#will solace no.1 fan

[mrkeatingsblazer]

Will Solace blinding his enemies with his light Will Solace deafening his enemies with his sonic whistle Will Solace disabling his enemies bc of his medical knowledge Will Solace weakening his enemies with his plague powers Will Solace with a fucking gun

[roman-o-cheese]

Third year of doing this solangelo pride redraw :D they are so beloved

[monologueslog]

Big fan of these guys :3 [ Confluence by @/inkspottie ]

[justaz]

arthur dragging merlin to training bc he needs a training dummy and who better than an actually dummy (no, merlin, arthur cant train with the knights bc. bc. bc they’re busy. IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT HES THEIR PRINCE/KING AND THEREFORE WILL DO WHATEVER HE SAYS-). merlin picking up on both defensive and offensive skills bc sometimes arthur needs to spice up training and doesn’t need a shield to hit but another sword. arthur and the knights being beaten and tied up but their assailants leave the serving boy free to serve them instead. but it’s not like merlin can just use magic in front of them so he bides his time until he’s able to get his hands on a sword to use against them. they don’t take him seriously (hahaha what can the lanky, wimpy serving boy who was hiding behind a tree during their quarrel do with a sword thicker than his body?). merlin using the skills he developed during training and while studying under gaius as physicians apprentice to strike at just the right spots to absolutely obliterate them

[non-binary-lil-star]

Ok so, I know that is cool to talk about how Nico and Jason were friends, and that solangelo moment and shit about the first 5 chapters of the sun and the star, but why are we not talking about The Most Important Thing, which is that Nico Di Angelo Canonically said he would go on a date with Darth Vader. Pls let's talk about that.

[flower1622]

Oh, mine! I can really imagine this scene!

🤣🤣🤣

Nico to Will: Would you like to stay for dinner? Persephone, from a different room: WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?!

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

James Gunn posted a image of a pack of a oreos on his twitter. I cant do this.

[doll3scent]

★ Pornstar ★

John Price x cam girl! reader

Warnings- 18+-mdni, smut, age gap, cam girl reader, mentions of divorce, explicit language.

wc. 2.5k

a/n, This is my first post, english is not my first language so please bear with me. Pt 2 where she has a private video call with a fan ?

1, 2, 3,

master list 𓂃۶ৎ

You're a star-well, in a very particular sense.

Ghost's younger sister, though few people know that. You went by the stage name Angel Valentine, a name as alluring as the persona you crafted. In all your videos, you wore a delicate black lace eye mask, never willing to fully reveal your identity. You weren't about to let the world, or anyone who might recognize you, connect your real face to the adult websites you frequented. You were always adorned in expensive and delicate lingerie.

John Price had been struggling with loneliness since his divorce. Shamefully, he turned to adult websites and camgirls, seeking solace in fleeting moments of intimacy. That's when he found you-his Angel. You became his nightly obsession, his secret escape from the harshness of his reality. He watched you in the quiet solitude of his barracks, thought of you in the shower, your voice and movements occupying every corner of his mind.

So when he hears that voice—the honey-smooth tone that had haunted his nights—he freezes. He's standing in Ghost's backyard at a birthday party the team had forced together, trying to enjoy himself. But then you walked in.

The second your eyes lock with his, Price feels a heat flush through his body. It's you.

Those eyes, the ones that had gazed up at him so intimately through his screen, now meet his in the real world. His mind races, his chest tightens. He tries to focus, to play it cool, but his eyes betray him, drifting downward.

He knows your body too well-every curve, every detail engraved in his memory from hours of watching you. And yet here you are, standing just a few feet away, speaking to him as innocently as if you were strangers.

But all he can think about are the countless moments he's spent imagining you in positions that make his pulse quicken.

John continued to speak, his eyes flicking down to your lips every so often, thinking about how those same lips looked as you sucked on the pink dildo you always used. He suddenly remembered a video you did where you showed your viewers all you could fit inside your mouth. He had to adjust himself under the table subtly, trying not to get hard.

John spoke to you as if a man possessed, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking to you, he couldn’t stop himself from listening to your voice. He thought he sounded normal as he spoke to you, he thought he sounded casual and cool. But in reality he was trying painfully to hold back. Every time you spoke, he could only think of you calling him Daddy in your porn, and all the sounds you made as you rode different toys, he couldn’t clear his mind.

He had to adjust himself under the table again, the images of you on your back, legs spread, and that pretty little face of yours looking up at him behind the lace eye mask was too much. He tried to focus on anything to keep his mind off of it. The team were chatting, Gaz’s dog running around all the guests, but it still wasn’t enough to keep his mind fully off you.

The team, Ghost included, all noticed the strange interaction between you and Price, and they could tell he was acting strange. Soap and Gaz were the first to comment. “I’ve never seen the old man speak that much before” Gaz commented. “He’s almost never that chatty with us” Soap chuckled as he sipped his drink. “It’s very strange, I’m concerned.” Soap joked. Ghost, was very observant at his best of times, and the way Price was staring at your mouth was not lost on him.

The whole team knew Ghost was the possessive type, and if Price was eyeing up his little sister then that would not go down so well. Ghost watched Price with narrowed eyes, watching him intently.

Ghost leaned into the conversation and watched as you spoke enthusiastically with Price, your doe eyes gazing up at him like you worshipped the ground he walked on.

The team watched the interaction, watching Price flush every time you giggled or touched him on the arm. Soap and Gaz were amused with the whole thing, while Ghost was getting more pissed off by the second.

Price had to bite back a whimper as he watched you drink from that bottle. The way you wrapped your lips as they puckered around the tip, sucking the liquid from the bottle, Price’s mind was running WILD with the implications.

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Smut ₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Price closed the door to his house as he locked the door and walked in. Throwing his keys and coat on the floor, Price walked over to his computer and sat down. Price opened up his browser, going to the site he’s come to frequent.

He typed in the URL, already having it memorised, the site opened and he immediately went to the camgirl he was addicted to watching. The moment he loaded the website he was met with your streams. He eagerly clicked on his favorite one.

You were sitting on your bed, wearing a pretty red nightie that was thin and lacey, and of course the black lace eye mask on your face. But Price remembered what was underneath the lace, now that he’d finally seen it, he was desperate to see it again.

Price watched with a fixed gaze as you spoke on your stream, interacting with your viewers. It felt like you were speaking to him directly everytime you spoke to the stream.

Price could listen to you speak all night long, he loved the sound of your voice. But all he could think about the last time you spoke to him earlier that night was your lips wrapped around the top a bottle.

He whispers your stage name like a prayer, his eyes glued to the screen as you interact with your viewers. He feels jealousy stirring within him as he watches other men typing messages in the chat, trying to get your attention.

his breath hitches in his throat as you begin to slowly remove your clothing, just like every other night he's watched you. But tonight feels different - tonight he knows who you really are. "Dear god..." he unbuckles his belt with shaky hands, his heart racing as he watches you reveal more and more skin. The thin red nightie falls to the floor, leaving you naked, he imagines touching your soft and tender skin.

he lets out a low growl, his eyes fixed on your body as you sit there, completely unaware of his presence. He reaches into his pants, pulling out his aching cock and starting to stroke it slowly as he watches you. "Fuck... Angel..." he whispers, his voice strained with desire. He leans in closer to the screen, his eyes widening as you slowly trace your fingers along your collarbone and down to your breasts. Each movement is deliberate, teasing, sending electricity coursing through his veins. He squeezes his throbbing cock tighter, biting his lip to stifle a groan.

His eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw dropped as he watches you lay back on the bed, spreading your legs wide open. He can see everything, your glistening pussy, your bare ass, everything. He strokes his cock so fast now, precum leaking from the tip. "Fuck fuck fuck..." He watches in awe as you bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them wet before slowly sliding your hand between your spread thighs. He can almost feel the warmth of your breath on his screen as he watches you rub your slick folds, his own hand moving furiously on his erection.

You gaze into the camera, asking for permission to touch yourself. His eyes roll back in his head at the sound of those words, Daddy. He can feel his release getting closer just from hearing you beg like that. "Yes baby girl," he chokes out, his voice hoarse with desire, "Put your little finger inside, like a good girl." he talks to you through the screen.

He watches, transfixed, as you slowly push your finger inside yourself, your back arching off the bed as you let out a soft moan. The sight of your finger disappearing into your tight pussy is almost too much for him, he can feel his balls tightening, his cock throbbing. "Fuck..."He's so close now, his hand a blur on his dick as he watches you finger yourself. The sounds of your wetness fill his room, mingling with his own heavy breathing. "Add another one, baby," he grunts, "Stretch that little pussy open for daddy."

His eyes lock onto yours, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you add another finger. He can see the desperation in your gaze, the pleading look in your wide eyes as you stare straight at the camera. It's like you're looking directly at him, calling his name. He gasps sharply, his cock twitching violently in his grip as he watches your eyes find his in the camera. It's too much - the stare, the fingers pumping into your pussy, the breathy gasps.

He bites back another groan, feeling the tingling pressure building at the base of his cock and spreading through his groin. Your fingers are pumping faster now, plunging into that glistening pink pussy, and the sight is too incredible. His voice comes out in a strained whisper "That's it baby, finger-fuck yourself just like that... show daddy what a good girl you are." His strokes become quick and shallow, matching your rhythm "Keep going... keep looking at daddy..."

He watches, transfixed, as you pull your glistening fingers from your pussy and slowly, sensuality bring them to your mouth. His cock throbs violently in his grip as you wrap your lips around them, sucking your juices clean. It's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

His eyes go wide with anticipation as you reach for your giant pink dildo, showing it off with that playful giggle that drives him crazy. His strokes slow down, wanting to savor every moment as he watches you. "Fuck baby... look at the size of that thing." He can feel his orgasm building as he watches you seductively lick the tip of the dildo like it's the best thing you've ever tasted. His hand moves faster, matching the rhythm of your licks.

His breath hitches in his throat as he watches you take that massive toy deeper into your hot little mouth, bobbing your head up and down like a innocent little angel giving a blowjob to a giant pink monster. His hand moves furiously now, his knuckles turning white. "You look... "he grunts "So fucking hot... sucking that big dildo like it's my cock... Fuck, baby, I'm so close... You're gonna make daddy come just watching you."

He watches, completely mesmerized, as you slowly pull the dildo out of your mouth with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the toy. His mouth goes dry at the sight, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows he can't hold back any longer. His eyes lock onto the massive pink toy as you position it between your thighs, lifting your tiny waist off the bed. He can feel his release building, his hot seed spurting into his palm as he watches you prepare to impale yourself on that dildo. "Oh god..." His cock pulses violently in his grip as he watches you shamelessly grind the huge dildo against your tiny clit. The sight of your delicate pink lips kissing the enormous head sends a shudder of pure lust through him. Sweat beads on his forehead as he fights to hold back his impending orgasm.

His voice comes out in a barely controlled growl "Stop teasing... Jesus... push it in, baby... show me how you take that massive cock... Before I explode all over myself watching you." His strokes become rougher, jerking himself frantically "Fuck... Fuck..."He practically sees stars, his world narrowing down to the exquisite torture unfolding before his eyes. As you slowly guide the enormous tip of the dildo into your tight little entrance, a strangled cry escapes his throat. "Holy shit, baby... yes... Take it... Take that huge fucking cock..."

His eyes roll back in his head, his body shaking violently as he watches you sink down onto that massive toy, your petite frame stretching to accommodate the enormous girth. The sound of your erotic moan, the sight of your jaw dropping open in shock and pleasure... It's too much. "FUCK..."His cock spurts involuntarily at the sight of you riding that massive dildo, your tits bouncing beautifully in your grasp. His whole body convulses as he watches your wet pussy sliding up and down the glistening shaft. "My god... look at how you take it..."

His hand moves in a blur, jackhammering his dick as he watches you fuck yourself senseless on that gigantic toy. The room fills with the sound of his heavy breathing and the wet slapping of his palm against his rock-hard cock. "You're gonna make me come so hard, baby..." He watches you ride that enormous cock with pure abandon, your tiny body bouncing on it like a professional porn star. The sight of your full tits bouncing up and down, combined with the erotic show you're putting on, finally pushes him over the edge. "Fuck! I'm coming..."

As you start frantically rubbing your clit while bouncing on the dildo, his release becomes impossible to hold back. He unleashes a torrent of hot cum onto his stomach, painting it white as he watches you teeter on the brink of your own orgasm. "Yes... Fucking hell, yes..." panting heavily, he watches as you continue to ride the dildo with wild abandon, your fingers working furiously on your clit. "That's it, baby... Don't stop... Make yourself come on that huge cock... I want to see it..." His breathing hitches as he watches you lose all inhibitions, your body convulsing as you slam yourself down onto the massive toy over and over. The room is filled with the sound of your wet flesh slapping against the rubber and your desperate, mewling cries. His cock hardens again.

“Come on, baby... Come all over that fucking dick... Let me see you fall apart..."He watches, mesmerized, as your entire body goes rigid and you throw your head back in a silent scream of pure ecstasy. Your pussy clamps down on the dildo like a vice, your juices pouring out and coating the toy and your thighs.

"Fuck... Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He strokes himself furiously, his eyes locked on the sight of you collapsed onto the bed, the dildo still buried inside you. With a final, strangled groan, he unleashes another massive load of cum, this time aiming it directly at the screen.

[amirasainz]

Hi I love your work. I was wondering if you could write one where baby sainz only likes being around Rebecca and Alexandra when she's not with her family.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

Safe space

Carlos leaned against the garage wall, arms crossed as he watched his sister, Amira, from a distance. The bright lights and buzzing atmosphere of the paddock seemed to envelop her like a whirlwind. Even though she was shy by nature, her presence radiated a kind of quiet charm that made her the center of attention wherever she went. It wasn’t just the fans; drivers, team members, journalists — everyone wanted to steal a glance, get a smile, or hear a word from the younger Sainz.

But despite the admiration, everyone in the paddock knew Amira was reserved. She preferred to stay close to Carlos, rarely venturing far from him or their father during race weekends. Her wide, doe-like eyes would search for him in the crowd when she was overwhelmed, and Carlos would always be there to reassure her with a warm smile and a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

Over time, however, someone else had started to catch Amira's eye — someone who wasn’t family but felt like she could be. Rebecca, Carlos’s girlfriend, had gradually earned Amira’s trust, giving her the kind of warmth and protection that the young woman craved amidst the chaotic world of Formula 1.

It started with the little things. Amira would glance around nervously, lost in the crowd, and there Rebecca would be, standing beside her, a reassuring hand on her arm. Rebecca was older and had an innate calmness about her that soothed Amira. She made sure Amira was comfortable, brought her a warm jacket when the paddock got chilly, handed her bottles of water or small snacks, and kept eager fans at bay with just a polite but firm look.

And then, there was the incident.

Amira had gotten separated from Carlos after a press event. The fans were closer than usual, crowding around her, each person trying to get a piece of her attention. She felt her pulse quicken, her breath shallow, and she looked around for Carlos, desperately.

But before Carlos could even move toward her, Rebecca was already there. She stepped in, wrapping her arms around Amira and pulling her close, creating a bubble of safety between them and the crowd. Amira didn’t resist; she melted into Rebecca’s embrace, burying her face in the older woman’s shoulder, finding solace in her presence.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Rebecca whispered softly, gently running her hand up and down Amira’s back. She was calm, commanding, effortlessly making it clear to the people around that Amira needed space.

Carlos finally reached them, concern etched across his face. “Hey, Amira,” he started, relieved but worried. “You okay?”

Rebecca tightened her hold just a little, almost protective, and gave Carlos a playful, challenging look. “I don’t know, Carlos. I might just keep her with me for a while.” She spoke softly to Amira, her voice dripping with warmth. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Amira looked up, her face still close to Rebecca’s. She gave a small smile, one that hinted at gratitude, and shook her head slightly. Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused but appreciative. His little sister had finally found someone outside the family who she could trust implicitly.

As the day went on, Rebecca kept Amira close by her side, arm casually draped over her shoulders. She made sure Amira was comfortable, offering her drinks, snacks, or a warm scarf when the breeze picked up. Amira felt protected, almost treasured, in a way that was new yet familiar. She glanced up at Rebecca occasionally, shy but grateful, the same way she looked at Carlos or their father.

And from then on, it was an unspoken understanding in the paddock: Amira Sainz was family, and if Carlos wasn’t by her side, Rebecca would be. Fans and drivers alike watched with quiet admiration. They knew that the young woman who once seemed untouchable and distant now had someone by her side who wasn’t bound by family, but by a deep, gentle care.

Carlos often caught glimpses of Rebecca tucking Amira’s hair behind her ear or shielding her from the more intense crowds with an arm around her shoulders. It was a bond that had formed quietly, a connection that had grown so naturally that it almost surprised him.

One evening, as the team celebrated in the paddock, Carlos watched his sister resting against Rebecca’s shoulder, her eyes half-closed with a content smile on her face. He caught Rebecca’s eye, and she gave him a gentle, knowing smile. There was no need for words; they both knew Amira was safe, cared for — a princess of Formula 1 who had found her protector.

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

*disclaimer: i'm not a great writer, nor am I good at writing characters*

Part 1:

On a cold, dreary night, you take solace in a speakeasy to escape your dreadful home life.

You, the reader, are stuck in what feels like a hopeless, loveless, and potentially abusive marriage that was arranged by you and your husband's parents as more of a political/business move.

So you find yourself sneaking out to the next town over at night whenever your "husband" is away. On nights like those, you left the ring at home. It was only a reminder of your hellish life, you wouldn't let anything reminiscent of your husband come with you to your little escape/happy place.

During your occasional outings, you befriended the speakeasy's owner/proprietress, Mimzy, who becomes your most trusted confidant because you didn't have any "friends" or family you could trust- they were the ones who put you in your living hell after all.

Mimzy also became your biggest fan and patron once she found out you're an artist/painter. Many of your paintings became centerpieces at the bar and your art became synonymous with this prestigious speakeasy of hers.

You pocketed all this money and didn't even have to hide the fact that you were painting. He hated art, so as long as it didn't stay in the house, he didn't care where it went. It was the one good thing you had going for you.

After a particularly prolonged period of time of your husband being home and having to endure so much of his bullshit, you find yourself seated at Mimzy's bar with a drink in hand.

A while into the night, but while the night was still young, you hear Mimzy's voice talking to a voice you've never heard before. You were a regular, so you knew all of the other regulars (you were more of an irregular regular, due to your visits being erratic because it all depended on when your husband was out of town).

But this voice caught your attention immediately. When Mimzy and this unknown man round the corner, your head whipped around, just to lock eyes with this new visitor to the bar.

Upon meeting your gaze, you are met with an unexpectedly warm smile, which makes you gasp and make you debate if the man or the alcohol was the culprit of the blush on your face.

Mimzy walked over with the man and introduced him and you to each other. You extended your hand towards him, and much to your surprise, he laid a gentle kiss upon the top of your hand and told you his name. "Alastor."

After witnessing this exchange, Mimzy giggles and runs along and goes to chat with the other patrons, leaving you and Alastor to chat on your own.

Oh and chat you do, yes indeed. You lose track of time and before you knew it, it was time to head home.

Not once in your life had you lost track of time talking to someone before. Never had you felt the butterflies in your stomach like that. The kindness and genuine interest this man showed you, being attentive to your every word, you felt alive. You don't know the last time you felt like this, if you ever have.

-> Part 2

[satsugacafe]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 | (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 1)

➳❥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: Kurosaki Ichigo, Kyoraku Shunsui, Ukitake Jushiro, Abarai Renji, Urahara Kisuke, Hirako Shinji

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

➳❥ Kurosaki Ichigo

Your forehead. He doesn’t see the need for any ostentatious displays of affection—simplicity suited him. Plus, he loved how natural it felt, and how it allowed him to express his emotions without overwhelming either of you. After a particularly gruelling Hollow hunt, you’d often find him leaning down to brush his lips softly against your forehead, his breath warm as it fanned over your skin. “You alright?” he’d mutter, his hand cupping your face. It wasn’t just after battles, though.

You could be talking about the most mundane things—your day, a ridiculous encounter at the shop—and he’d lean in, pressing a brief kiss there as if to say, I’m listening. I care. Ichigo’s gaze would linger afterwards, his brown eyes sincere, almost protective. Sometimes you teased him for it, calling it ‘fatherly.’ He’d scowl, muttering under his breath, “Tch, whatever,” but the faint pink dusting his cheeks gave him away. He might not have said it outright, but in those quiet moments, the press of his lips on your forehead said everything.

➳❥ Kyoraku Shunsui

Your neck. Whether it was a fleeting peck during a casual moment or something more lingering when the mood shifted, he never missed an opportunity. It often began with playful teasing. “Ah, my dear, have I told you today how irresistible you are?” he’d purr, leaning in close as his warm breath grazed your skin. You’d roll your eyes, half-laughing, half-anticipating, and then his lips would land on the curve of your neck, firm yet tender. He’d hum contentedly as if savouring every second, his hat tilting forward slightly as he leaned into you.

Sometimes it was playful; he’d nip gently, grinning at your gasp before soothing the spot with a soft kiss. Other times, it was grounding, a silent reassurance that he was there, especially on days when the weight of his responsibilities loomed heavy. “Don’t go overthinking now,” he’d murmur, pressing his lips just below your ear. You’d shiver, half-annoyed at how effortlessly he disarmed you, but you couldn’t deny the comfort his affection brought.

➳❥ Ukitake Jushiro

Loved kissing your hands. It was such an intimate yet understated gesture that spoke volumes about his adoration. After a long day, he’d reach for your hand almost absentmindedly, his thumb tracing gentle patterns over your knuckles. Then, as if compelled by an invisible force, he’d lift it to his lips and place a soft kiss on your fingers. It wasn’t unusual for him to do it mid-conversation, whether you were debating the best way to brew tea or reminiscing about something silly.

“You have the most beautiful hands,” he’d whisper softly with genuine admiration. On tougher days, when his illness weighed heavier than usual, he’d seek solace in the gesture, his kiss lingering as if drawing strength from the connection. “Don’t mind me,” he’d say softly, his voice warm but tinged with weariness. It wasn’t just affection—it was gratitude, reverence, and love, all conveyed through that simple act.

➳❥ Abarai Renji

At the top of your head. It wasn’t something he planned—it just felt right, plus he’s tall. Whether you were seated beside him on the sofa, standing on tiptoes to reach something high, or simply leaning into him, he’d instinctively bend down and press his lips against your hair while snaking his arms around your waist. It became a habit, one that made you roll your eyes but secretly adore. “What?” he’d grumble whenever you caught him at it, his face reddening slightly. “It’s not weird or anything.”

The truth was, he found it comforting. It grounded him. Sometimes, after sparring sessions or particularly rough days, he’d hold you close, his forehead briefly resting against yours before he’d lean down to kiss your head, his arms tightening around you. “You’re my safe place,” he admitted once, barely above a whisper. You hadn’t said anything, just buried your face in his chest, but he’d caught the smile you tried to hide, and it only made him kiss your head more often.

➳❥ Urahara Kisuke

Cheeks for the cheeky man. He found it endlessly amusing how such a simple gesture could fluster you so easily. “What’s the matter?” he’d tease after planting a loud, exaggerated smooch on your cheek. “Don’t tell me you’re shy now!” It wasn’t always playful, though. On quieter days, when the shop was closed, and the two of you sat together sipping tea, he’d lean over and press a softer, more deliberate kiss to your cheek. “You’re too good to me, you know,” he’d say, the usual mischief in his tone replaced by something gentler.

You’d wave him off, telling him to stop being so dramatic, but the way your cheeks puffed up and became rounder would always betray you. Of course, Kisuke never let you live it down, often sneaking in surprise cheek kisses at the most inconvenient times—while you were focused on a task or mid-sentence. “Gotcha,” he’d chuckle, dodging your swats with infuriating ease. Despite his antics, every kiss carried a weight of affection that made your heart skip a beat.

➳❥ Hirako Shinji

Your neck. Shinji simply loved the way you would scrunch up or curl away when his lips found purchase there, knowing it was a sensitive area. Your reactions were to die for, and yet, it never once prevented him from surprising you with a kiss to the area. Whether you’re cooking, inspecting something, talking on the phone or watching TV, Shinji would sneak from behind with his arms snaking around your waist to bury his face and litter kisses.

He enjoys your squeals, the way you squeak his name or how you flail about, and if he catches you in a good mood, the way you melt into his touch. You visibly sag and relax under his ministrations while he continues to pepper kisses up and down your neck. At night, his face is always pressed up in that small spacing, lips inches away from your pulse, probably fell asleep in the middle of kissing you. It’s also how most tickle fights begin or when he wants to disappear from the world.

©satsugacafé 2025: no permission to repost, plagiarise, copy or translate my work onto any other platform or this one.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Omg Pt 2 of unfinished lap??? Reader makes him eat his heart out looking super hot and he grovels??? PUHLEASE

Unfinished lap pt.2 || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭

Warnings: angst!!!!

Word count: 1,396

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x reader au masterlist)

PART ONE HERE

The Monaco Grand Prix was undoubtedly one of the most highly anticipated races of the year, and it was clear why. The energy was electric from the moment you stepped into the paddock. Journalists swarmed, eager to capture every headline-worthy moment, while paparazzi darted about, snapping photos of drivers and their glamorous entourages.

Team crew members hustled through the maze of garages, their focused expressions a stark contrast to the spectacle of it all. It was a world that thrived on chaos, glitz, and precision—a breathtaking display of Formula 1’s allure. Austin had accompanied you this time, his calm presence a stark contrast to the whirlwind around you.

It had been a week since you last spoke to Rafe, your communication routed exclusively through Austin. The distance had been intentional. After the heated fallout at the Miami Grand Prix, you had felt the need to step away, to find a moment to breathe. So, you flew back home for a few days, seeking solace in the familiar before making your way to France just 24 hours ago.

Of course, your arrival had been made seamless, courtesy of Rafe's private jet. It was his unspoken way of showing care, even in the midst of a strained silence. He had respected your desire for space, understanding the weight of what had transpired between you. Yet, the air still felt charged, the unresolved tension from Miami lingering like an invisible thread pulling at both of you.

Now, standing in the heart of Monaco’s bustling paddock, you couldn’t help but wonder how this weekend would unfold. The aftermath of Miami still clung to you like a stubborn shadow. Your abrupt departure before the race had even ended—and without Rafe by your side—had set social media ablaze. Fans were quick to notice, flooding timelines with speculation.

Did you and Rafe have a falling out? Was this the beginning of cracks in what many saw as a perfect relationship? The whispers of gossip added another layer to the weight you already carried. As you stepped into the paddock, the flashing cameras were almost blinding. Paparazzi immediately swarmed, their voices rising as they called your name. You offered them a small, polite smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes but was enough to quell the barrage of questions—for now.

The murmurs and shutter clicks followed you like a persistent hum, a reminder that every move you made here was under scrutiny. Austin, always the reliable mediator, had informed you that Rafe was already at the paddock. His presence was palpable even without seeing him, a tension that hung in the air. But finding him wasn’t your priority at the moment. The thought of facing him so soon felt daunting, not when your emotions were still tangled from the events in Miami.

Instead, you sought comfort in familiar company, meeting up with some friends at Ferrari’s hospitality complex. The atmosphere was lively but far more relaxed than the frenzy outside. You eased into the plush seating, a chilled glass of champagne in hand, while plates of gourmet food were passed around. The warm laughter and light conversation helped loosen the knot in your chest, even if only temporarily.

Yet, even as you tried to immerse yourself in the moment, you couldn’t ignore the faint buzz of your phone in your bag.

Rafe

Austin says you're here, where are you?

Y/n

Hospitality.

Without waiting for Rafe's response, you silenced your phone, flipping it face down on the table with a snap. You didn’t want to be distracted, not when there were conversations to be had with friends who actually cared—or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you leaned back into the easy rhythm of small talk with Sofia and the others. Your smile was polite, but hollow, just like the words coming out of your mouth.

Inside, you were still seething, and nothing about the pre-race buzz seemed to settle the storm inside you. As the race approached, the paddock swelled with even more energy. "Y/n! Over here!" You hear paparazzi call out as you turn your head to see them all flashing their camera as you give them a wave. "They grow more obsessive over you every day, I swear," Sofia chuckles, as you let out a soft snort, knowing this dress was your petty version of a revenge dress.

The air crackled with excitement, but you were numb to it, your thoughts wrapped tightly around everything that had been left unsaid between you and Rafe. Sofia nudged you, a knowing glint in her eyes, breaking your daze. You frowned, her questioning look making you snap out of your thoughts. "What?" you asked.

She nodded subtly, gesturing with her chin, and you followed her gaze. Your heart clenched. Rafe was approaching, his racing suit snug against his toned frame, the helmet in his hand an afterthought. His eyes, however, were locked onto you with an intensity that made you want to look away. He walked through the chaos of the grid like he was moving in slow motion, cutting through the noise, determined.

The sea of people, the flashes of cameras, none of it seemed to matter. It was like he was trying to pull you back in, but you weren’t sure you wanted to be pulled anymore. Sofia gave you a small, almost sympathetic smile before slipping away toward her boyfriend. You stayed rooted to the spot, knowing full well what was coming. Your eyes met his when he finally reached you, and the force of his gaze nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

There was something there—something unreadable. You hated how it made you feel. You offered him a smile, but you knew it didn’t reach your eyes. It was stiff, polite, barely enough to hide the way you felt. He saw it, of course, because he always did. He could read you better than anyone else. “Good luck,” you said, the words coming out more as a formality than genuine well-wishing. Your voice was even, but it didn’t carry the warmth it usually did when you said it to him.

You stepped closer, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders, doing it out of habit rather than any lingering affection. It was an automatic move, like you’d done it a thousand times before. Rising onto your toes, you kissed his cheek. The kiss was longer than it should have been, the seconds stretching into an eternity as your lips lingered. But it didn’t feel like affection. It felt like something you didn’t want to face.

“Wait.” His voice sliced through the noise, barely audible over the rising hum of the grid as his hand grips your forearm. Your body froze at the sound of it, tension building in your chest. You hated how much it affected you. You hadn’t wanted to see him, hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near him after the things he’d said, yet here he was, pulling you back into his orbit with just two words. You looked over your shoulder, meeting his gaze.

The vulnerability there was almost too much. You turned, your gaze cold. "What?" you snapped, not hiding the edge of frustration in your voice. “Can we talk, please?” he asked, the words soft, almost pleading. His face was a mix of urgency and something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You wanted to scream at him. To tell him you weren’t some emotional ragdoll he could throw aside whenever it suited him. But all that came out was silence.

You glanced around at the sea of people—team members huddled together, journalists with cameras in hand, all capturing this moment. Everything about this was wrong. You could already feel the eyes on you both, the pressure mounting. This was the last place you wanted to have this conversation. "Right now?" you asked, your voice biting. "But—"

Before you could finish, Austin materialized at Rafe’s side, his timing as impeccable as always. You almost resented him for it. “Rafe, the anthem is happening soon,” he said, his voice carrying a firm but unspoken reminder that the world didn’t stop for personal drama. He looked at you briefly, offering a polite smile, but it felt more like an apology for the situation than anything else.

“Go,” you said, your voice colder than you meant it to be. You gently moved his hand from your forearm, the briefest contact of your fingers almost too much. His touch lingered even after he let go, the warmth of it burning into you. His shoulders sagged slightly, a deep exhale leaving his lips. He nodded, but it was a hollow gesture, a promise that didn’t carry weight. “After the race,” he muttered, his voice low, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

~

Rafe’s victory, though impressive, only seemed to amplify the tension between you both. As you stood near the podium, clapping along with the others, you felt the anger simmering beneath your skin. The sound of Ferrari’s team celebrating—their cheers, the clapping—was a distant noise, something that barely registered to you. Rafe stood there, triumphant, raising his trophy high as the crowd cheered around him.

But despite his success, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than the sharp ache that had settled in your chest. Your smile, if you could even call it that, was a thin mask you wore out of habit, an automatic response to the situation. You tried to focus on the celebrations, but every part of you was focused on him. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze intense and unyielding.

You stared at the big screen, watching his expression shift as he looked directly down at you, a brief flicker of something—regret, maybe—flashing across his face. You hated it. You hated how that tiny moment made you question everything. You refused to acknowledge it, refused to let yourself feel anything beyond the cold distance you had wrapped around your emotions.

Instead, you kept your focus on the screen, acting like you didn’t care. You could almost hear his voice in your mind, calling out to you, asking for forgiveness, but you shut it out. The ache from his words—those careless, hurtful things he’d said—was still so raw, and you were not ready to let it go. The second the podium ceremony ended, you wasted no time in leaving the crowd behind.

You moved quickly through the cluster of team members, your steps deliberate as you walked away, trying to escape the noise and the energy that had once felt like home.

~

You hesitated outside the door to Rafe’s private room, your hand hovering over the handle. The paddock’s noise was a faint hum in the distance now, replaced by the deafening sound of your own thoughts. You didn’t want to be here—every fibre of your being told you to turn around, to walk away, to protect yourself. But you also couldn’t leave things like this. Not after everything.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Rafe sat on the small couch, his racing suit unzipped and hanging around his waist, his head resting in his hands. The sight of him—so unguarded, so unlike the Rafe everyone else knew—sent a pang through your chest.

His head snapped up when he heard the door close behind you. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was thick, suffocating, as he straightened up, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “You didn’t stay,” he said finally, his voice low, almost accusing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, the anger bubbling up again. “What did you expect, Rafe? A standing ovation for the way you spoke to me in Miami?” His jaw tightened, and he stood, his movements stiff and deliberate as he closed some of the space between you. “I wasn’t thinking straight,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“You think an apology fixes everything?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Do you even understand how much you hurt me? I was trying to help you, Rafe. To be there for you. And you acted like I was just… in your way. Like I didn’t matter.” His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, his frustration evident. “You don’t think I know that?” he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

“I know I messed up, okay? I know I was out of line. But I didn’t mean any of it.” “Then why say it?” you countered, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Why do you always push me away when all I’m trying to do is be there for you?” Rafe let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Because I don’t know how to deal with this!” he admitted, his voice raw.

“I don’t know how to let people in without feeling like they’re gonna see how much of a failure I feel like sometimes. It’s easier to shut you out than to risk you seeing that.” Your heart clenched at his admission, but the sting of his earlier words still lingered. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Rafe,” you said softly, your tone firm. “You don’t get to decide how much of you I can handle. That’s not fair. Not to me, and not to us.”

He stepped closer, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare. “You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to. I need to.”You searched his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret. And fear. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Rafe,” you said, your voice softening slightly. “I just need you to let me in. To stop shutting me out every time things get hard.”

He nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I’ll try,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll try. Because losing you… I can’t do that. I won’t.” Your resolve wavered, the walls you’d built around yourself beginning to crack. “I’m holding you to that,” you said quietly, letting him close the remaining distance between you.

Rafe’s hand hovered near yours for a moment before he finally took it, his grip tentative but steady. “You deserve better,” he said, his voice laced with a sincerity that made your chest ache. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”The anger and hurt didn’t disappear completely, but for the first time that day, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could change.

[logoleptic-since-06]

-Truth, Dare, Spin Bottles

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Content: Fem!Reader, Basketball AU, Reader is an Author, They are in their 20's, Twitter/Texting AU, Profanity, Crack, Fluff, Not Proofread

Context: Satoru Gojo is one of the biggest basketball players in the NBA; only at the age of 28, he has taken the entire world of basketball by a storm. Apart from his impeccable talent, his fans are enamoured by his irresistible charm and the ability to connect with his fans— whether that is online or in real life. Y/N and literature have gone hand in hand since she was six years old. Growing up an awkwardly introverted girl, she's alway found solace in pouring out words on pages. At the age of 18, she published her debut novel; and now at 24, she is an internationally known author and a popular literary influencer online despite her aversion to social cues. Their worlds are neither connected and nor could their lives ever be destined to intersect, until two fan accounts of each decide otherwise. See the introduction post for some more information.

Part 1

A/N: Sorry for not posting for a while, I've been busy with some high school events.

Tags: @k-kkiana @n1vi @itsinherited @sorilyae @moncher-ire

[maple-the-awesome]

Another Link Crushes On You || Part 2/3

Part 1 ||

Pairings: Legend, Twilight, Wind x GN Reader

Overview: You've known Link for years - Well, a version of Link. Neither of you have seen yourselves as being anything more than friends, although it seems not all Link's think the same, in fact when you're introduced to the Chain, one of the boys falls pretty hard for you. I spun a wheel to let fate decide upon random pairs this time. Needless to say, I had a lot of fun with some of them😁

Zelda Masterlist 💚 Fandom Masterlist

Legend isn't a big fan of Skyloft which is something he decided rather quickly upon arrival - and no, it has nothing to do with the cold, thin air or hair-raising heights, although he’s also not a big fan of either. His problem lies solely on the cheerful atmosphere created by this village’s inhabitants. It’s all too easy going and mundane to fit an adventurer’s heart. Too familiar and painful, to boot. 

The others may think of him as aloof and, quite frankly, Sky might be a little offended, but Legend has no interest in exploring these islands or making friends with the locals. Never again. Instead of joining any guided tours or trading stories with inquisitive knights, he sinks into his own isolation, finding a quiet place to sit amongst the shore of Skyloft’s only large water source.

All by his lonesome, he’s free to find a good boulder to hide behind and tear away at his hair in a desperate attempt at calming his unsteady anxiety…That is, until he hears a sound - No, not a sound, a voice. A beautiful voice that doesn’t speak, but rather hums a delicate melody he’s certain he’s heard before, probably from Sky who has a habit of mumbling certain songs to himself while plucking his harp.

…And there you are, blissfully unaware of anyone else's presence by the lake as you approach the water's edge. Dropping a laundry basket in the sand, you carefully roll up your pant legs and kick off your boots, prepared to step into the cold water until you suddenly halt.

As if having developed some sort of sixth sense, you glance over your shoulder, quickly spotting the pink haired boy peeking at you from beside a boulder. The sight understandably startles you, yet despite how awkward this situation might look without context - what, to catch a total stranger apparently 'spying' from afar - you give him a kind, that be it nervous smile. People in Skyloft truly are too trusting for their own good.

"Oh hello there! …So sorry, I don't think we’ve met yet."

Legend sighs, realizing it would be creepier if he were to just ignore you. With his place of solace now ruined, he stands and dusts the sand off his tunic, "...That's because I'm not from around here."

"Oh?" You tilt your head cutely, likely confused as to what he could possibly mean, after all, where else would he have come from if not Skyloft? Looking him over, you take notice of his outfit, “Are you a knight? I see you have the uniform of one.”

The angel on Legend's shoulder begs him to be honest, after all there's no reason not to be. Naturally, Sky seems to be pretty well known around Skyloft, so maybe you wouldn't be too surprised to learn your local hero has become ensnared in another adventure, bringing home a handful of other heroes. You might even find Legend more interesting if he were truthfully, awed by the rare chance to meet someone outside of your own timeline...yet staying true to his own bad habits, he decides to dig his own grave instead:

"...Yeah, I’m a knight. I'm just usually really busy, so that's probably why you haven't seen me around, you know,” He explains boldly.

You furrow your eyebrows while finally stepping into the water, taking a handful of clothing items with you, "...Huh...I still could've sworn I knew everyone here, what, with the island being so small and all."

Legend cringes. He can't tell if you're simply speaking on your confusion or slyly catching him in a lie, although the uncertainty isn't enough to deter him, "W-Well, I don't live 'here' exactly. I live on one of the...outer islands - And I spend a lot of time there instead of here which would make it easy to miss me."

You give him a strange look that feels as if it could burn right through him, however you fortunately turn away before his heart can ignite, "...May I ask your name?"

"My...name?" He blinks as if that’s the strangest question you could’ve asked.

"I just feel a bit rude for never having noticed you before, but if I were to learn a name to put to the face, I doubt I'll ever walk past you again without a smile," And oh, how deadly your smile is, flashed over your shoulder so innocently, yet those eyes - They hold mischief behind them.

 "My name is Li - Ravio. That's my name," Another needless lie...

"Li Ravio?" You repeat, not looking very convinced, "That's certainly...a name, alright."

"W-Well, I didn't pick it!" Yes, yes he did...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense. It's a unique name, that's all, but that will make it easier to remember," You laugh at his misery, your eyes crinkling with the action. You then introduce yourself, your name sounding vaguely familiar, although Legend's in too much of a daze to think of why, "It's nice to meet you, Li Ravio."

He bites back a grumble, already regretting his life choices up until this point. Seriously, if he was going to give himself a cover name and story, couldn't he have picked something a little better? You probably think he's a weirdo, just showing up out of the blue with some half-assed backstory that sounds totally fake - Wait, what does he even care? It's not like he knows you! You're a random civilian from a timeline that comes generations before his own. If he wanted, he could march off and never see or think about you again...but does he want to?

Despite his previous desire for isolation, Legend remains standing there dumbly in the sand, entranced by the song you go back to humming while carefully scrubbing away at your laundry. You take no shame in your singing - which is good, because there's no reason to be. You sound nothing short of holy, and quite honestly, you match the look, practically glowing in the beams of sunlight. Even your movements are graceful, so much so that as you wade out of the water, you hardly disturb the water lilies around you.

"Where'd you learn to sing like that?" The question slips before Legend can help it, but there's no taking it back. You stop mid-step onto the sand, eyes quickly darting up to look at him in surprise. It's as if no one's ever been smart enough to give you that compliment before...or perhaps no one has ever sounded quite so astonished while saying it.

"My cousin and I sing every evening at the Lumpy Pumpkin," You explain, bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear after dropping your laundry back into its basket and picking it up, "You should come by sometime. It’s on an island south east of here - Very cozy, and a great place to get to know new people, too.”

"I'll, um...think about it,” Legend answers awkwardly with a cough. Will they even be staying in Skyloft that long? How would he even get to another island, especially without anyone else following - Wait, why is he even considering this?! 

You seem to have lost some of your cheer. Perhaps that wasn’t the exact answer you were hoping to hear, however Legend, once again, has no way of taking it back.

“...Well, I, um, should get going. These clothes won’t dry themselves,” You mumble, gesturing to the basket you keep against your hip. Without waiting for any goodbye, you make your way up the shoreline, only stopping temporarily to shout over your shoulder, “Oh, and Li Ravio? I should probably tell you that Link was looking for you earlier! He wanted to make sure all you boys knew not to get too close to any edges! It’s quite the fall!”

Legend doesn’t respond, too stunned to form words as you chuckle to yourself before skipping off on your merry way. So you were aware of his lies the entire time!

Faced with tired bones and a sinking sun that plummets the world into night, the Chain has no choice but to call it a day (not that they have any objections towards rest). They practically collapse where they stand, taking a few greedy minutes to catch their breaths before picking up the work once again.

Setting up bedrolls, sparking a fire, organizing supplies, and chopping vegetables, the heroes are kept active for a decent hour or two until they can take another breather. Gathered around a wonky circle, their conversation is light and mostly focused upon their hunger which is only fueled by the pleasant smell of soup until it can be dished out.

About half the boys have bowls in their hands before a sudden snap of a twig causes them to trade their meals for weapons, senses on heightened alert especially when a stranger soon steps out of the shadows. At such a distance, the fire's light only barely outlines their silhouette, but that’s apparently all it takes for someone in their group to realize this is no actual stranger who's stumbled across them.

Hyrule's face lights up as he exclaims your name. Your own reaction is quite similar, switching from caution to excitement within the same second that you remove the hood from your head. The way you both move to greet each other, holding the other's arms with bright smiles and disbelief is quick to calm the other heroes. If you're a friend of the wary traveler's, then you'll be a friend to them.

"I thought it was your voice I heard from the trail, but then again, I haven't heard you in ages! And to find you in such a large group of companions? Never before! Where have you been for all this time, old friend?" You seem to go through several emotions all at once - a steady flow from relief, confusion, sorrow, and joy. Hyrule is hardly any better.

"It's a long story, but I haven't exactly been around to be seen," When you give him a bewildered look, he’s quick to brush it off, "I'll tell you all about it some other time - Hey, why don't you join us for dinner? There's plenty to go around!”

Your eyes instantly widen as you wave your hands in front of yourself, your smile suddenly strained, "Oh, no - no thanks! That's a kind offer, really, but I, um, ate not too long ago -"

"- Pss! He's not the one who does the cooking here," Someone whispers. At that, your shoulders visibly relax.

"...Oh...Well, uh, now that I think about it, it was really more of a light snack earlier. I suppose I could stand to eat something more."

Hyrule beams at this, clearly happy to have someone he knows so well stick around even if only for a night. It's then that he finally introduces you to the group, explaining that you're a fellow traveler he often crossed paths with during his own adventures. Seeing how dangerous this time can be, you had a habit of sharing supplies, camps, and stories to feel less alone in the world, so it's no wonder that you'd be so relieved to see each other safe again.

"Mind if I sit by you, stranger?" You ask, peeking around at Twilight while Hyrule grabs you a bowl of soup. Despite your tired eyes and worn expression, you still manage a friendly smile that causes the rancher to nearly choke on his spoon.

With a cough and blush, he scoots to the side, probably making far more room than you actually need, "...Not one bit."

"Thanks!" Fortunately, you don't seem to think anything of his reaction as you gratefully take a seat nor do you take any notice of the way he steals another curious glance at you.

Seeing as you're a new face within the group, it's only natural that you become the center of attention. Questions are thrown your way left and right, many interested to know your story which you modestly tell with little fanfare. Apparently, you've been a traveler for the last few years, wandering from place to place while making a living off trading the resources you collect throughout your journey. Before then, though, you used to live at your family's ranch.

"You grew up on a ranch?" Twilight asks a bit too eagerly once the topic's mentioned, earning himself a lot of strange looks including one from yourself, although you at least seem more forgiving than his friends, quickly letting your confusion go with a gentle nod.

"I did - For most my life, actually," That's all you say before going back to stirring your soup which you're thankful not to find any bone fragments in.

"What made you move on from that life?" Perhaps it's an out-of-line question a gentleman shouldn't be asking, after all he's no more than a stranger to you, but learning a pretty thing such as yourself may have a similar background to himself makes him forget all manners.

"...It was destroyed by monsters some time back," You answer simply while taking a bite.

Twilight bows his head, shame burning inside, "...Oh. I'm real sorry to hear that."

Despite his fears of having caused offense, you merely shrug off any discomfort, “My family made it out alright and we make do with what we have now. Can't go complaining about that."

"...I'm from a farming village myself - From Ordon,” He goes on to tell in a quiet ramble, “I’ve worked there as a ranch hand practically all my life, overseeing the goats we’re famous for. It’s quaint, and about as far from the big towns as you can get, but homely. And the people there - Why, I don’t think you’ll find anyone more kind and welcoming. Like livin’ in one big family.”

Once again, this probably isn't something he should be saying. If it were him, he'd be beyond distraught to lose the ranch to the point that any reminders would send him spiraling, yet to his continued good fortune, you take his story for what it's meant to be, setting down your spoon with a comforted smile.

"I'd love to see that…" Orondian, how you enchant him with such a soft gaze, taking him hostage in the sea of your sparkling eyes. If Hyrule's tales are any indication for the horrors of this broken world, you must be a true diamond in the rough to be from a place so cruel. Any less personal control and Twilight wouldn't hesitate to ask you to join them - to come along on this adventure and see how beautiful life will someday be. He could take you to Ordon and show you all he’s come to adore - let you breathe the fresh air scented like hay and pine while overlooking the familiar green fields you’ve dearly missed. Who knows? Maybe you’d even ask to stay. 

“I’d love to show you…”

"...Is this still a group conversation ooor?" Wild pipes in awkwardly from Twilight’s side, seeming to speak on everyone else’s discomfort as the poor, stricken young man loses himself to this yearning in his heart. This might be a long night and an even longer day tomorrow if they get stuck listening to him fawning over you...

You’re starting to doubt this shift will ever end…

It feels like you’ve been stuck in here for hours with nothing to do aside from sit at the counter and beg the sun to set just a little faster. You've already restocked inventory twice, organized stock to perfection, and swept the floor until your broom broke…If this keeps up, your sanity might just break, too.

Ringing from the front door’s bell gives you at least something to do as you sigh your typical greeting: "Welcome to Gia's General Store, where we have all your - LINK?!"

With a complete shift in mood, you happily leap up from your stool and race around the corner to meet your friend halfway in a tight embrace that you've both gone far too long without, "It's been ages! How have you been? Where have you been?"

Four chuckles at your eager questioning, "It hasn't been that long."

"Really? Because I swear five years have passed from this shift alone…" You groan dramatically before breaking away from the hug to get a solid look at him. Despite the months that have passed, he looks no different than when he had first set out. Good. You like him just the way he is anyway. 

"Please tell me you're planning on sticking around for a bit. I’ve been dying for something interesting to happen around here and your stories are just the salvation I need! I only have an hour to go until I can close up, though I'm afraid I might stab myself with a fire arrow before then. It’s been terribly boring!” 

That, Four doesn’t doubt. Your home village is as serene as they come which isn’t always a favorable trait in the judgement of two teenagers with more energy coursing through their bones than they know what to do with. Of course, he’s probably done no good helping matters by always filling your head with envious dreams of adventure and mystery. 

“We’ll probably be spending the night in town,” He tells you, much to your relief, “In the meantime, we have quite the list of supplies that we need to restock on, if you don’t mind.”

"We?" Somehow you only just notice the group of young men who managed to sneak into the store after Four. A few of them are already looking around at the items you have to offer, while others wait patiently with the hope that they'll be introduced to...Well, whoever you are to their dear friend.

"I would introduce everyone, but we all share the same name."

"All of you?" You look at Four in shock, yet he nods as if it's the most normal thing in the world to him...Then again, it probably is at this rate. Honestly you shouldn't be that surprised yourself. This is Link you're talking to.

"...Huh...Well, feel free to have a look around, I guess, and let me know if you need anything in particular. Arrows are buy one get two free right now, and fully in stock, too, since Link - Er, this Link, hasn't been in town to buy us out,” You explain to the group, jutting a thumb towards Four who rolls his eyes.

Now, usually you become a bit overwhelmed whenever large groups enter your shop, but seeing as these guys are Four's friends, you feel comfortable letting them wander freely. It helps that they seem to know exactly what they're looking for, too, making your job all the easier.

For the most part, the group allows Four and you privacy to catch up, only interrupting your conversation occasionally whenever they have questions about your prices or the quality of your goods, however you aren’t blind to the curious glances they spare you even in silence. No doubt they’re wondering how deep your relationship with Four goes, finding it endearing how at peace the young hero has become in your simple presence.

Most of these glances are quick enough, although you can’t help noticing that one of the boys seems to lack the same subtlety as his friends. Each time you steal a peek through the corners of your eyes, you spot him staring in your direction with an awed look overtaking his face. Whenever someone else nudges him to ask a question, he blinks rapidly with a stammer before bashfully looking away.

‘Cute…’ You’re tempted to think, but then you take notice of how young the boy seems to be. He must be at least a few years younger than Four and you - still a just child, at least by your standards which is an upsetting thought since context clues point to him being a hero, too. If that’s true, that must mean he was as young as Four was when he first set out on all this hero business himself, if not even younger. Poor kid…

Soon enough, Four confirms your suspicions about his traveling companions’ identities, telling you all about the strange portals they’ve traveled through and the journey they’ve been on up until this point. It was mere hours ago that they found themselves this close to home and, well, he couldn’t bear to pass by without seeing you or his uncle.

“Smart. I would’ve been livid had I found out you were in the area and didn’t stop by,” You elbow Four who pushes you back with his shoulder playfully before suddenly glancing behind you. Following his attention, you find the youngest hero standing there shyly, a minish feather necklace in one hand and a small pouch of rupees in the other.

Wind startles, seeming to have not expected your turn, “I, uh, wanted to know how much this was - um, is…So that I can buy it, if I may - for my little sister!”

You notice Four hiding his smirk behind his hand, yet you elect to ignore him for now, instead giving the younger boy your full focus with a kind smile, “How sweet of you. Consider it on the house, kid.”

“R - Really?” He brightens with possibly the widest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“‘course. Think of it as payment for helping my friend here find his way home safely.”

“Wow, thank you miss!” Oh goddesses above, his smile is adorable! He reminds you of the village children who often come here seeking sweet treats, such a simple delight to create lasting joy in their hearts. How you wish you could return to those days yourself - to no longer bear the weight of the world and its troubles in your thoughts. Alas, you could never so skillfully rewind time, but at least you can help protect that same innocence in others, even if only for a moment.

And protect it you do. Even late into the evening, Wind still cherishes that necklace in hand, carefully inspecting its details while kicking his feet giddily in memory of you, the pretty shopkeeper from Four’s Hyrule.

Sure, it probably isn’t that big of a deal. You gave the entire Chain a rather generous discount on their supplies despite their protests, but he was the only one who received your kindness personally without having to share. No one else aside from Four had the joy of seeing your beautiful smile directed his way, your expression soft and comforting like a warm breeze on the summer’s beach. 

He hadn’t lied. He does plan on giving the necklace to Aryll once this journey is over, but until then, he’ll probably admire it a little longer, at least until this crush of his settles within his heart.

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably. 

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend. 

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park. 

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night. 

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault. 

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days. 

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness. 

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen. 

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye. 

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another. 

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes. 

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.” 

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone. 

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?” 

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all. 

You just keep waiting. 

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship. 

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?” 

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down. 

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head. 

“Obviously?” 

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened. 

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out. 

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.” 

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?” 

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you? 

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die. 

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?” 

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all. 

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance. 

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-” 

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace. 

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.” 

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world. 

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way. 

You don’t want a boyfriend. 

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud. 

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-” 

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said. 

Making me feel all these stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.” 

Stupid feelings. 

What does she even define as stupid feelings? 

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime? 

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures. 

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you. 

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times. 

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin. 

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her. 

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath. 

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well. 

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach. 

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead. 

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-” 

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want. 

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume. 

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you. 

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed. 

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window. 

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position. 

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer. 

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.” 

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.” 

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?” 

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it. 

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips. 

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes. 

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?” 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her. 

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest. 

So you do. 

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday. 

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can. 

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice. 

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat. 

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice. 

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?” 

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay. 

It was enough. For now. 

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck. 

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill. 

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied. 

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight. 

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[shanastoryteller]

Happy winter solace ❄️☃️ I NEED more of the fake slave Ed and Mustang PLEASE!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Ed wants to end this farce before he gets caught and thrown in jail, or worse, loses his Amestrian citizenship.

From everything he can tell, Mustang is being perfectly sincere in his dealings with Pakor. He's sincere about almost everything, actually. A terrible quality to have in a leader, which Ed has to remind himself several times to keep himself from admiring it. The man's Xingese has improved from conversing with Ed, at least, and that's why he doesn't think anything when he walks into the man's office, nose buried in a book, and hears him speaking it.

Then he looks up to see to the surprised face of Ling staring at him and practically flies across the room.

"Ed?" he asks incredulously. "What are you-"

He slaps his hand over Ling's mouth, glaring for everything he's worth. Killing him will cause a war between Xerxes and Xing. It's truly a shame.

Everyone is looking at them, Mustang half risen out his chair and Maes making an aborted gesture between them. Ed would actually pay money to know what kind political gymnastics are going on in their minds right now.

"Prince Ling and I are acquainted," he says in Xingese. Ling snorts beneath his hand at the formal address, which he honestly can't remember if he's used before. "One moment, if it's not too much trouble."

He yanks Ling to his feet and drags him out of the room. Lan Fan only waves, which seems to be reassuring to Maes if no one else.

Ling at least keeps himself from laughing until Ed shoves him in the closest broom closet. "What," he gasps, face red and tears leaking out his eyes, "are you wearing?"

"I hate you so much," he hisses. "If you fuck this up for me I will assassinate you, I'll fucking do it, you know I could get away with it. Mei would even thank me."

Ling keeps laughing.