#so they're for sure flaking out there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heich0e · 7 months ago

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"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

#do not. look at me #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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colebabey888 · 3 months ago

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A few DIY beauty secrets I began doing to elevate my "natural" look | IT GIRL DIARIES

something that I noticed over the years, when looking to enhance your natural beauty, there are 4 main points that build the first impression, hair, eyes, brows and lips..

I have naturally bushy brows that I used to manage with eyebrow gel, but it would start flaking during the day, which gave me the ickk. So, I began laminating them with a kid-friendly relaxer every two weeks (my eyebrows grow pretty fast, which is why I do it so often and i don't get them professionally done because i don't trust people with my brows lol).

I always tweeze my eyebrows instead of waxing them; they seem to grow back slower that way + it's easier to do, just grab a tweezer along with a pocket mirror and you can do it anywhere if you see a hair out of place. ( don't over do it though, i made this mistake and it went horribly, just keep them neat )

Get your lashes laminated !!! Natural lashes are so classy and I don't have to worry about putting on mascara or falsies. This I'd get done professionally though lmao, I would do this myself but I'm way to scared to be messing with anything chemically so close to my eyes, so it isn't necessarily a diy but still, get it done!

ALWAYS make sure your hair, eyes (lashes) and eyebrows are done! You don't have to have a silk press, falsies and freshly waxed brows 24/7 but make sure they're neat. These are the key features that attracts people's attention when youre speaking to them

I have tight 4b type hair, and I used to have to lay my edges with gel or edge control because of how fluffy they'd get when I wore my curls out, but it was super damaging from constantly pulling on them and having them laid down. So, I started relaxing my edges every 3-6 months. Now, all I use is a bit of hairspray to keep them tamed, and now it doesn't puff up even during workouts and it lasts my whole silk press. Yes, my curls are still thriving.

I do weekly deep conditioning, monthly hot oil treatments, routine trims, and always use a heat protectant and frizz control when doing silk presses to stretch them out and minimize heat application. ( my hair has grown so much, leave your hair alone and only feed it when it's hungry! )

you'll hear everyone talking about silk bonnets, but as someone who hates the feeling of having anything on their head or in their face, I always took it off unknowingly throughout the night and it defeated the purpose, so i got silk pillow cases instead, game changer! i don't wrap my hair as often anymore and i don't experience frizz anymore.

I apply a face mask every week depending on what my skin is lacking, whether it’s moisture or something else. It just keeps my face looking fresh and plump in between professional monthly facials.

I use a lip tint every third day. It makes makeup application easier, and it doesn’t wear off throughout the day so i don't have to re-apply lipstick continuously. It also gives my lips a bit more colour so now I just leave the house with a pretty gloss or plain lip balm.

I take zinc supplements religiously!

Vitamin C everyday, all day. Lemon wedge in my greentea for breakfast, orange for a lunchtime snack and a naartjie for a late night movie. My skin is glowinggg!

hair removal cream! this is so slept on, i no longer shave or wax, both of them have caused ingrowns for me and accentuate my strawberry legs. i use hair removal cream now and i don't think I'll ever go back! i use it probably every week or so depending on how much growth i have, it's so easy and mess free. apply it before you get in the shower and use an exfoliating glove to slide it off gently and continue with your normal wash routine. always apply tissue oil and moisturizer after! baby soft skin all day, everyday!

It's not much, but these small changes have completely transformed my overall look. i do them specifically for those actual no makeup days where i want to give my skin a break from makeup or where im working out but still want to look prettyyy and done up..it's like a wash and go except it's for your face lmao, anyways

mwah! xoxo, colebabey8.88

www.investingforbeginners/gumroad.com

---

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tinyluvs · 1 year ago

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Being spencer’s girlfriend and meeting the team for the first time? I think it would be cute!!!! 🫶🏻

it WOULD be super cute! thank you so much! i got huge sibling vibes from the team while writing this so hope that’s okay too!

the tray holding yours and your boyfriends coffee wobbles slightly in your hand as the elevator doors ping open, giving you full view of the bau offices, your eyes widening when you realise just how big it was

caught up with staring you almost forget to actually step out of the elevator, the doors sliding shut just as you manage to pass through them, somehow keeping hold of the coffee's as you do

suddenly it dawns on you that you don't really know where to find spencer. big glass doors separate you from the offices and people whizz up and down the hallway behind you, none of them paying the slightest bit of attention to you

you use your shoulder to push the doors open just enough to squeeze through and when you turn you realise the office is mostly empty, a few people sat at desks but luckily, spencer is there too, stood by what you assume is his desk, looking down at a chess board

"hi," you greet him quietly as you walk up to him, your voice muffled by your, his, scarf that's snug around your neck, "spence," you say slightly louder when he doesn't acknowledge you

he turns, looking thoroughly confused, his features softening when he notices you just feet away from him, "hey honey, what are you doing here?" he asks, rushing to take the small tray of coffee out of your hands before you drop it

pulling at the scarf you start unraveling it from around your front, "well you forgot your lunch, so i was going to bring it but then i also forgot it," you explain, cheeks reddening, "so instead i got pastries and coffee" you finish, waving a paper bag in his direction with a smile

spencer chuckles at you, "thank you," he wraps an arm around you, pulling you in, his lips pressing against your forehead, "is it snowing outside?" he asks, pulling away, his eyes darting to the window and then back at you

"how'd you know?" you question, head titling slightly

gentle fingers push your baby hairs back, "you have snow in your hair sweetheart," he says softly, his fingers dropping to wrap around your wrist, pulling you into the small space by his desk, "here, sit" he reaches over to grab an empty wheelie chair from the desk next to his

with a soft sigh you fall back into the seat, it rolls back slightly, the back hitting the edge of the desk, "where is everyone?" you ask, watching your boyfriend sit directly in front of you, your knees bumping his

"uh," he looks around while you pull pastries from the bag, "they must all be on lunch" he comes to a conclusion with a slight shrug, "it's never usually this quiet"

you slide the bag over to him and pull your knees up to your chest before balancing your croissant on your knee while you turn to grab your coffee, making sure you have the one with less sugar in it

slowly your chair starts to spin, spencer's eyes widening slightly as it does. he shuffles closer, extending his legs either side of you, holding you in place, "where did you get these?" he asks, eyeing up his apricot danish which already has a bite missing

"the market," you answer with a nod, "we have to go there this week, please," you smile softly, knowing full well he would never dream of saying no to you

spencer's eyes flicker up, behind you and then back to you, "of course, honey" he says as other voices start to fill the office space, "they're back"

your eyes widen at him, not daring to look over your shoulder at the people. somehow you sink further into your chair, the huge scarf falling around you like a blanket. meeting the bau was inevitable but not right now, not while you have flakes of pastry over your leggings and snow soaking your hair

"hey guys," spencer smiles slightly as people start to wander over. in your head you start naming them, emily and jj come over first, david and aaron on their tails and behind them, penelope with derek's arm thrown around her shoulder

"hey kid, you didn't tell us you were expecting company," david says, standing behind your boyfriend, hands on his shoulders while the older man smiles at you

"well actual-"

"aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" derek says, teasing, like a sibling would. spencer scowls at him, though there's no heat behind it, causing you to giggle into your coffee

you can tell spencer contemplates just saying no but eventually he sighs, "honey, this is the bau," he gestures at his colleagues and you stifle a laugh, "guys, this is my girlfrien-"

"girlfriend?!" penelope shrieks, cutting spencer off. she shakes derek off of her to move closer, "oh my, you're gorgeous! how long? why didn't i know?" she finishes, whacking spencer on the shoulder

aaron and david pat your boyfriend on the back, like fathers would before brushing past, sending you gentle smiles as they do, retreating back to their offices.

the girls, plus morgan, pull up their own chairs, forming a sort of semi circle in front of you. "so, spill," emily says, gesturing between you and spencer

"what do you want to know," spencer replies, ripping an iced bun in half. he offers you the bigger bit, smiling to himself when you ooh excitedly.

jj sighs, exasperated but still light hearted, "how you met, how long you've been together, everything spence, c'mon"

"we met at a farmers market, he accidentally ran into me, spilt hot," you shoot a look at your boyfriend who stares at his lap with a slight smile, "chocolate down me but then he bought me flowers to say sorry and i was a goner from there," you explain

penelope opens her mouth but spencer beats her to it, "sunflowers"

"that was," you trail off, thinking, "just over a year ago now" you know spencer too well, already looking at him, eyebrow raised, "go on"

"four hundred and two days and counting" he says with a grin, leaning over slightly to brush crumbs off of your scarf

derek holds his hands up, "hold on, you've had a girlfriend for over a year and never thought to mention it" he says, the others nodding in agreement

"aaron and david knew," you slide into the conversation, throwing spencer under the bus, he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“why would you say that?” spencer asks you desperately, you shrug and sit back, watching as jj, emily and morgan burst into chatter, offended that they weren't told while penelope silently scoots over to you

"is that the scarf i made him?" she asks and you nod, knowing it was her christmas gift to him last year, "ohmygod, i'm going to make you a matching one, don't argue, you won't win!" she says all smiley

"when were you going to tell us? at your wedding?"

"no! it jus-"

"boy, do not say it just didn't come up, do not make me smack you in front of your girlfriend"

jj stands, rolling her eyes at the boys arguing while emily jumps in every now and then, fuelling the fire, "great to meet you, we will arrange a girls night soon"

"oh yes, of course! lovely to meet you, finally" you laugh before she wanders away from the scene still unfolding, "are they always like this?" you ask penelope, offering her the bag of goodies

"oh you're my new favourite person," she hums, taking a donut from the bag, "and yes, they're always like this, welcome to the chaos, enjoy your stay"

leaning back in your seat to fully observe, you scoff, "oh i will"

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily!! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

#❥ my works #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #❥ spencer reid #❥ spencer reid fic rec #❥ my spencer works #❥ spencer reid drabbles

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honeydazai · 6 months ago

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୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ taking care of you when you're sick

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Sigma

warnings: none!

join my tag list here! 🪻

The moment you fall sick, DAZAI gets all the more annoying, obnoxious to the core as he whines about how unfair it is that you're sick and he's not — translating to “that you don't have to go to work and he does”. He might just use your sickness as an excuse to stay at home himself; after all, when you're in this critical of a condition, he has to be by your side at all times, right? Just in case of an emergency. Surely Kunikida and the President agree.

Taking care of others or even of himself isn't what he's particularly good at, though he will pretend to be absolutely certain about cuddling being a certain cure for any illness. If you threaten to give him the cold shoulder otherwise, he'll also go to the pharmacy and buy you medication, though he will either complain about it, or he'll play it up to be his God-given mission to save his stunning girlfriend's life.

“Hm? What do you mean, bella? Of course I've got the President's 'okay' for staying at home. Taking care of you is most important, after all, don't you agree? .. Don't be mean, I am taking care of you. I made you tea just now, didn't I?"

CHŪYA really doesn't like it whenever you're sick. While he's faced a handful of way more threatening situations before, he can't help but worry when you whine about your head hurting and your throat aching, about your stomach acting up or your vision blurring. It's not his fault that you're on his mind all day — he just wants you to be well. Is that too much to ask for?

Naturally, that translates to him being awfully good when it comes to him nursing you back to health. He wouldn't describe himself as a natural caretaker, but he is, in a way; he's protective and caring by nature, and he makes sure you're relatively well before he leaves for work every day. You don't just get the best medication on the market, but also energising meals made by him with the help of authentic recipes from elderly women he found online. To not fully lose his image, he half-heartedly complains occasionally, though his words are immediately redeemed by his beaming smile when he notices you're faring better.

“Jeez, that's one annoying cold you've got. It's been, what, like two weeks now and it's still not gone. Whatever. I've found this new soup recipe, though. It looks promising enough, doesn't it? I'll try to make it for dinner.”

RANPO admittedly is rather bad at taking care of you. To be blunt, he much prefers it when you coddle and spoil him, not the other way around, though he tries in his own ways — which mostly include sharing his snacks with you and being near you despite the risk of getting infected himself.

Unfortunately, you're not spared from his usual honesty; when you look downright awful, dark circles underneath your eyes, he will tell you just that. If you flake out on any dates the two of you had planned previously, he will whine, but at least he won't hold a grudge. While he's not particularly committed to being a caretaker, he at least stays by your side and brings you medicine and painkillers.

“You should eat more, y'know. Yes, I know you're nauseous. You've said so about twenty times already. You won't feel any better until you eat and drink enough, though. That's common sense.”

Naturally, FYODOR is more than simply good at taking care of you whenever you fall ill. With his age, it's no wonder that he has quite some experience and knows of many ways to heal you, though some of them might include disgusting homebrewed potions. You're best of just not asking what they're made of if you want to have any chance in downing them.

Unfortunately, his approach to helping you regain your health is more clinical than loving. He takes wonderful care of you, but he's not the type to cuddle with you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear while you're sneezing and coughing. If you ask sweetly enough, however, he might just read you a bedtime story or two.

“What is it, dear? I was just going to get you a new glass of water. .. Ah, I see. Do you really want me to stay that badly? Alright, then. Though me remaining by your side won't give you an excuse to skip taking your medication.”

It's no surprise whatsoever that NIKOLAI is not the most caring guy, simply put, and he might just tease you about being sick throughout the whole ordeal. He can't help it; you glaring at him, exhausted and sneezing, makes him giggle. Still, he's not all bad — he revels all the more in your surprised expression when he presents you with homemade soup, a family recipe, or so he tells you, and he smiles, content, when you admit that it tastes rather lovely.

With his ability, it's easy for him to get whatever you might need, whether that's food or a cup of tea or a bucket to throw up in, from the kitchen without moving from your bedside, so be prepared to spend quite a lot of time with him in the next few days — or weeks. Though, luckily, he's there to entertain you, not the other way around; when you say you want to curl up and just sleep the sickness off, he'll just keep watch next to you, silent and calm. After all, he does want you to feel better.

“Hmm, what did you say? You like my cooking? I'm honoured, doll! You're too kind! How about a quiz about what I put in there — poison, carrots, red beet, or all three? Ah, not feeling up for it, are you? What a shame. It's all three, if you're curious. I'm just kidding, of course. Don't you worry your pretty little head.”

SIGMA is the best choice for who to go to when ill. Not only is he kind and caring, he's also responsible and organised and, if you follow every step he tells you — eat his home-cooked soup, drink this medicine, sleep for as much as possible, take hot or cold compresses, inhale water with herbal essences —, you'll be at full health again in no time.

Even though he unfortunately can't stay at home all day to be by your side — duties at the casino call, even though he'd much rather not go —, he tries to spend as much time as possible with you, telling you about what has happened that day and how much he looked forward to being home with you again while your eyes flutter closed. When you've almost fallen asleep, his lips gently press against your forehead, even if that means he risks getting sick himself.

“Are you feeling better yet? No? Well, that's to be expected. It's only been a day, after all. I've brought you some more medicine, as well as some soup. Here, give it a taste, will you?”

@chxrry-doll @irethepotato @beandaifuku, @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @C4xcocoa

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teaboot · 10 months ago

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how do you find/buy sex stuff? I'm sure there are websites, but I don't even know where to start. What would be safe and reputable? Do you have any suggestions, or advice on picking something "good"? Also thank you for opening your asks for stuff like this.

okay, so here's the shake:

I personally believe that you can buy decent sex toys anywhere, providing that:

The listing is honest about the product's materials

You know what to look for

Silicone, glass, and metal are the safest materials you can use. They're the least reactive with natural bodily chemicals and are the least likely to give you problems.

SILICONE: Not 'silicon'- silicon is NOT SILICONE. Slicone solids are never 100% transparent and might, MIGHT appear translucent and foggy at the clearest. Silicon might be shiny OR matte, but if it's matte please know that velvet or soft-touch coatings are most often non-silicone materials added after the toy itself is molded. This is usually fine, but if you know your body is sensitive to that, one brand I know has the texture built into the mold is Fun Factory. It's pricy, but it's high quality and comes with a warranty.

NEVER ASSUME AN ITEM IS SILICONE UNLESS THE ITEM IS DESCRIBED AS SILICONE.

GLASS: Tempered glass is usually fine. If you notice chips, cracks, or hairline fractures in it, bag it up and throw it out.

Metal: Same story. Chipping, flaking, cracks, oxidization, toss it. Acrylic toys with metallic coatings will degrade in contact with oils, unlike actual metal, so be sure to check materials.

People shit on sites like Adam & Eve and Pinkcherry, and yeah those are cheap stores that dont sell the best stuff, but they still have LOADS of good quality product and do frequent sales and clearouts if you're nervous and not looking to drop a lot of cash right off.

If you can afford it, brands I absolutely recommend are Womanizer, Fun Factory, Hitachi (now owned by Vibratex), Tom of Finland, Sinvention, and We Vibe. They're all high-quality and most have warranties for damage or malfunction.

On the cheaper end, Calexotics, Doc Johnson, Evolved, and Ouch!.

Websites like Bad Dragon, Extreme Restraints, and Sinvention are known to have good customer service and high-quality products.

Websites like Adam and Eve, Pinkcherry, and Lovehoney I've heard good reviews for, you just need to be careful about what you buy.

I've yet to encounter a legit site that isn't discrete, btw. Everything is usually sent out in boxes.

Please avoid AliExpress. You CAN buy there, but I don't trust that shit

#Body health #Reproductive health

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fuckingrecipes · 3 months ago

Note

How do I make mindblowing spaghetti sauce? I have been gifted a fuckton of homemade canned tomatoes and nothing but time this weekend.

Do the tomatoes have skin? If so, you'll need to dump them into a bowl and remove the skin by hand. Tomato skin in sauce is no bueno.

Are your tomatoes whole? If so, you'll need to quarter them & remove the seeds & goo in the middle.

Is there lots of excess water around your tomatoes? Drain that out.

If your tomatoes have already been deskinned, seeds removed, drained and quartered; proceed to next steps.

If you want a finer sauce (less chunks), crush or dice the tomatoes now.

Make sure your pot is big enough to handle ALL the cans of tomatoes you'll be using at this time. For the sake of being easier to handle, I recommend no more than 3-4 cans/mason jars at a time in the pot.

For each can of tomatoes, get yourself 1 small-to-medium onion, and a couple cloves of garlic.

Chop all the onions. Crush & chop OR mince all the garlic.

In a saucepan, burner set to 'high', add enough butter that you can lean the pot around and coat the bottom. Let it melt completely.

Dump in all your onion.

Stir the onions around constantly, mixing and flipping them over until all the onions are starting to turn just thoroughly translucent, but not quite turning brown yet. (If they start to turn brown, turn the heat down a little)

Once they're translucent, push the onions to the side so you have some of your pan-bottom showing and dump your garlic in. Smush it flat-ish so most of the garlic is touching the pan. Leave it there until the bottom of the garlic is turning brown, then mix it all into the onions.

Immediately dump in all the tomatoes you used to make those onion calculations earlier. Toss in some red pepper flakes (use your own judgement here.)

For each can of tomatoes, add about 1-2 ounces of vodka or rum. (there are a lot of amazing, rich tomato flavors which can only be revealed using alcohol, and not oil or water)

For each can of tomatoes, add roughly 1 tsp of salt, if they weren't canned using salt.

Turn the heat down to 'low' and let it simmer (stay on the heat, producing lots of steam but few, if any, bubbles) for about 5 minutes.

At this point, you can add your herbs.

You want: Basil, Oregano, Thyme, Savory, Majoram, and Sage. Many Italian Seasoning or Mediteranean Seasoning blends will have them.

You can choose to use all of them, or only what you can find. For a cheap and tasty blend, Badia Italian Seasoning Blend is easy and works well.

Personally, I think a little bit of nutmeg, sumac, and sesame seeds is also lovely but it's not "traditional" Italian. A "Za'atar" spice blend should have the sumac with oregano and thyme if you can't find it as a standalone spice.

You can also track down fresh herbs, make a big herb bundle tied with string and dump it in your sauce to simmer, instead of using the dried flake stuff. Or do some fresh, some dried.

Your sauce will be looking 'wet' or 'liquidy' at this point, and will likely have tomato chunks still. You can use a potato masher to crush the tomato chunks if you want, but it's not required.

Let it keep simmering on 'low' in 5-minute increments to evaporate water off. Remember to stir every time you check the pot. It may take 30 minutes to reduce down to a thick 'sauce' texture, if there was lots of water in your tomatoes.

When the sauce consistency starts to look 'saucy' and thicker, check and stir more frequently. Babysit the pot.

Taste the sauce! Add salt to taste. (About 1-2 tsp at a time, mix thoroughly, re-taste, & repeat until it tastes great.)

TIPS:

Keep an eye and nose on your sauce at all times, especially if it's in its thicker stages. If it seems to be burning AT ANY TIME, immediately take it entirely off the heat and stir rapidly to cool it! The smell should always be 'stewing tomatoes and herbs' not 'burning or roasting'

If you want your sauce to have a 'brighter/fresher' tomato flavor, make sure to strain as much liquid out as you can before starting, so you don't have to cook the tomatoes as long.

If you like the savory 'cooked/stewed' tomato more than you like the fresher 'uncooked' tomato flavor, then leaving more water in the beginning will make a longer cook time, and more thoroughly stewed tomato.

If you don't have hand-canned tomatoes, you can also use canned tomatoes from the store.

#tomato sauce #canned tomatoes #tomatoes #recipe #fuckingrecipes

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seekingflowers · 10 months ago

Text

Future Husband Pick a Card (1-3)

I'm sure you all know how it works! Just relax and let your intuition guide you to choose your pile 🌕. Take what resonates and leave the rest. I am very honest and will not sugar coat what I see. Please don't hesitate to tell me what resonated with you! I welcome all to interact 🤝

Hello everyone! Welcome to my tarot blog. This is my first post ever, and a pick a card reading (1, 2, 3- cards) 🥰😍🥀

Pile 1:

Page of Wands

- First and foremost, it COULD indicate he's younger- if not, he may seem younger with his demeanor. More than likely, he may have approached you first. He'll be the first you one hear when you walk into a room.

In the beginning stages, this person will feel like a breath of fresh air. They are lively and outgoing. Always inviting you to join them on outings with friends or see and experience new places.

They are very social and ready to be on the go-go go. If you're not, it doesn't matter. They'll go because they're ready. Decisive and quick. However, it may not always be thought out. This person tends to be optimistic and may seem naive, but do not berate them. Sharp and witty, they stand their ground. They do not like to be held back and smothered. They seek fun and spontaneity, keep them on their toes. At times, you may feel like this man flakes out on you because he is so quick to do other things or entertain himself with others. He may forget things easily, such as planned dates or activities, anniversaries, or make sudden changes.

Their curiosity and openess will show you how to appreciate the moment and accept changes. It's okay to experience new things. If something is wrong, they will confront you, and they will expect the same from you. Be open and honest, and communicate with patience. They're not afraid to voice their opinion and say it how they see it. Friends and family love and adore their presence, which brings warmth and laughs all around.

Please remember, we all change with time, and some things may remain, but nothing lasts forever. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile 2:

King of Wands Reversed.

- He's definitely the one to approach you. Could be someone older or someone in an authority position.

This man may appear aggressive, often displaying signs of frustration or impatience. Can be very controlling and dominant overall. He has natural charisma and a fiery intellect, making it difficult to get a word in with him. Stubborn and hot-headed, he will likely dislike opposing views or opinions. People's views of him are black and white. Few understand him. There could be a problem with respecting those above him or taking consideration from others in general. There are few to maybe none that he cares for, but if he does care, he is fiercely protective over them and will come to their side to defend them. Even blindly.

About action, he's the one to get it done and have a go get it now attitude. Either do it or don't. Prone to impulsiveness and hypocrisy, his actions may bring upon consequences he isn't ready to handle and will break down in a tantrum.

Not afraid to approach others, he is relentless with his pursuits. On the good days, his humor and smiles are a sight to see and hear. Captivating and charming, people are drawn to him or are intimidated by him. His humor isn't everyone's cup of tea. It may be crude.

Highly competitive, spats between him and others are frequent. He hates losing and hates being wrong.

To be with this man, thick skin is needed along with groundedness. With you, he can be very loving, but ill tempered and stubborn.

He's very likely a traditional man who wants a traditional wife and family with him as head of the household. Although earlier in life, he may have had a desire of the opposite for the short term.

Please note that the future is not set in stone. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Pile 3:

Ace of Cups

- This man off the bat is an emotionally intuitive man. More likely to be reserved with his words, but expressive with his love and affections. Expressive eyes with intent prying into your soul. He enjoys private moments with you and goes out of his way to get you alone. It may seem unintentional, but it's not. It may be a love at first sight, or rather, when they fall in love- they fall hard.

There could be this feeling of a deep connection between the two of you that feels familiar yet so foreign. However, do not drown with the feeling. Learn to swim with it, or it will create false imaginations of the other person. You open up this person's inner world, and they want to pour into your cup endlessly. Sometimes, feelings can become intense, and a struggle to sort through emotions with each other can be difficult. Therefore, there can be spurts of emotional outbursts. Clear communication is very important with this man.

Being one to love deeply, he can hold a grudge and keep score of what wrong he thinks you've done to him. He might think he loves you more than you love him. This man wants you to be open with your love and reciprocate his feelings with the same intensity. When you are in an emotional frenzy from work or a bad day, he's the one to comfort and feel you. He'd go out of his way to make you feel better. If he can't, he will beat himself up for it. People close to him are few, even if it seems like there is a whole crowd around him. He's the go-to therapist or listener for folks, and it may get to him from time to time, so please allow him some space when needed.

Some days, he may seem hot and cold, but that's just likely because he isn't feeling anything that particular day or hour. Or he is in his head thinking about anything. As all humans do.

Love each other truly and not just love itself. It is easy to get lost in love and forget the person. Take what resonates and leave the rest.

Please remember, take what resonates, and leave the rest. One card does not describe everything about a person, and it is not the end all be all. Nothing is set in stone. People change - we all change.

Once again, please let me know what resonates and tell me what'd you like to see from me. 💫

#psychic #tarot cards #tarotblr #pac reading #love tarot reading #tarot reading #divination #tarot blog #seekingflowers #tarotcommunity #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #love reading #future husband

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yayll · 3 months ago

Text

~ a little something about you and Dazai trying to love each other a little bit less ~

It's Sakura season, and it's not being shared with someone you love. That's fine, you think to yourself as you sit on the bench, the sunset overlooks the port and you have the park to yourself. The fragile petals fall all around you, covering you in flakes of pink, like snow that won't melt. Though they will shrivel up, you think that might be worse than the instant loss of a melting snowflake. The thing about snowflakes is they melt upon warm contact but these petals won't melt at the touch of cold nor warmth, they'll lie there until their beauty fades along with what's left of their fleeting life. You stare at one in particular as it lands into your coffee cup, floating at the top instead of sinking.

That's what it was like to be in love with Osamu Dazai, and what it was like to sense his dreadful presence approaching you like the wind billows on a starless night. You ignore him, staring down at your coffee cup like it's going to save you, knowing it won't. In your peripheral vision, he looks spectral, and you catch a wave trying to get you to look up along with a familiar voice that reeks of faux friendliness.

"Are you always this avoidant when people try to greet you?"

You bite the soft flesh inside of your cheek, gripping your coffee just a bit tighter, unresponsive.

He continues, hands tucked into his coat and a smirk on his face.

"The blooms are nice today, eh? At their peak. Thought I'd stop by to enjoy them but it seems someone's already taken my favorite bench. At my favorite spot. What a shame."

After another long pause, his voice loses the playful edge and he says your name in a firm tone. This causes you to finally snap to attention, eyes wide and as fragile as those petals that shower you both. He smiles once more, but it's uglier this time, mocking. You mirror him by calling out to him right back, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

"Dazai."

He steps closer, towering over you. He always thought you looked best when you were looking up at him. It would almost sting that you're using his last name if it weren't for the fact that it sounded so good coming out of your mouth. He leans down to you just a tad bit.

"Sooo flustered..."

"I'm not flustered."

It's a joy to know he can still make you feel something, you were always wearing your heart on your sleeve, and your emotions on your precious little face. He sighs dramatically, waving his arms around.

"Mhm, sure you're not. You're lying... And it's honestly boring me to death! And I love death!"

You look away towards the port and roll your eyes, a quiet scoff escaping you along with it.

"Oh, so we're doing this."

It's almost like they're flirting, he thinks. Just like old times, maybe. It sends a thrill down his spine.

"Yes. We are."

You smile faintly, but it disappears just as fast as it materialized.

"I'll head out now and leave you to your favorite bench at your favorite spot, then."

He doesn't even allow you the chance to stand up before he shifts to stand fully in your way, imposing himself with an unreadable expression on his face that's hiding his real thoughts.

"Stay here a minute, I'd like to ask you a tiny little thing."

You tilt your head, the way you used to every time he perplexed you with some nonsense he'd spew out either to toy with you or when he'd say those three poisonous words you could never handle hearing from him.

"Dazai, I don't know if that's wise..."

He knew what you meant by that, because if you stayed like all the other times, you'd never leave. He sees the effect he has on you and he uses that to his advantage. His voice softens, something you aren't used to anymore.

"... But will you do it anyway? Stay here?"

You bite the corner of your lip and sigh... Of course you do.

"I guess... I will."

His eyes narrow and he fights back a smile at the thought of being able to stump you like this.

He's not sure where he's going with this but he's sure he'll think of something to say, he just wants to keep talking to you a little longer. He invades your personal space, and almost reaches out to place a hand on your face but decides not to, opting to keep the unbalanced dynamic going. You breathe out, unable to handle the silence, your cheeks already turning pink.

"Seems to me like you're stalling."

He observes you knowing how desperate you are to hear what he has to say, enjoying the moment of simply holding your gaze when he really should think of what the hell to ask you. He becomes dangerously close, his voice taking on a velvety approach with that lazy smile you love so much.

"Me? I'm doing nothing of the sort."

You look down at your shoes shamefully, something that would have made you so giddy to hear before now just feels like a slap to the face. Your eyes flicker to the way his hands now rest at his sides and it makes you wish they were wrapped around your neck instead. It all causes you to mumble without thinking.

"You always want to stop me from something... You keep me frozen in time."

He tilts his head, finally reaching out to take your hand but when you don't meet him halfway he settles for hooking his pinky around yours instead. He won't move it until you do first.

"Is that so bad? To be frozen by me?"

You're losing this battle, you know that because you can feel your heartbeat in your pinky when he tightens it just a little but it's enough to feel him invade you even further. He feels it too.

"I wish I thought it were..." You say, lamely.

"Why don't you, then?"

He asks quickly, amused. He squeezes your pinky harder and it's starting to cut your circulation off. You look back up with that ridiculously innocent face that always made him want to jump into the river, you didn't even know how precious you looked that way.

"You know why, Osamu."

Oh it's like a shot to the heart when you switch to his first name. How dare you. He wishes you'd say it under different circumstances because he doesn't like this one. That, plus the urge to mock you for your emotions always being so damn sincere causes his gaze to shift. It's less playful now as he stares into your eyes, his voice going low.

"... I don't think I do."

You bite the inside of your cheek again and taste blood from how hard you're holding back the urge to just. Go. But you can't and you won't. It's the same doomed story over and over again.

You murmur with pathetic longing.

"No, you never seem to."

He's figured out his question, and he figures why he's holding your pinky like he's a tourniquet and you're bleeding out, but he doesn't intend on saving you, he's not that kind of guy.

It's dark now, and the Sakura petals are slowing down their fall to death, almost afraid to interrupt the tension going on here. He nods towards you, amused.

"Please, enlighten me."

You look away, a sad smile on your face.

"I don't know if I'm strong enough for that tonight."

He knows that, and you're stupid if you don't think he knows every single little thing about you. This is all just a review. This is all just his way of making sure you haven't moved on this time for sure.

"Aww, look at you, unable to resist me.~"

He mocks you, yet moves his over hand to the small of your back to really make sure you stay here with him. You instantly regret letting your heart speak for you when you said you'd stay earlier. You frown, eyes glistening as the moon makes its presence known. The moon doesn't care to interrupt you two, but somehow it feels like it's on Dazai's side more than anything.

You shake your head, sighing.

"You're being mean. You should be home tonight and so should I."

He keeps staring into you, thinking how beautiful you look when you become so vulnerable around him. He finally releases your pinky, unable to take it anymore, and cups the side of your face instead while the other one still stays on your back. He shrugs and sighs as well, though it sounds more like an imitation of one.

"Perhaps I should be home. But I don't feel like it. Neither do I feel like letting you scurry away."

This causes you to purse your lips and knit your brows together, your patience running out from his games. He should have taken you out back and put you out of your misery ages ago, it's not too late, you think.

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"Hmm... Will you let me kiss you?" He asks as if this were the first time he's ever done it. As if he were concluding a successful first date. Your lip quivers, and he can feel you tremble.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

When you don't reply, he moves his face until his cheek is against yours and whispers into your ear.

"Are you going to say anything, silly? Or can I take this as a yes?"

You finally breathe out, the shock somewhat subsiding. You don't think twice, you're just as pathetic as you've always been. But so is he for asking.

"Kiss me."

You said yes. He gets what he wants from you, thank god. He won't tell you that just this morning he had a dream, or rather a revelation of you letting him kiss you. That he blew off his duties at the agency and visited every single place you used to frequent together until he found you here to make the prophecy come true. That this is a selfish attempt at getting not just that kiss, but your entire being. Your noses touch, and he whispers once more.

"Are you sure about that? You don't sound so sure, little thing."

You swallow hard, and your voice comes out meek and soft.

"I always am."

"Even now?"

He doesn't even wait for your reply before he's closing the distance between you, locking your lips together and sealing you against him, as if worried after all this time you'd still try to move away and leave. The kiss lasts longer than it was intended to, but eventually Dazai removes himself from you, he couldn't bear it if you did so first. You never would, you think to yourself. His gaze is genuinely soft now, his cruelty melting away like a snowflake, but you're dying in his arms like the petal.

"You've always known I'm yours, right? And you're mine?"

You want to cry when he says that, if only it truly was that mutual.

"I want it to be that way, but it seems you only kiss me when no one's around."

The empty outdoor space that envelops them, along with the waves rhythmically crashing against the port punctuates the silence that follows after. Dazai breaks the pause, something about what you just said bothering him deeply.

"If I kissed you when everyone was around, wouldn't they start to look?"

He knows that's terrible thing to say to you, but doesn't want to admit that the thought of others seeing him happy makes him feel like it's an omen, that the second he openly recognizes he's yours you won't stay his for very long. That it will all be a dream from another world. You scoff as you look away, your eyes stinging.

"Mmm... You're funny."

"I'm serious, me being in a relationship? Imagine that. I think the whole agency would be at a standstill. How scandalous."

He doesn't mean that, but he doesn't know why he can't stop pretending he doesn't have feelings and just speak the truth. Surprisingly, you crack a small smile at that, trying to find humor in the fact that you'll never figure him out.

"They'd all think you're looney, which you are."

"That's an understatement! They'd think I'm deranged for letting such a cute person take me away from my very important duties.~"

He plays along with your sarcasm, what matters is you're cooperating.

"They'd all say I'm too good for you, anyway. Especially Kunikida." You really make sure that one hurts, but all he shows is a sly grin.

"It's just better if people don't know we're together, right?"

You look away, the moon's fully illuminating you both.

"It's better not to be together at all, Osamu."

Your words actually hurt like a knife to the chest, and once he goes there, he can't stop it. You weren't supposed to make such a permanent statement. He narrows his eyes, but his voice remains soft, desperate even.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean, I'm not some secret you keep."

He somehow recovers and replies as smug as possible.

"I like you that way. Frozen in time, remember? The prettiest ice sculpture for me to adore for all eternity.... What else do you want me to say?"

You wince at that.

"Just say anything. Can you say it? Can you at least tell me you loved me at one point in time?"

That does it for him. You look so sad, you look so pliable and it's so attractive, but he's not looking to exploit that anymore tonight. It brings out something else. Something he can't take back.

"You do know I don't ever want anyone else, right? It was real to me then, and it's real to me now. Don't be dense."

He didn't notice the tears in your eyes before, the way they glisten thanks to the moon who's always on his side. He's stern when he speaks to you, his eyes locked on yours to make sure you get it through you stubborn little skull how devoted he has always been and always will be, even if he doesn't show it in the way you want him to.

You're irritated and enamored as you sniffle.

"And what am I supposed to do with that information, huh?"

He speaks above a whisper, you barely hear it yourself; It might as well be an auditory hallucination. His face is solemn, matching yours for once. He's not hiding anything right now.

"Keep it close to your heart and be mine..."

He clears his throat, and moves his other hand from your back to the other side of your face, fully holding you, making sure you have no escape.

"... I'm all yours, so be all mine. Okay?"

"We really are the same kind of stupid, Osamu... Now what?"

You say with a scoff that turns into a small laugh, your voice remaining bittersweet even in between sniffles.

"Now?" His voice trails off, humming as he pretends to think. There was never another outcome to this story, he was never going to say anything different. It's just the way he prophesied it. The way it's meant to be.

"Now you're going to take me home. We're going to get back to your place, and you'll reintroduce me to your very cold and lonely bed I've missed so much as I hold you forever and ever. You'll have no choice but to fall madly in love with me again, as I am with you. Done."

He drops your face and takes your hand properly now, hoping to lead you away into the night. He knows he doesn't deserve this, so he has to make it count.

He's hoping you won't find him crass and reject his request, he doesn't mean to be so blunt. He's just a desperate idiot who refuses to see another season change without you.

When Dazai says he misses intimacy with you, it's because he does. It's because he wants to tell you that this is the last time the cycle repeats itself, this is how he ends it but he needs you to want it too. You stare at him in disbelief at first, your hollow breathing now becoming shaky with each inhale. You choose to believe him, something in his face tells you he's being real for once. Besides, you already have nothing, so you can't lose anything.

"... Then lie in it again. Convince me."

You tuck a strand of his messy bangs that frame his face behind his ear, and you realize how pretty he looks this way. You never noticed he could be even more devastating than usual. You hope he'll keep letting you push it back like this.

He smiles, his voice dropping to a pleading tone at your reverent touch. At your mercy.

"Oh, I plan on it. We've made it this far. Even if it wasn't mutual anymore, it doesn't make it any less true... at least not for me. And just so you know, I did love you at one point in time, and I love you now, you fool."

You look down once again at the fallen petals at your feet already turning brown, and you realize this won't be you tonight, or ever again. You realize there is meaning in all of this and you won't be the snowflake nor the petal, you're going to be Dazai's. You squeeze his hand back, the corner of your lip curling up as you both walk away under the moonlight.

#when i tell you i was vibrsting from caffeine my hormones are all over the place from the upcoming period and ppp by beach house #was blaring in my ears i could not stop writinf what i wrote #i'm thinking it just has to be this way dazai WOULD #make it this complicated to simply try and get you back. this is all just him wanting to beg on his knees #and who am i to deny and pathetic man the pleasure of showing up into your lifr #rubs hands together this is what i was made for the angst the love thr hardship #i think it's a reflection of his fears and his deepest desires that rlly make him contradicting #and ur like. thats enough im so fucking exhausted PLEASE #but so is heeeeeee SO IS HE #ada mention alwayssss #bungou stray dogs #bro never goes to work RIP #osamu dazai #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai imagines #osamu dazai fluff #dazai fluff #bungo stray dogs #dazai angst #dazai angst fluff #dazai osamu #fluff and angst #gn reader

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brayneworms · 7 months ago

Text

don't wanna know what's good for me

part one | m.list

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.2k

content. NSFW, merc!reader, rivals to Something, masochist!childe, public sex (they're alone but like ... ), gender neutral reader, mild violence + gore (stabbing, blood), degradation (slut), anal fingering, handjob, pet names (sweet thing), begging, reader is fucked in tha head.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes you will be blocked

♩ gods and monsters — lana del rey

The Snezhnayan air is bitter.

All the more for the fact that, even as you traverse the long lapses of snow and frozen rivers, you're still not entirely sure what you're doing here. Even as you emerge upon the house, a round hike from the bustling towns some way back, lit warmly against the overcast backdrop, you're not entirely sure what you're doing here.

Even when you knock and a tired-looking woman with blue eyes and fiery red hair opens the door, because when she asks if she can help you, you open your mouth and nothing comes out for a few seconds.

"I'm here to see Tar—Childe," you say. Oh. You guess that's what you're doing here.

The door stays pretty much put. The woman looks at you dubiously, and you realise with the same kind of shock a butterfly must feel when getting its wings ripped off that this must be Childe's mother. Archons, he has a mother. Not like you didn't know, but still. Sometimes it's so strange to remember that he's flesh and blood like the rest of you.

"Are you... a friend?" You can't fault her doubtful tone. You certainly don't look Fatui, but you're not an ordinary civilian, either. You probably should have stashed away your daggers before knocking; if you're honest, you hadn't expected Childe to live in such an ordinary home. "He's recovering right now, is all."

"No, yeah. That's why I'm here." The words feel stuck, awkward. Her deep blue eyes are swimming with doubt, so you reach into your pocket. Your fingers brush the hilt of a knife.

You hold up the little box you've stowed in your pocket. Gift-wrapped with a blue ribbon.

"I brought sugared almonds."

Childe looks thunderstruck when you walk in, and you take a moment to enjoy the honest shock on his face. He looks tired—when he sits up, the woven blankets fall from his shoulders and pool about his waist, displaying a bare torso bandaged to all hell. You can't fault his surprise whatsoever—it had been months since you'd seen each other, since he left Liyue after... well.

The memory of chalk and dirt under your nails, flaking in his hair. The grunts of pain and pleasure that became so frequent the line was quite blurred. You remember how the column of his throat flexed when—

"Scourge," he says, wide-eyed, voice a little rougher than normal. You're not entirely sure what happened in Fontaine, but it must have been exceptionally rough to put Childe on his back like this. You can't help feeling a smidge of envy toward whoever fucked him up so thoroughly. "Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Not this time," you say indifferently, taking a perch on the edge of his bed. His room is disconcertingly boyish, all carved wood and blue knit blankets. There are animals incised along the headboard of his bed, ducks and narwhals and whales. "Brought you a little gift."

You toss the package of almonds over, and his automatic catch of it makes him wince. His fingers are as steady as ever, though, when he deftly unties the ribbon. His eyes peer up at you, even more nonplussed than before. "Did you trek all the way to Snezhnaya to bring me sweets?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? My goal in life is to make you happy." You dig in your satchel, bringing out a small medallion. Childe's eyes glint with recognition when you pull it out into the firelight. "The traveller asked me to return this to you."

"Ah," he breathes. "What a sight for sore eyes." He reaches out, this time, takes it from your hand; you feel the dry brush of his skin against yours. The vision glows happily when Childe cups it in his palm, turning it over and over. "I was wondering how I would've gone about getting this back. The dear traveller is so busy, flitting from one nation to the next... I thought I might've had to trek all the way to Natlan, visionless."

You shuck off your boots and cross your legs beneath you. "Don't tell me you think not having a vision would encumber your progress. You'd really disappoint me."

Childe cracks a smile; there's a split in his lips that has scabbed over, and it strains when they pull apart. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

He's still irritating, like a bug that buzzes faintly around your ear, the sort small enough to constantly evade killing. But something about seeing him stripped of all his usual finery, and trussed up looking exhausted in his childhood bedroom, is making you more amenable to him.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," he says finally, popping a sugared almond between his lips, and you try not to focus on the way they purse and squish around the segment, "But what are you really doing here, scourge? Did you miss me?"

"I think we had this conversation before," you say dryly. "Something about swatting mosquitoes." You pause. "Liyue has certainly been quieter, though. Without all the gods falling form the skies, and torrential typhoons."

Childe's lips quirk. "Well, if you've come looking for adventure, I'm afraid things around here are spectacularly boring. In truth, I grow more restless every day. I'd be up and about already if my blessed mother didn't insist on making me rest. There are a great many things in this world worth arguing with, scourge, but a fifty-year-old Snezhnayan woman isn't one of them."

"I'll bare that in mind."

His eyes gleam. "Oh? You almost sound as if you're planning to stay."

Ugh. You hate when he trips you up like that. He's one of the only people capable of it, too—not that you'd let him know. You squint at him flatly.

"Well. Maybe if you make it worth my while," you drawl, biting back a smirk at the way it makes his ears turn red. "I'm sure I could find something to wave my big sword at in the meantime."

Childe's eyebrows waggle. "Well, if you're looking for a big sword—"

"Down, boy." You jab a finger into his chest, just shy of the bandage wraps, and his shoulders convulse around it with a choked gasp of pain. He glances up at you beneath gingery lashes, so pale you can see the wide, deep blue pools of his irises with eerie ease. Dead-fish blue. You raise your eyebrows. "What're you looking at me like that for?"

He huffs weakly. "I think we both know I have a propensity for a little pain."

"In your family home, Childe? Beneath your blessed mother's roof?" You drag your finger painstakingly down his sternum, over the bandages; you can see the frayed purpling edges of bruising beneath them when they dip beneath your finger, and Childe tenses and groans quietly. He shifts imperceptibly closer to you, and you let your hand drop.

It's too easy. He looks so boyish here. It's honestly throwing you off. You withdraw your hand, aware that something cold must be shuttering over your expression because you see his own one drop in response, brows coming to knit together in a tiny expression of confusion.

"Nah," you say lightly. "Come find me when you're a challenge again. Enjoy the almonds, sweet thing."

Because, yeah—you've never liked anything easy. It's why you carve your way through Teyvat in a bloody railroad, one gang out outlaws at a time. The money you get is only a bonus; your real price, the only one that matters, is torment.

Childe slumps back into his pillows, scrubbing a hand down his face with a wry chuckle. "Ha... might've known. Don't worry, scourge, I won't be such a bitter disappointment for long."

You stand. "I know. Or you're not the guy I thought you were."

It's a month or so before you see him again.

You stick to your word and hang around Snezhnaya, eventually finding some sort of cold, dusky beauty in the frozen plains. The architecture is intricate and colourful, and the people conservatively hostile, which works for you just fine. People were much too friendly in Liyue and Mondstadt; you feel more like you're among your own kind here.

You end up contacting the adventurer's guild and taking on a few bounties, just for enough cash to hold down steady accommodation and food. You don't think too hard on why you're determined to stick around, when flight has always been much more your style. You immerse yourself, for the next few weeks, in wrestling bandits off of trading routes and collecting Hilichurl masks.

It's one evening as you circle a frozen lake, picking off members of a bandit guild that have taken to pickpocketing merchants, that he reappears to you. You're locked in a pretty ugly fight with a monster of an outlaw, taller and thicker than you, when something wet touches your cheek. A flash of water, so hard and sharp as to resemble a glaive, cuts past you and slices through the guy's skin, bearing a spill of scarlet blood. He jumps back with a scream of pain and rage, hefts his rusted ax to take another swing, and you see a flash of ginger and white cut past you.

Childe's water-daggers move so fast that they look like wet blue blurs, making ribbons of the guy's shirt and flesh. Combined with the injuries you'd already imparted upon him, it was no time at all until he dropped to the ground, blood leaking from him to salt the frozen earth. The rest of his guys scarpered pretty quickly.

Childe turned around to face you, a grin on his face. His pupils were slightly dilated—probably sinking his blade into something after so long felt like taking a drink after a stretch of sobriety for someone like him. Not that you could judge; you got antsy, too, when you hadn't fought for a while. Like your hands were filled with too much energy, and if you weren't using them for violence you weren't sure what the point of them was. They became merely many-fingered appendages, attached decoratively to your arms.

"I had him," you mutter, sheathing your swords. Childe bobs on his feet, almost floating with ecstatic energy.

"I know," he says, easily enough that mollifies your bad mood a little. "Just got a little overexcited at being able to fight again. I've missed it more than you can know."

There's blood spattered across his front, a daub across his face and arcing down his pretty dove-grey suit. Here, in the cold of his home nation, he wears a thick fur cloak over his shoulders; it makes him look grander, more impressive. Fatui, indeed.

He catches you looking and his smile gets wider; it barely even resembles a smile anymore, actually, more a baring of teeth. Coupled with the wild eyes, he looked suitably as feral as he is inside. Something deep in your gut twinges at the sight.

"You know, you surprise me," Childe comments, his watery blades dissipating into the air with a flick. "You'll cut your way through a battlefield, but you won't fuck me in my childhood bedroom? Your morals are all over the place, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say automatically, finding you can barely blink when you look at him. "Fucking freak. You want me to make you cry when your siblings are running over the place?"

"They know not to come into my room," Childe pouts. "Mama doesn't like them to be able to stumble across all my weapons, lest they learn what I truly do for a living. Anyway, that isn't the point. I just can't work you out."

You work your jaw for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. You've never been very good with words—Childe seems to have an endless supply of them, with an uncanny ability to fashion them in any poetic formation he likes. He certainly knows which ones will get under your skin the most, and the pretty way his lips tie up like a bow when he puts emphasis on some of them. You've always been more hands-on. It's no wonder this is what you do for a living, really.

So instead you ask abruptly, "You're all healed up, right?"

Childe tilts his head, looking only mildly surprised. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Show me. You had a pretty nasty bruise on your chest last time I looked." You cross your arms expectantly as Childe blinks, looks around. The landscape around you is assuredly deserted; you're miles and miles from the nearby town. The risk of being stumbled across isn't zero, but it's pretty damn close.

"...Here?" Childe asks.

"Whose morals are all over the place now?" you grumble, indicating the bandit still bleeding out on the floor some feet away. Childe huffs a laugh, escaping him in a frosty white cloud.

"Fair enough. I concede to you, scourge," he sighs, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You try not to look overly-eager, but something in your expression must give you away anyway, because he catches your eye and laughs as though enjoying a private joke. His fingers are deft as they slip buttons through expensive-looking silk, baring the pale slice of his stomach to you.

Around the snow's white glare, he looks paler than ever, skin practically lurid against the waves of dark orange hair and freckles scattering his shoulders. They spiral down his chest, absent of any bandages now, the only remnants of the ugly bruising a slight mauve discolouration crowding around his sternum.

You poke it; not much of Childe is overly soft, save for a small pouch at the bottom of his abdomen. He's all sinewy muscle, oscillating between lean and bulky. The tops of his arms and shoulders are broad, but he whittles down to a small waist and sharp hips, the suggestions of which you can see now with his skin bared: the ghostly impressions of bones, disappearing into his waistband.

"I'm a sight for sore eyes, right?" Childe says, a note of breathlessness in his voice. You hum dispassionately, poking at the remainder of the bruise; it gives like the skin of overripe fruit, smushing beneath your finger, and Childe shivers. "Wish mama let me out of bed earlier. I'd still have a lovely bruise for you to torment."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" you murmur, and run your tongue over your bottom teeth. "Lie down. I'll bruise you up again."

You follow him down to the ground; when you kneel, the snow starts melting through the fabric of your pants, makes your knees wet and cold. Childe lays on his cloak, looking up at you warily.

"I won't submit so easily this time," he tells you, sticking his chin up. "You'll have to fight me for control."

You shrug as though it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. "Okay. I'll win."

Childe shivers; you expect that knowing you'll win is half the fun to him. He likes challenging you just to be shot down. You thought, before, that he was simply a masochist. Now you think that being overpowered, specifically, is what gets him off. Not that you care for the psychosexual intricacies of whatever is wrong with him. You just like feeling strong, and he's strangely pretty, and you like taking the will out of pretty things.

Still, he does begin to make good on his promise. His hand knots in the collar of your cape and he pulls you down for a bruising kiss. You realise with a thrill that he tastes sweet and earthy, and that he's been eating the almonds you left him. It's a fucking weird amount of preparedness, and the idea that he'd come here hoping for this... it excites you. You kiss him harder, shoving his shoulders down to the ground and climbing on top of him.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingers spanning over the stretch of your stomach, and you falter just momentarily. He hadn't really touched you at all, last time—your positions are remarkably familiar, but this initiative is different. Last time he had merely enjoyed being overpowered. This time, you think he craves the fight of it. His thumb strokes over the skin of your abdomen, tantalisingly close to your waistband, and you curse the warmth that unfolds in your gut. You can't start feeling good, not yet, not until you have the higher ground over him.

You drag your lips down, pin them against his cheek until you get to the sharp vertice of his jaw; you tongue the underside of it, finding the ridge of his pulse point and dragging your teeth over it, feeling his hand falter and clench involuntarily.

This is how it should be with him—teeth and nails and tongue. The kind of fucking that lovers do is a million miles from this. It's something sort of angry, sort of reverent, like the worship of an evil god.

"You're such a fucking slut," you growl, and you're close enough to his throat to see the way it flexes when he swallows. "You wanted me to fuck you that first day, didn't you? With your poor family on the other side of those walls? Do you give it up that easy for everyone?"

Childe's breathing picks up; beneath your legs, you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch. When he opens his mouth to reply, you jam two fingers between his lips, feeling the inside of his mouth. He makes a choked noise, but his tongue immediately comes up to lap at the pads of your fingers, lips closing around the knuckle.

You sate yourself, taking several deep breaths even though the hot, wet inside of his mouth has your skin tingling. He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through your flesh, and when you press down on his tongue he makes a pretty gagging sound that makes you close your eyes briefly. Fuck, you want to hear it again.

Whilst your distracted, Childe shifts his leg; his knee slots itself between your own, pushing up against you with a suddenness that makes you inhale sharply and grit your teeth. Childe can't exactly smile with your fingers in his mouth, but he makes a smug noise and his eyes flutter with faux-innocence.

With your free hand, you wrestle his thigh from you and pin it to the floor with your knee. Childe is still making obscene noises around your fingers—putting it on, you'd wager. He sounds like the squealing painted girls in brothels, just stifled by the digits down his throat. You glare at him because it's easier than admitting how much it's turning you on.

With your free hand, you fumble for the opening of his trousers, delighting in the way his throat spasms with shock as you open up the slacks. It's tricky work to shuck the fabric down his thighs, and even trickier to restrain yourself when his legs come into view. They're built, stocky, crisscrossed with pale scars and freckles, and the urge to grab and squeeze is actually painful to resist. Instead you focus on the bulge in his dark briefs and the way his skin pebbles in the cold.

You push your fingers down his throat once, further, until he coughs and jerks and then you pull them free. In the cool evening light, they glisten with saliva, rolling down to your wrist. Childe's lips are glossy, eyes glazed over as he watches you; when you squeeze your dry hand over the tent in his underwear, the full force of his moan rips from him, loud and wavering, perhaps unaware that he'd have to stifle himself now without the gag of your fingers.

He flings his spare arm over his face, mortified.

"Cute," you croon, changing tack. "You're so cute like this, Childe. All small under me, yeah?"

"Shut up, scourge," he groans. "You know where I'm not small?"

You pinch his thigh, making it spasm prettily. You watch the red mark bloom up and fade, like a flower's life in fast motion. "I know where I'm not gonna be touching, sure."

Childe cracks open an eye, staring at you. "Huh?"

You shrug. "What'd you think you were getting my fingers wet for? Decoration?"

You can see his eyes widen with the realisation, even as you tug his underwear down along with his trousers. He casts another furtive look around, but there's no real concern in his gaze. In fact, if you had to guess, he looks almost hopeful that someone will stumble across you both like this. Degenerate.

You slip your hand down his stomach, feeling taut muscle and soft flesh, watching as it twitches with each sharp breath. Between his legs, he's half-hard already, and he twitches when you ghost your hand, feather-light over him. His hips cant up, once, as much as they can with you sitting on his thighs.

You bypass his cock, using your knee to knock his legs further apart and reach between his legs. The first light brush of your fingers over his hole has Childe gritting his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek very hard. His eyes burn into you, cold blue fire, when you carefully ease the tip of your index finger inside.

You let out a breath, chest aching. He's hot inside, tight; you feel him trembling against you as you glance up at him. "No shot you're a virgin here," you comment as languidly as possible, as if your heart isn't beating a harsh tattoo against your ribs. "There goes my theory of how you got so high up in the Fatui."

Childe makes a strangled noise that was probably supposed to be a retort. You don't move your finger either way, watching his face closely for signs of honest discomfort or pain. But there's just a concentrated furrow between his brows.

"You want me to go further?" you ask, voice like silk. "You wanna feel me inside?"

He groans, twisting simultaneously to and away from you. "Scourge—"

"Ask nicely, or I'll stop."

He swallows again; his internal conflict with his own pride is tantalising in the way you wish it could be made into something physical, something you could eat.

"Keep going," he pants. He blinks big, round eyes at you, playing the innocent lamb. "Pretty please?"

It should be no dice—you want him to ask as him, to feel the scorch of humiliation, not as some character. But before you realise it, your finger is sinking into the first knuckle, and his head thuds back against the snow with a punched-out gasp.

God, you wish you could fuck him properly. You'd give anything to stretch him out around you, but you don't have any of the tools or supplies you'd need. So your fingers would have to do for now. Your free hand gathers a handful of his ass and gropes, watching the fat bleed between your fingers as he yelps, hips squirming against your hand.

It takes several minutes and a lot more spit to ease another finger inside of him, and his thighs tense at the brush. His hips rock insistently against your hand, groaning behind a bitten lip, and when your fingers finally have enough give to start moving he makes a cut-off strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"Bet I could make you come like this," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. "Won't even have to touch your pretty cock, will I? Look at it, crying for some attention." You sort of flick it with your spare hand and he makes a sound like he's dying, eyes flying open.

"Scourge, Archons," he curses, dick jumping in interest despite it all. His mouth hangs open, a slack 'O' of over-sensation. "You're so cruel. That hurt."

"That's the point," you mutter. "Otherwise you wouldn't come to me for this, would you?"

Childe squirms, pouts. "Still. I'm but a simple village boy. I'm not built for a beast like you."

You laugh, almost genuine. "'S that what I am? A beast?" Your fingers curl up inside him, brushing against a tough spot that makes him keen against you, hips jerking.

"I—" he pants, lip trembling. "What?"

"Beasts are selfish creatures," you comment. "A beast would never think of letting you come on their fingers. So surely you're confusing me with someone else, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps, rocking against your hand. "Scourge, please. You're killing me here."

"I wish. You'd probably be quieter." But you acquiesce, starting a slow rhythm of your fingers in and out of him. You're slow, working them up to the second knuckle, trying not to shiver at the heat inside of him. When you curl your fingers up against that spot, he keens like a dying dog, thighs clamping around your body slotted between them. It's... a pretty sight, you think. You've never been averse to admitting that he's handsome. You've always had an affinity for breaking pretty things.

It's part of the game, you think.

You move inside him like you're ringing a bell, and Childe's breathing starts coming in short, sharp bursts as he writhes against your hand. After not too long at all his witty remarks trail off into bitten-off grunts and moans, twisting his head into the snow in some effort to try and hide them. With your free hand, you curl your fingers in his hair and yank, feeling the feathery red strands go taut against your digits.

"Don't hide from me, sweet thing," you croon, and Childe shuts his eyes as though praying for patience; his cheeks are bright red, making his freckles more lurid. He shudders and gasps when you yank his hair, body arching so much that he lifts off the floor. You take the opportunity to painstakingly work in a third finger. He shudders at the stretch, the inevitable burn, so you try to distract him. You push his shirt away from the rest of his torso, finding the nipple with a healed slash through it and rolling it between your fingers.

Childe shudders; he looks strangely young in this moment, the age he truly is—what, twenty-five? Barely that? He's flushed down to the chest, stomach convulsing under the comparatively soft gestures. You stroke and pinch him until his hips push tentatively back at your hand again—signalling, in his way, consent for continuation.

You tut. "So greedy. Did you forget anyone could walk across us?" you ask, and Childe makes a broken-off groan. "Maybe you want that? How long do you think it would take the talk to get back to the Fatui, hm? Nobody would ever take you seriously again. Some warmonger you turned out to be, writhing in the snow like a helpless animal, about to come on my hand."

Childe gasps, nodding frantically. "Yes—yes—"

"Yes, you're going to come?" You can't help the wicked smile that spreads over your face, like an infection, like a blight, like something that doesn't look at home.

"Yes, Archons, scourge," he wails pitifully. You get the feeling his body would be spasming if you weren't pinning half of it down. He's bright red against the plains of snow, lips bitten red, eyes barely able to stay open. One of his hands wrapped around your wrists, dragged your hand to his cock; it looked painful now, weeping pre from the tip. "Touch me here."

You roll your eyes. "Why should I?"

"Please," he whines, blinking up at you. "I'm sorry for being annoying earlier. I just wanted you to..."

"I know what you wanted. I'm not in the habit of rewarding brats," you say, but your eyes are glued to where he's put your hand. You haven't moved it, yet. He's hot and hard and wet under your palm, twitching to life when your fingers brush over the burning skin. He makes a wavery, sort of sobbing noise when you don't make any move, hips jerking pathetically for some kind of friction.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter, making your hand into a loose fist and wrapping your fingers around him. His jaw hangs open, eyes rolling back as his pale lashes flutter, and you stroke him quickly in time with your fingers moving in, out, the pace brutal and punishing—exactly how he likes it, and exactly how you like it. Every breath punched from his chest is a moan, hoarse and desperate. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and you realise he's torn the inside of his cheek to shreds with his teeth trying to be quiet.

It's thrilling, that he'd bloody himself just to try and get under your skin, and that he'd fail anyway. He's pretty like this. And close, you can tell by the way his muscles go tense, moving under pale skin like liquid. His throat is bared for you, head thrown back and he's uttering strings of unintelligible curses under his breath. Fuckohfuckpleasepleasescourgepleaseithurtsplease—

"Come on, Childe," you murmur, leaning in close, mouthing over his pulse point and feeling it jackrabbit against. "Make a mess for me."

With a few hoarse, desperate noises, a strangled "Fuck, fuck—" his body convulses beneath you, eyes squinching shut; his insides clamp around your fingers, spend spilling across your hands and his stomach in pearly arcs, hot and wet and pretty disgusting. You ease your fingers out of him as quickly and carefully as possible, not wanting to linger for the aftershocks.

He's limp like a dead fish beneath you, chest expanding, collapsing, over and over like a supernova as he struggles for breath. He looks physically winded, dazed like someone's beat the shit out of him. You take the opportunity to tuck him away and tug at his underwear and trousers, yanking them back up his thighs.

He mumbles something incoherently, sluggishly lifts his hips to assist you. After you button him back up he makes an effort to prop himself up on his elbows, looking up at you blearily.

"You didn't bite me this time," he says, sounding almost rueful. Your eyes dart to the healing ring of teeth at the junction of his shoulder, a mass of blunt scars coiled in a half-wreath. You pang at the thought that one day it might be replaced entirely by new, smooth skin, unmarred, unmarked.

You swallow. "There's still time."

"Nah. Moment's passed." He sighs, shaky fingers working at his shirt. "You'll have to do something worse next time."

Your mouth quirks into a smile before you can stop it. "Next time, huh?"

"I certainly hope so." He cocks his head, blue eyes catching the light briefly, the way they so often miss it. Like something inside it is permanently dampening it. "I'm only getting stronger, y'know. You'll have to fight me even harder for it next time. Or maybe I'll be the one telling you what to do."

"When hell freezes over, maybe," you say. The both of you cast a look around at the frozen wasteland around you and crack up laughing; it reminds you of the seldom times you'd spend together in taverns in Liyue, scarily normal for once.

"Well, I'll count the days," he hums, getting to his feet properly. His legs tremble a little, but he still offers you a hand. You take it. Maybe because it doesn't feel like it's accepting help, from someone so provably weaker.

Some feet away, the bandit's blood has turned the snow bright red.

#🫀.scribes #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #childe smut #tartaglia smut #ajax smut #genshin x reader #genshin x dom!reader #genshin x gn!reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x dom!reader #childe x dom!reader #sub!childe #sub!tartaglia

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thegnomelord · 1 year ago

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With all these M!reader courting (and practically rizzing up everyone) in their own hybrid way, imagine poor Ghost, he's like toothless, doesn't know how tf to court someone of say, even his own species because he was once human

And with that rant about all the absurd ways of courting, what would he call as his own?

Would he give gifts like Gaz and Price? A piece to remember them by?

I doubt he'd be the physical type like cuddly ol soap who loves to scent,

He's practically a shadow (literally and figuratively) and I feel like the best he can do is stare and slowly blink like a cat (and let's be honest most of the time we don't see his eye) so he might even just act like a stalker and watch from afar, not much of a scent even on him if he's near, even when in the midst of battle

So what can he do then? I feel like going to Price is his best bet and when he tries to scent something like Soap it smells like nothing

I feel like he'd beat himself up on it

(Also fucking love your courting works, I've been eating that shit up its become a hyperfixation)

- ☕️ Anon

I reckon that staring would be less of a wraith thing and more of a Simon thing. Because like, wraiths don't reproduce, they're made not born. So poor Simon just has to try to use the knowledge he had before he died.

CW:NSFW subbot ghost, topdom reader, rough and quick

He likes you.

Just like he's a Riley, just like the sky is blue, his affection for you is one of the few truths of the world he doesn't question. Only problem — he doesn't know how to tell you. You're not human and neither is he, not anymore, but he's woefully unprepared when it comes to you, doesn't know if he's supposed to go about it as a wraith or as a man.

He tries; Simon's phone is full of open tabs containing every piece of information about your species, trying to find grains of truth in the contradicting mess of words. He's memorized how you like your morning coffee down to the last flake of sugar, watching your face carefully when you trudge to the communal kitchen to find your mug steaming and everything laid out near it. He knows your schedule inside out, always a few minutes earlier in the gym when you come in, offering to spot you, his dark eyes roaming over your sweat covered skin. His gaze is always flickering to you, regardless of what you're doing or where you are — watching, guarding, making sure the world doesn't take away that spark like it did with Simon Riley.

But you fail to notice it, him. Or maybe you do but don't care. Don't see him as anything but your teammate, like you should, like he should. God, what is he even doing trying to fucking woo you like some lovestruck Victorian gent. . .

Simon feels like banging his head against the wall.

Maybe then something in his imperceptibly rotten skull will come loose, tumble around in what's left of his brain like a snowball rolling down a hill to form an avalanche, or at least a vestige of a good thought; an idea, something he could use to get out of this rut.

He doesn't go to Price for advice. The old dragon finds him, knows him long enough to figure out when Simon's up to his throat in shite. Price sits down next to him as they watch you and Gaz spar, "Alright, spit it out." Price hums as he lights his cigar.

Simon's lips form a thin line beneath his mask, his fingers gripping the meat of his arm to keep his form stable. His eyes don't stray from you, cataloging every trail of sweat as it rolls down your skin, watching your muscles flex beneath your skin as you throw a punch, making a mental note to show you the mistakes you make in private and—

His shoulders fall, "'m fucked." The words escape him like he'd been punched in the gut.

Price gives him the side eye, looking him up and down. "Doesn't look like you enjoyed it."

"Hah." Simon says in a dry tone. "Always a comedian captain."

Price chuckles, wing spreading out to bump against his shoulder. "Jokes aside," he lets out a small puff of smoke, "You could just tell 'im."

Simon's eyes narrow, "What, not going to suggest I go find some obscure shite ta gift him?" If he could find some concrete information about your species courting habits he would have done so by now, would have happily torn up Heaven and Hell looking for whatever would make you look at him the same way Price looks at Kyle.

"No," Price rolls his eyes, standing up and stretching. "Just go talk to 'im you bloody muppet, going to creep him out if you keep staring like that." He nods his head towards you.

Simon's head is a dark sea of thoughts as he spars with you, tries to make it seem like nothing's wrong but you catch on quick; he's distracted, falling for moves he'd once chastised you for pulling, the edges of his form crackling like the static of a tv, shadowy smoke rising from his blackened arms as he throws a punch that goes wide.

He grunts as you knock him to the ground, your hands on his shoulders to pin him down. "You alright?" You ask, your brows furrowed. "You're not fighting like you usually do."

You can barely see his dark eyes narrow, his body still beneath yours. "I'm fine." He growls out, tries to ignore how the warmth of your body against his makes him feel, nibbling on his nerves like a craving for a drug he can't have.

"Uhuh," You hum, a little confused why he's letting you pin him down so long. "Come on Ghost, you're not getting soft on me are you?" With a huff you attempt to pull away, knowing you couldn't force words out of his mouth.

The sudden lack of your warmth is what forces his body to move before his mind does, shadows shooting out to grab you before congealing back into his arm, pulling you down so his lips can crash on yours.

You grunt into his mouth from the surprise, your eyes wide with surprise. Simon's frozen heart cracks just a bit when you don't respond, only to melt when you finally kiss him back. Your lips feel like heaven against his, Simon's eyes shutting and long tongue slipping into your mouth.

You choke a bit, pulling back to catch your breath, your eyes widening as Simon's long tongue slips back into his mouth. "Fucking hell Simon." You pant,

"Got a whole bag of tricks." Simon says, his throat dry. "I-" He begins to say, thoughts running on how to tell you he wants you but no words coming out, something clogging his throat like molasses.

"Yeah," You grin, the lights overhead casting a halo around your head. "I know." Tipping your head down you catch his lips again, your kiss deep and rough, Simon's teeth digging into your lip until it bleeds, your sharp fangs nipping his tongue, blood mixing in your mouths, arousal starting to course through your veins.

Simon's hands grope your ass, pulling your crotch down on his so your cocks can rub together. Simon greedily swallows your groan, his arms starting to fizzle, shadowy smoke wrapping around you to keep you close as his hand sneaks down to undo your belts, fishing out your cocks.

"Christ," You groan and pant into his mouth, grabbing hold of both of your cocks and rocking your hips into his, pleasure buzzing up your spine.

"Don't bring 'im in here." Simon growls and throws an arm around your neck, demanding your attention with a kiss, longue tongue pushing half way down your throat and hips bucking up to rub his cock against yours. "Just us here."

You moan against his lips and fuck, if that isn't the prettiest sound he's ever heard, his mind clouding over with pleasure and before either one of you knows it Simon's cumming, pulling you down with him, your combined cum painting both of your stomachs.

It takes a few moments for Simon to catch his breath, his pupils blows wide as he stares up at you. "Shite." He breathes out, boneless beneath you.

You grin, "You can say that again." and you lean down to kiss him again.

#gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #☕anon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod x male reader #cod smut #cod monster au #monster cod au #monster 141 au #cod modern warfare

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cometblaster2070 · 8 days ago

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so i'm going to go fucking insane because for a while this aspect of malenia's character design has been bothering me and making me think I'm seeing things and going fucking crazy.

the aspect in question is malenia's left arm:

when i first saw malenia's arm my first thought was oh okay they're probably just bandages or some sort of wraps.

but then you look a bit closer and like

idk about you (because i might be losing it) but it seems like the mesh of whatever the fuck that is very clearly melded with her skin in a way/it looks like it's going into and then emerging out of her skin (which is HORRIFYING to think of I won't lie).

and once again i thought i was going crazy and seeing things because surely these were just meant to be wraps or bandages like the ones we see in the scene of her fighting radahn right?

and then the thought of the needle came to my mind. along with something malenia says in her cutscene before we fight her.

"my flesh was dull gold"

huh. now isn't that interesting.

this would imply that in order to stall the rot from consuming his sister, miquella made a plan to sew unalloyed gold into malenia's skin using his needle in a last-ditch attempt to save her arm.

(granted it's funnier to imagine he just sticks it in her arm and goes okay great all done! and that's probably the canon way it went but)

the thought of the sheer pain malenia must've gone through during this process, to be honest, and the thought of the guilt miquella must've felt at having to force his sister to endure even more agony just to help her is just sad.

and all of it is done just in an attempt to salvage what they can of her and hope that more can't be taken.

edit: btw when looking at malenia pre-bloom and pre-losing her needle it looks like there's a proper layer/cover/whatever it is around her arm up till her knuckles making it seem like an actual covering or layer on top of her skin and what not, but when we fight her post-bloom and post-losing needle it appears like some of the layers have either flaked or fallen away and that reveals that it's actually meshed with/into her skin.

#elden ring #im going to sleep now #i think i will be losing it #if i stay awake any longer #because what the fuck is this #what am i supposed to do with this #it's not even canon and im losing my mind over possible implications #because can you imagine #miquella having to literally stitch his sister's rotting skin back together using unalloyed gold #he is scared and desperate and he doesn't know what else to do or how else to possibly help #and malenia is in so much PAIN #but she loves her brother and trusts in what he's doing and so she endures #god i love all their character designs but hers is just INSANE #malenia blade of miquella #miquella the unalloyed #miquella #malenia #okay BUT #the comedy of miquella being like “hey malenia look over there!”#and just sticking the needle into her arm when she's not looking is great #also miquella using his sister as his home ec project #like wow he's practicing sewing using his sister good for him #i'm sorry don't take this seriously i'm losing my mind

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multi-fandom-imagine · 1 year ago

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«Baby it's Cold outside || Mizu ||

A/n: the love i have for her! Also based it off this little blurb

Prompts Used:

"you're shaking like a leaf, take it."

"it's cuter on you anyway..."

"you know you aren't getting this back, right? it's mine now."

watching snowflakes melting in their palm

sticking out their tongue to catch the falling snow

kissing a snowflake from the other's lips that landed there.

a lingering kiss because they're so sweet

Mizu was slowly adjusting to her life with you in London. Those men were still in the back of her mind but right now she just wanted to be with you.

Her blue gaze glued to your form as you hoped off one of the steps. "Shouldn't you grab a coat." You may have been wearing a thick dress, the long sleeves covering your arms but she was still worried for you.

Tilting your head back, you gave Mizu a beaming smile. "I'll be fine now come on." You grasped her hand tugging her along the snowy streets of London, the snow already starting to fall but that didn't seem to stop your eagerness.

A sigh left Mizu, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she tugged the coat your father had given her. She was grateful for how kind your parents were, your father haven given her his old suits and coat to wear though your mother had to do some adjustments to make it sure the clothing actual fit her it was a nice settlement none the less.

You two did not get very far until you started to shiver.Shrugging off the wool coat she wore, Mizu then draped it over your shoulders."You're shaking like a leaf, take it."

Looking up at the taller woman, you gave her a bright smile. Her scent still lingered on the material, something that couldn't help but bring you comfort though your eyes ranked over her frame. "But won't you-."

Cutting you off, Mizu grasped your chin forcing you to look into her eyes. "I will be fine, I can handle the cold. I'm not the one wearing a dress, besides it's cuter on you anyway..."

Snuggling into the coat that was dwarfing your frame, you were already feeling warmth encase your body. "you know you aren't getting this back, right? it's mine now."

Shaking her head, Mizu let her arm wrap around your waist as she pulled you in close. "How very sweet of you."

Leaning into her side, you two continued to walk down the snow covered path until you two finally reached the park. "It's so beautiful here."

Mizu sighed as she caressed your cheek gently, her blue gaze remains on your form as you looked up at the sky watching the snow fall. Opening her palm she watched as the snowflakes melt once it touched her skin. It was odd, something that she used to ignore, something she payed no mind to was starting to bring her comfort and she knew why.

She owed this all to you.

Your giggle was enough to pull her out of those thoughts, she watched as you twirled, tongue sticking out trying to catch the snow flakes.

'How cute'

Stepping close to you, she grasped your hand then brought you to her chest. "What are you doing?"

Grinning, you gave her a teasing smile. "Having fun Mizu, you should try it sometime." You teased.

"I am fun, I have plenty of fun" Mizu rested her head against your own though she tilted her head to the side once she spotted a lingering snow flake on your lips. Leaning in, she then pressed her lips against your own. Melting the snow flake, your fingers clutching the vest she wore as her fingers slowly moved to your lower back. She couldn't wait to get you home, she couldn't wait to get this dress off of you, to warm your body up.

Breaking the kiss, your eyes slowly opened as you looked up at her with a smile. Her lips were so close, you felt then brush your own again as you gave her a soft kiss, a kiss that seemed to linger and once you finally pulled away you couldn't help but feel like you were sitting on a cloud.

"I love you Mizu."

Caressing your cheek one last time, Mizu then grasped your hand gently. "I love you too. Now let's get something to warm you up."

"Like hot chocolate?!"

Bouncing, you eagerly latched onto her arm as you two started to walk.

It was a lovely evening and Mizu couldn't wait to spend the rest of the night with you.

#drabbles #drabble #mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #blue eye samurai mizu

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velvetchrry · 8 months ago

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━━━━ THISTLE AND BARLEY

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x f!reader

2.7k. during a solo trip to the scottish highlands, you find yourself transported back in time.

The chill of the evening air prickles along your skin. The spring breeze envelopes you, circling her prey. You are a rabbit, and she is a fox. She waits, patiently, until you are unsuspecting, and then sinks her sharp teeth into your soft skin.

It seems like you are the only one to really feel the chill — but you are an outsider. An outlander. A stranger. There are a few other foreigners here like you, but mostly it’s the residents of Inverness.

You get some relief when passing by one of the many bonfires littered through this valley. The entire night sky was alight — but not with stars. No, those are almost impossible to see compared to last night. There are enough fires lit in the valley to cause light pollution to seep through to the night sky.

Everyone here is clothed in a flowy, bohemian white gown. A beautiful crown of flowers rests atop your heads. Beltane. The official start to summer.

You didn’t know you would be here tonight until the last minute. The hostess of your bed and breakfast was the one who mentioned it to you this morning. It’s your last night in the Highlands so you figured, why not? Your solo travel adventures are about to come to an end. What’s one more night with no sleep?

A lit cave sparks your interest. It’s small, basically just an opening that goes 8 feet or so, but it’s lit up with candles everywhere. They're arranged in some sort of pattern, but you can’t make out exactly what it’s supposed to be. The air in here is even colder somehow — settling in your bones. You cover your upper body with your arms as best you can, unable to stop yourself from entering this ethereal place.

When you get closer to the wall, you see it has something painted on it. The paint is hard to see, even with the candle light. The same pattern is marked on the cave wall that the candles make on the floor. It’s old, flaking. You let out a breath and you watch as it rises in front of you.

The wall is shifting. Shimmering. It looks celestial. Like the night sky. You rub your eyes. It must be the heat from all the candles.

You turn around to leave but are startled by the sight of a woman at the entrance. You recognize her — it’s the owner of your bed and breakfast. A greeting almost escapes your lips but when you catch the look on her face you can’t seem to speak. Mouth hanging open, you just stare at her. She glides to you effortlessly, lithe for her age. Her fingertips are black as they reach out to you. It happens in slow motion. At least, that’s how it feels. She slowly reaches out to touch you and you stumble back, almost into the wall, just out of range.

“Yer where yer meant to be lass. Remember that. You have to remember. This was destined for ya.”

You shake your head to try and get a grasp on what she’s saying to you. Your tongue is suddenly heavy in your mouth. “Wh.. what?”

“Goodbye, lass.”

Before you can open your mouth to speak, she pushes against your shoulder with a firm hand. You stumble, and brace for impact into the cave wall.

Falling. You’re falling. It’s black.

There is no cave wall.

“D’ya think she’s a witch?”

It's morning, that much you can tell. Birdsong flits down to your ears and the sun is bright against your closed eyes. The grass caresses your body.

“Dinnae think so. Not sure what to make of ‘er.”

You try to remember what happened last. How you got here. Where you are. You brain is fuzzy, feeling like you’re suffering from a hangover. Wait — that’s not right, you didn’t drink last night.

“Let’s just leave her.”

Beltane. The celebration. That’s where you were. In the valley near Inverness. You were wandering. There were fires. Dancing.

“No. We’ll bring her to the castle.”

The cave. Oh god, the lady from your bed and breakfast. She followed you, she pushed you. She said something to you. What did she say to you?

“Yer off yer fuckin’ head, boy. What’ll yer Da say?”

You have to get out of here. You are supposed to be out of here. Your flight out of Inverness leaves this morning. How did this happen?

“I cannae just leave her here.”

Sunlight floods your eyes when they shoot open. A groan escapes you, and you cover your head with your forearm. You struggle to fully sit up, headache assaulting all of your senses.

“Aye, lassie? Ye hearin’ me?”

You rub your eyes and look up to who’s speaking to you. It’s a man in his late 20s. He’s wearing a kilt and it isn’t until you look around that you notice almost all of them are. You saw a few men in Inverness wearing kilts but, not quite like this. They look like an authentic historical recreation.

He’s… handsome. The one talking to you. Pools of blue eyes stare into yours, a hand reaching out to you. You gingerly take it, and he helps you stand. “Ye got a name, hen?”

Still in a bit of a daze, you give him your name and take a second to get your bearings. The cave you remember from last night is just behind you — but there are no candles, or paint on the walls. There’s no evidence anyone was in this valley last night. Where are the pits and scorch marks from the bonfires? What about the string lights that were strung along the tree trunks? Even the grass doesn't look like it’s been trampled on by a hundred or so pairs of feet.

“I’m Johnny of Clan MacTavish. May I ask, what’re ye doin’ out here hen?”

You swallow thickly. “I.. erm.. it’s Beltane. The party?”

“A druid.” The tallest one says. He’s one of the ones not in a kilt and has a deep British accent.

“Ah,” Johnny’s face lights up in understanding. “And yer out here alone?”

“I… uh…” you stutter. You’re not sure what’s happening. They really don't know about the party? Most of them look like and sound locals. “I guess… I am?”

“Where ya from?” one of them asks. He’s got a stout build and a thick set of facial hair.

“Well, I’m an American… I’m just… just traveling…”

You pause when you notice their interests peak.

“Which colony ye fae?” someone asks.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Colony?”

“She’s a British spy!” another shouts. You flinch.

“Ah, she’s no bloody spy. Look at her,” the tall one from earlier says. “Aye, we never had any spies like her before,” the stout one agrees, coming up to Johnny’s side.

Johnny hums. “I cannae leave you out here to fend on your own, spy or no. Can we take ye somewhere?”

You pause for a moment before speaking. “Inverness?”

Johnny nods and his men grumble, but go back to their horses. He motions for you to follow. You watch as he struggles to get up, wincing in pain and almost falling. The tall one comes up behind you and grabs you by the hips — lifting you ontop of Johnny’s horse and causing you to yelp. “Up ya go.”

Your body goes rigid as Johnny reaches around you to grab the reins. “Ain’t gonna hurt ye, hen,” he murmurs. He kicks the horse into gear and you’re off, still wondering what’s happening to you.

Maybe someone is filming a movie nearby.

You don’t have much of anything to hold onto, so you keep your legs clenched, body stiffened. Johnny notices this, wrapping his big arm around your waist for support. The group keeps a brisk pace, chatting with one another about things you’re unfamiliar with.

Panic starts to seep in when you see the River Ness, which bysects the city. “Where are we? Where’s the city? It should be visible by now.”

“Yer looking straight at it.”

Your breathing picks up rapidly and you try to focus on not hyperventilating. This was not the Inverness you had been in just yesterday.

“No…,” your voice is a soft whisper. “No, no, no… this can’t be right.”

The horse comes to a stop as Johnny tugs on the reins. “What is it, lass?”

The men start to grumble around you as the rest of the group comes to a stop. “Where’s the city? The buildings? Where’s the airport? This is… this isn’t right.”

“I dinnae ken what yer talking about hen but… that’s Inverness up ahead,” Johnny says softly to you.

“I… I don’t…” you stutter.

“Aye, what's goin’ on? Why are we stoppin’?” someone shouts out.

Johnny shoots him a look and walks his horse a little ways up to give you two a bit more privacy. Tears start to well in your eyes, and your nose has that familiar prickle like it’s gonna start running. You’re afraid to ask, but you have to know. “What year is it?”

If Johnny is confused why you’re asking, he doesn't show it. He speaks in a matter of fact tone when he says, “1724.”

No… how could this happen? You can just jump back in time 300 years… this is impossible. This can’t be real… this can’t be. But you saw — you saw right where Inverness is supposed to be. You recognized the landmarks. And it’s just… not right.

“Do ye still want to go to Inverness, hen?”

What are you going to do? There’s no aiport, hell — the America you’d go back to wouldn’t be the same. And what, do you hop on a boat for months and go back to a different world?

“I… I…” You suck in a shaky breath. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” you finally admit.

“I’ll take ye to the Castle,” Johnny states confidently. “Give ya a chance to figure out where yer going.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Johnny calls out to the group that you’re headed to the Castle and you tune out the cries of them asking why the hell you were going with instead dumping you in Inverness.

The Scottish countryside passes by in a teary-eyed blur. It’s like you blinked and suddenly night is falling, the sun almost completely dipped below the horizon. Your stomach aches with hunger. You’re in an unfamiliar area, surrounded on all sides by trees. Johnny slows his horse, and the rest of his party follows suit. The tall one from earlier glides off his horse with ease and walks over to pick you up off of Johnny’s horse. You watch in a daze as he also gives Johnny a hand, as he struggles to get off his horse.

You look up at him after he is back on the ground. His white shirt seeps red near his bicep. You're not sure how you didn't notice it before. It’s got a brownish tinge to it now.

“You’re hurt.”

He waves you off. “Ach, jus’ a scratch, bonnie.”

He doesn’t stop you, just observes as you walk over to his side. You gently pry back the sticky fabric of his shirt. There’s a decent sized gash through his arm, red and angry. It looks like the start of an infection; like it might need stitches.

“It's not just a scratch if you need help on and off your horse. Did you clean this after it happened?”

“Clean it?” he tilts his head slightly as he asks.

“Like, rinse it? With water, at least?”

He shakes his head no.

You bite your lip as you contemplate. “Does… er… does anyone have any alcohol?”

Some of the guys burst into laughter. One hands you a flask. “Dinnae think you’d be one to get pished, lassie!” he exclaims.

You ignore him and get to work, ripping the bottom of your flimsy white dress. It tears easily under your fingers. You push it into Johnny’s hands and he holds onto the fabric unquestioningly while you uncork the flask with your teeth and again peel back his shirt.

“This is gonna sting a little,” you admit quietly.

He winces and grunts as you pour the alcohol down his arm, the men breaking out into cries of protest at the loss of booze. You place the cork back in the bottle and drop it on the ground. The man who gave you the flask quickly swipes it away from you before you can waste anymore.

Johnny places the ripped fabric of your dress in your outstretched hands. You tie it tightly around his arm, and while he grimaces, he doesn’t complain. You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder when you’re done.

“You’re probably gonna need stitches, but that should hold you over for a bit. Hopefully it’s not infected, or you're gonna need something stronger than alcohol.”

A voice from directly behind you makes you jump out of your skin. “Told ya she was a druid,” the tall one says.

“Aye,” Johnny agrees. “We could use someone with yer skills at the Castle. Our druid can’t…. well she ain’t as nimble as she used ta be.”

You aren’t sure what to say to that so you watch silently as the boys set up camp for the evening. “We’ll reach home come morning,” Johnny tells you at one point. The sun is gone now, the temperature dropping rapidly. The Beltane gown provides no heat and you scoot as close to the fire as you can without singeing off your eyebrows. You ditched your flower crown long ago.

The tall one hands you some food and you eat quietly while the rest of them chat around you. The stout one from earlier and the tall one sit next to each other and observe you, talking lowly to themselves. You try your best to ignore them.

Johnny walks over and sits next to you. “You should get some sleep, hen.” He’s close enough to you that his kilt brushes against your leg.

You swallow thickly and gnaw on your lip. You nod your head in agreement but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to sleep tonight. The reality is, these men are strangers in a strange time — even if one of them has been showing you kindness.

Johnny moves even closer to you and you can’t help but tense up. He's maneuvering his kilt around, tugging on the end of it.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my plaid loose. Cannae let ye sleep in just that shift. You’ll freeze.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep in more warmth. “I’ll be fine.”

He covers your shoulders and instantly you feel warmer. A scent of musk and pine surrounds you, earthy and male. He opens his arm to you, waiting for you to lean against him.

“I meant what I said bonnie, I won’t hurt ye. I’m just keeping warm. Yer teeth chattering is making my bones rattle in my head.”

You can’t help the small chuckle that you produce hearing him tease you a little bit. It serves to make you feel even more comfortable around him. You nod and move in further under the plaid, while he wraps his good arm around you and rubs up and down your arm.

“Yer frozen solid,” he murmurs. “Why ye out here in just a shift anyway?”

“It was… uh… apart of the festival.”

He hums in response, still rubbing you arm up and down, up and down. You find a comfortable silence, leaning against him and listening to the conversations around you. Johnny adds his two cents every so often but mostly just sits beside you quietly.

You can feel your eyelids start to get droopy, your head nodding off every so often, but you fight it. You fight the urge to fall asleep. It’s so much harder now that you're warm. So hard when you’re feeling a small bit of comfort from the touch you're receiving.

You don’t even realize your head is on Johnny’s shoulder right away. You start to sit up, but he grips you a little more firmly to his side.

“Sleep, lassie. Yer safe with me.”

#call of duty #cod x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x you #john mactavish x you #soap x you #soap x y/n #my work #thistle and barley

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