in to kiss him sweetly, and he complies easily, holding you impossibly closer to him. just as you break away, a character on screen starts yelling, startling the both of you and making you burst into laughter.

the long, weary day finally ends with you safe and secure in seungcheol's arms.

you wouldn't have it any way else.

- fin.

taglist: @tychebaby @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

#gyu #mansaenetwork #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen drabbles #seventeen x reader #svt #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt drabbles #svt x reader #scoups #choi seungcheol #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol drabbles #seungcheol x reader

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retroaria · 23 hours ago

Text

♡ "All the little things..."

⟡ itoshi rin | oliver aiku | michael kaiser ⟡

summary: gn!reader, things that they’d look for/love in a partner! pure fluff! (i do describe something as ‘sexy’ but it really isn't that serious)

˗ˏˋ written for arias 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

he’d never admit it, but rin would want a partner who can take him down a few notches. someone to calm his nerves and balance out his animosity. he can come to you at the end of every match and immediately release all tension and frustration. but also, someone to ground him and his ego a bit off the field. someone who can remind him to take things slowly and relax when he can and should.

he’s secretly very attracted to kindness. it’s a weird thing to be secretive about but rin is a weird guy what can i say. it makes his heart flutter to see you treating others with such grace, it even tugs a small smile at the corners of his lips which he quickly tries to pull back down into his usual blank expression.

rin tends to be a more private person himself, and he likes others that can keep their peace in that same way. he wouldn’t want to tell the whole world about your relationship, not because he wants to keep you a secret, but because he feels like you’re relationship is even more special the more it exists only to serve the two of you. he likes the idea of having you all to himself.

as a runner up for sassiest man of the year (lost to kaiser lol), oliver tends to find that same snappiness attractive in other people as well. he loves someone who can speak their mind and be confident about it, someone who can stand their ground and not let themselves be belittled. he thinks it’s hot, sexy even.

he likes people that are more outgoing then he is. while oliver doesn’t usually shy away from any fun, he can tend to back out of things because he feels it may be “too much” or an over exertion. he wants someone who can push him out of his comfort zone and get him to try new things that he wouldn’t have otherwise done on his own.

out of the whole cast, oliver is probably one of the most comfortable in his own masculinity methinks. he loves doing self-care and other beautification rituals (lol) with you! would let you do his eyebrows, dye his hair, make him smell like a strawberry shortcake; he fucking loves it. “Can’t turn down a bit of TLC and relaxation” he’d say. he totally does call a lot of it “goop” and “slime” or “sticky stuff” and can only remember to categorize it by color. “Babe, come feel my face, that pink goopy stuff made it so soft.~”

similar to mr. aiku, kaiser also loves a bit of sass in his partners, in a more subtle way though. sarcasm and brutally honest humor make him wanna bark like a dog. he loves it. he’s like the girl in a romance manga that falls in love with the cold and stoic upperclassmen. wants to break your hard exterior, but also wants to be the only person who ever could.

he loves being on the receiving end of ‘acts of service’. if that’s your love language, he’s all for it. he already thanks you just for putting up with him on a daily basis - considers that an act of service lol. making him food or planning a date for him would make his heart swell to the point of explosion.

physical and emotional intimacy need to be a huge priority for him. similarly to how rin likes things to just be between him and his partner, kaiser also needs certain things to be private, though he's more than happy to let the whole world know you're the person he loves. as long as he gets to have those quiet tender moments with you, wrapped in each others arms, he's a happy boy.

dividers: @cafekitsune vv cute :3 | header by me !!

@bllk-tv

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no-144444 · 12 hours ago

Text

lies and flights- o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: you two have a moment, the moment ends, and so does something else...

part one | part two | part three | part four

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

He sighed as he walked into the paddock, cameras all over him as question after question was thrown at him. He answered as many as were appropriate and off he went, signing hats and t-shirts as he went. He had so much to do, so much to get through before qualifying, yet all he could think about was you. He didn’t mean to make it a big deal, he just wanted to take care of you. You’d fainted, for god’s sake. He was worried about you.

He caught a glimpse of you walking in with Lando as he was filming some random content for one of the sponsor's instagram pages, and his mood sank lower than it already had been. You with Lando.

It’s not like either of you had confessed, but you’d both felt the chemistry between the two of you, right? He finished up with filming and followed Tom into one of the meeting rooms, ready to look over data, when he (literally) bumped into you, sending you flying.

“Shit, sorry,” he muttered as he caught you, holding you by the waist. “My bad.”

You smiled. “Saving me two days in a row? You should be a bodyguard instead of a driver,” you chuckled. “Thanks Osc.”

Lando’s jaw dropped when he heard you call him ‘Osc’, and a sense of pride bloomed in his chest. Osc was getting the girl! Lando sent him a quick thumbs up behind your back as he also held the camera.

“What’re you doing here?” Oscar asked, not yet letting go of you. His hands were so warm, radiating heat through your whole body and making you nervous. You had a love-hate relationship with interactions with Oscar. He made you so nervous, no matter what. Your years of media training and professionalism could get stripped back by one small chuckle, one small smile, making eye contact. It was embarrassing. You liked him so much, which was a separate can of worms itself, and he looked at you the same way he looked at everyone.

“Motorhome tour,” you explained, looking up at him. He could’ve sworn he saw something in your eyes, something that practically asked him to make a move, to kiss you here in front of everyone. Then it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, your professionalism taking precedence over your feelings. “Moving on,” you turned back to the camera as Oscar dropped his hands from your waist, allowing you to move on. “To the driver’s rooms!”

He chuckled as he watched you and Lando run towards the other side of the motorhome, and Oscar started walking again, not unaware of the eyes Tom was giving him.

“You two seem close,” he smirked. “The shoes aren’t a dealbreaker, no?”

He laughed. “Why does everyone bring up the shoes?!”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Congratulations on P3, Judgy McJudgy Pants! How did the race feel?” you questioned. You were doing post-race interviews today, and Oscar had gone from P5 to P3.

“Yeah, it was difficult but we kept a good pace, Max was just too fast to catch,” he nodded, his eyes staring into yours.

“I’m glad to hear, are you glad for the race to be over?”

He nodded, chuckling. “Very glad.”

“The heat must be something else in those cars, on top of the regular heat. Does that make getting out of the car a lot more of a relief?”

“It does, but I was more excited about the interviewer,” he smirked. He was not doing this right now. He was not flirting with you on live television. You got the signal that the interview should end and you let out a quick breath of relief.

“Well thank you, but I in fact need to interview your fellow podium drivers, thanks for your time.”

Lando walked over, ready to take the mic and he smirked at Oscar. “Getting bold?”

He shrugged with a smile. “What’s the worst she can say?”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

"Oscar Jack Piastri!" Nicole's voice rang out as he lifted his phone to his ear. "My son flirting with people on live television is not something I want to see."

He chuckled as he mother continued berating him, and they chatted about the race for a while, before he had to go to the airport. When he walked to his door, ready to leave, he wasn't expecting a knock at the door, nor was he expecting it to be you.

"Hey Y/n," he smiled. "How are you?"

"I'm good thank, you?" you were out of breath. Had you ran here?

"I'm great, thanks. Are you alright?"

You came in and closed the door behind you. "What are you playing at?"

"Excuse me?"

"The interviews, the pictures, everything. What are you doing?" you questioned.

"Isn't it obvious?" he chuckled. "I like you, like, like like you. I thought I made that clear?"

You grimaced and his heart sank.

"It's fine if you don't-"

"Oscar, no, just... it's kind of awful timing and we can't be together, right? That would never work, we hate each other, right?" you rationalised, willing him to agree with you.

As much as he wanted to scream and rip his hair out, he nodded, a flat smile on his face. "Exactly, that's why I was just joking."

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God!" you chuckled. "Well, congratulations on the win and I'll see you in Qatar, thanks Osc."

"Bye," he smiled half-heartedly, then flung himself back on his bed when you left. You didn't like him back. And what did you mean by 'bad timing'? He spent his entire flight, awake and wondering about what you meant, and thinking over every interaction, wondering if he'd really just made it all up in his head.

But the way you looked at him, it couldn't just be platonic, right?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charlesleclerc, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 2,928,733 others

yourusername: @.f1, you've been my home for many years and I love you, thank you for starting my career, but also for being my favourite series of motorsports since I was a little girl. But now @.skysports is branching out and I'm moving across the pond at the end of this season to cover @.Indycar and @.nascar ! I'll miss everyone so much, but I am so so so excited to see that the future will bring! 6 races left! (also sad to be missing the historic season that 2025 will be, but oh well!)

comments

user83: oh I'll kms.

pierregasly: we'll miss you xxx liked by: valterribottas, zhouguanyu, landonorris, danielriccardo, charlesleclerc, carlossainz, alexalbon, francocolapinto, liamlawson, yukistunoda, estebanocon, fernandoalonso, jensonbutton, aussiegrit, kevinmagnussen, nicohulkenburg, lewishamilton, georgerussell, kimiantonelli, olliebearman, isakhadjar, paularon, arthruleclerc, lancestroll, checoperez, maxverstappen, alexandrastmleux, kikagomez, lilymhe, rebeccadonaldson.

skysportsf1: We'll miss you most! xxx

tedkravitz: It's been a privilege and an honour to work with you. You truly are the funniest person I've ever met. Your segment on Ted's notebook will be thoroughly missed. You will be thoroughly missed.

charlesleclerc: Bonne chance mon amour! ❤️

yukistunoda: who will organise interviews with me and pierre now? 😿 -> yourusername: I'll ask ted :(

danielriccardo: legend of the sport :) -> yourusername: looking in a mirror are we?

mercedesfmg: we'll miss you y/n! 🩵

mclaren: missing you already! 🧡

user72: guys... has anyone told oscar? -> user21: he must be so upset :( -> user92: yeah his best friend and his crush leaving F1 in the same year.

stakef1: missing you 💚 -> yourusername: manifesting hulkenburg podium next year

lewishamilton: I'll miss you, but you definitely have to come back for some hot laps... maybe Austin next year? -> yourusername: I'm there :)

maxverstappen: sad to see you go, but i can't wait for all the stories :)

landonorris: FUCK I'M CRYING WHAT I'M GOING TO MISS YOU TOO MUCH PLEASE DON'T GO -> yourusername: IT'LL BE FINE LANDO YOU'RE A BIG BOY

patooward: YAY WE GET Y/N!

haasf1team: our favourite interviewer ever ❤️

alpine: missing you loads 🩷

jackdoohan: NO I'M FINE THAT MY BEST FRIEND IS MISSING MY ROOKIE SEASON -> yourusername: I'LL BE IN MELBOURNE AND AT THE LAST FEW RACES!!! -> jackdoohan: ...forgiven.

liamlawson: NO DON'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE -> yourusername: JACK WILL BE THERE NEXT YEAR CALM DOWN

kimiantonelli: miss you xxx

olliebearman: will be in need of your smoothie recipe since you won't be here to make it :( -> yourusername: I'll send it to you :)

user829: someone check on oscar rn...?? -> user36: fr he's probably sobbing his celeb crush is leaving the paddock for good ->user292: BRO IS IN THE LIKES !!!!!!

redbullracing: we'll be staying tuned to watch shine -> user88: wow a better send-off than daniel got lmao

logansargeant: CANT WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN 😁😁😁😁 -> yourusername: ME NEITHER

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He stared at his phone in shock.

What. The. Fuck.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

part one | part two | part three | part four

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syluss-karaoke-teacher · 2 days ago

Note

Hello first timer here. May I please request for The 4 LADS with a selective mute MC wherein MC finally says their names for the first time ever

Hello to my first ever request!! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ Very interesting, I have never tried this one before! I did some research and hope I can do it justice ^^

HCs under the cut for Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus

Content: SFW, fluff, mild canon spoilers in Zayne's part (main storyline released thus far), reader is MC, gender neutral MC, use of petnames for MC, selective mutism (which also means a slight canon divergence), early stages of a romantic relationship, no "y/n"

Sylus's is a bit different as I think his and MC's relationship would look the most different in the early stages since there's the whole "can't resonate with you if I despite you" angle, which wouldn't at the very least be *helped* by MC's condition pfft.

If you see any mistakes contradicting the above info, or if you find this disrespectful in any way, please let me know!

LADS LIs with a selectively mute MC

Xavier

Xavier, who isn't very talkative himself, falls in sync with you quite fast after you meet. At first you are wary of his intense gaze and the extended silence it carries as he observes you from a comfortable distance. But one day, you begin to look back at him, if only out of defiance, and that's when you start noticing.

Small head movements to question or to confirm, taps on the table and later on your arm or shoulder. Text messages with lots of emojis, shared playlists for different moods. And if all else fails, a gentle squeeze of your hand, to let your Evol do the talking for you.

He has been listening all along.

In comes one of those days. The mission goes well, but you are left dead tired, barely able to make it to your apartment. Xavier escorts you home, and as he wishes you goodnight, you grab his sleeve. Whatever emotion is showing on your face is enough to make him melt, and he turns back around, petting your hair.

"Got it, got it," he chuckles and lets himself be led to the couch, where you snuggle against him after putting on a random cartoon on the TV.

He is warm, and his hoodie is soft against your cheek. You listen to his slowing heartbeats as his eyelids begin to droop, his arm a solid anchor around your shoulders. At that moment you realize that this is how you want all of your missions to end: in this safe, comforting warmth.

"Xavier?" you call out, twiddling with the pullstrings of his hoodie. He stirs against you and lets out a questioning hum. You lift your head to look him in the eyes, and see them shining with something you dare to hope is adoration. He tightens his arm around you and patiently waits.

"Thank you," you finally decide to tell him, knowing that he knows it's about much more than today's mission.

"Think nothing of it, starlight," he murmurs and rests his forehead against yours.

Zayne

You forgot that Zayne knows. Of course he knows, that man doesn't forget anything, annoying as it may be sometimes. During your first appointment with him you try to bring it up, hoping that your old familiarity with him would help ease the tension. It doesn't, and in the end you have to resort to gesturing at your chart, cheeks burning in humiliation.

"I remember," Zayne tells you, his voice quiet, "don't worry about it. Just find a way that's comfortable for you."

On a rational level, it makes sense. He is a dedicated, renowned doctor who must have had first-hand experience with others like you beforehand. But on an emotional level you are on your toes for a good while. Zayne has a tendency to scold you about your heart condition, your recklessness on missions, your bad eating and sleeping habits. You just kind of... assume that this would be next on the list.

But the insistence never comes. Instead, there is a notepad and and a pen on his desk one day. The pen has a tiny snowglobe at the end that glitters prettily when you write with it. Zayne makes no mention of it when you come in, nor when you pick the pen up and start writing.

Afterwards you take that notepad everywhere you go with him. You write down your comments to him, your observations of the world around you, your feelings that are too precious to send him over text messages. You revel in the tiny upwards curl of his lips when he reads everything over, the hint of mirth in his hazel eyes that makes your heart flutter.

"Care to show me what you have written today?" he asks you one night as he is driving you back home from a restaurant. The car is standing still in traffic, and you are finishing your notes on that night's menu selection (the chocolate pudding had been especially delicious). You lean back on the passenger seat and look at his handsome profile, smiling to yourself.

"No, but I can tell you, Dr. Zayne."

You see his eyes widen in surprise and he glances at you, but before he can reply the traffic lurches forward. Zayne returns his eyes on the road, and reaches out to grab your hand in his. He rubs his thumb over your knuckles and your stomach does small flips as you see him smile.

"I'd love that."

Rafayel

"Not one to talk? That's okay cutie, I can manage for the both of us."

And that he does. At first you aren't sure if the eccentric artist even wants or needs you to talk; Rafayel can talk circles around just about anyone, rightfully smug about his captivating voice and demeanor. You find yourself being envious of his natural charm, sure that you could hardly measure up to him in this regard.

But the more you spend time with him, the more you observe his mannerisms when he talks to you (yes, to you, not just at you): the glances over his shoulder, his body turning towards you as his hands punctuate his speech. The way he cocks his head to the side and studies your face with that easy smile on his lips, reading your expressions and hums as he does. Resting his fingertips on the pulse point of your wrist and gently tucking your hair behind your ear as you fight a petulant blush under his curious eyes.

Bodyguard, bah. You aren't sure Rafayel really knows, or cares, what that job actually entails. Then again, it's not like you had to stay, yet you did. There is something mesmerizing about Rafayel, his eyes as deep as the oceans and brilliant as the galaxies, and in between scoffing at his antics or bickering with him through texts, you find yourself being pulled in further and further as if lured by a siren song.

"Do you want to learn how to paint, sunshine?"

This time he doesn't give even the slightest pretense for the date. You have long ceased to care, feeling warm but bold standing in his studio as he guides the brush in your hand across the canvas. It's raining outside, the pitter patter mixing in with the gentle swishing of your brush and his bare feet padding against the tile floor. Time seems to fly by as you recreate the azure sea in front of you.

As the rain starts to ease down and the clouds part just enough for you to see the waves again, you step in front of the floor-length window and gaze out. As you watch swaying seas, your eyes suddenly widen.

"Rafayel, come look! Dolphins!"

You don't have time to be surprised by your own reaction as he strides next to you, his hand finding the small of your back. He leans his chin on your shoulder, and you can feel his lips curling into a smile.

"Now isn't that a nice surprise," he says, "I wouldn't mind this happening again."

You nod, the words failing you once more, but he is so close he must feel your answer in your heartbeat.

Sylus

If Sylus could take it back, he would. He would destroy planets and steal stars to redo your first meeting. He wouldn't assume anything, wouldn't take out his frustrations on you, wouldn't push and push until the truth screams in his face.

Because your eyes remain vacant of any recognition, any warmth he grew to know so long ago, and he only made it worse: he forced your voice out of your mind when your mouth refused to cooperate. He took it as defiance, a personal challenge, when it was anything but. It took an outsider to tell him to stop hounding you, and he hasn't been able to forget since.

Through what can only be described as trials you finally make it to the auction and beyond, and with Sylus's help you get your hands on the Aether Core. He does not know what you see in the vision the Deepspace Tunnel shows you, but whatever it is, it creates an opening. It lets you resonate with him, lower your guard and accept his help. And Sylus holds onto that chance like a drowning man.

From then on out, every day is dedicated to making up to you. Even if his words are rough, there is now softness lacing his features whenever he looks at you. Tenderness, the origin of which you do not recognize, and yearning that makes it hard to stay mad at him.

He may not beg for forgiveness out loud, but it is there in every question, every request, every wish.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight, sweetie?"

I'm sorry I treated you like that. I didn't realize. I should have.

"Mephisto brought you two necklaces. Show him which one you prefer."

I'm sorry I expected more than you could possibly offer. It isn't your fault you don't remember.

"Text me when you get home. The roads are slippery today."

I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable.

If you only knew how I adored you, little dove.

Your phone plays a familiar tune and you pick it up to see a video call coming from Sylus. It has become a habit of his whenever you are back in Linkon. He tells you he doesn't mind to be the one talking: he just wants to see your face.

"Hello sweetie, thank you for picking up. I called to say I'm sorry for missing our movie night. Some fool tried to blow up the armory in the north and I had to oversee the clean up."

You roll your eyes and sigh in mock exasperation. Sylus smiles back at you.

"I promise to make it up to you. Just tell me what you'd like."

"Anything we do together is fine, Sylus," you tell him and watch in mild amusement as his eyebrows raise and mouth freezes mid-sentence. "And stop... stop apologizing so much. Okay?"

It's not often the leader of Onychinus is rendered speechless, and you can't help a small giggle escaping your lips. It is your time to adore him, just for a moment.

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officerfriendlysblogs · 3 days ago

Text

Title: Confessions under the stars

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe has loved you since you moved to the outer banks, and one day while you're at his house, he shares his love for you. Little does he realize that you feel the exact same way, and things escalate.

Warning: ⚠️This is only for writing purposes and has sexual themes, smut, and no protection. I strongly suggest readers to use protection.⚠️

Word count: 1,414 words

The night was calm and peaceful, a serenity unique to a remote house by the ocean. The soft sound of waves hitting the shore filled the air with a soothing rhythm.

You were curled up on the couch in Rafe Cameron’s living room, your legs tucked under you, absorbed in the flickering glow of the TV. It was one of those lazy evenings that felt like time could stretch endlessly.

Even with the movie playing, you felt Rafe's presence beside you. He was always hard to read—his thoughts, feelings, and intentions often a mystery. Since arriving on the Outer Banks, you had spent more time with him than anticipated.

What began as simple hangouts had evolved into something deeper, creating an unspoken connection between you.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the TV’s light and the moon shining through the windows. Rafe’s usual confident demeanor was softened as he relaxed into the couch, his gaze on you. When your eyes met his, you quickly looked away, heart racing.

“Hey, you alright?” Rafe's voice broke the quiet. It sounded different, softer and unsure, as though he was hesitant about what he wanted to say.

You met his eyes, feeling a tightness in your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

He nodded, but uncertainty still lingered in his gaze. His hand rested on the back of the couch, near your shoulder.

You recognized that touch—the confidence he usually displayed gave way to a more vulnerable side during these quiet moments.

“You know,” he began again, his tone more serious. “I’ve been thinking about us.”

You turned to face him fully, heart racing. “What about us?” you questioned, unsure of what you wanted to hear.

Rafe shifted, the air heavy with unspoken words. He glanced out the window, moonlight highlighting his features, then turned back to you. “I never thought much about relationships. I usually did my own thing. But since you came into my life, everything feels different—in a good way. I didn’t expect it, but it’s real.”

You looked at him, uncertain where this was going, but the intensity in his gaze signaled its importance. “Rafe… what do you mean?”

He paused, swallowing hard, and for a moment, it seemed he might back away. But then, surprisingly, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, offering warmth and comfort.

“I’m saying that I care about you. A lot. More than I have in a long time. I can’t pretend it’s just a phase. It’s not,” he said, his thumb brushing your hand, revealing a side of Rafe you rarely saw.

Your breath caught, heart racing. “Rafe… I—”

He interrupted you with a gentle laugh, his body relaxing just a bit. “I know it sounds wild, right? But I’ve been keeping this inside too long. I love you. You make me feel like I’m more than just a failure, like I really matter. You inspire me to improve, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

His words lingered heavily in the air, their truth settling in your heart. For ages, you had tried to dismiss your feelings for him. You believed it was just a passing crush, convinced that Rafe wouldn’t feel the same. But now, with him confessing, you recognized the truth—you felt that connection too.

“I love you too,” you softly replied, as though those words had been trapped inside you, finally breaking free. “I’ve been scared to say it, but I do. I don’t want to lose you.”

A genuine smile spread across his face, relief shining in his eyes. He leaned in closer, his hand still holding yours, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then don’t let me go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with feeling. “I’m here to stay.”

You moved in even closer, your heart racing as the outside world faded away. The moment felt significant—his declaration and your response.

Rafe tenderly cradled your face, and suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft and slow at first.

The kiss deepened, carrying years of unspoken desire. Everything felt perfect, as if this was where you were always meant to be. His touch was gentle yet filled with passion, as if he was finally letting go of everything he had held back.

When you pulled away, breathless, Rafe rested his forehead against yours, still holding your face tenderly.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted that,” he murmured, emotion thick in his voice.

“I think I have an idea,” you replied softly, a playful smile on your lips.

Rafe chuckled quietly, his hands sliding down to your waist as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressed together. The chemistry was unmistakable.

Now sitting on top of Rafe, you locked eyes, both feeling as if you were in a dream. You leaned in slowly, your lips meeting and moving together passionately.

He grasped your hips tighter as the kiss intensified, his tongue exploring your mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, making you feel as if you might burst from the pleasure of tasting him.

Rafe says, "I love you so much," pulling back from your kiss to kiss your neck.

You move against him, craving more contact as his kisses make you feel warm. "Please, I need more," you moan softly.

Looking up with his striking blue eyes, Rafe removes your shirt, leaving you in just a bra. "Anything you want, baby," he replies in a low voice, kissing your chest. He then reaches behind you, unclipping your bra, and gazes at you with desire.

"You have too many clothes on," you giggle as he kisses you again and removes his shirt.

After that, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom, laying you on his bed, now positioned on top of you.

"I’ve wanted you for so long, baby," Rafe says as he kisses down your body, reaching your pants and glancing at you for permission. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

He slips your pants off along with your lacy black panties, revealing that you're already wet, and he teases you gently.

"Please just touch me," you plead, desperate for his touch. He smirks and slowly inserts a finger, pumping gently in and out. "Like that, baby?" he asks. You moan in response and plead for more.

He adds another finger, increasing the pace and teasing your clit with his tongue, savoring your sweetness. "You taste so amazing," he exclaims, driving you closer to your peak.

As you feel the pressure build, you cry out, "I’m gonna cum!" and soon after, you experience a powerful climax. Rafe continues licking before taking his fingers out and tasting them.

Then, he removes his pants, revealing his impressive size. "See something you like?" he asks, smirking as he holds your chin. You take hold of him, moving your hand slowly. "Keep doing that and I'm going to cum," he moans, but then he stops you.

"I want to cum in that pretty pussy of yours, but we can save that for later," he says, pushing you back gently on the bed.

He teases your wetness with his tip, moving it from your clit to your entrance. You grow impatient and urge him, "Just fuck me already, Rafe."

"Be a good girl and wait," he replies, teasing you a bit longer before finally entering you. "Mmm, your dick feels so good," you moan as he thrusts deep and fast.

"Do you like that, baby?" he asks, pulling out only to slam back into you, claiming you as his own.

“Tell me you’re mines” Rafe moans

"I’m all yours," you respond, feeling the pleasure building again as you guide his hand to your neck.

His eyes darken with desire as he moves faster, and you tighten around him. "You're all mine," he groans, and you cry out, "I'm about to cum!" You tighten around him, reaching another peak.

Feeling your grip, Rafe's thrusts become wild. "Ahh, fuck!" he moans, releasing himself inside you, his body trembling from the aftershocks.

He withdraws slowly, missing your warmth, and lays beside you, pulling you close.

Both of you are breathless and glistening with sweat from your intense moment. He kisses your forehead, catching his breath. "I'm going to change for you; I really do love you."

You smile back at him, "I love you too, and I'm not going anywhere."

He holds you tighter and grins, and you both settle into a comforting silence, drifting off to sleep.

#rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron x y/n #smut #outer banks #obx #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #Spotify

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 2 days ago

Text

A Weekend at the Weasley's

| George Weasley x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you and george become best friends after a poorly timed prank. george has been pestering you for weeks to stay with him at the Burrow for a weekend over the holidays, and you finally cave.

cw: smut (18+), dead parents, pining, Percy being a weirdo, quidditch injury and bruising, george still has two ears and a twin, lots of dirty talk and petnames, equal parts fluff and smut

an: george and reader are over eighteen in this fic. timeline is def wrong. but who caaaaaaares bc it's not me!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“C’mon, feathers,” George begged, shifting from his place on the couch to kneeling on the floor in front of you. “I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”

“George, I don’t—”

“Would I ever put you in harm’s way?”

You scoffed. “Well, there was the time you lit my potions homework on fire, and the time you transfigured my chocolate frog into an actual frog. Or the time you and Fred—”

“Besides that!” He huffed, resting his chin on your knees, blinking up at you with round eyes. “Pleeeeaaasssseee, y/n? Come to the Burrow with me.”

You sighed, ignoring the way the Gryffindor common room fireplace made his brown eyes almost golden, freshly brewed espresso with nutty foam. You couldn’t deny George was handsome, most girls at Hogwarts fawned over him or his twin, or both. But George was your friend, as you often repeated to yourself in moments like these, when that mischievous smirk softened to a smile just for you.

“Bloody hell. Fine!” You shoved him off of you to escape his puppy-eyed trap.

“Yes!” He whooped, jumping to his feet. “It’s about time my mum meets my best girl—shit!”

You chucked your Potions books at his head. “Not your girl,” you huffed.

“Says you,” he teased, returning the book to you before flopping back down on the red couch, legs draped across your lap.

“Read the damn pages, Weasley.”

You tried to reimmerse yourself in your studies, but can’t seem to fall back into the reading, losing track of each sentence before it’s finished. George had been pestering you for weeks to spend a portion of the upcoming holiday break with him at the Weasley household, and up until now, you’d successfully resisted. But then he found out your grandparents were going on a trip to Spain for two weeks and became unbearable.

When George set his mind to something, he was stubborn as an ox.

And, despite yourself, you wanted to spend a few more days with him. You loved the Weasley siblings you’d met at school, and heard countless tales of Molly Weasley’s unbelievable Sunday roasts. It couldn’t be that bad, could it?

You were reserved by a nature, a studious and creative Ravenclaw from a muggle household. All things that stood at odds with one, ginger-haired George Weasley. But when a prank in fourth year set for Professor Snape backfired on you, his top student, and ruined your robes, the twins felt so awful they’d taken you to the Three Broomsticks for what George dubbed a “Butterbeer of Forgiveness”.

An unexpected friendship bloomed, and you’d been close with the twin’s ever since, George in particular. You loved Fred, and had countless memories with him, but you and George connected on a deeper level. From the moment you’d met, it was as if you’d always known one another. You could read him almost as well as Fred could, and George could read you better than anyone.

It was unnerving, exhilirating, and by far the most important relationship in your young life. Which is why you squashed any wandering thought about his freckles, his jawline, the way his forearms flexed while he read, or the way his chest heaved after a Quidditch match, his hands spidered with veins after hours of gripping the Beater’s Bat.

And when he called you things like his ‘best girl’, it turned your knees to jelly, your mind inside out. There was no way you’d finish your work now.

“I’m going back to the Tower. I have no idea how you Gryffindor’s get any work done with all this gold.” You stuffed your books into you back and stood, adjusting your robes.

“I’ll walk you,” George said, tossing his book aside. It looked like he hadn’t made any progress either.

“No, no. Finish your work. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for breakfast, bags packed.”

“It’s a date!” He called as you walk away, and you can practically hear the grin on his face.

“Not a date!” You tossed over your shoulder as you stepped through the portrait.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“My darlings!” Molly cooed, collecting her youngest two children into a massive hug at the train station terminal. You hid behind George, hoping somehow that she’d overlook your presence entirely. But of course, George wasn’t having it.

“Mum, this is y/n!” He grabbed you by the shoulders and thrust you out in front.

“George,” you hissed, but Molly was already upon you.

“Oh, y/n! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. We were absolutely delighted when George’s letter arrived telling us you’d be accompanying him,” she chirped, fussing with your h/c hair and blue and bronze scarf.

“It’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, smiling at her and her quieter husband, who was busy chatting with Harry and Ron.

George slung an arm over your shoulder, wafting his cinnamon-y cologne over you. “Shall we?”

You scowled up at him as he dragged you along behind his family, oblivious to your hesitation, or willfully ignoring it.

The crowded car ride home was chaotic, with everyone speaking loudly over one another, George and Fred the loudest of all in either ear, and by the time you arrived, you heart was thrumming loudly in your head, your chest tight with anxiety.

All you could think about was throwing yourself out of the car door and running back to Hogwarts on foot.

Everyone poured out of the car, bounding across the lawn and up to the slightly crooked, red-roofed home, smoke buffeting cheerfully from the many chimneys.

“Y/n?” George said, pausing when he realized you weren’t in step beside him. Something in your expression gave you away, and his smile fell. “Hey, what is it?” he asked, jogging back towards you and placing his hands on your arms.

“I, it’s…” words failed you as emotion pinched your throat.

“Too much?” he asked, giving you a sympathetic smile.

You nodded, shame scorching your cheeks as you looked down at your feet. The tips of his boots were touching yours, so much larger, a worn brown leather juxtaposing your shining black.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “It means a lot to me that you’re here, even if it’s a bit overwhelming. But, hey—” he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at his handsome, wind-bitten face. “They love you already.”

“You told them about me?” You asked, your nerves alchemizing from wasps to butterflies.

“Of course I did.” He chuckled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re probably sick to death of hearing about you, honestly.”

“Like how I’ve been tutoring you in Potions for two years?” you taunted.

“I’m sure they assumed after I told them your were the brightest witch in our year.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, ginger hair falling across his brow, and your heart gave a new sort of thump. One that made you a bit queasy with it’s intensity.

“I don’t know about brightest,” you argued as he tucked you under his arm once again, leading you toward the open front door.

“I do,” he murmured, ushering you inside and into his mother’s waiting embrace.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Help me with these rolls.” She tugged you down the hall, leaving George to be ambushed by his brothers.

“Who’s the eagle?” You heard what you assumed it be the eldest ask before you were whisked into the hearth-like kitchen.

Twenty minutes later and you were back at George’s side, sandwiched between him and Ginny at the dinner table, while everyone fought for a foothold in the conversation.

George’s thigh was warm against your own, familiar and grounding, and you resisted the urge to lean into him fully for shelter. Dutifully, he started filling both of your plates as dishes went by, allowing you to sit and take it all in. He snagged the bowl of garlic potatoes from Ron and added a giant scoop to your plate, knowing they were your favorite.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to him, and he gave your shoulder a light bump in response.

“So, y/n. George mentioned you’re a Potions whiz?” Arthur asked through a mouthful of roll.

Heat crept up your neck as everyone’s attention swiveled to you. “It’s my favorite subject, yes sir,” you answered sheepishly.

“She passed her Potions O.W.L. in fourth year,” George said proudly, beaming down at you. “She’s onto custom lesson plans with Snivelus now.”

“George!” Molly corrected, but he only laughed.

“That’s impressive,” Percy said, nodding at you from across the table. “Brilliant and beautiful.”

“I, uh, thanks,” you stutter, stuffing a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

George stiffened, but his smile never wavered. “That she is.”

“So, what do your parents do? Were they in Ravenclaw as well?” Arthur asked.

The blood drained from your face. You had so hoped this wouldn’t come up.

George’s hand fell onto your leg, his long fingers looping around your pinky and twining your hand with his. “She lives with her grandparents. Muggles,” George said, the finality in his tone ensuring there would be no further questions.

Arthur stuttered an apology, and the rest of the table looked away nervously. But Molly smiled proudly at her son, a slightly flush to her round cheeks.

Again, your heart gave that brutal pang, and your hand squeezed his a little more tightly.

The meal continued on, and you blessedly fell into the background while the other’s talked about their work and the school year. Or, you at least thought you fell into the background, but every time you glanced up, you found Percy’s gaze lingering on you, hawkish.

You had met the third eldest brother on many occasions, as he often escorted you from the Gryffindor common room to the Tower when curfew struck. But he’d never looked at you like that. And frankly, it made your skin crawl.

You weren’t naive. You knew you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, all of the things that drew a wandering eye. But Percy was far from someone you’d be interested in. And you were here with George, after all, even if it was for purely platonic reasons.

You shifted a little when Percy’s gaze lingered a fraction too long, and accidentally alerted George to your discomfort. He leaned down towards you, his height ensuring your head barely reached his shoulder.

“Okay, feathers?” He murmured, but caught Percy flinching his gaze away at the same moment. “Percy bothering you?” he whispered, and you shook your head no. An obvious lie by the way you shifted marginally closer to George when Percy’s gaze returned. “I’ll handle it.” George straightened, slipping back into his ongoing conversation with Fred and Charlie, but you felt his hand skim past your leg, brushing against your calf as he reached for his wand.

The contact sent a tremor through your muscles, your nerves stretching towards every point of contact with him until it was all you could think about.

“George, what are you—”

He coughed something that sounded an awful lot like ‘incendio’ into his elbow, wand hand flicking under the table at the same moment. Percy leapt up, the crotch of his trousers igniting with flame.

Everyone but you and the twins scrambled up, Molly quickly tossing the cauldron of water at Percy’s pants.

“Could’ve been a little more subtle,” Fred chastised George with a smirk.

“I wasn’t going for subtlety,” George replied. “I was going for ‘burning his bollocks off’.”

You hide your snicker behind your hand, the last of your anxiety unraveling. George was with you, you were safe.

Once the fire was out, dinner was disbanded with the twins being sentenced to dishes duty, since it had to be one of them that set their brother’s trousers on fire. You were whisked off on a house tour by Ginny, who eagerly showed you the in’s and out’s of the Burrow until you were dragging your feet, eyes heavy with exhaustion. But you had to admit that you were feeling more at ease, the Burrow and it’s residents wrapping around you like a favorite blanket.

You collapsed into bed just after midnight, a flickering glow in your chest, and a red-haired trickster in your thoughts.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Two more days passed at the Weasley residence, filled with games, oversized meals, books, and antics. There was never a dull moment with the twins and Charlie around.

But the best part, by far, was watching George’s mischevious walls come down, and seeing the softer, more relaxed version of him step forth. He was a devoted brother and son, often forgoing his own needs to help his mother reach something in the kitchen, or offer Ron a bit of girl advice. He spent many hours in deep conversation with is father and older brothers, speaking to a wide breadth of subjects you had no idea he had any knowledge about.

George, that bottomless bundle of fizzing energy, seemed even more lively around his favorite people, his heart on full display. And, if you were honest, it was doing funny things to your head and heart.

You found yourself searching for his eyes across the room, smiling at silly things he’d said hours prior, ghosting your fingers over the places he’d brushed against you while passing by. You’d even take a whiff of his coat when he’d come in after a walk with Charlie and tossed it onto the banister.

He seemed older somehow, more mature than you’d ever given him credit for, and it was undoing the years of resolve you’d cultivated to preserve your friendship.

It didn’t help that he constantly referred to you as ‘his girl’, and any number of tooth-aching pet names. Could he really mean it? You always assumed it was part of some joke you were the butt of, but now…

“George and y/n!” Molly called across the dinner table, breaking you from your thoughts. “Dishes, please!”

Your heart skipped a beat. You and George hadn’t had a moment alone since you’d arrived, and you were eager to soak up some undivided attention.

“Yes, ma’am,” George said cheerfully, rising to start collecting the plates. You hopped up to join him, and everyone else filtered out of the kitchen, arguing about what game to play that evening.

You scrapped while he scrubbed, and fell into easy conversation about the past few days.

“My mum really loves you, y’know,” he said, dunking a plate under the soapy water. “Dad too. He was raving about your thoughts on electric kettles yesterday.”

“I like them a lot too,” you replied, turning to hide your blush while tossing a half-eaten roll in the bin.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at you. “I really hope you’re enjoying yourself. I know I sort of forced you to come, and then you were so anxious. And I know the house is loud and drafty, and the meals are a bit chaotic, and fucking Percy can’t keep his damn eyes to himself—”

Not knowing how else to soothe his worries, you stood on your toes and pressed a kiss into his cheek, derailing his rant into stunned silence.

“I’m really glad you brought me, Georgie,” you said, holding his wide-eyed expression for a moment before reaching for another dish.

He caught your wrist in his soapy hand, turning you back towards him. Your heart leapt into your throat at the intensity of his gaze, his jaw feathering with tension as his eyes searched your face. They were so dark, nearly black from his dilated pupils. His dry hand rose slowly, as if afraid you might startle. He dragged the back of his fingers along your cheek before sliding them into the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Tell me if I’ve misread this,” he murmured, tilting your head up towards him, his lips close enough that you could feel his warm breath across your skin. “Tell me to stop.”

Your heart galloped away, your mind turning to goo as the full scope of his longing came into focus. Heat unspooled through you at the way he angled your head to accommodate his towering frame, in complete control, but giving you every opportunity to stop him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gave a small shake of your head. No, please don’t stop.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his nose brushing against yours as he drew you closer. You pressed your body to his, desperate for his solidity, his warmth, as you trembled with anticipation. He guided your hand to rest around his neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair.

“George,” you breathed, his name a plea, a desperate prayer.

He closed the last millimeter of distance, caressing your lips with his, a delicate, wishful kiss. More cautious than you’d ever seen him. You tightened your grip on his hair, rising onto your toes to kiss him back a bit harder.

You felt the tension in his body unwind and his hand grasped your waist, his tongue sliding along your lower lip, teasing, promising, and your bones turned to mush, your lower belly fluttering with excitement.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat and you sprang away from George, grabbing a plate as if they hadn’t seen what you were doing. Bill leaned against the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. “Father has requested that y/n joins him for a cuppa before the chess tourney begins. Something about doorbells?”

“Oh! Of course!” You replied, dropping the dish into the sink and drying your hands on the towel over the stove. “Thanks, Bill!” You hurry past the eldest Weasley son, cheeks absolutely flaming.

You could barely hold a conversation with Arthur, to fixated on the way your body hummed in the wake of his son’s touch. You were eager to finish what you’d started, but by the time you and Arthur emerged from his study, George was wrapped up in a game of Wizard’s Chess with Ron.

George’s eyes tracked you as you moved into the room, perching on an armchair by the fireplace. Bill shook his head, elbowing Charlie, who chuckled into his whiskey.

“Y/n, want to play against me?” Fred asked from his spot on the floor, crisscross in front of a chessboard on the coffee table.

“Sure,” you said, happy for the distraction.

“Losers rotate out until the winners from each table play one another,” Fred explained as you sat across from him. “Percy always wins, but he’s sulking in his room.” Fred winked, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

Quickly, you lose yourself in the game, and it doesn’t take long before you have Fred’s Queen cornered, a path to victory clear. In a final move, you take Fred’s Queen and win the game in ten minutes flat.

“Merlin, she kicked your ass!” Ron shouted, and the room bursts into laughter.

You flushed under the praise and start reorganizing the pieces. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked toward George, but found he was already looking at you, a warmth in his dark eyes that made your hands quit working, and you knocked over the piece you just arranged.

“My turn!” Ginny said, shoving Fred out of the way.

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” George asked, rising to his feet after swiftly defeating Harry.

A chorus of no’s rang out, but you’re already absorbed into the game, finding that Ginny was much better at chess than Fred. You started to make your third move, finding an opening, when you felt a calloused hand brush along the side of your neck, sliding beneath your hair to rest heavily against your skin.

“Need anything, love?” George whispered in your ear, and the blood rushed from your head, leaving you vaguely dizzy, eyes sparkling when you blinked up at him.

“N-no, I’m fine. Thank you,” you stuttered.

“A tea would be nice, darling brother!” Ginny said, jerking you back to the present, and the move you forgot entirely.

“Coming right up.” George’s hand squeezed your neck lightly before falling away, and he disappeared into the kitchen.

The rest of the night carried on like that, lingering glances and scalding touches, the heat between the two of you bordering on incendiary.

You were taking a small break from kicking Weasley ass when Percy emerged from his room, leveling a challenging glare at George. “I’ll take next round,” he said, fixing Charlie with a look.

“Fine.” George made his final move, knocking over Charlie’s queen. “Have a seat.”

Charlie vacated the spot, muttering something about ‘fucking dorks’, and Percy sat across from his younger brother. The energy shifted in the room, going from jovial and teasing to almost hostile. Weasley’s were competitive by nature, the twins in particular, but the tension heightened considerably beyond that as they sized each other up.

Piece by piece, they started moving around the board, an even match as far as you could tell. But based on the murmurings of the family, Percy was off his game a bit, and you had a feeling it had something to do with the way his eyes kept drifting back towards you.

Interesting, you thought, rising from your place on the couch to circle their table, feigning curiosity in the game. Percy visibly tensed, his eyes darting from you to the board and back again. George, however, relaxed, his typical cocky demeanor easing back into his body language.

Thanks to your distraction, Percy missed an easy move, giving George the first upper hand of the game. You leaned a bit into Percy’s space, and his hands began to tremble. When you walked away, he compensated for his hesitation with a rash move, exposing his Queen.

You knew George noted it but he opted for a subtler move, then leaned back in his chair to watch Percy squirm, a slight smirk on his face. When Percy realized what he’d done, he flushed with irritation, his shoulders squared and tight.

And for my final move…

You leaned down to George, nearly resting your chin on his shoulder. His spiced cologne greeted you, tinged with the cinnamon punch of the firewhiskey he’d been sipping on throughout the games. “I didn’t know you were so good at Wizard’s Chess,” you murmured, close enough that your lips grazed the shell of his ear.

His smirk grew as Percy fidgeted, unable to pick a move, struggling to not stare down your sweater. “I have many talents you’ve yet to experience,” he replied, voice low enough that only you could hear him. A thrill rushed through you, so you bowed out before you took things too far, leaving George to deal the killing blow.

Shortly after, you won your final match against Bill, who you suspected threw the game in your favor, and suddenly it was you sitting across from George, the whole family crowded around the table, watching with bated breath.

“Hello, darling,” George cooed, smiling.

“Weasley,” you clipped, all business.

His eyes flashed at the challenge, and he took a slow sip of whiskey. “Ladies first,” he said, setting the glass down.

You started him off easy, confident that you had this in the bag. George was smart, but most of his skill came from his ability to disarm, not his ability to play chess. You, as it so happened, were skilled at both.

It didn’t take long for George’s cocky smirk to fall, his brow to knit together with focus as you guided him slowly into a trap of your own design.

His brow suddenly quirked up, the corner of his mouth lifting, you knew you’d been caught.

“Clever girl,” he purred, moving his Rook and collapsing the trap you’d spent ten rounds constructing. “Almost had me,” he taunted, leaning back in his chair. His legs reached all the way across to yours in his languid position, his sock feet tapping absently against the legs of your chair.

You only hummed in response, crossing your legs. While searching the board, you stretched your stocking-covered foot towards him, sliding it along the inside of his calf. His muscles tensed for a moment, his eyes widening a fraction, before he settled down, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You made your move, but didn’t stop dragging your foot up and along his knee, skimming his inner thigh. He sat up a little straighter, narrowing his eyes at the board, and you expected him to make his move, when you feel a hand clasp around your ankle, his touch a brand even through your thick stockings. His eyes lifted to yours, and the hunger in them stole your breath.

You’d never seen your sweet, good-natured friend look so menacing.

“I should know better than to play chess with a Ravenclaw,” he said, making a weak play with a pawn. “Starting to feel like I don’t stand a chance.”

His family laughed, reminding you that you were, in fact, completely surrounded by his parents and siblings, and you dropped your foot. That fucking trickster, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“I don’t know,” you said, stealing the pawn and trapping his King. “You’re doing better than I expected for a younger twin.”

A chorus off oooh’s met your dig, and George huffed a laugh before freeing his King. “You’ll regret that,” he warned with a devilish smile.

“And you’ll regret that.” George fell right into your trap. You skirted his King, stealing his Queen right out from under him. His jaw dropped, and the family erupted into cheers.

“We have a new champion!” Molly cheered, hauling you up to celebrate.

You grinned, allowing them to parade you around. George smiled up at you, a real, proud smile, and it made your stomach somersault. Then, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, rattling the house on it’s structure.

“Alright, enough excitement! Everyone off to bed!” Molly ordered. George’s eyes locked on you, gauging what you would do next. For the first time, you cursed sharing a room with Ginny, and cursed Fred for being born.

As everyone grabbed their things and scattered off to bed, George managed to catch you at the second stair landing before Ginny’s room, startling you.

“Well played, feathers,” he said, brushing his fingertips over your forearm as he looks up at you.

“You were a formiddable opponent.” You shivered under his touch, the heat from earlier instantly flaring back to life.

He stepped up a stair, bringing himself a head taller than you, close enough that you could smell the fire whiskey on his lips.

Could I taste it too?

“Goodnight, love.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before breezing past you and bounding up the next set of steps to his shared room with Fred.

You leaned against the wall to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. This was not the turn you expected this trip to take, but you couldn’t pretend that a part of you hadn’t wished for it. That it wasn’t why you tried so hard to avoid the trip all together.

But now that you and George had crossed that line, you couldn’t imagine what you’d been so afraid of. You only wished you’d done it sooner.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The following morning, you’re one of the last to drift down to the kitchen, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, too worked up to sleep properly. You rounded the corner and come to a stop, surprised to find George alone in the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said with a lazy smile.

“Good morning.” You padded towards him, accepting the coffee cup from his outstretched hand. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, blowing gently on the steaming brew.

“Didn’t,” he said, shifting closer to you. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, or lackthereof, his expression soft and voice gravelly.

“Why not?” You asked, taking a tentative sip before setting the mug down on the counter.

“Couldn’t stop thinking...” He dipped his head towards you, his nose brushing your temple.

“About?” The word came out breathless, the coil of want you'd been battling all night tightening with a vengeance.

“What it would feel like to kiss you again,” he murmured, kicking your heart into overdrive.

“And why don’t you?” Your hand creeped along his t-shirt, feeling the muscles along his abdomen sculpted by years of Quiddtich.

“Gotta set up the pitch. We’re playing this afternoon.” His demeanor shifted, all playful and energetic innocence. “See you out there!” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then hurried outside, leaving you wet and bewildered in the overheated kitchen.

An hour later, you were perched precariously on an old broom, knuckles white from gripping it so hard. Ginny rocketed past you with ease, nearly throwing you off balance.

“I think you need a new nickname,” George teased, steadying you. “Feathers may not be apt.”

You risked removing one hand to show him what a real bird looks like, and he barked a laugh before banking away from you.

Soon, the game was in full swing, with you, Ron, Fred, and Charlie against George, Ginny, Harry, and Bill. You had only ever ridden a broom in first year, so you were massively out of your depth.

You were given the role of Seeker, opposite Harry, and had no hope of accomplishing a damn thing. Harry was like lightning on his Firebolt, and you bobbed around like a lame pigeon.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to be taking the game very seriously. You were content to float around the property, occasionally remembering that you we're supposed to be looking for something small and golden.

After awhile the boys started to get rowdier, pushing and shoving and bludgeoning.. You tried to steer clear, watching George whack the hell out of any bludger that dare cross his airspace. You would not want to be on the other end of one of those.

“Y/n, watch out!” Ginny cried.

You looked back from where you were staring off into space, just in time to see George barreling towards you, a bludger about five feet in front of him.

You tried to move, to steer the broom literally anywhere, but it wouldn't cooperate. At the last second you managed to pull up, but not far enough. The bludger hit you square in the stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs and nearly forcing up your breakfast with the power of it. Stars danced behind your eyes, your grip began to slip from the handle as darkness raced towards you.

Something else slammed into you, wrapping itself around you—

“Y/n? Baby, are you alright?” George. You could tell you were moving, but couldn't seem to make your eyes focus, keep your body from trembling. Your cheeks were wet, the breeze frigid against your damp skin. Am I crying?

Then you were on the ground, blessed ground, and then you were up again, cradled against George's chest.

He was shouting at someone you couldn't see. “I swear on fucking Dumbledore, I'm going to beat you bloody with that fucking bat—”

“George!”

“Get her some ice,” he barked at someone else. “I'm right here, love, you're okay. Just try and breathe.”

You clung to his dampening shirt, the shock and pain keeping you teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. You could hear other people talking, but your whole world narrowed to two points: George's heartbeat and the blinding pain radiating from your stomach.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, barely recognizing the pitiful sound of your own voice.

“I know, love. I know. I’ve got you, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and trembling. A moment later, he laid you on the couch, careful not to jostle you more than necessary.

Molly passed something into George's hands. “For the pain,” she whispered.

George crouched down next to you, holding the edge of the cup to your lips. “Take a sip, sweetheart.” You shook your head, your Potions safety training overpowering your reason. “Please, y/n. Let me take the pain away.”

You took a small sip, the tea pungent and floral, but immediately the edges of the pain began to soften. But the relief was short-lived. Exhaustion followed close behind it, dragging you down into a dreamless sleep.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you come to, the Weasley house was dark around you. The only light came from the moon spilling through window panes and the smoldering fire across from the couch.

A light snore drew your attention, and you looked up to see George above you, his head lolled onto the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. Your head was resting in his lap, his sweater piled under your head as pillow, and his large hand was stretched across your stomach, fingers splayed from your ribs to your hip bones.

God, your stomach. You moved to sit up, memories of earlier filtering through the fading grogginess of the Potion Molly gave you, but surprisingly, your stomach was only a little sore. More like an overexerted muscle than rearranged organs and cracked ribs.

George stirred, lifting his head to peer at your through half-closed lids.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, sweeping a strand of red hair from his brow.

He came fully awake then, straightening. “How do you feel?” He asked, caressing your cheek, then running his hands over your arms, your ribs, the swell of your hips.

“The Potion did its job, I feel mostly fine,” you said, catching his hands to stop their exploration, and the buzzy desire they coaxed to life.

“Are you sure?” His features softened with relief, his fingers twining with yours.

“I'm sure. Thank you for saving me.” You leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, ignoring the slight protest in your abdomen muscles.

“Always,” George said, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I'm sorry I wasn't close enough to stop it from hitting you in the first place. It happened so fast—”

“Love, it wasn't your fault,” you shushed, reaching out to cup his face and stroking your thumb along his cheekbone.

“I just…” he trailed off, leaning into your palm. “I always want to be there to protect you. Or for whatever you else you might need. Do you need anything now? Water, tea? Are you hungry? You missed dinner—”

“George,” you cut him off. “Right now, I need you.”

Desire eclipsed the worry on his face, his eyes shading. “Are you sure you're not in pain? No fogginess or headaches—”

You leaned in and kissed him, a light, floaty peck, silencing his incessant questioning. You appreciated his concern, but there were other parts of you that needed his attention far more. He immediately took charge of the kiss, shifting his weight to lay you back onto the couch. His body rested heavily between your thighs, his mouth devouring yours in fervent, searing kisses.

His tongue lapped at your bottom lip and you opened for him, allowing him to take everything he sought. He kissed you like he didn't know if he'd get another chance, like he'd been waiting his entire life for this moment. It stole your breath, made your toes curl and your pussy pulse with excitement, slick already collecting between your thighs.

You nipped at his lower lip, earning a soft grunt in appreciation. His hips canted forward a fraction, though it seemed he was holding himself back. His lips traveled along your jaw, down the valley of your throat with teasing licks and love bites and you arched into him, a moan spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Shh, baby. You have to be quiet f’me.” George nudged your shirt up with his fingers, kissing along the purplish bruises marring your stomach. “My poor girl.” His thumbs traced the curves of your stomach softly, almost reverent as he gazed up at you. “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. so perfect. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long, to feel you beneath me, fuck, hear the pretty little sounds you make for me.” He was rambling now, lost in the act of worshiping your body, his hands and lips traveling gently over your skin.

“How long?” you asked, breathless, raking your fingers through his hair while he nursed a mark just under your right tit.

He looked up at you through is lashes, his lips leaving your skin with a pop. “Since that night at the Three Broomsticks,” he said, shifting upwards so he could look you in the eye.

“The ‘Butterbeer of Forgiveness’?” You mouth fell open, shock rocking through you.

He snickered. “Of course, why do you think I kept sending Fred to the bar?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ran your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against your skin.

“I—” his voice caught, his gaze averting from you. “I loved you too much to risk losing you.”

Elation soared through you, and you couldn’t stop the smile that split your face. “George,” you said, bumping your nose against his. His eyes flicked back to you, watery and rimmed with red. “I love you too.”

His smile was like the first sun after an endless winter, and he kissed you like the first torrential rain of spring. The heat of summer came quickly though, and soon you were gasping for him again, your hips pressing against the hard ridge in his pants.

“Need you,” you whined into his mouth.

“I’m here, love.” He kissed down your throat again, pausing for only a moment to nip at your taught nipples through your shirt before continuing his downward decent. “Lift up for me.” You lifted your hips, allowing him to tug down your jeans, exposing your sodden red panties to his greedy eyes. “Gryffindor red, huh?” he teased, and you threw your arms over your face to hide your blush. “All for me?”

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

“It’s a shame I’ll have to ruin them.’

“What—” Riiiip! The cold air lapped against your slick pussy, chased by the heat of George’s tongue as he dragged it through your folds. “Oh, fuck—”

“Shhh,” he warned, before flicking his tongue against your swollen clit.

You bit down on the back of your wrist to keep from crying out when he switched from licking to sucking, the walls of your cunt fluttering around nothing. He moved down, flattening his tongue against your entrance and collecting the wetness that pooled there. He gave a light hum of pleasure that had your eyes crossing, his tongue delving deeper in search of another taste.

“So fucking good,” he mumbled against you, the vibrations of his low voice making your sensitive clit tingle. You tugged on his hair, encouraging him to pay attention to where you needed him most. “I know, I know.” He pressed a kiss to your clit, teasing you for just a moment longer before wrapping his lips around the bud and sucking hard.

You very nearly cried out, having to clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. Pleasure shot through you, singeing your nerves and liquifying your muscles. So quickly you were unraveling for him, going stupid under his ministrations.

A long digit prodded at your entrance, collecting some wetness before easing inside of you. Your cunt welcomed him gladly, clamping down around his finger.

“Merlin, baby. You're so tight,” he panted, shifting to watch you take another one of his fingers, slick already running into his palm. “Relax, love. Shh, “ he soothed, curling his fingers to pet the inside of your walls, making your mind go blank as bliss washed through you. “That's it, darling. Just like that.”

The knot in your stomach began to wind tighter, burning through you as you fought to relax, to be good for him. But your orgasm was so fucking close, just a little more—

His lips found your clit again, sucking in time with your racing heart as his fingers coaxed you open, and the knot severed. Your peak slammed into you, stealing your breath so you couldn't even cry out to warn him, to sing his praises the way he deserved. Your muscles locked, your cunt bearing down as him as pleasure tore through you until you could do nothing but shiver beneath him.

“Shit, y/n. That was fucking beautiful,” he cooed, easing his fingers out of you and lapping up the release coating him to the wrist. “You alright?” He shifted upwards, kissing your bruised abdomen before pecking your lips, your eyes still glassy and unfocused.

“I've never come that hard,” you pant, throwing your arms around his neck and raining kisses over his slick-soaked face. “What the fuck.”

He chuckled, flushing under your attention. “Happy to oblige.”

You caught the last word in your mouth, kissing him deeply, desperately. Your body was already keying itself up again, and by the twitching length against your hip, he was desperate for you too.

He hooked an arm under your back and hauled you up to straddle his lap, his back pressed against the couch. “This okay?” He asked, sliding his rough hands under your shirt to skate along your skin.

You nodded, rolling your hips to drag your bare pussy along the bulge in his jeans, a skitter of pleasure making your breath hitch.

“Fuck, y/n,” he hissed, hips bucking up against you.

“Yes, please fuck me.” You kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear lobe, reaching between your bodies to find his zipper.

He did the same, helping you undo the button and tug down the zipper, his cock springing free from his boxers. The head nudged against your clit, hard and heated, and you whimpered.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he lifted you slightly, guiding the head to your dripping entrance. Slowly, he eased you down into him, your pussy more than ready to accommodate his length. A rough groan resounded from his chest, and you silenced it with another kiss. His cock stretched you open, hitting that spongy, sinful spot before sliding deeper until he bottomed out, the head nudging your cervix.

“So fucking tight, baby. Bloody hell,” he whispered, voice strained.

“Feels so fucking good,” you whine, grinding your hips against his.

George buried his face into your neck, stifling a moan. His grip loosened, allowing you to start lifting and lowering yourself, riding him slowly, savoring every inch of his cock as it dragged through you.

“M’not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warned, mouthing at your neck with sloppy kisses.

You smirked, bracing your hands against the back of the couch to pick up the pace, your thighs and abs burning from the exertion. But he felt so fucking good, stretching you open, the root of his cock dragging along your clit.

His lifted up again only to snap his hips against yours, his hands a vice on your waist as he started pounding into you from below.

“Oh, fuck, Georgie—”

“Quiet, love. You don't want the whole house to hear how good I make you feel, do you?”

You nodded, a whine escaping through your teeth. One of his hands came up to cover your mouth, silencing the sound and infringing on your air supply, callouses rubbing against your kiss-swollen skin.

“I’d love nothing more than for Percy to hear you screaming for me, but this is just for us,” he whispered, breathless as he fucked into you. “Gonna come for me again?”

Your fingers dug into the couch, another peak racing towards you. You bounced with his movements, desperately chasing your high, the ache in your abdomen long forgotten.

“That's it, love. Fuck, m’gonna come.” He threw his head back, a strangled groan accompanying the kick of his cock inside you, stretching your further before pumping you full of his release.

The hot surge of his orgasm sent you flying over the edge, ecstasy pulling your under while your cunt milked him dry with vicious pulls. You muffled your cry into his shoulder as he fucked you through it, until you both collapsed onto the couch, thoroughly spent and panting.

His lips found your forehead, your temple, his hands gliding along your spine, over your hips, soothing you as you trembled against him.

“I love you,” he breathed into your hair. “I can't believe you're here with me.”

You grazed the racing pulse under his jaw with your nose. “I love you, too.” It was exhilarating to say, almost as thrilling as the orgasm you just shared, a massive weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“So, can I call you my girl without being corrected now?” He teased, tickling your ribs.

“I suppose.” You giggled, pecking the corner of his smirk.

The following morning, you descended from your room to find George at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, twirling his Beater Bat in his right hand. The same hand that brought you the most earth shattering orgasm of your life.

“What on earth are you doing?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his middle and kissing his cheek, admiring the violet mark you left above his clavicle.

“Waiting for Ron,” Fred supplied from the kitchen.

“Who’s waiting for me—oh fuck.” Ron stopped dead at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his pajamas, staring wide eyed at George, or more specifically, the bat in his hand.

“I just want to talk,” George said, gently moving you aside before prowling up the stairs towards his younger brother.

Ron took off up the stairs, their steps thundering through the house as George gave chase.

“George! Shit,” you huffed, glancing at the rest of the family who'd come to see what the fuss was about.

“I'll let ‘im get a good whack in,” Molly said, smiling at you. “Since you're his girl and all.”

Your cheeks flamed, but they only met you with warm hugs and laughter, like they'd been expecting this from the beginning.

Crack!

“Ow!”

"That's for hurting my girl, you git."

Fin. 🐦‍⬛

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley smut #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #weasley twins #weasley twins smut #weasley twins fanfiction #george weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #weasley family #the weasleys #harry potter smut #smutty smut smut #smutty fanfiction

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sandraharissa · 2 days ago

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I think one of the many things wrong with Jinx this season is how like, half of her personality was cut off and thrown out.

Like her reaction to grief. We see her suicidal after Silco’s death and she’ll be again very suicidal after Isha’s death. Makes sense. Don’t have notes on that part. However I have so much notes on her rage. In s1 we see Powder sometimes responding to bad situation by being shy and sad, but sometimes she reacts in a more adversarial way, like complaining they should try fighting Piltover or trying to stand up to Mylo. But we also get these moments like when she’s left behind and has an absolute meltdown and starts wrecking shit but more importantly her reaction to Silco. He says they’ll show them all and she throws the audience the most rage fueled look you’ve ever seen. When really pushed beyond her limits this is Powder’s emotional reaction to tragedy/being wronged. We see that all throughout acts II and III and we see it when she blows up the council after Silco dies. And that’s the problem cos that’s the part that’s missing from s2. They cut her personality in half and only kept one half. Anger as part of her personality and reaction to grief was discarded when writing her in s2. Even tho she goes through a lot of grieving in s2.

Another example is Isha. Jinx prioritizing family and just chilling? Wanting affectionate interactions with family? Having an easier relationship with a younger family member cos there aren’t any expectations or need to prove anything or gain anyone’s attention? No fear of abandonment/betrayal? She just has this kid who hero worships her and follows her around like a puppy so no stress? No notes. However I have a lot of notes about Jinx’s paranoia and how not normal and possessive and toxic she is about relationships. And I have notes on the generational trauma. Where did all that go? That’s not how ppl work. Living in a messed up society and Silco’s parenting won’t just evaporate like that cos Isha is just so overwhelmingly cute. It’s more likely that Jinx would corrupt the kid. (which you could argue on paper she does cos the kid in the end thought that suicide was dope but why did the narrative frame it as this beautiful thing lol)

And on the topic of fighting Piltover where did “we beat the enforcers with just the four of us imagine what the whole Lanes could do” go? Jinx definitely prioritized family more but she wasn’t neutral or indifferent on the Piltover matter. The enforcers wrong her/hurt her/threaten her family yet again, they kidnapped Isha, and she just acts panicked and sad, but also jokes and quips while on the mission. Where’s the rage and hatred and desire for revenge on the ppl who wronged her? Sometimes it’s just ppl around her being mean or lying or smth, anyone could be her enemy, like Sevika, Silco or Vi, but a lot of the time it’s Piltover, they killed her parents, they were her fathers’ enemies and drove them to hate each other, they chased them as kids and tried to arrest them, they kidnapped and abused Vi in prison all her adolescence, they would have killed Vi so she blew up the whole blockade, Council tried to turn Silco against her and now he’s dead so she bombs them, all her life she can see that the quality of their life is bad bcos of Piltover, she’s in Jayce’s apartment and immediately goes for the sandwich. Jinx doesn’t come off as a very politically/ideologically motivated character but what happened to all her personal beef with Piltover?

They also inexplicably just ceased to write her fucking up all the time. what about her y’know, being a jinx? In s1 even in acts II and III when she is proficient in fighting and bomb-making they still constantly show her being more of a burden and fucking up in other ways. While never explained (which was good) to me it came off as a symptom of trauma and being neurodivergent, like how ADHD kids can’t escape the allegations that they’re lazy, but on a meta level it did make it feel like she was supernaturally cursed. Part of what felt so profound and empowering about s1 finale and her embracing being jinx it that it was her embracing that she’s different (and ‘wrong’ in some ways) and can never live a happy life in the society she lives in and so she lashes out. Now she just chills and nothing ever doesn’t go her way (ig until Isha died but that wasn’t even directly her fault, Isha just acted on her own choice and agency). Suddenly her mental issues don’t exist or get in the way of her socializing and being a part of society. This bigoted, violent and unfair society.

Don’t even get me started on her mannerisms. Remember how she would bite her lip? I’m not sure if she does that even once in s2. “Sister, thought I missed her”??? let Jinx rhyme sometimes and in general say weird shit, not one-liners.

So the only way for the writers to have Jinx do nothing, heal up completely and just chill with a kid in her lair (and really everything else she does (or doesn’t do) this season) is to get rid of half of her personality, the traits that would dictate she take action and feel wrath and lash out/hurt her loved ones in the process.

All of her tragic traits from s1 that made her Jinx were just erased, not changed throughout the course of an arc, absent from the get go, so that they can have her say that Jinx is dead and have it make sense in the context of s2 cos from her very first appearance is s2 this Jinx was devoid of pretty much all of her jinx-y character traits from s1.

#jinx #arcane #arcane critical #my:arcane #arcane s2

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bumblebeehug · 2 days ago

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When do u think Natsu actually realized that he fell for Lucy and i know he treats her differently but can u give moments where it's initiated from his side?

This is going to be a long post so buckle up!

Okay, first of all: the Phantom Lord arc. Though I don't think he fell in love with her at that point of time, I think it was the events that seriously solidified his partialness to her. I'd go into detail but I can already feel a long post incoming, so I'll keep it short: Lucy telling Natsu that she loves being a Fairy Tail wizard, while crying over the fact that she didn't want to leave ↓

After just trusting her life in Natsu, jumping from an insanely high tower, with a mere belief that maybe she had heard him in the distance – I think it struck a chord with Natsu. Like, it would be normal to cry after a fall like that, but Lucy wasn't concerned about that aspect. Her head and heart was all about the guild, how she didn't want to go, and that resonates with Natsu. Natsu's entire life at that point is 1) Finding Igneel, and 2) being with/protecting the guild.

Then I'd say it's a pretty gradual build in their relationship. They go on a lot of missions, hang out together, and just in general spend a lot of time connecting. There's some Natsu-saves-Lucy, some Lucy-saves-Natsu, some hand holding (tenrou arc I won't forget about that, thank you anime team for adding that scene), and then comes the next pivotal moment. GMG arc and the dragon festival that follows.

By then I'd say Natsu and Lucy are very much in this friends-with-emotional-benefit zone: much more than friends, absolutely not yet lovers. But with Lucy's near-death experiences in her battles, Natsu has to refrain himself from getting involved each time Lucy gets beaten up - he becomes helpless, and the worry that's sowed inside of him gets watered each time Lucy still puts his faith in him, still trusts him to come out a winner. That entire section when Lucy's in the infirmary and she tells Natsu that her entire being trusts that Natsu can do anything, I think that's when Natsu falls in love.

Now wait!! He still doesn't quite understand that he loves her. But he understands that his feelings for Lucy are more tender than any other feelings he's ever had. He treasures her in a new, heavier way. She's become precious to him.

Precious. Where have we heard that... oh >:) ↓

Now the Dragon Festival was LETHAL in a trillion ways, but especially for nalu fans. The whole Future Lucy plot and the forehead touches and the Future Natsu and Future Lucy fighting in a wasteland moments and the Natsu skipping the final GMG match to save Lucy. And of course. Future Lucy dying. It's not the first time we see Natsu get so heavily affected - it happened in the tower of heaven, when Erza was ready to give her life up. But it is the first time we see Natsu see a friend die. Like, a team mate, someone who he's responsible for bringing to the guild. And after the whole GMG conundrum? Had a single more bad thing happened Lucy during the dragon festival, he’d probably turn into a demon right there and then. Dare I even say: their relationship was the strongest at this point in time.

After the GMG and the Dragon Festival, we get the Sun Village arc (I don’t like the Eclipse celestial spirit arc so I’m not counting it, same with Key of the Starry Sky arc — technically some nalu moments but not exactly building imo) and then another big one: Tartaros. Ooooh brother, THE best arc of all times, wish Mashima knew how to replicate it. But alas, he doesn’t.

The Tartaros arc isn’t exactly a pivotal moment where Natsu “falls in love” but rather an important aspect to understand his later actions. Like this guy goes through some pretty grusome stuff, learns a lot of complicated, bad things about himself, and finishes off the arc with losing Igneel — his father that he's spent ages searching for. Natsu's entire life is turned upside down, so he decides that he has to become stronger: cue, he heads off for a year to train.

His time away isn't very elaborated on — not from Natsu's viewpoint or Lucy's. But I think it's understood that he chose not to bring along Lucy because she could be put into danger too much for him to be able to concentrate on building his strength: he knew his training would be dangerous. During this time we also have the Gildarts-scene in chapter (idk i can't be bothered to look it up but y'all know the one ↓) which is kinda debated on — who was Natsu talking about here?

I'm still not certain on if it was a heart to heart on the Igneel-matter, or if it was about his guilt of leaving Lucy behind, like many theorise. I'm not even certain that it's limited to one of them — he could be talking about both. But at the very least, this entire year was one of those "distance makes the heart grow fonder" moments for him. He wanted to get back to his normal life with Lucy so bad. After all, it wasn't like him showing up at the GMG was in order to meet Lucy — had he wanted more training after that, he'd head off again, but I don't think he could physically bring himself to do it, even if it hadn't turned out that the guild had disbanded. Though that's just me speculating a bit.

And about the guild disbandment: oh jolly, he was not happy. He had finally taken the step to grow stronger to protect everyone in his beloved guild, and here Makarov went and disbanded it? Leaving Lucy completely alone? Lucy, who once jumped from a hella high tower because she was just so devoted to stay in the Fairy Tail guild? Yeah, I think that broke him a little. At this point there was just so much guilt involved around his whole relationship with Lucy, because now he had put her through so much pain only because he brought her to Fairy Tail that day in Hargeon.

The next arcs I'd say Natsu's trying to spend his time redeeming himself for the countless things he's done bad (getting the guild back together, just generally staying by Lucy's side as much as possible). And naturally he keeps getting hit by challenge after challenge (it's not easy to be a book written by his immortal brother, yk?). And it's even harder to watch Lucy die again, this time for real (he thinks bc he's stupid and also has a tumour that's nothing less than a ticking bomb) (give this guy a break lol).

Anyways: Lucy's death nr2. Natsu can't live a life without her. Now I know — he still doesn't quite understand that it's romantic love, but I think he does understand that it's pure love. No matter if kissing and reproducing was involved, all he knew was that a life without Lucy is completely unimaginable, so blinded by rage he becomes and decides to decapitate everyone in his way (sorry about that Gray).

The last couple of moments I'll go out of my way to mention as signs of love is 1. when he's won over Acnologia and falls towards Lucy, crazy relieved, saying "I'm home", 2. Gajeel pointing out Natsu's crush on Anna, Natsu basically saying "oh that's why I like Lucy so much" (I embellished it lol) and 3. "We're still gonna be together from here on out, right?" yeah that man won't ever leave her. Ever. It's just not an option.

Now since I've only talked about specific moments, here's what I have to say about his relationship with her in general:

Throughout the main plot line, we also see a shift in Natsu's behaviour. Someone here on Tumblr pointed out that Natsu always finds a way to shield Lucy if something unexpected happens, after not being able to shield her from Future Rogue. There's also the small detail of the order he calls out to people - it goes from being pretty random, to Lucy almost alwyas being on the top of the list: likely because she's always on the top of his head. And in general I'd say that Natsu initiates (i'm adding this entire paragraph bc i realised that you asked about when Natsu initiated stuff, more than when he fell in love lol) almost all of their interractions. It's Natsu who wants Lucy to join Fairy Tail, to form a team, he's the one who enters her apartment constantly, he's always searching her out - his interest in her is at a constant high so we never feel like we get "moments" that he's paying her extra attention. He has one setting, and it's "Lucy" cranked to the max. Lol.

I could also add some HYQ moments to the mix here, but they've been few and far inbetween, and also mostly played off as jokes, so I can't really consider them as moments when Natsu initiates his love. I guess his jealousy can be considered a sign? And when (spoilers from the manga) he runs around to protect her/save her from creepy-freaky-jail (the only one who made it freaky was him, with those wild fantasies lol). Maybe I need to jog my memory a bit, but so far there hasn't been any non-pervy nalu moments initiated by Natsu in the HYQ, aside from jealousy-chap. Sadly.

Hope this gave you the answer you were hoping for! Sorry it took so long, I started writing on it and realised it would be a bible so I put it in my drafts to fetch some pics to make it less wordy, and then I forgot about it, lol. But here it is!

#fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #nalu #answering stuff #fairy tail 100 years quest #fairy tail nalu #hyq #nalu fairy tail #ft nalu #ft analysis #fairy tail analysis #fairy tail meta #ft meta

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nemesyaaa · 18 hours ago

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kwisifiisidz OMG Reading this through the sickness of my body is insane !! you left me breathless Nini with this one ?? i'm always such a fan of your writings but this ??? it was so much beautiful in a way i can't describe. i love this type of angst so much and i'm just so sad about it ! i read this like i'm listening to a sad song :(( wow wow wow 💖💖💖

you were in no means ready to see him, let alone work with your ex-fiancée again. you knew he’d been stealing glances at you while you all trek your way through the sandy dunes of the coast of morocco, but you were strong enough to keep yourself from looking back and meeting his gaze. —already at the beginning and i know it's gonna ate

"are you serious?" were the first words you'd tell him in a year. he pulled out a wad of cash and his passport from his belt bag. "that's like, hundreds of dollars, rafe! you could've fed your sister!" he turns to look at you, piercing blue eyes burning holes through your soul. "listen, my only job was to get you pogues to morocco. no more, no less. if you don't wanna get lost, you gotta follow me, I'm your best bet," "as if," you roll your eyes, "we're in the same boat—no pun intended—but, you are also in a different country," he pulls you into his chest with one arm, whispering in your ear, "yeah? but guess who has the money? guess who actually has defense skills. not you, huh?" — this whole scene because it was incredible. this is so accurate to me please 😭😭

this day felt like years. after an extensive search for groff, you'd finally found him. you rode on the back of the motorcycle rafe stole, holding onto his waist. you couldn't help but have your mind flashback to your last motorcycle ride with him, still on kildare, on the way to courthouse to get marriage documents. his cologne hadn’t changed either. you remembered how his cologne lingered on every article of your clothing. you knew he’d been about it too from the way his body tensed up. — the bittersweet feelings of the old relationship 💘

gentle hands hold your face, "rafe, you can't save me, I'm sorry," you feel a warmness fill your body. "no, no, I can, we can get you to a hospital! stay with me-" you cough again, louder this time, "no, its impossible," he curses under his breath, before shouting to the sky. he embraces you, your voice getting weaker by the second, "hey rafe? can you tell me about our best memories? like...during our relationship?" your voice was barely a whisper now. — YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME NINI ??? IT'S WILD.

he nods, voice barely steady as he begins to talk, "we had a lot of good memories, but my favorite was our last summer, where we were gonna get married in the fall. I shouldn't have cheated, I'm so sorry," he sobs onto your shoulder, "remember when all we did was go surfing? and I taught you how to ride those big swells 'cus you were too scared...and...how we were gonna move out of kildare after we got married? we were gonna move to colorado, live that white picket fence type of life," he bitterly chuckles, "I screwed up, I screwed us, and I'm so, so, sorry. If I could rewind time, just to feel your lips on mine again, just to hear you laugh, just to have you look at me with so much love, I would. I'd make sure you were never under this situation." your mind replayed all of those memories, and with shaky hands, you pull him in for one last kiss, pulling back to say your last words, “I never stopped loving you, rafe,” before letting your body finally succumb to your injury. — i'm just falling in love (again) with your writings at this point. it was like an amazing poem. tysm for this one, for sharing with us. i'm feeling unwell but so glad to be able to read this one ✨

okay season 4 rafe where they broke up and shes a kook turned pouge, and its just a bunch of angst and basically all of s4 with her?

our last summer - rafe cameron x reader

synopsis - he wishes he could've had one last summer with you

warnings - angst, kook turned pogue!reader, mentions of cheating, (slight) sofia slander (I love her tho!!), stabbing, character death

your main priority was sarah, who you could tell was getting queasy from the amount of activity she’d been doing these past couple of days. once you saw the skyline of a city, your ounce of optimism returned.

around a year ago, you’d been happily engaged to who you thought was the love of your life, rafe cameron. after you’d found a tank top that wasn’t yours in your shared bedroom, you’d knew he was seeing someone else, but you didn’t expect that someone to be your own best friend, sofia.

you had followed the pogues to morocco after what groff had done to jj. you were willing to follow them to the ends of the earth, never leave a pogue behind, john b's words echo in your head.

you were sitting with sarah, rubbing her back while the rest of the group went to go get some food for her. rafe was mumbling incoherent sentences, something he always did while pissed off or annoyed, and you tried your best to ignore his complaints. "you okay?" you softly spoke up, sarah meekly nodded her head in response.

you hear the shout of multiple voices, turning around to see the rest of the group running towards you. you stood up, dumbfounded as the moroccan authorities chase your friends. already? one of them apprehends you, and you writhe at their grip. you plead to them, but its no use. you turn around, seeing rafe also getting held up. the rest of the pogues were nowhere to be found. as long as they got each other, they're safe.

after a quick interrogation, the authorities let you both go. you let out a huff, not only because you were falsely accused, but because you're now stuck with your ex-lover, in a foreign country.

"are you serious?" were the first words you'd tell him in a year. he pulled out a wad of cash and his passport from his belt bag. "that's like, hundreds of dollars, rafe! you could've fed your sister!" he turns to look at you, piercing blue eyes burning holes through your soul. "listen, my only job was to get you pogues to morocco. no more, no less. if you don't wanna get lost, you gotta follow me, I'm your best bet," "as if," you roll your eyes, "we're in the same boat—no pun intended—but, you are also in a different country," he pulls you into his chest with one arm, whispering in your ear, "yeah? but guess who has the money? guess who actually has defense skills. not you, huh?" he shoves you out of his arms, making you stumble backward. you scoff, following him through the crowded streets.

"you look nice," a slight smile dawned on his face as one of the store clerks helped you wrap your scarf around your hair. you both had changed into more neutral colored outfits to help blend in. "hold on" you see rafe turn to a stand that's selling phones. you impatiently tap your foot as he dials a couple of numbers in. you follow closely, wanting to find out who needed his attention so badly.

your heart clenched as you heard another female voice, quickly realizing that it was sofia. of course, why wouldn't he call his girlfriend? now, you distanced yourself from him, looking at the floor as you drag your feet along the dirt, getting your shoes dusty.

you shake your head, he probably does that with sofia now. you sniffle, hoping the sound of the engine would muffle it. rafe pulls off to the side of the road, stopping at a well. you use this time to regain your distance from him, stretching from the long ride. "is that it?" you point to the city down the cliff, squinting your eyes. groff looks at the map, nodding his head. you see the two men bent over the well, and you shuffle to see what they were looking at. "...good thing hollis and I paid off that girl...what was her name? sonya? oh, sofia!" you see rafe's face twist. you kneel down in front of the well, next to groff, "what are you talking about?" "its really none of your business," he retorted.

what happens next is a blur, groff pulls out a knife, attempting to stab rafe. rafe's reflexes work in record-time, but it was a horrible decision to try to help him at this moment. as groff attempts to defend himself, you feel the blade go into your stomach. you let out a sharp gasp, after seeing groff get shoved down the well, you collapse, rafe gracing your fall. "hey, hey, y/n, stay with me, please," his voice cracks as be sits you down on the side. he holds your wound, and you let out a painful groan. his eyes widen. he still calls out for help, desperation lacing his voice. "no one can hear you," you cough.

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

#oh nini when i catch you i swear...#tw stabbing & death #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron angst #s4!rafe x female!reader

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thealogie · 2 days ago

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ok spoiler free wicked movie review for the three of you who said you want me to go see it early and tell you about it:

-Let's get the bad out of the way first because (surprisingly) I mostly have positive thoughts. Do you know when a movie is so dark you cannot see? This was the opposite. Multiple scenes/shots in this movie were so bright I could not see. One shot would be beautifully lit/colored and then the next would be completely washed out with bright overpowering lighting reminiscent of an influencer ring light. I am not even a cinematography snob but some of this was distractingly bad. There's so much money on screen. Let me see it?

-Similarly, Jon M Chu cutting frantically between different coverages/close-ups/wide shots was just not for me but tastes can vary on this. Someone would be doing beautiful choreo and suddenly we'd cut to a reaction shot or close-up in the middle of a mesmerizing choreo move. Bro, I was looking at that why did you cut away? "Singing in the Rain" was not shot like this, bro.

-Ok on to the positive, which was most things. Most important thing: the movie understood the story and the characters. I truly don't see anyone walking out of there being like "the movie didn't understand the characters or their relationship." In the same vein, I think the performances were out of this world, which was to be expected. But like, stunning. Chemistry, singing...all on point. And I say this as someone who is not an Ariana enjoyer at all.

-As you might expect, they added some dialogue/backstory to fill it out and make it feel like a movie. These additions were small and excellent and improved on the story every time, which is often not the case with an adaptation.

-The crowd i saw it with was NOT a "clap after every song" crowd AT ALL but we were all moved to applause after cynthia erivo's wizard and I. Truly, otherworldly.

-There was not enough lesbian subtext in the broadway show and there is not enough lesbian subtext in the movie but there was more lesbian subtext in the movie. Lots of tossing and turning on beds during "what is this feeling" and otherwise. A win.

-Really really minor spoiler: rip to glinda's yellow emerald city dress. You will be missed.

-Amazing use of special effects (which were used judiciously and well and not distracting) vs. practical effects (which were stunning and looked good).

-Dancing through life was so beautifully choreographed and performed. I'm gagged. I just wish I could have seen it better what with the bright lighting and the constant cutting to people's faces while my man J Bailey was doing stunning footwork. Again, Singing in the Rain would never do this.

#wicked

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ashkabbom · 3 days ago

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Nightmares - Mouthwashing

A/n: I finished the draft of this at 3am and finished the English version at 5am😭. I'm not going to lie, I was a little embarrassed while writing this, but I kind of liked how it turned out. Feel free to correct me if I wrote something wrong. English is not my first language and I used the help of translator🎀.

Summary/Synopsis: Nightmares keep you awake longer than you want.

Notes: I didn't specify gender and I didn't describe any closer relationship with any character, so you decide the gender and how you see the relationship between them.

→Warning: There is mention of death, blood and suicide here, so be careful or don't read if these are subjects you don't like and doesn't feel comfortable reading, since they are sensitive topics, okay?🫶🏽 Take care of yourself.

Stupid ideas are something common to everyone, right? Well, going after that job, even knowing how strange it seemed for them to accept you so... quickly or easily, that was stupid.

Daisuke and you had been playing Monopoly for a while, maybe 30 minutes. You guessed it was sometime between 3 and 4 in the morning, the moon on the huge screen letting you know that you were definitely not supposed to be awake right now.

It was those few moments that made you feel like yourself again, less crazy. Being among the stars in space was new, you didn't really expect to be here and it was a little strange not talking to other people.

"You can pay me $250" You mentioned with a cheeky smile and a cocky voice.

Daisuke looks at you confused and then at the board. It was already the fourth time he had landed on a property you had purchased, and that in 15 minutes.

"How do you manage to make this game work in your favor?" He asked indignantly.

"Daisuke Daisuke... You need to expand your mind a lot with the knowledge of a true entrepreneur." You explain with elegance and sincerity.

"I still have a lot to learn then" Daisuke says sighing with a raised eyebrow.

"This is already the second property stolen in this game without you seeing it," Anya says as she watches you and Daisuke playing.

"Hey, I thought we were friends." You look at Anya with fake disappointment.

"I thought WE were friends!" He shouts (whispers loudly) in disbelief. "And before that you two were complaining when we were playing UNO."

"Your cards were only good cards! It was impossible for you to have gotten those cards completely randomly," Anya asks, pointing her finger at him.

"What can I do if luck was on my side?" He shrugs smugly.

"What a coincidence that luck was on your side when you were the one who shuffled the cards, huh?" You point out with a doubtful tone. "Quite a coincidence."

"A twist of fate," he quickly retorts. "By the way, you were the one who brought the UNO deck, who can guarantee that you hadn't already left the deck ready for you to deal the cards?"

"Are we really arguing about UNO this early in the morning?" Anya asks with a slight smile.

"It's for the power of being right and not being accused of false crimes" Daisuke answers simply. "But I think I've had enough of Monopoly, this game takes longer than I remember and is more fun with more than two people, since Anya didn't want to play"

"Of course I'm playing! I'm the bank!" She says, feeling wronged.

"Just handing out the money doesn't count, you're not playing in the game with us" He retorts once more, pointing at her face.

"He's right," you reply as you start to put the game away. "But I swore we had more board games here on the ship."

"And we have, I remember having more than these three at least.." Anya says a little thoughtfully. "It must be in someone's room I think"

The three of you start to put away the games you had brought there together without much fuss, although Daisuke said that one of the Monopoly dice was missing.

You never imagined meeting the two of them during one of your sleepless days. Anya you had met before when you were sleep deprived once, but Daisuke was new, out of all the others you thought he would be the one who would have perhaps the best sleep because he was an intern.

This goes down the drain when he says that sometimes he lies awake thinking only that this time he heard footsteps in the hallway, probably yours, so he went to see who it was and was lucky that it was you and Anya. If it were any of the other three, he didn't know if he would be able to make any conversation flow more smoothly.

That's how you ended up playing some games during the early hours of the morning. Daisuke suggested you guys maybe play something in silence while you talked, coincidentally you had some games.

"Did you imagine yourself working here when you did the job interview?" This time it was Anya who started a conversation.

"I was kind of pushed here, so I was hoping so," Daisuke says, remembering how he got here. "But I didn't really want to be accepted here."

"I didn't even expect to get a job so quickly, I had resigned a week earlier from another job" You say as you plop down on the couch, the two board games on your side with the UNO deck on top.

"And why did you resign?" The boy asks curiously, throwing himself on the couch and stretching.

"My boss was my ex, and he was my ex for a reason, I think that was already a reason for me to rethink whether my workplace was good or at least tolerable." You say it simply. "But obviously there were other reasons, I almost sued the place where I worked, but that's a story for another day."

"And then you came to work in such a cool place like Pony Express, what a great thing" Anya says sarcastically, sitting down next to him.

"I needed a job, water, electricity and food bills are not paid with anything" You sigh sadly. "But I think I'm going to quit when we get back, it's not necessarily rock bottom here but it's not a good thing either."

"I think I'd feel a little better if I knew less about what we were transporting into space." Daisuke complains and rests his head on his hand.

"That's a fair reason, I hadn't thought about that side of things just now.." She stops to think if at any point they had received any information about the thing that you were all transporting.

"Hmmm.. That kind of company must transport food or water, things like that, right?" You assume that it must be based on what little you know.

So you stay in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the calm that night..

Now the silence seemed like the worst torture.

If you had known that, I think you would have been better prepared to try to deal with the situation, or... I don't know. You can't even imagine knowing how to deal with this. You just want to go back to that night and make it last a lifetime.

You hugged your friend with all your strength, saying that everything was going to be okay and that she was going to be okay, you were going to go back home, you were going to play together again.

"NO NO NO! God, please tell me this is a lie!" You sob through your tears. "Anya! Please talk to me! Don't say that's true!"

She didn't respond at all, her eyes, now lifeless, staring upward, blood staining her mouth and chin.

You begged her to be a lie and just mess with you, to wink and laugh at how desperate you were and tell her she was fine. Everything seemed so unreal, so weird and heavy.

Crying is the only thing you could do right. You don't even know how long you stood there with her in your arms.

But then you freeze.

You freeze when you notice Daisuke's silence in the other room, you sob and just hear Jimmy say something about letting him think he was going to fix everything.

Carefully letting go of Anya's body you stand up.

That's not true, is it?

As you enter the other room you look to the side and feel like vomiting.

"Daisuke, no no no... Daisuke answer me, please look at me, please please..."

Screaming and crying you go next to Daisuke's body now in silence, running your hand over his face.

Gosh, you didn't even know what to do. On one side was Anya's body and on the other was Daisuke's body.

All you could do was beg any God that could hear you at that moment, beg that all of this was just a terrible dream and that your friends were okay.

They still had so many dreams, you still had so many things to do together. Even if you never left the ship and died here, you would get through this together.

What had you done to deserve this? What had Anya done to deserve a future like this? Daisuke still had so much to live for.

A few minutes pass with you sitting on the floor, now holding Daisuke's body in your arms, running your hands through his hair, saying that tomorrow is another day, that he would talk excitedly to you again..

You remember hearing Swansea yelling to go after Jimmy, but at this point you couldn't tell what you were imagining and what was real.

You lay him down again.

Everything would be sorted out tomorrow.

You walk towards the kitchen in that room.

This is all too much for your head.

You grab something from the kitchen.

Everything was going to be fine

You move automatically, and then blood gushes from your neck, the knife falls and then your body.

Curse this nightmare you lived in.

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