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catiuskaa · 4 months ago

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RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone.

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it.

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes.

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry.

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders.

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…”

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more.

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck.

“He did this to you?”

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?”

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind.

Oh.

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.”

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered.

“Is it, eh, bleeding?”

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound.

“No. Just a scratch.”

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas.

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really. Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?”

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you.

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it.

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…”

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose.

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.”

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.”

“You don’t say.”

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool.

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch.

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything.

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet.

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time.

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him.

Minho would scrunch his nose.

“You reek of cherries.”

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him.

“Change that, then.”

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep.

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain.

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—.

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—.

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better.

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

POLL TAGLIST! @felixglow @beccasmecka @loubouskz @dreamerwasfound @renjunniex @planetstars-blog @frickinmad @jeongsoo-jin @raptorbait529 @skz-supernovaa @midnightlunaaa @xuxibelle @ppurple-reignn @s3onghaswifey

bold and red means i couldn’t tag you! </3

PERMANENT TAGLIST! @lyramundana @stayconnecteed

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realcube · 5 months ago

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ushijiama wakatoshi who doesn't have a clue how to use social media. he thinks 'hashtag' is a english intensifier like 'so' or 'very'. when you suggested he post your wedding photos on facebook, he printed them out and mailed them to meta headquarters in california.

hence, he doesn't know what do when the swedish adlers manager requests for the players grow their individual social media presences, to build a more playful and friendly reputation of their team. he's seen you direct message on instagram before, so naturally he assumes you must be an expert.

when he brings up the idea of you running his personal account for him, you remind him that you're not a professional and urge him to seek a social media manager instead, but he doesn't see the need. in his mind, none of it is that serious; you already know his log-in details, so he asks that you go on his account and just use it as if it were you own. you're very charming and sweet and he's certain that'll reflect well on him.

that's the backstory behind how ushijima is cornered after one his games and asked by an interviewer, "we have images of you quote retweeting a video with the message 'yes, stan giselle!'. are the rumours true that you are cheating on your wife with giselle from popular k-pop girlgroup aespa?"

ushijima's eye twitched, not understanding the majority of the words in that sentence, "no." he replies sternly.

unfazed by ushijima's intimating demeanour, the interviewer continues, "and do you care to explain your reply to a promotional image of oikawa tōru from club athletico san juan which reads: 'fugly cunt' followed by three vomit emojis?"

"that speaks for itself."

#ushijima imagine #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima headcanons #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #hq ushijima

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 months ago

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Israeli soldiers are no longer shooting and crying. They are shooting and dancing, shooting and grilling, shooting and praying, or just shooting and mutilating. Soldiers post TikTok reels from the frontlines filled with laughter, celebratory songs, prayers, and inspirational messages. Prominent politicians and thousands of regular users respond with exclamation points and flame emojis in widespread demonstrations of support. The posts contrast grimly with the destruction in the background. But in a war of retribution, destruction is the point.

[...]

Some international outlets claim most Israelis are not privy to the suffering in Gaza due to empathy fatigue, confirmation bias, or stringent military censorship of local press. Others report that algorithmically determined news feeds have prevented many Israelis from seeing images of Palestinian suffering. But to say, “If only Israelis could see what is happening in Gaza, they would demand an end to the violence” ignores the political reality and majority. This is arguably one of the most documented wars in history. Accounts of the humanitarian catastrophe and mass death in Gaza saturate foreign press and the social media feeds of people worldwide. The inconvenient truth is decades of war and dehumanization—tacitly supported by the United States and Israel’s other staunch allies—have largely closed one side off to the other’s suffering. In 2002, amid the height of the second intifada—a bloody five-year period marked by suicide bombings in Israeli cities and military raids on Palestinian communities—the critic Susan Sontag observed, “[To] those who in a given situation see no alternative to armed struggle, violence can exalt someone subjected to it into a martyr or a hero.” As 75 years of photographs attest, this has long been the case in Israel. But the sentiment may be more popular than ever: According to a survey by the Jerusalem-based think tank the Israel Democracy Institute, as of December 2023, 75 percent of Jewish Israelis opposed agreeing to the U.S. demand that Israel decrease the intense bombing of heavily populated areas in Gaza. Only 1.8 percent viewed Israel’s use of force as disproportionate.

20 Mar 2024

#israel #palestine #zionism #idf #settler colonialism #war crimes

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urvape1kz · 8 months ago

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CRAVING HIS TOUCH Gojo Satoru

Pairing Gojo Satoru x Reader!

Summary: After divorcing Gojo Satoru following years together and raising two children, you find yourself facing lonely nights. Encouraged to start dating again, you meet the seemingly perfect Kento Nanami. However, every moment with him only intensifies your longing for Satoru, who coincidentally also misses you.

Warnings: Authors first smut, MNDI, cheating, possessive behavior, toxic relationship/behaviors, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, choking, breeding kink

Dating, a degrading practice in the shoes of an underpaid not to mention divorced mother of two. A year ago you found yourself divorcing the man of your dreams, rich play boy Satoru Gojo. Satoru knew your heart inside out as if it were a map to paradise. He showered you with gifts from Dior and dates straight out of fairy tales on the top of the eiffel tower. Leaving him wasn’t fun; let alone easy. But his family's constant backhanded and abusive comments, along with their comparisons to his ex-girlfriends, made life with him unbearable. Despite your pleas for him to cut them off, he dismissed you with a casual "you know how my parents are” and never touched the subject again.

At some point it all just became too much and you inevitably left. Since then, your friends have been relentless, practically pleading with you to to look into dating apps or let them play matchmaker. So, after slogging through eight apps and enduring at least a million disappointing encounters, just when you were about to lose hope, you stumbled upon Kento Nanami.

He wasn't as handsome as Satoru, that was for sure, but he was no ordinary catch. Kento was a world-renowned chef with undeniable charm, easily winning you over. he other day, he asked you out to the movies, and you couldn't resist saying yes.

You spent hours preparing for your date, every detail was meticulously planned from your dress to your makeup. Everything was going perfectly, just as you had imagined, until you felt a slight buzz from your back pocket—it was your babysitter.

"I'm really sorry, Ms. (L/N)," came her shaky voice on the other end. "My mom had an accident, and I don't think I can sit for you tonight." She sounded on the verge of tears.

You let out a heavy sigh, understanding that it wasn't her fault. "It's okay, kid," you reassured her gently. "Take care of your mom. I'll keep her in my prayers."

A heartfelt "thank you" echoed through the phone before she hung up. As panic started to rise, you wracked your brain for options. Then it hit you— Satoru was still available wasn’t he?

Your finger hovered over his contact, once decorated with a bunch of heart emojis. You paced back and forth in your room, questioning whether reaching out to your ex so suddenly was morally okay.

Who calls their ex out of the blue like this? you wondered. But it's fine.. you reassured yourself. We're co-parents; this is completely normal I mean I would have done the same for him.

No you wouldn’t.

Despite your horrible attempts to muster courage, you couldn't bring yourself to call him. So, you opted for a text instead.

"Satoru, I know this is short notice, but could you watch the kids tonight? I have plans."

Almost instantly, he replied—unsurprisingly, for him.

Of course. You don’t even have to ask their papa’s been missing them a whole bunch anyways :)

His words tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of the strained relationship you caused between him and his children. Taking a deep breath you shoved those thoughts away into an abyss because tonight was about you.

Going to Satoru's house felt like stepping back in time—a mix of nostalgia and trepidation. Everything looked the same as you left it; the flowers you'd planted were still there, blooming as beautifully as ever not to mention the welcome mat you purchased over four years ago when you two first moved in together.

Before you could muster the courage to knock on his door, your four-year-old twins Kyoko and Yugo darted ahead, banging eagerly on his huge sturdy wooden door.

"Daddy, we're here! We're here!" they shouted, their voices echoing in the quiet.

Almost instantly, the door swung open, and they melted into his arms like ice cream. Standing up his gaze locked onto you with a deliberate intensity that felt almost robotic. His eyes traced over your short red dress, lingered on your bold red lipstick, and took in your meticulously styled hair. The air between you was thick with unspoken words and memories.

"You look... amazing," he finally said, his voice betraying a hint of awe that clashed with the tension in the room.

Before you could respond, your son Yugo's innocent voice broke the silence. "Mama's got a date, Papa!" he giggled, oblivious to the weight of his words.

A sudden chill swept over you, and you felt the atmosphere grow heavy as the four of you stood there, caught in an awkward tableau. Satoru's face tightened, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and resignation. For a moment, it felt like time stood still, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.

The tension was finally broken by your kids' eager pleas to play video games inside. Satoru hesitated, his hand lingering on the door as if he wanted to say something—anything—but couldn't find the words. Then, with a sigh he slammed the door in front of your face, the door that you two once struggled to open entangled in passionate kisses that you could still feel on the tip of your lips.

Gathering your strength, you made your way to your car, feeling on the brink of tears. Just when it seemed like the weight of the world might crush you, a text from Nanami lit up your phone.

"Just bought the tickets. Missing youu 💋"

Despite the stress you were feeling, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. You put the car in gear and headed to meet him at the movies. As you pulled up, you spotted Nanami waiting outside, a beautiful bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. His face lit up as he saw you, almost tripping over his feet to greet you.

"You make me feel underdressed," he smiled, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"Oh, please. You do that to me every day with your fancy suits and ties," you teased back, taking his hand in yours as you walked inside.

"So, what movie did you pick? You never really told me," you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked inside.

"'Amants Interdits.' It's a French film. When I heard about it, I just knew you'd love it," he replied, excitedly swinging your hands back and forth.

While his intentions were undoubtedly good, the movie turned out to be a melodramatic mess that tugged at every lingering heartstring in your soul, reminding you uncomfortably of Satoru. As the credits rolled, you felt Nanami's hand gently cup your face, his eyes searching yours.

"Did I pick a bad movie?" he whispered, leaning in to kiss your lips softly.

"Mm... no, it was amazing," you whispered against his lips, trying to muster a smile. "Just... sad. I'm not really into dramas," you added with a forced laugh. As you leaned in to kiss him again, he pulled back slightly.

"You look beyond beautiful tonight, but there's something in your eyes... a sadness," he observed, his tone soft yet tied with concern. "You stepped out of the theater more than once, and I can't shake the feeling that it wasn't just the movie weighing on you. Why don't you head home and rest? Tomorrow's another day for us to enjoy each other's company right?” he smiled pressing his forehead against mine.

“Nanami I don’t deserve you do I?” you muttered as the two of you walked out the theater cradled in each others arms. As he kissed you goodbye you opened your purse to find 2 hour old messages from Satoru.

Bought the kids take out hope you don’t mind

I don’t know if you want them to stay over but they’re asleep

As you drove, your mind raced with questions about how to handle picking up the kids. Should you say something? Should you ask for his help getting them to the car? No, that wouldn't be right. Lost in thought, you found yourself in front of his house sooner than expected. Taking a deep breath, you approached the front door and lightly tapped on it with your knuckles.

"Satoru, it's me," you whispered. Almost instantly, the door swung open, and your eyes met. There he stood, looking disheveled. His hair looked as if it had been untouched for days, and his eyes were reddened, as if he'd been crying for hours.

"You look la mess" you murmured, to which he scoffed, "You're one to talk," his eyes darting to the red smeared lipstick on your face. "How were your 'plans'?" he asked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and barely concealed anger. His breath carried the unmistakable scent of alcohol, worrying you with the kids in the house.

"Satoru, you've been drinking again, haven't you?" you yelled. "Where are Yugo and Kyo?" you demanded, pushing past him.

"They're fine, (Y/N)! They're my kids! Do you really think I'd hurt them?" he shouted, his voice escalating. "You’re probably too busy to think about that when your mind is on other men though right?!" he accused, closing the distance between the two of you.

"Satoru—" you began, but before you could finish, he had pressed your body against the wall, his hot breath mingling with that of your own.

Slithering his coarse hands between your thighs he felt the absence of your panties.

“You never dressed like this for me, was I just not good enough for you?” He whined as his fingers found their way to your core, teasing your clit."I've already cut off everyone—my mother, my sister, everyone. I'd cut off the whole world to have you back with me," he groaned into your ear. “Satoru.. You aren’t in your right s-state of mind right now..” you muttered stumbling over your words “the kids are here..”

"The kids want us to be together, can't you see? Kyoko told me how much you miss me. She said that when you're alone in your room, you whisper my name, pleading and begging for me, are you that desperate and needy to be filled? Does he just not do it for you?” You opened your mouth but before you could answer his his fingers slammed in your pussy making your body jerk with a cry.

"(Y/N)..." he whispered, biting down on the rim of your ear. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll leave. I'll let you go forever, just as you want me to," he growled, his lips brushing against yours.

His touch was like a key turning in a lock, unlocking a flood of memories that surged through your mind. Each sensation seemed to echo with the past—every whispered word, every shared laugh, and every tender moment you had once cherished together. The feelings you'd buried deep inside started to resurface, tugging at your heartstrings and making your pulse quicken. It was as if time had rewound, pulling you back into the whirlwind of emotions you once knew so well.

Your silence was enough of an answer for him as he kissed up your neck. Allowing you to lean back onto him with your head on his chest. Soft moans falling past your lips as you let yourself grind on his fingers. Another loud cry filling the air when he landed it hard on your ass instead.

Carrying you to his couch he plowed you on the red leather sofa the two of you bought after you gave birth you the texture brought you back so many memories but between that and satoru touching you your midn went blank

"Look at yourself." He commanded sternly, forcing your head upward until you gazed at your reflection in the foggy window. Your eyes widening in embarrassment as you realized the state you were in. "Gonna give you another set of twins, triplets even, you want that baby?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly nodded, desperation filling your heart. You needed him so badly; you longed for his cock to fill the emptiness inside of you.

"Ahh, fuck." Another sharp slap echoed through the room, stinging your already tender ass. "So you do talk" He smirked, eager to hear the words he desired. "Please fuck me."

He chuckled, enjoying your pathetic submission. "You can do better than that, baby." His deep voice sent shivers down your spine. "Please. Please fuck me Toru. I've been so alone, aching for you. W-want you to fill me up." You pleaded, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"That's it. That's my slutty girl." His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he thrust into you, claiming your wet entrance with a single powerful stroke. Your knees buckled beneath you, and your back arched involuntarily as his thick cock stretched you wide. You could feel the swollen tissue near your cervix protesting against the relentless invasion.

A low growl escaped your throat as his hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you closer to him on the sofa. Your hands instinctively pressed against your back, feeling the rough fabric beneath your fingertips. Your heart pounded wildly, your body responding to his dominance.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, the room was suddenly interrupted by the shrill ringing of your phone. Satoru's eyes narrowed, his grip on your neck tightening momentarily. He snatched the device from off the floor, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen. Jealousy flared in his eyes as he recognized the caller ID: “Nanami <3”

"Toru, please, just put it away," you begged, tears starting to form. But before you could say anything more, he answered tossing the phone on-top of you, his smile smug, as if he'd just won the lottery.

"H-hello, Nanami," you stammered, trying to catch your breath as Satoru sped up. "Sweetheart, you sound terrible. Are you sick?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. You felt a lump in your throat, torn between guilt and pleasure. Ripping the bandaid off you blurted out "Nanami, we can't see each other anymore!" before abruptly hanging up.

Once again, you were caught in Satoru's snare, the familiar sting of knowing you were heading for heartbreak not enough to make you turn back. Despite the pain you knew was coming, something inside you couldn't let go, couldn't stop yourself from falling into the same old pattern, even if it meant ignoring the chance for something real with Nanami.

"Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your heart raced, unsure whether you should trust him or run as far away as possible. But the intensity of his touch, the way he claimed your body, made it hard to resist his charms. You moaned softly, your nails digging into his broad shoulders.

Good girl..." he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he slammed into you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. "You know I just want the best for you, for us, for our kids," he blurted out in the heat of the moment. His words were laced with sincerity and madness, blurring the lines between love and manipulation.

Your moans filled the room, a testament to your surrender. As you both reached your climax sloppily kissed you “Get pregnant.. m’gonna have you all to myself” he blurted throughout kisses as his eyes gleamed with anticipation envisioning your soon to be large belly.

You let out a loud defeated whimper, feeling the warm residue trickle from inside of you as he pulled out. Your senses swam in a haze as your eyelids fluttered shut, and you went limp in his arms, surrendering to the overwhelming emotions and fatigue. He cradled you gently, his gaze fixed on your face as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

---

Waking up to the familiar scent of pancakes, memories of lazy breakfasts from your honeymoon in the states flooded back. Blinking your eyes open, you tried to sit up but quickly realized something was off. The room around you wasn't yours—it was Satoru's. Confused, you scanned the space, spotting your own furniture awkwardly placed among his belongings as if he had moved all your stuff in.

Slipping out of bed in one of Satoru's oversized shirts, the scent of freshly brewed pancakes grew stronger as you made your way downstairs. As you descended, the sounds of morning chatter became clearer. There, in the kitchen, you found Satoru at the stove, flipping pancakes, with Kyoko in a high chair, happily munching away. Yugo, spotting you, abandoned his toy cars and rushed over, wrapping his little arms around your leg.

"Mommy, mommy!" he cheered, his eyes shining with excitement. "Papa says you're staying together forever, and we're gonna have little brothers and sisters!"

Your heart skipped a beat as you shot a pointed look at Satoru, who paused mid-flip, giving you an awkward, guilty smile.

You truly despised him with every fiber of your being, yet there was a burning desire in you that betrayed your feelings.

“Gojo Satoru what have you done to me..”

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tozettastone · 2 months ago

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It's not a romance, but it might end up being fun to do a maddieverse AU where she helps him track someone. (Yes, I mean an AU of my own fic. DW about it. If tumblr user @mixelation can do like seven, I can surely have at least one.)

Maddie has such tremendous daddy issues and attachment issues and Bring Your Daughter To Work Day would be a fun way of getting to explore them. Maybe.

hm. re: kakuzu romance- a reason for him to hang around someone and not kill them: they have some sort of technique or ability which kakuzu cannot steal from their organs or learn which is absurdly profitable. they do not understand enough about money and need a manager to help them facilitate this. kakuzu is getting an insane cut. thoughts?

It's a good concept. Giving him something he needs from someone and can't get otherwise would make him a lot less likely to just leave LOL

My addition is that I think this ability is probably highly sensitive chakra sensing! But I will say that I also think having Kakuzu as your manager would be kind of a nightmare? I think it'd be easier on our hypothetical Kakuzu-wooer if Kakuzu needed to use their technique himself, rather than trying to go into business together.

#naruto oc: murakami madeline #thinking emoji intensifies

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swiftiethatlovesf1 · 3 months ago

Text

Love strategy p.4

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy part 4, if you have missed part 3 here it is :)

After Lando drives you to your hotel, you make your way to Carlos's room, focusing on the work at hand. You knock, waiting for the familiar sight of Carlos to greet you.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Carlos who stands in front of you—it’s his latest girlfriend, her expression unreadable, though her stance seems less than welcoming.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," you begin politely, forcing a smile, "but I need to talk to Carlos about his schedule and interviews for tomorrow."

Her eyes narrow slightly, and she doesn’t open the door any wider. "Couldn't you do this later? Or, I don’t know, just send him a message or something. We were… in the middle of something."

You try not to let her cold response get to you, but before you can reply, Carlos’s voice drifts from behind her. "Who's at the door?"

She rolls her eyes but steps aside just enough for Carlos to come into view. He spots you and waves you inside with a casual, "Come on in."

You walk into the room, feeling a bit awkward under his girlfriend's lingering stare. Carlos notices your unease but seems oblivious to the tension. "What's up?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why didn’t you tell me about this on the plane?"

You blink, momentarily taken aback. "Carlos," you say slowly, "I didn’t fly with you. I was on a different plane."

He looks confused for a second, clearly trying to piece things together. "Wait… you didn’t? I didn’t even realize."

A flicker of disappointment tugs at your chest, but you brush it off. "Yeah, I flew with someone else," you say, your tone neutral as you shift focus to work. "Anyway, I just wanted to give you a heads-up for tomorrow. You’ve got the usual interviews in the morning, and you need to film a video with Charles after that. Also, you and Charles are filming a collaboration with McLaren tomorrow afternoon."

Carlos nods, processing the information, though he still looks a little distracted. "Right, got it. Thanks."

But as you finish, the awkward tension in the room only intensifies. His girlfriend is sitting on the bed now, watching you with a thinly veiled irritation, like your presence is an unwelcome intrusion. You feel the weight of her stare, and suddenly, the air in the room feels thick, stifling.

"I should go," you say quickly, stepping back toward the door. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Carlos looks up, but he doesn’t argue. "Yeah, see you."

As you slip out of the room and back into the hallway, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

You head straight to your own room, shutting the door behind you. Between Lando, the unexpected airport headline, and now the icy reception from Carlos's girlfriend, it’s been a long day. All you want now is some peace and quiet.

But just as you’re starting to unwind, your phone buzzes from across the room. You sigh, standing up to grab it, half-expecting it to be another work-related message. Instead, it’s Lando.

Lando: Hey, how’s it going? Lando: Surviving over there with the Ferrari crew?

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read his message. You quickly type back.

You: Barely. Had a lovely chat with Carlos’s girlfriend. You: How about you?

It only takes a few seconds for Lando to reply.

Lando: Oof, sounds intense. I’m sure you handled it well. Lando: So, listen—I’ve been thinking. Tomorrow, during the interview McLaren’s doing with Ferrari… maybe we should just, you know, drop the news then?

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the message. He’s talking about going public with your "relationship" during one of the most high-profile interviews of the weekend. It makes sense, but the thought of it being so… public, especially with both teams involved, makes your stomach twist in nervousness.

You: Tomorrow? You: In front of everyone? Isn’t that kind of… a big deal?

Lando sends back a laughing emoji.

Lando: Isn’t that the point? Gotta make it look convincing, right?

You bite your lip, anxiety fluttering in your chest. You knew this was part of the plan, but now that it’s so close, the reality is setting in. You type back hesitantly.

You: Yeah, I get it. I’m just… nervous. It’s a lot.

A moment passes before Lando responds, and when he does, it’s with his usual playful tone.

Lando: Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. We’ll drop it casually, like it’s no big deal. Lando: I’ll just say something like, “Yeah, we’re dating. No biggie. Now let’s talk about the race!” 😎

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, the image of Lando casually announcing something so major with that level of nonchalance easing some of your nerves.

You: You’re impossible, Norris. You: But seriously, what if I mess it up?

His response is quick, and this time it’s more reassuring.

Lando: You won’t. Besides, I’m nervous too. This whole thing is crazy, but we’ll make it work.

It helps to know that even Lando, who seems so effortlessly confident, is feeling the pressure too.

You: Fine, let’s do it. But if it goes terribly, I’m holding you responsible.

Lando: Deal. But trust me, it’ll be great. See you tomorrow!

You set your phone down, a small smile lingering on your face despite the lingering nervousness. Tomorrow is going to be a big day, and the thought of stepping into that interview with Lando, letting the world believe in this staged relationship, makes your heart race. But somehow, knowing that he’s just as anxious as you—and still managing to joke about it—makes it feel a little less overwhelming.

Here's part 5

Tag list: @abq654 , @spaceflowergal, @mads94sworld, @anewpersonthatexists, @qlovalova, @itsskavya, anaferreira-4, @willowsnook, @larastark3107, @blueberry648579, @luckyangelballoon, @runs-with-sciss0rs, @gtwdahhh, @edsmunsonsgirl

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader

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mysunshinetemptress · 6 months ago

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How long till I see Heaven

Leah Williamson x cowgirl!reader

Warnings: None

You return to the Ranch and back to work like you had never even caught a glimpse of the heaven that was Leah, as she returned to England and back to training for the upcoming England features back to training mode no distractions no cowgirls.

The one thing you both had in common though was every waking moment you couldn't stop thinking of the other and the short time you both shared. Yet it's months later when Leah sees a glimpse of you, Leah scrolled through Instagram mindlessly. Training for the upcoming features had her in a focused frenzy. Then, a sudden stop. There you were, grinning alongside Mitch, both caked in red dust, your hand resting casually on his shoulder, with Dakota wrapped in Mitches arms: "Congratulations to this buckaroo on another win! Thank you Y/n/n for being his rock and keeping him safe out there!"

A laugh, sharp and humourless, escaped Leah's lips. Safe? You, with your gentle eyes and calloused hands, had become the most dangerous thing in her world. A world that had shrunk to the confines of the training gym and the echoing emptiness of her flat. Every burpee, every lift, was fueled by a phantom memory - your laugh under the Nashville sky, the brush of your fingers as you'd passed her a beer.

The ache in her chest intensified. Months had crawled by since Leah had boarded the plane back to England. Reality had slammed shut, leaving the Nashville summer a bittersweet memory. She'd thrown herself into training, but the fire that once fueled her competitive spirit felt like a dying ember.

With trembling fingers, Leah tapped the comments section. Hundreds of congratulations poured in, but her eyes snagged on yours. A single, short comment: "Always a team. Time to head home and get ready for the next one." A team. The word sent a jolt through her. You weren't just a fleeting memory; you had a life, a purpose, a team. And she was just a passing ship for god sake you guys only spent a few hours together, she shouldn't be this hung up on you.

Leah stared at the screen, the weight of your comment settling in her gut. A team. It was true, you weren't some fantasy she'd conjured. You had a life, a world that existed far beyond that whirlwind Nashville night. Shame burned hot in her cheeks. Here she was, pining over a girl she barely knew, clinging to a few stolen moments.

A tiny spark flickered amidst the embers of her dulled spirit. "Time to head home and get ready for the next one." Your words echoed. Maybe that was what she needed too. Not just physically returning to England, but rediscovering the fire within herself, the one that had propelled her to the top.

Taking a deep breath, Leah pushed away from the phone. She wouldn't let this consume her. She couldn't a few hours in your presence wouldn't have her falling so hard, it shouldn't have her falling so hard.

Meanwhile, on the ranch, your phone buzzed with a notification. A new comment on Mitch's win post. A simple emoji - a single burning flame. It was from Leah, and a thrill shot through you. Leah was watching.

The next few weeks were a blur of focused training on both sides of the Atlantic. You were doing your daily ranch jobs with your father's ranch hands while helping Mitch train in your downtime Leah rediscovered the joy of the game, her passes sharper, her shots more powerful.

It had been months since the two of you had talked, months since you had seen Leah's face in person let alone heard her voice but, you hadn't expected to open Instagram to a message request from her. "Fancy coming to watch a football match."

You hesitate for a moment, replaying her comment and the burning flame emoji in your mind. You wrestle with conflicting emotions. Should you respond? She's giving you a chance to see her again.

As the week drags on with no response from you Leah begins to doubt if she should have ever sent the message but with England set to play a friendly in Kansas City against the USA the thought of possibly getting to see you again had driven her actions.

You take another two days to respond "Is it actual football or that thing you call soccer."

Leah laughs relief flooding her sense at your response "Rude, will you still come if it's my version."

You can't help but smile at your phone sitting on the side of the ring as Mitch gets thrown off the young stallion you're both trying to break in.

"I don't know the rules." Leah laughs out loud in front of her international teammates and best friends "What you laughing at." Georgia moves trying to see Leah's phone screen "No one just trying to sort out who is getting tickets for our upcoming US game." Georgia looks at Leah trying to read her before turning back to Lucy.

"All you have to know is you want me to win." You smile at the screen as Mitch shouts at you from the ground "Alright give me that your turn to get thrown."

You don't get to respond as he takes your phone pushing you towards the stallion before looking down at your screen and smiling "Alright I'll come, but I'm going to need a ticket for Mitch."

#woso #awfc #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #cowgirl #cowboy #ranch life #woso soccer #soccer #montana

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edgeray · 6 months ago

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Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.) The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff. Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster.

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child.

And Crucabena did just as she said she would.

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins.

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands.

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf.

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away.

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they?

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside.

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone.

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them.

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.

She is tired.

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human.

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive.

Because this is the most she deserves.

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening.

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back.

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils.

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory.

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?”

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes.

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?”

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this.

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast.

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you.

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face.

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact fic #genshin fics #genshin impact fanfics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests

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666writingcafe · 4 months ago

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Awkward...

A Group Text Conversation Between Barbatos, Solomon, Thirteen, and MC

Barbatos: *several glaring crow stickers*

Thirteen: Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?

Barbatos: *several more glaring crow stickers*

Solomon: I think it has to do with MC's little "vacation" with Diavolo.

Thirteen: When did THIS happen?

MC: We just got back from it. Diavolo needed some time away after the Kingsblood Crucible and invited me to go with him.

Barbatos: *string of rolling eye emojis*

Thirteen: OH!

Thirteen: Are you JEALOUS, Barbs?

Barbatos: Don't call me Barbs.

Barbatos: And I'm not jealous of them taking a break. The prince is still young and doesn't feel as tied to the castle as I do.

Solomon: Except it's not the fact that they took a break, but rather WHAT they did during it that has you upset.

Barbatos: *more glaring crow stickers*

MC: Look, it was bound to happen eventually. We'd exhausted pretty much all other topics of conversation.

Barbatos: That's not helping, MC.

Thirteen: Wait.

Thirteen: Did you and Diavolo fuck??

MC: *blushing emoji*

Thirteen: WOW. You go, MC!

Barbatos: *yet another glaring crow sticker*

Thirteen: Oh, calm down, Barbs. If ANYONE has a right to be upset about this, it's Solomon. MC's not even FROM this timeline.

Solomon: I mean, I got together with Asmo while they were gone, so I really don't have much room to judge.

MC: So THAT's why you smelt like a bottle of perfume got dumped all over you. Asmo's quite flowery.

Barbatos: Listen, I don't know how I've might have reacted in their time. Perhaps I'd be a lot calmer. Maybe have more control over my emotions.

Barbatos: I apologize, MC, but there's a large part of me that feels like you should be mine and mine alone. Our own little escapade has only intensified these feelings towards you, and I really have no idea why.

Solomon: It's their innocence.

MC: Seriously, Solomon?

Solomon: What? I'm merely answering his question.

Solomon: To a certain extent, each of us is drawn to it, and when we finally get a taste...well, one serving isn't NEARLY enough. We want more. And more. And more.

MC: *a string of blushing emojis*

Thirteen: Is this a thing back home?

Solomon: Yes.

Solomon: And we're so good that it's made MC crazy for us, too.

MC: Solomon.

Solomon: If only you'd known them more, Thirteen. I'm sure MC would have fantasized about you just as much as the rest of us.

MC: SOLOMON!

Thirteen: Well, this is a FAR cry from the Solomon I first met. The sad little boy locked in the basement of his own home would NEVER take pleasure in embarrassing someone like this.

MC: Hold up. You were locked in the basement???

Solomon: Great. Thanks a lot, Thirteen. *glaring emoji*

Thirteen: First of all, you should know better than to push someone's buttons around me. Secondly, if you're as fond of MC as you say you are, you're going to have to tell them this stuff eventually.

Thirteen: Or do you not trust them?

Barbatos: That's enough, Thirteen.

Thirteen: Oh, so it's okay for you to throw a hissy fit over MC's sex life and Solomon to fluster them about it, but the minute I try to change the subject, I'M the bad guy?

Thirteen: Then again, I don't even know why I'm surprised. You've always coddled him, allowing him to do whatever he wanted even if it was stupid and life-threatening.

Barbatos: He needed to learn somehow.

Thirteen: Right. You TOTALLY weren't taking advantage of Solomon's situation to push your own agenda on him.

MC: *whistling crow sticker*

Solomon: Ignore them. They'll be arguing for a while.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me mc #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me thirteen #in some ways #thirteen and barbatos are like solomon's adopted parents #although they'll both deny it if anyone ever suggests that in front of them

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vaguelyapeanutbutterandjelly · 1 year ago

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Can you do a fic where the team gets back from a really stressful mission and M reader had messed up during the mission and when he got back started crying in his room and then price walked in and sat him on his lap and rocked him until he stopped crying (my daddy issues are acting up sorry, also can I be like 🕷️ anon it’s ok if your not doing that tho)

Price x Male!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Soap getting shot and Gaz having a concussion,

A/N: Spider anon!!!! (Que me getting unreasonably excited over having an emoji anon person, yes please I'd love that.) I

There were days where everything went just right. Missions gone as planned, everyone making it out unscathed and in a good mood. Today was not one of those days. In fact, it seemed like it was doing its best job to be the direct opposite. It was a high risk mission, infiltrating an infamous cartel's main base of operation for crucial information. Your job was to get in and get out with the info, to be long gone before they even suspected something was wrong

But instead, you tripped on air and subsequently alerted the entire compound to the task forces presence. Starting a fire fight that ended up with Soap shot in the leg and Gaz with a concussion. It was pure luck that the bullet missed the Scotts arteries by a inch. You'd ended up with the information, sure, it was enough to make Laswells job 10 times easier. But that didn't stop the ache in your chest when you saw Soap leaning on Ghost. Hobbling into his seat on the evac heli. Sitting down in your own seat, you barely managed to keep yourself from crying then and there. Tears threatened to spill as you re-playing the mission, and more importantly what you did to mess it up, the entire ride. Too focused on the mistakes to notice Price glancing over at you. His normally hard gaze softened as he gazed at you.

When the helicopter landed, you were the first to get up and hurriedly walked off. Each second you sped up as you got closer to your room. Your chest was beginning to get uncomfortably tight and your breathing became unsteady. Rushing into your room, you quickly and not-so-carefully closed the door behind you. Everything coming to a stand still as you stood in the entrance of your room. It was dark, everything was as you left it, it was peaceful. Finally a tear fell, a choked sob escaped your lips as tears started to cascade down your face. Finally alone, adrenaline worn off, and exhausted from being shot at only intensified the hurricane of emotions you were feeling. Breathing unsteady as you ripped off the various straps and holsters on your body, discarding the gear onto your floor. Sitting down on your bed it felt like an endless loop of analyzing what went wrong and your brain tormenting you for it. How their injuries were avoidable, you barley even registered Price entering the room. He knew from the look he got of you on the helicopter that something was wrong. The way your body was stiff in the seat and your eyes were unfocused the entire flight made his heart ache. Price hoped that you'd come to him for it, to talk or to just distress and calm down after the hectic mission. But his plans changed when you all but sprinted off the evac helicopter. Price had followed after you, standing on the other side of your door thinking about what he'd say to you before he heard your sobbing. Price's heart shattered as he looked down at you on your bed, "Oh, love..." He cooed, closing the door behind him so that no one could walk past and see you so vulnerable. Finally your head snapped up to look up at him, your eyes meeting his jaded blue ones. They softened when you looked at him, filled with a love that he only held for you. Price took a step forward, whispering a small "Can I sit?", waiting for your shakey nod before plopping himself down next to you. Tears still poured down your face as you sat sit by side, the quiet only disturbed by your occasional sniffles. Price turned to you slowly, "Do you want me to rock you, baby boy? You don't have to say yes." He whispered slowly, making sure that he gave you a out in case you'd rather not be touched. "Yes please." You sniffled, turning to climb into Price lap. His carefully toned arms helping to guild you into a comfortable position for the both of you. Free of guns and gear your bodies fit together perfectly, like a carefully crafted puzzle. Carefully putting a warm hand on the back of your head, Price guided your head into the crook of his neck. Allowing you to settle before the other came to rub along your back. Slowly rubbing up and down as the pleasant warmth he naturally emitted seeped into your skin. Making sure you were comfortable Price began to slowly rock. Holding you close to himself as he swayed back and fourth on the bed. Allowing you to cry into his shoulder as he calmly rocked you, he placed a kiss on the crown of your head. "Take as long as you need, love. I'll be here as long as you'll have me" Price hummed into the top of your head. ----------------------------------------------------

A/N 2.0: I'm a little nervous since this is my first fic fic on this account, and I'm kinda rusty so I hope I did well :D Thanks for reading :>

#cod x male reader #john price x male reader #price x male reader #price cod #price mw2

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