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aprilthearcher · 1 year ago

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burning red [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.8k

[somewhat angst]

warnings: curse words, ooc roman ?, english is not my first language, not edited, rushed ending.

a/n: somewhat inspired by “red” and “false god” by taylor, idk i was just listening to these two songs on loop. i’m also supposed to be studying, but instead i wrote this, so enjoy! love me some greg sprinkles, couldn’t not include him. alsooo, this could read as being part of the same story as my previous roman blurb, but you won't have any problems if you haven't read it.

Loving Roman was complicated yet insanely easy, too tiresome at times and then incredibly invigorating. He had that effect on people, or maybe just her. Everyone else was probably too complicated for her to like. Not funny enough, not witty or smart enough, not loud enough. No one was Roman enough, not even across the whole damn world.

Getting him off her mind had been more difficult than she’d expected, probably because (Y/N) only realised her feelings for him after she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had taken over her whole body without knowing. It was Roman’s lips she imagined when kissing blonde, ginger, brunette guys at pubs; it were Roman’s eyes she thought of when her friends would ask her about her favourite colour; it was Roman’s face she conjured up in her head when they’d ask about her type of man.

At first, she believed it to be some sort of sick joke the Universe was trying to play on her: discovering she had feelings for her long-time friend — one she’d known since they were in diapers, who would grab her by her ponytail whenever she was paying attention to his siblings instead of him (just him) —, barely two or three weeks in her first year of university, a university that was on a whole other continent, separated by an entire ocean. Still, (Y/N) knew she could fly back home in a couple of hours — “I’ll arrange a jet for you if you wanna come down”, her dad would always say over the phone —, but the idea of seeing him again with this new information in her head and heart (that couldn’t help but jump at the mention of him) terrified her.

Her mind would make her remember him and his antics in the worst possible times: while dancing with some random guy at a club, his hands on her hips, the cheap cologne contrasting the rich scented one Roman couldn’t get enough of. On a first date, set up by her friends who believed she had to let go of this “prude” behaviour and just let someone take her to their bed. When joking with the guys that approached her and her friends at the bar, knowing exactly what Roman would think of them, the cruel comments he’d throw, the silly faces. The soft eyes when they were both too drunk to even speak a coherent sentence, although most times nothing was coherent with Roman. She had tried looking for those same bright eyes; once more, she ended up disappointed. None of them were Roman. None of them ever will be, no matter how much (Y/N) tried to shape them into a replica of him. All of Roman was unique.

Hence, the dreadful turmoil inside her stomach once Shiv, with some tint of malice in her eyes directed at Roman, introduced her to Tabitha. “Roman’s companion”, she’d said. The blonde, curly haired woman greeted (Y/N) with an eager smile on her face. She said her name at the same time both of them shook hands. A voice inside her head told her this was all wrong. How long? Where did it happen? Why? Why? Why now that she was back?

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me your name,” Tabitha mentioned playfully, a short roll of her eyes a second later. “You’re all Roman’s been talking about lately”.

“Only lately?” Shiv laughed, taking a sip from her glass she focused her eyes on Roman , then (Y/N). “Roman’s always talking about (Y/N). I mean, he was practically her lap dog when they were children.”

“Oh, fuck off Siobhan,” Roman bark back.

“Well, he only mentioned you as of now.” The knot in her stomach tightened. The worst part was she could see Tabitha hadn’t said it out of spite, nor jealousy, but as a fleeting comment to add something more to the conversation.

He hadn’t mentioned her to Tabitha? Not even once? She had tried everything to block him out of her head, to keep him out of her dreams and fantasies; to catch herself every time she was going to bring up him in a conversation again, and he didn’t say her name until he found out (Y/N) was coming back to New York? What kind of sick fuck was he? What kind of sick fuck was she, devoting probably her whole life to Roman fucking Roy?

“Oh,” (Y/N) managed to croak out before her father appeared beside her and whispered in her ear that she should spend some time chatting with the other guests.

* * *

Cousin Greg was great company, quite weird before you took in the awkwardness that seemed to surround him and make him stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all these old, rich people, but great nonetheless. He had asked her about her years in London, what she studied and what she did for fun, her friends and hobbies. (Y/N) found herself enjoying the night, sitting on a couch by his side, meanwhile both of their cheeks were getting rosier and rosier with every new cup of alcohol brought to them. Greg was in the middle of telling her about how he had screwed up the first day at his job on one of the parks owned by Waystar, cracking up from time to time from how she tried to hide her laugh in order to keep the attention away from them, when two hands settled on his shoulders, hard and making a noise that was apparent that the gesture was meant to at least hurt him a little. Roman was behind him with a clench jaw and big, maniac eyes.

“Greeeg, I think Tom was looking for you, man”.

“Oh, really?” Greg turned his upper body in Roman’s direction, which from the side looked somewhat weird because of his tall, lanky form. “Because, because I just saw him and he didn’t say anything”.

“Yes, oh really, man. And he said if you didn’t go talk to him right now, he would fire your sorry ass”.

Greg was on his feet quicker than she'd expected after seeing him drown glass after glass with her. He towered over her for a moment, saying a quick “see you later” before going in search of Tom.

“You’re mean, Roman”.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t fucking know”.

They fell silent for a second. Around them, people were still in mindless conversation, setting down empty cups on the waiter’s tray while picking up new ones from another one. Alcohol seemed to be the only way to survive a family gathering at the Roy’s, even a harmless one.

“You wanna get out of here?” Roman asked. She turned her head to the right to face him, he was already looking at her. His eyes no longer had the maniac fog blurring them, there was now a tranquil pool of honey.

***

“My dad is probably gonna be mad if he finds out I ditched the party”.

“Please, (Y/N), since when did you become such a goody two shoes?” Roman leaned against the railing of the terrace, following her with his eyes while she approached him and finally set her elbows on top of the banister. From this position, he looked taller. “Don’t tell me you were like this in London. I mean, with no one to hover over you, you sure had a looot to do, didn’t you?”

“I went to London to study, remember? Not to go out and get drunk every night.”

“Well, I’m sure if you had been with me, you could’ve done both.”

“Yeah, probably, but you weren’t with me.”

“Whose fault is that, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyebrows raised.

“Are you saying it was my fault? We haven’t seen each other for how long and it was all my fault?”

“Why are you acting like it isn’t? It literally is, (Y/N), you left m.. you left and, and you never came back.” He had walked a few steps away from her.

“It’s not like you couldn’t have visited, Roman. Just ask daddy for one of his jets, it’s literally that easy.”

“Yes, but - but you left, (Y/N). You left, and it’s not like you chose some university a state away, you chose one a whole continent away! That’s got to mean something!”

“As if Roman fucking Roy couldn’t get one goddamn plane and fly over to London!” She had abandoned her previous position, now fully facing Roman, who was still a couple of feet away, getting closer to the door. He was trying to run, just like it he always did whenever they fought.

“I didn’t - I didn’t want you to get annoyed by me! To realise what a true moron I was. Then you barely talked to me after you arrived at your fancy university and - and started your very difficult subjects.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes in confusion for a moment. Though it was easier to throw everything at him, (Y/N) knew that she was also responsible for their lack of communication over these last years.

Only the bustling, almost never-ending nightlife of New York could be heard. Her chest hurted, her eyes would fill with tears at any point now. She was tired and drunk, and just fucking missed Roman too much for them to be fighting the first night she was back in the city.

“Now you are not saying anything?” Roman broke the silence. He was closer to the door, she noticed. “You know what? Fuck you, (Y/N). Fuck you for making feel all this – all this fucking, fucking shit!”

“What fucking shit?” She asked quietly, desperate for an answer, the answer.

“I - I don’t know what fucking shit, just shit, okay?”

“Say it.”

Roman didn’t respond, instead he turned her back on her, walking towards the door. Before he could reach the handle, she screamed at him.

“Fucking say it, Roman.”

“I’ve just told you, I don’t know. It’s just shit, okay? All of it,” he screamed back, opening up his arms, exaggerating his point. “I - I run out of breath and then my chest is all funny, and and I hate seeing you laughing with fucking Greg of all people. It’s shit, fucking shit!”

Drawing closer to him, she tested his limits. He was breathing hard from all the screaming and moving around the terrace to put distance between them, but he didn’t stop when (Y/N) got so close their bodies were almost touching. It was her with whom physical closeness wasn’t a problem, he always told himself it was because of how close they were pretty much their whole lives.

They only looked at each other for a few moments, the waves of conflict had calmed down fast and efficiently enough that for anyone else it would seem like nothing had happened between them.

Roman wished — deep, deep down — that they could stay like this forever, without having to go back and confront his family, especially his father; that they could make this terrace, above Logan’s place ironically enough, a little haven, only for them; that they would never be found.

#roman roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #roman roy

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belaephemeral · 2 years ago

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of flesh and bone, thunder and lightning

Pairings: Wanderer x Reader (gender-neutral)

This oneshot will refer to Wanderer as “Scaramouche”. Feel free to replace this with the name you chose for him as you read!

Summary: Every gesture, touch and action that you share with him is something that you will always treasure. From the way his eyes securely lock onto yours, like two puzzle pieces falling into place, to the fingers that interlock with yours, like threads of an interwoven tapestry of adoration that perfectly weave together; it simply just isn’t enough. But what you always desire for are the kisses that are oh so characteristically him. You yearn for the invigorating way it nourishes and rejuvenates the ardour that blooms in your heart whenever he conveys his endearment through a loving and intimate embrace.

Word count: 3000

Author’s Note: Happy belated White Day everyone! (I meant to post this earlier but I had a presentation and a mock exam. Sorry for the wait!)

(PS: I named Wanderer “sayang” [“love/darling” in Bahasa Malaysia] because I couldn’t think of a name that would fully reflect his personality and what he means to me. I will always refer to him as “Scaramouche” so, I gave him a cute pet name! Though I was extremely compelled to call him baby girl. Haha, let me know what you named him!)

From the moment of his conception into that hollow, artificial shell to his current incarnation as the enigmatic, wandering wayfarer, the former renowned Balladeer isn’t well versed in the language of intimacy. In fact, he is rather perplexed with your inherent fluency in it.

One evening, he found you peering over his shoulder as the clouds soared overhead and the ink of nightfall spilled onto the expanse of sky that hung over your forms. “What do you want from me?” he inquires brusquely, inexperienced with the notion of being inextricably tethered to someone. A connection forged by the countless moments you have shared together, the numerous battlefields you have both emerged victorious and triumphant from as you stood over the bodies of your enemies, and the several occasions he’s learnt that he could tolerate your presence and the serene silences that envelop you both after a tiresome day. “Do enlighten me as to what you are thinking - though I can’t guarantee I’ll retain interest in this conversation if you simply wanted to engage in small talk.” As expected. There’s that honest and straightforward reaction that you’re well acquainted with and a familiar demonstration of his infamously sharp tongue and blunt remarks.

Absent-mindedly, you gingerly draw the pressed hems of his white collar closer to the centre of his chest, your hands slowly reaching towards the various embellishments that adorn his body and minutely adjusting them to their rightful place. Scaramouche notices the way your brows knit together, as though you were slightly vexed by the mild breeze prior that put them into a state of disarray and disturbed them from the rich cobalt and baby blue fabric that they were fastened to.

Inquisitively, his orbs observe your movements, waiting for your next words. He waits with the patience you would never have been able to rouse within him when you initially met. Gradually, your eyes meet his, and you struggle to conceal the beam that threatens to spill onto your face. The expectant look that glazes his features and the way your hands smooth out the folds of his signature attire reminds you of your various encounters with the felines you’ve run into throughout your journey. Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair just as you did with the inky-black shorthair you met a few hours ago, you tilt your head up to peer into his dark pools of purple and whisper, just loud enough for him to catch your words amongst the whistle of the wind and the howl of the approaching night: “The sun is setting; shall we retire for the night?”

Scaramouche isn’t used to physical displays of affection: your touch makes him flinch momentarily, but his muscles relax as your presence permeates into him and your delectable scent renders him defenceless. Simultaneously, his thoughts are occupied at the irony of how you intend to maintain his aesthetic integrity despite the grime and dust that speckles his pristine ivory outfit and the minuscule crimson cuts peppered onto his smooth and unblemished pale skin.

Continuing your tentative ministrations, you gaze into his dark indigo orbs, which are flecked with specks of aquamarine and royal blue - you gaze into them as though you’re searching both for an answer and searching for a glimpse into what could possibly run through that inquisitive and yet tranquil mind of his.

Abruptly, his head snaps away from yours, the ornaments adorning his body twinkling as he does so. He exhales, releasing a sound that, to an ordinary passerby, verges a fine line between mutual amiability and absolute contempt. In reality, he uses the derisive scoff that escapes him to try and conceal the flush that creeps along the apples of his cheeks and flourishes to the tips of his ears. Slowly, he closes one eye and snidely peeks at your form with a timbre full of mirth and he softly purrs: “Hmm? What, you can’t fall asleep with me around? And here I was - assuming you had something important to tell me. Well, despite expecting more, I guess it can’t be helped.” A glint of playfulness flashes onto his crystalline orbs. Candour laces every sentence that leaves his mouth but his words betray the way he unconsciously beckons you ever closer to him to witness the stars string themselves into constellations before your very eyes.

“Well, if it is ever anything about you, it most certainly is important to me.” The former Fatui Harbinger isn’t as sly as he thinks he is - your perceptive gaze catches traces of the pink that dusts his bewitching visage and the slightest dilation of his obsidian pupils. After he finally unravelled the persona he had skillfully hid underneath his artificial facade, you revel in the way your closeness flusters him and you relish in the way you are the only person he’d traverse these lands with to find his true identity and meaning in his newfound life.

“It’s astonishing how you can utter that without an ounce of shame. I guess it’s by your nature - fortunately your fighting capabilities and, well, decent appearance compensate for your rather brazen personality.”

With an astounded gasp, you lightly swat his shoulder, earning the faintest snigger from the male. Eyes glinting with mischief and a subtle smile curled with mirth, he observes you once again chuckling exasperatedly at his antics. “Well, excuse me for caring about you - aren’t you freezing in that outfit? At this rate, you might catch a cold.” As the moon rises, the temperature slowly depletes. The chill of the wind bites into your skin but Scaramouche seems unfazed by it - he, in fact, basks in the gusts that periodically billow by. His brows are no longer furrowed and his jaw unclenches, content with the way the breeze tousles his deep purple tresses and causes stray strands of hair flutter against his face.

Gently, you slink your arms around his shoulders, your fingers drawing nonsensical shapes on the nape of his neck. “I need to have my sparring partner in tip-top shape. Nursing you back to health is not something I want to add to my itinerary - you should be well-aware that my schedule is completely full.” You add haughtily, his teasing remarks spurring you to counter his verbal advance with a challenge of your own. “And I’ll have you know that in the time it will take for you to recover, my combat proficiency will certainly surpass yours in no time. If that’s the case, then I assume that you want to lose to me again?”

“Why you-” his head dives forward as he launches an attack on your jugular. “Rest assured, I do not have a delicate constitution, unlike those other ordinary mortals.” As he buries his nose into your collarbone and his digits trace your ribs and waist, you convulse with laughter as his touch dances against sensitive parts of your upper torso. Your hands attempt to resist his ministrations, but his physical strength overpowers you, not that you were putting much of a fight in the first place, and you’re stupefied by the teeth that unexpectedly graze your clavicle and leave the affected area tingling with electricity. Audaciously nipping your neck as you titter, he softly murmurs against your skin: “I’ll let you stew in your victory for today, koibito, but I’ll have you know that I do not intend on losing - must I remind you of who remains the reigning champion in all of our duels?”

Averting your head away from his firm grip, you blow a raspberry, sneering smugly at him: “Sure, call it whatever you want Scaramouche - construe the indisputable fact that my talents and ability outclass yours, which obviously excels way beyond your current capabilities, into whatever palatable narrative that will satiate you. Just accept your defeat already.”

His eyes catch yours and one of the corners of his mouth lifts upwards, just enough for you to notice the glint of his boyish fangs. “Oh, koibito, you’ll renounce those words once I conquer you on the battlefield tomorrow. I’ll remind you of the sweet taste of my overwhelming prowess.”

His intoxicating presence infiltrates your senses like a potent toxin: he renders you defenceless to his reticent whims. From prior fleeting meetings and brief acquaintanceship that solidifies into something more, it is in moments like these, you can feel the pulsing and robust bond that has bound you two together - a bond you nor he could sever without incapacitating the other that has been irrevocably tied to this everlasting string that connects your beings.

Swiftly slicing into the universe that has formed between you and him, a drop of rain splatters onto the plane of grass that lays beneath your feet. A few droplets multiply into a light drizzle, which then gradually lead to a downpour that descends relentlessly onto your figures.

Yelping as a cold stream of water cascades down your back, you instinctively pull Scaramouche closer to your form. Reaching your hand above your head, you promptly draw one end of his hat downwards in a futile attempt to shield both you and him from the torrential rain. Over the thundering pitter-patter descending above you, you make out an exasperated yell erupt from the form within your grasp: “Seriously, you’re using my hat as an umbrella?! The audacity!”

“Stop moving your mouth and start moving those legs! Let’s hurry to the house before we’re both soaked through!”

Briskly, your hand wraps around his lithe waist whilst the other clasps his nimble wrist. You pull him firmly towards the quaint cottage that Granny Ruoxin kindly let the two of you reside in after taking care of throng of Treasure Hoarders and stray agents of the Fatui who sought to disturb the peaceful village.

As the rain pelts down onto the vibrant expanse of orange and yellow fields, Scaramouche stumbles and teeters as he loses his footing. The dirt dampens with the downpour and the muddy surface threatens to pull him down as his ukon-geta sinks into the moist soil underneath his figure. Noticing his struggle, you whisk him into your arms. Hoisting his frame closer to your chest, you support his waist in one hand, tucking his form closer to your bosom as his legs are securely lifted up with your other hand.

Scaramouche’s features contort into one of shock but he is unable to fully explore his sudden astonishment as your ministrations cause him to desperately cling onto your shoulders to avoid falling down. Incredulously, he shouts: “A little warning would have been nice!” Closing his lids, to calm his thundering heartbeat and to allay the sudden spur of bewilderment, he hollers: “Is this really necessary? You shouldn’t fret over me in such a situation - put me down and take care of yourself first.”

Fidgeting in your hold, he ruffles like an agitated and displeased feline, clawing his way out of your secure embrace. For once, it isn’t because your actions have aroused that inherent feeling of vexation or irritation that wells in his being. For once, (even if these are things he’s thought about countless times, but he internally, indignantly and stubbornly refuses to accept this) he’s concerned about the hefty burden carrying him places on your form, already weary with the elemental reactions inflicted onto you and the countless swords and weapons you had to defend yourself and him against. For once, he’s afraid you’ll become ill with every transparent drop of water that descends onto your exquisite profile. For once, he’s at a conflict between relishing in how your arms sturdily and firmly grip his form with the same overwhelming strength and power he’s witnessed in innumerable battles, and reprimanding your foolish selflessness that blinds you from the danger of trekking through the vast plains of terrace fields and hills that await you on your journey to the quaint village.

“Pipe down, Scaramouche, do you honestly think that I would let you walk in this storm with sandals like that?” Glancing at the clogs that limply hang from his feet, he grimaces at the soil that cakes the dark wooden soles and he’s starkly reminded of the pain that shot up the length of his calf when he stumbled moments ago.

“Hmm? Cat got your tongue? If so, hold on tightly, ohimesama, let me take care of you now.” It’s astounding that even here, you’d snarkily tease him so. It’s astonishing that even now, you don’t seize your romantic advancements - not as you briskly send a cheeky wink and gallantly march towards the cozy cottage that awaits the two of you. Heavy rainfall splatters relentlessly onto your visage, which seems even more breathtaking as the water highlights your charming features. (Not that he’d actually vocalise these thoughts - maybe it’s because of his pride or because he’s afraid of inflating your ego any more than it already is. Perhaps it’s because he trips over the words he wishes to tell you, your beauty petrifying him so much so that he feels vulnerable in a way he’s never experienced before and flustered that he lacks the same amount of experience you hold in amorous endeavours.)

After being well-acquainted with your headstrong, albeit also quite frustratingly stubborn and obstinate, nature, he surrenders to your whims. The only thing he can do is to securely loop his arms around your neck and, begrudgingly, use his hat to provide some way of deflecting the incessant downpour. He flushes at the way you reflexively move your head closer to his, your damp strands tickling his jaw. Instinctively, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck, tucking yourself into him to cover what little could fit underneath his headwear.

It certainly will be a long journey back to Qingce Village, he muses, gazing beyond the tempestuous storm and the clouds brewing with strobes of lightning. The tenacious glint never leaves your captivating optics even as you inhale and exhale shakily whilst climbing the rolling hills and undulating pathways to your desired destination. Even as your chest heaves under his weight and tracks of rainwater stream down the curve of your cheek, the edge of your chin and the hollow of your neck, your hold is unfailingly firm under his lithe thighs and the broad column of his back and shoulders.

He’ll have to reward you for your efforts later - such chivalrous acts deserve commendation - something that even he is aware of. He acutely recalls how much you you yearn for his recognition - albeit not explicitly, he knows how voicing your merits inextricably affects you. Who is he to deny you your well-earned praise? Who is he to not demonstrate his utmost gratitude of your efforts? He’ll certainly show you his appreciation - he just hopes you’ll be able to bear the gravity of his newfound passion - a sudden onslaught of fervent ardour that consumes him wholly. It would be an expression you would have never expected from him but like your proficiency in wielding the elements, you’ll diligently endure him. After all, that’s what is expected of the partner of the former renowned Balladeer. And he knows you definitely won’t disappoint.

_____

Scaramouche isn’t one for showing his admiration outright - especially not in broad daylight and exposed to the judgemental scrutiny of outsiders who have no right to learn of his ardent affinity for you. He absolutely abhors the idea of anyone seeing how your actions make him putty in your hands. He detests the thought of anyone seeing how a heart manifests in his artificial rib cage, rattling against wire and alive and beating within that hollow shell of his puppet body.

Under the private gaze of the moon and your eyes only, away from the daunting, captious view of the outside world, he unravels himself to you. His touch is inexperienced, but as his reincarnation’s name suggests, he craves discovery and desires exploration.

Like electricity, his lips leave supple trails of kisses along your jugular - his actions igniting sparks in their wake and making your skin tingle with a numbing and thrilling static that persists even as he draws himself away from you. Despite the stringent, blunt and yet considerate facade he performs in-front of others, you can taste the lingering remnants of his territorial, cunning and dominant persona through the way he smirks against the expanse of your clavicle, and writes his name with the purple and light red flowers that begin to blossom on your torso. You’re submerged in the palpitating sensation he sends throughout your body, conducting a current of his fervent ardour to every area of your pliant and yielding form. It spreads through the vast network of veins and blood vessels that come to life with every caress of his hands. It jumpstarts an uproar of passion that had once lay dormant deep within the core of your being for so long, awakened by the energy he fuels into you with every movement of his deft digits and the ravenous purple orbs that bore into yours.

Eagerly and rapaciously, he consumes the sounds that escape your mouth, punctuated by the roaring strikes of thunder that briefly illuminate your entwined figures resting on your shared double bed and guided by the sustained metronome of the rain that continues to fall outside and casts shadows along the mahogany floors of the cottage. Selfishly, he drinks you in like you’re the only entity that will satiate this vehement desire - like you’re the only person to satisfy this intense hunger that ravishes his entire being. He delights in the way you squirm underneath his form, desperate to chase him, to hold him accountable for the pulsating ache he triggered into every single inch of skin, flesh and bone within your body, to ensure he’s responsible for the searing libido that courses through every fibre of your being.

Even within the haze of frantic, erratic movements and desperate, yearning caresses, he realises that in this moment, you never fail to make him feel like he belongs. Your presence provokes him to feel like he was always destined to be engulfed wholly by your tender embrace. Like he was preordained to be irrevocably tethered to your celestial presence, like he was fated to be loved by you. To return your fervent reassurances that ensure he is more than an just the discarded puppet he was born as, and the comfort you provide by will-fully devoting yourself to guiding him to the future that he deserves, he’ll drown you in his affections.

Ever chasing the next thrill, the next competition, he’ll see how long you can withstand before he completely overwhelms you.

After all, he’s grateful for everything you’ve done for him. This is just one of many ways for him to show his appreciation.

#genshin impact #Genshin #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer #wanderer #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer x you #scaramouche fluff #gi scaramouche #gi wanderer #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact x reader #a bit spicy at the end whoops

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justafleck · 2 years ago

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@adversitybloomed : ❛ are you always this straightforward with strangers ? ❜

— “ Are you always this presumptuous when it comes to clowns ? ” Oh how it makes him want to laugh . A guy can’t compliment a lady around here without some sort of retaliation , but he loves it . Like adding fuel to a fire , it invigorates him . His heart pumps faster than it should in his chest , mostly from the what he considers a blatant rejection that fueled his deep rooted anxiety . He thought his intro line was cool : ‘ I must be in a museum because you truly are a work of art ! ’ It was golden , or so he thought . She’s captured his attention as she stands out from the crowd much like he does . Bonus points because she’s beautiful but he’s not trying to pick her up like that — he’s not a creep , or at least he’s not trying to be . “ What do I look like ? A creep ? ” The question wraps up with a laugh . Its loud , his painted smile stretches from ear to hear and his teeth flash from behind crimson painted lips . “ I thought women liked compliments . Jeesh ! ”

— Perhaps it’s his lack of social skills : he heard the pickup line long ago during a show at Pogo’s and jotted it down thinking it was a genuine compliment rather than some cheesy pickup line sleaze bags at a bar would use . He didn’t know the difference . “ Everyone else around here looks so boring . ” he said , adding a certain emphasis to the description . “ But you don’t . ” he pointed out . The people around them all dress so blandly : black suits and plain dresses . To him it’s like walking around a funeral home . It was nice to stumble across someone unique around here . He straightened his posture , shoulders squared as he brings the cigarette pinched between his fingers towards his lips and held it there to speak before taking a pull from it . “ If you haven’t noticed , I’ve got a keen eye for fashion and you’re killing it . ” His smile never dims and he blows a stream of smoke out from between his lips . He’s cocky ; arrogant . It’s just a front . The nicotine barely settles his frayed nerves and he feels as if he’d bounce right out of his two toned shoes .

— “ So , what now ? Are you gonna slap me across the face ? Call me a bad guy ? ” Joker quipped . It’s certainly anticipated ; trauma from his past as every time he used to try to strike up conversation with anyone it seemed to almost always end up that way . A slap in the face . An insult . Nothing pleasant . “ Or can I give it another shot and introduce myself like a true gentleman ? ” He’s certain that she should already know who he is . He’ s the most infamous man in Gotham City and it’s indicated by the mixture of gasps and murmuring by people passing by them on the streets . Others stopping to take pictures of him from across the street . How he revels in the attention , but for now , he pays it no mind . Emerald eyes remain locked onto her , sharp like a hawks gaze piercing into her as if she were the only person he could see . He’s not angry ; nor does his demeanor suggest it . If anything , he’s entertained .

#adversitybloomed #c :: mal bertha #pls forgive him omg #he dead ass didn't know that was a pick up line #but he was like oh she looks different lemme compliment #and proceeded to faceplant the 'compliment' bc he literally doesn't know it's a pickup line lmfao

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imprvdente · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 & 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇 @imjustanauthor

“Oh no, I have no desire to give you anything more. That would be an unfair advantage, don’t you think?”

Moriarty didn’t want to discuss himself. He was always happy to talk about his work, assuming that he didn’t have something better to be doing, but himself? No, no - that was far too much of a risk. While he was fully confident in his ability to blend in as if he were some kind of chameleon, he had hardly grown a criminal empire without understanding the concept of sensible caution.

“I am merely taking an interest because, during my interviews with other students, I noticed that they were all asking very similar questions to each other. Not you, though. You started along the same track, but then you went off script. I find that interesting.”

He too smiled now, except it was somehow… Off. The expression didn’t quite meet the man’s eyes and, underneath the initial display, there was an edge to it that was reminiscent of a shark. If it was a smile at all, then it was a mocking one. The kind that one may imagine a wolf displaying before it devoured a lamb.

In addition to this little quirk, another subtle behaviour was on display - that being, the way that Moriarty’s head had a habit of slowly swaying every so slightly from side to side in a manner that was almost reptilian in nature. This was something he saw little point in hiding. Odd behaviour was a dime a dozen in Cambridge, the university filled to the brim with, ah, what did they like to call it nowadays? Ah yes, neurodiversity. Compared to some of his colleagues, Moriarty was a picture of perfect normalcy.

“Have you reached any conclusions yet from the data that you managed to gather?”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agreed politely. Fish was of course curious to know more, but she could sense the Professor was not enjoying her curiosity, despite the way he spoke of her... interesting process.

Entering dangerous waters felt somewhat invigorating. Perhaps a part of her missed the mind games Hannibal had started in Baltimore. Not that she would have admitted that out loud (she had blamed him for it so many times now!). But the truth was: there was something exhilarating about treating life like a huge game of chess.

“I adapted my project,” she mused, nonchalantly crossing her legs, “you are a fascinating man, Professor Moriarty. I had a feeling you were above the mindless repetition of pre-approved and standardized questions.”

Somehow, his perfect human suit was shifting, like a mirage in the desert. Not cracking like a vase, or vanishing into thin air. It was still there, reminding her very much of her father. But it lacked... realism. Now, she could tell it was but a piece of clothing, well-fitted, but still not the real Professor Moriarty.

“Oh, I was going to send you my report, of course,” she assured him with a charming smile, enjoying playing dumb for just a little bit longer.

Her conclusions... Well, it was more like an hypothesis. A hunch of sorts, perhaps because predators could sniff each others out. If she was right, oh how fun! But if she was wrong, it could all be very awkward, very fast. She did not mind a little bit of tension and danger, but she’d hate to be rude.

“I didn’t think you were going to give any credit to this. You didn’t strike me as a man who enjoys classifications.”

#&(Professor Moriarty)#Fish (Lecter)#imjustanauthor #(queue)

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witchthewriter · 2 years ago

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞 ◉ ⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

🌿ISTJ 🍁Gryffindor 📜Chaotic Good 🔮Aries Sun, Saggitarius Moon, Scorpio Rising

SFW

・He likes to do the housework because he wants you to have a clean house to come home to. It also reminds him that he isn’t alone and not doing it just for himself.

・Frank is really good at cooking (not so much baking, he always burns the cake). He does a really good lasagne!

・Only birthdays he goes absolutely out - wanting you to have THE best day. Breakfast in bed, and the day is reserved for you and you alone. Whatever you want to do; but if you can’t make up your mind, he’ll come up with really good ideas.

・Some of those ideas are like ... lunch but on a rooftop overlooking the city. Going to the beach, buying big ol’ pizzas and going to the movie theatre.

・Will ALWAYS protect you - no matter what, you know Frank will be there. If you’re ever in trouble, he will go to the ends of the earth to make sure you’re safe.

・And he would definitely risk his life for yours

・But he hates it when you jump into action; it’s like his second chance of a good life could be ruined.

・He loves 60s songs, and he’ll sing the Beatles to you often

・He’s more of a night owl than a morning person. He’ll groan and grunt that for 5 more minutes

・Oh and in winter he adores hot water bottles, it may be a small thing, but the first time you made one up for him - he couldn’t sigh loud enough.

・He’s a very good hugger - like hugging a bear

・Always gives money to people on the streets

・And usually strikes up a conversation at the checkout. He’s held up many lines.

・He loves animals. Expect 3 dogs, a few cats (he is the perfect gentleman, knowing boundaries and consent, so of course he would like cats. Frank is like the literal embodiment of the female gaze.) Also birds ... okay so probably just heaps of strays.

・I can actually see you living in the country with him. A cottage with you, the animals, some chickens, a cow, a goat and the natural world.

・He would feel at peace. Because Frank needs peace.

・All the mundane things that regular couples do ... it invigorates him. He’s so happy that he has a partner. someone that he can pour his love into

・He loves slow dancing with you. Frank holds you close, swaying back and forth, humming along with the song in your ear.

・Frank will gaze at you a lot. It’s like looking at a god/goddess. You’re his world. His second chance. His life.

・He always makes sure you’re tank is full, tires are pumped, checks your engine, and fixes any problems.

・Frank is such a handyman as well - he’s the one getting rid of spiders (never killing them, but letting them go outside.)

・Changes lightbulbs, if there’s a leak he’s on it. But I think he would teach you how to do things as well. He doesn’t want you to solely rely on him (although he wouldn’t mind it)

・I think you would be great friends with Karen as well. She loves that Frank has someone - and no she wouldn’t be jealous. She would be a confidant for you and him.

NSFW🔞minors dni!!!

・Frank is one big goddamn dom. He has a lot of passion and vigor. He would push you up against a wall and

・He shows you how much he loves you through sex

・Breeding kink

・Size kink (I think Frank is very well endowed)

・He likes foreplay, but it’s very hard for him not to rip off your clothes and bury his cock inside you

・He would definitely be a fan of cock warming as well. You two would be lying on the bed or couch and he’ll move your panties aside and push himself inside you

・Likes the sounds you make when you cum. He’s very loud when he orgasms too

・He’s a mix between slow & sensual and rough & fast. He wants to savor you but he can’t help but be tender.

・Slow, passionate kisses that leave you weak in the knees

・He loves to push you up against a wall and put his hands underneath your shirt

・When you bite his earlobe, he goes crazy. It’s like a button - bite and you’ll be ravished.

・He’s very good at aftercare, very loving and gentle. Although he’s a gruff man, he likes to show how much he cares for you.

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indouloureux · 3 years ago

Text

so sad, so sexy

peter parker x reader

summary: in which peter parker finds himself hyperventilating in a party before catching you smoking in a hot tub

word count: 2,908

warnings: panic attacks, alcohol usage (both characters are of age), smoking, slight nsfw at the end, vv deep talks, slight angst maybe and also slight fluff at the end

a/n: copy pasted from my ao3 account because i lost this on my docs :(

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

open your eyes

i’m right in front of you

open your eyes

The music echoed through his ears. Peter’s body slipped through the crowd; revelers, en masse. His arms getting themselves stuck between sweaty bodies and drunken momentums. What he sees is radical – a coalescence of vivacious hues; flashing lights, dilated pupils, morose beliefs.

A twinge of alcohol is what he consumed, yet he already blundered in his own feet. Peter didn’t know if everyone around him was actually spinning, or if it was his eyes that were deceiving him. Either way, the vistas of inebriation made him want to vomit.

He felt a hand rest on his arm, calloused ones. Ned emerged in his eyesight, intoxicated like he was. He was speaking, enunciating futile nothings – Peter couldn’t make out a single word he said other than the word ‘leaving’.

Peter shook his head, and Ned placed a rigid pat on his back.

He was in a sea of flesh and pulsating hearts yet he encountered himself lost. And he was suffocating on the sporadic abundance he’s in; every touch his skin felt was like a conflagration, every sound was nuanced to his sanities, every beat of his heart rose erratically each second.

Every inhalation he bore was subtle in vexatious palls. Peter’s feet stumbled upon the tempestuous floor, creating his way toward the stairs and into the bathroom to his left.

He shut the door behind him as loud as the music beneath him.

Peter closed his eyes.

What was he doing here? He was rueing his arrival of himself at this party. He was supposed to be out there, being an illicit vigilante – saving people from the peril of what’s to come. Yet here he was, bibulous and isolated in his apprehensions.

“First time?”

open your eyes

i’m walking out on you for the last time

Peter looked down at you, eyes wide. He’s seen you before, at less crowded cafes, being mysteriously pathos in your own anonymity.

He wasn’t the one to observe, but he did. He observed you like a wise owl, wanting to know what was on your head. Peter barely knew you but he felt like he did – like a ridiculous, string of florid chemistry.

You were, without a doubt, an invigorating novelty.

“First time?” He repeated in a whisper. “First time in what?”

“Having a panic attack in a party,” you answered, knees to your chest. You smelt of tobacco, amalgamated with vanilla and rye. "You're disgustingly sweaty.”

“Oh,” he wiped his hand over his forehead, feeling the sticky substance on his skin. “Um – I’m alright.”

You scoffed. “Speak for yourself. Care to join me?”

(y/n), he remembered. It was your name. You sat down at the tub, a cigarette between your fingers and a bottle of vodka rested upon the empty soap handle. You looked up at him in unknown anticipation, a drunk sparkle in your eyes.

Peter shrugged, already stepping in contrary to your position.

“Peter, right?” he nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not really into parties,” Peter said. “Ned just brought me here because Betty hosted it and I couldn’t say no to him.”

“Betty?” You smirked. “She hosted this party so Ned could come. She never shuts up about him. What a coincidence .”

Peter knocked his head back, closing his eyes. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m supposed to be out there…and…”

“And?”

“Living a peaceful life.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you took a sip of vodka. “Well, while you’re here, I’m going to try my best to make the bathroom as peaceful as I can.”

You hand him the half-filled vodka, urging him to take a sip. He obliged while you positioned the cigarette back between your purple lips, sucking in. Peter’s face abraded in discomfort, the scalding sensation scouring his throat to his chest.

His impetus changed as his body convulsed in bacchanalian adrenaline. Peter blinked rapidly, his ostensible ingestion enclosing a prompt change to his state. You laughed at his reaction, hiding your face behind your hand.

“Too strong?”

Peter shook his head, a soft, lopsided smile on his face. “It’s alright. Enough to get me breathing properly again, I guess.”

“I had the same reaction you did when I got too drunk at a party,” you said, exhaling the smoke from your lips. “I always felt suffocated. Like, someone was choking me and forcing me between strangers.”

Peter shook his head, mimicking your position by placing his knees to his chest; resting his cheek on his right knee. “I’m not too drunk.”

“Sweetheart, you’re on the verge of it.”

He blushed.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a pout.

“What? This?” You raise your cigarette. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He puffed. “Getting lung cancer?”

His voice drawled on as his speech sleeps in a foolish ear. You placed your chin on your arm, raising both your brows in a manner in which you’ve given up in giving a care. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You’re killing yourself with that, y’know?”

“And? We all die anyway.”

Peter leaned closer, and your knees were touching – his jeans on your bare knees. He hadn’t entirely noticed you were only wearing a shirt, simply an underwear for your bottoms. His already flushed face reddened more when he glanced down.

He looked back up to gaze at your eyes. Oh, your eyes, such intricate attributes, so minuscule, but capable to obtain so many fortes nonetheless. You’ve seen things - felt things. They were so ameliorating in hellacious sentiments that it’s hard to decipher what your eyes genuinely meant.

Your finger dragged along his scarred knuckles; yellow and purple hues along his opalescent, supple skin. Peter cleared his throat. “What if we don’t die?”

You ceased, looking up to meet his eyes. It's solemn, but they’re integrated with vodka and horrifying faux pas. Peter reached for the cigarette in your hand, gradually positioning it between his chapped lips that had been intoxicatingly yearning to abut yours.

“Immortality – it’s a curse,” Peter sucked his cheeks in, feeling the gaseous tobacco infiltrate his lungs. “It’s far from a godsend. It’ll punish you for your aptitude – you’re going to be feeling misery for the rest of your life. It’s the Fiend’s nihilistic present.”

i keep my heart achin’

why do we keep fakin’

In a swift motion, you took your cigarette back. Placing it between your lips, Peter placed his chin between his knees so his face was closer to yours, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Wow, so poetic.”

You looked down, chin jutting up. “I try.”

“Death is inevitable, no?” Peter said, attempting to outdo you. “Death is…it’s like a cop, yeah? And like, you’re this criminal they’re catching. And when they catch you, they’re putting you in jail. But this jail is- it’s dark. It’s scary, it’s horrifying. It makes you feel isolated and one minute you see the light, the next you just- get succumbed by darkness.”

“Nice try at your poetic-ness, Peter,” you smiled. “Jail’s no fun, however. I’ll tell you that much.”

He straightened his back. “You’ve been there?”

“Once. In Monopoly.”

He flared into laughter, leaning forward. You cannot help but coalesce in his fit of bliss, his laughter like a shot of espresso in the dawn that preserves you alive. You beamed at the crinkles in the corner of his eyes, the beauty in his cadence, the softness in his look.

“Alright, enough with poetry. I can’t beat you,” he returned to his previous position, looking up at you with clouded eyes. “I suppose we’ll be staying here until the next day. Do you mind if I ask you questions for our leisure?”

You shook your head.

Peter smiled softly, excitement proliferating within him as the culmination that he’ll be consuming basically his whole evening with you relieves his aforementioned unease. “Questions. Um, what’s your greatest weakness?”

You mimicked him, placing your chin between your knees. “Being uncooperative.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette from you to take a hit. His cheeks hollow, eyes nevermore departing from yours in immobile fervency. At that moment, both your sobriety was on sabbatical; your ruminations were insinuated with enormities that were hubris on its sovereignty. Your finger trailed up and down his forearm, sensing his muscles tense underneath your frail touch.

“My turn,” you whispered. “Okay, um, what’d you call a fish with no eye?”

Not even a second passed. “Myxine Circifrons.”

You frowned, taking the cigarette from him, annoyed. “I was going to say fsh but whatever. You ruined it.”

Peter scrunched his nose. “Sorry. Greatest fear?”

“Spiders,” he seemed to take humor into that. “Usually I’d say being alone, but sometimes being alone is for the best – living in peace.”

“You don’t feel sad?”

“Oh, I always feel sad,” you answered. “Sadness is…inevitable. It’s shrewd to those who feel it. It’s like a ghost haunting you at times you wish to be left alone and happy.”

“Again, with your poetry!”

“My apologies. I shalt not recurrent thy poetry to thee.” You bowed. “My turn. Something you wish you could have.”

Peter’s smile faltered as he let himself descend into solemnity. What he longed for the most is normality; he wished for the honesty to slip past his fraudulent mouth, he wished for the certitude and security of those he loved. Peter wished to sleep peacefully, the nightmares not even daring to slip past the barrier to his dreams; he wished to go home unbruised and sterile, without having to feel like death was outside his bedroom door waiting for his last breath.

He wished for the ephemeral peace in his life to last until he died.

“I…” he paused. “I wish that I get enough sleep.”

You sighed, the cigarette dangling on your bottom lip. “You and me both.”

Subconsciously, his hand raised to push the strand of hair out of your face. “Something you wished you could have known.”

You looked at him. “Nothing,” you answered. “The essence of the unknown, the premonition of what’s to arrive is what annihilates curiosity and instead is what leaves you astonished in the divulgence of the truth. It’s the punctuality that sets it all up.”

“So you’re no curious cat?” you shrugged, shooting him a wink. Peter’s lips tugged downwards, the cigarette hung dangerously between his slim fingers. “Too bad. I was beginning to wonder if you were curious about me at all.”

“I shrugged, didn’t I?” you replied. “The answer’s unknown. Up to you to figure out if I’m a curious person or not.” You took a swig from the bottle, a quick one, before you wiped the corner of your lips with the pad of your thumb. “Okay. Most embarrassing memory?”

Peter’s eyes widened, hands raising, waving the cigarette. “Oh! When I was in freshman year back in high school, I had a crush on this girl. And I thought it would be nice to impress her by playing basketball. So- so one time I told her this one’s for you , and completely missed!”

“Oh, Jesus,” You placed the heel of your palm on your forehead, laughing at him. He scoffed in offence, his elbows on his knees as Peter threw his head back to the wall.

“It’s embarrassing! Bad things keep happening to me, like- like I have bad luck or something.”

“Peter, you don’t have bad luck. You’re just a dumbass.”

i was only lying when i looked into your eyes

i’m cryin’ diamonds like a river inside

“My turn,” You took the cigarette from him, reaching over. “Why are you here?”

You paused, halfway through putting the cig back in your mouth. “Where? In the bathroom?”

Peter would have retorted with something comical, but he couldn’t think of anything. Instead, he nodded, looking at you with a tilted head and curious eyes. “Why are you smoking in the bathtub, alone, in this fine evening?”

You pursed your lips. “I don’t like big crowds.” A simple response wasn’t sufficient for him. He shifted closer, his right knee between your legs, his calf grazing your bare thighs. “I…parties with big crowds are tough and they make me nervous and claustrophobic so I mostly spend the rest of my time in here. Or anywhere desolated, in particular.”

Peter’s hooded eyes softened, his fingers reaching to gently, lightly hold yours. “Not a big fan of parties, huh?”

His thumb slowly ran through the build of your knuckles. “Just…I get that parties are the ideal habits of leisure and frivolous entertainment, but everyone I see is just capricious- and- and are unbelievable phonies!”

He chortled. “How so?”

“They’re all so horny! And it’s ruining the mood.”

Peter laughed fully this time, resting his head on his knee. His hand never left yours but you laughed still, with him.

This - this something with Peter, with him and you together in this diminutive tub, holding hands and gabbing and sharing a cigarette - it felt uniquely malign yet sentimentally correct. You never knew each other, but here you were, in the bathroom, isolated, at 1 in the morning as the crowd beneath you continued to bewilder themselves. Both of you were lost in your own sublime haven; laughing and getting yourselves drunk.

This moment was poetry in motion – two strangers acting as if they knew each other for the longest of times; falling in love for the swiftest of times.

It felt like time had stopped to give you the whole world to fall in love with and spend your lives talking about what you admire.

“My turn,” your mind’s clouded – treading lightly in a sober mind yet words running carelessly in inebriation. “What is love?”

A question neither of you had been questioned. Albeit both of you had been predicting the question of it. You were, in reality, curious as of the moment. You wanted to understand what he thinks about love, to see if you were pious to the same thing - to see if he knew that love is not at all what it shows itself to be.

Peter’s hand came out and ultimately latched his fingers around yours, all while staring at your dazed eyes. “Love is a perception; a feeling. It is deep within ourselves and, undoubtedly, it is pleasure. It gives amenity, it gives happiness, it gives pain. It’s so powerful that I believe even the cold-hearted can love too.”

“Yet it is also voracious, it is sacrificial, it is a burden; it’s parsimonious, it is greedy, it is prejudiced. To love is not only happiness and pleasure, but it is also a malediction. For deep down, you know you’re willing to do anything for them. You will lie, you will hurt, and you will sin.” You finished for him, proving your point. “Love isn’t all about happiness. It’s cruel.”

“Is that so?” He leaned in, nose against yours. “Is it a sin for wanting to do something thoughtless right now?”

“Depends,” you responded. “What is it, anyway?”

“I always overthink. Let me do something thoughtless for once.”

With the cigarette between your lips, you sucked in, deeply. Peter himself pulled the cigarette out, and with his parted lips, you exhaled the smoke through his mouth, scrutinizing as its fog obscured his arduously rapturous lips, before he placed them on yours.

and it’s so sad, so sexy

so sad, so sexy

You desecrate the components of his cheekbones, fingers tracing as if you were a Creator sculpting your own God underneath your palpable skin — unperturbed by your inebriety and impetuous determinations.

The conquest of your heart was trudging itself out of your chest, gnawing on your embittered tendons. A plethora of pristine inquisitions poured its way through Peter and he positioned his hands beneath your shirt to grasp your alluring skin, deeming amorous as the liquor possessed him.

His tongue found yours, the starvation scouring the taste of your sweetly deviant lusts. This was the denouement of the evening – the beginning of inveigled young love. It was a divination beseeching to ensue, your lonesome hearts entwined; Destiny eloquent on both of you.

Peter sat back and brought you with him, sitting you on his lap. Suddenly he’s burning, feeling his surroundings encompassed in the fire as your hands scour themselves underneath his shirt, fingertips harshly touching on his scarred torso.

And then he’s kissing your neck, sucking on your skin followed by the moist touch of his tongue to soothe the pain, the way he alleviated the ache in your heart. Your hands engrossed in his hair, radiating a deep groan from Peter’s lips that convulsed on your neck.

His lips are back on yours a second later, devouring you as if he hadn’t consumed a meal in days. Peter’s kiss was constructing you as his very own prey, and you let yourself be feasted upon the predator within him. His hands are thrusting you against him, pressing yourself as he rocked you.

But when a loud knock interrupted you both, he tore his lips apart from yours and he’s a panting mess underneath you. Peter glimpsed up at you – ravenous, lascivious, fervent. His hands probed your back until one of them reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You said love makes you sin,” he whispered against your soft, swollen lips. “Then I guess we’ll both be sinners tonight.”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

SUPPORT A WRITER AND REBLOG! (please)

#tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #college!peter parker #older!peter parker #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot

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ninthhousesteel · 2 years ago

Text

-so warm and true-

ronance first kiss one shot

It was the worst thing she could think of. Yet it was also invigorating and tantalizingly inviting. As she laid in her bed, the thought of it consumed Nancy Wheeler. She shook her head in a weak attempt to clear it, but her mind raced at the image of a face spattered with freckles, slowly leaning closer to her own. Nancy could feel the tension as if she were actually there, inches away from a kiss she so desperately wanted. A kiss she believed that, after all the shit she’s been through, she so desperately deserved.

She was only spurred back to reality at the sound of knocking on her bedroom door. Shit. In the midst of her daydreaming, Nancy had somehow forgotten about her impromptu study session with Robin Buckley, the same girl occupying every inch of her mind. The same girl she hoped would occupy every inch of her body.

Now’s not the time, Nance, she thought as she flew from her bed to open her bedroom door to a particularly amused Robin.

“What took you so long, Wheeler?” the taller girl mused. “I thought you’d be rushing to the door to see me, what with how eager you were to study for this calculus quiz tomorrow.”

“I uh, was just getting out my study guide. It had gotten lost in my backpack.” She smiled weakly in an attempt to cover up such a glaringly obvious lie. Luckily, Robin did not seem to notice.

Nice one, she thought to herself as she ushered Robin into her room.

After a quick once-over to see if anything had changed since the last time she visited, Robin sat herself down on Nancy’s bed, positioning herself in a way that left her almost teetering on the edge.

Nancy smiled at the sight, catching herself before the taller girl noticed. She then moved to her bed as well, making a note to leave a bit of distance between them. A friendship distance, not crossing any boundaries. A distance that she hoped Robin would close.

“You know, Robin, you can use more of my bed than just the edge,” Nancy said in a small attempt to get the freckled girl to move closer.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Wheeler. I’m only demonstrating my impeccable balance skills,” Robin joked, creating a dramatic gesture with her hands and puffing her chest.

They both laughed, noting Robin’s famously uncoordinated nature. Nancy loved hearing Robin’s laugh, and she loved how wonderfully clumsy Robin could be. She blushed, but quickly hid her admiration for the girl by turning away and clearing her throat. Not now, Wheeler.

“So…” Robin asked, “we were going to go over calculus, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” she chirped, in an almost too chipper manner, hoping Robin would shrug it off like all of the other times.

This time, however, Robin caught on. She cocked her head as if she was considering saying something else, but quickly moved on to try and help out the other girl.

“Hey, Nance, you’re acting a little different. Is there something bothering you or-”

She was cut short by Nancy’s anxious ramble.

“No, no, it’s all fine, I’m just a little stressed about this calculus quiz because it’s all fairly new material and I haven’t been able to focus very well after everything that happened and I have feelings for someone who doesn’t like me back and-”

Her eyes went wide.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

She had said that part out loud.

Nancy froze and began to tear up, but turned away so as to not cry in front of Robin. Beautiful Robin. Who doesn’t like her back.

The taller girl looked away, as if in thought for a mere second before she looked back and noticed Nancy’s red face and teary eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay, Nance.”

She reached over to put a reassuring hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder. Nancy shuddered at the touch, praying Robin wouldn’t notice.

“Nance, it's okay. It’s okay. If you ever need anyone to talk to about calculus or the Upside Down, I’m here,” she said with the most sincere, and cutest, Nancy thought, smile. “But you’re pretty much on your own with the relationship thing. It’s out of my realm of expertise.” Robin chuckled. “I’ve never even been in one.”

Nancy had known this, but had never pried. Robin was a fairly private person, and Nancy respected that. And, she was also too worried that she would only hear confirmation that her dreams were just that, a figment of her own imagination. Too good to be true.

However, whether it be journalistic instinct or a want to know if she could finally put her daydreams to rest, Nancy decided to pry just this once.

“Robin?” Nancy said, gently wiping the tears that had formed in her eyes.

The taller girl dropped her hand to rest on the bed, just shy of Nancy’s knee. She wished that it was on her knee instead of sending an electric current through the almost-touch.

“Yes, Nance?”

Nance.

She loved when Robin called her Nance.

It felt special to her. As if Robin were the only one in the world who made that nickname sound so sweet. As if she was Robin’s Nance. And only Robin’s Nance.

Nancy thought for a moment, attempting to word her next question in the most inconspicuous way possible.

“Have you ever… liked someone? I know you said you’ve never been in a relationship, but it seems odd that someone could make it this far in life without ever having romantic feelings for someone else.”

Robin thought to herself for a moment. Her face caught in an introspective expression. One that Nancy thought was adorable.

“There were some crushes, sure,” Robin admitted, “but I think I’ve only ever had true feelings for one person.”

She blushed, which Nancy caught.

It doesn’t mean anything, Nance. She’s probably just nervous of you prying into her personal life.

…Right?

Nancy thought for a moment, wrestling within herself for the strength to ask the question she most wanted to know the answer to, before finally blurting it out.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?”

Smooth. Real smooth. Nancy groaned inwardly.

Robin chuckled again, her sweet, beautiful laugh, as Nancy felt an ever-so-subtle shift in the room. Her eyes met Robin’s steely blue ones, which ignited a feeling inside Nancy that was wholly un-Christian, but could be a religion within itself.

“I want you to guess, Nance. Surely your journalistic expertise has you following some leads, right?” Robin smiled and put her hand on Nancy’s knee as she continued, falling somewhat into the all-familiar ramble that Nancy had grown to love.

“She’s smart, braver than I could ever be, the most loyal person in the world, and completely oblivious to any advances that I’ve tried to make towards her. And I mean any advances. I’ve tried so many times and it’s as if she only thinks of me as a friend, but I’m willing to keep trying as long as we can be friends or-”

oh.

Nancy looked back at the past two months.

All the times Robin had let her into Family Video after closing time, willing to spend a few extra minutes serving her last customer of the day, Robin’s favorite customer of the day. Robin’s favorite.

The “study sessions” that usually turned out just like this. The two of them talking about anything and everything, completely oblivious to the passage of time and the outside world altogether. Just the two of them.

The blatant disregard of Nancy’s words to stay in the boat. How Robin had jumped right in, ignoring any concern for her own safety. She had assumed that Robin went in after Steve too, never once considering that she jumped in after her.

Nancy cut off the still-rambling, and now ten-times as nervous Robin.

“Robin?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

Nancy leaned in towards Robin, where she was met in the middle by a pair of uncertain lips. The same lips she had been wanting to kiss for months now. And, god, was it worth it.

She waited for the other girl to reciprocate. But, suddenly, Robin pulled away. Nancy noticed tears in her eyes.

“Oh my god, Robin, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to overstep, I thought you were talking about me and I’ve had feelings for you too and I was so sure-”

To Nancy’s confusion, the taller girl began to giggle.

“Nance?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate to be a hypocrite, but stop talking.”

Before Nancy could register what was happening, Robin leaned back into the kiss. Only this time, it was deeper, needier.

Nancy’s lips cradled Robin’s, her tongue exploring, swiping at Robin’s bottom lip. She gasped as Robin’s lips parted, only creating more of a need for Nancy to know what it felt like to make out with Robin Buckley.

In a sudden spark of courage, Nancy pulled Robin further onto the bed, positioning herself above her.

“Geez, Nance, I-”

She was again cut off by Nancy’s lips meeting hers. The two moved in tandem, bodies entwined. Robin’s hands found their place tangled in Nancy’s hair and cradling the small of her back.

And Nancy.

She couldn’t even begin to think, to control what her body was doing at the moment. All she knew is that she wanted Robin Buckley. She wanted Robin to kiss her along her neck, to leave marks that the world could see, to grab her hips, to do so much more.

But this?

This would be more than enough for now.

author’s note:

this turned out wayyy better than i thought but also went a completely different direction than the original plan. considering writing more first kiss ronance and maybe some established relationship sick fic ronance 👀

#ronance #robin x nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #st4 #bisexual nancy wheeler #lesbian robin buckley #stranger things s4

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold

character: gojou satoru

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end

notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

words: 3.1k

synopsis:

And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.

And he snaps.

Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.

He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.

It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.

Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.

Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.

But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.

You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”

Well, you guess he has a point.

And he snaps.

It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.

Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.

Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.

“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”

The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”

His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.

“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.

“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”

“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”

“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”

And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.

“You’re being a meanie,”

“That’s twelve,” he growls.

“I don’t care!”

“Thirteen.”

“So what?”

“Fourteen.”

“That’s nothing,”

“Twenty-five.”

And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.

“I-I can handle that,”

“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.

Thirty it is.

The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.

You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.

He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.

“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”

It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.

And that first blow never counts.

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.

There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.

You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.

The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.

Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.

“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.

“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.

The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.

It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.

The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.

The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.

“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”

Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.

But he’s a bad Daddy.

And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.

Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.

“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”

“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”

“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.

“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.

And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.

Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.

Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.

Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.

But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.

Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.

And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.

You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.

“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”

Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.

“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.

“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”

It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.

“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”

You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?

He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.

“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.

He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.

“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.

“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.

“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”

A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.

It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.

“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”

“‘N then food?”

He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.

“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”

Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #OKAY I'M GOING TO BEEEED NOW #IT'S LIKE FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING #tw daddy kink #tw noncon

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btsydtrash · 3 years ago

Text

Euphoric Endeavours [17]

vampire bts, poly ot7 x uni student yn

(AN: Hi, all! This story is actually already posted on AO3. I hope that you like it!)

also, i don’t have a tag list, but if you follow/put notifications, you’ll get alerted. tysm loves!

find me on twitter word count: 2.1K

(angst / fluff / smut / yandere / gore)

Chapter 17: ‘Invigoration’

Classes start back the following week and you are glad for the change in pace. Your creative writing class got swapped out for a history module that you weren’t over the moon about taking, but still, the change felt good.

Your job at the café had been waiting for you after your sudden decision to go back home, and you were welcomed with open arms, considering the Christmas period had been a hellish experience, you took on plenty of shifts to ease your guilt and make things easier on Areum.

That all meant you hadn’t been able to see the boys at all for two weeks, despite being back in the same city. You had muted the chat, so you didn’t see when they messaged you, but sometimes you would peek in. Really, you hadn’t been avoiding them, per se, but you weren’t exactly chasing them down either, still tender from your own feelings of guilt.

But now, rather than simply being because of Mei Li’s death, you also felt guilty about how you reacted to them. And their secret.

It came to you one night, that if they really didn’t often expose their affliction to outsiders, because they feared the consequences of their vulnerability, you had proven them all right. Your reaction to their secret had been proverbial spittle in their faces, and you felt bad.

“Are you done with housekeeping, YN?” Areum asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

You look up and nod, a perfunctory smile working its way onto your face. “I can sign out now.”

“Okay, thanks. You were a real help tonight,” she says, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Get home safe, okay?”

You nod, wrapping your scarf around your neck and kicking into your boots.

Pushing open the back doors to the establishment, you step out into the bitter wind and let out a low groan.

It was late, just after eleven at night, so the subway is still running. You could probably get home before midnight if you hurry, but the floors are still icy from the cold temperature, so you crunch, awkwardly, through the slush-snow-mush that coats the ground, careful of any translucent, shiny patches on the floor.

An obnoxiously loud series of beeps makes you jump out of your skin.

“Fuck!”

“You shouldn’t curse so loud, YN,” Namjoon’s pleasant tone rings from the driver’s seat. His hair is purple now, and shorter. It suits him so well, you almost drop your satchel at the sight of his honey-skin contrasting with the deep violet shade. “You look well. It’s nice to see you.”

“Mmm,” you reply, brain still catching up with your body. You know you’re just staring, dumbly, at him, and he lets out a soft chuckle, dimples appearing. That just isn’t fair.

“Do you want to get in the car and out of the cold? I can give you a ride,” he suggests, softly. There’s no compulsion in his voice, but he does seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of leaving you alone so late. “I don’t want you to think you have to – you don’t. I could get you a cab instead if you’re uncomfortable?”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you reply, a touch too quickly. “Open the door.”

He does so, pushing it open and the heat tickles at you, invitingly. Settling into the car, you notice that the air smells strongly of vanilla – an aroma you closely associate with the tall literature major.

He doesn’t push you to talk, he just drives, taking special care of the stoplights, eyes on the road the entire way. The way he holds tension in his shoulders betrays his newly learner status as a driver.

You ask, scrambling for anything to fill the silence, “When did you pass your driving test?”

He glances at you, once the light overhead turns red. “Uhh, over the break actually. I’ve been saving for this car for a couple of months. My Mom said she’d match whatever I put up, so even though it isn’t as fancy as the others’, it’s all mine.”

He looks so proud of himself, chest puffing a little and his eyes are fucking sparkling. You can’t find it in you to laugh at him. You wouldn’t anyway. You don’t have a car, you don’t even have a license, so what right do you have to mock him?

“It’s nice,” you compliment. “Really, I’m happy for you.”

He smiles, dimples deepening before he turns his eyes to the street ahead, focused. The light changes and the silence returns.

“Did you have work?”

He nods, carefully. “I thought I’d stop by after, you know. To see if you were okay.”

“You work across town,” you remark, quirking a brow, the challenge clear in your voice.

The apples of his cheeks pink. “Yeah, I do, don’t I?”

“What time did you finish work?”

He pauses. “… Seven.”

“Namjoon!”

“I didn’t wait the whole time, I promise,” he says. “I went to dinner with a colleague, and then to the library for an hour. I just- I wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

You stare at him, the earnestness practically etched in every pane of his face, before you enquire, “And you couldn’t just call like a normal person, because…?”

“Because you wouldn’t have answered,” he replies, a touch sulkily.

You can’t say he’s wrong, because you aren’t sure if you would have answered the call, seeing his nickname flashing on your phone screen. Your panic would have probably choked you.

“You’re right,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he answers. “You are entitled to your space. We fucked up, big time, YN. We aren’t hiding from that.”

“You always say ‘we’,” you remark. “Why?”

He seems surprised for a second, contemplative, even. “Well, that’s because we are a ‘we’. There’s no ‘I’ in a cluster. I think of them as extensions of myself.”

“Yoongi said that you think of me as part of your coven too,” you suggest, shyly. “Is that- Is that true?”

Namjoon’s collar feels hot. He didn’t think he’d be getting into such personal matters so quickly, but he owes you an explanation. A brief one, but still – it’s there.

“Yes,” he replies, after a moment of thought. “Subconsciously, we’ve all begun to think of you as a part of our cluster.”

You bite your lip, lightly, at the confidence in his assertion.

He continues, carefully, “That’s why Hoseok brings you food, and why Jimin waits for you after class. It’s why Kookie will carry your things, and why Taehyung massages your feet without you needing to ask. Jin-hyung buys you little trinkets that he thinks you’ll like, because you’ve become a priority of his. Yoongi has one of your scarves in his room, because your scent feels comforting to him. All of us feel responsible for your well-being. It’s as natural for us as breathing.”

You chance a glance at him, and you notice that his face is just as red as yours is, maybe more so. “And you?”

He blinks, the car jerking a little in his nervousness, before he asks, shakily, “What about me?”

“What do you think of me?”

“I think you’re special, YN,” he says, after a long pause. “I think that we’re lucky to have you in our lives, and that I’m sorry we put you in a compromising position. I’m sorry you lost trust in us, and I want to somehow get us back to how it was before.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” you reply, quietly.

His face crumples in regret, but you see him try to control it. He bites down on his bottom lip firmly, practically chewing on the skin in an attempt to keep the anguish off his face. He doesn’t want to make you feel guilty, even now, as you crush his heart in your hand.

You amend, quickly, “I just mean that because I know your secret, things have to be different, don’t they?”

He looks over at you, cautiously hopeful surprise written across his gorgeous face. “D-Do you mean that, YN?”

You let out a sigh. “I did wrong too. I didn’t listen to you, too caught up in my own… feelings that I didn’t think of how vulnerable you guys might feel. Yoongi explained that you guys are super-duper private creatures by nature. And I trampled on that, by reacting so badly.”

Namjoon shakes his head, finally pulling up outside of your apartment. “Not at all, YN. You’re human, we didn’t expect roses and a red carpet once you realised we fed on your kind.”

The visual of his words makes you cringe, and you cling to the reminder that they had said that they don’t kill humans. You remind yourself that this is Namjoon, and you’ve seen his collection of fluffy toys and the hand-knitted sweater than he wears, gifted to him for his birthday from Jimin, and the fear instantly dissolves.

“Still, I’m sorry I took your openness for granted and for ignoring you for the last few weeks. It was immature of me,” you reply, turning to face him head on. He’s already watching you, expression carefully withdrawn. “I want to try… I miss you guys so much.”

You blink back tears that sting at your eyes, and before you know it, the friendly giant has you bundled in his arms over the console. He exhales, shakily, “I’ve missed you so much, YN.”

He breathes into your hair, the hands that hold you are trembling, and you try to ignore the fact that your own are doing the same.

“Do you want to come to our apartment? The other boys would really appreciate seeing you soon,” he suggests, eager to have you back in their space that had long diffused itself of your natural scent.

“We’re already at my place,” you reply, sighing, before an idea strikes you. “How about you come up?”

Namjoon hadn’t been inside of your place yet – the only one of the seven to have never stepped foot in your place – so you are excited to take that step with him.

“If it’s okay with your housemates, sure,” he answers, unclipping his belt and turning off the engine. The two of you climb the stairs to your apartment and he hovers behind you as you struggle with your keys, palms slightly sweating with nerves.

“The place might be a bit messy, but my room’s fine,” you warn, stepping over the pile of shoes in the hallway. “I guess Young-mi or Nayeon might have some company.”

Lively chatter fills the living room, and you wince as you see Nayeon’s group of friends all turn their disinterested gazes over to you, barely acknowledging your existence.

“YN, you’re late,” Nayeon remarks, flippantly. “Sorry for the mess.”

“No worries,” you reply. “My friend and I will be in my room.”

Namjoon steps into the living room, and you see the moment where the girls all realise just who has stepped into your apartment. Not wanting to deal with the armed militia, you rush past the girls, stepping over neatly pedicured feet to get to your room, grip unyielding on Joon’s sleeve, and you slam your door shut.

“Was that Kim Namjoon?”

“How does she know him?”

“Do you think she could get me Jimin’s number? He blocked my other one…”

You close your eyes and wince at the revelry in the girl’s voice. Joon doesn’t seem to be paying attention, although you are sure he can hear every word.

“Your room is… just like I thought it’d be,” he says, fingers playing in the cotton blanket draped over your bed. He eyes your funky alarm clock in the shape of a cartoon bumblebee (a gift from your Mom), the photo-frame shaped like a book filled with one picture on each moveable page (your parents and yourself, you at your high-school graduation, a sepia picture of your parents on their wedding day, one of your childhood pet puppy, Ddeul, and the rest are empty), your giant cartoon pig plushie (from Mei Li), and your assorted posters dotted around the room.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you retort, strangely defensive, “And what does that mean?”

He glances at you, eyes glowing softly in the faint light from your bedside lamp, and he says, “It’s homely. Just like you, YN. It feels like a home.”

Namjoon ends up spending the night, taking the floor while you sleep on the bed, and you feel guilty the whole time. He’s wearing some ratty old sweats and one of your Dad’s college shirts that you had stolen to wear as pyjamas. He looks cute, in comfy clothes, even though they’re a touch too big for him.

“Your Dad must be huge,” he had murmured, somewhat frightened at the prospect. “Why are you do tiny?”

“My Mom is barely five-foot-tall,” you had replied, shoving at his shoulder. “I think I come somewhere nicely in the middle.”

That had been an hour ago. After getting yourself showered and into some PJs, you had come back to find Joon rooting through your barren shelves of books, appraising them, endearingly. Before long, the yawns set in, and you got into bed.

But, now you couldn’t really drift off.

“You can sleep here with me,” you mutter, moodily staring down at him, as if you could change his mood with your mind. “You’re being obstinate.”

“I’d rather not spend my first night in your apartment in your bed, YN,” he says, before he winks playfully. “What would the neighbours think?”

“That I was finally getting some,” you mutter, cynicism escaping before you realise he can hear you, perfectly well. “Ignore that.”

He nods, ducking his head further under the pathetic attempt of a bed you haphazardly made.

“The floor can’t be comfortable,” you murmur, staring down at the lumpy form that has taken up most of your floor space. You hadn’t realised just how long Namjoon was until you’d tried to create a makeshift bed for him.

He sighs, softly. “YN. Drop it.”

“Why?”

“I’m still a guy, you know,” he grumbles, suddenly glaring hotly up at you. “Men are dangerous to girls like you.”

“The implication that you would hurt me is laughable,” you reply, rolling your eyes so hard you almost black out. “Outside of the whole, you know, vampire thing, you’re practically a teddy bear.”

He growls something indistinguishable into your sheets before rolling onto his side, effectively ending the conversation. You don't know why he's being so grumpy with you, but you're so happy to have him back in your orbit that you don't really care. Just staring at the fluffy of purple atop his head is enough to make your stomach flutter with excited little butterflies.

“Fine, Moody,” you retort, pettily. “I’m changing your name in my phone to Namjoon No-Fun.”

Nothing.

“Not a fan? Okay, how about Joonie No-Jams?” You suggest, giggling.

He scoffs, lightly.

You tap your chin, contemplative. “Miserable Moni?”

He throws his pillow at you with frightening accuracy and growls, but there's no heat behind his words, only fond frustration, “Go to bed, YN!”

You don’t bother him for the rest of the night, but the two of you fall asleep with identical smiles on your faces, comforted by the presence of someone you cared about so much and appreciated so dearly.

- end -

Masterlist / Chapter (1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15)

#euphoric endeavours #bts x yn #bts x reader #vampire bts #bts angst #bts fluff #supernatural au #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung x reader #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jung hoseok x reader #btswritersguild #btswriterscollective #btswritersclub #btswriterscafe

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tonguetiedraven · 2 years ago

Note

hi!! is it alright if you write a fic where bonrin & izushie go on a double date to an amusement park but ahaha bon & izumo bicker all the time and get into a competition streak and try to win at all the games. 💗💗💗

What a fun prompt!!

I hope you enjoy! It's mostly Rin and Shiemi watching their dates try and beat each other while silently judging them and/or goading them on, lol.

💙💙💙

Rin watched his boyfriend shoot the target and hold the water gun steady as the balloon began to fill. He didn’t really get the point of this one – the gun wasn’t accurate, and it didn’t seem really exciting, but Ryuuji was growling out an endless string of challenges and cocky nonsense that would have had Rin feeling invigorated and all the more determined to win… If he was actually playing.

As was, he was standing a few feet back and watching his boyfriend get that competitive with someone else. He’d be jealous if it wasn’t Izumo, and if Shiemi wasn’t standing beside him with an armful of silly stuffed animals. Rin’s arms were also filled with stuffed animals and it was all utterly ridiculous.

He kind of loved it.

“I thought for sure they’d have the octopus over here.”

Shiemi frowned as she scanned the assortment of animals. “They don’t have anything water themed.”

“It’s all hamsters and that weird show Mephisto likes.”

“The hamsters are cute.”

“Put a little leash on it and tease Amaimon next time you see him.”

Shiemi’s responding laugh was bright and loud enough to have both their dates glancing back at them. Shiemi blushed and murmured a demur apology while Rin just grinned mischievously at his boyfriend and wiggled his eyebrows. Ryuuji raised a confused eyebrow and tried to act like he wasn’t blushing when Rin let his eyes scan Ryuuji’s body.

He loved how he could make this boisterous and boastful boy blush with a few looks.

Also, it was weirdly impressive how Ryuuji managed to keep his aim steady even when he wasn’t looking. Izumo’s veered off as her eyes did. Looks like he was going to get that hamster. He might put a harness on it like Amaimon had on Behemoth. It’d piss his half-brother off and that was always fun.

“We have a winner!” The booth worker declared in a less than ecstatic voice as Ryuuji’s balloon popped.

“Told ya you didn’t stand a chance.” Ryuuji puffed up proudly and motioned for Rin to come closer. He did, rolling his eyes where only Shiemi could see and getting another giggle from her.

“You cheated! You’ve played this before!”

Ryuuji’s pleased smile immediately dropped into a scowl. “Did not! It’s not my fault you can’t aim for shit.”

Izumo tossed her hair, crossed her arms, and glared off in the opposite direction. “As if I’d want to be any good at this rigged game. It’s not useful to be able to hit a target with a fake gun.”

“Why you—“

“Which prize, sir?”

Rin shuffled up to the stand and smiled placatingly at the operator. “Yeah, the green hamster?”

“Awful big talk for someone who couldn’t hit the milk bottles either.”

“You had the advantage because you’re taller!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Here you go, sir.” The man passed him his stuffed hamster with an apologetic look.

“They’re great friends,” he promised, laughing as his date and friend started to storm back to the milk bottle shot. “If you can believe it.”

The man hummed his acknowledgement, obviously not believing it, and not at all caring. Rin jogged back to Shiemi who was watching their dates go with a small frown.

“Do you think they’ll be ready for a break soon?”

“I think at this point we should just ditch ‘em and go ride the ferris wheel ourselves. Maybe get some crepes too.” He could smell the warm spice of the nut topping, and it had his stomach growling eagerly.

Shiemi bit her lip nervously. “Won’t that upset them?”

“I don’t think they’ll notice until they try and give us another toy.” He passed her the hamster. She took it with a mischievous smile very few people ever got to see.

The milk bottle shoot had restocked, and to Rin’s utter delight, they finally had chickens. He had seen two other couples walking around with one, and he hadn’t seen a single booth actually holding them as prizes. He wanted a rooster won by his own rooster. (Even if he no longer had the rooster hair.)

“Babe!” Rin jogged up, bouncing excitedly in place as he tried to get his boyfriend’s attention. (And really, they were on a date. He shouldn’t have to try and get Ryuuji’s attention.)

Ryuuji left Izumo with a glare and offered Rin a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Win this one! I want a chicken!”

Ryuuji’s eyes shot to the prizes and his cheeks went an adorable pink as he eyed the colorful roosters. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I want a little Bon.”

“Not if you’re gonna name it that.”

“Oh my god,” Izumo said, eyeing the chickens herself. “It has a blond streak.”

Ryuuji’s eyes narrowed in instantaneous annoyance. “Not gonna happen, Kamiki.”

“What, Suguro? Think you’re going to beat me because you’re cheating?”

“I don’t need my extra height to beat you!”

“Babe—“

“I’m gonna win and I’m gonna prove I’m a better shot!”

“Because you’re taller!”

“I’ll beat you on my knees!”

“Babe—“ Rin really wanted that chicken. Ryuuji could probably make the shot on his knees, but Rin didn’t want to risk his future Bonniekins.

“I’m gonna get you your chicken,” Ryuuji turned on his heel, grabbed Rin’s cheek, and pulled him into a quick kiss, squashing several stuffed animals and making Rin feel a bit swoony when he was released a moment later. Izumo gave Shiemi her own kiss—ignoring the bright laugh Shiemi immediately gave and blushing when Shiemi pressed a kiss to her cheek and told her ‘good luck!’ –and stomped after him.

There were only three chickens left. Rin was not above bribery.

Izumo went first (because Ryuuji was a gentleman even when he was talking shit) and managed to knock all three of her bottles down with only three bean bags. It was better than her first round where it had taken all five.

She grabbed a chicken and held it to her side. “I’m going to name him Bon Bon.”

Ryuuji blushed and gave her another glare. “Hold on, babe,” he growled, glancing back at Rin with the most adorably (and ridiculously) determined expression. Rin shuffled around his small army of stuffed animals and managed to send him a thumbs up.

Ryuuji dropped to his knees and neatly laid out each of the bean bags in front of him. He picked the first one up and considered its weight as he studied the milk bottles like there were some complex problem and not a mildly rigged game.

Finally, sucking in a loud breath, Ryuuji drew his arm back, aimed, and threw the bag through the air.

The first bottle went down.

“Way to go, babe!”

Ryuuji shot him a cocky grin and grabbed the second bag. The second bottle went down as well. Rin cheered again, and Shiemi offered a ‘good job’ as well. Ryuuji picked the third bag up, shifted his stance a slight bit, and threw it.

The third bottle stayed up.

“HA!”

“Shut up! That one doesn’t count!” Ryuuji picked up the fourth bag and hurled it. Rin’s gut clenched in terror (he really wanted that chicken) but the bottle went down.

“I beat you!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

Rin shoved his way forward and pointed towards the chicken with a blond streak. Ryu-snuggle-poo. He was all squishy and adorable and Rin wondered if he could give it a little set of prayer beads

“AGAIN!” Ryuuji bellowed, shoving his own way forward and slapping more tickets on the counter. “Set it back up!”

Rin rolled his eyes and resumed his spot at the back of the group.

“They’re never going to stop.”

Rin nodded and shifted his grip. These were getting weirdly heavy.

“We should play that one.” Shiemi said suddenly, and Rin looked over in curiosity to see what had her attention. It was the strongman competition.

“Oh hell yeah.” It was going to be hilarious to watch his short friend kick absolutely everyone’s ass at that. Neither of them looked that muscular, but they were.

“Nee?” Shiemi shifted her dolls around until her little greenman popped up. “Would you mind holding these for us while we play?”

Nee chirped his approval and grew almost as big as Sheimi. She unloaded her prizes on him and motioned for Rin to do the same as Ryuuji dropped back to his knees to win his ridiculous competition against Izumo.

Holding onto the rooster, Rin did and followed Shiemi to the rigged game. “Obviously, if one of us breaks the machine, they lose.”

She nodded. “That seems fair.”

“And if they come over, it’s everyone for themselves.”

Shiemi shot him another mischievous smile. “It’ll be fun to win them prizes.”

“Hell yeah!”

#bonrin #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #izushie #my tumblr fics #rin okumura #ryuuji suguro #ryuji suguro #bonfire #bon suguro #aoex #ane #izumo kamiki #shiemi moriyama #bon x rin #bon/rin #izumo/shiemi

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aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

Text

Affection II

Characters: Childe, Ganyu, Kaeya, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,577

Warnings: None

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: Evidently I’ve really missed writing these properly. I had such a great time writing, and I hope you guys enjoy these just as much as I did.

Also I’ve decided the version on Ao3 will now always be without bullet points, so if you prefer that format the link will be in the reblog.

Childe

You’d been floored by Childe pretty much since the day you two had met.

What had turned into the two of you meeting had started out a most unfavorable encounter. You’d gone to Lingju Pass, trying to survey some of the carvings of the old structure, and attempting to see the sort of methods used to construct such vast rocky complexes at the time. Unfortunately this goal had quickly turned into a goal of “don’t get caught”, as you’d found the Pass crawling with Fatui members. Though you weren’t nearly helpless, you’d also not come prepared for battle; and had spent most of the “fight” dodging around various blows while trying not to drop the expensive equipment that you’d borrowed from other Guild members.

Just as you’d come to the conclusion that the options were either drop everything and run or get thoroughly injured by a bunch of arrogant Snezhnayan soldiers there was a change in the air. The Fatui soldiers’ expression turned from one of glee to one of confusion, and then one of panic, as one by one a streak of blue began to throw them this way and that. As you regained focus of the terrain your realized that it wasn’t a streak at all but a person, a person who was wildly adept at sword play. Eventually the number of unconscious people had risen to five, and there was no one left but him and you.

“Need any help?”

The words might’ve been kind, had it not been for the smirk on the man’s face. Though you felt that the right answers would’ve probably been to scowl, you found you couldn’t, too wrapped up in the memory of this mysterious person darting this way and that, handling his water-made daggers with the grace of a ballet dancer.

“I’m Childe.” These words finally brought you back to the present.

“You’re a member of the Fatui.”

“I am.”

“Then why did you knock those guys out just now?”

“Boredom.”

You stared at Childe incredulously. Of course you’d heard his name, the man who, it was whispered, almost pulled Liyue into the sea. You’d formed a sort of mental picture of him completely divorced from the redhead now standing in front of you, bouncing slightly on his feet as he smiled cockily. He looked more like a rogue adventurer than one of the heads of a crime syndicate. Maybe that was why you found yourself infatuated, rather than afraid.

This infatuation only grew, fed by the encounters that you had with Childe. It seemed now you couldn’t avoid him, not that you wanted to. What had begun as a chance encounter multiplied into two, into four; soon enough you two had struck up a sort of friendship, one that baffled everyone else around you.

Of course you hadn’t lost all your sense, knowing quite well that the puppy love you were feeling could never be anything more. The way Childe talked about his work, about his duty to the Tsaritsa, made it very clear that he wouldn’t let a partner in his life or in his loyalties. And even if he changed his mind, why would he choose you? You were an adventurer sure, but you hadn’t even been able to properly defend yourself the first time the two of you met, and your oversight of that would’ve surely turned Childe away. Besides, Childe could probably make a partner out of anyone he wanted, if they were foolish enough. Why should that person be you?

Perhaps it was that knowledge that allowed you to be so free in your affection, spurred on by Childe’s own open nature. Hand holding, hugging, leaning one’s head on the other’s shoulder, it was the language of friendship that you two had adopted, and something that you greatly appreciated. There was something nice about a friendship in which one could be so open about caring about someone, without expecting things to go farther. Because you didn’t, you really didn’t. And though that might’ve been a bit painful, it was a small price to pay for Childe’s company.

“I’m going off to Mondstadt for a bit.”

“What?”

You drew away from Childe a bit to look into his face. The two of you were walking along the path towards Yaoguang Shoal, as Childe had taken a particular liking to the Starconches that lined its shores. Now he smiled awkwardly, squeezing your hand and shrugging his shoulders.

“I know, I know. There’s apparently this branch of the Fatui holed up there right now, and I’ve been asked to consult about something, though archons know what it is.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure, I think about two weeks? I’m not sure what exactly is going on, but the troops really must be in disarray if they need me skulking around for the next two weeks.” He let out a awkward laugh.

“I’ll miss you.” You replied, bumping your head into his shoulder and frowning. “It’s very boring without you.”

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable without me.” Childe smiled, one eyebrow raised slightly. “After all, what would you do if I left someday, permanently. You’d have to find a way without me.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” You replied hurriedly, switching the conversation towards something more pleasant. Unfortunately however the words had already been said, and the damage had already been done.

It had been two weeks since Childe had left for Mondstadt, and though normally you might’ve been waiting at the city gates for his return, you found yourself on the familiar road towards Lingju. Childe’s words had been ringing in your ears for the past two weeks, and you’d found the more time passed the more you kept thinking about them.

What would you do if I left someday, permanently. Is that what Childe truly wanted? To leave? The idea made your stomach hurt, as you began once more to run all your interactions through your head, as if trying to find a flaw in the strips of memory you had of Childe. Was that what Childe truly wanted, or was it simply that he was sick of you? When he’d said “you’d have to find a way without me” did that mean he wanted to find a way without you? Perhaps you’d been too forward, too demanding. Perhaps he’d managed to realize your feelings and felt repelled by them. Had it been too much, meeting him almost everyday for some periods of time, eating lunch together and sometimes dinner. What about that time you’d invited him over to your house to play a game? Had that been too much?

You sighed, dragging yourself over the final ridge. Sitting down to take a rest you closed you eyes. You hated that your mind wandered this way, that no matter what you couldn’t help but ask yourself again and again, what had you done. What would Childe think about this sad person laying on the ground, the sad part was you couldn’t answer that question.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present, and you let out a suppressed groan at the figures in your line of sight.

“Don’t you guys ever get posted anywhere else?” You rolled your eyes, reaching behind your back to summon your polearm.

“You’re trespassing.” The voice that came out of the Electro Vanguard was so deep and distorted as to be hilarious.

“Lastly I checked you were neither a citizen of Liyue, nor Rex Lapis, so if anyone’s “trespassing” on public territory it’s you.” You sighed. “Oh well. Unfortunately you caught me on a day where I’m somewhat prepared.” With that you lunged towards the Hydro Legionnaire and the fight began.

Fighting when one is already frustrated is both a blessing and a curse. The fight itself was almost invigorating, the first Fatui hit the ground and with it you felt part of your worries fade away, if only for the small window of time which this fight offered. Was this why Childe fought so much? The though crossed your mind as you whirled behind the Pyro Bracer and pressed as much Electro as you dared into the back of his head, tripping him with the staff of your polearm on his way down.

Soon enough there was only you and the Electro Vanguard left. Unfortunately you were beginning to feel the other side affect of anger, that being misfocus. Being more versed in using your polearm as a sort of lightning rod your found the Vanguard much harder to deal with, more than once barely diving out of the way of the hammer he was swinging around, surprisingly light on his feet considering what the weight must be. Your anger was quickly draining, turning into something more akin to panic, and as you found yourself stumbling more and more you realized that today was really, really not your day.

The Vanguard was becoming aware of how fast you were tiring, a gravelly sort of laugh emerging from behind his mask. As you found your with you back to the slope you wondered if it was just worth it to make an escape. The Fatui swung his hammer once more, barreling towards you. Having nothing left to do you put your polearm out in front of you, hoping that your arms were strong enough not to recoil against the inevitable blow. Closing your eyes you thought of nothing, drowning in a sea of panic. If there was any coherent part of your brain it wished that you weren’t here, that you just stayed home, or swallowed you pride and gone to the gate. But it was too late now, and you were about to get hit.

However the blow never landed, instead a loud sound pierced the air. Whipping your arms open you saw the Electro Vanguard stumble, his hammer having been dropped on the ground. He was grasping towards his ankle, in which was stuck an arrow, glowing a faint aquamarine. Swearing the Fatui member glanced around, before stumbling away, dragging his weapon and his left leg behind him like dead weight.

“Some things never change, huh?”

“Childe!” You whirled towards your once again savior, face burning from embarrassment. “I took out the rest of them this time.”

“I can see that,” said Childe, surveying the area, a telltale smirk on his face, “very impressive. Although, if I may suggest, next time try to take out the Electro Vanguard first, especially since you don’t wield a weapon made for pure damage.”

“Is this turning into a teaching moment?”

“Absolutely not.” Childe laughed.

You found the sound catching, and soon a smile spread across your face as you let your polearm disappear once more. You ran up to Childe, and were about to throw you arms around his neck in a characteristic hug, when the thoughts of before came ramming back into your brain. Taking a step back you planted your arms firmly in front of you, hoping that maybe Childe hadn’t noticed what you’d been about to do.

However Childe approached you instead.

“You weren’t at the gate today.” He said coyly, lips drifting somewhere between a smirk and a frown.

“I’m sorry.” You lowered your head. “I just thought, well maybe that would be better. Since you said you might be leaving permanently and all, and since you were right when you said I’d have to figure things out without you, I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d be for the best.”

Looking up the expression on Childe’s face could only be described as one of complete disbelief. For a moment he stayed frozen in place.

“What in Teyvat do you mean I’m leaving permanently?”

“You said that! Remember… when we were going to pick sea shells you said that you were leaving.” You stepped back, cheeks flushed. “Or maybe you were just sort of sick of me or something.”

“Why would you ever think that?” Childe walked up to you, enveloping one of the hands at your side in his own and bringing it up towards him.

“I… I don’t know,” you replied, feeling very confused and very foolish, “I thought maybe that I was being too affectionate, or too clingy. I mean I know you don’t like me or anything like that. And I thought maybe that I was crossing the boundaries of our friendship.”

“I don’t like you? I’ve liked you since almost the first day we’ve met!”

“Not like that! I mean, like like, you know? As in… well, as in I… I love you.” You let your voice peter out.

“I love you too!” Childe let out. Shaking his head he smiled widely. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve liked you since almost the first time we’ve met. I wasn’t trying to shoo you away.”

“What?” Your brain was short circuiting. Something had gone terribly wrong. You’d definitely been knocked out at some point, and was now hallucinating. There was no way Childe liked you, loved you. He could love anyone, why would he love you.

Childe stepped closer, moving so that your foreheads were almost pressed together.

“May I?” He whispered, voice almost shy. You nodded, a just as small “yes” escaping your lips before Childe cut off your ability to say anything more. It was a short kiss, sweet and chaste, and yet you felt everything around you suddenly come into sharp, almost lucid clarity. You weren’t dreaming. This was happening. This was Childe and he liked you. Childe like you. He liked you, he really liked you.

“Why?” You let out, when the two of you separated. Thankfully Childe remained close to you, being without his presence now would’ve been quite lonely.

“Why what?”

“Why me? I’m not, I don’t know, I can’t even knock out an Electro Vanguard without help.”

Childe let out a laugh, lovely as music.

“I don’t know,” he replied, eyes sparkling, “because you’re you. And I like you.”

And all of a sudden you found that that was enough.

Ganyu

The days that you accompanied Ganyu on her various errands were the ones in which you were most aware that you were on a level utterly below her.

Of course humans could never really measure up to adepti, after all they made the world and humans simply lived in it. Still in terms of humans, well you weren’t exactly pushing exceptional. If Ganyu represented all that was exceptional about the adepti, well then you represented the average human who didn’t like their job and overall went about their day as unnoticeable as an ant on the road.

Of course Ganyu never acted in a way that would betray the imbalance between the two of you. Indeed Ganyu was nothing if not kind, sweet, and utterly without a semblance of hierarchy. It was one of the things that you adored about her, the straightforward honesty she carried with her, and the way that she appeared not to judge living beings on a scale, even if that was the right of those who were higher and didn’t have to worry about said scale.

“Can you carry this for me?” Ganyu’s voice was soft and somewhat hesitant. You smiled widely, knowing that Ganyu simply had difficulty asking other people for help.

“Of course I can!” Scooping up the package that was stretched out towards you, you saw Ganyu let out a short sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“Of course! I’m always happy to help you. Where are we taking this?”

“Over to the funeral parlor. It seems that there are some tiles in here that are being used for a specific ritual. Hu Tao said that the family wanted it, I hope she doesn’t actually mean she pushed them towards it.” Ganyu let out a soft sigh. “She once suggested advertising for cremation. Somehow I feel that won’t exactly be welcomed by the people.”

“No one likes to be reminded of their own mortality. Ah, but Hu Tao is doing her best, and if these tiles end up being insulators, I suppose we can’t do much about it. I’ll make sure not to drop them anyways. Getting on Hu Tao’s bad side feels like asking for a prank.”

“You’re probably right.” Ganyu chuckled.

You blushed slightly, loving the way her laugh sounded, soft and open. You knew Ganyu struggled sometimes; she admitted to you herself that it was very difficult to live an existence defined by liminality. Was she an adeptus? Was she a human? She was neither, and yet both would claim her and call her other. In understanding this Ganyu had retreated into herself. Perhaps that’s why her laugh meant so much.

As you strolled down the docks an angry voice cut through the air.

“Qixing!”

Both of you turning around you saw Bolai, heaving slightly, teetering his way towards you. His face was stormy, and for a moment you wondered if someone had stolen something. His words when he caught up however revealed a very different motivation.

“I demand justice!”

“What for?” Ganyu asked, voice deadly serious once more.

“What for? For what Huixin said in regards to me! For the Liyue Qixing complying with disgusting rumors as to the ways in which I conduct my business and my finances. As to the way that you promised to help me then turned on me!”

“I see…” Ganyu sighed as you wracked your brain, trying to remember what she’d told you about the time that she and the traveler ran around trying to detangle various examples of tax fraud. “Have you considered putting up a formal complaint?” Ganyu meanwhile was still trying to keep professional, something that you admired her for.

“How am I supposed to trust the Qixing after what happened? No! I demand compensation now!”

“Sir, I’m sure you’re quite upset, but there’s no need to act in such a way. If you wish to clear your name, then we can meet in private and review the testimony and documents we received. If not, then I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for you. I’m very sorry.”

Ganyu turned back towards the direction in which you two had been previously walking. Evidently too agitated to think properly Bolai let out a strangled cry.

“We’re not finished yet!” Reaching out, he seemed to be attempting to turn Ganyu around by the shoulder. Having been standing there unthinking you now moved to block the action, knowing that Bolai didn’t really mean anything by it, but not trusting the man who looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. Bolai’s hand instead smacked into the box in your hands, which slipped from your grip and fell to the floor in a great crash.

Time seemed to slow down somewhat after this, as Bolai stepped backwards and Ganyu turned around, face one of evident horror at the scene. You felt your face begin to burn as you looked at the unassuming box, which now looked a little bit the worse for wear.

“What…” Ganyu trailed off. Bolai waved his hands about in a panicked sort of way.

“That wasn’t me! That wasn’t my fault! It was this person they… I don’t know what they were thinking, getting in the way like that. How idiotic! This is nothing but a mess, a disgrace!”

Normally you wouldn’t pay Bolai’s words any mind, but now they seemed to pierce right through, as you realized all the trouble you’d just caused Ganyu. Glancing over towards her you found you could neither look her in the eyes nor stay where you were.

“I-I’m sorry!” You stammered. Moving to pick up the box you found your hand hesitating. Fearing that you’d just make things worse you pulled yourself and dashed in the opposite direction, speeding up the docks and towards the outskirts of the city.

Normally the view from Mount Tianheng was one that stole your breath away. Today however the mountain seemed completely uninteresting, especially when compared to the thoughts racing in your head.

How had you gotten here, how had you messed up so much? Ganyu didn’t need your posturing, your attempt to help. She was an adeptus for Morax’s sake! And who were you? Someone who couldn’t even carry a box from Point A to Point B. And now you’d just caused more trouble for Ganyu, when she already had so much to do.

“I’m such a failure.” You groaned into your palms.

“You aren’t!” You lifted your head at the soft exclamation, already knowing who the voice belonged to. Ganyu sidled up to the ledge of the mountain silently, fidgeting with her hands. “May I sit next to you?”

“Of course.” You replied, grateful that Ganyu was even talking to you. Smiling softly the Qixing Emissary let out a soft sigh.

“I love the view of the city from here.” She spoke softly, eyes on the horizon.

“I do too.”

“There’s something so lovely about watching everyone go about their day, isn’t there? To see the people work in harmony to bring prosperity and peace to the city of Liyue. To see how everyone continues on the legacy of Rex Lapis.”

“That’s a lot to see.” You joked, still feeling a little uncomfortable, as if Ganyu might in a minute get up and leave.

“But can’t you see it?” Ganyu’s voice was earnest and her eyes shined. “It’s wonderful how people do it, how they continue to make this city thrive, to keep the contracts of Morax alive and within living memory.”

“Perhaps it’s just harder for humans to judge it themselves?”

“Perhaps.” Ganyu’s expression shifted into something, almost shy, not quite melancholic. “Just like how you’re finding it difficult to forgive yourself.”

“I’m so sorry Ganyu. I don’t know what I was thinking! I just… I just, wasn’t thinking.”

“You were trying to be kind.” Ganyu replied, something almost akin to blush coating her cheeks. “And I have to thank you for that.”

“But I just caused more trouble…”

“You were trying to be kind,” Ganyu repeated, “like I said, you’re finding it difficult to forgive yourself. But you have to. You didn’t truly do anything that needs forgiveness.”

“But I was doing it for completely selfish reasons!” You blurted out, embarrassment and doubt turning into the words you never wanted to utter. “It’s because I like you, and not just because I was trying to be nice. But because, because maybe I wanted to do something for you, and then maybe I’d be good enough maybe.” Realizing how odd that just sounded you turned your head away. For a moment your words hung in the air, and the longer the silence continued the longer you thought about how utterly selfish you were.

“Thank you.” There was a smile in Ganyu’s voice, and as you turned your head once more you could see it plastered across her face.

“For what?”

“For telling me you like me.”

“But… but isn’t it just burdening you? After all I’m not good enough for you.”

“You are!” Ganyu’s voice was firm. “You’re absolutely good enough for me. And what you did, you call it selfishness, but I don’t understand that. Being kind to people you like isn’t selfish, even if you like them. Because this time you were genuinely helping me. Besides, if that’s selfish then I’ve also been terribly selfish.”

“How?”

“By asking you to accompany me everywhere. Because maybe, maybe I like you too.”

For a moment you wondered if you hadn’t accidentally slipped off the cliff, so weightless did you feel. A bit lightheaded you leaned forward.

“Really?”

“Yes.” Ganyu smiled nervously. Reaching out she took your hand in hers.

The two of you watched the sun set over the city of contracts mostly in silence. Every once in a while there would be a spurt of conversation, but mostly there was nothing but the sounds of the birds and the cicadas, and the pounding of two hearts, hearts both a bit ragged from the events of the day.

For what a day it had been. And how wonderfully it had ended.

Kaeya

If you could use anything as justification for your crush on Kaeya, he did flirt with you. Unfortunately he also flirted with everyone else in Mondstadt.

“How’s my favorite knight of Favonius?” Kaeya’s cocky voice was clear as a bell, and for a moment your heart flipped as the handsome knight came into view, smile as lovely as it had been the day before.

“Blessed by the presence of our beloved cavalry captain.” You replied in a singsong voice.

The first time Kaeya had used that line on you it felt like your soul had left your body and your heart had run a marathon. Unfortunately you’d heard him use practically the same line on Rosaria the next day, his favorite mysterious nun, robbing you of your fantasy in which Kaeya had any interest for you.

Your banter however was not without genuine feeling. You were utterly infatuated with Kaeya, having fallen for the handsome knight about two weeks into your own training. Originally having been an adventurer you’d joined the knights relatively recently after a series of Abyss attacks on the City of Freedom. As such Kaeya had by then already occupied an exalted position among the ranks, and the hours of being trained, teased, and flirted at by the mysterious cavalry captain had been enough to throw you head over heels.

Not that you’d ever expect things to develop more than they already had. Having a crush on the flirtiest man in Mondstadt did mean that you were praised every once in a while, but it also meant that the praise meant little more than empty words, and that there was always someone else who had heard them. Not that you begrudged those people, not knowing them or not caring. It was Kaeya’s right to be as he was, flirty and irreverent; and you’d never ask him to change that part of himself, or any other.

To do so would be to change the person you’d grown to love.

You trotted up the steps of the Favonius headquarters, opening the door with a slight “oof” before stepping into the cool building. Today was going to be a quiet sort of day for the knights, and you’d been assigned to pick up a few books from Jean’s office to be recorded by Lisa before being sent off to the Church. Going to open the door you paused at the voices inside.

“– saying it’s nothing.”

“And I’m saying that it’s becoming a distraction. I don’t want to control your actions Kaeya, but this pining has been slowing down your work, and we need you as one of our most crucial members to be on top of things.”

“I’m not pining.”

“What do you mean you aren’t pining,” Jean let out a snort, “as if it’s not obvious to everyone around you. Look, I’m not saying you have to break things off –”

“Good, because they haven’t even begun.”

“Then maybe that’s part of your problem. Maybe if you told them you liked them then you’d be able to get back on track.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“You aren’t doing anything. And that’s the problem.”

You didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, having made your way over to the library as to make sure that you were get caught, and to cool your head in regards to what you’d just heard.

So Kaeya liked someone. You shouldn’t’ve really been surprised. Kaeya was a wonderful person; intelligent, good with a weapon, polite, handsome. What person wouldn’t fall in love with him? And when everyone’s in love with you, well, it was unsurprising that eventually Kaeya would find someone who he loved back just as much. Then, why did it hurt?

You fought the urge to wrack your brain for the people Kaeya spoke most about, finding the act beneath you. Still, your mind wandered. Perhaps it was Rosaria after all, or maybe it was only because you remembered her. Perhaps it was the sword smith who came twice monthly to check up on the weaponry. Or perhaps it was the tailor, who could sew anything with the utmost care. Or perhaps it was a musician, or an archivist, or another knight. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Your head swam and you found your eyes stinging. Now wasn’t the time to cry, not when you needed to honor your appointment with Jean, not when you were somewhere where any one of your colleagues might discover you. Not where Kaeya might walk in any minute and realize what you’d done. This thought finally brought you out of the spiral of your mind. Making sure that any tears that might’ve escaped were wiped away you took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you walked out of the library and into Jean’s office.

Evidently you must’ve looked much worse than you thought, for Jean took one look at you and ordered you home, grumbling about how much trouble there had been recently. You thanked her half-heartedly before making your way out of the Headquarters, heart heavy as lead. At least work would’ve been a welcome distraction.

Arriving home you saw what Jean meant. Though you weren’t particularly teary, your face had taken on an ashen pallor that made it look like you’d either just gotten a shock, fainted, or had suddenly contracted consumption. Letting out a sigh you collapsed on the couch of your apartment. You knew you should probably do something, should eat or work on some extra work or something. But right now you didn’t want to do any of that. You just wanted to forget.

The knock that sounded at your door was extremely unwelcome, and you bit back bitter words as you made your way over to the door. Any protest however was silenced at the sight of Kaeya, hair slightly tussled, expression opaque, on your doorstep.

“Kaeya.” You meant to sound more peppy, but the action felt too tiring. “What’re you doing here?”

“Making sure that you’re alright. Jean told me that you looked unwell, and we can’t have our best knight getting sick, now can we?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

You went to turn around, when Kaeya reached over and place his hand on your forehead. Freezing you let out a sound somewhere between a strangled cry and a shriek. Kaeya didn’t react to this however, or the red quickly spreading across the bridge of your nose. Instead he let out a sigh, before smiling, something which also caused your heart to seize up.

“Not running a fever. I’m glad. Do you know what’s wrong by any chance?”

“Yes. No! I mean, I think, I, I just need rest.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong. I might not be able to help, but I can try. Consider it the duty of the Cavalry Captain. Have to keep up appearances, even among the ranks.”

“Really Kaeya, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.” Kaeya’s eye seemed to pierce through your soul. “You seem… upset, exhausted. Please, let me help.”

“I can’t…” Your voice cracked and you turned your head away, mortified by your inability to control yourself.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Kaeya’s voice was filled with sudden worry. “Is someone doing something to you?”

“No! No one is. I just can’t because, because it’d be selfish.”

“What do you mean?” Kaeya’s tone had become utterly perplexed, and for a moment you felt the crazy urge to laugh. As if it wasn’t painfully obvious why you couldn’t. This was so tiring. You were so tired.

“Because it’s not fair of me to take away your happiness just because of my own feelings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I heard you talking to Jean,” you explain, face burning, “she said that you liked someone. Or maybe you did, I don’t remember. Anyways you like someone and it’s not fair of that to hurt me, I have no right to your feelings. But, but it hurts, it really, really hurts.”

The silence when you finished was miserable. You weren’t even looking up at Kaeya, not wanting to see the destruction of a friendship you valued so much.

“Have you considered that the person I’m so infatuated with might be you?”

When you looked up you caught a wave of emotions, similar in strength to the ones currently going through you, plastered over Kaeya’s face. Happiness, sadness, regret, relief; all these things danced in his eyes. In that moment you loved him even more for it, for knowing that he understood, and that he too couldn’t hide the affects of having someone you loved so close and yet so far.

Saying nothing you walked over and slowly stretched your hand out. Kaeya took the hand in his, and you reveled in the small intimacy, in his calloused fingers enveloping yours.

“I’m not good enough.” You pointed out, voice soft.

“You aren’t the one who decides who I love.” Kaeya replied, voice firm. “To me there is no one else worthy in the world. Only you. And I hope that I can be the same for you, that I can be worthy.”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

For Kaeya was more than simply worthy. He was the one you loved the most, as well as the one who’d now made you the happiest person you could ever dream of.

#requested #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #childe #ganyu #kaeya #childe x reader #ganyu x reader #kaeya x reader #scenarios #my writing

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pettyprocrastination · 3 years ago

Text

Slasher!Miller Boys

This post is just gonna be me talking myself in circles about what type of slashers the Miller Boys would be so if you're into that come take a gander

gonna do a call back to this fun post where I imagine pedro characters as horror villains (and yes hunter frankie is still in the works forgive me)

warnings: horror, kidnapping, hunting, trapping, general talk of murder,

Tagging some of the spooky moots: @thesadvampire @max--phillips @cinewhore @humanransome-note @djarin-junk @captainsamwlsn @ficsilike-reblogged @ezrasbirdiealso @luxurybeskar

But if the miller boys were slashers they’d be country style I think? Kinda texas chainsaw but not cannibals ya know. They always gave me the southern raised backwoods energy. Former soldiers who came home but still have the itch that just isn’t getting scratched. The hunger for the rush of adrenaline and the need to feel truly in control. Maybe they inherited a piece of land from a relative. A cabin out in the middle of nowhere with acres upon acres of land to get lost in. To hunt in.

You remember that one story? The most dangerous game? About the rich dude who wanted to hunt people for sport?

Yeah that except its not some high class billionaire its just two vets with too much land and time on their hands.

the real question is how they chose their victims. Because no matter what they have to drag them onto property (most likely drugged up or blindfolded so they don’t know the location if they happen to escape) and then set them “free” to hunt them. But would it be any unfortunate soul who they happen to find and fits their fancy? is it willing participants? who put their lives at risk for some exorbitant cash prize. Maybe they got their cut of the cash from the lorea job, but even the money didn’t fill their thrill so they turn to doing this instead. Nobody has escaped or won yet.

While Benny is just as trained and intelligent as his brother, he is still impulsive. Has moments of almost juvenile joy and excitement while on the prowl. It’s all so invigorating for him. He’s more likely to give his position away than Will. Because sometimes it’s all just too much and he can’t resist taunting them, calling out that he’s close, or how slow they are with a loud laugh as he chases after them or pulls them free from a trap.

Will hardly announces himself. He’s quiet. Quick with empty eyes that seem to look right through you. But even he can be surprising.

After catching you, sobbing and pleading he stares at you for a moment too long and you shut your eyes. Tired and defeated and waiting for him to put a bullet through your head and end this nightmare.

Instead you flinch at the feeling of a cold blade just grazing your ankles while he cuts your legs free of the rope trap he set in two quick slices.

“the cornfield is the easiest spot to lose somebody in.” he tells you plainly. “Even for my brother and I. Use the height to your advantage this time. Stay low and move slowly, if you flail around we can see from the cornstalks.”

He stands to his full height over you. Even after being cut free you don’t sprint away. You stare at him too terrified to move until he speaks again.

“I’ll give you a ten second head start.”

#tj talks #what is this?? idk man #but anywhoo its spooky month all year around here babeyyyy #lets talk slasher stuff #that slasher din fanart made me go thinking #and they give me 'hicks who chase you through the forests' energy #ben miller #benny miller #will miller #william miller #will ironhead miller #benny miller x reader #will miller x reader #may involve the whole crew in this but well cross that bridge when we get to it

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jostepherjoestar · 4 years ago

Note

Do the Stardust Crusaders prefer an adorable or sexy s/o?(not poly, like what does each member prefer? also i hope this made sense)

Stardust Crusaders and their preferences HC’s

suggestive // gn reader

So this one made me think a little since in my opinion your fave will ALWAYS like you no matter what! So instead of only going by “adorable or sexy” let’s widen it up and delve a bit deeper into their preferences personality wise and style wise :D (ofc u will always be their favourite dw 😌) Kakyoin and Jotaro are kept sfw!! 💖✨

Avdol

Avdol is such a kind and understanding soul but still never afraid to voice his opinion in an earnest manner. He’ll appreciate that sentiment in his partners too, open to many ideas and understanding others’ way of thinking.

He does enjoy someone who’s a bit rowdy or playful to help bring out that side in him. Being silly together and just overall heightening the playful atmosphere really puts him at ease.

That’s the exact reason he secretly loves a little bit of chaos around him. Avdol himself is calm and determined but drama and unexpected events always seem to follow him. Don’t worry though, he loves being able to stride in and show off his abilities he’s so proud of!

Be sure to work on your debate skills though, the man is a whole library of knowledge and if you end up in a discussion he needs you to be able to offer your substantiated opinion. If you talk him into a corner, be sure to soften the blow to his ego with lots of hugs and kisses afterwards 😌

Style-wise the man doesn’t have strong preferences. Earthy tones and a natural flare complement his own style very well though, so he loves a bit of a scholarly look as well. Show up in a long coat and cute glasses carrying some cool old books you’ve found and he might just swoop you off your feet hehe!

If you wear a minimalistic set in the bedroom- think dark burgundy, chocolate, burnt orange, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He’ll treat you like the absolute present you are while he unwraps you 😏

Polnareff

Let this man spoil you for the love of all that is good!!!

He has SO much love to give and he will shower you by the bucketload so you better enjoy his antics! He thrives off of complementing you, albeit with the cheesiest lines, anything to see your cheeks flush. Also expect lots of cute gifts!!

If you’re a bit clumsy, get embarrassed easily and are a bit shy... Polnareff will never let you go, he’s so smitten by the way you stand behind him so often while meeting new people as he chatters away. He’ll pull out his best charming jokes to get you to laugh and when he sees how cute you are trying to hide your smile he’ll come smother you with kisses.

Loves it when you go along with his jokes and impulsive nature but prefers it if you’re a bit more responsible, the man struggles with self control so needs some guidance and someone to hold up the stop signs.

He will also look up to a more dominant person just as much, wanting to make sure he does everything to be on his best behaviour to please you. But he never looses that cheeky side and loves getting reprimanded for it. (not just in the bedroom, daily life as well) So make sure to keep that leash tight ;D!

Ok as much as I hate to say it... this man’s style tastes can be a bit tacky. If you like pink he’d love to see you in anything cutesy and frilly, perhaps to a worrying degree. Be sure to gently steer him to your own choices, he’ll forget all about his own ideas if you show a bit of skin anyways. This man is too easy to distract for his own good 🙄

Oldseph (forgive me Suzy Q 🙏)

Because he is the way he is *sigh*, he loves being yelled at for his antics. Joseph will never stop acting like a child no matter his age, that youthful sparkle always present even as he has started to take life a lot more serious.

Boss him around a little too much and he’ll pick you up just to smirk at you until you shut up. Eye-rolls are the dead give away that you like him and he’ll gladly accept them along with the annoyed sighs.

If you reside on the other side of the spectrum- playful and offering a childlike wonder too, he’ll take it all the way. Everyday is a silly playdate, joking around, showing off, any way to impress you and pull you along into the fun.

He LOVES vintage clothes, the fifties are his favourite era style wise and adores it when you dress the part. Joseph ain’t no chump so he’ll always offer to pay the deft fees of authentic vintage pieces. Hell, he’ll even fly you overseas if there happens to be a special item on sale that you’ve been eyeing.

Just like Polnareff, he loves to spoil you. Indulging your every need, even when you’re grumpy or mad at him. It’s his life’s goal to make those droopy corners shoot upwards with his dumb jokes and antics.

Stroll up in nothing but stockings and garters and he’s dead. Good job you killed the un-killable Joestar! But before his soul ascends the mortal plane he’ll ravish you, sure to buy you a new pair that’s even prettier.

Jotaro

As we all know this edgy dude doesn’t love loud annoying people. But here’s a secret he’ll never audibly let slip: if he sees you holding yourself back, trying not to be “too” much of anything he might not like... that next yare yare is him admitting he doesn’t mind it, as long as you don’t start yelling. He’ll actually enjoy your excitement, quietly of course, sure not to let others onto his amusement of your cuteness.

If you share his interests (marine biology, reading, nature in general) he’ll feel a bit more inclined to talk about them, just a smidge. Jotaro enjoys listening to you talk about your passions though, even if they differ from his. That intent stare taking in the way your eyes sparkle, that cute smile making butterflies flutter in his stomach.

Even though he loves going on walks, admiring nature and inhaling the fresh air, he is a secret homebody and would love it if you shared the sentiment. Lounging on the couch in comfy clothes, quietly enjoying each other’s presence while doing your own things, just basking in the shared space.

Since this is SDC Jotaro, he’s in the early stages of his love for showing off his accessories and he likes it when you do too. Just a couple of small hints at your likes through cute pins or a small chains.

He likes to be stylish but is by no means that into fashion, he knows what he likes and sticks to that. But if you’re a bit more of a fashionista he’ll share his opinions on louder outfits that attract a lot of attention. Just don’t take it too personal, he means well 😬

Likes you best in your comfortable pj’s, wrapped up like a cute burrito in a dolphin blanket 🥰

Kakyoin

As much as the jokes get made, if you’re the mom friend, he’s constantly trying to do right by you. A doting nature that still lets him be independent will make him go 🥰😍!!

Love and kindness towards others is so endearing to him, and if you’re not afraid to speak your mind openly, he might have to confess his love right this minute. He won’t be shy in letting his liking for you show either, offering charming jokes and compliments whenever you’re near.

And if you share his dry genZmemer humour, gently starting to drop hints that you’re not afraid to be a bit edgy you become his ultimate favourite person.

Because of his introverted nature, he likes someone who is a bit more independent as well, offering yourselves time and a comfortable pace to move in throughout the relationship.

He also greatly admires a strong need for justice and loyalty to a cause, it shows integrity and intelligence. That fiery passion in your eyes invigorates him just as much!

Kakyoin loves elegance and something that complements your features, no matter what style. He does have a bit of a thing for having matching colour palettes or at least ones that complement each other.

Cool gem tones are his favourite; emerald, ruby, sapphire...the list goes on.

At home though...get him a random shirt with a ridiculous slogan or phrase and he’ll wear it till it’s barely hanging on by a thread. Make him one too, a plain white shirt with a scribbly drawn frog or a meme-y phrase! He’ll wear it forever, being reminded of his love for you every time he laughs at the visual 😊

#cozy request #jjba x reader #sdc headcanons #stardust crusaders x reader #jotaro x reader #kakyoin x reader #polnareff x reader #avdol x reader #joseph x reader #jjba headcanons #jjba imagines #jojo's bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #jojo x reader

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