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desertduality · 8 months

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gigs phasmo but the ghost is just confused mumbo jumbo

physically unable to write a snippet so here's a whole oneshot AKJSDKJ I hope you like it!! Personally I had a ton of fun lmao

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The house was nice, as far as haunted locations went. The flowers out front were dead, sure, but that was probably on account of their caretaker being dead as well.

The neighbors had been the ones to call this address in, claiming that although the owner of the property had died quite some months ago, lights frequently turned on and off in the house. The police had been by several times to check for intruders, and had come up empty every time. Finally, some desperate neighbor had given in and called paranormal investigators.

So there they were, Impulse pulling up on the curb just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Prime ghost hunting time, for some reason; Scar hadn’t really paid attention to the science and research when he’d signed up for the job. Besides, the other three had all that handled quite nicely. Scar was just along for the ride.

“Scar, you know what you’re doing?” Impulse asked, grabbing a flashlight off the wall and clipping his walkie onto his belt.

“Sir, yes sir!” Scar quipped, scanning the gear for his usual fare. “One paraba-dolical microphone coming up.”

“Grab a thermometer, too,” Impulse suggested, clapping him on the shoulder on his way out of the van. “Let’s try to keep this one clean! The company is running low on cursed items with resurrection abilities.”

“I know for a fact we’ve made the biggest dent in that,” Skizz’s voice crackled out of the walkie, changing to a slight echo as he presumably walked in the house.

“Why do you sound proud of that?” Grian asked, speaking into the radio as he grabbed a salt canister. Scar snickered, reaching over him to grab the thermometer.

“We’ve got a record going, man! No one can stop us!”

“You have to admire his positivity,” Scar said brightly, clicking his flashlight to make sure it worked.

“Yeah, I guess he’s got that going for him,” Grian replied, giving a short wave as he left the van. “See you on the inside, Scar.”

Scar gave a jaunty wave, doing one last check on his equipment before starting after him. A voice cut him off before he could leave.

“Did anyone check the name?” Impulse asked, and Scar turned around to squint at the corkboard, eyes catching on the top.

Huh. Interesting.

Scar clicked the talk button on his walkie. “Looks like… Mumbo Jumbo?”

There was a long pause, and Scar almost thought they had missed it somehow. Then the response came.

“Scar,” Grian said, sounding tiredly amused. “If you can’t pronounce it, don’t just make something up.”

“No, It— It literally says Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar replied, glancing up to double check. “Don’t make me waste a photo to prove it. I will, you know I will.”

“Don’t, Scar,” Impulse jumped in, so quickly that the start of his sentence cut out. “We believe you.”

“Get in here before I come and drag you, Face,” Skizz chimed in, and Scar rolled his eyes with a chuckle, stepping out of the van.

The house was warmer than the air outside, so Scar took that as a sign that someone had gotten to the fuse box. He wandered around with the paradabolic microphone for a few minutes, watching closely for big leaps in the readings. Eventually, Impulse called out from upstairs, claiming that he’d found the room. Scar hurried towards him, making it there just in time to watch him set up the video camera, fiddling with the tripod and muttering complaints about its stability.

The room was a bedroom, a large bed against one wall and a shelf full of dead plants on the other. Everything was covered with a thin layer of dust, but that was pretty usual. Obviously no one had been keeping up with the cleaning.

“Anyone done spirit box?” Grian asked, and Scar jumped and whirled around, finding him in the doorway. Grian giggled, and Scar huffed.

“Not yet,” Impulse said, finally getting the tripod to settle. He looked over at them. “Want us to leave?”

“Not really,” Grian grumbled, starting to power up the spirit box. “But yes.”

Scar walked out of the door and Impulse followed him, closing it and leaving Grian in the room alone. Immediately, they heard the telltale singing introduction of Grian beginning to ask questions. The rest of the house was quiet. So far, everything had been entirely unremarkable.

“I’m going to go grab D.O.T.S and a book,” Impulse spoke suddenly, starting to walk away. “Maybe you could start grabbing some stuff for a polty pile?”

“Sure, will do,” Scar said, and started picking up objects from the table in the hallway. A lot of picture frames and spare wires, for whatever reason.

Grian opened the door to the room just as Scar arrived with his arms full, and Scar tilted his head at the odd look on the other’s face. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was wearing a faint frown.

“What’s wrong?” Scar asked, curious. Normally, Grian came out of a spirit box session with wide eyes and immediately ran to the van. This was out of character.

“I think…” Grian started, contemplative frown getting more pronounced. “I think the ghost apologized to me.”

“...huh?”

“I asked where it was,” Grian said, spirit box slack in his hand. “And then it said something, and then I screamed, and then it— I could have sworn it said sorry. Like, for scaring me.”

“Oh,” Scar said, tilting his head. “Has that happened before?”

Grian shook his head slowly, staring at the spirit box for a minute before exhaling forcefully. “Let’s just keep going,” he said, shoving the device in his pocket. “We still have a job to do.” Then, into his walkie: “We’ve got spirit box, guys. One thing down.”

They kept doing their jobs like they normally would, but none of them could quite shake the sense of something being different.

Usually, the haunted locations they visited had a foreboding sort of feeling to them. They get in and out of those places as soon as possible, the feeling of imminent danger settling on their shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was none of that, here. It was obviously haunted, but it still just felt like... a house. It didn’t feel malicious at all.

Impulse put a book down, and writing appeared a few minutes later. Just a single sentence, asking if they would water the plants on their way out.

They laid down D.O.T.S and stayed out in the van for a while, eventually seeing a tall, hazy figure pass quickly through.

They caught ghost orbs on the video surveillance.

Impulse took the Ultraviolet flashlight and found fingerprints on the side of the video camera, like the ghost had been curious about it.

The salt Grian had placed on the ground was smeared and scattered, almost as if the ghost had slipped on it instead of stepped in it.

“If we discovered some new type of ghost,” Grian said eventually, muffled through his own hands covering his face, after hours of pouring over the conflicting evidence. “I am going to be upset.”

“None of this makes sense!” Impulse complained, flipping through the research journal that Scar had never touched. He was scowling at the pages like they’d personally offended him. “It won’t even hunt!”

“He seems kinda friendly,” Scar said, staring at the steady line of the EMF reader on the screen. “The poor guy just wants his plants watered. I don’t even have the heart to tell him that it probably wouldn’t help. Those things are dead dead.”

Impulse’s head thunked down on the table in front of him. “We’re so fired.”

In the silence following that statement, Skizz burst into the van, holding an object aloft in celebration.

“I found it!” Skizz yelled triumphantly, the wrinkly figure of the monkey paw clutched in his hand. “It fell behind some boxes. I told you it was here.”

“Oooh,” Scar said, rushing over in excitement. “What should we wish for?”

“A quick death?” Grian said flatly.

Scar waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve had too many of those. It gets kind of boring, believe it or not.”

“Let’s just wish to see it,” Impulse said, heaving himself up from his hunched position by the monitor. “We’ve done everything else we could do, let’s just do it.”

“Sure, why not,” Grian said, shrugging. “Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Skizz laughed, and together the four of them marched back into the house.

The room was exactly as they’d left it, and Impulse took a moment to turn off the D.O.T.S. Then they stood in a loose circle, tense and determined. Whatever was happening here, it would be over soon. One way or the other. Maybe the company wouldn’t even bother to bring them back, this time.

Skizz held the monkey paw aloft, dim light casting dramatic shadows on his face. “I wish to see the ghost!”

A finger on the monkey paw cracked and groaned as it bent down, and a chill swept across the room, quick and encompassing. Their flashlights flickered, and then died, leaving them in complete darkness. For a long moment, the only sound was their chorus of quick and shaky breathing.

When the lights turned back on, Scar was face to face with a ghost. A ghost that looked equally as startled as he was.

Scar yelped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the open book on the ground and hurtling towards the bed. The ghost — a tall man with dark hair and an absolutely wonderful mustache — lunged forward and reached out as if to catch him, eyes wide and panicked. To be fair to the dead man, it absolutely would have worked if his hands were still a tangible thing; As it were, his attempt at grabbing Scar to keep him upright was rather rudely foiled by his outstretched hand passing right through Scar’s flailing arm.

Scar hit the bed with a grunt as various cries of alarm sounded out around him, light bouncing around the room haphazardly as the sound of clattering reached his ears; someone had dropped their flashlight, apparently. Scar laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling, dazed.

“Oh gosh! I’m so— I didn’t mean to pop in like that, I—”

Scar looked up just in time to watch a crucifix fly through the air and pass harmlessly through the ghost’s head, hitting the wall with a thud and falling gracelessly to the floor. The ghost yelped and ducked — much too late, not that it mattered, anyway — and Scar’s gaze next landed on Grian, still standing there with his arm extended in a throwing motion, hand empty and eyes wide.

“What was that gonna do, G?!” Skizz asked hysterically, fumbling for his camera, accidentally snapping a picture of his own face and swearing when the light blinded him.

Impulse had knocked over the tripod in all of the chaos, and was now frantically attempting to set it back upright. The ghost — Mumbo Jumbo — turned his anxious eyes on Scar, who for once was struck speechless, jaw slack.

“Are you alright, mate?” Mumbo Jumbo asked, hands fidgeting together. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but— Well, you summoned me. There’s only so much to be done for that.”

With everyone else still scrambling about the room, Scar allowed himself a few seconds to process things. Most ghosts they’d come across — all of them, actually — had been nothing less than murderous and bloodthirsty. The cordial ghost of a perfectly normal man was not something they had been trained for, but that didn’t exactly mean that it was impossible. Sure, maybe it had come way, way out of left field, but Scar prided himself on rolling with the punches. He pushed himself up from the bed with a sheepish, charming smile.

“It’s all good,” Scar said, bright and friendly. “For sure our fault, we summoned you and got surprised when you showed up. Kind of rude of us, I think. Your mattress is super comfortable, by the way.”

Mumbo Jumbo blinked, as if surprised by the onslaught of words, a confused little furrow appearing between his brows. “Thank you?” he said, glancing behind him at the bed. “It was…expensive.”

“I mean, hey! We spend a lot of our lifetime in a bed, right? Might as well shell out some cash for quality.”

“What are we doing?” Grian asked quickly, almost like he was talking to himself, hands pressed to his head in utter bafflement. “This is insane, what is happening.”

“Grian! Don’t be rude,” Scar admonished playfully, then turned back to grin at the ghost. “Mumbo Jumbo, right?”

The man nodded faintly. “Just…Mumbo is fine.”

“Sweet! I’m Scar,” Scar said, and then started pointing to his friends, all standing stock still in various stages of shock and confusion. “The rude one who throws stuff is Grian, that’s Impulse by the window, and over there is Skizz!”

“Nice to meet you?” Mumbo said, glancing around nervously. “I would offer to shake your hand, but…”

“God, this is weird,” Skizz blurted, eyes still wide but starting to relax his stance. “You do know you’re dead, right? We never actually get to ask any of the ghosts we meet.”

“Oh, I— Yeah, I’m well aware,” Mumbo said, laughing a little. “You’ve met other ghosts, then?”

“We’re ghost hunters,” Impulse said, and now that the shock was fading, Scar could see a spark of excitement in his eyes. “But I mean— We’ve never met any like you.”

“Mostly they want to kill us,” Grian said, stepping up next to Scar. “Are you sure you don’t want to kill us?”

“I don’t think I know how, much less want to,” Mumbo said, glancing out the window. “Did someone call you to find me? I’ve been trying not to scare anyone, but I suppose the lights might’ve done me in.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much what tipped them off,” Scar said apologetically. “A few too many weird things happen and boom, here we are.”

“What happens now?” Mumbo asked, chuckling nervously. “I mean, you found me. Job done, yeah?”

“Usually we figure out what type of ghost it is and the company sends out a specialized team to evict it,” Impulse answered, brow pinched in thought. “But normally that’s for safety reasons. You don’t seem like a threat. No offense.”

“Oh, none taken.”

“Can I ask how you died?” Skizz asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Skizz,” Grian hissed. “You can’t just ask people how they died!”

“I was just wondering!”

“No, it’s— it’s fine,” Mumbo stuttered, and Scar had a feeling that if ghosts could blush, he would be doing it. “I… fell down the stairs.”

Scar nodded solemnly. “Could have happened to anyone.”

“So what are we actually going to do about this?” Grian asked, vaguely gesturing at the room. ��It feels like it would be wrong to kick this guy out of his own house. He’s not really causing trouble.”

“Yeah, I— I do like my house,” Mumbo interjected, awkward smile on his face. “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright.”

“Someone’s bound to move in eventually, you know,” Skizz said, pitying frown on his face. “There’s already a for sale sign in the yard. The new owners might not be super ghost-friendly.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped, a dejected look on his face as he frowned at the floor. Scar felt a pang of sympathy grow in his chest, and he glanced out the window at the rows of houses down the street.

It really was quite a nice neighborhood.

“...You know,” Scar started, gaze drifting over to Grian, a slow smile forming on his face. “Our lease is almost up.”

Grian looked over at him, eyes already resigned, and sighed.

Scar laughed, grinning, and Mumbo slowly smiled back.

#this let me practice my ability to write silly fun things AKSJDKJ it was a blast actually :]#thank you for the prompt anon!! I hope i brought your vision to life aksjdk #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #grian #skizzleman #impulsesv #mumbo jumbo #my writing #writing request #now that this is finished i am going to go to bed <33 #might post this on ao3 later but rn i'm tired <3

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echoingspectrum · 9 months

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𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡: 𝑦𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒 ( 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 )

As the head alchemist of the Alchemy Commission, it is your responsibility to oversee all alchemical experiments and research conducted by the commission. This includes ensuring the safety protocols are followed, analyzing the results of experiments, and providing guidance to other alchemists.

In addition to that, you must also welcome your special guest with the utmost importance and provide for any of their needs, no matter how obscene their demand is. However, this rule only applies to one certain individual who happens to visit your work very often.

"Stay silent." A gloved hand firmly pressed against your mouth, muffling any sound that threatened to escape. The intensity in his eyes made it clear that breaking the silence was not an option.

Not that you wanted to, but the thrill of getting caught is what fueled your adrenaline. The suspense hung in the air, making every second feel like an eternity as you wondered what would happen next.

"We wouldn't want anyone from the Alchemy Commission to see their precious head alchemist be seen as so obscene, do you~?" His voice oozed with a mix of menace and amusement, sending shivers down your spine.

You could only imagine the consequences if anyone discovered the head alchemist engaging in such forbidden activities. As you stared into his piercing eyes, you couldn't help but wonder how this would play out.

His hand slowly glides to your clothed breast, fondling it ever so gently, like he were holding a fragile piece of glass that is real and emanating comfort heat. As his other hand descends to your lower flower.

Fiddling with your bottoms till it dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Nimbling fingers went to the wet patch of your inner thighs, tracing delicate patterns that sent electric waves of pleasure through your body.

Muffled moans escaped your lips as he skillfully played with the base of your cunt. Giving your clit a squeeze and caress, he expertly applies just the right amount of pressure, causing a surge of intense pleasure to course through you.

Your body trembles in response as his touch becomes more insistent and his fingers explore every inch of your sensitive folds. Each stroke sends you deeper into a state of bliss, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Especially while wearing his gloves. The rough texture of the material adds an extra layer of sensation, intensifying every touch and stroke.

"Aeons, you're soaked. Have you actually been waiting for this?" he whispers, his voice husky with desire.

You blush, unable to deny the truth, as your body betrays you. Protesting won't help as your overwhelming desires accumulate. Your whole stature is trembling with anticipation, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

"F-Fuck!" You stumble back against his chest, his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispered words of desire.

The anticipation builds as his hands continue their exploration, teasing and tantalizing every part of you.

You can't help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him, yearning for the ultimate release that only he can provide.

Teasing it forth and back till it slid inside of you with ease, as if your body complies naturally to his every command. When suddenly he thrust his fingers deeper, hitting that sweet spot that sends an electrifying sensation to your core over and over again before adding an additional digit to add even more pleasure.

"I spend my entire morning in my chambers, only thinking of how your body molds against mine," Dan Feng confessed. Glancing at him, his draconic eyes burned with a mixture of desire and adoration.

"You have bewitched me completely," he whispered, his voice husky with longing.

You would've been replying back to him with the same amount of dulcet tones if it weren't for his digits plunging into your velvety cavern, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Your ears caught the sound of your insides squelch with drips of your juice slipping out to the ground.

"D-Dan Feng⏤we shouldn't be doing this r-right now⏤ Ahh~" Your words faltered as you tried to resist the intoxicating pull between you, but the intense sensations overwhelmed your protests, concealed by the high elder's sudden passionate kiss that silenced any further objections.

Your guys' tongues danced in a wild tango, exploring each other's mouths with fervor and hunger. The taste of him mingled with the sweet sounds of your moans, creating a symphony of desire that echoed through the space.

Your legs are trembling, and your core is nearly bursting, thinking your sweet release is just within reach. The world around you fades away, as the only thing that matters is you and him.

As if pressing against you, aching to be inside. The anticipation builds, fueling the fire of your desire even more. Every touch and every kiss brings you closer to the edge of ecstasy⏤

"H-Hey!" You both suddenly break apart, startled by the unexpected interruption. Your eyes widen as you look at the High Elder himself, looking smug and amused at your half-fucked state.

His eyes were piercing through every inch of your features. The rich hue of redness painted your cheeks, your eyes heaved with desire and frustration that he could clearly see, and your wetness glazed the floor under you.

Disappointment and annoyance immediately went through your mind as you realized that the moment had been ruined. "W-Why did you⏤"

He shoved his gloved digits straight past your lips, which are coated with your sweet moisture.

"Silent," he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

The taste of your own arousal lingered on your tongue as you obediently closed your mouth but moved your tongue to clean off the excess of your wetness from his fingers. The interruption left you frustrated and curious about what he had in store for you next.

"We'll be finishing this at my chambers. You can scream as loud as you wish."

#☆ echoing depths #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr dan heng #honkai star rail dan heng #character x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #x reader #hsr dan feng #dan feng #dan feng x reader #smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader smut #dan feng x reader smut

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teabutmakeitazure · 5 months

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Dissimulation - Continued Again

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (Modern au)

>Word Count: 9.2k

>a/n: word vomit. i love him sm and i love having him do mental gymnastics just to get the girl (to get laid) also I wrote this in numerous pieces and by the writing changes you can tell lol. copium during finals. can't believe it's almost been a whole year since this fic was first published. also, I've had the same injury described later on. it bled a lot i thought i was gonna die.

Warnings: firearms, hidden blood kink, licking (I will not elaborate) childe doesn't like pillows, read at your own discretion

Part 1 | Continuation | reason why Childe #1 husband

Childe is waiting in the car.

That’s the thought that keeps repeating in your head. Honestly, it’s your fault. You insisted he not come with you inside, even going as far as getting mad at him when he initially refused. It’s only fair that you suffer the consequences of your actions.

You can still feel the muzzle of the revolver despite the layer of cloth separating it from your spine. How do you know it’s a revolver? Well, the bastard spun it before pressing it to your lower back. You’ve played enough video games to know what that sound belongs to.

“Stop walking so slow. Move it.”

You internally scoff at his words. If you move any faster, it’ll just be more suspicious. Well, good for you. If it’s suspicious then there’s a higher chance someone might intervene.

“To the right, right there.”

You do as he says. It’s not very tempting to disobey when there’s a loaded gun on your back. The man leads you down a small alleyway away from the hustle of the outdoor market. It’s dark, and there’s a pipe leaking somewhere. This is when dread really settles in, but you put on a brave face despite your trembling lip.

You hear the man click his tongue before ordering you to stop walking. The muzzle is still pressed to your spine, and he pulls out his phone with his free hand to call someone. “I got the girl here, so now you do your part.” Someone speaks on the other side, angering him. “You’re being delusional! This is the perfect chance,” he whisper-yells. “I got the girl here, so if things go bad, I shoot. We’ll at least do some damage.”

Shoot…? What the fuck did you get yourself into?

“The next time you call me back, it better be because the bastard’s dead or he’s given up.” With that, he angrily hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. You’re left facing the dead end of the alleyway, your captor behind you with his back to the only exit and entrance. “So,” he starts, “where did you first meet him?”

You decide to test the waters. From what you gathered so far, you are valuable until the other guy fails in what he’s supposed to do (which you have no clue of). “Me?” You feign innocence. “Meet who?”

He presses the muzzle even harder into you, making you stumble a step forward. “Don’t play dumb with me. Even if I kill you right now, it won’t affect anything. So tell me, where did you first meet him?”

You gulp nervously, heart beating in your throat. “T-the convenience store. It was a random occurrence.”

“And you knew who he was?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Hah. Stupid girl. Do you not know you’re the one usually targeted when he makes enemies? That you’re the face that comes up when he pisses someone off?”

Gaze dropping to the ground, you can’t help but think of all the kind things he’s done for you so far as you answer. “I had no choice.”

He clicks his tongue. “What, so he forced you to be his girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend…”

“So you’re just a pretty lady he keeps around?” Amusement is evident in his tone. He’s messing with you before he kills you. “Considering how expensive it was to find out about you, you’re damn special. If there’s one thing I know about Tartaglia, it’s that he’s not the type to keep a girl around for nothing or just her body. And that’s precisely why you’re in this situation.”

If you’re going to die anyway, you might as well say it. Ah, sorry mama. Couldn’t help it. “You think I’m pretty?”

Surprisingly, he takes it well. “I won’t deny you have a pretty face. I can see why he’d go to lengths to keep you a secret, but nothing can be hidden forever. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt your face when I kill you.”

Great. Now there’s stinging behind your eyes. This really is it. Maybe you should’ve told your parents you love them last night. Shit, is this really the end? So much for wanting to buy a birthday present from the market. Now you won’t live to see your next birthday.

The man groans out of annoyance, hand diving into his pocket to fish out his phone. “How long is he going to take…” You can hear him aggressively tapping at the device, and you wait for him to start whisper-yelling on the phone again but all that comes is the muzzle being removed from your back as something loudly whizzes through the air, and he lets out a silent cry of pain.

Something behind you falls to the ground with a thud, and judging how his voice seems to come from elsewhere, he’s the one who fell. “No, don’t come closer. I’ll shoot! I swear I will!”

You stay still, unknowing of what’s going on. Panic overtakes your senses, and your hands start trembling as you start feeling sick. Your body is going into fight or flight, and you really want it to choose flight. As you bring your trembling hands up into your view, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“[Name], darling. Stay as you are. Don’t turn around.”

You freeze at Childe's words, immediately pressing your palms to your ears to block out some sound only to end up making it slightly muffled. The man is spewing profanities at him, trying to get on his nerves. “You scared of your toy dying? Is that why you’re here? Or maybe you were scared we’d take your little toy away from you? Do all the things to her you do but worse?”

Footsteps lightly grow closer, likely stopping by the man writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. Something clatters to the side, presumably the revolver he may have been pointing at Childe. When Childe speaks, his voice is laced with venom. “The girl is mine.” The man grunts, and Childe continues. “You have no idea how badly you’ve set me off. You better start praying to whatever you believe in.”

You cringe when you hear Childe kick him, heart beating even faster than before. Nausea tugs at you, making your eyes lose focus as you resist the urge to throw up or fall to your knees. Hands are still pressed to your ears when a body comes to stand behind you, yet it’s when arms wrap around you that you horribly flinch and move to elbow whoever it is, hyperventilating as you struggle to be freed.

However, Childe’s voice whispers in your ear, instantly making you relax. “It’s me.”

You are way too panicked to say anything useful. “Yes. Alright. It’s you. Not anyone else. Okay. Okay.”

One of his hands moves to cover your eyes, and he instructs you to keep them closed as he leads you out. The other hand is on your shoulder, and when you are away from the alley, he uncovers your eyes. Childe leads you to the market, stopping when you both enter its busy environment. He pulls out his phone, presses it to his ear without even dialling or accepting any call and hastily spews out the location of where you were earlier, firmly telling whoever it is on the other side to ‘deal with it’.

Nausea still stirs inside you, making you sick. You can feel the ghost of the muzzle pressing against you, and although you weren’t so horrified by it when it was actually happening, you are now.

Once again, Childe’s attention is back on you. His eyes focus on you solely, forgetting the busy environment around him and forgetting the issue he was addressing on the phone. He looks… concerned. Like a mother hovering over her child, he grabs your face with both hands, turning it side to side and carefully eyeing your features. He then pulls you into a hug, but you are too busy hearing your heartbeat in your ears to reciprocate and simply hide your face in his jacket instead.

“I’m so relieved,” he whispers. “Did he say anything to you? Hurt you? Touch you?”

After a shaky inhale, you focus your gaze on a random light source, willing away the sickness in your stomach. “No. Just a gun to my back. That’s it.”

“I am so sorry.”

Unfortunately, the nausea does not relent. “It’s fine.”

He holds you tighter. “It’s not fine. You were in danger.”

Though his warmth is comforting, you cannot move to hold him back. You can taste bile in your mouth, and you start profusely swallowing, yet Childe continues voicing his regrets. “I should have come with you. I shouldn’t have listened to you-”

Your voice shakes when you interject, the fear of what else might go wrong in public. “Quiet, please. I’ll throw up.” Your request is met with him gently rubbing your back, ignoring any glances from onlookers. When he feels that you are somewhat calm, you are led back to the car, the air conditioning turned on and your seat reclined as you cover your eyes with your forearm.

You don’t know why you feel sick and you don’t know why you keep thinking of a bleeding wound, infected and deep enough to show muscle and sinew. Worst of all, you don’t know what you should do now. Should you just ask to go home? Should you go back in? Get what you came here for?

Maybe you’ll come back later, with Childe. There’s still some time in your friend’s birthday and you can get her something later or make something instead. Yeah. That sounds right.

“Feeling any better?”

Your companion’s question makes you grumble. There are so many things that go wrong these days. Your relationship with him seems to loom over you like a raincloud wherever you go. Always accompanying you like a blight on your existence. It also does not help that information about you had initially come to light because he bought the house you both currently live in a week before you made that deal with him.

You still remember that conversation in great detail. When you had finally got to the airport, what waited for you when you came back haunted you throughout the journey. This arrangement isn’t something you were looking forward to. Remaining a student on a tight budget who eats instant ramen half the time for dinner would have been more preferable.

“Is there any way I can help? Do you need anything?” Childe voices more questions, but this time you don’t feel annoyed at him. If anything, you should be thankful. Sure, that occurred because of him, but he did save you.

Hand reaching to set the seat upright, you mentally go over the words you want to say. Now facing him, Childe gives you a curious look before you speak, the edges of your lips already stuck together. “I’m sorry.” He looks taken aback, but you continue. “I’ll… I’ll listen to you next time. And thank you for saving me. I had already said my prayers and apologised to my parents in my head, so thank you for letting that go to waste. I would rather it not be useful.”

Childe blinks. With a chuckle, he smiles, giving you that typical lovestruck expression he has when you do something he finds endearing. “And I personally wouldn’t know how to break it to your parents. Not after your mom asked me to look out for you.” The reminder leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, yet Childe still has something to say. “Of course. You don’t ever need to thank me. As long as you’re mine, alive and healthy, I don’t need anything else.”

The confession makes your eyes widen, and when you open your mouth to question his words, he cuts you off. “Do you want to get what you came here for or do you want to go home?”

“Home,” you reply immediately.

He nods, a hand reaching over to grab your seat belt. The action makes your heart skip a beat - “out of surprise,” you tell yourself - yet Childe does not mind. He fastens his own seat belt after yours and promptly moves to reverse the car out of the parking lot.

It is halfway through the way that you voice your thoughts, and Childe seems to hesitate.

“We have snacks at home,” he says.

Him and his healthy habits be damned. “You mean fruits. I don’t want fruits.”

“They’re healthy. You need nourishment.”

“What am I? A plant?”

Childe holds in a laugh with an awkward cough, a smile still there. “No, but you are a very dear person. I’ll cut some apples into bunny shapes, and we can eat the oranges I got yesterday. I’ll peel them for you, like always.”

Unfortunately for him, you do not yield, even going as far as to use his name since it usually makes him more submissive. “Ajax, I almost died tonight. I would like to be able to binge eat a bag of chips as I ease my worries.”

He negotiates again, albeit weakly. “Darling, you have a habit of stress eating. I know you can’t help it, but I just want to make sure you’re at least eating things that are good for you.”

“A bag of chips just this once wouldn’t hurt.”

You can see the gears turning in his head, and with a sigh, he concedes. “Fine. But only because you want to and have been eating well without complaints these past few weeks.”

The words seem like a parent pointing out a child on their diet, gentle yet still delivering the message. Despite everything, you would never admit that ever since he started butting into what you eat, your skin doesn’t break out as much and you’re almost always hydrated. He doesn’t need to hear the positive effects his presence has on your life from your own mouth. And he sure as hell doesn’t need to know that his hydration checks throughout the day are the reason why you drink water.

Yesterday, Chil- Ajax asked you something you could not say no to.

You keep justifying your acceptance with it being a sort of payback for him saving your life the other day even though you know you’re scared of saying no to him. Or maybe you just wanted to repay his kindness. It’s not like you asked for his kindness, but he is giving it to you. Goodness, the way he looks at you sometimes when you talk is just… if you didn’t know any better, you’d describe it as creepy.

But it isn’t. It isn’t creepy because the amount of genuine love in his eyes is just ridiculous. How can someone look at a person with so much love knowing they don’t reciprocate to that intensity? How can they be okay with that? You know Ajax is absolutely, positively in love with you. There’s no doubt about it.

You know so much about his family, and he’s always finding an excuse to talk to you. He asks you to talk to him because he likes your voice, and he sometimes stays in the room while you talk to your parents because he wants to see you be carefree in conversation.

He always gets you what you want without you knowing. Heck, he even gave you a credit card linked to his account! You don’t use it, but he gave it to you.

Back to the topic. You’re going out for dinner with him tonight as a date. You both leave at 7: 15 pm on the dot, and it is currently 6. You are freaking out currently too because what did you willingly agree to?

You know that bastard has been locked away in his room for over an hour now. You know he was giddy ever since he got home way too early today because of your evening plans. He’s way too obvious. And desperate. He’s also getting desperate.

There haven't been any romantic advancements in your relationship. You’ve just fallen into a casual routine at this point, and you aren’t bothered when he is there on your bed at any time you turn to look at it, even if you left the door closed. He cooks for you most of the time, and sometimes you mend his clothes so that he doesn’t buy new ones while completely ignoring the magical appearance of a shit load of sewing materials after the first time you did it.

It’s all gotten normal at this point. Seeing his credit card in your wallet every single time you open it, having to look at his mask sitting on a side table in the living room, watching him remove the dual pistols strapped to his body when he gets home, and much more. It’s all normal now. You’re used to it.

Yet your nerves are about to burst because you’re going out for dinner with him in an hour.

Honestly, after the dinner where he licked blood off your finger, you haven’t gone out for food with him since. You mostly eat at home, but the most you guys have done is takeout.

Anyway, what do you do? You don’t want to try hard lest unforeseen and unwanted developments occur, yet you also don’t want to not try at all because it might sour his mood. The latter is unpreferable simply because you can’t bear to see him sad. Maybe you’ll put in a little effort. Not too much but a little.

Had Ajax not been in the mafia, you would have already accepted him. You know you’re delaying the inevitable, that he will get what he wants, but you still can’t help it. Your conscience weighs you down. His identity ties you close to hesitance and denial.

Nevertheless, here you are, a cream coloured maxi skirt flowing till your ankles and a dusty pink blouse with bishop sleeves. You can’t believe you actually wore this. Ajax was the one who gifted the blouse to you, saying something like the colour being nice and wanting to see you wear it.

Well. He’ll get his wish now.

After at least five consecutive minutes of staring into the mirror, you finally decide to put on some makeup. Nothing too much. A simple mascara, blush, and lipstick after whatever you ended up putting on your skin first.

Great! Now, shoes. Shoes…

You fish out a pair of nude sandals with a pointed tip and a one inch heel. Perfect. Seems like your mother giving you her old sandals came in handy. After checking if they fit, you take a look at the clock. There’s still twenty minutes till the clock strikes 7.

Twenty minutes of agony as nerves eat you from the inside.

Right at 7:02 pm, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. Shaking hands unlock the door, opening it to nervously meet eyes with your lovely housemate. He stands on the other side, hair parted in the middle as best it could be. One side is tucked behind his ear while the other hangs on his face, framing his jawline perfectly.

You take note of the black dress shirt and black pants. The sleeves are rolled up and his earring is still there. Also, why is his shirt so fitted? You know he’s ripped. He doesn’t have to rub it in.

“You wore the shirt,” he breathes out.

“It’s a blouse,” you correct.

“Beautiful.”

The way his eyes seem to look you over in awe makes your cheeks heat up. With an awkward clear of your throat, you snap his attention back to your face. “Didn’t you say you made a reservation?”

Ajax perks up at that. “Right! We should leave soon.”

You are then left to grab your bag and sandals while he goes to fish out his car keys and wallet. When you’re seated in the living room, trying to fasten the little buckle on the sandals, Ajax is wistfully staring at you from the kitchen, cheek resting in his palm.

“We would make a cute couple.” A sigh and he looks at your feet, silently wishing you’d ask for his help with it instead. “Do you… need help with that?”

To his not so very surprise, you brush him off. “I’m fine.”

“Huh.” He asks again. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

He still wishes you would ask for his help instead. Do you not realise that he would do anything you asked him to? He would willingly get on his knees for you, hands gingerly trailing up your legs before he decides to rest one on his shoulder, the other pulling him towards you as his hand travels upwards and-

“Ajax? It’s almost 7: 15.”

He snaps out of his thoughts instantly. You’re standing near the door now, head tilted in that cute way he adores as you curiously look at him. A hand quickly flicks the kitchen light off as he walks towards the door. This is going to be another test of his patience. He knows it. He just hopes you don’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight.

“I don’t get it.”

Childe looks at you curiously only to find you glaring at the open menu. “I don’t know what to get,” you say. “Can you order for me? Whatever you think is good here. You know the stuff I like and don’t like, so I trust you.”

The explicit trust makes him smile. As per your request, Childe orders for you, but it’s something different than his own so that you can try both things. If you like the food, he might even take you out more often. Eating out once in a while shouldn’t hurt. Not if he’s with you.

As he leans back in his seat, he finds you playing with the buttons on your sleeve. Childe hastily utilises the opportunity to scan the indoors, eyes quickly flitting over every single person present. None have noticed either of you, and none seem to be looking at you. Good.

A quiet ding sounds from your phone, the screen turning on for a few moments. You reach for it instantly, but Childe is quicker, his hand covering the device before you could grab it. You obviously look nervous because of the action, but he gives you a small smile.

“No phone while we’re out eating.” The expression on your face doesn’t change, so he adds in something else. “Please?”

You capitulate instantly, and he pulls the device closer to himself with a playful smile. He now has all your attention for this evening dinner. If Childe plays his cards right, he could monopolise this opportunity and possibly convince you more to actually go out with him. Or let him put a ring on your finger. Whichever you’d prefer.

But first…

“I wish we could’ve stayed home instead,” he sighs.

You raise a brow at his expression, simultaneously wondering why he’s looking at you so wistfully here of all places. “Why? Didn’t you want to go out for dinner? You were looking forward to this.”

“Yes but-” He bites his lip for a moment. He isn’t lying. He’s being completely honest, but it still feels a bit weird to be admitting it directly to you. “But… you look so pretty and I don’t like knowing that other people can see you when you look so beautiful.”

It’s the truth. He doesn’t like knowing that anyone and everyone here has access to your existence. That they can simply turn their head and look at you in that skirt. He doesn’t care if it’s till your ankles. You look absolutely enchanting. Childe hates it that anyone can see your collar bones and your curious expression and the way you’re tilting your head at him and the way you’ve started fidgeting with your sleeve already.

All these lovely things about you are supposed to be for him only.

But they aren’t.

And he hates that.

“Hey. Eyes up here.”

He didn’t realise he started staring at your collar bones. God, he hopes you don’t think he was staring at your chest.

“Now that you’re looking into my eyes,” you groan, “I want you to calm down.” Almost instinctively, Childe crosses his arms out of displeasure, but you are quick to cool him down. “No one is looking at me. Nothing even happened and you’re acting all jealous. Calm down.”

“I’m not acting.”

“Then stop overreacting.”

“I am definitely not overreacting.”

You give him a look, the one you usually give him when you know he is keeping something from you, but you would rather not put the effort into digging it out of him. “Right.”

Childe is quick to defend, to put out the bait in hopes you’ll take it. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful. Of course I’m going to be pressed if other people look at you and think the same.”

You sigh. “We’re only out for dinner.”

“Yes, but I just… I don’t know.” He traces the handle of the cutlery on the table, all the while ignoring how you’re still fidgeting with your sleeves. He’s making you nervous. He shouldn’t be making you nervous.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with my feelings.” Though you look like you want to say something, Childe beats you to it. “I love you, and I hope you know that I mean that word when I say it. I’m not afraid of saying the bigger word. I never will be.”

Both your hands have disappeared under the table. From the looks of it, you’re clenching them. How nervous are you? But wait. If he helps, if he shows you he can take care of you, then you might just…

Childe gently calls out your name, and you look at him with wide, innocent eyes. Poor thing. He asks you to show him your hands, and you comply. What you do not see coming is him gently grabbing the two before bringing them to cup his face. Childe especially presses the cold fingertips to his warm cheeks, effectively warming them up.

He’s thankful for reserving this relatively small table tucked away in a corner. No one can see your widened eyes and the look of adorable surprise on your face. No one.

Upon receiving no explicit refusal from your end, Childe grows bolder. The palms cupping his cheeks are each delivered a gentle kiss, and when there is no rejection, he moves lower, lips trailing to your wrists. This is when he feels the tug, the panic in the withdrawal. Your left wrist is in his mercy, soft lips tenderly pressed against your pulse, yet you tug your arm in retreat like a wounded animal.

Though it pains him, Childe lets go but only after making eye contact with you for a moment.

The face you give him is akin to one of a mixture of surprise and betrayal, and it dawns on him. This is the first time he’s touched you like this. Childe thinks he may have mixed his fantasies with reality because he did not ask for your permission for doing so. Now that he thinks about it, for a moment, he returns to the dreams and thoughts where he touches you as he pleases, and where you ask him to touch you. Where you climb onto his lap at random times of day and tell him how you are only his. How you want nothing to do with the rest of the world because he is your everything.

The only thing he wants is for those fantasies to become reality. Is that too much to ask for? Is it too selfish for him to ask that of someone so beautiful, so… heavenly?

Despite the shock on your face, you do not verbally express your thoughts. The silence is deafening. Your hands are clutched to your chest, and as the noise of the background fades into nothing but a quiet and continuous rumble, Childe’s thoughts start wandering. The first thing he wonders about is where he has to keep his eyes from straying. Your hands and your chest.

He can’t stop feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused palms. How your pulse felt under his lips. How it might taste if it bled. How warm the red might be. How red it might be.

Childe feels dirty for those thoughts, but he doesn’t care. He would gladly embrace such farcicalities if it meant you being the centre of his attention, your entire being on his mind more than his own existence. Then again, you are his life, no? Then why should he stop himself from thinking about you? Is it not wrong for a believer to not think about their worshipped deity? Likewise, it is wrong of him to forcibly shut your existence out of his wandering and lost thoughts.

Besides, the thought of you is where all his unruly and chaotic thoughts come together and finally make sense. So why should he not look at you like you were made from a piece of his ribs, fragile and the closest to his heart than anything can ever be?

“Ajax,” the name tumbles out of your mouth, and Childe feels like he can hear again. “Please stop staring like that. It’s getting creepy.”

An apology is quickly on his tongue, but you are quick to cut his words off before they can be uttered. “You’re acting a little weird.” He notices the worry on your face and the hands under the table. Childe thinks he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s selfish. Horridly so. “Are you feeling okay? We could go home right after eating if you’re not feeling too good, Ajax.”

You’re soothing him. Like how an owner soothes an unruly pet, you’re soothing him. How indulgent of you. Well, as long as you are thinking of him, he doesn’t mind playing like he’s putting the muzzle back on. You were never the one holding the leash anyway.

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Sorry. I just lost myself for a minute there. Were you saying something earlier?”

“Ah. No. Just… I was just asking if you were okay. I wasn’t saying anything earlier. Before that, I mean.”

Though tension has risen and it clearly shows in how your shoulders have stiffened, Childe cannot bring himself to mind. As long as your eyes are on him and him only, and as long as your voice graces his ears with his name, he won’t mind the discomfort in your countenance. It’s only a matter of time before you completely set aside denial.

It was halfway through dinner that you confessed telling your parents you’ll be home late tonight. This gave birth to an opportunity, and being the man that he is, Childe grabbed onto it like a desperate man. Questions were hushed and trust was exploited as Childe did what he could, what he wanted to do for so long.

The evening sea breeze never felt so good as it does now.

He stands with his arms resting on the railing, yet it feels different this time. It feels less lonely, more fulfilling, even if you both are in a secluded corner of the pier.

The lights from the opposite end of land reflects onto the water, and the smell of salt is in the air. Wind directly hits his face, hair flying back with it, but he’ll deal with the aftermath of it later. Right now, he’s waiting for you to be done with setting your hair so that he can talk to you.

You take a few more minutes to ensure hair doesn’t blow into your mouth or his face before joining his side, albeit at a distance large enough to fit another person which he promptly shamelessly closes. Yet when he turns to look at you, he is met with a raised brow.

“What?”

You’re quick to voice your observation, Childe’s eyes briefly focusing on the half-faded lipstick as he gives you his full attention. “Your hairline is a little uneven.” The sentence makes him chuckle, but you have more to add. “I didn’t think it’d be like that. It’s cute.”

“You’ve seen my forehead plenty of times.”

“I haven’t.”

He tilts his head. “Whenever I get out of the shower, my hair is slicked back. You’ve seen me get out of the shower.”

“Well,” you scrunch up your nose, “you’re shirtless and with only a towel. Why would I look at you then?”

“...” So all the times Childe has purposely walked by you in the living room or dropped off fruit when you’re studying while being fresh out of the shower was in vain. Why is he even surprised? Of course you wouldn’t look. It was daft of him to even consider that you would look. You avoid him like the plague whenever he tries to make a move. That does beg a question. Why have you been surprisingly cooperative tonight?

Are you planning something?

It can’t be. He keeps an eye on you. You go nowhere except class, occasional outings with friends, and shopping. Childe knows where you are at all times and with who and for what, with being the one taking you there. He even had you join that group project meeting online instead of in-person because it was in the evening and your group mates were all guys.

Considering those factors, there is no way you are planning something. He’s made sure of it. Besides, you are perfectly aware that you cannot try anything. Not only do you live with him, but he’s in the mafia. Were you to be missing or run away, you’d be back home before midnight.

There has to be another reason. Maybe you’ve grown more comfortable with him. Yes. That’s it. Perhaps it’s the delusion accompanying the compunction of all that he has done to you, but he believes you’re slowly laying down your defences. All that’s done is to wait till the wall is broken down too.

“Ajax,” you call, lips parting hypnotizingly, lipstick making them stick to the corners, “you’re staring again.” A pause, then you point something out. “You’ve been staring a lot tonight.”

He smiles, face resting on top of his arms crossed over the railing. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” You make a weird noise at that, but he chuckles. “I’m honoured to be breathing the same air as you. To be so close to you and see you with my own two eyes. I could never have said I’ve seen the world’s beauty before I saw you sitting behind that cash register in the store.”

You seem clearly taken aback at the sudden words. To be honest, Childe is too. He didn’t expect to say all that together. Still, if it conveys even a fraction of the intensity of his emotions, he’d say more.

A strand of hair falls into his eye when the wind calms, and he tries to blink it away. It’s disturbing his view of you. The way you’re looking at him as you think over your words feeds his proprietorial nature, for your words are all his to hear and your being all his to keep. Childe would keep you even if it means he has to hide you from the rest of the world lest you slip from his grasp.

Yet you are so good to him that he always melts at your unexpected surrenders. The time when you sewed up his shirt when he got a long, narrow cut at his side. The time when you made dinner and left some for him before going to bed when he texted you he’ll be home very late. The time you willingly came to him with your worries and let him console you.

And the way you remove the strand of hair that’s in his eye and allow him to look at you without obstructions.

If he could, he’d merge your beings into one so that no one else could ever have you, and you’d be his forever. He isn’t willing to break you to have you, but he is willing to hurt you just a little bit.

But before all that, he needs to figure out a way to make you all his. If it means putting a ring on your finger or faking your death or hiding you away from the world, he doesn’t care. You have to be all his.

From your body to your soul to your thoughts to your feelings to your touch to your very being. All. His.

“Ajax, you’re staring again.”

He stands up straight at that, one hand still grabbing the railing as he takes a step closer to you. This time, he does not smile. “Why don’t you love me?”

You question his sudden change in demeanour, but he presses further. “Why don’t you love me? What’s wrong? Tell me. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix us. Tell me how I can make you love me.”

Childe moves closer, and you instinctively move back, making him frown, but he soon cages you between the railing and his body. There’s not much space between you both, and you’re certain he would be able to hear your heart beat wildly if he moved just a tad bit closer. Nevermind the fact that your skirt is blowing with the wind and his legs are obstructing its path.

“I’m doing everything I know. Just tell me. All I want is your heart. All I want is you.”

You are quick to defend. “I already live with you. What more is there?”

“You,” he replies, breathless. “You don’t love me. You only live with me.”

“Because agreeing to that is why you let me go back home for the summer,” you remind him. “Well, I suppose either way I would have been here. If I said no, you would’ve taken me there earlier.”

“Do you feel trapped?”

“What do you think?”

Childe chuckles at that. Though he is culpable for this predicament, he also holds the power to change it to his favour. “Tell me then,” he whispers, wind once more blowing in his hair, “what do you want?”

Unfortunately for him, you play his game on equal footing. “Would you grant it?”

“No.” The look in your eyes is something smug, but he humours you anyway. “I can’t guarantee I won’t, but I guess it depends on what you ask me.”

A scoff accompanies your words now, the nervousness apparent in the way you grip the railing behind you for dear life. “You’ve told me numerous times you’d give me anything I want. Why are you so hesitant now?”

“Because I know what you are about to ask, and I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

“And what am I about to ask?”

“To be able to leave me for good,” he spits out.

You simply shake your head. “No. Not at this moment at least.” Confusion laces his features, but you press your body impossibly closer to the railing. “I wanted to ask for some space. It’s… it’s uncomfortable like this. Please take a step back.”

Childe obliges instantly. Blue eyes watch your once white knuckles have colour return to them, and suddenly he feels a little childish for cornering you like that. A quiet sigh from your end steals his attention, yet he remains standing where he is, another demand on the tip of his tongue.

“Move in with me,” he says. “Move into my room. It’s been too long in the guest room already. You don’t need to stay there anymore.”

Frankly, you’re surprised. You thought he forgot about that by now considering that he never brought it up again.

“You’ve seen it. My room is bigger. I got this place because the master bedroom was big and it’ll easily fit both our things. You can make the guest room your study room if you want, but just move in already.”

He gives you that look again, the demanding one that makes you painfully aware of how dull and lifeless his eyes are. Although you have grown used to it and it doesn’t bother you as much, it still reminds you that if he wished, he could have done worse things to you. But he hasn’t. He waits and waits and waits till he’s about to bubble over. Till his feelings threaten to boil and spill out of the pot and even then he somehow calms it down enough to be coherent. Al because he promised to think about you before his own selfish feelings.

“We can start tomorrow,” Childe suggests, “or even tonight, there’s still time. You’ve been living with me for long enough. It’s time you actually moved in.”

Even while you are quiet, Childe has a million thoughts running through his head. Bed, lonely, empty, cold sheets, cold pillows, empty dressing table, empty nightstand. He recalls the room you’ve turned into your personal haven, the cluttered dressing table, the nightstand with a ton of wires, the eraser dust that’s almost always on the ground near your table, and the warm feeling that envelopes him whenever he enters this little haven of yours.

He needs to have you more or else he doesn’t know what he’d do. And he doesn’t want to know what he’d do to you.

“I hear you,” you speak up, successfully interjecting his thoughts, “but we’re not in a relationship. We can’t just start doing married couple things.” You make a face, scrunching up your nose like you always do. “Living in different rooms is appropriate because we’re still-”

“Marry me then.”

You shut your mouth immediately.

“Your problem is our relationship right?” Childe takes a step closer, eyes focused on yours. “Then marry me. Problem solved.”

“Wait. Ajax, that’s too fast. Calm down.”

“That’s not ‘too fast’. We’ve been living together for almost a year now. We’ve known each other for over a whole year. This isn’t fast.”

Regardless, you try to de-escalate it. De-escalate his rashness. “Okay. I understand. But we’re too young and my parents wouldn’t allow something like this so suddenly-”

“Leave them to me. I’ll handle getting their approval. They seem to like me anyway. That’s all you’re worried about right? And we’re not young. We’re adults.”

The apprehension grows. You do not know how this idea popped into his head, but you blame yourself for mentioning ‘married couple’ earlier. Why is he so obsessed? Is having you in his home constantly under his vision not sufficient?

“So what’s your answer? Or do you want to wait while I get a ring and you speak to your parents?”

The anxiety starts eating you from the inside. You know you can’t escape him. You’re too deep into his clutches to even consider escape, but you still hold onto feeble hope that you can delay the inevitable just a little longer. “Fine. You’re ready and okay for such a thing, but I’m not ready for such a big step.”

Contrary to your expectations, Childe’s mood further sours. “That’s what you always say.” As soon as the words are uttered, Childe remembers thinking to himself how he hoped you won’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight. Well. If it allows him to have you, he’d do anything. “The only difference would be that we’d be closer. Nothing else.”

“We’re close enough,” you meekly comment.

“So you don’t want to marry me?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t, but…”

“But?”

You think over the time you’ve lived under his roof. He has been controlling, sure, but he has been more accommodating and understanding. If you were to bet your life on one thing, it would be that Ajax would always unequivocally love and care for you. Besides, this is inevitable. The moment he locked eyes with you at your job, it had been decided that this would happen. That you would be his.

Delaying and denying all this simply makes you miserable. Who are you to deny such affection? Such love that suffocates you, surrounds you constantly with eyes in the shadows watching your every breath. Who are you to deny a man who has countless times told and showed you that he’d drop to his knees for you on a moment’s notice?

He may control your life and future, but you control him as well. Or you do to an extent at least. What his words cannot express, his hands and eyes do, and those things are precisely what have kept you going on the hope that the inevitable is not as horrifying as you delude yourself into thinking of it.

Ajax loves you, and you’d be damned if you refuse his love. Not only is there no way out, but you think you do not want out anymore. You’re too deep in his web.

Besides, you know that if you were to refuse him, he’d try again and again before eventually forcing it upon you. It’s better to accept. You can’t delay the inevitable.

Warm hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, and you blink away tears you did not know you were shedding.

Minutes pass on the secluded corner of the pier, and when he is satisfied with how much you have calmed down, he lets you go. Hands hang by his sides as he waits for an answer, but you don’t keep him waiting. With a gentle pat to his cheek, you give him your answer.

“I’ll start moving my things in the morning.”

His celebratory smile only grows when you continue speaking.

“And… I’ll start talking to my parents. I’ll let you know the updates.”

You were in the middle of organising your things when the realisation dawned on you. You’re moving into his room. All of your things will go there. All of your things. Does this mean you both are officially in a relationship? That means he’s going to wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you, and you’re going to share a wardrobe with him. Even a bathroom.

This might just make his possessive nature worse. But it’s alright. You can talk sense into him. He usually does listen to you.

Nevertheless, you can’t help but wonder… Why are you accepting of this? Somehow the idea of being so close doesn’t bother you as much as you think it should. Do you really like him that way? Are you in denial?

Ajax’s voice calls out to you, asking if you need any help. You’re currently in the middle of going through your clothes, and you would rather he not bear witness to seeing your undergarments and clothes thrown haphazardly across the bed. Thus, you tell him no and continue organising, putting home clothes separate and classifying the rest accordingly.

When those are done, you let the piles be on the bed and move to your dressing table. Expired and empty containers are chucked into the bin, and you grab the rest and move outside, passing by a curious Ajax in the living room and making yourself home in his room. The bottles are carefully placed amongst his things, and soon the dressing table looks cluttered.

Well, to be used is to be messy. It’s okay.

You return to the piles of clothes and transport each pile one by one onto his bed. When all have been gathered, you place them in the space he’s apparently kept empty for you ever since he moved here in an orderly fashion, making sure all your undergarments are in the locked drawer instead of the regular one. There are no fingers or accusations pointed, but there is also no complete trust in this matter.

Ajax trails behind you this time, curiously watching you take your toiletries and place them in his bathroom. He eyes the addition of a new shampoo and conditioner and other bottles he doesn’t care to classify but is happy to simply see them there. You make the journey back to your ex-room and gather all your chargers and wires only to find yourself untangling them first.

“Do you need help?”

You’re quick to refuse, but he still stands there watching. Gathering them all in your hands, Ajax is tempted to offer his help again but closes his mouth when he remembers you telling him to “not butt in” while you move your things. So, he watches you and trails behind you. He follows you around and watches you as you bump into the sofa’s edge when he calls your name and stumble forward only to lose your footing and fall straight onto the floor.

It did not help that your arm had slid against the edge of the centre table and you horribly skinned the back of your arm.

Ajax stands there, horrified for a moment, before he ignores the cluttered mess of chargers and wires and crouches down beside you, immediately checking your injuries and helping you sit up. But it does not help him when he sees blood slowly starting to ooze from the mess of broken skin and you wince when he gently grabs your hand to look at the wound.

Regardless, he cups your face with the other hand while simultaneously looking you over for other injuries. When you assure him and his repeated questions that it’s just your arm, he relaxes a bit. However, he cannot help it. There’s more blood now, not a lot but enough to completely cover the broken skin, and if he leaves it be, it might start trickling down your arm before the wounds close.

So, Ajax does what his mind wants him to do. He kisses the skin near the wound at first, completely ignoring your questioning look, and slowly moves towards the injury. Soft lips glide over the skin, inching closer towards the desired target. Then, when he can feel your gentle tugs to be let free, he tightens his grip and licks.

Ajax licks some of the blood, the texture of broken skin welcomed by his tongue. You sit there horrified and extremely confused while he licks it again before freezing and letting go.

Awkward eye contact ensues, and your face clearly shows how utterly puzzled and alarmed you are. Nevermind the fact that those were wet licks and your arm has his saliva on it and the broken skin he lapped up is on his tongue which he is sneakily trying to swallow.

Minutes pass, and you finally gather the composure to speak. “Ajax. What the fuck?”

He is quick to be defensive, knowing full well you’ve been so good to him these days and he can’t afford to scare you off. “I just… I let my intrusive thoughts win. Sorry.”

Your terror only grows. “I don’t even want to know what your intrusive thoughts are anymore. Well. At least your licking distracted me from the pain. It doesn’t hurt anymore with your spit on it. Gross. Wash your mouth after this.”

Somehow, a smile stretches on his face. “Wash my mouth? After getting to have a piece of you? Sweetheart, a little bit of you is in me. Why would I ever not want that?” You open your mouth to interject but are cut off. “If I could, I’d make us become one. That way, I don’t have to worry about you thinking of anything else except me.”

You’re quite… speechless. Did he really just indirectly admit he wants to eat you? What the hell??

“Speaking of which,” Ajax whispers, “forgive me but another intrusive thought won.” With that, he moves closer. Close enough in your face to have your noses brushing. To his surprise, you do not create distance, allowing him to fan his breath over your lips as he slowly turns his head.

The only thing stopping his lips from kissing yours directly is his hand on your lips.

When he pulls away, Ajax’s blue eyes meet your widened ones, your face flushed and clearly flustered. Unfortunately for you, a grin is on his face. “I’ll kiss you for real when you say yes to the ring. Then, I'll make your body mine too.”

With that, he gets up and grabs the first aid box while you sit with his spit drying on your arm. You are sometimes genuinely terrified of him. This is one of those times.

“Don’t lick me ever again.”

Ajax frowns at that. “If you forbid me, then how am I supposed to go dow-”

“Stop! That’s enough!” You successfully shut him up, and he continues disinfecting your injury in silence. “Do not spew such mindless words ever again.”

Unfortunately, he catches onto your words, smiling mischievously. “I’ll do it if you do one thing.” When asked for his conditions, Ajax shamelessly gives his request. “Tell me you’re mine. That I’m the person you want.”

When you show hesitation, he is quick to remind you that you’ve agreed to completely move in with him and agreed to sleeping with him. Thus, you acquiesce.

“I’m… Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He chuckles, but you continue humouring him. “I’m yours, Ajax.”

He pushes further. “And?”

Your cheeks heat up, and you meekly let out the second part. “And… you’re the person I want.”

As soon as the desired words leave your mouth, Ajax is soothed. Soon, he’s disinfected the mess of broken skin and tied a bandage around your arm for the time being so that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself again. When asked about his payment, you simply pat his cheek like you do, but decide to scratch the skin behind his ear before travelling upwards into his hair.

With a last pat to his head, you leave him a blushing mess with messy hair as you return to the wires scattered on the ground, picking them up before continuing what you were doing. It doesn’t serve him right that you casually rendered him paralysed and just got up and left. But then again, that is the least you should do against him after what he has done to you.

Flustering someone does not compare to putting them in a fancy cage. Well, Ajax’s deceit makes it hurt more. If you knew the full extent of his desires, you would never let him breathe the same air as you. But you do not. And that is precisely why he plans to slowly let them surface, to allow you time to accept him. He just hopes he doesn’t grow impatient with how good you’ve been.

(Bonus scene)

“What do you mean you want a pillow wall between us?”

You don’t mind Ajax’s childish whines, instead busying yourself with moisturising your face. But when he moves to remove a pillow, you are quick to turn and give him a glare. “I agreed to sleeping next to you and moving into your room. The least you can do is give me time to settle in and let me have a damn pillow wall.”

Ajax slowly puts the pillow back down quietly, and you turn around to close the moisturiser bottle. Though you catch a glimpse of him glaring daggers into the pillow wall, you continue cleaning the clutter of your things on the dressing table.

You’ll take it away in a few days. Let him suffer for a few nights.

#childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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7ndipity · 10 months

Text

Second Glances

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been best friends for years, but after you confess you feelings for him, Yoongi realizes he might have misread his own feelings towards you.

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: slight angst, swearing, lil suggestive at the end, partially proofread

A/N: Thanks so much to @whitefoxgirl for this request! Tbh, I'm not entirely happy with this, but I didn’t want to leave you hanging for ages while I nitpicked.🙄 I hope you still like it tho💜

Masterlist

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It was a strange thing, how you could go on seeing someone the same way for years, and then all of a sudden, something happens and turns you on your head.

When Hobi had first introduced you to his fellow members after you moved to Seoul, you and Yoongi had clicked instantly, much to the surprise of everyone else. No one could quite understand it, but the two you had seemed to fit together naturally like two halves of a whole, the yin to his yang; while he was on the quieter, more introverted side, you were bright and loud, with an infectious enthusiasm. A prime example of that being the way he could hear you and Hobi before you ever entered his studio, laughing loudly as you rushed through the door ahead of his bandmate.

“There’s no way you did that!” You insisted.

“I did, I swear, we even have video of it!” Hobi argued.

“What the fuck are you two yelling about?” Yoongi asked, more amused than annoyed by the sudden noise.

“Did he actually go bungee jumping?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

“Why would I lie about that?!” Hobi exclaimed.

“Oh, that,” Yoongi deliberated for a second before smirking over at Hobi. “No, he didn’t.”

“Why are you lying?!” Hobi yelled, making you both burst into laughter. As much as Hoseok loved you and his hyung becoming friends, you were absolute menaces together, constantly teasing him and the members, as well as each other.

“Screw it, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come with us to get something to eat?” He asked, exasperatedly.

“Sure.” Yoongi answered, still laughing slightly.

“Cool, I’m gonna go find Jimin, I’ll be right back.” He announced, heading back out the door before either of you could say anything else.

Yoongi turned his attention back to the screen in front of him as you settled on the sofa, Hobi apparently having taken your energy with him as he left, as silence suddenly fell over the room.

Yoongi glanced over at you. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” You looked up in confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“I dunno, you just got kinda quiet.” He shrugged.

You let out a small laugh. “I’m okay, I just know that you don’t like a lot of noise, so I usually try to be a little calmer when it’s just us so I won’t bug you.”

“You don’t bug me.” He said.

“No?” You looked at him doubtfully.

“Well, not a significant amount.” He smirked, making you laugh again. “You wanna see what I’m working on?”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up.

“Sure.” He said, pulling a second chair over close to his so you could both see the screen as he hit play.

Yoongi was normally quite private about his music, at least until it was finished, but he loved getting to show you his new projects, talking animatedly as you listened to part of the song, explaining how he mixed and layered the audio files, or what lines he liked best.

“So is this how you get girls?” You said, unable to resist teasing him just a little bit as he spoke.

“No,” He shot you a sly look. “I just like getting to teach you stuff.”

“Oh really?” You grinned, leaning over the arm of your chair. “You know, I don’t know how to kiss either, care to teach me that?”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, looking over at you in surprise.

“I’m just joking Yoongs!” You laughed, trying to quickly dispel any awkwardness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Eh, it’s okay, it boosts my ego.” He replied, grinning at you.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah, even if I know you’re just playing around.” He said, shooting you a quick wink, missing the way you looked away, falling silent again for a new reason.

While it was true that part of your flirty remarks were just for the sake of teasing him, enjoying the way you could so easily make him flush red, that wasn’t the case for all of them.

In the past few months, your feelings for Yoongi had shifted from those of purely a friend into something more, a fact that you had been trying to subtly bring to Yoongi’s attention, apparently without success.

You hadn’t wanted to just drop the information on him like a bomb, fully aware that he might not reciprocate, and not wanting to jeopardize your friendship, but clearly your current approach was not going to get you any type of answer.

“What if I wasn’t?” You said suddenly.

“What?” He glanced back at you, confused.

“What if I wasn’t kidding? What if I liked you?” You asked, watching him carefully.

He blinked at you. “I-, did, wait what?!”

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I don’t know if there’ll ever be a ‘best time’ to say this.” You took a breath. “I like you, as more than a friend, and I understand if you don’t feel the same for me, but I just… I just wanted to say it.” You finished, staring down at your hands, afraid to meet his gaze.

He stared at you in complete shock, his mind scrambling to try and make sense of what you’d just said. How long had you felt this way? What did this mean for your friendship?

The seconds ticked by as the silence in the room grew nearly unbearable.

“Please say something.” You urged.

“Y/n, I-,” Yoongi sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t see you that way.” He said as gently as possible.

You nodded, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“I’m so sorry.” He apologized.

“It’s alright, I knew it was a long shot,” You smiled at him. “At least now I know, and we can go on as normal.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled slightly at his bemused expression. “I’m a grown woman, Yoongi, I can handle a little rejection. I knew you might not feel the same, but nothing’s changed, you’re still one of my best friends. I just wanted to tell you.”

“Okay.” He said, visibly relaxing.

“Are we still okay?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Cool.” You smiled, quickly changing the subject as the others came back in.

To Yoongi’s surprise, you lived up to your word, continuing on with your friendship as if nothing had ever happened, hanging out with him and other members as usual. Even that same day at lunch, no one else would’ve had an inkling of what had transpired between the two of you from the way you acted, sitting together and talking easily, still making your teasing comments here and there.

Everything was exactly the same, except it wasn’t.

It was miniscule at first, but in the weeks that had followed, it was clear that something had changed. Not you exactly, but something in the way Yoongi saw you changed; the way you laughed at something he said, or the way you smiled at him, but suddenly everything about you seemed to draw him in, leaving him questioning his words to you. Did he see you as more than a friend?

Looking back, he couldn’t deny that he’d always thought you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was attracted to you. And maybe sometimes his heart rate picked up a little more than usual due to your flirty remarks, but that was just because you caught him off guard. It didn’t mean anything, right? It wasn’t like he caught himself thinking about you constantly or wondering about how your lips would feel against his-

What the fuck?! He shook himself, quickly glancing over at where you were sitting on his sofa, working peacefully on your laptop.

He felt like he was going crazy, like he was gaslighting himself. Was your confession really all it had taken to make him develop feelings for you? Or had they existed the whole time and he was just too blind to notice? Why couldn’t he have had this fucking revelation three weeks ago when you were sat in front of him? But of course you figured it out first, you were always more forward than he was, that was one of the things he loved about you…

Fuck.

The worst part was that you could tell something was off, but he couldn’t very well tell you what. He would look like a complete asshole if he tried to make a move on you after having rejected you, like he was just fucking around with your feelings.

“Yoongs?” Your voice suddenly snapped him back to the present, realizing he’d been staring off into space.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, turning back to his computer.

You sighed, sitting up and moving your things off to the side.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” You asked.

“About what?” He didn’t look up.

“About how weird you’ve been acting lately.” You said.

He didn’t respond, looking down.

“Look, if this is about what I said-”

“It’s not.” He denied quickly.

“Yoongi, you’ve barely even looked at me today.” He turned around, meeting your eyes as you stared at him.

“Please, just talk to me.” You pleaded.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

You waited. “Because?”

“Because I screwed up,” He said. “You told me how you felt and I said no, but now I can’t stop thinking about it and, fuck, you must hate me, I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying but I-”

His ramble was abruptly cut off by you striding across the room and crashing your lips to his, making his mind go blank. He leaned up into you, hands finding your hips to steady you as you leaned over his chair, your hands tangling in his hair, savoring the taste of your lip balm on his tongue.

Too soon for his liking, you pulled away, breathing heavily as you met his eyes.

“I definitely don’t hate you,” You breathed. “Though I do have some things to say about your communications skills.” You snickered.

“Of course you do.” He scoffed.

“We can talk about that later though.’ You smiled. “Right now, I'd rather us just cover the basics.”

You leaned in again, noting the way his breath hitched slightly.

“Do you want this?” You asked softly.

He stared up at you with dark eyes, his voice coming out as almost a whisper. “I do.”

You kissed him, pressing him back in his chair as you moved to straddle him, earning a soft grunt from him. Yoongi gripped your waist tightly, not entirely used to having someone take the lead like this, but finding himself falling into the role easily, melting against you as you pressed closer, a shiver passing through him as your tongue slipped into his mouth.

“Hey hyung, I was jus- AGH MY EYES!”

You nearly fell backwards off Yoongi’s lap at Jimin’s scream from behind you, Yoongi’s hands catching you as you both whipped around to see the younger member standing in the doorway, staring at both of you in shock.

“Do you ever fucking knock?!” Yoongi snapped.

“I was-, I-.” Not knowing how to respond, Jimin simply backed out of the room, closing the door loudly behind him, leaving you and Yoongi alone again.

“Maybe we should do this somewhere else.” You said, face flushed in embarrassment.

“Why? Now they know not to come in.” Yoongi grinned, trying to tug you closer again, but you put a hand on his chest.

“Yoongi.” You complained.

“Okay, fine” He relented. “I guess I should buy you dinner first, it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You suck.” You laughed.

“Hey, you’re the one that likes me, it’s not my fault you have shit taste.” He teased, kissing you again lightly.

“Alright then, Mr. Gentleman, buy me dinner.” You grinned against his lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

#yoongi drabble #yoongi oneshot #yoongi fluff #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts requests #7ndipity

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that-student-that-has-homework · 3 months

Text

Gentle Reciprocity

Al-Haitham x Reader

cw: allusions to neurodivergent overstimulation

“Hello there darling,” he sees the amused twinkle in your eyes and already knows he’s in for a treat, “would you like some assistance?”

With how it was phrased it could be pointed at either him or his assailant. However he was well aware that adage was for him and not the persistent presence that plagued his side.

“While I’d rather not trouble you,” his amusement pulled at the corner of his lips, “seeing as you’re already here…”

“I might as well?” You chuckled.

His entertainment only increased at the confusion clearly written upon the foreign young lady’s face. She was likely trying to piece together what your interaction meant. Though she probably had an inkling and would now have to confirm it.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” She pulled away from him slightly.

“We do,” you nodded, humming in confirmation, “rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, removing his arm from the lady’s grasp, “intimately well.”

You could see her working to process what was going on based off of your layered conversation with your beloved. Meanwhile you were relieved of half of the load of groceries you’d been carrying prior to approaching the two.

“He’s my husband, sweetheart,” you decided not to toy with her any further, “his lack of interest isn’t anything personal,” you tried to console her, “part of the reason I married him is his integrity.”

She looked so confused, staring between the two of you and then to your hands. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as her tongue translated her confusion, “but he’s not wearing a ring.”

At which point you turn to his hand, a little smile gracing your lips, and shoot him a glance filled with mirth at the state of his finger. He appreciates your grace towards him. After all, he was wearing his ring, under his glove.

“You can see my wife’s ring though, can’t you?” He raised an eyebrow at his stunned pursuer.

“That confirms that she’s married,” she argued, “it says nothing about you.”

“What woman would risk the tranquility of her marriage to help a fully grown man ward off unwanted attention?” He argued back.

“One that isn’t happy in her marriage and wants the man she’s helping out.”

“You know habibi, that is a plausible argument,” you turned to him intrigued.

He was about to rebut when you took the words out of his mouth, “but in that case. He wouldn’t cooperate with me, because he knows I’m married to someone else.”

“Unless you were having an affair!”

“In which case that would mean that I am still involved with a woman and uninterested in you,” Al-Haitham caught her on her argument, “you’re doing a horrible job of seducing me with these accusations, which is what I assume is your goal.”

“Accusations?” Ooh. She had gotten so carried away by the argument she’d gone into the rhetorical realm.

“You accused both of us of infidelity,” your husband gestured between you and himself.

“What? No! I just-urgh,” she fumbled over her words, “sorry.”

“Apologize to my wife as well.”

Your husband’s assailant gave him a very unimpressed stare, before letting out a huff that caused her whole body to deflate. She turned to you, looking defeated, “sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded, your lips gently curving upwards, “take care and have a nice rest of your day.”

Again looking between the two of you, she nodded meekly and trudged away in complete and utter defeat. You hoped you hadn’t completely broken her spirit. After all, she was under the impression that the man she was approaching was available.

You weren’t able to worry long as something moved in your peripheral vision, pulling your attention towards it. Turns out Al-Haitham was turning his sound-canceling ear pieces back on. Ah. Understandable.

You lightly hooked your pinky in his before sliding it out, a quiet invitation. Glancing up at him you were met with his own tired gaze. You probably shouldn’t have entertained her arguments for too long, your love seemed to have had just about enough today.

“Let’s go home,” you spoke nodding your head in the direction back to your shared abode.

You were treated to a little nod, your husband slipping his hand into your free one and hurrying down the street. Over time you’d gotten good at keeping up with his long strides, and he had gotten good at maintaining a pace that didn’t require you to sprint. You still had to hurry this time around though.

There was a kind of relief that came with arriving at your shared abode. You took care of locking the door, and then headed to the kitchen to put the groceries away while he headed into your room. You’d just about finished putting things away and were wondering what you could make for dinner when you sensed you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

Without turning around fully, you began placating your husband, “don’t worry about food and just-”

You were cut off by Al-Haitham’s sudden embrace, his head coming to rest on your shoulder, his nose poking at your neck. Relaxing into him, you placed a hand above the ones that sat atop one another on your abdomen, languidly stroking at his skin. Seems he’d taken his gloves off.

Given he had sought you out, it seemed he was okay with you touching him in his current state. You reached your other hand up to tenderly trace his scalp. You stood there quietly, him taking deep, calming breaths, and you playing with his hair. After a bit, your husband’s weight, for lack of a better term, weighed down on you, and you could feel the fatigue in your legs.

“Can we take a seat, love?” You hummed, taking care to keep your voice quiet and light.

“I’d prefer we lay down,” his rich timbre reverberated through your bones.

“Laying down it is then,” you agreed.

You were gingerly pulled by the hand towards your room, and towards your shared bed. You smiled at the thought. You’d originally started off in separate rooms with separate beds, but look at you now. Al-Haitham allowed you a moment to close the door, careful to make too much noise, before pulling you to your bed. Within a moment he was curled into you, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arms around your middle.

It was a little more difficult to play with his hair from this position, so you absentmindedly began playing with the wedding band that sat proudly on his finger. When you came back to your senses you paused. He was already overwhelmed and trying to ground himself, you didn’t need to introduce any unwanted stimuli.

“You can keep playing with our ring,” he mumbled, “I don’t mind,” he tightened his hold on you, “and I know it helps you stay calm.”

“Thanks,” you resumed your previous fiddling, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

You couldn’t help the way your features curled into a deep appreciation. You loved hearing those words from him, but in your current state it was redundant.

After all, he was allowing you to be near him in his volatile state, and it was an honor you cherished.

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Want more Al-Haitham? Tumblr Masterlist | Ao3 Account

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What was your favorite part? Also please let me know if I got the neurodivergent thing right. I can't claim to be neurodivergent (no matter how relatable some memes are)

#alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin x y/n #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfics

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edamette · 4 months

Text

big shackled colonel x fem!reader

smut, fluff, established relationship, 18+ mdni

You slowly and methodically remove his gear, layer by layer. Armor, vest, pouches, everything until he stays in regular clothes. And a mask. Your hand lingers on his stomach and you look up at him. A smile lights up your face at the sight of two icy oceans in the slits. König returned a little earlier than he promised and this was already a reason for joy. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and places his hand on your cheek. You lean into his touch, wrapping your hand around his, closing your eyes, enjoying the warmth. The other slides along the waist, as if exploring, remembering the shapes. Over time, the hand seems to become heavier and lies in a possessive manner. König seemed to finally see the real you, and not a mirage, as if he was convinced that he was not dreaming. You press yourself against him, burying your face in his muscular chest, and your hands wander along his back. He runs the strands between his fingers, then pulls back a little and runs his entire hand into your hair, forcing you to throw your head back and look up. “Tell me, what do you want?” - König suddenly says. The question has you stumped, but you grin mischievously after a moment. “Shackle and fuck you, of course. You were on a trip for a whole month.” His eyes seem to sparkle, and you pull away without a word. You go around him and fish out the handcuffs from the nightstand, turning to him, confirming the seriousness of your intentions. The amusement in his eyes makes them seem to warm up, as if a glacier is melting. His question was asked just like that, casually, but the consequences are enormous. “Someone has prepared for my arrival,” a quiet, satisfied chuckle is heard from under the mask. He walks to the bed and lies down. When you get close, the colonel raises his hands above his head and you chain him to the head of the bed. There was something about it that made warmth spread through your chest. The humility of a man who broke the backs of others without much difficulty, a man who is several times larger than you in build, could not help but turn you on.

You enjoy the view for a few seconds, and then you put your hand under his shirt and move it up, lifting it up to his chest, exposing his sculpted torso and sitting on his hips. The life of the body was fascinating: how its muscles rolled when breathing, how it shuddered under light, weightless touches. His whole body reacts so sharply, and he himself now looks vulnerable, painfully thirsty, until now not even realizing how much. König arches his back slightly, exposing himself, desperately asking for affection and you give him more. You run your hands over the old scars, passing the nipples between your fingers. Your palm penetrates under the mask, crawls along his neck from his collarbone, lifting his balaclava, tracing his Adam’s apple with your thumb, pressing slightly and heading even higher. He stares at you while you feel his chin and cheekbones. You reach his lips and trace them when he suddenly wraps them around your finger, plunging them inside. You can’t see anything under the mask, but you feel his wet tongue on your pad, and the colonel still glares at you, even with a challenge in it. He thrusts his hips sharply, like an impatient stallion trying to throw off his rider, and you just chuckle in response. From the reaction of his body and his gaze, it is difficult not to notice how the long separation affected him. König is shackled, but still daring and demanding. You tease him a little more, riding back and forth on his hips to the sound of cuffs and noisy breathing, and finally, when he tries to jerk again, you move further, hooking your fingers on his pants and leading him down. He freezes, and you stop at the same time. Your hand rests on the bulge between his legs, rubbing, pressing, wrapping your fingers through the fabric. König lets out a long groan, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, clenching and unclenching his fists. Finally, you pull down his pants and underwear enough to release his erect cock, oozing precum. First, you lightly move your fingers back and forth along the veins on the shaft, squeezing the testicles. When you wrap your hand around him and move with force, König impatiently moves his hips towards. “Colonel, show restraint, you yourself agreed to this,” you giggle. The ice in the eyes promises cruel retribution, and you are well aware of what awaits you later, but for now you just enjoy the moment of his helplessness.

He watches carefully, with all his eyes, as you stroke the cockhead with your thumb, and then kiss it tenderly. You begin to move your hand forcefully along the entire length, squeezing, increasing the pace. König just breathes noisily. You touch the slit with your tongue, pressing, slightly penetrating inside, watching him roll his eyes. The head of the bed protests with a creaking sound, trying to break from the way he strains his hands when you finally take the head inside, suck, release and simply run your tongue along the penis, pressing it to your face, watching him from under half-closed eyelids.

When König plunges back into the warmth of your mouth, he begins to thrust his hips harder. Out of habit, he would grab your hair, but now he is in your power, completely. After a time of overstimulation and sweet torture that reaches the point of pain, the colonel cums profusely. You swallow some of it, and lick off some of the drops running down the cock. You pull his uniform pants even further and reach for napkins. You wipe it.

Having properly caught your breath, you pull out the lubricant, generously squeeze it into your hand and begin to move it over his penis again. You defiantly circle the head with your tongue for the last time, looking at him point-blank, and then you rise and remove the handcuffs from him under the gaze of blue eyes the color of ice and sky.

Contrary to expectations, König does not attack, does not throw you sharply onto your shoulder blades, no, he slowly moves into a sitting position. There is a silent threat in his actions, like a lion preparing to lunge, but not in a hurry, savoring the moment when his victim is already driven into a corner. You lean back, leaning on your hands, waiting. He rests his knees on the mattress, hanging over you, and you lie down on your back.

Under the pressure and expectation in his eyes, you pull off your shirt, and the colonel does not hesitate to squeeze your breast, rub your nipple. His dick drips onto your stomach. You touch his chest in response, wrap your arms around his, moving your palms, feeling the tense muscles and bulging veins, feeling the arteries between his biceps and triceps, tracing his pulse. In response to this, in a warning gesture, he lightly squeezes your neck with his fingers, lingering on it, allowing you to feel the weight of his massive hand. The hint is transparent, and you lower your hands, burying yourself in the sheets.

His hand moves lower, along the ribs to the stomach, stroking and slightly pressing, and when they reach the bottom, he simply rips the panties, throwing the fabric to the side. When König rubs against your entrance, lightly penetrating his fingers, pressing his thumb against your clitoris, you instinctively grab his wrist, pressing harder, demanding more pressure, to which he slaps your hands and you dig your fingers into the bed again. Unlike him, you don’t hold back your moans as he moves.

When it becomes empty inside, König turns you over on your stomach, leaning on top of you. It’s heavy, if you want to escape, you won’t be able to escape. His penis is sandwiched between your bodies, buried between your buttocks, his hands lie firmly on yours, completely immobilizing you. König rubs his thighs, spreading the lubricant over you, pulls off his mask and balaclava, pushes your hair to the side, bites your skin.

When the tension in your body goes away and you go limp under him, he pulls away. Roughly he pulls you towards him by your legs, placing himself at the entrance. The Colonel is in no hurry, as if he is trying to fully taste your body. His palm feels like it’s hot, burning the skin as he moves it up the muscles of your back, running his fingers down along the spine. König moves on to the buttocks, sometimes simply stroking, sometimes squeezing until they bruise. When you lean back a little impatiently, trying to plant yourself on his cock, he slaps your ass. Disobedience is followed by more and more until you stop with a dejected groan.

He again lays his chest on your shoulder blades, playing with your clit with his fingers, pushing the folds apart and finally enters inside. He moves slowly, carefully, and stops when you instinctively clench. König cups your jaw with his other hand, tilting your head back, and when you relax, completely giving him control, he continues to move, peppering the skin of your neck, its base, your shoulders with kisses as encouragement. He knows that he is truly huge and takes his time, doing everything smoothly and carefully. When he finally manages to sink all the way down, the Colonel pauses for a brief moment, giving you a second of respite to adjust, and then begins to gradually increase his pace.

König mutters something in German, breathing raggedly as his movements become a frenzied gallop. His hand covers yours again, this time your fingers intertwined. You turn your head, catching his sighs on your lips. When he rises up on his hands and knees, you follow him, not wanting to break such close contact, resting your back against his torso. Then he sits down, pulling you along with him and pushing you even harder onto his dick. A trembling grips your body as you cum at the same time, and you still twitch, but your Colonel holds you tightly, pressing you to him, as if trying to absorb you, running his nose along the still tense trapezius and mastoid muscles. When you manage to more or less come to your senses, you blissfully throw your head back on his shoulder, surrendering to his embrace and raising your hand back, reaching out to him.

“Your hair is so long,” you say, running short strands between your fingers.

“It wouldn’t hurt to shave,” he wheezes.

“Dont,” you open your eyes, looking for his, azure ones, “it suits you very well.”

He smiles warmly, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss.

“If you insist,” König whispers.

You sit there for a while longer and you feel his cum leaking out of you even though he's still inside. Your walls clench and unclench around him, and you can’t stop thinking about how his uniform pants are probably ruined now. You giggle involuntarily.

“What?” he asked, burying his nose in your hair, inhaling the aroma that had already been forgotten.

“You're just very dirty.”

“Should wash you off either,” he stands up, taking you off of him.

König grabs you more comfortably, throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the bathroom.

“Be gentle, Colonel,” you egg on, to which he gives a savory slap on the ass.

After washing yourself and thoroughly warming up in the shower, you change the sheets, collect your clothes and go to bed. You trace circles on his rock-hard abs as he talks about work. In the end, he gives you one last kiss on the forehead and you fall asleep in each other's arms. His long-awaited vacation begins tomorrow.

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yuyusshinelight · 24 days

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Good Morning feat s.mg

⚠️ Advertisings ⚠️

♪ This post is just pure fiction. This does NOT represent Mingi in any way.

♪ English is not my first language so sorry if there's any mistake.

Vocabulary just in case someone doesn't know:

Jagi — sweetheart, darling, etc...

Note: Hi my shining stars! I was with my nephews recently and, since I love kids and Mingi has been making eyes at me lately, here I come with Mingi and his twins. I have to say that Tumblr has screwed this fic several times so, if there is something that is not understood or any mistake, I apologize. I've checked it but I could always have missed something so of you find anything, let me know. Despite that, I hope you like it and enjoy your reading. Love you all!

Oh... A free Saturday, something Mingi hadn't seen in a long, long time.

After returning from his last trip, he had been so busy going back and forth between the dance studio, the photos, the recording set... Maybe they had just returned home after several days, a tortuous week as his children said yesterday, but work had not given them a moment for themselves.

That's why the poor man fell exhausted as soon as his tired body slipped between the soft and cozy layers of his bed with you and your children. No more empty hotel beds where he found himself alone.

In all those years together, Mingi had developed the habit of reaching to the side so he could touch you, wrapping his arms around you and dragging your sleeping body to his chest to trap you in a lazy hug and continue sleeping a bit more if time permitted it. And after your children were born, the search for your sleeping body next to his became waking up between little arms and legs tangled on top of him. Something he hadn't been able to appreciate in a whole week for his misfortune and dislike.

Every time he stretched out his arms to look for one of the three of you, he found the coldness of an empty huge and no longer comfortable hotel bed.

Just like right now.

As soon as he woke up, he stretched out on the comfy expanse of his bed, which, strangely, now felt cold; and not only that, empty. Not noticing any of his children on top or his wife next to him, Mingi opened his eyes, doing a brief review of the silent and lonely room in search of that woman and those children that he swore he had fallen asleep with last night.

Why wasn't his family sleeping peacefully next to him?

After checking how early in the morning it was and stretching one last time between the sheets, the man emerged from the comforting warmth of those silky and soft fabrics, putting on some clothes to avoid the morning cold before going to the bathroom. It didn't take long for him to go out to the living room, listening more and more loudly the heartwarming melody of 'In the Night Garden', a program his twins liked with dolls that gave him quite a bad vibe but with catchy music that, once he heard it, he couldn't get it out of his head. More than once he had started humming the songs in the studio, even singing some of them absentmindedly.

The ones that bothered him the most? Those rare triplets with balls in their heads, not as rare as Makka Pakka, but pretty rare in their own. The other character was at least funny, and his song was catchy. Every time he saw Makka Pakka he remembered Hongjoong, he was very amused by his song the first time he heard Mingi singing it only to end up a few years later singing it himself all day because his son became obsessed with it.

Without wanting to disturb the peace of his twins, comfortably nestled between the big cushions of the couch, singing half asleep while they gave harmless kicks to each other, Mingi leaned down to give each of them a kiss on the head before leaving for the kitchen where it was more than likely that you would be preparing them a feeding bottle.

And there you were. With your back to the door with one bottle already ready and the other half finished. A golden opportunity for Mingi who, with a silent step, approached you to hug you from behind and steal a kiss on your cheek before hiding his face in your neck, bringing out of you a sweet smile and a soft "Good morning, jagi" You gave him a kiss on the forehead after closing the milk powder jar "It's not good when you weren't next to me when I woke up".

Even though he was adding a comedic touch, you knew Mingi was being serious. He had already told you before how sad it made him to wake up alone, even more so after spending several days away from home.

But what else could you do when those hungry mini versions of him had even pinched you to wake you up so you could make them breakfast? They hadn't even given you time to react when they had already jumped out of bed to run to the living room to put on their program.

You were a responsible mother, you weren't going to leave those two mini whirlwinds alone in the living room just because you wanted to sleep a little more. And, although you could have woken up their father so that he could feed them while you rested a bit more, Mingi was so peacefully asleep that you were sorry to wake him.

The moment you noticed his pouty lips when he lifted his head from your neck you gave him another kiss, but this one on the lips, earning a pleasant hum from him "Sorry jagi" You would have continued preparing the bottle if it weren't for your husband's sudden need to get frisky "For leaving me all alone? Give me a good reason not to tickle you right now".

Just thinking about it made you shake with laughter, Mingi knew perfectly well that this was one of your weak points, almost everything tickled you and he had taken great advantage of it several times before.

"Come on, jagi" You tried to persuade him but his hand on your waist, rising dangerously towards that point where even the touch tickled you, made you change tactics "You were so peacefully sleeping that I didn't have the heart to wake you up" his nose suddenly tickling your neck made you bristle and giggle, making him chuckle in your neck which triggered a series of shivers down your spine "Furthermore," you tried to continue despite laughing at the slightest "your children started running and you know that leaving them alone for more than a minute isn't a good idea".

Mingi knew perfectly well that you were only looking out for his well-being, last night you already looked slightly worried about how tired he had come home; he couldn't love you more.

"Thank you, love" He took the bottle you were preparing from your hands "But you're also tired, I could have helped you make them breakfast" without taking his eyes off you for a second, he closed the bottle and began to shake it to mix the powdered milk with the normal milk "Well, you can always keep an eye on them while I take a shower".

"And that's what I had planned, babe" One, two, three pecks he gave you on the lips, slapping your ass with enough force to make you take a little jump "Go and take your shower, daddy takes care of everything" he took both bottles and finally separated from your body "Good luck handling those little whirlwinds, daddy" you winked at him, an action that made the man unable to resist the temptation of stealing another quick kiss from you before you both left the kitchen, Mingi going with your kids as you went to the bathroom, laughing when you heard that cute "Whose bottles are these?" on Mingi's part, the picture of your children asking for their breakfasts with their little hands made you turn around for a moment to see that, indeed, they were doing exactly that.

In the end, it was how they asked you every morning.

Well, as long as they were in their father's hands you could shower in peace. And that's what you did, take a refreshing and much-needed shower from which you came out faster than you expected. The need to see your babies in their father's arms you thought, laughing at that same though.

With such a beautiful scene you came across when you appeared in the living room again: your children comfortably placed in their father's lap while Mingi gave them their bottles, their gaze fixed on the television as they grabbed their father's hands with both their tiny hands.

It was certainly a scene you could never get tired of.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #song mingi #mingi #mingi ateez #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #ateez fluff #mingi fluff

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disasterofastory · 11 months

Text

Records (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Records // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 10/14 Warnings: facefucking, facial

Summary: What is it called? Spank bank?

"You want to do what?" You ask him, shocked. You are not even sure why you are so shocked. After everything you did together, you shouldn't be surprised at his ideas, especially since you have internet access. "Please," he says, keeping his eyes on you the whole time to see your reaction. Like the way your eyes widen and your lips open. Your bottom lip shines with a thin layer of saliva as you lick the soft flesh repeatedly. He gives you a few seconds to think before speaking up again. "If I will have a video of you, you can go out more often." Brahms doesn't want to lie to you, but he isn't sure how much he can keep his word.

He can try, though.

Your eyes start to shine with interest as one of your brows lifts into a soft curve with a silent taunt. "So you want videos of me so you can jerk off while I'm away?" You ask him, fighting with your smirk. A slight blush spreads across his cheeks, but there is no way back now. "Yes."

"Fine."

Brahms's heart flutters in his chest, and his hold tightens around your phone.

You watch Brahms circling around the living room with a concentrated frown between his brows as he stares at the screen of your phone. An amused smile plays on your lips the whole time. "Honey," you break the silence after a while. "It's just a home movie, not a cinema." He doesn't even hear you. "Here," he says, stopping next to the window. "Here will be good." You laugh but can't deny the excitement bubbling in your chest and throbbing between your legs as you make your way to him.

"So, what do you want me to do?" You ask him, glancing at the camera, then up at his face. Without a word, he cups your face with one hand, letting his thumb stroke along your bottom lip. "I want you to suck my finger first." That's new, too. Obeying, you open your mouth and let your tongue brush the tip of his thumb. His skin is salty and warm. "No, wait," he says, pulling away his finger. "Kneel down in front of me." You do. "And look at the camera, not me," he continues. You are surprised at how difficult it is to tear your eyes away from his face. You start to notice why he wanted you next to the window. The lights of the setting sun illuminate his features. They highlight the color of his eyes and the straight line of his nose. His hair is a curly mess, and he still frowns at your phone as he focuses on it. His lips are in a small pout the whole time.

When you adjust your position in front of him, Brahms offers you his other two fingers. He pushes inside your wet channel immediately, letting your lips close around his digits while you keep staring at the camera from under your lashes. Your tongue flips around his fingers, coating them in your saliva. Your mouth is warm and wet. Your cheeks are hollow as you start to suck, still moving your tongue around. The feeling from his fingers goes straight to his dick. He was already hard when he came up with his idea, but now, the throbbing in his pants almost feels unbearable. His fingers shine when he pulls them out with a quiet pop. "Take out my cock." Comes his next order. His voice is hoarse with need and anticipation. Your hands smooth up on his thick thighs until you reach the buttons of his jeans and pull them down with his underwear until his cock stands free in front of your eyes. The lights filtering through the windows make his erection even prettier, with a bulbous head and veins bulging under his soft skin. Saliva gathers in your mouth at sight.

You start to stroke his length. You are so close he can feel every warm exhale coming out of your lips. Brahms shudders at the feeling and pushes his hips forward until the tip pokes your lips. Grabbing the base, he brushes over your lips, letting his pre-cum wet your lips even more. You are so pretty he can't even breathe until his lungs start burning for air.

You smirk up at the camera knowingly before focusing back on his cock against your lips. Your hold tightens around his shaft, and your tongue pokes out between your lips. You let yourself taste the tip of his cock. Just a few licks while your hand still jerks him up and down. You brush over the sensitive skin under the head, lapping up the pre-cum flowing down from the tip. Brahms grunts and moans above you, staring at the screen of your phone. Just the sight would be enough to make Brahms cum, but the feeling of your warm, wet mouth taking him deeper and deeper drives him crazy. Your tongue flattens at the underside of his shaft as you lean closer and closer. Your lips stretch around his grith as you stare up at the camera. Your eyes shine with something dark that makes Brahms's cock jerk in your warm hold. "Fuck," he grunts in ecstasy. Coming up for air, you start to stroke his whole length while you speak. "You can fuck my mouth, Brahms." The man almost chokes on his saliva when your words register in his mushy brain. "Pinch my thigh if it's too much." With a nod, you open your mouth wide again to gulp down on his erection. Your tongue dances around his cock the whole time. You bob your head up and down, soaking his cock in pre-cum and saliva. He can see them glinting at the corner of your mouth. Your lips are already swollen and red. You work on his cock, moving down and backing away, taking him deeper and deeper each time. Brahms has to force himself to steady his hold around your phone. You lick up from the base to the tip and then take him back into your mouth with one deep breath.

Brahms is unsure about fucking your mouth, mostly because he doesn't want to cum too soon. And he doesn't want to cum in your mouth.

Placing his hand on the back of your head, he grabs your hair and pushes you lower on his length. Your lips stay wrapped around his shaft as you let him take the lead and buck his hips against your face. You take him deeper and deeper. Your tongue strokes on his cock the whole time.

"Fuck!" He cries out, tightening his fingers in your hair when the gagging sound of your throat vibrates all over his body. Your struggle to accept him down your throat is filthy and oh-so-sweet to his ears. Brahms can feel his cock swelling in your mouth as he pushes and pushes while your moans vibrate around him. You let him use your mouth for his own pleasure while you stare up at the camera the whole time. Your thighs fidget every now and again for some friction, but your pussy continues to throb and ache for some attention.

Brahms can feel the familiar pull of his balls as he chases his orgasm. His cock pounds in and out of your mouth, making a mess on your lips and chin. Your eyes shine with tears, and he can see the stretch of your throat as he goes deeper.

Fuckfuckfuck

You are so beautiful. You are so perfect.

Even though the pace he dictates is too fast, you still try to move your tongue around his cock as you gulp every now and again around him. You suckle on his cock, holding his thighs to keep your balance against his thrusts. Brahms's eyes are dark as he stares down at you with a primal wildness. You can see the hard line of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. He fucks in and out of your mouth for long minutes until your mind starts to get light and hazy because of the lack of oxygen.

"I'm- I'm gonna-" Brahms tries to form words, but his every attempt ends up as a low moan. He has to use every will to jerk your head away from his cock and grab the base of his shaft as he explodes.

Strings of pearly white cum hit you across the face repeatedly, landing on your cheeks, covering your lips, and spilling into your mouth. Brahms's cock throbs and pulses with every releasing shot. You feel his seed running down your face as you close your eyes tightly while he still moans and whimpers above you, stroking his cock until he has no more cum to plaster on you.

When Brahms opens his eyes, you are still on your knees, smiling up at the camera as you gather his release on your fingers to lick them off with your tongue. "You are beautiful, Y/N." You smirk. "Just me or me with your cum all over me?" Brahms doesn't know how to answer.

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire smut #brahms heelshire imagine #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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amirasainz · 5 months

Note

OMG LANDO WON THE RACE TODAY. IM SO HAPPY FOR HIM. LITERALLY CAN NOT STOP CRYING. Can you write on where baby!sainz is there supporting him and literally crying as he wins.

HI loves! I'M so sorry but am I the onyl one who found the whole Carlos vs. Oscar thing so funny? Carlos whining was so funny (no hate towards any drivers!!!)

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy reading this and please send me some requests!

-XoXo

The Winner takes it all

Ah, Miami—the sun-kissed jewel in the racing calendar. Amira’s secret favorite, where the vibrant energy of the city blended seamlessly with the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere of the track. Perhaps it was the balmy weather that allowed her to flaunt those pretty summer clothes, or maybe the challenging circuit that kept drivers on their toes. And let’s not forget the food trucks—those mobile havens of culinary delight that dotted the paddock, tempting everyone with their sizzling aromas.

The livery and helmets, custom-crafted for the Miami Grand Prix, added an extra layer of excitement. Each design told a story: sleek curves and bold colors, a canvas for the drivers’ personalities. Amira reveled in the anticipation, her heart dancing to the rhythm of engines and tire screeches.

As tradition dictated, she accepted the invitation from Carlos (and the others). This year, she took her time getting ready. The morning sun painted her room in warm hues, and Amira felt it—an electric current of anticipation. Her abuela’s voice echoed in her mind: Confía en tus instintos, mi niña.

Arriving at the paddock with Carlos, Charles, and Alex, Amira’s smile bloomed. The camaraderie of the racing family enveloped her—the shared laughter, the knowing glances. The other three found her reaction endearing, a testament to her genuine love for this world. Before the engines roared to life, she soaked in the before-race energy—the hum of possibility, the promise of speed.

And then, the ex-president approached. His words hung in the air, but Amira’s instincts flared. She turned away, a subtle pivot that spoke volumes. Stranger danger, indeed. Like c'mon. Can we fault her for that?

The Miami Grand Prix—a sun-drenched spectacle where the roar of engines mingles with the rhythm of salsa beats. Finally it started. Amira stood between Alex and Pirro Ferrari, the latter a seasoned gentleman who’d seen more races than most. The anticipation hung thick in the air, a symphony of tire rubber and adrenaline.

And then it happened—the Oscar vs. Carlos showdown. Amira stifled a laugh. She loved her brother, but who did he think he was, ordering Oscar to yield? The unimpressed behavior from Oscar was priceless. But when Carlos collided with him, Amira’s amusement faded. This wasn’t the Carlos she knew—the calculated racer who danced on the edge but never lost control.

Yet destiny had other plans. As the laps ticked by, Amira’s attention shifted. Lando Norris, the boy with the perpetual grin, surged ahead. Her Lando. The backstory was simple: Lando had a crush on her, and Amira? Well, she was still figuring it out. Just a girl caught in the whirlwind of racing drama.

When Lando finally crossed the checkered flag, Amira’s heart soared. Tears escaped, unbidden. No more Lando Nowins—the boy who’d always been second. She flung herself into Pirro Ferrari’s arms, and he held her gently. “Ahh, young love,” he thought, watching the victory celebration unfold. “La cosa più dolce del mondo.” Indeed, sweetest of all.

As the cheers echoed through the paddock, Amira reveled in the euphoria of victory. Lando Norris, her Lando, had clinched his breakthrough maiden Formula 1 win at the Miami Grand Prix. The sun bathed the track in golden hues, and the air buzzed with celebration.

But then, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Amira! Come join us, sweetie.” Zac Brown and Andrea Stella stood near the Ferrari box, beckoning her over. She glanced at Mr. Ferrari, who nodded with a smile. The McLaren bosses pulled her towards the fence. They knew better than to put her in the front row; Lando would undoubtedly leap over the barrier in his exuberance.

“Is it alright that I’m here?” Amira asked, her heart racing. “I know this is more of a McLaren celebration, and I don’t want to disturb.”

Zac and Andrea exchanged a knowing look. Andrea rested a hand on her shoulder. “Amira, honey,” he said gently. “I think Lando would flip out if you weren’t here.”

And then, as if summoned by fate, Lando appeared. He leaped into the arms of the mechanics, their cheers lifting him higher. He was their winner—the boy who’d fought for this moment. But there was one more surprise in store.

Zac and Andrea approached Lando. “We have a 1.60m surprise for you,” they said, grinning. Lando’s confusion melted into understanding as he followed their gaze. His eyes locked onto Amira, standing there like a beacon. Without hesitation, he ran to her, lifting her off her feet. She clung to him, like a baby koala seeking refuge.

For an eternity, they held each other—the race winner and the girl who’d captured his heart. And in that moment, amid the cheers and the sun-kissed joy, they found their own victory.

“Lando. My Lando… You finally did it. I’m so proud of you. Mi ganador,” she whispered quietly. In that suspended moment, the world ceased its frantic spin. The crowd froze, their collective breath held. For one perfect moment, everthing stopped.

There existed only the two of them—the victorious racer and the girl who’d cheered him on. Lando leaned his forehead against hers, a shared heartbeat. A tear escaped Amira’s eye, and he wiped it away with gentle urgency. “My Mira. I did it. I finally won,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. She couldn’t find words, so she nodded, her heart echoing his triumph. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent—the sweet mix of adrenaline and possibility.

And then, as if the universe nudged them forward, time resumed its march. Lando was whisked away to the podium, the spotlight now on him. Cameras clicked, capturing moments that would echo through history: Lando’s gaze fixed directly on Amira, her tears as he received the trophy, and Andrea’s proud smile.

Even the commentators—Crofty and Bundl—couldn’t resist. “And here we see Amira Sainz,” they narrated. “The youngest sister of Carlos Sainz and a famous actress. It seems she’s shedding happy tears for her friend Lando Norris, who just won his first GP. And… is she reapplying her lip gloss?” The world watched, and in that snapshot of time, Amira and Lando’s story became legend.

#baby!sainz!sister #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #carlos sainz x sister!reader #formula 1 x reader #miami gp 2024

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sunnyswide · 5 months

Text

König x Delulu Virgin reader :(

NSFW!! MDNI!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Contains SEXUAL CONTENT!!!

"You're a fucking tease y'know that?" Konig slams the door behind him, locking both of you in the small broom closet.

You strain your neck just to look up at him. He looked..angry? It's out of character for him when he's not on the field but you couldn't care less. Stuffed in a closet with the hottest dude you knew on base, or better yet probably the whole world. Who's to complain?

"wh-what did I do??" You press your hands against his chest, bringing minimal distance between your bodies. But honestly, you just hope he'd grab them and push you against the wall- :)

"Don't act fucking dumb Liébe" He snapped. Stepping closer to you only for you to-well you guessed it-be straight against the wall.

"You didn't think I would notice? All dolled up for who? Couldn't last 2 hours without the attention?"

His arm against the wall, and his other creeping harsh circles on your sundress.

"m'came back for a visit" you muttered against his chest which seemed ever closer.

He leaned down to your ear, his messy curls brushing against your flushed cheeks, "Who."

"You!" You whine out.

"..."

He stayed silent for a few seconds, debating whether you were playing him or you really meant it.

"richtige Antwort" (correct answer)

He let go of your waist, placing his gloved fingers on the tip of your chin. "Du gehörst mir" (You belong to me)

"Kö.."

His lips pressed gently on yours, his left hand lifting your pretty sundress up. To you, he looked insatiable, slipping off your thin shoulder straps, nipping at the sensitive skin around your supple breast.

You limped against the wall, searching for something to grip on- to let the tension ease. His hand reached up, tangling your fingers in his as he led you to his messy hair. You complied, grabbing a fistful of his curly locks causing him to bite harder on your hardening buds.

The room was filled with your adorable moans, trying oh so hard to keep your voice down.

"I want to hear you.."

He let go of your breast, making a popping sound with his mouth

"I want to hear you scream"

His stare was cold, almost like he was threatening you.

But maybe. He was.

You watched in shameful anticipation but awkward nervousness as he quickly dealt with the buckle of his belt, making a clink as it dropped. His hard membrane was blatantly obvious, with his swollen tip peeking out the top of his boxers. You look up at him, his eyes frigid.. dead.. serious, it's as if he's looking down on you. But you couldn't have been more wrong, in his head was the thought of mercilessly fucking your brains out, then showering you in kisses and a ring on that finger the next time your family sees you. Which was in 1 week.

You reach your hand out, to free his aching..throbbing.. monster of a Dick but he stopped you halfway

"Maus.. don't worry, you dont have to do anything"

He whispered, shifting his cock out agonizingly slow.

"Let me.. make you feel good Schatz"

You hiccuped, letting your hands slide down to the side of your thighs. Watching him stroke his dick, Lathering the thin layer of pre-cum over his shaft.

"Will..it fit..?"

He lifts your thigh up, exposing the slick accumulating all over your folds, dripping down your thighs.

He hummed in amusement, sinking his fingers into you.

"Ko..! Will it?" Your eyes already welling up with tears as he stimulates your cunt. His fingers spreading apart, unknowingly to you, he was generously preparing you for the Fucking of your lifetime.

He presses gentle kisses to your lips, positioning his tip between your folds, gradually pushing his massive self into your pretty puffy virgin pussy <3

You place your hands at his shoulders, muffling your hiccuped moans in his burly chest, feeling the incredible stretch of his Cock, every vein budging against your tight walls.

He grunts, forcing himself deeper as he finally bottoms out, a creamy white ring already forming at the base.

It was embarrassing to admit but you already felt yourself going over the edge as he thrusted himself deeper into you. Hitting spots your tiny little fingers couldn't imagine. Your moans turn into bitter cries and uncontrolled sobs as he begins pounding into you, his hand grabbing your other thigh, lifting you against the wall- letting him fuck you at a new angle. The sounds of your pussy, overstimulated, overwhelmed, and overused filled the room with gushing noises as his meaty dick continued ramming upwards at your cervix. You swore you lost consciousness a handful of times but awoken to the waves of pleasure being shoved into your womb. His weeping Cock pumping load after load, too pussydrunk to hear your soft pleads...begging him to stop. How your legs tremble over the bend of his arm, growing numb.

Finally as you seem to reach your last orgasm of the day..

The smell of morning rain stiffens you awake. You jolt up from your bed, sweat slick on your forehead and a wet sensation in your panties.

It was all just a dream. "FUCK!"

"You okay?" Konig peaks in to the room to look at your flustered self

-im sorry guys

#konig call of duty #konig cod #konig x reader #konig smut #konig mw2 #cod #cod smut #call of duty x reader

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soulofapatrick · 9 months

Text

Under the Mistletoe - Peter Hale x Femae Reader

Summary: Peter has to step outside during christmas celebrations and you follow him

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: None, just some pure Christmas fluff

Y/N’s POV

The Stilinski living room is an embodiment of cozy chaos—warmly lit by twinkling lights and filled with laughter that bounces off the walls. We're all gathered, the whole pack, tightly nestled onto every available surface. Couches are claimed by some, while others opt for the floor, sharing pillows and throws in a haphazard but comfortable manner. It's crowded, but the festive cheer keeps us close, shoulders brushing and smiles exchanged.

From the doorway, Dad, Melissa and Peter stand, observing the scene with amused expressions. Dad’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he leans against the doorframe, a mug of something warm in his hand, as Erica and Liam bicker over who the gift in Malia’s hand is for. Melissa exchanges a fond glance with him, her lips curving into a soft smile, while Peter’s gaze holds a mixture of amusement and something else—a tinge of sadness.

Peter’s eyes meet mine across the room, a brief but charged connection that sends an unexpected warmth cascading through me. Caught in the intensity of his gaze, I can’t help but feel my cheeks flush, and I quickly avert my eyes, focusing instead on the gift being launched my way by Scott.

As I peel away the layers of wrapping paper, a soft chuckle escapes me when I uncover a hoodie. But not just any hoodie—its a simple yet heartwarming statement piece. In bold letters, it reads “Best Pack Mom Ever!”

The room erupts into laughter and cheers, a chorus of voices expressing their approval and amusement at the gift. I can’t help but grin, feeling a warm rush of gratitude and affection for this pack that feels more and more like family with each passing day. Without a thought I pull it over my head and melt with love as it’s so fluffy and warm and oversized.

Glancing up again, I catch Peter’s eyes once again, this time softened with a gentle smile that reaches them. There’s a subtle depth in his gaze, a silent understanding that tugs at my heartstrings. His subtle nod and the ghost of a reassuring smile sends a flutter of warmth through me, easing any lingering nervousness.

Despite the festive cheer enveloping the room, a lingering sense of melancholy in Peter’s eyes doesn’t escape my notice. His smile, though warm, carries a weight that speaks volumes, and I can’t shake the feeling of a hidden sorrow behind it. As the laughter and chatter of the pack fills the air once more, I see Peter swallow hard, a visible lump forming in his throat. Without a word, he turns and quietly slips away, his departure unnoticed amidst the joyful chaos.

Squashed between Derek and Jordan, I feel a nudge of worry from the latter as I shift to get up. Patting Jordan’s knee with a reassuring smile, I offer a quick “I’ll be right back Jor.” Before making my way out onto the small front porch, where Peter stands, cloaked in shadows.

The night air is crisp, filled with a serene quiet that contrasts sharply with the festive buzz indoors. Outside, the world feels different—quieter, more contemplative—and it seems to match Peter’s pensive demeanour.

“Peter?” I call softly, stepping closer, the faint glow of the porch light casting a gentle illumination around us. He turns slightly at the sound of my voice, the moonlight painting his features in soft contrasts. There’s a vulnerability in the way he holds himself, a rawness that I’ve seldom seen, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” I offer, feeling a pang of uncertainty about stepping into his private moment.

His age meets mine a mixture of surprise and something akin to gratitude flickering in those intense blue eyes, “You didn’t,” he assures, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

Feeling the unspoken weight between us, I cautiously move closer until I’m standing at his side. Peter remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his forearms resting against the edge of the porch. Without a word, I lean in, resting my head gently against his shoulder, a silent offering of comfort.

There’s a momentary pause, a heartbeat of anticipation, before Peter slowly turns his head, his breath brushing against my hair. Without a word, he leans in, burying his face in the soft strands, a subtle but profound gesture of seeking solace in the simple closeness. The wolves of the pack seem to do it a lot, as if they’re memorising my scent. I don’t mind it at this point, quite used to it and just wanting to make Peter smile again.

His strong arms, once unmoving, now wraps around me, pulling me closer into a gentle embrace. I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reassurance admits the silent turmoil within him.

Gently pulling back after a moment, just enough to meet his gaze, I sense a shift in peter’s demeanour. The shadow of sadness is still present, lingering in the depths of his bright blue eyes, but it’s fading, giving way to something else—something that sends my heart racing and my usually eloquent words scattering like autumn leaves.

His features, usually etched with an air of intensity and determination, soften in this moment of vulnerability. There’s a depth to his gaze that draws me in, an unspoken understanding that feels like a whispered secret shared between us.

I find myself entranced by the subtle play of moonlight on his angular features—the chiseled jawline, the faint scars, and those piercing eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. It’s a sight I’ve admired from afar, a magnetic pull that has stirred a quiet longing within me for longer than I can remember.

My throat feels dry as I wet my sudden parched lips, nerves fluttering like a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and seeing the vulnerability in his expression, stirs emotions I’ve kept carefully hidden—a rush of affection and an undeniable attraction that refuses to be ignored.

As the moment lingers, I feel the shift in Peter—a subtle but distinct change in his demeanour. His suave facade seems to resurface, a shield to conceal the vulnerability he had briefly allowed me to see.

His hand lifts, cupping my cheek in a gesture that sends shivers down my spine. The rough pad of his thumb grazes over my bottom lip, a barely-there touch that ignites a flurry of sensations. I catch the flicker in his bright eyes, the way they linger on my lips before meeting my gaze once more. There’s a hesitation in his expression, a hint of conflict that dances in those intense blue eyes. "I should stop," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a mix of uncertainty and restraint, a self-imposed barrier he seems hesitant to breach.

The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken desires and emotions. My heart races, caught between the yearning to lean into his touch and the fear of misunderstanding his intentions.

Caught in the charged atmosphere between us, my heart pounds louder in my ears, an erratic rhythm matching the intensity of the moment. With a surge of boldness fuelled by emotions I can no longer suppress, I act on impulse.

Without a second thought, I rise onto my tiptoes, closing the distance between us. My hands find their place on his shoulders, seeking support and anchoring myself as our lips finally meet. There’s a tender urgency in the kiss, a mingling of hesitance and longing, a culmination of unspoken emotions and desires.

Peter’s arms, strong and reassuring, wrap around me in response—one securely around my waist, drawing me closer, while the other cradles my head, holding me gently but firmly.

The touch of our lips sparks an electric current that courses through me, sending tingles down my spine and causing my entire being to tremble. His lips are soft against mine, a perfect harmony of warmth and reassurance, igniting a fire that spreads through every fibre of my being.

In that moment, there's a convergence of emotions—a sense of familiarity mingled with the exhilaration of something new and exhilarating. The kiss feels like coming home, yet exploring uncharted territory, a blend of comfort and passion that leaves me breathless.

I feel the tension in Peter's embrace ease, a silent affirmation of reciprocation. His kiss holds a tenderness that speaks volumes, a silent confession of emotions that words fail to express. It's a moment suspended in time, a revelation of desires and an acknowledgment of a connection that had silently thrived between us.

With a gentle breath against my lips, Peter murmurs, his voice barely audible yet carrying a weight of amusement, "There's mistletoe above us.”

A soft chuckle escapes me, muffled against the warmth of our lingering kiss. It's a rare sight, seeing a genuine smile grace Peter's lips, a fleeting but captivating moment that feels like a precious gift.

Breaking the kiss, we share a brief, lighthearted glance upward, confirming the small sprig of mistletoe hanging just overhead. It's an almost serendipitous detail, adding a whimsical touch to this unexpected but undeniably cherished moment. Our gazes meet again, and the air between us crackles with a newfound energy, a playful warmth contrasting the depth of emotions we've just shared. There's a silent understanding, an unspoken agreement to cherish this rare moment of vulnerability and connection.

Peter's thumb brushes over my cheek, a tender gesture that holds a promise of more unspoken conversations yet to come. His gaze lingers on mine, a silent reassurance in those intense blue eyes.

"I didn't expect this," he admits softly, a trace of vulnerability coloruing his tone, a rare glimpse of the man behind the walls he usually upholds, “I didn’t expect you to want me back, to feel the same way with our age gap.”

“I don’t care about that Creeperwolf,” I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips, feeling the weight of the unspoken but shared sentiment between us, “Now come back inside and celebrate with me.”

“The others…”

“Peter Angus Hale, when have you cared what others think of you?”

“Alright Love, lead the way.”

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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bisexualcage · 1 year

Text

Stunt Work | Johnny Cage x Trans Male

Pairing: Johnny Cage x Male Reader (trans male/masc)

Summary: you’re a stunt double working on one of Johnny’s films, he’s annoying to work with and you think you both mutually hate each other…at least you thought.

Warnings: NSWF! 🔞 MDNI!!, mentions of afab anatomy, there’s almost no plot but I tried my best so it’s a little layered.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/C: I didn’t really proof read this a whole lot, so ignore any errors pls <3

Part 2 here <-

“Alright, Cage, you gotta commit to it man stop flaking— grab his shoulder, flip him over and leg lock.” The director instructed Johnny who was shirtless, sweating and in an overall fussy mood because he couldn’t for some reason commit to performing the stunt on you all the way.

“Hop off my sack, man. I’m trying.” Johnny breathed heavily.

“If I may-“ you tried to put in a word of advice but it was quickly shut down.

“Listen, G.I Joe, zip it-“ Johnny barked, all cocky.

“You both been acting like cats and dogs all day, cut it out!” He yelled and then turned to Johnny, “What’s gotten in to you? You’re literally a martial artist, an actor, and you keep stopping at a simple leg lock?” The director whispered at him, patting his back.

The director not reprimanding his shitty behavior and only talking about his stunt block made you scoff loudly.

Johnny gave you a brief look before looking away and shaking his head, “I know I am, I’m the best there is— I’m Johnny Cage for god’s sake.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, another take! We’re gonna get this!” The director yelled.

You rolled your eyes and got to position, as well as Johnny getting in to fighting stance in front of you.

“Action!”

Johnny started throwing his moves at you, you dodged them successfully and then the sequence he struggled was next. He grabbed your shoulder, flipping you over on to the padded floor harshly which made you groan, and then finally performing the leg lock on you— extending your leg between his thighs on the floor as you grunted. You thought he finally got the move down until you felt something firm against your thigh as he kept it in a hold. You hesitantly look down and notice that between his legs was a rock hard erection making you go completely still and your eyes widen. Of course, he noticed your reaction and he immediately let you go and stood up with an embarrassed look on his face. A blush covering his cheeks as his shades hid part of his face.

“Way to go, Johnny! That’s my boy!” The director yelled.

You got up from the padded floor and cleared your throat, a heat coming from your neck. Not really looking at him as you were ready to run off set to your trailer.

“Are we done?” You look at the director and ignore Johnny’s flushed face.

“Yes yes, go ahead and take your breaks.” He patted an immovable Johnny’s back.

Without even a second thought you rushed to your trailer, a bunch of feelings and thoughts flooding your head. You were confused as to why you felt an attraction to the asshole, you were supposed to hate his guts, right? But now, since it’s pretty obvious he didn’t wanna do a leg lock all day was because he didn’t wanna reveal the rock hard boner he got in that position with you it made any rationality of in your head vanish.

An hour passed since you were trying to relax in your trailer, that is until you heard a few firm knocks on your door making you jolt and walk to it.

“Listen, if the stunt needs more rehearsing I might shoot myself-“ your words caught at the back of your throat as you saw a showered Johnny in front of you with a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.

“Easy, G.I Joe. It’s me.” He grinned at you.

“No- we ain’t doing this shit. You cannot just knock on my door with a smile and expect me to forget how much of an insufferable dick you’ve been.” You went to close the door on his face but he shoved his foot in and firmly moved his way in.

“What the-“

“Unclench your ass, I just need to talk.” He walked in with his hands in his pockets, he was wearing slacks and a navy blue dress shirt with his usual shades.

You slam the door closed as you turn around and near him, “The only reason why I’m letting you in is because I need this damn job— I would have kicked your ass by now.”

Johnny smirked, completely not phased by your red angry face, taking his shades off and looking in to your eyes with his big brown warm eyes. “Listen, I know I was a bit of a dick but I like you despite our quarrels on set. It’s an eat dog eat dog world out there, baby.”

You scoff loudly, “Baby?”, a redness in your face.

Johnny walked around your trailer, looking at your room and decorations on the walls. “Never had anyone call you pet names huh, stud?”

You shake your head and follow behind him, “Forget that. Why the hell did you have a boner when you did a leg lock on me?”

His cocky smile suddenly falters as he turns around to meet your eyes, his face uneasy. “That’s what I came to chitchat about. I’d appreciate if you didn’t go around to gossip about that. It wouldn’t be good press.”

You laugh dryly, “So you didn’t come to explain yourself but rather save your ass?”

Johnny rolled his eyes, “I’m a star, I don’t need any bs like that getting out there you understand? Plus, do you honestly think I could have controlled what happened?”

You shake your head, “That’s not the point. You know how many accidental boners I’ve experienced while doing stunt work? There’s friction when doing stunts it happens, it nothing perverted, But all of the actors I’ve worked with have apologized, just out of decency.”

Johnny actually stayed quiet, pondering on what to say, “I’m…I apologize. You know, I don’t usually apologize— I’ve been so out of it today and you being around just messed with my focus.”

You approach him more, “You’re blaming me for not being able to perform a stunt? I was distracting you?” You say bitterly.

“I’m not blaming you. Only explaining. I- I didn’t want to do the stunt all the way because I knew the second I got you on that leg lock…you’d feel it.” He looks away, a hint of vulnerability for the first time all day.

You sit down on a chair, taking a deep breath, “It wasn’t the friction.” He continued, looking at you with a certain emotion that you couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“What-“

“It was you. Moment you walked on set.” He played with the rings on his fingers, a more serious look on his face.

There was a warmth that overtook your body, a shock. “But-“ you were cut off.

“Just let me get this out alright, G.I Joe? I know what it looks like; ‘Johnny Cage getting a boner over another guy’, it’s not ideal for my image. It’s not ideal for Hollywood if it got out that their poster boy for masculinity, heterosexuality and womanizing was…not necessarily that all along.” He swallowed deeply now, sitting down next to you and looking away.

“…I guess you’re more layered than I thought. A dick with shades of gray.” You say, trying to be somewhat lighthearted at the rather shocking truth.

Johnny chuckled softly playing with his hands, “I am a dick sometimes, that I don’t deny. But the truth is, most of what people see is a facade— As most publicity of actors in hollywood is. I was raised in to this industry to fit a certain mold and you do it long enough you sort of become that regardless…” he trailed off, now looking at you, “As corny as it is, I haven’t felt a more genuine attraction in years.”

You blush, taking a deep breath, “So, have you always liked guys? Or is this something…new?”

Johnny thinks deeply, “Always. I get with anyone really. I’m an actor, of course I’ve gotten with dudes.” He grins at you, a hopeful look in his eyes that urged you to elaborate on your own thoughts.

“I guess we finally found some type of common ground Hollywood, I’m pretty…fruity.” You cheese.

“You are..?” His brown eyes turned to a dark color suddenly, a sort of hungry expression in his face. “And you…fancy me also, right? I see it in your face…”

You take a deep breath, “Careful with the ego but yes.” You chuckle, “Think I was…quite mad that your little slip up on set didn’t turn me off.”

Suddenly you feel his hand on your knee, his thumb grazing over your pants, “Come on then stud…we both want it.” He says in a deep husky voice.

A shiver runs down you leg, “Isn’t it unprofessional to get involved with- with coworkers?”

He chuckles, “Oh sweetie, unprofessional is my middle name.”, he glided his hand up your thigh now, studying your every expression as he did.

“Good point…” you breathe faster, a warm feeling festering in your lower abdomen.

“Shhh…shhh.” He whispered, “Let me just…I’ve been harboring a boner all day because of you, we’re doing this…” he trailed off, his hand now reaches the button on your jeans undoing it.

“Wait I-“ you stand up in a slight panic, “There’s something I gotta say before we proceed…”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at you, confused and stands up with you, studying your face.

You start pacing around, “I’m trans. A trans guy. I just wanted to say something before we-“

Johnny chuckled softly, a relief on his face, “Sweetheart, I thought you were gonna tell me something horrific.” He touches his chest, “Don’t worry about it, stud.”

Your face turns amused, “Are- are you sure you know what I’m saying?”

Johnny approaches you now, rubbing the back of your neck with his warm hand, “You’re a trans man, I understand. But a man nonetheless.”

You grow goosebumps as he touches you, “That doesn’t bothe-“

“It doesn’t, This is Hollywood baby, you know how many different folks I’ve gotten down with? I got you.” He now made his hand trail down your chest, rubbing it passionately.

Your breath hitches and you become warm all over, his hand then trails down your abdomen to under pants, his hand reaching the waistline of your briefs. Pulling you close against his chest with his free hand, “Now, come here, be a good boy…” he kisses your lips for the first time firmly, all warm and wet.

You sync your lips with his and hum against his mouth, a groan leaving his throat the deeper he went. Sliding his hand in your briefs now, rubbing your crotch up and down making you moan against his mouth.

“Fuck…” you hiss, making a grin form on his lips.

Johnny then suddenly slips his hand out and starts undoing your pants, but before he pulls them down he looks in your eyes for approval. When he sees that you nod with a gulp he immediately pulls then down to your knees leaving you in your briefs, “Don’t worry, honey…” he whispers as he cups your jaw and kisses you on the cheek. He pulls back while gently guiding you to the couch, your back against it as he finishes pulling your pants off. There was a primal look in his eyes as he crawled between your legs and was on top of you, his chest laying against yours as he leaned in and kissed your neck desperately.

“Shit-“ your breath wavers, your skin hotter than the sun.

“Mmm- taste so good-“ you heard a groan leave the back of his throat, he then trailed his hands down to your hips and gripped them tightly. “You okay? You ready?” He looked in to your eyes for any hesitation— as cocky as he was you saw an undeniable softness in them now. A want to please, a want to do something for someone. The way his eyebrows quirked up slightly waiting for your answer, like a kid looking for some sort of validation. For someone to tell him yes and that he’s doing well. It made you reconsider everything you knew about him so far. Maybe he was just a man desperately trying to look for connection in an otherwise soulless industry that broke people. He wanted connection, he craved it— he wanted realness with someone.

You nod, rubbing his sides tenderly. He closed his eyes briefly at that, sighing deeply with a small smile on his lips. Then, he reached the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his shirt, immediately going to unbuckle his belt and his pants. At a point, you saw he was struggling to get them off, maybe it was nerves, maybe it was frustration, so you sat up sightly between his legs and reached up gently to his belt undoing it with ease. You later unbuttoned his pants as well, but giving him space to take off his pants on his own. Johnny stayed completely quiet when you did that small act for him, observing you with a want that grew tenfold but with a side of that softness he emitted no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Big brown eyes like chocolate itself.

You chuckle up at him, “What, Hollywood?”

The actor snapped out of it, shaking his head, sliding his pants down and throwing them to the floor with the other clothes. “God, I wanna fuck you.” He said bluntly, taking his boxers off now, his dick in full view and without any hesitation going back between your legs, touching the hem of your briefs with his fingertips and with a sudden halt.

“Johnny, it’s okay…” you look down at him with a shy yet flushed face.

Johnny nodded, a grin back on his face as he used both of his hands to slide your briefs off— your heart accelerating at how slow he was going. He finally slid them down your legs and immediately his vision went your throbbing pussy— like an inevitable reaction. The actor licked his lips as he positioned his thighs and hips accurately, leaning over you. He looked in to your eyes as you felt his burning cock hitting your inner thigh, teasing your entrance.

“Hnnngh-“ you groaned, almost desperate now as you moved your hips against him, a trickle of sweat down your temple.

Johnny let out a chuckle as he placed his finger below your chin to look at him, “I ain’t even in yet handsome…take a breather.”

“Don’t tell me what to do you ass.” You chuckle and playfully slap his shoulder.

Johnny smirked at your behavior, reaching down between his legs and grasping his length that was oozing with precum already. Positioned it at your core and carefully slid past your folds with his hips— carefully studying your face as he laid down over you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“Ahh-“ you moaned softly, digging your fingers in to his lower back…trying to push him faster inside.

“Easy…easy….” He said with reassurance, his mouth agape as he finally made it all the way in making him grunt as he felt your walls clenching around his cock.

Johnny then took no time nuzzle in to your neck as he pulled his hips back slightly and then rammed in to you with no warning, making you let out an earth shattering groan against his ear. His arms locking around your waist tightly now as he held you against him like you were air itself and he’d die without it. There was a slight tremble to his body the more he rammed in to you.

“Jesus- fuck-“ your eyes grew a bit watery as you cursed, a coil already tightening in your lower abdomen while you tried to gain your breath.

“Oh- Wrong J name, baby-” He moaned with a bit humor beneath, peppering your neck and jawline with kisses as his buckling against your wet tight pussy became more frequent.

It was a cumulation of moans, groans, curses and senseless phrases between you both. You noticed his face was flushed, his cheeks pink as he pulled back a bit to study your face. “That feel good, sweetheart? That feel- Fuck-“ he whimpered, and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “Answer…” he continued, with a stern tone now.

Your chest heaved faster as he picked up his speed, “y- yes, god- so good-“, your hands gripping his lower back more as he pushed in and out of you.

“You’re gonna take it like a good boy- mmm, sweetheart-“ He groaned as he grabbed your hips now more harshly, you could tell he was close as well the way he became more direct and possessive. A constant harsh rhythm was formed by his hips, his dick reaching in to the deepest depths inside as he hit your g spot over and over with no mercy. With no breaks or signs of stopping, you whined loudly and shook— feeling your height coming.

A the coil inside you soon snapped, making you whimper as you reached your climax— coming all around his swollen length. Johnny leaned in to your neck, moaning against it as he came right after you— his warm come filling you up to the brim.

“Fuck- fuckkkkk-“ he groaned as he bit down on your neck and then licked alongside your jaw.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you held him close as you tried to come down from the electricity that was currently running through you both. Johnny then reciprocated… sighing loudly, still inside you and wrapping his toned arms around your waist not caring how sticky and sweaty you both were against each other. He was content of sorts, a small smile playing on his lips, closing his eyes against your chest as he listened to your quick heart.

“You okay, Hollywood?” You rub his back tiredly.

Johnny chuckled lowly, “I feel like a million bucks, baby.” He leaned in and took a long sniff of your neck, “I love how smell-“

“That’s sweat, don’t patronize me-“ you laugh, your face red and full of embarrassment as you realized he hasn’t made any attempt of moving out of you.

“Oh shush— you have a musk. You might get me addicted, sweetheart.” He rubbed your sides now, his hair sticking in all directions.

You snort loudly now, rolling your eyes at his charming yet annoying behavior, “Okay fancy pants, can you pull out of me? I need to pee, I don’t want a UTI!”

His eyes widen at the realization and he carefully pulls out, “Oh- oh I apologize, stud. Next time I’ll remember-”, the actor says apologetically and stands up with a slight tiredness, carefully helping you up as you wince.

“You’re getting pegged next time that’s what.” You say humorously with a grin as you walked to the bathroom in your trailer and he walked behind you like a lost puppy.

“Oooh, challenge accepted, G.I Joe!”

#johnny cage x reader #johnny cage #there needs to be more x trans male fics #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x male reader #johnny cage mortal kombat #mlm #johnny cage is bi #idc

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