#man I need to write shorter fics

[sarcasticdolphin]

There will be a drabble tonight. Any requests?

I will be outlining the fic inspired by @yudonomi-stuff ‘s fic Shades of Night. And maybe something else as well. No timeline for when I will write it at the moment, but my best guess is it will slot into the Friday spot after I finish the 5+1 series (5 chapters left there) or into the Saturday spot during the week breaks I take between mirrorverse fics. Or who knows, I might get it out during the week sometime.

[plasma-studios]

some abridged version of love (x)

The townsfolk leave Nightmare in the woods for the Fae, which is the correct way to deal with a changeling. This is a problem for several reasons:

1) Nightmare is said child and he is not a changeling. 2) Since he is not a changeling, there is no Fae coming to collect him. That means he is being left to die, which is marginally bad.

Perhaps his only hope is the Fae he’s unwittingly drawn the attention of. It’s risky, but really, he was just betrayed by the town he grew up in, so… he has nothing else to lose, why not?

OR: Fae UTMV AU where Fae!Nim adopts the Dreamtale Twins. That’s it, that’s the fic.

Chapter 1: ash, dirt, bone

Nightmare awakes to stinging cold. Which shouldn’t be a difficult problem to solve; at this time, which is surely a late hour, the night air is always chilly. Perhaps there is a window open. 

He knows his room well enough to get to his feet without tripping over his brother, knows his home well enough to locate the window in his room and close it without waking up the rest of his family. However, he is unable to get to his feet. Strange, he thinks to himself. 

He tries to twist, but he only makes it through half of the turn. The blanket must be caught on something, perhaps the edge of the bedframe? He tries to reach out to untangle it, but even that small movement is impossible.

Still, he does not panic. Sleep is only a blink away, though his eyes are still closed. The fatigue is there, smoothing over the edge of any panic that might have otherwise taken root.

It is only when he realises there’s something stuffed in his mouth that he thinks to open his eyes. And when the stinging glare of something much too bright forces him to blink away both the light and the sleep away, he finds the cloth in his mouth is rough. 

Fire, he thinks. A flaming torch. Firelight streaks across the sky turned dark with the late hour; he cannot find the moon, but it must be somewhere above him, because the silver light catching on details around him is what allows his jolted mind to piece it together. 

He strains his neck to look down and sees his wrists and ankles tied with thick rope. The kind of rope he’s seen the butcher use to tie up pigs and sheep before the slaughter. Has he been abducted? He strains to make a noise, one that might alert his family—

Someone’s hand clamps over his mouth. Whatever sound he managed has already been drowned out by the crackling of the fire. He tries to twist away, but there is a huff, and he does not even make half the turn. Panic blooms quickly. He thrashes against the rope, but by the end he is gasping into the cloth, and he is still bound. If not by rope, then by hands, as he is carried none too gently to a place he can only assume spells his doom.

The cloth is bitter with dirt and sweat.

“Stop struggling,” Someone hisses into his ear. He stills. No. No, surely not. He fights to catch a glimpse, as if he is a starving animal faced with food, his breath hitching against the gag. 

The speaker’s breath still warms his earlobe. But they draw back too slowly, and Nightmare had already seen.

That was the voice of his father. And this is his face.

What are you doing? His voice is lost into the cloth. Father?

Already there is the sour ache of muscle tensed too long. But his body has also gone limp. 

“God, it’s so heavy. You should’ve done this sooner.”

That's the voice of their neighbour. The seamstress, he recalls. The one who laughs too loudly after returning from the tavern; voice slurred by cheap ale.

“Not soon enough,” Someone grumbles. The baker’s son. Nightmare knows his face, and his voice. He’s the one that always loiters by the well, complaining about the weight of the pails and the muddiness of the water. 

Nightmare lets out a soft breath. Only he hears it. 

“We didn’t know,” His father mutters some short distance away. “We were only told recently.”

He hears a sneer, or perhaps a scoff. But there is nothing else. There is nothing else for what feels like hours in the dark, save for the moonlight and torch, nothing that he could glean answers from, nothing that helps him make sense of the fact that he’s been bound and gagged. 

There is nothing, when he is suddenly thrown onto the ground. Nothing when he winces at the pressure of a thousand hands and arms pressing down on him, nothing when he feels the ropes shift, nothing when they start whispering, finally, but the whispers merge into some soundless mess he makes no more sense of. 

Nothing when they finally withdraw, and he realises he has been bound to a tree. 

Nothing when he looks up, and realises his father is staring at him. Nothing when he spits in his face.

Sometime in the acrid night, he has begun to cry. “Do we leave him like this?” The voice is gentle. Softer than the others, without any note of accusation.

This is the voice of his mother.

There are more words spoken by more people, but he hears nothing.

He hears her ask something. Plead for something.

Nightmare’s breath hitches. His vision is blurred at the edges, but he strains to find her. To just find her face, in the crowd half-lit by firelight. 

Is she pleading for him?

His mother steps forward hesitantly, her hands wringing the edges of her shawl. He has found her. Her voice quivers as she speaks again. “Just once. Please.”

The silence that follows is swallowing. The only sound there is, is the crackling of the flames and the rustle of the trees. Perhaps, in this silence, they may be hearing him cry. Her hands tremble as she reaches out. The rough cloth falls from his mouth, and Nightmare gasps, choking on the sudden rush of cold air.

“Mother,” He rasps. His throat burns with the effort, but he forces the word out again. “Mother, please.”

She looks so sorrowful, her eyes glistening with tears. “Oh, sweet child.” But she does not move closer. 

“Mother, what’s happening?” He pleads.

She does not answer. Her hand is on his cheek. 

“He looks so scared.” 

Nightmare is scared. He opens his mouth again, and begs her. “Mother?”

“Don't let it trick you, Lydia.” The man, unrecognisably his father, scowls. “This has gone on for long enough. Let's go.”

“And they'll return him? Our boy?”

But he's right here. What do they want returned? Why have they tied him up?

“Yeah.” Some rustle from beyond the trees. “Return the changeling to the Fae, and they return the child. That's how it's always been.”

It feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. There is no air for him to breathe in.

They think he's a changeling.

“Will you? If we return you, will you return him?” She speaks so, so mournfully.

“I'm not a changeling.” His voice is raw and broken. “Mother? Mother, please.” She was pleading for him, even if she had been part of the company dragging him out, she was still his mother. “Please don't leave me here! I'll be good, I promise. Just let me go home.”

For a fraction of a second, he sees something shift. His mother lets out a breath. Her face contorts. Her hand flies to him; she strikes him.

“Stop trying to trick me! I don't need you! I don't want you!” 

Is this his mother? Is this the woman that stayed up all night to nurse him when he was ill? The woman that carefully braided his hair when any other’s hand would be so rough he'd sooner cut everything off than allow them to continue? 

“You made our lives a living hell!”

Nightmare doesn't understand. Is this because he spat out the food two fortnights ago? But the texture had been so slimy, so foreign. If he'd choked it down, would he still be sleeping soundly at home? 

He makes a sound like a wounded animal. 

He could feel the world slipping sideways, tilting further out of his control. Too many sounds— branches snapping underfoot, whispered mutters from the others, his own ragged breaths. All of it scratching at his ears, scraping along his brain like nails on glass.

Her face crumples, but she doesn’t step closer. “Say it,” She whispers. Her voice is soft. “Admit what you are.”

“Admit it?” He is shaking. “I’m— Mother, I’m Nightmare. I’m your son!”

Her eyes glisten with tears, and for a moment, it seems as though she might reach for him. But then her gaze hardens, and she looks away.

She is walking away from.him.

“Do we just leave it?”

She is no longer talking to him.

It.  

“Mother!” He shouts, voice tearing from his throat like an animal’s cry. “Mother, don’t let them leave me! Please, Mother! Please!”

He knows what happens to those left in the woods. He knows he is being left to die.

She doesn't move. Her hands clenches into fists, and her gaze drops to the ground. 

“Mother,” He tries again. But she doesn’t turn back. And then, one by one, they leave him.

“No!” He shouts. He's twisting and thrashing against the rope; but it's so tight it's choking him. “You can’t do this! Mother, please! Please!”

She doesn't come back. None of them do. The footsteps streak further and further away. 

He forces himself to stop crying. The effort makes his chest ache, but he can’t afford to attract attention. Not now. Not here. 

The trees seem taller. Their branches twist up, up, up into the sky, too far for him to trace with his eyes; he swears the wind carries past him faint whispers, rustles that don’t belong to the leaves. It prickles at the back of his neck. It is as if something is watching him.

He needs to get out of these ropes. He’s seen enough to know he’s as good as dead if he stays put. 

Even if nothing comes for him, he is still going to starve. 

He shifts, to test the ropes again. They’re so tight that the tension burns against his skin, but he doesn’t care. His fingers fumble for any give he can find. 

There must be wild things in the area. He does not want to be there when some wolf decides to take a chunk out of his throat. He does not want to be there when some crow decides to peck his eyes out. 

A wolf’s sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. The cold, black eyes of a crow.

His panic bleeds into resolve. 

The ropes won’t loosen, but he twists his wrists harder, ignoring the sting, ignoring the metallic taste in his mouth of a bitten tongue; everything aches, but he forces his fingers to stop trembling.

A soft snap. He feels it, more than hears it. He’s broken something in his wrist. Otherwise, it would be impossible for his arm to tumble free; impossible to twist his wrist this far, at an angle that tells him he won’t be able to use it to write anymore. 

A branch snaps.

He freezes completely. Slowly, as if it a dream or a nightmare, he looks down to find the broken twig crushed underfoot. 

Something is rustling. He tries to trace the source, but he curses himself when he finds nothing. He can’t see anything beyond the tangled shadows of the trees.

The rustling is so near. His heart leaps into his throat.

He swallows hard. Don’t panic. Keep quiet. Think. Pull. Scrape. Twist. Repeat. His breath steadies, his mind quieting as he works. 

He presses his back against the tree he’s tied to. His breath is so, so shallow. A soft rustle, too deliberate to be the wind.

There it is again. Closer this time. Something is out there, watching him.

They left me. They left me to this.

Another snap— a crunch, leaves and twigs. Whatever it is, it’s big. Bigger than a wolf, bigger than a crow.

It might be a Fae.

Nightmare presses his lips together. He folds in, pushing himself as much as he can backwards, trying to make himself as small as possible. Maybe it won’t notice he’s here.

The sound stops.

And then, from somewhere just beyond the clearing. 

“Oh, child.” 

The voice… echoes. But there’s no one near him. He cranes his neck, he does not recognise the voice but that means they were not among the people who just sent him to his death. 

It means this person might be of help.

“Poor thing.”

It seems to come from everywhere at once. But that’s not possible. He turns right, turns left, but he sees no one in the small radius of sight the moonlight allows him. 

His breath catches.

Slowly, he looks up.

The branches are twisting. It must be the wind, rustling the leaves— but he’s sure, now. That voice had come from up there. Was there someone hiding in the leaves? He cranes his neck, tries to catch as much as he can; twisting branches, serrated edges, and the deep yawning void—

There is something. A shape of some sort. Too dense of a shadow, fluid as if ink spilling through water.

“Poor thing,” The voice whispers again. Unmistakably above him. 

His knees threaten to buckle as his eyes adjust. The shape resolves, bit by bit: spindly limbs extending outward, not like arms but more like roots, like skeletal branches twisting into something inhuman. A head tilts at an unnatural angle, almost curious, face veiled by shifting night.

The bark has split. 

Out of the gaping void, the thing leans in.

“Poor, poor thing,” It croons, and a hand— if it can be called that— reaches down, its fingers impossibly long and thin, brushing the edge of his shadow.

The shadow clinging to the thing peels away just enough, to reveal a face. Pools of light where the eyes should be, a cross between verdant green and moonlit water. And in each ‘eye’, a faint golden ring. 

He flinches backwards. But there’s nowhere to go.

The thing’s skin glows a faint, opalescent green; the rare translucent spots of skin reveal delicate pulsing veins of gold. There are flowers tangled in every inch of it, most blooming high above in some crown made of twisted branches, and he swears he longer he stares at it the more he catches: the thorns tilting upwards drip with sap, the drops of dew look more jewel than water, and when it smiles, it reveals ivory teeth.

“Why do you tremble, little one?” 

Its voice is soft, threaded with some alien melody. It draws closer, dragging behind flowers blooming and decaying in the same breath.

It tilts its head. The golden rings narrow.

Nightmare lets out a quiet breath. He steadies himself. This is a Fae, if he’s ever seen one. So he has to convince it to help him. 

“Left behind by the other humans to die. Such a shame.” Its voice drips with something dangerously close to pity, or mocking. “You seem quite astute. It would be a waste to leave you, no?”

He feels the compliment latch onto him, and quickly discards it. This is a trap. Everyone knows it’s better to die than end up in the hands of the Fae. His mind races. He has to say something. Ignoring a Fae has been branded as rude in more than one instance, and he very much does not want to be cursed. 

That would be very, very bad.

“You are here?” He twists it into a question to buy time. 

If he asks for help outright, he’s sure the Fae will twist the offer into something terrible. 

A soft titter. “Why can’t I be here? This is my home. You?” Its lips curl into a faint smile. “You are the guest here.”

He swallows. He thinks, thoughts tumbling over themselves in the tussle to find the right words. The safe words. Ignoring it isn’t an option, and he knows better than to stammer out an apology that reeks of his own stupid fear. 

Nightmare opens his mouth.

“Why are you here with me?”

The faint pulse of gold beneath its skin draws his eye despite himself. 

“Your family. Your blood. My, even I would never abandon my young. And yet humans prove they are more cruel than any Fae once more. And here you are, clinging onto life, much too stubborn to die.”

Maybe I wasn’t their blood. The thought is like a splinter under his skin. If he were a changeling, would he even know? Maybe they were right to leave him. 

“You want something from me.” It isn’t a question. And the laugh that leaves the creature is not refuting it. Perhaps there is no answer, because it wasn’t a question. He already knows what it wants, what all the Fae want in each and every story. His True Name.

“My blood,” He repeats. He does not know if this is to distract it, or himself. “Were they my blood?”

Its smile does not crack open. “What are you asking, child?”

“Am I a changeling?”

It tilts its head, the movement slow and deliberate.

“A changeling?” Its voice lilts as it weighs the word. “Is that your fear, little one? That you are not as human as you believe?”

Its eyes— again, pools of verdant light, dig into him. He swallows the discomfort of feeling so very exposed.

“Perhaps.” It hums. His stomach drops. “But perhaps not. They left you all the same. They saw something in you they could not love, could not keep. That is true inhumanity, no? There is no answer I could give you that would change things. Fae cannot lie, dearest.”

Nightmare feels the exact moment his nerves have been struck. Why do Fae talk in circles? Is it that hard to give a yes or no?

“Am I not a changeling?” He tries again.

“Hm. What they did was wrong.”

He is about to interject when she leans in, and he suddenly realises he cannot move an inch. 

He looks down, and swallows a scream. The ropes are buried under vines slithered up from the earth, tangled tighter than the human knots, and even if he breaks his other arm there’s no way he’ll be able to sneak out of the tightening vines. 

“Come now,” It croons, voice soft, deceptively warm. “Let me look at you. Let me see if you are mine.”

He can’t feel his legs. Oh, god. He can’t even see his legs. There is moss, spread across where his legs should be, as thick as a second skin, damp and shapeless. He watches, horrified, as small shoots push through the fabric of his clothes. 

Arms wrap around him. He stills even more. 

The rich smell of earth fills the air. He smells wildflowers, too.

“Shh,” It murmurs softly into his ear. He hates that it soothes the seed of panic in his stomach.

He forces his gaze back up to it. 

“What are you doing to me?” His voice is hoarse with fear.

“Dearest. You were fidgeting so much, how could I look at you properly? There you are.”

This is no different than the ropes. This is worse than the ropes. He bites back a retort, still not keen on a curse.

“Why won’t you give me a straight answer?” This is risky. He does not like to take risks. But he is not disemboweled immediately, so his fear takes a backseat.

It makes a soft noise.

“No. You were never a changeling.”

The vines are digging into his ribs. Nightmare winces.

“Did that help?”

“Yes.” He hisses in pain. “No.”

“You should not lie to the Fae.” Its smile is not kind. “But I shall forgive you for the transgression. What I wonder,” It murmurs, leaning in closer, “Is what you want of me.”

His breath catches. He starts, but she cuts him off. “Don’t deny it. Is it vengeance? I would not fault you for it. It would be very well-deserved.”

Vengeance. The word echoes in his head for a few moments, and he wants so badly to make them pay. But he tastes ash in his mouth. He is so tired.

“I want to go back home.” The moment he says it, it feels wrong. He does want to go home, but the house he grew up in no longer feels like a place he can return to. There is nowhere safe for him in town. Nowhere he is safe.

His voice is so, so small.

“I just want to live.” 

For a moment, the forest holds its breath, and the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves,

“To live,” It echoes. “Such a simple desire.”

The vines loosen slightly, though they do not release him. Not yet.

It studies him.

“You wish to live,” It says, more softly this time. “Then tell me, little one. What are you willing to give for such a wish?”

It is not actually a question. There is only one thing he can give.

For an instant, he considers refusing. Considers being left to die, just as he was meant to. He considers many things. Perhaps he would be better dead, if there is no place he can be safe without giving up his True Name. If this was the price of survival, if this was what it took to live, then maybe there was no life worth having.

There is nothing left for him. Perhaps it would be better to die.

But then he thinks of Dream. Still sleeping, he hopes, in their room. He refuses to believe he knew of the plot to leave him in the forest. They told each other everything, and Dream could never keep a secret.

There’s no way in hell he’s leaving Dream to them. There’s no way he’s leaving Dream there to rot. There’s no way he’s just going to let himself die and leave him to the wolves.

A single breath, then another.

“Nightmare.” The Name drops from his mouth like a stone.

A beat of silence. Then, the wind picks up.

“Nightmare,” She echoes. She tests the name once, then twice. 

A soft crack splits the soil beneath his feet, and in the blink of an eye, the ground gives way.

He jerks away and gasps as cold, slick fistfuls of soil coil around his ankles; before he blinks a second time inches of him have already been swallowed. He has no time to ponder if he’s just made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

“Don’t fight it, Nightmare. You’ll only hurt yourself more.” 

As he cries out he finds he cannot move even as he’s being consumed by the earth. Her voice comes to him as a soft caress. He shudders, despite himself, and his thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

Something is stirring in him. 

He feels something pulling at him, something seeping into him. His head feels very, very delicate, and he does not remember closing his eyes, and he does not quite dislike the soft haziness of it all. It tingles, but only slightly, and everything is dulled over for him. Made softer, made gentler.

“You were never a changeling.” Her voice, wind in the leaves. “But I always wanted a child. This is good for us both, see?”

Then, he understands. 

Oh. He breathes. So that’s how it is.

[crystal-verse]

Day 11 - Surrogate

[brief and vague mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. featuring lyna's parents, and queerplatonic relationships between the two of them and the exarch]

It escapes them, some days, just how lucky they are to have Dulna and Vaimet by their side. Then, of course, he is reminded, by a stray word or some thing he'd forgotten that one of the two had dealt with in his stead; by a stray pat on his shoulder, or the way one of the two would so casually yet carefully press a shoulder against one of his.

He is very close with the two, the Exarch -- Raha, though the name is feeling less and less his each day -- knows. The two had been the first to meet the Exarch, really, back when they were just Raha, an unnamed Mystel of some amount of power. They are perhaps the only ones to know his face, here in Norvrandt; all those who had met him in those initial years, so confusing and chaotic with the Flood having been so soon, are either dead or no longer remember them, and the Exarch cannot help but be grateful for it. They are more and more strange, living without aging, ageless and timeless just like the crystal that crawls further and further up their arm and shoulder, and while the Exarch knows that 'tis to prevent any recognition on the part of either Warrior of Light when they are eventually summoned. . . it is also a small source of comfort, keeping their face hidden, being an anonymous face to match their simple role. (Or -- 'twas supposed to be a simple role, at least.)

Dulna and Vaimet have never betrayed that trust, either -- they are always naught but professional when in public, the commander of the guard and his second-in-command who are ever loyal and respectful of the Crystal Exarch's time and duty. But behind the closed doors of the Tower, the two shed those roles like masks, the same way that the Exarch lowers his hood and is simply Raha again, for however long it lasts. There is comfort, between the three of them. Raha does not know quite what he would call it, but they are -- close, certainly. Not lovers, no -- they are well aware of what romance feels like, what infatuation swelling in their heart feels like (for they still love Sae'pheli'ehva, all these many, many years later) -- but neither is it quite friendship. There is friendship there but it is. . . it is different, somehow. (Raha hesitates to say closer, as if this relationship -- whatever it is -- is inherently better than friendship, as if romance is inherently better, but Raha does not know how to phrase it.)

It is not romantic love, at the least. Raha is certain of that. The Exarch, themself, had been the one to officiate Dulna and Vaimet's wedding, at their own shared request, and they know that just as they do not view the two in that light, neither do either of them view Raha like that. Still -- still, there is closeness. A deep bond, enough that Raha trusts them with his face, with his name, even. (He has not spoken of his past, but. . . they do not pry. When the memories grow too heavy, enough to choke, Vaimet will sit with him, oftentimes humming something beneath his breath, and will sometimes shift Raha to sit with his head pressed against Vaimet's chest, to hear the heartbeat. When Raha cannot carry the weight of all the grief he is forced to bear, Dulna will talk of whatever comes to her mind, until Raha is tethered in the current time and can breathe a bit easier.)

(It is not romantic love. It does not have to be. Raha loves them regardless, whatever this relationship might be.)

Perhaps they should be less surprised, then, at the request that is made of him.

"We want a baby." Dulna had said, one morning, with little preamble.

Raha raised merely blinked in response. ". . .alright. Were you wanting to adopt one of the orphans from the Sin Eater attacks. . .?"

Dulna looks at him as if he is stupid. Perhaps he is. "No," she says, enunciating carefully, "we want a baby."

"I'm. . . afraid I don't grasp your meaning?" Much more of this and Raha will be truly well and baffled.

Vaimet huffs, quietly, his shaking shoulders the only sign that he is repressing further laughter. "We want a child of our own blood." He explains, leaning his weight on one leg. "And I cannot sire a child, on account of lacking the necessary parts. So we need a surrogate."

"Ah. Well, I can. . . see about who would be willing to. . .?" Raha trails off, shrinking in on themself slightly as Dulna's expression only gets stonier.

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. "Raha." (He does not startle at the name, but there is a fluttering in his chest regardless.) "You beautiful, beautiful fool of a man."

"I'm. . . sorry?" Well. Now Raha is baffled.

Vaimet, then, seems unable to restrain himself any longer, finally laughing loud enough that he is breathless for several moments. "We want a baby." He repeats. "And we want you to be the surrogate."

They -- "ah." Raha says, simply. They then proceed to scream into their hands.

After Raha has finished making a fool of himself, and Vaimet has finished laughing, and Dulna has sighed the last of her exasperated-if-fond sighs, the three properly sit down and plan how they are going to go about this. (Raha is awkward enough about it to make Vaimet laugh, and Dulna snicker at them, so even if Raha is horribly embarrassed the entire time, 'tis at least worth the smiles. And -- 'tis not as if the three of them have not seen each other naked, various times, between the damage from fights and needing to patch one another up or simply wishing to forgo the heavy layers of clothing amidst summer heat, so it's really the point of the whole thing that has Raha so embarrassed to begin with.)

It's Dulna that shall bear the child, they decide -- well. Vaimet and Dulna decide. Raha is mostly happy to be included, after he has eventually gotten over the awkwardness (as much as he ever will, at least). Vaimet is captain of the guard and presumed to be the same as any ordinary man by those who do not know him well enough, and Dulna is willing enough to take some time off from the regular guard rotation, once the pregnancy gets into its later months.

(Raha is still embarassed the entire time, but -- they do feel so very honored, that Dulna and Vaimet would trust them with something like this. And happy, of course, always happy to spend time with the both of them, individually or together.)

Time passes. The general public assumes that Dulna's child is Vaimet's -- and why should they not? 'Tis not as if there is anything to say otherwise. (And 'tis not like there is any stigma or judgement against those like Vaimet -- but Vaimet is older than a fair few of the Crystarium's citizens, by now, and values his privacy just as much as the Exarch does.) For the ease of avoiding any rumors, the Exarch does hope that the child will resemble Dulna more. (Raha hopes that his own Viera blood, however much of it there is, will shine through and hide any traits that would suggest a Mystel parent. Better for all their privacy if the child looks naught but Viis.)

Dulna and Vaimet toss about possible names for the child, through the months, but Vaimet is insistent that Raha should get a say, as well. Dulna reminds them that Raha will be involved in the child's upbringing regardless -- as if Raha would forget that. In the end, 'tis Vaimet's idea for the child to take the latter half of Dulna's name, for Raha's idea to name them Lyna. Dulna, smirking victoriously, declares that she does not care for whatever the gossipmongers may think, so long as their child (their child, claiming Raha as Lyna's parent just as much as Vaimet and Dulna are, and it makes a fragile little warmth bloom in Raha's chest) grows up happy, and loved, and cared for.

"We can claim you're their grandfather." Vaimet jokes, one stormy day when all are in their dwellings -- a rare day, where the Light is not quite so blinding.

"And what would that accomplish?" Raha raised an eyebrow, curious. "I assume that Lyna will discover the truth eventually, if they are not raised knowing it." They wrinkle their nose at a sudden thought. "I certainly would not like it assumed that I am a parent to either of you."

Vaimet only shrugs. "Well, we don't want them calling you father in public." And that is the issue, isn't it. The masks, and the roles. As far as anyone knows -- as far as anyone can confirm, at any rate, which has to be good enough -- they are simply Vaimet and Dulna, happily wed couple expecting their first child, employed as heads of the Crystarium guard, and the Crystal Exarch, kind but distant from all, a mysterious mage who's face and name is unknown to all. "Besides, you have taken time to interact with the other orphans and various children -- you've enough grandfatherly airs about you, when you want."

Before Raha can respond to that, Dulna cuts in. "We will figure it out when we get there." She declares. "For now, let us just enjoy the rest, hm?"

And so the time continues to pass. (Vaimet, Dulna, and Raha work on that idea, some -- the Exarch most certainly can put a grandfatherly aura about him, when he wants. Vaimet near laughs himself sick at it, and Raha can't help but join in. The many orphans, certainly, are grateful for the attention from their so very respected Exarch, and the orphanage caretakers, and the Settlement Council, are glad for their own brief respite from work as the Exarch takes time to care for the children for some hours out of a week, every now and then.)

(Raha worries, as the months go by, about what Lyna would inherent from them. If they would inherit anything at all. Would they get the curve of his nose? The pale shade of his skin, so unlike Dulna's deep reddish brown? Would Lyna get the red of Raha's hair, or the upward slant of their eyes? Would they get Raha's own full lips, or would they take after Dulna with thinner ones? Would there be any Allagan blood made present, in Lyna? Would their eyes be the one thing to mark them as being Raha's?)

It is another stormy day, when the child is finally born. Vaimet paces circles in the small washroom they had absconded to, the three of them, muttering under his breath, while Raha's hand is held in Dulna's white-knuckled grip. It is over rather more quickly than any of the three of them had expected, but it leaves them all exhausted -- nonetheless, there is nothing more memorable than the cries of a newborn infant.

Lyna's ears are clearly Viis, as is their short stub of a tail. Their skin is paler than Dulna's, but still a rich brown, and the downy fur on their ears and head is an off-white color, a pale echo of Dulna's near-black shade of purple. They sneeze, and open their eyes, and Raha can feel the breath leave his lungs. Lyna's eyes are a purple the color of Lakeland -- this, too, they did not inherit from him. Allag has no claim on them, despite his contribution to their parentage. There shall be no other sanguine-eyed individuals in Norvrandt, or on the entire First. Raha weeps, and they do not know if it is in loss or in relief.

[thegeminisage]

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationship: Chris Argent/Derek Hale Characters: Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Kate Argent, Original Characters, Minor Characters, Araya (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Asexual Derek Hale, Stone Top Derek Hale, Wolf Derek Hale, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, Friends With Benefits, Age Difference, Explicit Consent, Cohabitation, Grief/Mourning, Beards (Facial Hair), Trauma, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Unreliable Narrator, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Sexual Dysfunction, Warning: Kate Argent, Minor Character Death, Blow Jobs, Grief Beards, Asexual Character Words: 55,331 Summary: Derek insists on coming along with Chris Argent and the Calaveras on the hunt for Kate, so he can see her dead for good. While following her trail back to Beacon Hills, they come to understand some hard truths about both each other and themselves, and struggle to find the reason why, after losing nearly everyone they've ever loved, they're still here.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationships: Chris Argent/Derek Hale, Derek Hale & Laura Hale Characters: Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Chris Argent Additional Tags: Wolf Derek Hale, Grief/Mourning, Codependency, Cohabitation Words: 2,278 Summary: Derek's first day back home.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationships: Chris Argent/Derek Hale, Chris Argent & Scott McCall, Derek Hale & Scott McCall, Past Relationships:, Derek Hale/Paige, Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Chris Argent/Original Character(s), Chris Argent/Victoria Argent, Allison Argent & Derek Hale Characters: Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Original Characters, Mentioned:, Kate Argent, Victoria Argent, Allison Argent, Gerard Argent Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Panic Attacks, Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Memory Loss, Repressed Memories, Guilt, Redemption, Codependency, Cohabitation, Asexual Character, Asexual Derek Hale, Sexual Dysfunction, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Murder Words: 36,500 Summary: Twenty-four hours after the death of his sister, Chris Argent wakes in Derek Hale's loft with his hands trembling too badly to load and fire a gun, and no matter what he does, he can't make them stop. He made a promise to protect Beacon Hills in Allison's stead, but now he has to decide how he carries on her legacy when he doesn't know if he can fight, if he can ever lay his guilt to rest, and if he's truly capable of doing good when he has already done so much harm.

...i wrote this series in 2017/2018 as teen wolf was coming to a close, but i didn't post them here since i was a little shy about my rarepair and also they're Extremely Explicit and i had a lot of kids following me for skeleton art. since those kids are all grown up now (?!?!?), here these finally are, on this blog for the first time Ever. the first fic is the best one, obviously - it's almost a ship manifesto, and i am proud to report i have won over skeptics with it <3 derek hale i love you forever

[mymoonsight]

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

Edit:

Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol

People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am

[tired-and-swordless]

These fucking last two chapters are murdering me

[elliee3e]

riding logan .

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x f! reader

summary ;

pretty self explanatory honestly, also a lil (a lot) shorter than my other fics, i’m so sorry y��all but i’ve been going through SUCHH a big writing slump urgh. like i have so many fic ideas (the 17 drafts in my profile speak for me) but i can’t seem to finish writing them and it’s so annoying !! but woohoo, at least i got this small one done🙂‍↕️

logan loves when you ride him.

maybe it’s the way the angle lets him see your pretty face when you’re on top, hips working desperately to bring both of you release, watching as your face mirrored the pleasure your body felt.

or maybe he just loves the warmth of your wet cunt straining to take him, wrapped around him all perfect like it had done countless times in the past — going up and down on his cock in sloppy little bounces and he knew you could only take so much. could tell by the way that after even just a few minutes, he always needed to hold your hips or thighs just to make sure you stayed balanced, could tell by the way your thighs would tremble and could tell by your little moans and pants. your small “lo— ‘s too much.. m’ too tired, can’t take it..” breathless pleads, the way your cheeks would flush up with the heat of sensitive tears filling your eyes.

he knew it wasn’t an easy job for you.

but he laid back and let you do your thing, because, after all — you were very insistent about it. and, he found great pleasure in it, so it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“you wanted this, baby.” he would grumble, large hands snaking around your waist to squeeze at the soft skin of your ass, kneading the flesh roughly. “you begged to ride me. couldn’t even wait, kept grinding all over me like a damn puppy, and now you’re telling me you can’t take it?” he followed his sentence with a small ‘tsk’, giving an almost punishing, little slap to your ass — it was small, but enough to make your oversensitive body twitch and make you squeak, your desperate heat squeezing around his length instinctively: making him groan as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips.

sometimes, the man would take pity on you though. after all, you were his pretty doll — he really couldn’t ruin you too much. it would break him to even think he would ever hurt you. you, the only thing he allowed to himself to get close to. the only person who still hadn’t been in danger because of him. no, he had to protect you, take care of you.

with another small ‘tsk’, he would pat your thigh gently, signalling for you to get off his lap. you would slowly get off with a little sniffle and huff, feeling empty from the loss of being full, but knew he would definitely take care of you.

“don’t worry, darlin’. you were good,” he mumbled, leaning down to press a soft little kiss to your nose and tear dampened cheek before taking your smaller body and moving it gently with his hands, shifting you so you could lay your back down on the fluffy bedsheets and get comfortable — his own body instantly coming on top of yours. “now lemme take care of ya.”

[pathologicalreid]

and it feels like home | s.r.

in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: could be angst if you know what's coming next, jareau!reader, down bad!spencer, yearning, reader feels unlovable, spencer drinks champagne, reader does not drink, reader is shorter than spencer, reader wears a dress and heels word count: 1.93k a/n: and just like that, margovember is over (i have one more request for it technically but it's an episode rewrite so that'll take me longer to write). i was in need of some good yearning - this covers a request for their first kiss and for a fic with francesca by hozier levels of yearning.

You allowed yourself to be led away from the party. The past twenty-four hours had been amassed of you running around like a headless chicken, trying to put together your sister’s one-step-below shotgun wedding. Now that the party was in full swing, you willingly followed Spencer through the garden, a few remaining speeches going on in the background as the two of you rounded a corner, out of sight of party guests. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were leading me away from everyone to kill me,” you said offhandedly, adjusting the way your shawl fell over your shoulders.

Instead of looking up at Spencer, your eyes homed in on the way he was holding your hand as if he were about to lift it and press a kiss to your knuckles. Butterflies flurried in your stomach at the thought, but you quickly dewinged them, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Something was wrong with Spencer; you could see it in the way he was shaking his hands. It looked like he was trying to get excess water off of them or if there was energy trying to exit via his fingertips. You were worried about him, sometimes he fidgeted when he was craving—though you’d only seen him in that state once before and you couldn’t ascertain what would have triggered him.

“I have to talk to you,” he repeated the same words that he’d told you when he first took your hand back at the gazebo. He had to be preparing to tell you something awful, you could tell from the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you finally glanced up at him. Deep brown irises flittered around, noticing each small detail that you and Dave had plotted out, but he never noticed you.

The blue dress that you had picked out to go well with the flowers and your hair was previously pinned to perfection but had since fallen out while you tried to sort out a last-minute issue with the caterers, but he didn’t seem to take mind of any of it. For better or for worse, you supposed. “What do you need, Spence?” You asked him, cocking your head and trying not to notice the twinkle in his eye when you called him ‘Spence.’ You promised yourself months ago that you’d stop waiting for someone who would never want you back.

You just couldn’t seem to get away from Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that you saw yourself as undesirable, but a small part of yourself was under the impression that if he hadn’t made a move yet, it was never going to happen. He knew too much about you; he’d been the one to pick you up off of the floor when your last relationship fell apart. You wondered if he felt the same way, recalling the night you spent on his bathroom floor because you were terrified of finding a needle in his vein.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Spencer finally spoke, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at you nervously. You eyed him curiously, the question faintly reminiscent of something a man would ask you if he were making small talk.

Foolishly, you had thought that you and Spencer had been well past small talk at this point, “No,” you answered, dragging out the vowel. “You already knew that, though,” You had talked to him about it last night when the subject of weddings came up, naturally.

He nodded in confirmation, “Right, yeah. Yes, I just needed to make sure before I started this conversation.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder as if he were being watched, or maybe he wanted to make sure no one saw the two of you in close vicinity.

You squinted at him, trying to get a feel for what he wanted to talk about without outwardly profiling him. “What conversation?” You asked, feeling like you were enveloped in a spiraling line of questioning—like you’d never get a straightforward answer.

“Do you remember this time last year? We’d just finished that sex trafficking case, and we were finishing paperwork late in the office, and you asked me if I’d ever been in love,” he said, panting like he was running a marathon. “I told you no, and at the time that was the truth. However, the circumstances have changed.”

Your stomach flipped, surging well past butterflies at this point as your face warmed—what was he trying to say?

He finally dropped your hand, resorting to placing each of his hands on your waist, stopping you from pulling away. Spencer felt impossibly close to you, even though the two of you had irrefutably been closer together, but not even an embrace would match up with the look he was giving you now. “I couldn’t let myself love you, not while you were in a relationship. It felt cruel to me, and it felt cruel to you because you had a boyfriend. It feels like we’ve already lived a lifetime together when we’ve never truly been together,” he told you, gently squeezing your waist as he spoke animatedly.

Instinctively, you took a step back from him, your breathing faltered slightly when you saw hurt flash in his eyes, “Why?” Your voice was no more than a breath, an appalled, exasperated breath. “Why here? Why now, Spence? We’re at my sister’s wedding,” you placed a hand on your chest “Please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Spencer was shaking his head before you’d even finished speaking, “No, it has to be now. I need to do this now,” desperation crept into his tone as he stepped forward, practically caging you against the siding of Rossi’s mansion.

You didn’t feel trapped, though, even with Spencer’s arms on either side of you, he was still Spencer. “Why now, Spence?” You peered up at him through your mascara-covered lashes. Maybe this was a consequence of his environment, surrounded by an evening that was sure to involve declarations of love, so he elected to make one of his own with you as a victim.

“Because I thought you were in that building,” he said exasperatedly, wide brown eyes watching you as if the answer had been completely obvious the entire time.

Realization dawned over you as you recalled the events from a few days ago: the bank robbery turned explosion that somehow ended in a marriage proposal. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you eyed Spencer curiously, “You thought I’d gotten hurt.”

Spencer sighed, “I thought you were dead.” His eyes were trained on yours like there was nothing else in the world for him to look at, “For a moment, I lived my worst nightmare because I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I was stuck in Quantico with no way to reach you.”

Everything about the explosion was hazy, everyone was shouting for someone else, and you thought you’d imagined someone calling your name. You’d convinced yourself you were hearing things, some sort of after effect of the blast, but Spencer had been looking for you. “Spence,” you whispered, unable to gather the words you were so desperately searching for.

He shrugged helplessly, “I can’t go another day without telling you I love you.”

You felt like you were being stabbed in the chest repeatedly, unsure if you were on the verge of laughter or tears. “You never showed… I didn’t think—”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who I have a hard time reading, and I thought… I thought that if I waited for you someday, you’d realize that you love me too. I sat and I waited, and I helped you get over your ex and I am so grateful for you and your friendship, but it’s not enough for me,” he told you, no longer panting. This was Spencer completely levelheaded, emphatically declaring his love for you. “I need more of you and I can’t wait any longer.”

Eventually, the jig would be up. Someone would jump out from the bushes, and they’d let you know that you were indeed being Punk’d, but right now you were just looking into the eyes of someone who loved you. It would seem that no one else had ever truly loved you before, because the look Spencer was giving you could only be defined as love, yet it was unfamiliar to you. “You love me?” You asked, your voice no more than a whisper.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you, “I love you in ways that no one has ever loved anyone before, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” you breathed, eyes studying his expression for any hint of regret.

“Would you allow me that?” He stepped away, dropping his arms at his side, “I know I cornered you tonight, and it’s perfectly fine if you don’t have an answer for me tonight, but I’d wait years for you if that’s what it took.”

You were shaking your head as you took the opportunity to step toward him, propping yourself up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, the picture-perfect moment for the two of you. Perhaps you startled him at first because it took him a moment to wrap his arms around you, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he pulled your body flush with his.

His lips tasted like champagne, and the soft tinge of the alcohol on your mouth only served to intoxicate you further, even though you yourself didn’t drink from a flute.

The universe had a funny way of working in your favor, and this time, it had given you your first meeting with Spencer almost four years ago. You had nearly two years of friendship under your belt now, which is why it was so easy for you to pull away from him slightly, grinning against his lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Spencer kissed you again, moving one of his hands to gently cup your jaw, moving his velvet soft lips against yours with purpose and care. Your arms were thrown over his shoulders, elbows crossing at the nape of your neck to support you. You’d have to get used to the height difference, and you’re sure you will.

“Hey, Y/N,” Someone called out, and the two of you bolted away from each other like opposite charges, “I think it’s about time to cut the cake, your— Oh.”  

It seems the two of you did not move fast enough, for you were now faced with Emily and her knowing gaze. Your eyes flickered over to Spencer just briefly before you looked back at Emily, “Okay,” you responded to her, your voice hoarse, “I’ll let the caterers know.” You started your trudge to the backyard, picking up your feet so your heels wouldn’t dig into the grass. “Are you coming?” You turned and faced Spencer; a watercolor pink brushed across his cheeks.

“I’ll be right there,” he answered, giving you a soft, patented Spencer smile.

You looked nervously over at Emily, dreading the fact that this thing between you and Spencer was barely fledgling and the team was already going to be aware. “You know,” she started, and you braced yourself for the teasing, “London’s a pretty good place to keep a secret.”

Mouthing a thank you to her, the two of you stepped forward, turning around only when Spencer called out your name one last time, “Save me a dance?”

You laughed slightly at the dopey grin he bore on his face before nodding, “For you? Always.”  

[criminalamnesia]

Stay

warnings: enemies to friends, hinted enemies to lovers, Tyler’s sister!reader, mean!scott, bickering, very real tornado danger, mentions of a car crash and physical injuries, not proofread, f!reader

summary: the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.

author’s note: look at me, finally writing something again! I’ve been extremely busy and, truthfully, in a writers slump. I started writing this after seeing twisters, and I just got the motivation to come back and finish it. I’ve been obsessed with this man since that movie, and good lord do we need more fics of him. anyways, enjoy! (also, for my traitor fans— I haven’t forgotten about you! I hope to work on the next part soon!)

the first time you’d seen scott, you’d wanted to break his jaw, and you hadn't even gotten his name.

“get lost on the way to the hillbilly convention?”

his tone is snarky, his eyes full of disdain as he watched you slide out of tyler’s truck.

your eyes had widened, your spine straightening as you registered his unprovoked hostility.

“the fuck is your problem?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you come back to your senses. you look him up and down, huffing a laugh at his clothes.

“you look like you’re going to a fuckin’ business meeting.” you say, coming to a stop in front of him. your cowboy boots dig into the dirt, and the sun beats down on your face.

perfect day for storm chasing, as your brother had said. darkening clouds rolled in the distance, and the wind was steadily picking up. according to lilly's drone data and tyler's instincts, your first chase would occur sometime within the next few hours.

you had been away at college when tyler’s tornado-chasing YouTube channel took off. you’d always loved the thrill of being close to the storms, but even when you came home to visit during summers, tyler refused to let you tag along.

until now, that is. now that you’ve graduated with a degree in meteorology, just like him. he had always accused you of wanting to follow in his footsteps.

“don’t mind storm par over there,” comes your brother’s drawl as he appears beside you, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “the stick up his ass seems to have been lodged a little deeper recently. you’ll get used to it,” tyler grins, barking a laugh at the brunette's scowl.

"haven't seen you before," another man moves to stand beside the brunette. he's also wearing storm par gear, and you watch as him and the taller man share an unreadable glance.

"she's new," tyler responds for you, his wide grin still present as he acknowledges the shorter man with the tip of his hat.

"i'd run while you can, sweetheart," the taller one says, a look of pity in his eyes as he looks back to you. "fucking him isn't worth dying over."

you stare at the man for a moment before bursting into laughter. the storm par pair's eyes both widen, their stares moving from your hysterics, to tyler's rolled eyes, and then to each other.

"you two are supposed to be scientists, huh? the guys who are gonna 'tame tornadoes?'" you throw the last two words in air quotes as your laughter subsides.

the shorter of the two men nods, while the taller opens his mouth once more. "that's right. while you morons are out trying to get yourselves killed, we'll be busy doing shit that actually matters."

"right, right," you nod along, glee shining in your eyes as you stare at the taller one. "you must be so smart, then. where'd you get your degree?"

"MIT," he says smugly, popping the gum in his mouth.

"MIT, wow," you whistle, your eyes finding your brother's. tyler just shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

"you got a degree from MIT, and you're too stupid to tell that he-" you jab a finger towards tyler. "is my fucking brother?"

the man's smug grin instantly falls as his eyes scan you, then tyler, and then fall back onto you. tyler steps forward, smacking a hand on the man's shoulder with a laugh.

"meet my little sister, storm par. may not have gotten a degree from MIT," he says, tipping his cowboy hat to you. you mime tipping an invisible hat back at him. "but she seems to be a hell of a lot smarter than you."

the second time you see scott, you still don't learn his name.

"jesus christ, this thing is huge!" you yelp as tyler swerves the truck back onto the dirt road. he scowls as the storm par truck ahead of him jerks back and forth on the path, blocking his approach.

"how's the wind lookin'?" he asks, his words clipped as his hands grip the wheel tighter. wheat fields ripple on both sides of the road, an ocean of tan as the sky continues to darken.

"pickin' back up," you tell him, glancing down at the laptop in your lap. it was displaying real-time data of the atmospheric conditions. the software had cost a pretty penny, but had been worth it. plus, it had been more than covered by tyler's t-shirt sales. cheesy or not, tyler’s face on a shirt was worth his weight in gold to his followers.

tyler groans as the white truck in front of him cuts him off again.

"ty, just go around!" you yell at him, your eyes widening as you stare out of the passenger side window. the clouds overhead were beginning to swirl.

"i'm tryin' to drive nice," he tells you through gritted teeth. "don't wanna make you sick-" he begins, but you roll your eyes and reach over, jerking the wheel. the car swerves off the road and into the ditch beside it, and tyler scrambles to avoid hitting a wire fence as he swats at your hand.

"what the fuck?!" he yells at you, his eyes cutting to you for a second before focusing back on the road.

"stop tryin' to baby me!" you tell him. "show these storm par pricks what we're made of."

tyler falls silent, clearly debating his next move. you're about to grab the wheel again when his foot slams down on the gas and the truck lurches forward. you cheer, throwing a fist in the air as you laugh with glee.

"just don't tell mom!" he says to you, laughing along.

as the truck speeds forwards, tyler lets off the gas just enough to keep speed with the storm par truck. you lean past him to get a look into the cab, and there's the brunette you'd had the displeasure of meeting a few days ago.

you can see his scowl from here, and your grin is wide as you hold your middle finger up, waving it around to make sure he couldn't miss it. his scowl deepens, and before he can even think of responding to the gesture, tyler hits the gas again.

"what was that for?" your brother asks as you lean back into you seat.

you shrug. "just havin' fun."

the third time you see scott, he saves your life.

it's a week after the middle-finger incident. although storm par and your brother's wranglers have been following the same storms, you haven't had the pleasure of bothering the tall brunette, much less seeing him. you’d caught glimpses, but he seemed to be keeping his distance. you supposed he’d finally grown tired of your constant teasing.

you don't know why you find yourself caring. he's an asshole. an asshole who hates you, your brother, and everything the two of you stand for. who constantly underestimates and looks down on you.

and yet you miss his scowl and the unmistakable pop of his bubblegum.

"hey, you okay over there?" boone asks as he leans over the center console, his head peeking out between the two front seats. you know the question is directed at you, as boone is watching you like a hawk.

"yeah, fine," you shrug, your eyebrows furrowed as you lean down, getting closer to the screen of your laptop.

"ty, turn the music down for a sec," you tell him, and he listens without protest. a rare occurrence, but now wasn't the time for bickering.

what had first appeared to be a measly EF1 had begun to grow. it wasn't dying out, and things were starting to get scarily real as moisture kept feeding into the funnel miles ahead of you.

"this thing isn't stopping," you tell the two men. "you need to tell the rv to turn around. hell, we should turn around."

boone shakes his head, leaning further into your space. his eyes scan your computer screen, and although he's learned a lot from tyler, he still doesn't see what you see.

"nah, it's gonna be fine. ty said it's gonna die out anyways, right? we just need to get in it before it does."

"boone," you warn, turning in your seat to face him. "love you, but shut the fuck up right now." you reach out a hand and grip tyler's arm.

"ty, I mean it."

rain starts pelting the windshield. you can hear the wind howling outside of the truck, and you shudder as hail begins to pound against metal.

tyler mumbles something under his breath as he kicks the windshield wipers up to maximum speed. "you sure?" he finally says.

he turns to look at you as you nod, and those precious seconds are all it takes for the world to spin on its axis.

a fence post slams through the windshield as rain and hail continue to obscure the world around you. you scream and tyler jerks the wheel out of instinct. the truck turns sharply, running off the road. your stomach drops as the truck drops and rises again- your own personal rollercoaster from hell.

"tyler!" you yell, gripping the straps of the harness holding you in.

"workin' on it!" he responds, jerking the wheel the other way. the truck rights itself back on the road, and you close your eyes as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

fuck, the others-

"boone, tell the others to turn around now!" you yell at him, and he's nodding frantically from his seat in the back, his hands fumbling for the walkie talkie in the floor.

"so much for an EF1!" tyler says, and although his tone sounds easy, his face betrays him. you can see the glimpse of fear in his eyes. it mirrors your own.

"yeah, ri-" you begin, but the sentence never fully forms.

you black out as another car slams into the passenger side of the truck.

"c'mon, get up!"

everything feels fuzzy. your head is pounding, and your ears are ringing. pain shoots through your body, engulfing every inch of skin. you think something has to be broken, judging from the numbness you feel on the right side of your body.

"get up!"

your eyes begin to crack open, but your vision is blurry. someone is a few feet in front of you, but you can't make out who it is.

"for fuck's sake-" the voice growls, and you can just hear the faint crunching of glass before your hearing comes back in full force.

the wind is an unbearable howl, and the rain and hail pounding down around you make hearing your own thoughts almost impossible-

your thoughts. what had happened? one second, you're driving and then-

fuck. tyler. boone. where were they?

your eyes shoot open, your body jerking against the harness still keeping you strapped to the leather passenger seat.

you look to your left- to the driver's side- but tyler isn't there. you try to turn you head to see into the back, but a sharp pain in your neck quickly stops you.

"tyler?!" you yell, but your voice is carried off by the wind. you can't even hear your own words.

"boone?!"

"they're fine!" a voice calls to you, and your gaze shoots back to the driver's side. you can see a man crouching by the driver's now blown-out window— which is upside down.

you were upside down. the truck had rolled with the impact of whatever had hit you. everything comes back with devastating clarity, and even though adrenaline pumps through your veins, the pain is beginning to become unbearable.

“can you move?” the voice says. you can’t tell who it is through the spots in your vision and the sheets of rain still coming down.

“I-” you start, pushing your chest against the harness. “I think so.”

“good,” you recognize it as a man’s voice. “then hurry the fuck up and get out!”

under different circumstances, you would’ve scoffed at the order, but now wasn’t the time for defiance. your life was literally on the line, and if you didn’t get to shelter before the tornado engulfed you—

well, you didn’t want to think about that.

you force your brain to gather itself, directing your thoughts toward moving your aching limbs. your left arm is the only one that responds, coming to fumble with the metal buckles of the harness.

the first one unclasps and you swear you could cry from relief.

“any day now!” the man calls, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. you reach your left hand across your torso, working at the clasp on your right side.

“im trying!” you call back. once you get it undone, your arms fall downward as gravity claims them. you groan in pain as your right arm shifts. something is definitely broken, but you can’t afford to give into the pain at the moment.

you reach for the lap belt, tugging at it with a shaking hand. the wind continues to howl around you, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. hopelessness begins to eat away at you as you try and try again to undo the lap belt, to no avail.

“it’s stuck!” you call out, hoping the man can hear you. “I can’t get out!”

your breathing is picking up. your chest feels tight, and the feeling you still have in your left hand ebbs as you begin to panic.

you don’t want to die. you know that. it scares you shitless.

but you don’t want anyone else to die, either.

you’re stuck. whoever is outside of the truck isn’t. he should run while he can—

“hold on!” you’re jarred from your thoughts as a figure begins to crawl through the hole left by the blown-out window, and that’s when you register your savior.

it’s him, the brunette from storm par. the man who belittled you, who rolled his eyes at every sentence you spoke, and who you somehow found yourself missing.

he’s crawling into the cab, his arms no doubt suffering cuts from the shattered glass littering his path. “I’ve got you,” he calls to you, and when your eyes meet his, there’s no look of disdain. there’s thinly veiled terror.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him, and you can’t tell if the wetness on your face is from your tears or the rain that’s now blowing sideways into the destroyed truck.

“shut the fuck up,” he tells you, groaning as he slices his forearm on a jagged piece of metal.

“im serious,” you reply, your left hand still fumbling with the belt restraining you. “I can’t feel my right side—”

“will you shut up? please?” he heaves out, his face inches from yours now as he reaches for the lap belt.

you fall silent, but not because you’re heeding his demands. no, you’re too busy examining his face. he’s never been this close to you, and you’re taking in every little detail before death comes to sweep you up.

can’t blame a girl for wanting to gawk at a handsome man in her final minutes, can you?

“stop staring at me,” he grits out, his forearm flexing as he tugs at the lap belt. something has the fabric trapped, and although he’s freeing it inch by inch, you’re not sure if—

the belt gives, and his arms leave your lap to cushion your fall, protecting your head from slamming into the metal below you.

he doesn’t say anything, but you watch as his gaze flits over your right side. stone cold as ever, his expression gives nothing away regarding your physical state. you can’t bring yourself to look down.

“im gonna pull you out, okay?” he says, and you absently nod your head. the pain is heavier now— harder to push away. your vision swims as he hooks his arms under yours and shuffles back on his knees.

agony spreads through your thoughts as the numbness gives way to excruciating pain. your eyelids flutter, but the man doesn’t stop. he grunts as he pulls you forward again, slowly but surely removing you from the truck.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him again, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to stifle a scream of pain. “im not going to be able to walk. I’ll just slow you down—”

“jesus christ, you don’t listen, do you? im not leaving you here to die.”

he finally makes his way out of the wreckage, pulling you with him. once you’re free of the ruined truck, he stands on shaky legs— fighting to maintain balance as the wind whips across his figure. he reaches down, scooping you up in his bloody arms, and starts to run as best he can. the rain is so thick you can’t even see a foot in front of you, let alone where he’s taking you.

lightning cracks overhead, followed by thunder so loud it shakes your shattered bones. your head tilts up to the sky, and you watch in horror at what was once an EF1 tornado races toward you. it’s got to be an EF4 by now— maybe even a 5 based off its sheer size.

“drop me!” you screech, your working hand clutching the soaked fabric of his storm par shirt.

if he hears you, he pays you no mind as he continues to struggle against the wind.

with your eyes focused on the impending doom behind you, you don’t even realize when he reaches his destination. he jumps down into a deep ditch, and you hear him groan as his feet hit the ground. he must be hurt, too.

“is she alright?” a voice calls, and your eyes widen as boone comes into view, a large cut across his forehead that looks like it definitely needs stitches.

“not the time!” the storm par man shouts, ducking behind your friend. your eyes catch boone’s over his shoulder, and you give your fellow storm chaser a weak wink. boone’s lips crack into a wide smile, even amidst this horrible storm.

the brunette carrying you falls to his knees, laying your back against muddied dirt. he refuses to let you go, his arms cradling you against his chest as he shelters you with his own body. there’s nothing to hold onto except for him, and you know if the tornado gets any closer, you’ll both be goners.

you close your eyes tightly, welcoming your end despite your overwhelming fear— but it never comes.

you pry your eyes open as the sounds of wind and rain finally begin to subside. the body above yours still clutches you tightly.

“are we alive?” your voice comes out a whisper. your left hand flexes against the man’s chest, and sure enough, it meets a solid body. he’s not an imagination— he’s real. you’re still here.

“yes,” his chest rumbles with the words, and his arms slowly snake out from under you as he sits back on his haunches. his eyes are locked on yours, his icy blues unreadable as he watches your face.

you don’t say anything for a moment. and then,

“you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

his eyes widen in surprise, and his stern facade cracks for the first time— at least, that you’ve seen— and he chuckles.

the bubble surrounding you two quickly pops as tyler’s voice meets your ears. you turn your head and there he is— your brother, running towards you with relief written all over his face.

“oh, thank god,” he says, throwing himself to his knees and scooping you up in a hug. you hiss in pain and he pulls back, his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down with a grimace.

“you took the worst of it. those storm par pricks—” his eyes cut to your savior, who is still sitting nearby, watching the two of you. “hit us. you and boone were knocked out, and you were stuck, so I got him first and was coming back, but—”

“ty,” you interrupt, your left hand landing atop one of his. “it’s okay. im okay. we’re okay.”

tyler takes a deep breath and nods, his eyes flitting back down your body, focusing on your right leg. you follow his gaze, grimacing at the unnatural twist of the limb. no wonder it had gone numb.

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, taking notice of your limp, lacerated right arm.

“now’s not the time to play hero,” your brother chastises, standing up before reaching down and picking you up. your eyes meet your savior’s once more. he’s standing now, too, his arms crossed over his chest as he matches your gaze.

“guess we owe you a thanks, clipboard. and you owe us a new truck.” tyler says, to which the brunette rolls his eyes.

“ty,” you roll your eyes, too, as you keep your gaze locked with the brunette’s. “ignore my brother. thank you for saving my life….” you trail off, realizing, truly realizing for the first time that you don’t know his name.

“scott.” he tells you. you nod.

“thank you, scott.”

he nods back, turning his back to you as he starts to limp back to the road your vehicles had been abandoned at. you doubted they would still be there.

just as you’re about to look away from his retreating form, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a true, sweetly small, smile.

maybe storm par isn’t so bad after all.

[rhaenyra-storms]

Hi! Hello! So obsessed with Cregan too! Your fic with the direwolf pup was so precious, I loved it!

But, what about a lil something where Cregan steals kisses from his wife throughout the day whenever they see one another in the castle ?

thank you so much!! your idea is so adorable too and i loved writing it!

pairing: cregan stark x f!reader warnings: clingy cregan, just fluff, reader is shorter than cregan words: 1044

"M'lady, would you prefer beef or mutton for dinner tonight?"

A servant peeked into the room, the hint of a smile on his face. You had been stitching a few holes in your husband's pants, insisting to do it yourself. Cregan always managed to get them to tear open when he was out on a hunt. It was a small gesture from your side to fix them yourself.

"Beef would be nice. Thank you." You smiled back at the older servant before he bowed quickly and left you alone once more. However, you quickly realised that you were still supposed to send a raven to your mother. The pants could wait for a moment longer, so you placed them down on your bed before you headed out into the hallway.

The tall man at the end of the hallway, still with his back turned to you, would be recognised by you almost anywhere. Your husband was talking to one of the smith's new apprentices. Cregan was a kind lord to all his subjects and whenever he could, he loved to make a little conversation with them.

As soon as the young boy spotted you, he bowed briefly.

"Lady Stark."

Cregan turned around then, a smile already on his lips. He wasn't afraid to show his affection outside of your personal chambers, so his arm sneaked easily around your waist, pulling you in closer to himself.

He kept his attention on the boy though, giving him a polite nod. "It was nice talking to you. I am sure we'll talk again in the following weeks."

"Of course, my lord. It was my pleasure." He bowed once more before he hastened down the steps into the main hall, leaving you and your husband alone.

"Where were you going, my love?" Cregan asked curiously then, taking the time to grab your hips with both hands as you stood before him. You tilted your head up a little, looking at your tall husband. "Just wanted to send a raven to my mother. We haven't talked in a while and I wanted her to visit soon."

He smiled softly, giving you a nod. "You know she's always welcome here in Winterfell. I'd love to have her and your father around soon."

His right hand moved up to cup your chin gently, pulling your head a little closer to press a kiss against your lips. As always, you exchanged more than just one quick peck, leaning into your husband, hands planted on his strong chest.

A giggle escaped your lips when he turned you around, pressing your back against the stone wall behind you.

It took a few more moments until you were able to separate from each other.

"I could do this all day, darling. But I still need to work and-"

You stopped him as you placed a soft hand on his cheek. His skin was always warm and you could feel him leaning into your touch as he looked at you in the dim-lit hallway. Cregan's eyes would always be a beautiful sight to you.

"We're going to see each other for dinner and then we can have the whole evening to ourselves," you assured him, stealing one last kiss off his lips. He seemed satisfied enough with your response and made sure to press his lips against the back of your hand one more time before you parted ways.

You weren't really sure how much of a coincidence it was when you were on your way back from the Maester later in the day and ran into your husband in the courtyard.

Wasn't he out hunting just an hour earlier?

It didn't matter to you though when he wrapped his hand around yours and pulled you to the side gently. His lips were on yours quicker than you could realise, a surprised laughter making its way out of your mouth.

Your hands flew up to grab his hair for a moment as his big hands rested on the small of your back.

A tension started to build in your stomach and you pressed your body more against your husband's, desperate to savour the moment as much as you could. He had probably been waiting for you somehow and you were glad that he did. Getting to kiss him throughout the day was the greatest pleasure you could imagine.

"Cregan," you laughed softly when he continued to plant a few kisses on your right cheek. "You know we're supposed to be going after our tasks?" His arms had wrapped tightly around your waist, his scent filling your nose. He smelled like the pines outside Winterfell, something you'd always recognise about him.

"I know, love. But you're making my day sweeter with this." His voice had turned a little rough as he whispered in your ear, shivers running down your spine as a response. Your hands slid under his cloak and you pressed yourself closer to your husband once more.

You met gazes again as you looked up, Cregan's eyes undeniably filled with adoration. How did you get so lucky?

"I love you, Cregan. And you're right, it's making my day sweeter too. As long as I can steal a kiss from you every now and then, being the Lady of Winterfell does not get boring at all," you whispered, pecking his lips again. Could you ever get enough of this? Could he ever get enough of this?

Some people might describe your husband as a very serious man. But whenever he smiled, you felt like there was nothing bad in the world that mattered. He smiled at you all the time and it made you feel like the most important part of his world.

"Every kiss the Lady of Winterfell can grant me is sacred to me," he whispered as he took your hand and brought it up to his mouth. His lips brushed over your knuckles gently, leaving a trail of warmth behind as he moved up to your wrist with his mouth.

He manoeuvred your hand to his cheek slowly, letting it rest there before he connected your lips once more.

All your days could go past like this for the rest of your life and you would be the happiest woman in the world.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

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Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

➸ take me to chapter six!

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[thewickedjazzy]

Special week: Blurred Lines for Kinktober.

♡featuring: jjk & bsd x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩PHASE 1: geto & chuuya x reader

♡synopsis: being a movie star in the jjk world has its perks and pitfalls, especially when you find yourself face-to-face with four swoon-worthy men. to make things even more complicated, you end up sandwiched between chuuya and geto in one night.

♡warnings: ņsfw, mdņi 18+, established plot, smųt with plot, characters are aged up or in their 20s, threesome, double penetration, cum mentioned, double cream pie, unprotected sex, fingering, degradation 'slut' ... not proofreaded, ig that's it?

♡word count & a/n: 5.2k, a special thank you & a smooch to @remlionheart for helping my ass write this and feeding my brain with her sweet ideas. it was so amusing and fun to write that i couldn't stop giggling. this fic is dedicated to my bbg @bittysuguro

[check the jjk & bsd special week masterlist]

“what do you mean my card got declined?!” a furious voice echoes across the pristine, high-end louis vuitton boutique.

you pause mid-step, glancing over your shoulder. the boutique is one of the most luxurious on omotesando street, and you haven't expected any kind of outburst here, of all places and you can’t help but arch an eyebrow, pondering if he's trying to pay with monopoly money or if his bank account has suddenly taken a nosedive.

the subject of the chaos stands by the counter, fuming—he’s a redheaded man in a black designer coat with a flat cap pulled low over his striking blue eyes. he looks like he just walked out of a fashion editorial, except for the part where he is practically roaring at the terrified cashier and waving a gold card like a weapon.

you find yourself blinking once again—what in the world is going on?

“sir, i ran it three times, and each time—” the cashier stammers, flinching as the redhead leans over the counter like he is about to blow the place up.

“i know there’s money on it! RUN IT AGAIN!” he growls, and you swear you can see veins popping in his neck.

before the poor cashier can even protest further, another man saunters into view, tall, lean, and wearing the most obnoxiously casual yet designer outfit. white hair peeks out from under a pair of dark sunglasses, and despite the clear chaos, he is wearing the cockiest grin you’d ever seen.

“tsk..no need to get so worked up,” the white-haired man drawled, arms laden with five louis vuitton bags. “your poor is showing.”

the redhead whirls on him, eyes blazing. “what did you just say, you asshole?”

the taller man stands there unfazed with his shit grin spreading wider. “you heard me, short stack.”

the redhead’s whole body stiffens, and you half expect him to launch himself across the store. you are only a few paces away, casually browsing the new bags collection, but now you find yourself watching the scene unfold like a deer caught in headlights.

“oh, please,” the white-haired man replies with a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “you sure you wanna do this, kid?”

at that moment, the shorter guy’s feet literally lift off the ground as he floats up toward the white-haired man, arm cocking back for a punch. it's like some weird gravity-defying stunt, and you can't help but stare, unsure whether you are hallucinating or if this is a really elaborate prank. you half-expect someone to jump out and yell, “surprise! you’re on candid camera!” while someone else films your bewildered expression.

the punch swings forward but… stops. midair.

“what the—” the redhead sputters, his fist hovering a mere inch from the smug man’s face, like an invisible barrier is blocking it.

“oh,” the taller man snickers, “you actually tried.”

just as things are about to get out of hand, a third man appeared—a taller figure with dark hair tied back wearing a serene expression as if he just strolled in from a yoga session. he places a hand on the redhead’s shoulder, gently pulling him back to the ground.

“hey man, let’s not destroy the boutique today, alright?” he says, tone weary yet unbelievably calm, like he is used to this kind of chaos. his gaze shifts to the white-haired man whilst rolling his eyes. “saturo, stop antagonizing everyone you meet. people are staring.”

the redhead grumbles something under his breath, glaring daggers at the taller man—saturo?—who simply chuckles back at him.

just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the fiery-haired man still glaring at gojo, like he’d just stolen his lunch money—suddenly turns his gaze toward you as if he can feel your eyes boring into him. “what are you staring at?”

he takes a step toward you, and you feel your body tense up like a live wire. you can't help but blink back at him, because honestly, what are you supposed to say? "oh sorry, just trying to figure out why a five-foot ball of rage is levitating in a louis vuitton boutique?"

before you can formulate any semblance of a response, a smooth voice cuts in, dripping with nonchalance, “now, now, chuuya, no need to take your frustration out on innocent bystanders.”

the ginger-haired man—chuuya, you think you heard—glare flickers with surprise as a tall man with messy brown hair sidles up next to him, his brown trench coat swaying with his lazy steps. you barely register him before he sweeps his hand out, pushing chuuya aside like a piece of furniture. “pardon my associate’s behavior. he’s always a little testy when his card gets declined.”

you blink. “huh…?”

the brown-haired man gives you a dazzling smile, the kind that should come with a warning label. “ahh but you…” he trails off, letting his dark eyes roam over your figure with a look of pure delight. “such a wonderful sight. how can such a radiant beauty even exist in this world?” his voice dips, smooth and syrupy, and you can practically hear the faint sound of violins playing in the background.

chuuya’s eye twitches as he scowls at dazai. “are you seriously doing this right now?”

dazai ignores him entirely, stepping closer to you. “osamu dazai, by the way. and you must be the goddess gracing us with your presence today. It’s an honor to bask in your light.” he flashes you a grin, the kind that looks practiced but somehow genuine, and you’re not sure if you should be flattered or call security.

“i—uh—” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the situation.

before you can utter another word out, the white-haired man—saturo, you assume, based on the way the other man addressed him—suddenly whips around, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough to reveal his gorgeous icy blue eyes, narrowing his gaze on you.

his entire demeanour shifts in an instant, going from casual smugness to absolute starstruck fanboy in 0.5 seconds. “wait… wait a damn minute—” his eyes widen, and he practically leaps forward, shoving dazai to the side like an afterthought. “you… you’re—no way, it's you! you’re my favourite movie star!”

dazai, now comically stumbling from the shove, frowns, “hey, i was talking first!”

saturo doesn’t even hear him, his attention laser-focused on you as he runs a hand through his white hair, grinning like an excited puppy. “holy shit, i’ve seen all your movies! you’re incredible! i mean, not just pretty—you’re talented too! that last film? chef’s kiss. truly. pure brilliance.”

you stare at him flabbergasted by the sudden barrage of praise. “uh… thanks?”

saturo claps his hands together and then turns to dazai with a smug smirk. “sorry, what were you saying? something about basking in her light?”

dazai, ever the smooth operator, recovers quickly, “wait a minute…” he muses, leaning slightly closer to saturo, “you know, your voice is kind of… nice.” he cocks his head as if discovering a new piece of an intriguing puzzle. “almost like i’ve heard it somewhere before… perhaps in a mirror?”

saturo's eyebrows shoot up, a look of surprise briefly crossing his face before his smug grin returns again. “well, well, aren’t you observant?” he says, hands casually stuffed into his pockets as he looks dazai up and down. “i guess i should compliment your taste then—great minds and great voices think alike.” he chuckles, and you can almost feel the mutual smugness radiating off the two men.

chuuya, who has been silently simmering through the whole exchange, finally explodes. “are ya both fuckin’ serious right now?” he growls, fists clenching at both his sides. “first, i’ve gotta deal with him”—he jabs a finger toward dazai—“and now this jackass too?” his foot taps impatiently on the boutique's polished floor, like he's ready to fight both of them.

“chuuya tsk.. tsk you're just upset because your little card got declined.” he shakes his head chuckling, “i didn’t know the economy would reject you specifically. but you know, you could always start a gofundme or maybe, uh i don’t know, pawn that fancy hat of yours?” he smirks playfully. “i hear they pay well for vintage."

saturo chuckles, clearly enjoying their little banter chaos. “hey, i like this guy! he’s got jokes.” he leans over toward dazai. “you sure we didn’t cross paths before?” then, turning his attention back to you with a teasing glint, he adds, “don’t worry, sweetheart—i’m still your best bet if you’re looking for a hero.” his eyes glimmer with flirtatious arrogance, as if he’s already planned your honeymoon by now.

chuuya throws his hands up in exasperation, shooting dazai an accusatory glare. “this isn’t funny, dazai! how the hell are we even supposed to survive in this weird-ass world when my damn card doesn’t work? not to mention that this is your fault for bringing us to this ridiculous place!”

the bandaged man sighs briefly, slipping into a serious look, “you're right. but I guess it's time to become a street performer. i mean, with your size, you’d make an adorable little tap dancer. might even make some decent pocket change.”

“you son of a—”

“enough!” the hot black-haired guy, who had been silently observing, steps forward, placing a firm hand on chuuya’s shoulder again. “we’re in public. can we try to act like civilized people for five minutes?”

chuuya grumbles, his fists still clenched, but the black-haired guy’s firm grip on his shoulder seems to anchor him enough to stop an all-out brawl. he glares between the two idiots in front of him—dazai still grinning like a smug bastard and saturo, who looks like he’s already planning his next punchline.

saturo straightens, his grin shifting slightly. “ugh suguru..don’t be such a killjoy.” he gestures lazily at dazai, “i was just making a new friend.”

chuuya scoffs. “friends? yeah, right. who the hell are you guys anyway?”

“just… tell them your name already. this isn’t a fight club.” suguru rolls his eyes.

saturo shrugs, turning his attention back to you and flashing that million-watt grin. “well, since suguru insists.” he dramatically puts a hand to his chest as if introducing himself for the first time. “i’m gojo satoru. the strongest sorcerer and uh apparently,”—he glances at dazai with a smirk—“your newest competitor for this sweetheart's attention.”

you sigh, clearly having enough of this shitty situation that feels like the setup for a sitcom episode. the ginger looks more frustrated by the minute, and the sight of him glaring daggers at the so-called companions makes you feel slightly bad for him.

“alright, chuuya,” you say, pulling him toward the cashier, ignoring the stunned look on his face. you feel suguru follow, maintaining a calming presence beside you. the cashier looks just as frazzled as chuuya, but you’re determined to end this nightmare once and for all.

“wait, what are you doing?” chuuya protests, glancing back at you with wide eyes. “you don’t have to—”

“It’s fine, really. it happens all the time,” you insist, shooting him a reassuring smile as you pull out your own card. “this is on me. plus you can pay me back in another way, though.”

dazai, overhearing this, perks up like a dog hearing a treat bag crinkle. he sidles over with that ever-present smirk on his face, leaning closer to you. “oh, you accept other ways? you naughty naughtyyy tsk!”

you roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm slightly, and ignore him completely. instead, you focus on the cashier, who looks thoroughly confused but also relieved to see the drama coming to a close. “just run this through, please.”

chuuya crosses his arms, clearly still disgruntled but unable to resist the tide of your determination. suguru shoots him a look that seems to say, “just go with it,” and chuuya huffs, lips pressing into a thin line.

as the cashier processes the transaction, you turn back to huuya. “it's fine, I really get it—everyone has rough days. uh how about you let me help you out a bit? i actually have a project coming up that could use two male leads.”

“it’s a vampire movie,” you explain with a grin spreading across your face as you watch chuuya’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “and honestly, you two fit the aesthetic perfectly. everyone i’ve auditioned so far has been terrible. i could really use your looks and… personalities,” you point toward the redhead and the hot black-haired man.

chuuya raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his features. “a vampire movie? seriously?”

“actually, I think you’d be perfect for the role. your features and that hair of yours are perfect for it.” suguro chuckles, nudging chuuya slightly.

you watch as chuuya’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. for the first time, he chuckles, rolling his eyes at suguro. “you wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve had to dress up like one just to save that idiot dazai’s neck.”

suguro chuckles back, shaking his head. “guess it’s time to redeem yourself.”

chuuya huffs but a small smile betrays him. “fine, i’ll consider it. but only if you promise i don’t have to wear any ridiculous costumes.”

“i can’t make any promises,” you say with a teasing grin.

suguro smiles, leaning against the counter. “i’ll accept the offer, too.”

you beam, feeling a wave of relief wash over you finally. “great! i’ll send you both the details later.”

“ugh, why is this so hard?” you can’t help but chuckle at his struggle, it’s not like you're defusing a bomb here—just rehearsing a kiss for a scene.

“chuuya, it’s just a kiss. how hard can it be?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, watching him pace back and forth through the rehearsal room like a caged tiger.

“just a kiss? have you seen your face?” he gestures wildly, and you swear you can see steam rising from his ears. “you make it look way too easy!”

you giggle glancing up as you hear a faint creak from the door only to see geto strolling in and casually leaning against the door frame. you can tell that he just got out of the shower as he holds a towel drying his luxurious black hair. you part your lips trying to take a deep breath as you see his damp hair clinging to his neck in a way that’s... well, distracting, and you're not above admitting that. but as he shakes the water from his hair, your mind drifts back—against your will, mind you—to that moment from a week ago.

technically, it was a regular day. nothing special. just you trying on a costume in one of those annoyingly small fitting rooms. and of course, it had to be the tightest, most ill-fitting costume known to mankind. the zipper might as well have been laughing at your misery as you wrestled with it, stuck halfway like it had a personal problem against you.

after what felt like an hour of struggle, you finally managed to peel the outfit off your body like some weird victory over fabric. and that’s when geto decided to make his grand entrance.

“oh, uh... wrong room,” he said and in that split second, you swore your heart had leaped out of your chest, seeing his eyes go wide, flicking down clearly taking in the delicate lace set you had on and oh, the way he stares makes your cheeks flush hotter than the sun on a july afternoon.

you are friends. just friends. well, maybe more than friends. the three of you are getting along—maybe a little too perfectly, if you are being honest. it is in the small things like how geto always have a lighter handy for you and chuuya, even though he doesn't smoke. you have no idea why, but somehow he’d always flick it open when you reach for a cigarette. that, combined with the lingering glances and casual touches that seems far too intimate to be strictly platonic, says something about where things are heading.

chuuya, on the other hand, is... well, he is oblivious. not that you mind it. he is just so focused on the roles you are rehearsing together that he hasn't picked up on the fact that you’ve been flirting with him for a while now. hell, geto had caught on, but chuuya? the poor guy needs it spelled out. you are going to have to make your moves more obvious—or, in chuuya’s case, maybe drastic.

and if you think back to certain moments—like that night when chuuya got himself absolutely plastered. that redhead brat went from zero to blackout drunk in record time, and of course, it fell on you to drag his sorry ass home. you just couldn't see him stumbling out of a bar, half-laughing, half-cursing, completely out of it and do nothing. to be fair, this all came after his impulsive bank robbery—yeah, you heard that right. a bank robbery. apparently, after the whole boutique incident, chuuya decided he was tired of being broke.

so there you were, guiding this drunken menace through the streets, and contemplating how you could spring him from the charges he was facing. he was barely coherent, mumbling something about the "best wine ever" and how the stars were "calling his name." romantic, right? wrong.

by the time you finally got him inside, chuuya, in all his sottish wisdom, decided clothes were optional. without a word—no hesitation, no second thoughts—he started stripping. pants off, dress shirt shirt flung across the room, and he was about to lose the rest when you jumped in.

“whoa, okay, let’s maybe not do that right now?” you managed to say, trying your best to avert your gaze but also wondering why the hell the universe had put you in this situation. because, let’s be honest, as much as you didn't want to stop him... you really, really should.

and you did stop him, somehow managing to wrestle him back into some kind of decency before he could make things even more harder for you. needless to say, he was so out of it, that he passed out immediately after—half clothed, thank god.

and you thank heavens that he doesn't remember a damn thing the next morning about his one-man strip show.

you blink as the sound of geto’s teasing voice yanking you from your thoughts.

“what’s going on in here? i could hear chuuya’s desperation from down the hall.”

chuuya glares at him. “shut it, geto. we’re just—”

“rehearsing a kiss,” you finish, unable to resist the urge to jump in.

“exactly,” chuuya huffs, crossing his arms defensively and pouting—god he's so adorable. “just a stupid kiss.”

geto smiles softly and steps further into the rehearsal room, “well, it can’t be that bad. show me what you’ve got.”

chuuya rolls his eyes, obviously being tested by geto’s teasing and you can see him mentally gearing up, “alright, but don’t laugh if I mess it up.”

you try to flash him an encouraging smile to ease him a little bit. “just breathe. it’s literally just a kiss.”

he nods stepping closer, you notice his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. he gets within a breath’s distance and suddenly seems frozen, his confidence evaporating as he stumbles over his own thoughts. “uh... so...”

you can't help but chuckle softly, leaning in a little closer to coax him. “come on, chuuya. just focus on my lips. you can do this.”

geto—who had been watching from the side with a knowing smile—decided to step in. “you know, it might help to ease the tension. let me give you a few pointers.

chuuya blinked, caught off guard but quickly nodded. “yeah, sure. anything to make it look… believable.”

without uttering a response, he strides over and gently cupping your sweet pink cheeks, leaning in to press his soft lips against yours, and oh god, it’s perfect. the world fades away, and for a moment, it’s just you and the warmth of his lips. you let out a soft gasp as he slips his tongue between your puffy lips, tilting his head for better acess making your heart race as your mind wonders if you’ve just been seduced in a rehearsal. honestly you’re taken aback by how natural it feels, how perfectly his lips fit against yours.

geto loses himself completely in the kiss, his fingers brushing through your hair as if he’s trying to pull you closer, as the kiss deepens a low hum escapes his wet lips. you feel a rush of pleasure floods through your entire body, and just when you think it can’t get better, he pulls away, slightly breathless and blinking as he locks gaze with your lips for a bit before averting his gaze to chuuya.

well as for chuuya, the ginger stands there, wide-eyed, his lips slightly parted as if he hasn’t fully processed what just happened. “uh… was the tongue really necessary?” he stammers, cheeks flushed an adorable shade of crimson.

geto chuckles, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “now you try.”

chuuya blinks again, still looking all flustered but still wants to get it right. he turns to you, hand sliding to your waist in a way that is awkward but endearing.

“fine… i got this.” his voice is hushed as his take your lower lip between his pink ones, trying to mimic what geto had done. it was just a kiss—chaste, careful, like he was still holding back. but then something clicked within you, the ginger's eyes snaps open before growling into your mouth as you slip your tongue into into his before twirling the two pink muscles together. you glide your delicate fingers through his messy strands, pulling him closer for a few seconds before he pulls back, breathing heavily.

“okay, that was… not acting right?” he says, his brows furrowing as he tries to catch his breath. “is that how it’s supposed to feel?”

geto sighs loudly, shaking his head in exasperation. “chuuya, how didn’t you notice? it’s been going on for a few months already. didn’t you realise it? because if you really want us to… you know...”

“ugh, thank you!!! finally someone who can read my hints,” you exclaim, shooting geto a grateful look.

chuuya blinks a few times, his brows knitting together as he processes what’s just been said. “wait, hold on,” he splutter, looking back and forth between you and geto. “are you both... serious?”

“god, i’m such an idiot. i thought we were just—” he pauses

“just friends?” you finish for him, giving him a playful nudge. “come on, chuuya. i thought i was dropping some pretty big hints.”

the redhead runs a hand through his messy hair, looking both at you and geto. “ so..uh..you really want us to fuck you?” he mutters, lips forming into a slow grin.. “like...both of us?”

“uh, yeah?” you say, biting your lip to suppress a smile watching chuuya and geto exchange glances more like a silent understanding seems to pass between them, and before you know it, geto strides over and lifts you off the ground effortlessly.

“wait, wait, wait!” you squeal, laughter bubbling up as you squirm in his grip. “what are you doing?”

“just a little detour to somewhere more private.” he says, glancing back at chuuya, who raises his eyebrows with a sick lustful grin plastered on his face.

“seriously, you guys, i can walk!” you protest, but the thrill of being swept off your feet makes it hard to sound convincing.

“good, ‘cause we'll make sure you won’t be walking straight for days.” chuuya says as he opens the trailer door, stepping inside with geto following suit.

the sound of a zipper being pulled down is the last thing you hear before you’re instantly pressed between the two men, their eager hands working quickly to strip you bare. the fabric falls away easily revealing more of your skin to their hungry eyes.

“damn,” chuuya breathes seeing your skin pebble once they hit the cold air. “you’re even prettier than i imagined.”

your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back on geto's shoulder and you relax for just a second before you feel chuuya's mouth encircled your nipple, his jot tongue swirling around your areola tasting your sweet skin as he groans softly against it.

“hngh—chuuya…” you whimper fingers tightening in his messy hair.

he releases your nipple with a slick pop, then brings his large palms to knead your pillowy breasts. as geto lifts you slightly, guiding your hips down to press against his hard cock. you open your eyes to glance down, breath hitching at the sight of him resting between your slick folds. you can't help but let out a soft gasp seeing how massive he is, tip coated with pre-cum and veins popping and soaked by your essence. you let out a soft moan as he peppers your neck with hot, wet kisses, goosebumps rise across the plains of your skin.

chuuya leans down easing you into geto's embrace and spreading your plushy thighs wider.

“look at her pussy—fuck s’pretty..” chuuya drawls as he spits on your swollen clit drawing lazy cut shapes on it, the warm fluid drooling between your puffy folds.

he then plunges his spit-slicked fingers past the swell of your plump lips, coaxing you to get even wetter for them as geto's large, gritty hands grip your ass, pulling you back and forth on his throbbing, leaky, fat cock.

“such a good slut, sucking my fingers so well,” your cunt clenches eagerly sucking on chuuya's long fingers, once he's truly satisfied, he pulls out of your cunt before smearing your juices all across your folds.

geto grips his cock in his palm, the leaky tip smearing your juices as he positions himself between your chubby cheeks. you never tried anal before and you never expected yourself to gasp that loud feeling the rush of spit pools against the pad of your tongue from him stretching your hole so perfectly. you cry out in surprise before chuuya swiftly plunges his tongue into your mouth swallowing your lewd noises.

“ffuck, i’ve been waiting for this, babe.” you hear geto's soft moans against the shell of your ear from behind, “... thinking of you in those lacy little things... mngh, you have no idea how many nights i couldn’t sleep, wanting to feel you... s’warm and tight around me.” he grips your juicy ass cheeks tighter, thrusting you down against him, as if he can’t wait any longer.

“ready for me doll?” chuuya breathes against your lips.

“yes ahh please chuu—mngh” you try to respond, but your words dissolve into a moan as you feel him slowly push inside your heated core. you had expected him to be gentle—just not this gentle. he languidly slides deeper and deeper, his head dropping forward to rest against your soft breasts, growling as he buries himself inside you.

you dig your nails into chuuya’s shoulders, forming delicate marks on his pale skin as you use him for leverage to push yourself back onto geto's cock. each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, making you shudder as chuuya fills you completely.

“god, you feel s’ fuckin’ good, doll,”

your moans get higher and higher mingling with their grunts and growling, chuuya finds himself thrusting faster than usual, his cock is pulsing from watching you nastily taking him and his friend's cock so perfectly.

“y-you okay doll?” chuuya breathes, his voice laced with awe as he watches your eyes roll back into your skull.

“ffuhmk—yes please more,” you cry feeling geto's pace starting to match chuuya's fast and hard ones, your body tenses up, pleasured from all angles, both with their girthy huge cocks filling you up to the brim, your vision blurs seeing through haze chuuya's eyes roll back, his fiery strands sticking to his face and neck, red hue blossoming under his skin and rapidly spreading to his chest.

“jesus f-fucking christ, you're so hot.” geto breathes against your skin tilting your head so that he can bite down your bottom lip gently before drawing circles with your tongues making the pair of you an even greater mess, both his hands reach up to cup your pillowy breasts squeezing them as they jiggle between the palm of his hands, “mmngh—sugu~ahh” the two of you moaning in unison.

before you can catch your breath, chuuya grabs your cheeks with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. his lips crash against yours with a bruising intensity in a sloppy kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth as his fingers roughly toy with your clit, drawing sharp, almost painful pleasure from the sensitive nub. “you gonna cum for us, mngh? gonna be a good slut and cum?” he growls, cupid's bows wet from your searing kisses as his fingers cut circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

the world around you blurs as you're finally pushed over the edge with the repeated brush of their cocks against your spongy spots—a blinding white light floods your vision, static crackling in your ears. chuuya watches in awe, like he's witnessing a miracle, as you cum, your body convulsing with pleasure. at the same time, geto spills inside you, his warm release filling your womb to the brim. the intensity makes you feel like you might pass out, a scream ripping from your throat as the knot in your lower belly unravels with chuuya's twitching cock inside you as he too rocks inside you multiple times riding out his sweet release with force that makes your body shake as he paints your walls with his hot shooting cum filling you up perfectly. you three reach your peak together, perfectly in sync.

the world gradually comes back into focus, as you three try to calm down from your release. geto is the first to pull out, and as he does, you feel his cum slowly drip from your body. chuuya follows, watching in awe your ruined holes leaking with their seeds as your legs tremble from the overwhelming pleasure.

chuuya chuckles breathlessly, wiping the sweat from his brow, and gently rubs a hand over your thigh. “i’ll get the bath ready for ya doll,” he murmurs, voice still rough from the intensity of his orgasm, before standing up and heading towards the bathroom.

you nod, watching his bare form head to the bathroom as geto leans in close, pressing gentle, reassuring kisses to your lips while his strong hands tenderly massage your trembling legs. “relax, baby” he whispers between kisses, his lips still deliciously sloppy, “you did so well. let me take care of you.” he strokes your skin soothingly, bringing you down from the high as you try to catch your breath.

you give geto a tired but grateful smile, your chest still heaving, “t-thank you, sugu,” you murmur softly, watching his lips curl into a satisfied grin, and he continues to massage your legs, his fingers easing away the lingering tension.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr @whiteelovex @dottedhalfnotes @victoria1676 @ghostedwriting @a-trashbag @bakedpotato12 @ambervanth @sakui1 @iams0up @osamucide @lighthoonie @chuuyascumsock

[chrolloluvr]

May you please write Mammon x reader smut. Where the reader is short and has a size difference kink. If you do I give many thanks in advance (Seriously love this blog so much)

♡ Mammon w/ A Size Kink ♡

Note: AHHH TYSM BOOKIE!!! Also yes this has been on my mind for so long... and I have not made a proper NSFW fic yet until now. So here you go! (alot more NSFW coming soon, especially for this man...) So here are my thoughts! Also sorry if its a bit short...

AFAB, Female!Reader

Warnings: Size kink, belly bulge, penetration, overstimulation, size transformation, oral (female and male receiving) ★

The height difference makes him feral. He is at least a couple feet taller than you. So he likes to use this to his advantage. By manhandling you. he will pick you up, grab your waist, literally rip your legs off of its hinges when he pulls them apart, etc. So, he likes when you are shorter than him. It gives him a power influx, and it makes him feel supreme to you. So he will basically use you like a glorified sex doll.

He will purposely make himself transform into a couple feet taller. Like a big, scary spider. So he can intimidate you, and get you riled up. He wont have actual penetrative sex with you in his big spider form, but he will eat you out.

And he delivers very well. His tongue is huge. You feel like your in cloud 9 whenever he eats your pussy, especially because he does not do it very often.

his favorite position, especially due to his size, is Full Nelson. He likes how in this position, he has complete control over you. With his upper hands behind your knees, his hips under your own, and his lower arms circling your sensitive clit, and his other hand pussy slapping you. Sometimes, he will place you in front of a big mirror, while hammering his hips into your vice, little pussy. Also making you look at yourself, being utterly destroyed by his large cock. He will tie your ankles together with his webs when he does this.

His other favorite is picking you up, and putting his hands under your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. He enjoys listening to the skin slapping sounds, and how lude they sound. And seeing your reactions to his every harsh thrust to your G-spot. And how especially cramped you are between his body, his cock, and his arms, with a tight grip on your ass. This position makes you more sensitive and vulnerable, which is just where he wants you.

Belly Bulge. Need I say more? It makes him laugh, and chuckle about how 'your gonna take it- fuck, yeah, you like that don't you- little fuckin' slut-'

It makes him realize just how large he is compared to you. How much he effects you and your body. He craves this kind of dominance over you.

He is a little bastard. When he sees you have a belly bulge from his constant plummeting, he will press down onto it. This, as he is well aware of, makes you see stars. You become a moaning, drooling, babbling mess under his large self. Which is what he wants, of course.

The sheer size of his dick. He cant help but feel aroused, when he compares you and his cock side by side. Every now and then, he will have you sat right behind it, while he holds you, and just admire how small you are. He has to prep you for your first time together, and even every single time you guys do have sex. Simply because of the size of it. And its not just long, its girthy too. So if you dont have some prep, he might end up abominating your poor womb.

He especially likes seeing you struggle, especially when you give him head. you can barely fit your mouth around it. Your jaw gets sore within literal seconds of putting his member in your mouth. So you have to use your hands (which also barely touch eachother), for the rest of his cock.

Overstimulating you. His favorite way of overstimulation you is with his arms and hands. He will have you trapped in between his legs. One of his lower arms will be fingering your supple core; the other one circling harshly around your clit. One of his upper hands holding your waist up; the other one toying with your breast and sensitive, puffy nipples.

He also likes overstimulating you, by having you cock warm him. Its one of his favorite past times. Especially when you two try to be sneaky, like during his pageants ontop of the webbing. (should I make a whole other post about this??) He just loves feeling the warmth of your pussy against his cold self. And he wont let you move. Like at all. Unless he grabs your hips and forcibly bounces you up and down, which is after a while of waiting of course.

Dirty talk. He loves making you feel smaller, so he will talk down upon you. Everything he calls you starts with 'my', because he is very possessive. things like "my slut", "my whore", "my princess", etc. He will never talk about you in a truly bad connotation. So he will say things like:

"You like being my little slut, yeah?"

"C'mon, you can take more. don't be a baby."

"yeahhhh. Takin' it like a fuckin' champ. Good fuckin' girl-"

"Oh fuck... shit just like that"

"Ohh yeah- thats some good shit."

"Dont you dare fuckin' move."

"You feelin' good princess? Yeah I bet you are. Fittin' me like a glove."

"Awww you want more? Your gonna have to wait a bit, m'kay?"

"You want it inside? Ya' want daddy to fill ya' up real nice?"

So overall, he favors when you are small and meek. Just be a good girl for him, and you wont have to worry about his intimidation, okay?

[champagnefountains]

Oh my goodness your Lucifer fic is SO cute! You write him very well! (Exited for possible pt 2) I was wondering since your requests are open if you'd be willing to write something for either Lucifer or Alastor (or possibly both) with a short shy/anxious reader? Super fluffy plz if possible and you're interested!

Hi Anon! Thanks so much for your submission. I hope you'll enjoy what I came up with! I had fun with this one (it got me giggling and kicking my feet or something...)

Word count: 1.2k words. Kinda got carried away, my bad. Genre: (Tooth-rotting) Fluff. Established relationship. Warning: None.

LUCIFER MAGNE with a shy and short S/O:

Lucifer is quite short himself in comparison to a few demons. But, you? Being shorter than him? God, he’ll think you’re the cutest thing ever (plus, it was a massive ego boost on his part). And your timid nature only adds onto it. 

Expect him to be very touchy with you. There isn’t a second moment where he isn’t clinging onto or hugging you. Out in the public or even at the hotel, his arm would somehow always find its way wrapped around your shoulders or waist. He just wants to keep you close to him as much as possible, since you just seem to fit so snug and well in his arms. 

Lucifer loves it so much when you get all shy and flustered around him. His pride just flourishes whenever your face bursts into flames, especially knowing that it was because of him that you’re acting this way. He’ll tease you about it, but not too much because he cares for your poor heart. 

He also knows his million-dollar smile does wonders, so he’ll use it to his advantage. He’ll strike a smile or smirk at you out of nowhere when you would meet eyes, and he’ll revel in the way you’d melt so easily under his gaze. Though, it would be the same for him – his heart would burst with that warm-fuzzy feeling whenever you would send one of your precious smiles his way. This man is smitten and will worship you and the floor you walk on.

Is also super, super supportive of you whenever you get anxious – will do anything in his will to help distract you or alleviate any of your worries, whether it be just holding your hand, talking some nonsense to fill in the silence, or even flying you around to get some fresh air. He'll probably even have a duck-shaped stress ball for you to use whenever you get a bit fidgety.

Additional things I think Lucifer would do: he would give you a lot of forehead/head kisses; HE WOULD TOTALLY SET YOU DOWN ON A COUNTERTOP OR HIS DESK AND KISS YOU FR, OR HE'LL DO SO WHILST CARRY YOU WITH YOUR LEGS STRADDLING HIS WAIST I need self-control; he will shamelessly rant about how adorable you are in front of the others, even if they're all sick of it, 'cause he's just so proud to be your partner!

Lucifer found himself silently admiring you while you were all snuggled up against his chest. After another successful hard day's work, you spent the remainder of the night watching a couple movies together at the hotel’s lounge area.

Noticing a pair of eyes on your figure, you crane your neck up and with a small tilt of your head, you stare back at him in question.

The King suddenly felt his chest swell with so much love and affection for you. You didn’t even know how adorable you looked in his arms right now. Without warning, Lucifer dipped down and pressed his lips against yours, swallowing the surprised yelp that escaped your lips.

As you parted ways, Lucifer grinned widely as your cheeks noticeably began to redden. “W-What was that for?” You pouted.

“Sorry angel, but I just couldn't help it! You looked too cute – I couldn’t not kiss you then.” He stated matter-of-factly. He then leaned once again to press multiple pecks across your face – one on your forehead, on both your cheeks and another lingering one on your lips.

The out-of-the-blue affection had you swiftly burying your face into his chest, a poor attempt made to hide your embarrassment. You could only grumble in defeat as you felt the way his chest shook as he chuckled aloud, evidently amused by your flustered state.

ALASTOR with a short and shy S/O:

Not gonna lie, this man will be so annoying but in an endearing way.

Alastor would tease you endlessly about your height, since the difference would be quite significant – it usually consists of him resting an elbow or his arms on the crown of your head, leaning onto you like you were some sort of personal arm-rest. He personally finds it quite amusing, like a joke that never gets tired. 

Since he isn’t really a huge fan of PDA, he would often give you head-pats. It’s a small, simple gesture but it’s his way of showing affection out in public. He would also often have your arms looped around one of his own whenever you two would walk together, side by side. 

Behind closed doors, I can see him as the type to pull you between his legs, your back pressed against his chest whilst he reads the newspaper or a book in bed. He would then use your head or shoulders to rest his chin on, to peer over you. Sometimes he would even play with your hair, looping them around his fingers whilst he absent-mindedly hums a sweet, little tune. Again, a simple gesture but also very intimate. I'm literally melting just thinking about it. I feel like he would do something similar like this whenever you get anxious – if it helps, he would also make you some tea on the side, and even let you play with his hands/fingers.

Being the huge tease he is, Alastor just loves how shy you get around him. He's the type to say things like: "Dear, do you have a fever? You look a little flushed," or "My, my, your face may be redder than my suit!" just to see you get riled up even more. But if another demon were to talk smack about how shy you were, you will not see them live another day. That's a guarantee.

Additional things I think Alastor would do: he and/or his shadows would help you grab things from high places or would lift you up by the waist for you to grab them; out of pure instinct, he will for sure become extra protective of you; would be the big-spoon in most cases; would tease you by retracting himself using his height whenever you would lean in for a kiss.

Alastor was quick to pick up on a small habit of yours very early on – how you would always hide your smile behind your hands. When he brought it up one day, you sheepishly told him that you were insecure about your smile, which perplexed the deer-demon. 

Just like now, Alastor couldn’t help but raise a brow as you hid your grin behind your palm whilst you chuckled at one of his corny jokes. “Now, now, this won’t do, my dear!” He clicks his tongue, waving a disapproving finger at you, “why must you always hide that gorgeous smile of yours?” 

A blush suddenly breaks out across your cheeks. You unconsciously found yourself looking down, embarrassed by the flattering remark, only for his finger to guide you back up by your chin. He then leans in but stops only centimetres away, his face dangerously close to yours. 

Alastor’s grin only grew wider, seeing how helpless and small you looked – eyes widened like a deer in headlights, and yet filled with anticipation. You looked so, so nervous. And yet, it was so endearing that he wanted nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms. 

“Now, does the ground look much more entertaining than I, dear? I don’t think it can make you smile the way I do.” He teases, his voice intentionally dropping an octave deeper. God, he was going to be the death of you.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Pls. Breeding fic, size difference, and old man yautja. Go wild.

Mating Season

Pairing: Uihoy (Male Yautja) x AFAB reader

Warnings: biting and clawing, blood, pain kink, little prep for you, primal play (sort of), HEAVY BREEDING KINK, knotting, lots and lots of cum, unrealistic idea of how sex works but you know – aliens, no aftercare, no soft Uihoy, very rough sex, very rough Uihoy, on the floor sex.

Word Count: 1897

Summary: Every year, it happens almost like clock work. Mating season. Some dread it while others enjoy it. Uihoy has mixed feels but can't help to fall victim to it. Especially with on of his mates on board and they say yes.

Author Note: I hope it was okay to use Uihoy. He's an old man Yautja. I sure tried to go wild with him. This was the perfect excuse to show the other side of Uihoy too. Ehehe.

P.s. I'm trying to write my stories a little bit shorter if possible. I hate not getting through requests as quickly as I want. Though almost 2000 words is a good amount.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 2 (Yes, I finally did a part 2)

Thick arms wrapped around your torso and pulled you from the ground. You gasped and squirmed for only a second. Until a husky growl sounded next to your ear and caused the skin to prickle into goosebumps. Claws dug into your skin, sharp could easily tear through flesh. You heard a deep breath taken in before it fanned over your shoulder.

The body that held you was beyond blazing hot and tense. Each muscle strung tight like a bow. Beads of moisture rolling down purple scales. A hand twitching close to your waist. A long, spilt tongue licking at  your neck and curled over the shell of your ear. “Do consent?” he growled into your ear and held steady.

Nothing would be done to you until the words ‘yes’ left your lips. Neither of your Yautjas would touch you without permission. Ever.

And you wouldn’t leave alone during the mating season.

“Yes.”

In his hungry, desperate state, Uihoy pinned you right there, in the middle of the cockpit. You put up a little fight, as if you were a female Yautja but Uihoy was quick to pinch your nape between deadly fangs. This had you stilling and relaxing underneath his hold. He kept that same position though as he tore your clothing from your body without a care in the world. You gave a little protest yet did nothing else.

Hands, coarse with time roamed over fragile skin. One was used to tug yours apart from one another, forcing you to exposed yourself to him. That same limb swiped through your folds to stop at your clit. A thumb was placed on top of it. Your hips immediately swirling to gain any sort of release with the predator pinning you down.

A dangerous growl rumbled through his chest and vibrated against your skin. The teeth that were on the verge of drawing blood tightened. You groaned but didn’t stop. Uihoy forced himself to bite harder. Blood pooled around the fangs in your skin before dribbling down to the warm floor below. The Yautja snarled again before ripping ever article of clothing that blocked him from that hot cunt waiting for him.

His blazing cock slapped against your labia once freed. You jumped, thigh muscles rippling as they clenched. A curse already falling from your lips. Your dull nails clawed at the metal floors with no luck of purchase. Uihoy seesawed his hips and rubbed his thick, heavy cock between your legs. The friction on your clit had you bowing your head. Accidently, you were able to see his actions as he pulled back fully.

Only the tip throbbed against your moist entrance. You bit harshly at your lips and sucked in a deep breath that filled your lungs. This wasn’t your first rodeo with him while he was in this state. He wasn’t his caring, loving, needy self. This was a Yautja in need of a cunt to breed and soak his cock.

Your thighs trembling as the Yautja shifted on his knees. The hold on your shoulder was released. Uihoy licked up a stripe from between your shoulder blades to the base of your neck. From there, he dragged his tongue to the crook of your neck. Iron filling his tastebuds.

The pointed head of his cock speared through your labia with a brutal thrust. Your head was thrown back and knocked against his broad shoulders. Uihoy pulled back out, only to push the rest of himself in on the second thrust. A pathetic cry scratched at your throat. Pain was apparent with little preparation for his size. That didn’t stop you from spreading your legs further apart to get more of him inside of you.

With his hips meeting the back of your thighs, it felt like he had forced the head of his penis into your womb, ready to seed you. Uihoy pulled out without any hesitation just to shove back into you.

Immediately, you began to pant as if you had crossed a desert running. Whimpers and whines filled the air besides the sounds of painfully slapping skin. Words of blabber to say something in praise tried to tumble from your loose lips. “Uie-Uie. Fu-ah, mmm. Go-od. Really good.” Neither of you could truly understand what had been said. The Yautja far too gone to truly care what you were saying. His main focus was breeding you, filling you with his thick seed in your womb while sealing it away with his large knot. You would be round with his children.

Uihoy’s cock throbbed inside of you, causing you to cry out in a high pitch. He didn’t stop, not once slowing down for anything.

When more time passed, the sounds of your dripping cunt grew in volume. Now, he could easily slip in and out without any struggle. At this point, you were struggling to stay perched on your elbows below him. He forced a great amount of his weight on you, practically draping himself over you.

Sweat stuck to you like a second skin. Beads of it dripped down your face and fell to the floor. You clenched the best you could around Uihoy. In retaliation, he thrusted particularly hard. It officially knocked you off of your elbows and onto the cockpit floor.

Talons clawed down your sides, dragging over fragile skin and drawing blood. That was final nail in the coffin. Your head reared back and smack against Uihoy’s shoulder again. It exposed your whole throat to him. He took the open opportunity and latched his inner mouth to the crook of your shoulder. Pain sprung to life as your orgasm crashed over you. His name left your lips in a mewl as you trembled underneath him.

He didn’t stop, thighs slapping against yours. They left marks of red skin behind in their pounding wake. Uihoy forced you to go though a shattering orgasm without a break to even catch a shallow breath. What he did next though surprised you.

A massive hand found its way around your throat and dragged you up. The male had you balancing on your knees as he drilled into you. He kept that grasp there, nails slightly biting into your skin. Blood already falling down the length of your body from the bites he created from earlier.

Your eyes were threatening to roll into the back of your head almost permanently now. His thrusts grew harsher, his snarls grew deeper, and his bite became more painful. All that had you squirming and writhing in Uihoy’s hold.

His other hand grasped the back of your knee and tugged it flush with your chest. A new angle that tugged a pathetic cry from your lips.

One last hard thrust had you sobbing. Your hands clawed at the hand around your throat as he held you there. His hips stuttered against you, pulling at the swelling knot inside of you. A blazing heat filled you, your womb full of his seed. The head of his cock piercing your cervix to breed you, to seed you.

The full size of knot kept every drop of him inside of you, not wasting anything. Everything was given to you. But he had more to offer.

Uihoy panted ruggedly which allowed you to breath almost freely as well. Tears prickled the corner of your eyes before rolling down your cheeks. He snarled shoved you down back to the floor. Your chest pressing into the ground. A huge paw keeping you pinned between the shoulder blades, unable to get up.

Then, he pulled out the knot. You gasped harshly but could only lay there and let him have his way with you. Your hands scrambled for anything that could give you something to hold but found nothing. The floor too smooth. You felt a huge gush of his seed spurt out and pool on the floor. Heeds of it coated the sides of your thighs.

The Yautja wasn’t satisfied, one knot wasn’t enough, his mind supplied. His tip was lined up with your red, soaked labia before pushing full force into you again. The sheer strength of him had you sliding up the floor. He grasped the back of your neck and pulled you back to him. He sheathed himself back into you fully. The large ball of flesh at the base of his cock catching on your entrance. That was the least of his worries right now.

Already, your cunt was feeling sore and rubbed raw. An effect they could have on you during this time of the year. But you fucking loved it. Loved it when Uihoy lets go and just uses your body for his pleasure, uses you to fill his seed into.

One of your hands found its way to your clit, on the verge of another orgasm. Your shaking fingers swirled around your drenched bundle of nerves. Shocks of pleasure and lust racing up your spine to settle in the base of your skull. You keened and shook as the orgasm built more and more as he moved inside of you.

The thickness of his cock filled you full, pushing what cum that stuck to your walls back out and dribbling to the floor. He kept rubbing at your g-spot. That electrified your clit and pushed you against another orgasm. You clenched your teeth when he raked his claws down your back. More blood swelling to the surface.

You mewled as an orgasm rolled over you in overwhelming waves. Your walls pulsed around him the best they could so stretched out. As if trying to pull him in deeper and deeper, to keep him far inside of you. A curse rolled off your tongue, barely understandable. Your whole body trembled like an earthquake rolled through you. But, you weren’t able to move more than an inch with his weight upon your back.

Uihoy forced his half-deflated knot back into your drenched cunt. More of your juices poured out of you into the pile between your shaking legs. The ball of flesh swelled again and sealed him deep inside of you again. You arched to the best of your ability, tears falling down your face again.

With how much he’s pumped into you these two times, your belly had grown noticeably. He had filled your uterus with a lot but not enough in his opinion to breed you.

More. He gave more and more and more. Until his body was beyond exhausted. He seated his knot past your entrance one last time and collapsed on top of you. An elbow prevented all of his weight to sit upon your much smaller frame. You gasped at the sudden weight then grunted.

He purred thickly in the back of his throat and tiredly nuzzled into your neck. Sharp fangs scratching across your skin without care. You couldn’t even shutter, body far beyond exhausted and drained of energy. The best you could do was huff and blink slowly, eyes staring blankly at the dark wall in front of you.

A hand petted down your sweaty skin before settling on your hip. With the rest of his energy, Uihoy rolled on to his back and pulled you with him. His knot almost slipped out due how much slick was between your legs. He let an arm be thrown over your torso before promptly passing out. Not a second later, you followed suit.

[ghoastixx]

Yandere!Hannibal and Yandere!Will Graham, who are obsessed with the survivor of a serial killer, who has resurfaced again. So the reader needs to go into some kind off protection and now stays at Hannibal‘s with Will visiting regularly and Hannibal comforting her?

Yandere!Hannibal & Will Graham x gn!reader

synopsis above

Notes: Okay okay okay... as someone who used to read A LOT of yandere fics, i'm flattered to be writing one for such a thirsty fandom. But, I must admit, this is my first time actually writing one. So bear with me please. Also, YAY!! A WILL GRAHAM REQUEST!!! (I'm a stereotypical will graham lover boy) I do love writing edgy insane will graham :3

Author notes: Mentions the "ghost face" killer... sorry y'all at the end of the day im not original and scream 1 holds a dear dear place in my heart. Will is sort of creepy in this. Reader is broken but trying to heal, will and hannibal ruin that. Reader sort of takes Margot Verger's place in a way? Reader is a bit shallow and emotional, sorry chat.

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The nightmare started two years ago. The ghostface murders happened every year or so; ever since that massacre in Woodsburrow when it all began. They popped up all over America. It wasn't a shock when a new copycat showed up in Maryland, Baltimore. A shame...sure. A shock? Not as much.

You weren't very worried. You lived a relatively boring life, a safe life. You were not final girl material. Well, that's what you had thought before someone in a ghostface mask stabbed you on the walk home from work.

You remember how exhausting the press was when you woke up alive, how nauseating the treatments were, how tedious the whole stay was. It was all boring and you were scared. Your face was all over newspapers, magazines, blogs, what if he came back to finish the job? The fear was too much, you fell into a deep pit of self pity and anxiety... One particular article though.. tattle crime. It pushed you over the edge.

People around you could sense the distress, you were referred to a psychiatrist upon your release. A Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

The first session had gone well, in your opinion. Of course, you hadn't been the most open of patients, but he was so patient with you, he was so understanding. You couldn't see how fond of you he actually was.

The first time you had walked into his office, he was amused. You had been the talk of the news, lately, and here you were now. Sitting in his office. You were interesting. A normal person, someone who had never really been bothered by much.. now utterly shattered. A beautiful vase put to waste, he would be the gentle hand to put you back together.

You met Will Graham almost a year later.

Your appointments were always right before Will Graham's. Of course, you didn't know that, but he did.

You had just finished up a session with Dr.Lecter, gently closing his door behind you, you were met with a shorter man looking intently at you. He had dark curls and his glasses were clinging to the edge of his nose. You stared back at him for a moment. He wasn't making direct eye contact, but he was looking.

"Excuse me...can I help you?" you murmured, a bit freaked out. He shook his head, snapping himself out of it.

"I'm sorry- are you Y/N L/N?" He asked, he had a nice accent that you couldn't place. You sighed, crossing your arms.

"Yes, what of it?" your annoyed tone made him look away from you.

"Nothing-I'm sorry- I just went over your case in my lecture this week,"

"Lecture?"

"Yes, I'm a professor."

"Oh.. what class, if I'm allowed to ask?" He smiled, shaking his head a bit,

"You can ask. A criminal analysis class." you nodded.

"That's very interesting Mister..."

"Will Graham."

You two began seeing each other a lot more while switching roles in Lecter's chair. Friendly smiles, waves, anxious nods.. and then Hannibal started to get into Will's head. His intentions turned to the computer. Researching about you. He reassured himself, he was just doing his job. Researching victims. Until he brought you up in a session.

"What seems to be on your mind Will?" Hannibal asked patiently.

"One of your patients." This caught his attention,

"Which one of my patients would this be?"

"Y/N L/N." Will leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out. Hannibal straightened up.

"Y/N, I see." His voice was a bit firmer now. He had grown protective over you. Possessive. "what of them?"

So Will began talking about his newfound obsession with you. This pleased Hannibal just a bit, the idea that they both could have you.

So, with Hannibal's nonverbal permission, Will started to get more involved in your life as you both slowly started to succumb to Hannibal's manipulation.

Everything was going swimmingly. That was until you got a notification on your phone during work today.

"Ghostface killer resurfaces after two years!"

With trembling hands, you clock out and immediately go to your car. You sit in your locked car, shaking. As soon as you read the article, you turn off your phone, putting it in the console. You start driving.

You knock on the lavish door, your skin pale and your body shaking. You're so cold. You begin pounding on the door..faster.. why can't he just come out faster?

The door swings open, you almost hit the taller man in the chest. He was wearing a vest and a white button up shirt, dress pants. He had just gotten off work. His eyes held annoyance, but when he saw your rather fragile state, his face grew concerned. He ushers you inside, his firm arms around your shoulders, leaning your shaky form to a sofa. Sitting you down and making you explain to him what's wrong.

"He- he's back Hanni. He's gonna come back after me-" you manage to cry out, his hands softly going through your hair.

"My dear, you're okay.." His phone rings, which makes you jump. He glares at it before seeing it is Will. He answers it, a very frantic voice picks up.

"Hannibal- I can't get ahold of Y/N-"

"Will." he all but chided. "Our love is here, calm down."

"I'm coming over." he stated before hanging up. He sounded frustrated, which just scared you even more.

A few minutes later, a disgruntled Will walks in, immediately coming up to the sofa which housed you clinging to Hannibal for dear life.

"Y/N- I tried to call you- I was so worried." Once he saw your expression, he toned it down as he sat next to you. "Pup..it's alright, we're here."

Both men frowned when you shook your head. "No! He's back for me- he's gonna get me."

Hannibal responded with a 'tsk' sound, still playing with your hair. "My love, he will do no such thing." Will hummed in agreement, rubbing a hand over your back. "You'll stay here with Will and I, we'll keep you safe and sound."

Will was pleased when you caved into the demand, he honestly thought you would've denied it quicker. Both men dotted over you before pushing you to get some sleep. Sandwiching you in between them. Will waited til he could hear your soft snores before looking at Hannibal with a bit of a glare.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." Hannibal looked at him with a false innocence.

"What wasn't a good idea, Will?"

"Poking the killer. Getting him to want to come back."

"It will all work out..we just had to..scare them into submission. You see? Hasn't it worked."

Will sighed a bit, "Yes..I still don't like it very much though.."

"Nothing will happen to either of you, Will. I wouldn't allow it."

Will did stop talking, not wanting to wake you. Besides, he knew Hannibal had a point. They did have you to themselves now.. and if everything went to plan.. you wouldn't be leaving.